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H A R R E N H A L


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A𝖊𝖒𝖒𝖆 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖇𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖊d, 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖓 𝖘𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖊𝖎v𝖊d 𝖆 d𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓.

A fair trade, as Aemond would say, but not when it comes to Aemma. Her pain was his pain and her suffering was his suffering. 

The maesters had done what they could, but it was clear that Aemma would be scarred forever. The wounds would be kept hidden under her dress, but Aemond would see them and always remember that it was his words that had brought her to this.

Aemond remembered the loss of his eye, the pain and humiliation, and it was not comparatively as bad as seeing Aemma in the sickbed.

Twelve days and nights had now passed and Aemond had spent every free second here.

"You look tired," Aemma's gentle voice broke him from his thoughts.

"I'm fine," he lied, sitting up. He was fucking tired. He looked at her bandaged wounds that ran all over her left side. "How are you doing?"

"I'm hot," Aemma replied, staring at her wounds. "The fever is gone, but the wounds itch and hurt and burn as if they were going to burst into fire again."

He nodded. "Aegon said the same thing."

"Aegon had it worse than me. Now I can begin to understand the pain he endured."

Aegon had also burned because of him. Back then, he had risked everything to defeat Rhaenys, with no regard for his brother. It wasn't entirely his fault, Princess Rhaenys had almost defeated them, and he had done what he had to do, but sometimes he wondered if he had done it to become king himself. He had accepted his brother's death just so he could win. He wanted to prove himself and had let Aegon burn for it. Well, maybe if he hadn't done what he did he'd be dead instead.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗢𝗪𝗡 I AEMOND TARGARYENWhere stories live. Discover now