banshee's lament - aemond targaryen.

chapter 10.

The silence was stifling– the usually bustling keep was quiet. It didn't breathe nor creak like normal. It was lulled to sleep.

The scent of fading smoke still permeated the air, lingering down into paltry ash. Shera wasn't sure if it was her dream still at play. The world around her suddenly felt different. Not just at Aegon's pronouncement, but the tone of reality was slightly askew. Askew and off color. There was a throbbing deep within Shera's skull as if she'd lost something dear— or mayhaps, a memory she was never meant to have was shoved into her cranium. An intense pressure pressed at her mind, threatening to drive her mad.

Shera held onto Aemond for as long as she could, as long as he would have her. His arm was tucked under her legs to hoist her up, his other arm secure around her back, pressing her to him. She felt safe, peering over his shoulder like a stealthy cat. He held her up with ease as she observed Aegon, now apparently pronounced 'King'. She should be shocked– but she knew Viserys had passed. She watched it, in some twisted semblance of the vision her poppy-addled mind had concocted.

"How long have... I been asleep for?" she asked Aemond tentatively, whispering into his ear.

"Five days."

Five days. Much happens in five days, then.

"Is everyone... alright? Helaena? The children?" she posed the question to Aegon then as Aemond sat her back down on her bed. She squirmed slightly, not wanting to stay in bed any longer.

"Everyone is fine," Aegon said, quirking a brow to Aemond. "She's awake now. You should go before grandsire gets any more cross."

Go? Where are you going? She stared at Aemond with a pinched expression, tilting her head.

"I will return, Shera," he paused, brow furrowing. "I promise. Then, we shall speak. 'Tis a quick flight to Storm's End."

"He is petitioning Lord Borros on my behalf, so the Baratheon seat will declare for me." Aegon answered swiftly as Shera's mouth opened to protest.

"Petitioning?" she interjected.

"Daeron will be a suitable match for any of his four daughters, I assume." Aemond nods to Aegon, whom tips his head in agreement. "Keep Shera safe, brother."

"'Tis no greater honor upon a King to guard the banshee."

Shera scowls, folding her arms over her chest. Even with the crown upon his head, Aegon was still an agitation.

Aemond rolled his eye in turn, prying one of Shera's arms from her chest, turning her palm upwards. "We will speak further, little wolf," he whispered, leaning down to the shell of her ear. "I hope to never see you in red again. You're better suited to blue."

Shera's eye wandered to the bedside table where her dress, the red and black garment worn at the Lucerys' inheritance hearing, was strewn.

"You should have Vhagar burn it, then," she hummed back, the ghost of a smile curling at her lips. "Along with any other pieces of my wardrobe you deem... unsuitable."

"I'd say what you're wearing currently is, in fact, unsuitable, my lady," Aemond responded, his thumb pressing into her upturned palm. Not a warning. It was a promise.

Aegon cleared his throat. "If you two are going to fuck, get on with it. Make it a show for your king, then! I haven't got all night."

Heat burned at Shera's cheeks as she hid her face sheepishly in Aemond's shoulder. He gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead and let go of her hand. "If I were a lesser brother, you would be eating a meal of your own teeth, Aegon."