❝I am not a dragon, Aemond Targaryen. You may have claimed me as yours, but to think I'd bend that easily? That is beyond foolish.❞
⟼ Ayla Bolton & Aemond Targaryen: bound by marriage, strengthened by love, ignited by madness.
𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻𝘆 |...
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›› don't give (me) up
Aemond is being unlikely fidgety and I feel somehow relieved, I was starting to consider believing all those trivialities about Targaryens being Gods. His strict self-control is something beyond this world.
"Aren't you supposed to attend a sparring session?" When I first arrived in the Red Keep, one of the maids told me he usually busied himself mostly with training and studying. It did not surprise me at all, he looks exactly like someone who would do so.
"Ser Criston won't miss me." He answers. I already heard that name, he must be the knight who had escorted Aegon to the Dining Hall.
We have been walking for quite some time now, and I wonder what could be so important to make him skip training, considering he didn't even skip it to greet me, his betrothed, just arrived at court.
There must be something he is truly passionate about, not because his honor and his duties say so, but because he cares. I can not explain what has gotten into me, but since I met him at the Dreadfort, there hasn't been a day since I thought about him, not romantically, too mundane, just him. Aemond the Prince. His magnetic manners drew me like the smallest of nails, and his mysteriousness threw me a challenge I felt more than willing to accept. That was why I overreacted yesterday, and as soon as I realized it, I felt stupid and a bit embarrassed. And when I thought to have completely understood he probably didn't do the same, he came looking for me.
Aemond was indeed a challenge,
A challenge I was deadly ready to win, if only it were that simple.
Silence envelops us once again as we keep walking toward the top of the hill, and I can't really decide if I am more exhausted from walking or from trying to steal some words out of his mouth. But, the fear of feeling lonely for the rest of my life keeps me from giving up, I do not intend to end up like my mother, covering my sadness with dresses and jewels, fending away the bitterness by being bitter to other people. That is not the life I wish to live.
"When I got here," I start, "One of the maids told me you study, may I know what?" I probably sound like an obnoxious little girl, and I should probably stop, but Aemond is indeed intriguing, and he will soon be my husband, which is more than a valid reason to act this way.
"History, Philosophy... whatever is worthy of my time, mostly." It's all about catching glimpses, with him. How his voice sounds, how his jaw clenches, the way his light brow arches whenever something bothers him. Normally, I would never restrain myself from chatting, but with Aemond is a whole different story. I understood he might be hiding a few raw nerves from how rapidly his mood shifted after leaving the Dining Hall, and at the moment, he does not look like the forgiving type.
This time, it is me the ones who linger to say something. Mostly out of worry, maybe I shouldn't force him to consider me, maybe he didn't wish to end up with me either. Aemond is a prince, with sparring skills and a finely trained wit. He is magnetic and well-behaved, and sure possesses great beauty. I had never considered he might not be thrilled at the idea of being wed to a plain-looking lady, with a lesser inclination to study and little to no interest in the court's mundane life.
