#useroldtowrs

his mother had attempted to comfort him throughout it, but aemond knew the truth of it. his disfigurement had maimed him, robbed him of a normal complexion and — according to the rumors that followed him in the form of whispers and jeers thrown at him by the court — any masculine beauty he may have grown into through the dwindling years of his youth as well. it became painfully and quickly obvious that the mishap with his nephews an cousins had cost aemond that love he would've fostered so loyally. and so, he quickly found himself buried beneath the depths of a lonely abyss, with only vhagar, himself, and a  fury burning unresolved in his heart to keep him company.

but then you had arrived at court, and aemond couldn’t remember when exactly it had happened, but he soon found absolute pleasure in your company. you were, in his eyes, the embodiment of the summer sun, of soft rose petals and sweet dornish perfume. and you seemed so devoted to showering him in unrelenting and constant kindness. you, with all your golden jewelry hanging about your perfect neck, and adorning the loving hands with which you always reached to comfort him. you, who matched his intellect of the histories, and admired his mastery of the sword. you, who seemed to look past his disfigurement, who - if anything - admired the strength he mustered every day to face the world and the woes it threw at him with poised grace and elegance. you, who saw not a monster, a maimed crippled, or a besotten little boy that had grown into a bitter man. but you, who saw him for his worth, for his loyal soul and kinder dispositions, who tended to the ashes of his heart until a fire burnt anew amongst the cold catacombs in its depths.

aemond loved trying to teach you little bits and pieces of high valyrian amongst the quiet rustling of the giant wierwood's red leaves as the late afternoon breezes blew through the godswood. he secretly revelled in the way you would lay your head upon his lap and let your curls tumble across his thighs and cascade down his knees, giggling and blushing at his teasing when you mispronounced words here and there. he would love the late nights spent with you in the heart of the archives, before the raging fireplace, reading stories of old valyria to each other in hushed tones. and it would be his turn to blush as your delicate fingers brushed the soft strands of silken silver out of his face as he read, solely because you had convinced him to let his hair down for the evening, mumbling all the while about how you "adored seeing his wonderful face". he would look forward to the walks with you in the gardens, where every turn and loop was taken until the two of you would lose yourselves in the rows of flowers and beneath the canopies of the trees - all for the sole purpose of obtaining a few more moments of quiet, uinterrupted companionship alone with each other. 

it would be on one of these walks together through the gardens that you give him a handwoven crown of eucalyptus, baby’s breath and the occasional dandelion, and insist upon calling him "my king” despite his protestations that a wandering ear might find your words treasonous. but you insisted, and aemond found that he couldn’t resist the smile that continually pulled at the corners of his mouth. his face ached from the constant pleasure you pulled from him again and again in hushed murmurs and gentle teasings, his heart would ache alongside his face everytime you smiled at him, cheeks rosy and painted in the golden afternoon sunlight. you tell him you’d commit a thousand acts of treason if it meant you got to see him smile the way he did then. and in the sweet silence that follows when he looks down at his hands resting upon the pommel of his sword that he finds the confession lingering in the depths of his heart — he would follow you into a thousand deaths if it meant you were always this sweet to him in every life in between. 

aemond loses himself as the afternoon goes on. he becomes lost in the way you wrap your gentle hands around his bicep when he offers you his arm, and press your cheek into his shoulder in the aftermath of the fit of laughter one of his jests causes, cheeks red and chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. it’s as though he can feel his darkened and bloodied soul entangling irreversibly with yours amongst the warm summer air and the sweet scent of the blooming flowers. 

and it was there, amongst the blooming hydrangeas that the two of you had ended up, so close that your hands, which lingered on his chest, served as the only source of space that remained between you and aemond. it was there, hidden amongst the blooming hydrangeas, that his hands had settled upon the small of your back, pulling you close as he tangled his lithe fingers into the silken ribbons lacing up the back of your bodice in an attempt to keep them from shaking. his lips would inch closer and closer to yours until aemond could feel the heat of your blush radiating from your loving cheeks, and aemond’s name would fall from your lips, hesitant and so uncharacteristically shy that he could feel his heart ache with every beat in his chest. 

aemond could scarcely remember the longing that had lingered in your irises as he hesitated, longing that hid itself behind flickering eyelids and long eyelashes as you closed both your eyes and closed whatever distance may have remained, your lips falling upon his own and ending the tension that threatened to snap aemond’s very heartstrings. 

but how could he remember what came before, when it was what followed that was a thousandfold sweeter and more memorable? 

absolute relief would wash over him when you don't shy from him or the passion that burnt like dragonfire in his heart, but rather met each stroke of his swelling, pink lips and dutiful tongue with your own as though your heart was perfectly attuned to his. he could only remember the absolute elation when you respond with soft, tender fervor, as you meet him over and over again, fingers pressing into his chest all the while, burning holes through his tunic, through his skin and musculature and blood, straight to his heart. aemond could only remember feeling surrounded by the hydrangeas, which spilled their scent so readily into the summer air, and your sweet perfume (the one so captivating that he was sure it had to be from the most expensive source in dorne) — the feeling of your love and affection, suddenly laid out in its entirety, for him and him alone, overwhelming him slowly. 

aemond is so lost in his absolute elation that he doesn’t even notice when your hand falls gently upon his scarred cheek so reverently that even his nerves sing a song of comfort rather than their usual wail of pain.

in fact, it is only when you finally pull away, and your fluttering lashes reveal a gentle shine of pleasure dancing about your eyes, that he realizes. aemond would go to pull away frantically, wishing he could make his disfigurement disappear. and so he makes to leave, the wreath of foliage and the love with which it was woven sitting forgotten about the crown of his head still. a familiar chant rang like an alarm through his mind, growing louder by the second: shame, shame, shame. it shut out all else, as the feeling railed into him over and over: SHAME. 

but before he could make his escape, a soft tug at his wrist pulled him back to reality, the warmth of your kind hands against his skin slipping beneath the hem of his sleeve until halting, just there, above his pulse point. all thoughts immediately dissipated into blissful silence and that shame which constantly plagued his ego seemed to evaporate, and the strong urge to forever ally himself to you taking its place with reckless abandon and without a thought given to self-preservation. 

"do not run from me,” you whispered, desperation clear in the buzzing summer air. “please, aemond."

and oh, how his heart aches at that -- the soft calling of his name from your sweet lips, spoken in reverent tones that you seemed to reserve for him and him alone. he looks back at you, downright heartbrokenness clouding his remaining violet iris as if bracing for the insult and the collection of his shattered heart in the aftermath. another realization would hit aemond then: he was irrevocably in love with you. and a word from you could do just that — shatter his being into a thousand wounded splinters with just a few carefully chosen words, whether those words spoke of kindness or worse, it did not matter.

but then that worry dissipated into relief, one which had begun to feel more and more familiar under your loving instruction, as your other hand tucked a strand of silver, pulled free by the heated nature of your engagements only moments prior, before falling once more to the curve of his strong jawline and nestled itself along the strong ridge of bone there. your fingers would tuck themselves against it just so and aemond would melt into the touch you always gave him so freely and so sweetly. your thumb would trace the scar which he finds so abborrent, absolute adoration lingering in your irises before you lean in until your lips were only inches away from his once more. 

“you are so beautiful, aemond,” you murmur, words so saccharine he is surprised he can’t taste their honeyed residue lingering upon his lips in the wake of your kisses only moments prior. “i only wish that you could see it.”

aemond can’t help but fixate on you  in that moment, your fluttering eyelashes, and the impossibly heated dusting of rose decorating the bridge of your nose, and the faint birthmarks and freckles that dotted your face revealed themselves to him by your closeness. its then he notices how your lips shine with the combination of him and you, and how your eyes travel from the accented dip of his cupid's bow, to his strong cheek bones, and finally to the leather patch that bisects the the craggy pink scar, hiding the worst of the injury from view. 

“especially here.”

tears well in his eye, stinging with the unspoken promise that his heart would always belong to you, from this treasured moment on.

“hmm, you flatter me, my sweet girl,” aemond hums, the words ache in his throat and upon his tongue as he speaks them, regretting the little ounce of betrayal that seems to seep like poison into his words — evidence of his heart still preparing for the worst. “but there are many more men of greater beauty than i, who are more deserving of your heart than i could ever be.”

“what are you saying?” you ask, hurt now entering the stage of your beautiful eyes, as they held his gaze with such devotion as if you wanted him to see the glimmer that turned dark and cloudy with confusion.“did you not-”

“i am saying that you have been my greatest delight, my brightest joy and my most beloved companion these past years,” aemond begins, heart aching so profusely at the hurt that begins to well up in his heart alongside the wetness in the corners of your dazzling eyes. “but you deserve more than i could ever give you. i am not worthy of you, and i could never hope to be.” 

"but aemond,” you begin to protest, only for him to tilt his head down to capture your lips once more, his desperation bitter upon your tongue as he presses his lips to yours with such fervor and such sadness. 

“you deserve someone as beautiful and as kindhearted as you, who can give you all that you could ever desire and-” 

aemond’s voice is hoarse at this point, as though his vocal chords were just as strained as his heart strings. tears of his own began to cloud his own vision, throat constricting under their weight as he tries and fails to swallow down the pain in his voice.

“show me,” you say in the wake of his pause, perfect lips pouted as you try in vain to hold back a sob. 

it is aemond’s turn to be confused then. why would you, sweet, beautiful and kind you, wish to not only waste your time with him in the gardens, sharing kisses that tore aemond’s soul into shreds of contrasting regret and elation, but to gaze upon his life’s greatest horror as well? why would you wish to expose yourself to such offending ugliness?

“i love you, aemond,” you say then, the same desperation straining your voice the way it had aemond’s mere seconds ago.“and i can't pretend that you don't occupy my every waking thought, that you do not fill my soul with undeniable and unwavering happiness. i can't pretend that your beauty doesn’t rivals that of the stars themselves. so just show me.”

your name falls from his lips, but it is a mere whisper upon his tongue. 

“it is not pretty.”

“aemond,” you say then, “please?”

aemond finds he cannot bare to see the heartbreak in your eyes for much longer, and so he bends to your whim for what was likely to be his last and final time. he pulls the leather patch from his eye with careful, deft movements that wouldn’t allow for any lingering hesitation, to reveal the sapphire gleaming in place of his other eye.

a short gasp fell from your lips then, followed by a shaky exhale that had the tears burning in the corners of aemond’s eyes finally blur what remained of his field of vision. his sharp mind worked desperately to recount and commit the feel of your lips moving upon his to memory, as aemond feared he would no longer be the subject of your time and affections now that you had truly seen him — all of him.

the feeling of the leather sliding against his fingertips as it fell through numb hands to the ground by his feet barely even registering, the pain in his heart too great. he didn’t even feel the usual relief of his long platinum and silver hair falling in silken curtains as you reached and released it from the little leather cord that kept his hair neat beneath the strap of his eyepatch.

"i love you. unequivocally, unfailingly and wholly so," you say finally, your thumb roving the taught skin of his scarred cheek with holy-like reverence. his single violet eye dared to meet yours then, and aemond could feel his heart skip a beat. tears had begun to fall down the sweet slope of your cheek, and yet you still held his gaze with unwavering softness.“do not tell me that you are undeserving of my attentions. i will decide who i deem worthy of my heart, and i swear to you, aemond targaryen: not one man in all of westeros and the free cities combined could ever be more deserving of it than you.”

a silence falls then, and you press a hasty kiss to his lips once more - petal soft lips nestling into the curve of petal soft lips, teeth clasing against teeth, love pouring into each other’s hearts. an upward quirk of your lip has aemond’s self-loathing surrendering under your tender hand, and the fall of it back into quivering sadness has him swearing — to the mother, the father, the stranger, whoever may have been watching over him in that moment — that he would never do such a profound disservice to your loving heart for as long as he should live.

"my king of my heart."

the endearment fell into what little air kept aemond at bay from you with such ease, and yet, here aemond was — a fool trying to convince himself that you did not love him, that you couldn’t possibly love someone such as himself, despite your every effort to lay the intentions of your heart bare before him to prove the extent of your love, true and sweet and wonderful, to him. 

oh, the seven damn him.

"darling," he managed to croak, the endearment falling from his mouth with more emotion than aemond had ever shown in his life, the weight of his love heavy on his tongue. 

aemond couldn’t help but envelope you wholly in a hug right then and there. his sturdy arms ensnared themselves with your being once more, hands finding the base of your skull and the supple curve of your hip, hidden to him by the curve of your luscious skirts, to gently pull you into him before he buried himself into the most passionate embrace he could possibly muster, as though it would make you see that passion and devotion that burnt like dragonfire in his soul for you and the love which he too held in his heart of hearts for you, and you alone..

and when he finally releases you, with tears of happiness gleaming in his violet eye, the sun shining in the sapphire of his other, and a heated blush dusting the paleness of his sharp, aquiline nose and accented cheekbones, he can't help but smile and huff a laugh through the constriction his tears held upon his throat. he brushes away the tears of your pain and your hurt with gentle thumbs before placing the first of many reverent kisses to your forehead as a final realization hit him — as though it were an enlightenment gifted to him by the seven themselves. 

he couldn’t remember the last time he had ever truly smiled for anyone but you. 

you - his girl of flowers and sunshine, his darling who had tended to the flames burning hot in his dragon veins for years despite his lack of acknowledgment, his lady of kindness and sweet, unbowing reverence, his beauty, his most beloved friend — smiled then, and aemond swore he saw the stars themselves shining in your gaze, shining all for him.

you.

"marry me," he pleads then, hands wholly enveloping your own as he gently takes them and places a kiss to the very fingers that had woven him a crown of pure intention, everlasting love and the strength and power of your heart. "please, my sweet girl, i have been such a fool, all these years, and i… i -”

“yes. yes, i know exactly,” you laughed breathlessly. “i thought you would never ask, my dearest love.”