Blood of Old Valryia (Aemond Targaryen FF)

Chapter Ten

Aesira sat in silence while Aemond told her his story, grasping her hand as he did.

Aegon had taken him to a brothel for his thirteenth—and then fourteenth—name day. He'd been talking to Ser Criston about training him with various weapons, no longer just the sword they'd been using, when Aegon had showed up, told Ser Criston to release Aemond to him for the day and then snuck him out of the Keep to avoid the armed escort.

As Aemond recounted the events at the brothel, his disgust with himself was palpable. He couldn't remember how long he had been there or how many times he had been used, but all he knew was that he had felt nothing but shame and disgust. He had tried to numb the feeling with a flagon of sweet hippocras, but it was only temporary. As soon as he returned to his chambers and was alone with his thoughts, the memories flooded back and the self-loathing consumed him.

He'd drowned himself in the hippocras, trying to forget what had happened but knowing deep down that it would haunt him forever. The betrayal he felt from his own body, being used in such a way, made him sick to his stomach. He couldn't shake off the feeling of disgust and shame, it clung to him like a heavy cloak. He felt like he had lost a part of himself that he would never get back.

As Aemond finished his story, Aesira noticed that his breath did not carry the familiar scent of cinnamon, indicating that he had only had one flagon of sweet hippocras on the day following the events at the brothel. He had been holding her hand throughout the entire tale, his grip light and delicate. She understood that this fragility was not a reflection of their relationship, but rather a result of the traumatic story he had shared with her.

The events he described had forced him to withdraw into a dark chamber, isolating himself from the outside world. She could see the pain etched on his face and knew that he was still struggling to come to terms with what had happened. Her heart ached for him and she wished she could do something to ease his pain.

"I know I should have enjoyed it, but..." Aemond trailed off. He hadn't enjoyed it, and no amount of wine or coaxing or aging would change that. "I've wanted to lay with a woman for some time now, make no mistake, but I..."

He hadn't wanted it. He hadn't been ready. And that filled him with shame.

As Aemond shared his story with Aesira, she couldn't help but see the parallels between their experiences. Both of them had been forced into sexual encounters before they were ready and neither of them had wanted it at the time. For Aemond, it had been a traumatic experience at a brothel, and for Aesira, it had been at the hands of her own father.

They both carried the shame and trauma of those experiences, Aemond for not enjoying it and Aesira for it coming from a family member. They were able to understand each other's pain and support one another through their shared trauma, while also acknowledging that it was not something they had chosen for themselves. Both of them had been robbed of the right to make that choice.

She wanted to do more than just hold his hand and comfort him, but she knew that her actions had to be delicate. She didn't want to cause him any more harm. She saw the way he was reliving the horrors of his past and wanted to pull him out of it, but she knew that even a simple gesture like squeezing his hand could do more harm than good.

In that moment, Aemond was alone in a dark room with Aesira, and she knew that her presence alone may not be enough to bring him warmth or solace. She understood that the journey towards healing and overcoming the trauma would be a long and difficult one, and that it was not something that could be fixed with a simple gesture or a kind word. She was there for him, and that's what mattered.

Aemond had been there for her, without ever realising it. He'd shown a ridiculous amount of control over Vhagar on the night that they'd met, proving that even the oldest dragons could be controlled. He'd been kind without touching her, proving that not all men were monsters.