Blood and Steel | Aemond Targaryen

Chapter 7

It was deeper than you had originally thought.

You were surprised when you pulled your dress off after locking the doors to your chamber, ignoring how it crumpled to the floor at your feet.

The cut Aemond had left on your skin sat just to the right of your bellybutton, the length the size of your little finger. It was still slightly bleeding, but not much. It had definitely ruined the dress you had been wearing though, a crimson flower now forever imbedded in the threads of the pale blue.

Shame. That dress was one of your favorites.

Running your fingers over the cut, you winced ever so slightly. It would scar somewhat, but luckily for you it was in a place no one would see. But first you had to stop the blood from trickling down your abdomen, the little rivulet or red racing down your leg and to the cold stone floor beneath your feet.

You had seen worse.

Looking up, you cast your eyes around the room. You didn't have any wrappings in here nor did you have any of the ingredients to make a plaster to seal it.

And then your eyes made their way back to the lone dagger still lying on the floor where you had dropped it, the firelight dancing across it.

Sure, some may of called you mad, some may have called you stupid- and maybe they were right.

Ignoring how the cool air on the farther side of your chamber tickled your bare skin, you crossed the floor quietly before kneeling to pick up the knife and move towards the fire. It took a moment but you were eventually able to balance the blade on the lip of the pit, the handle out in the open with the blade sat buried beneath red hot embers.

You would have to make do without the bandages. Sure you could have ripped off a piece of your linens but that would have left a bloody trace at some point. This had no trace at all. No questions would be asked.

As you sat in silence on the floor before the fire, knees tucked into your naked chest- you thought back to Aemond and how despite your thoughts of him in the beginning, he was growing to be rather intriguing to you.

There was more to him that met the eye.

And it pulled at your curiosity though you hated to admit it- even if it was just to yourself.

The orange glow of the blade pulled you back to reality and as you brought it out of the embers, you took a deep breath.

You had let your guard down. Allowed him to get closer than you would have preferred.

It was a moment of weakness for you.

And you hated it.

Almost as if punishing yourself, you didn't hesitate a moment more as you pressed the side of the blade against the cut, listening as both blood and skin sizzled. It was only a moment or two before you pulled back the blade once more, letting it clatter to the stone floors. If you held it there to long it would burn through the healthy tissue, injuring you further rather than helping close it.

You had caught him off guard a week and a half ago when you caught that sword.

But then he played the next move and had gained the upper hand the other night in the hall and tonight again in your chambers.

You wouldn't let the Targaryen catch you off guard again. Next time you would be ready. Next time you would come out on top.