A Song of Promises

Chapter 5

Although he longed to fly to her on Vhagar, Aemond knew it was imperative to arrive on Dragonstone in an unceremonious manner so that none would be made aware of his presence there.

He escaped The Red Keep through Maegor's secret passages the night before he was supposed to arrive and wandered the streets of King's Landing ahead of making his way to Blackwater Bay. He paid handsomely for passage on a small, discreet ship, and despite being shown adequate quarters, sleep eluded him as thoughts of his family's worry ate away at any comfort he could muster.

Helaena would be the first to know when he failed to arrive for storytime with his niece and nephew. She'd express her worry to their mother, who in turn would send out guards to scour the city in search of him. When they turned up empty-handed, the Queen would allow herself to panic in truth.

His ailing father, estranged as they were from one another, wouldn't even know that he'd left. He'd made peace with the possibility that the last time he had seen his sire was the very last, and held no guilt about leaving his side. His grandsire, on the other hand, would feel his absence like a loss of armor; he'd become obsessed with locating him in the weeks to come, knowing their position had been weakened.

After some time, Vhagar would leave the Kingswood to seek him out and be lured to Dragonstone, signaling to all who sought him of his being there.

The days ahead would be filled with uncertainty at the Red Keep, but he planned to keep himself seated balls-deep into his half-sister's cunt on such a regular basis that he would think of little else. To have her was worth the loss of all he'd known.

When the sun rose on the morrow he lowered a small boat into the sea and rowed the rest of the way to the island alone, windswept and weary.

Dragons flew overhead, a few dipping out of the clouds with a cry and circling the castle towers before disappearing into the ever-present mists. They were free here to do as they pleased; hunting, playing, fighting, and breeding at will. Dragonstone was more to Targaryens than the birthright to the heir to the throne; it was the closest place in the world to their ancient home of Valyria. When he laid his eye on the black, twisted castle walls rising up out of the fog, something within him resonated at the sight.

Rhaenyra waited for him on the sands of the beach, a lone figure against the background of their dark and foreboding ancestral seat. She shielded her eyes with a hand, her rings glistening in the muted sunlight as she watched him set anchor and jump into the thigh-deep waters to stride toward her.

She was dressed warmly in a thick maroon cloak trimmed with inky black mink. Her hair was down, the long silver strands dancing in the breeze from the ocean, her cheeks pink, lips red and eyes bright from the winds of the sea that lashed her.

Though he was wet through when he reached her, lips stiff and blue from the cold that chilled him to the bone, she surprised him by instantly bringing him into the heat of her embrace.

"You came," she sighed, tucking him into the crook of her neck.

The earthy, ashen fragrance he had scented from parchment for weeks now penetrated through the smell of driftwood and seaweed. Her warmth contrasted with the frigid air of the sea and his eyelids drooped, the desire to nuzzle against her heated scent unbearably overwhelming. He slid his arms around her waist, seeking more of her heat by bringing her rounded belly flush against his pelvis and thoroughly drenching the front of her coat.

"You thought I might not?" he asked, parting with her reluctantly when she released him.

His words coaxed a smile from her and she brushed his cheek, dusting away salt and sand before tentatively rubbing a thumb across his mouth and chin.