witchcraft in your lips - Aemond Targaryen/Sansa Stark

AEMOND I

notes: Babygirl Aemond not only dragged me back into my asoiaf era, but he managed to drag me into fanfic writing again. His power? Unmatched. It was inevitable I ended up making a time travel fic featuring him as an unhinged male lead.
Queen of my heart, mama's favourite war criminal, and canon-typical shenanigans. Let's see how it goes, yes?
The GOT era is more book-canon, while the HOTD era is more show-canon.

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part i: pages turned with the bridges burned (everything you lose is a step you take)

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chapter one: Aemond I

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Aemond died in a blaze of dragonfire, with blood in his mouth, and pain-agonising, excruciating, savage pain surging through him like calamitous quakes of the Doom.

He remembered the heat of Vhagar's roar, the cool kiss of Valyrian steel, and the gentle, sweet embrace of the waters of Gods Eye as they closed above him-pulling him down, down, down, deeper into their crushing depths.

"You have lived too long."

"On that much we agree," Daemon replied, sad and tired. His uncle was nine-and-forty where Aemond had not yet turned twenty, a young man in his prime.

Aemond smiled. Sharp and cruel-vindictive. "I've made a promise to my sister, sweet Helaena, whose son was murdered before her eyes on your command: my face is going to be the last thing you will see before I'll kill you, Nuncle. This I vow."

An eye for an eye, a son for a son, a prince for a prince-land turned to ash and rivers ran red when the dragons danced.

Aemond's fingers grasped the short chains which fastened him at the belt to Vhagar's saddle, desperately working at the buckles. Vhagar was sinking to the bottom of Gods Eye, the blood gushing from the wound on her neck boiling the lake's waters, and Aemond with them.

"Vhagar, kostilus!" he screamed, but no sound came out. Air escaped his lungs as water rushed in. "Sōvegon!"

All men must die.

But Aemond was a dragon-in heart if not in body, in spirit and blood if not in tooth and claw-and dragons could live forever.

Death cannot kill what never dies.

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"How much further?"

"Not long now," he assured, her clammy hand gripped tightly in his. For all that he was smaller than both his older siblings, Aemond was twice as fierce.

The torchlight flickered, painting dancing, ghoulish shadows on the walls, and dimmed to barely a wick of flame, plunging Aemond and Helaena into almost tangible darkness. They were deep in the cellars beneath the Red Keep, searching through a maze of passageways with only a ball of blue thread tied to Helaena's waist keeping them from being utterly lost.

Aegon had told them they would find wild dragons beneath the keep, and thus deeper into the cells they went. Curiosity spurred her, desire drove him. Neither Helaena nor Aemond rode a dragon: the egg laid in Helaena's crib had tinted grey and turned to stone; whilst Aemond had never been granted one. Dragon eggs were a scarce commodity and at the time of his birth, there had been only two in the Pits-one untouchable, and the other had been granted to Jacaerys, even as the boy was still in womb. King Viserys deemed his dead first son by the late queen and the firstborn grandson take precedence over the second son from his second marriage.