Aemma Velaryon was the spitting image of her mother; she had pale silver hair, fair skin, and dazzling blue eyes. She was a Targaryen in all sense but her last name which she bore from her father Laenor Velaryon. She was the younger twin of Lucerys...
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Aemma was standing in the middle of the infamous courtyard of Harrenhal with Simon Strong on his knees in front of her. She wore a pained expression on her face as if she were stabbed through the heart and being burned alive simultaneously.
"My sword." She called out with an open hand, tears burning her eyes. Ser Criston stood next to her, a grimace on his face as he looked down at the weak man who dared to speak such filth about the Princess.
"Do it! When I see Harwin, I'll tell him all about his traitorous bitch of a daughter! Long live the Queen!" Simon was cut off by a punch that shattered his jaw.
Aemma stood in front of the window watching the snow blow in mesmerizing patterns. She leaned against the warm wall, pulling her blanket closer to her body as a small shudder ran through her.
Seeing Aemond had caused her to think back on Cregan's words and she wondered if they were true. She loved Aemond, there was no denying that, but he had taken so much from her. He was a good man, but perhaps he was only good to those he deemed worthy. Luke wasn't worthy in his mind and if he hadn't killed him, his opinion never would have changed.
Aemma didn't flinch as Aemond stood behind her and wrapped his hands around her waist. The same hands that carried his dagger as he ran toward her and Luke in Storm's End, the same hands that gripped the reins of the dragon that killed Luke. She could remember that night perfectly every time she closed her eyes; the way the rain lashed at her face, the wind howling in her ears, her face pressed into Luke's back as he tried to escape to safety.
She recalled the day she and Aemond had walked their secret beach together and the flower he had picked just for her in the gardens. They had walked and talked for hours until the sun threatened to set and leave them in darkness. It was memories like those that Aemma missed the most; when Aemond would stop being so broody and angry when he would do anything and everything to see her smile and laugh. She missed his shy compliments and his jests, his loving gaze, and his timid touch.
"The snow is beautiful." Aemma touched her fingertips to the cold glass for a few moments before letting her hand drop back down.
"It is. It's also dreadfully cold." Aemond grimaced and rested his chin on her shoulder.
"It's cold in the North. I had caught a chill riding from Deepwood Motte to Winterfell but Maester Medwyn gave me medicine to help me recover faster." Aemma could feel Aemond's hands stiffen on her body.
"You caught a chill?" He asked, his voice filled with concern. "You should have told me. Gods, I had you nearly naked outside!" He pulled Aemma back to the bed and pulled her to his chest, drawing the covers to her chin.
"Aemond, I am not some sickly baby that needs to be nursed back to health. I'm fine!" Aemma slapped away Aemond's hand after he reached out to feel her forehead.
"You cannot be angry at me for wanting to take care of you. What if you died? Then I would be sure to go off into madness." He sighed. "Did you not have a cloak?"
