❝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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››blood gives, blood takes
Nothing but laughs and joy, in the Main Hall. The Iron Throne watches everything from above, with all the glory and majesty it brings within the blades morphed in it. It is an unusual bliss: Lords and Ladies chatting politely at the long tables filling the room, musicians delighting us with their best tunes, food and wine to heart's content.
I would dare to call it a perfect day if only I were a fool. Fairytales belong in books, not in Westeros.
My eyes are stuck on King Viserys as he is being escorted out of the Hall, trying not to be indiscreet, he is indeed a stoic man, but he is also the only one able to force everyone into keeping a mask of decency on. None of the people in this room sees us more than our title, and bears no respect further than what the Crown deserves.
Now that the King is gone, excusing himself between coughs and spasms, there are no reasons to hold on anymore.
"What's troubling you, Princess?" It comes a whisper, peaking through the drums and the chattering. That epithet is not just a matter of fact nor a boastful statement, I see it in the way it was meant to reach my ears only.
"I was just lost in my thoughts, honestly," I answer, "Nothing to worry about, my dear husband." I still cannot realize what happened today, I feel like I am attending a banquet as another, with the sole difference of my attire. "May I know what's troubling you instead?" I ask, even if I already know the answer. It sits on the right of the royal table, and it bears the Velaryon surname. Aemond does not reply, he just takes a sip from his goblet, his eye wanders from Lord to Lady, reading the room as if it was just one of his books.
"Would you like to dance?" It is an unexpected question that startles me a bit at first. But then, I remember I did the same when the stress of being sat at that very same table had become unbearable and so, I nod lightly, smiling at him.
"Of course." I latch my arm around his, letting him guide me to the middle of the Hall.
Unlike the banquet for our betrothing feast, this time, everyone's eyes are blatantly on us. I tighten my grip on his arm out of instinct, I do not like the persistence of their gazes, and so does Aemond. We cannot even blend with the crowd dancing to the rhythm of drums and arches without being in the spotlight. I know it is the protocol, but it is more stressful than sitting at the royal table.
"Want me to tell you about that tale about the prince?" I joke, trying to fend away those gazes the best I can. Aemond lets out a breathy laugh, always in his very composed manner, which is more than enough to relax a bit. It is our wedding day, after all, as surreal as it might seem.
"I wouldn't mind an endless summer." He comments as he gently grips my hips and lifts me up quite effortlessly, even with all those layers of silk and jewelry wrapped around me.
"I'd like winter best." I jested back, once my feet had met the ground. We are now circling each other, our eyes locked on one another. Expectations are already crushing me, under other circumstances, I would have stolen a kiss or two. But that would be disgraceful, according to the Septas and their bloody list, even if he is now my husband.
