Children of Dragons | Aemond Targaryen

XI

Aemond was on his third imaginary battle when he finally decided that his knight could slay the last enemy and woo the fair maiden. He used the careful movements, the slashes and rolls, the exact feel and smell of the dirt and grime to distract himself throughout the feast. It was a common enough routine Aemond had fallen into several years ago. He found that if he kept his mind occupied and engaged, he could get through the feasts and dinners without falling asleep like his elder brother.

Aemond's surroundings came into focus. Aemma was sullenly picking at her food. He had tried to make some sort of peace with her, offering his thoughts on the tower that she had seemed to enjoy but she had grown angry with him and they returned to the simmering silence they had been in for the past three years. She felt like a cold flame, burning with hatred beside him. Her discontent was plain enough to see.

And it stung.

He hated that it stung. Just as much as he hated the call he felt to the tower after he had seen her. It was not one of his usual routes, but he had been delayed in his training with Cole, his whole routine shifting similarly. The slant of the sun was bright in his face in his usual path and Seasmoke had turned towards the east horizon. It was enough for him to change direction, thus flying past the lone tower on their return. He had seen Aemma from far away, her brown-black hair waving like a flag behind her. It stirred something within him. Curiosity more than anything. As if he tempted fate. What would happen if he returned to the tower and saw her again? They had been less than friends for three years, descending to slicing words of mock platitude in the halls or pointed silence at the feasting table. But a strange sort of satisfaction had tickled at him - that she would see him flying her dragon, she would have to offer him her thanks. Aemond always tried to bring Seasmoke with him as often as he could without raising suspicion. His mother had once asked him why he flew with two dragons and he had given her some reasoning having to do with Vhagar's own command over other dragons.

Now returned to reality, he felt Helaena moving on his other side. He turned towards her just as she turned to him. She had been speaking animatedly with Daeron about her children. How Maelor had been a pleasant surprise for her in recent months. How Jahaerys was a bright and happy boy and Jahaera was a quiet, ever-present shadow beside him.

"Oh, and the twins adore their uncle. He took them to the Dragonpit and they had a grand time with Vhagar."

"Is that right?" their brother laughed. "I'm sure that was terrifying for you."

He felt Helaena's fingers graze his arm on the table. She gave him a gentle squeeze, the warmth of her palm seeping through his jacket sleeve. "Not at all, Vhagar's harmless." She thought for a moment. "Mostly," she added, chuckling.

Aemond watched as Daeron's gaze flickered down to the table - where Helaena's fingers were making slow circles on Aemond's arm - and then back up, his face carefully blank. Aemond extracted his arm from her fingers as quickly and as subtly as he could. Helaena, unbothered, continued her conversation.

He listened distantly for a time before Daeron got up from his place beside Helaena and spoke to Aemma.

Aemond watched as she gracefully stood and then meandered the outskirts of the feast with his brother.

Aemma had changed in the three years since he had last truly spoken to her, the hateful words he had said - and even longer since they had spoken as friends. She had grown taller, her wide eyes settling into her face, her features sharpening. Her...other features grew as well. From his place at the high table, he could see how the tight bodice of her gown followed the curve of her chest before it spilled down around her hips. Her hair was pulled tightly back, accentuating the sharp edges of her face. She was striking, hard to avoid looking at if he was being honest with himself. It was not the soft beauty of Helaena, but...stunning in her own right. She was like a mystery, a secret.