ℒove always wakes the dragon (Aemond x OC)

The hunched shadow

Larys Strong is well aware that his image is anything but strong and his presence alone — with his twisted foot, with the clattering sound each step is followed by — will never scare a soul into submission. But he came to use the mask of a meek cripple to his advantage, he learned to seek power over people with other methods — and he never once felt shame or pity because he's gotten enough of those throughout his life. So Larys listens and observes, he sees things others brush over, he digs up secrets, looks for mistakes and weaknesses. Once he finds any, he makes sure to get good use out of them, and he traps his victims like a spider with its web.

And there is one he cherishes above all.

No matter how hard Alicent's tried, she is yet to find a way to escape, and he enjoys every second of her suffering. It's almost like Larys owns her in a way — he never truly  will but he thinks he gets close enough to it every time they are alone in the same room, and she has to fight the repugnance at the sight of him.

She does it again, forcing a thin smile when he walks into her chambers, her eyes betraying her surprise, her deep-rooted hate.

"My lady," he smiles too, and it's sincere on his part.

"I did not expect to see you today, Lord Larys," Alicent says with a strained voice, moving from the window.

"I found something that you will be interested to know," he informs her and comes closer, not waiting for an invitation. He takes time to maneuver himself around one of the couches and then sits on it. The sound his leg makes sends shivers down Alicent's spine and haunts her in her nightmares.

"It's about the girl you mentioned the other day," he drawls, eyes fixed on her. "Prince Daemon's daughter. That other one."

Alicent has been beating herself up over that moment of weakness for the last four days. Not only it was pathetic to rant to him, out of all people — something she hasn't done in months, — it was also a damning mistake, and the realization came to her the second he left her room: she was afraid he'd find a way to hold it over her somehow.

Alicent watches him with caution, not sitting down just yet. "What about her?"

"You mentioned that her mother was sick," he speaks slowly. "I've learned of her passing."

"Well, people have a tendency to die of different reasons," Alicent remarks, biting down the urge to sneer.

"You do not seem surprised," the confidence is less pronounced on his face; yet, he doesn't look defeated nor does he look away.

"Said information reached me too. But it doesn't concern me, and I will not gloat over it."

"It would be cruel to do so," his lips curl up, his tone is mocking. He's never had qualms with cruelty, with things that are far worse. "But that is not what I came to tell you."

Larys takes a pause, then glances at the other couch in front of him. He makes it known that he wants her to sit, to play along. She's so tired of his games, she wants to throw up.

A sigh leaves her tight lips as Alicent gives in and goes to sit, her fingers clinging to her dress, trying to scrape some calmness out of its folds. His sly eyes gleam with satisfaction.

"Her death did invoke my curiosity," Larys continues. "I wanted to know if the cause was in any way suspicious. To make sure the girl presents no threat."

A threat to him, Alicent thinks, because he cares for no other than himself. As if he doesn't manipulate and weave intrigues, as if he isn't a murderer.

"I assume you didn't travel to the mountains yourself? Wouldn't be an easy road to take," she comments in her feeble attempt to lessen his arrogance. It is a low blow but she's feeling too low to care.