Blood and Steel | Aemond Targaryen

Chapter 1

"Lady Florent, would you be so kind as to accompany Jace and Luke to the training yard? I have other matters to attend to at court."

Looking up from twiddling your thumbs you bowed your head to the Princess. "Of course."

You weren't entirely sure why she asked you that though as you followed Luke and Jace down the halls of the red keep. The brothers had spent half their life here. They undoubtedly knew their way around.

"You know you didn't actually have to come, mother was just needed elsewhere." Jace turned to look at you, that famous gentle smile of his on his lips.

"She sent me to tag along to make sure you two dont cause any trouble." You corrected, giving him a sly smirk in return. "Plus she's just sad that you two are basically my only friends. She didn't want me to be left behind."

You sighed, folding your arms neatly behind your back as the three of you made your way down a set of steps. You had been the handmaiden to the Princess Rhaenyra for a couple years now but to be honest she treated you more as her ward. She was the kindest person you had ever had the joy of meeting. Three years ago you had stepped off a boat and onto the shores of Dragon-stone and into a whole other chapter of your life and you did not take it for granted.

"That's not true. You also have Baela and Rhaena."

"Who are not here yet." You added, stepping out into the open air of the courtyard and heading down the final steps.

Up ahead you could hear shouts and yells mixed with the distinct clang of metal on metal.

The Training yard.

It was nothing like the one back on Dragonstone. Dragonstone was all smooth stone ground and everything set up as neatly as possible, and it always smelled of sea air. Here it was muddy and chaotic and was heavy with the stench of sweat.

As you paused besides Jace and Luke, the three of you watched from afar at the crowd gathered around the center of the yard. Hoots and hollars going up as sword met sword. Through glimpses between burly shoulders you could make out the two opponents. One was dressed in cream white training gear with a head full of black hair, the other— quite the opposite.

Though you could only see the back of him, he was as tall as his opponent, but dressed head to toe in black leather, his silver hair tied back neatly in a partial updo. He was quick too, and nimble. He dodged swing after swing with ease, making you tilt your head in admiration. He was good. Almost perfect actually.

"Who are they?"

"Ser Criston Cole and. . . Aemond." At the slight change in his voice, you turned to look at Jace- somewhat surprised.

"Your uncle?"

"Yes unfortunately."

Jace and Luke had told you the story about what had happened all those years ago when they were all so young- but who they had described to you did not look like the same person before you.

You looked back at the sparring pair ahead of you, and clearly just in time too because almost a second later you watched as Ser Criston disarmed the Targaryen Prince, his sword flying blade over hilt towards you and the Velaryon boys at your side.

It was impossible what happened next, but it happened non-the-less.

Without a second thought you shot your arm out and grabbed the hilt of the sword before it could fly past you.

Your late father always did say you had quick reflexes when you were little, like catching dishes before they could fall to the floor or how you could pluck a fly out of the air with just your thumb and pointer finger.

But this— this was nowhere near that level.

And you had never found silence to be so heavy until that moment. It felt like the whole world had gone silent around you, dozens of eyes trained on you- including Jace and Luke's besides you. But you stood firm, the sword still held stiffly in your grasp as you lowered it.

"You."

You watched as the one eyed prince unsheathed a dagger from his belt with remarkable timing before jamming it in your direction.

"Who are you and what do you think your doing." His tone making it sound more like a command and less like a question.

Alright Y/N, calm down- put on that stoic façade Princess Rhaenyra had told you about. Don't show anyone any point of weakness.

"I'm nobody." You stated plainly, not moving an inch as Aemond stalked towards you, the sea of men between you parting as they watched on. "And it's simply called having reflexes."

And that's all it took to send a wave of murmurs through the crowd. Yes, talking back to someone of his caliber and rank was not appropriate. . . Or ladylike for that matter.

The Prince let out an almost annoyed huff.

"You think you can talk to me li—"

Before he could get any closer you flipped the sword in your palm, offering him the hilt so he could take it back. He faltered in his steps avoiding walking into the silver handle before him—

And then he ripped it back into his position.

"Do try and make sure you have a better grip on the handle next time. I'd rather not lose my head." You stated matter-of-factly before giving him a simple curtsy and turning back the way you had come. No one moved to stop you, all that happened was Jace and Luke rushing to follow you back into the halls of the keep.