Sapphire Heart: Companion Stories

Chapter I | A Pensive Mind

The hour was late. Aemond stood on the balcony, leaning against the cold stone balustrade, lost in deep thought. He watched as the waves crashed against the rocky cliffside in the distance, the sight of it illuminated by moonlight and lightning. The air was cold and wet, and smelled of rain. A storm was coming. Soon the rainfall would become heavier, and he knew he'd have to return inside. The wind picked up and sent a chill through him. He instinctively wrapped his black fur cloak tighter around himself. The sound of thunder rolled across the cloudy night sky, nearly masking the low echoing sounds of Vhagar's crooning, breaking his train of thought. He had not yet seen her, but her presence could not be denied.

As the large dragon approached, the ground shook with intensity with each step. Her crooning vibrated through his chest. The lightning illuminated the silhouette of her body before him. She lowered her neck until she and he were face to face. The warm light of the hearth was glowing across her face, the dancing embers reflecting in her eyes. Aemond was completely captivated by her. He lived for nights like these. Vhagar, the queen of all dragons, was a majestic beast, and welds the depth and wisdom of two hundred years. He looked up at her with awe. Yet when Aemond locked eyes with her, her gaze was piercing. Fierce. He quickly looked away, a bolt of shame striking through his chest, but there was no hiding it. She knew. She felt it.

His apprehension. His loneliness. His unhealthy self imposed isolation, masked as a need to recharge. A farce. He was supposed to be on a celebratory hunting trip with Aegon, and some other lords he never cared to remember the names of. They're an unsavory bunch, and poor company. Aemond simply didn't have the energy to pretend to tolerate them. Not tonight. So he snuck off on Vhagar and they came here, to one of his family's beachside manors. It was still quite grand, but the property is smaller, more intimate. Which means it's not crawling with staff, just enough to keep himself comfortable and the place quiet. He wanted to be alone.

Even without a single audible word uttered between them, she sees he's troubled. Vhagar huffs in response to his deflection, her warm breath tossing his hair wildly across his face. Which he knew she did on purpose. The hint of a sly grin marks his face. He knew Vhagar was aware of how meticulous he was when it came to his hair, and she found his fixation vain and silly. She'd stare at him through the window at times, with her head cocked to the side, when she'd catch Aemond fixing himself up. She'd always been intrigued by the compulsive quirks of her riders, and Aemond's became...a joke of sorts between them. Whenever she felt he was engaging in foolishness or just wanted to tease him playfully, she'd mess up his hair. Tonight was no different, but this time there was a serious edge in her demeanor. She wanted Aemond to face himself. To face the truth fiercely, head on. To embody the way of the dragon. Vhagar is a beast of war. She knew Aemond's biggest battles were not fought on fields, but within himself.

Aemond looks back at her and leans his forehead against the tip of her snout. They both close their eyes and he lets out a deep sigh. Vhagar makes a deep rumbling purr in her throat that reverberates throughout Aemond's entire body, emanating a sense of warmth and calmness into him. She was the only source of such things in his life, and he cherished these moments dearly. He lets out another deep breath and looks up to her, running his hand across the side of her jaw, expressing his appreciation. She gently nudges him towards the door, coaxing him to go inside. Out of the cold and wet. To rest, yet he was stubborn still. She let out a low grumble that vibrates through his chest, and huffs again. Her breath bringing life back into the smoldered flames of the nearby hearth. After a brief moment of silence, Vhagar turns her head northbound to the caves, then looks back at him with a farewell.

Aemond watches her soar off, disappearing into the darkness, staring until the lightning no longer reveals her figure, and she enters the mouth of the cavern far in the distance. Aemond warms himself by the fire, sitting in deep contemplation. The storm finally approaches, its winds pushing the rainfall at an angle, soaking him. With the awning no longer shielding him, he finally relents and goes inside. Once in his chambers, he unwraps himself from his cloak and flings it onto a leather armchair in one fluid motion. He removes his boots and changes into a black loose fitting, unlaced linen chemise top and matching trousers. He threw a few logs into the fireplace and stoked the flames before climbing into bed and attempting to sleep. Yet he could not.

He took his sapphire from his scarred eye socket, and began fidgeting with it in his fingers absentmindedly. He stared into its blue brilliance against the warm light of the fire across the room. His mind was racing. She was coming tomorrow. His betrothed. The one he chose. A dragon rider from an allied house, who looked most suitable on paper, and made the most sense. A seemingly perfect, curated union. Yet he was conflicted, and his chest tight with anxiety. He sat up, leaning against the headboard, and let out a deep sigh. He should be out celebrating with his brother. He should be excited. He should get over himself. Swallow it, bury it, push it down deep like always. But tonight he just...he can't. He's filled with dread.

He lays back down, curling up beneath the furs, as misery encroaches upon him, in an embrace that feels like a choke. A lump forms in his throat. He hates crying, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Now the worst has come, which is why he left the hunting trip so abruptly. To fall apart. To purge this weakness from him in the secrecy of solitude. So he allowed himself to fall. And fall he did. Aemond wept. He fell so deep into his brokenness, his cries came out as muffled sobs into his down filled pillow, and a throbbing ache racked his head. And he clutched his chest, as an even deeper ache...bled from his heart. Only Vhagar had the capacity to truly understand the depths of his immense suffering. Even as a child the night he claimed her, the very night he was maimed. She's always been able to see his wounds long after the physical ones healed. Aemond Targaryen is a fractured man...but he conceals it well. Only wearing the nakedness of his vulnerability alone in his chambers.

This marriage is his duty. To his family. To his house. But to him? Deep within he knew he wasn't ready, and that's why he's been running. Running from fear. Another rejection. Another betrayal. Another failed betrothal before his mother and father. The shame he's carried from having to rescind his last betrothal was debilitating. He could not fail again.

He usually dealt with it by burying himself in work, his studies, voluntarily attending council meetings, and private training sessions with Ser Criston. He recently took up cartography, optimizing the maps for war strategies, even carving wooden figures for all the houses of Westoros, and all the dragons. Anything to fill up the space, to keep his mind stimulated through physical and mental millennial tasks. Yet the sun always sets, the quiet comes in the stillness of night...and he is tormented.

Not just by his failure in securing a wife and being subsequent heir to the iron throne, but by the weight of "almost". Almost marrying the most sought after princess in The Seven Kingdoms, almost being the firstborn male heir, almost being recognized for the work and sacrifice he's contributed for his family, for the realm, just for the goal post to be moved just out of reach, time and time again. He was tired. Sickened. It hasn't even been a year's time since his last betrothal failed. Yet due to political pressure, Alicent is forcing him to marry. She's refused to allow him to put it off any longer, despite his protest. And it was weighing on him. Everything. Always having to be strong, always having to take things in stride without complaint. To endure all of this and appear unscathed, unbothered, unshaken. To endure it alone.

It was pouring outside now. It made the cold worse. Aemond had a fleeting thought to call for Vhagar, but he didn't feel like getting up or getting drenched out in the storm. So he buried himself beneath various blankets of furs, and began to ponder about the princess. What would she be like? Would she even fancy him? Would she fear him like so many others? Would she be cold and calculating like the last? Somewhere among his lament, and the sound of pattering rain and the crackling fire, Aemond's body finally relaxed. The last tears fell, and the prince finally slept.