❝I am not a dragon, Aemond Targaryen. You may have claimed me as yours, but to think I'd bend that easily? That is beyond foolish.❞
⟼ Ayla Bolton & Aemond Targaryen: bound by marriage, strengthened by love, ignited by madness.
𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻𝘆 |...
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››a blast from the past
It is an unnaturally sunny day here at the Dreadfort, the sunlight even manages to smooth the sharp edges of the fort, which usually looked so sharp many called them 'fangs'. Everything would be perfect if only I wasn't showing the Dreadfort's surroundings to the one who woke up this morning and decided to tear my life into little crumbles.
We've been walking in silence since we both left the Main Hall, mother stopped any maids from following us, and I am very sure I caught glimpses of Otto Hightower smirking upon hearing it. Aemond, or Prince Aemond as I should call him, still follows me, glancing briefly here and there, no trace of his sudden interest in the Dreadfort's surroundings. The silence that we share is not uncomfortable at all, it is the quiet before the storm. It is the brief moment of calm in which two opponents study each other, before sticking. Yet, none of us seem to strike.
We walk around the courtyard, lulled by the birds chirping and the wind blowing through the red tapestry of a flayed man, hanging from the towers. We walk past a couple of servants who shot us the brightest look they could, making me mad. I try to keep the comments to the bare minimum, I am escorting Prince Aemond, my betrothed, and the least I could do is let him see something unpleasant my family still does in gran secret, despite publicly denying it. Luckily, no one seems to have incurred my father's ire yet today.
"Nowhere near the Red Keep, I guess." I poke pridefully, after noticing how careless he's acting towards the tour I've been giving him. The Dreadfort is in a very secluded place amongst the North's forests, and it is far from a mundane environment. We do not host tournaments and parties, we never celebrate, mother always repeats how little we have to celebrate. My family has always attended such events with extreme caution and the best intentions of getting into the crown's good graces.
Seems like, in the end, they did it. Mother is still bitter about the Bolton's loss of power, and I bet there isn't one happier than her for my betrothing.
"A bit bare-looking, I must admit." His voice sounds quieter than it did in the main hall, when he asked for my hand with great solemnity. Aemond's presence is still a bit unsettling, his cold demeanor only making my nerves tense up more. I try to bite my tongue at his comment, though I could not spot any kind of arrogance in it, it was more of an honest observation. "What does makes you so fond of this place, Lady Ayla?" His question startles me a bit. I shrug lightly before raising a hand toward the forest. I am torn between looking as weird and unpleasant as possible, so that he would change his mind about our betrothing, and indulge the instinct to peer into the abyss that he seems to carry within himself.
"I like to hunt, My Prince," I mutter with some bitterness, I am perfectly aware of what a Princess should do, and hunting is certainly not in the picture.
"Hm." The prince does not seem touched at all by my statement, a reaction I wasn't expecting to face. My father almost had a stroke the first time I was brought to him by the servants, with mud and dirt covering my clothes and a couple of branches stuck in my hair.
