The Fire That Burns Within US - Aemond Targaryen

From This Day Until Our Last

138 - Harrenhal

Visenya had pulled herself out of bed shortly after Ben had left, taking advantage of not having the knight tell her what she can and can not do. Visenya had changed her shirt, which she realises was one of Ben's old ones and into one of Aemonds clean undershirts. She didn't want to wear one of her nightshifts, wanting to wear something belonging to Aemond.

After getting dressed, Visenya had taken a seat at the desk in the room; the letters on the desk had taken her interest. Ben had been true to his word about having someone bring her food, a simple bone booth with a nice helping of bread. The maid that had brought it to her was nearly fated at the sight of her out of bed, trying to convince Visenya to get back in bed and rest, but Visenya had simply dismissed her and continued to read the letters.

The cuts on Visenya's wrists proved to be more of a problem than she had thought it would be, waves of pain shooting her body every time she grabs something or bends her wrists. She hopes that Ben will be able to do a thing about it because she doesn't know if it will leave any permanent damage or prevent her from using her sword.

The small amount of peace and quiet that Visenya had been graced with was promptly ruined as the door burst open with an out-of-breath Aemond standing in the doorway. Visenya smiles at Aemond as she takes in his appearance, his hair tied back in a bun with flyaway pieces that frame his face. His eye patch is long gone, so she assumes he had been with the twins and Aenar; he is dressed for bed with the same white undershirt she is wearing and pants on. Visenya is surprised that he doesn't have any weapons on him, but she doesn't have time to think before Aemond rushes towards her, slamming the door shut behind him.

Visenya holds up the letters she had been reading to show Aemond, but she believes he will not care about them now.

"Have you lot even been reading these letters? By the gods, how have we not-"

"Fuck those letters," Aemond cuts Visenya off as he pulls her out of the chair. "You're really here,"

Part of Aemond thought that Visenya was still away and that she had only returned in a dream. Even as she was asleep on the bed, he still couldn't believe she was alive. But he is touching her, feeling the heat radiate off her body, being able to smell her. It all makes him realize that Visenya is okay in front of him.

Aemond doesn't know what to do with himself, where to put his hands, if he should hug her, if that would hurt her, or if he should kiss her. He feels like a teenager again, and the sweat building up on his palms would surely tell Visenya how he is feeling. Aemond takes note of the shirt she is wearing, his shirt, and by the gods, Aemond wishes for nothing more than to drape her in more of his clothes, but the need to tear the shirt off her is there as well.

"Where else would I be?" Visenya asks as she carefully wraps her arms around his shoulders, mindful of her stomach and the stitches in it.

Aemond smiles at Visenya, taking in every small detail. He doesn't understand how much he has missed her; even when he had been sitting at her bedside, it wasn't the same. It wasn't his Visenya. But now, as she is smiling and the warmth is back in her skin, she is back; he had thought that when they were part of when they were younger was hard, but the last week was something Aemond never wants to relive again.

Aemonds grip on her hips tightens as he feels the tears swell in his eye. If he was in front of anyone else, he would be ashamed about his emotions but knows that he never has to feel shame in front of Visenya. That she would never judge him for the cries he sheds.

"Avy jorrāelan sīr olvie," Aemond tells Visenya as he pulls her closer to him. "Ao sagon kesīr,"

I love you so much. You're here.