Blood of Old Valryia (Aemond Targaryen FF)

Chapter Twenty

"Maester Norren, my lord." The gold-cloaked knight announced.

The maester strode into Aemond's Chambers, his chain necklace silent against his grey robes as low burning fire brought a shine to it. "Prince Aemond, I've acquired a copy of the text you asked about. The 'Ruined Cities, Stolen Gods' written by Maester Vaggoro."

Aemond had been reading about Valyria again when he'd come across mentions of the text that detailed the fall of the Kingdom of Sarnor, in Essos. Maester Norren had been all too happy to send some men to acquire a copy of it. The condition was that once Aemond had read it, the maester would be allowed to add the book to his own collection. Maester Norren grew his collection of books through Aemond's thirst for knowledge.

Aemond peered over his shoulder to give the maester a gesture of his thanks—a nod of his head—before returning his gaze to the fire. Having promised the Queen that he'd remain in King's Landing to ensure his brother's tourney was thoroughly put to bed, he'd been content to steer clear of the woman who wanted nothing to do with him.

But as he supped alone in his Chambers, mere hours after his family had departed for Oldtown, Aemond couldn't stop the thoughts that traversed across the Red Keep. He couldn't stop feeling her lips against his, her body beneath his hands, how different she would feel, how similar she would feel. Aemond shook his head as if he could ever rid himself of her.

Aesira had left so abruptly, saying her farewells to the King alone, and then disappeared—without a response to any of his letters—for three years. Aemond had spent too much of that time, locking away everything that reminded him of her. He chose not to dwell on memories or sentimentality.

At first, he'd done it out of spite. If she wished to write him off in response to an act committed by the Queen, then he wouldn't stop her. If anything, he would aid her.

Angry hours turned into quiet days, quiet days turned into uneventful weeks, uneventful weeks turned into months of longing—for Aesira or life itself, he couldn't discern—and then months of longing had turned into forlorn years.

In all that time, Aemond had grown to realise that he missed more than just her conversation and company, he yearned to hear the sound of her voice and her laugh. He pined after her opinion on matters in court, he ached for her thoughts on the books he read. She hadn't just discarded him as a blooming lover, but she'd discarded a friendship four years deep.

Aemond sighed and pushed out of his bench, ignoring the book Maester Norren had placed on his desk beneath the window and strode out of his chambers. He couldn't be alone with his thoughts, not while Aesira was still in the Keep, not while she is close enough to answer why he meant so little to her.

The world became a blur as he strode across Maegor's Holdfast from his Chambers to hers. Aemond noted the lack of knights stationed at her doors and added it to the list of changes he planned to make while his grandsire sat on the Iron Throne. Aesira might not be in the line of succession but she was still a member of House Targaryen until she wedded out of it, or found a way to wed back into it. She was carrying a name, unfettered and undiluted, that should afford her a modicum of security now that she was of age.

Her doors were open and her Lady's Maid—he couldn't remember her name—crouched to poke at the fire. Aemond surveyed the rooms and stopped short when he realised the Lady's Maid was the only one there.

"Where is she?" he took care not to speak unkindly towards the Lady's Maid. Wherever Aesira had gone was no fault of the woman before him.

The Lady's Maid rose to her feet quickly and bowed her head, "My Prince...she...uh...Lady Aesira has forbid me from speaking it."

"That's ridiculous and dangerous. What if she needs—"

The woman raised a hand to stop him, "Forgive me, my Prince. Her instruction was to withhold the information from you. Should anyone else come looking for her, which she doubted, I was given leeway to inform them."

Aemond heeded the words and what they meant. Aesira didn't want him to go looking for her. But this folly, he realised, was a slight on the Lady's Maid. The King, Queen, Aegon, and Helaena were off to Oldtown. Lord Otto would never seek Aesira out and none of her court friends were in the Keep. That left Aemond, the one person she forbade from knowing her locale.

"Tell me where she is." He dropped the kindness he'd used before. Aesira was up to something and if she got hurt, it wouldn't just be on her, but the maid too. And he would ensure the maid felt every ounce of whatever pain Aesira felt if the worse came to pass.

The Lady's Maid swallowed hard, glanced down at her clasped hands and then nodded to herself. She'd weighed her options and understood she had none, telling Aemond what he wanted to know was the only way forward. "She'd gone down to the Street of Silk, she said she'd be out until the hour of the wolf."

Aemond rolled his eye and made his way out of the Chamber. The Lady's Maid spoke again, calling out to him, "I should tell you that she'd drunk an entire flagon of Lannisport wine before she'd departed, my Prince."

"Of course, she did." He murmured, pausing only long enough to hear her words. Aesira was on a downward spiral and he feared forcing her to stay, might just have been the worst thing the King could have done.

Using the secret passages beneath the Great Hall and the Tower of the Hand, Aemond snuck out of the Keep undetected. He kept his hood up as he passed through the quiet streets, following the sounds of laughter and music as he drew closer and closer to the Street of Silk.

The Aesira he knew wouldn't have ventured to a place of such depravity, let alone unaccompanied. But that girl had grown up leagues away from him. He knew little of the woman she'd become in his absence, which gave him little to no idea where to begin his search.

Aemond meandered unnoticed by the laughing children as they chased one another down the street, candy apples in hand. He made his way past the crones who sat beside fires, claiming to see the future and offering—for a good price—to uncover secrets. But it wasn't until he ambled by Chataya's brothel that he wondered if Aesira wasn't on the street of silk, but mayhaps inside one of the brothels.

The question then rose, did he go into them in the hopes of finding her, or did he just saunter around the brothels until she eventually stumbled out of one of them? Aemond couldn't find the line between getting hard at the thought of her in the throes of passion, and slitting the throat of the man—or woman—who put her there.

"Come on!" A small boy whispered sharply to his friend as they ran past, "She's about to start again!"

Aemond furrowed his brows and watched the group of young boys run through the cobblestone street and veer off, down an alley he hadn't yet strode down. He glanced at the door to Chataya's again then sighed and marched after the boys. The alley was dark, wet, and reeked of stagnant water. But the further he trod down the alley, the louder the sound of the drums grew, the louder the sound of the flute grew, and the louder the sound of the children's laughter.

The alley led into a square, like every other square in King's Landing, but this one was littered with smaller bonfires. There were scads of people sitting around the fires, chatting and laughing, drinking, and eating. And in the back, almost out of the way entirely, Aemond spied Aesira with a flute to her lips.

The same flute-like tune that had led him to Flea bottom from the other Streets. And around her, like a pied piper, there were little children dancing. Aesira swayed her hips to the beat of the drum more than she did to the tune of her flute, still keeping tune for the children.

Aemond strode across the square, never once taking his eyes from her, and stopped just outside of the circle the dancing children had created. He waited, among the clapping small folk, until she glanced up and saw him.

She looked him dead in the eye and winked.