Midnight Blades [Aemond Targaryen x female!reader]

Part 15

The funeral took place in the royal bethel, high on the peak of Mount Vigor. The procession began at sunrise and it wasn't until the first star appeared that you reached the archways, your feet aching and your mourning dress damp with sweat. There were no horses save for the one that towed the carriage carrying Nate's satin wrapped body, the walk of contemplation was not meant to be comfortable but the pain reminded the mourners that they were alive, unlike their beloved dead.

You paused under the archway, Aemond's unwavering presence stilling beside you, and looked down the mountain at the miles of Scythians following the treacherous path to bid their farewells. You had never seen a funeral procession so large, not even when their Queen, your mother, had died. But Nate was special, he always was - he would have been a great king. He was meant to be a great king.

You could not remember the ceremony, how it blurred from one orator to the next, blessing the prince and declaring he had left the earthly realm for an eternity among the stars. You could not remember the burn of the ropes chafing and cutting your palms as you and your father raised the platform with his body onto the pyre. You could not remember the scent of the pungent oil your granddam, the High Matron, dipped your arrow in before igniting it.

You remembered the heat of the fiery head as you drew the arrow back and released all the pain and grief with the bow string. You remembered the burn of your eyes as you stared into the flames that engulfed the pyre quickly. You remembered the roar that shook the earth and the breath of fire that filled the sky.

As the smoke reached for the heavens and the High Matron stepped forward with a diadem resting atop a velvet pillow, you were reminded that the ceremony was only half complete. The ground never seemed so far as you lowered yourself to it and flinched as your father picked up the crown that had hastily been crafted for your head.

You had barely spoken to him since you broke the news and explained how his children had knowingly deceived him. He had quietly accepted the information before leaving to observe the death watch with Ser Negan in the sanctum beneath the palace until the funeral was prepared. You wanted him to yell at you or cry, anything to justify the shame you felt. Instead, he smiled through the tears and placed the crown of your station upon your head.

For something so small, the thin circlet atop your head came with a soul-bearing weight. The dozens of small diamonds and sapphires were carefully arranged around the delicate silver wiring to catch the light as if they were glittering stars.

You rose to your feet and felt the dents in your skin from the loose gravel on the stone floor, turning to face the witnesses to your ascension into the Crown Princess of Scythe. The crowd of lords and ladies bowed as you stepped into your place at your fathers right side, but you would still refer to it as Nate's side.

That night a thousand fires burned over Scythe, from the rolling hills to the turbulent seas, the flames illuminating the horizon with its orange glow and the smoke concealing the stars from sight. The people drank and sang tales of the glorious dead, but you could not join in their merriment as they celebrated the crowning and also the life of Prince Nate. You wanted to celebrate the deaths of those responsible, and that would not be this night.

"Make me forget," you begged Aemond as you retired to your chambers at dawn. "My thoughts are consumed with darkness I cannot escape."

His lips became your salvation as he tipped your head back and stole your breath. His hands danced along your spine unravelling the cord from the corset and you inhaled at the freedom that came as it fell to the floor. Your skirts and shift followed quicklky before he traced the curve of your neck with his soft lips.

You pushed him away and his eyebrows pinched in confusion. "I don't need soft and sweet." Your fists clenched at your hips as he turned his back and walked to the armoire, unbelting his scabbard with deliberate slowness and placing it down before dropping his tunic beside it.