Burn me • Aemond Targaryen

It didn't matter

Chapter Seventy-Three~ It didn't matter

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

There are very few moment in every beings life when the world seems to stop. For most it is at the passing of a loved one. For some it is realising you are in love. For others it is the birth of a babe.

But for Aemond it was seeing Rhaella.

He could feel his heart beating, as though he was touching it, grasping it in his fist while it beat to a drum of shock. His vision felt hazy and he was sure then she was a trick of the mind, a jest being played on him to make him realise what his sins had cost him. Her magical white hair was a memory if something he longed for, needed to hold in his arms and never let go. The way it cascaded down her back in beautiful silver waves, it was a treasure many longed for but only she had. He saw the curve of her stomach and longed to be home with his wife and children, all of them taking it in turns to feel the babe kick while in anticipation of the birth.

She must've been a ghost. Yes, a ghost. That was the only explanation.

Here to haunt him, laugh and mock him for failing. That would be something Rhaella did. Not out of cruelty, or perhaps it was.

It didn't matter.

Because at least he could see her, whether she was looking up at him with her sharp purple eyes, that he wished to make symphonies from. Or even if shew was here to scream down his ear like a terrible omen that was ready to snatch him down to hell with her.

It didn't matter.

But then there it was.

Jasmine and lavender.

The smell of sensual sweet seduction. The smell that clung to the sheets of their marriage bed, the smell that stuck to his skin every time she held him in her arms after they lay together. The small that filled the room once she ran the oils over her moonlight skin that was damp after she had bathed.

It was a strong and demanding smell, yet hidden and secretive. Just like Rhaella.

And Aemond was unsure of a lot of things. But he was certain that ghosts sent for him from hell, ghosts meant to mock and laugh at him for his failures, those ghosts do not carry a scent so beautiful.

"Aemond."

There it was again. A breath that carried his name.

Was it relief in her voice? Was it anger?

He couldn't tell.

But it didn't matter.

Aemond felt his knees weaken when he stood, her return bringing his strong and trained body down to nothing more than a frail and fragile little boy.

"Are you real?" He said when his hand touched her skin, he was warm and she was cold. "Are you really here?" His voice was low, if he had lost his mind he wished to keep his words quiet and hidden so it remained a mystery how to decrypt the puzzle in his head.

"Aemond." Rhaella repeated. Her hand went up to his cheek, relief washing through her, warming the coldness in her heart. "I'm here." Tears stabbed at the inner corners of her eyes, wished to push through and rain stinging havoc on her skin. "Gods I found you."

"You found me." He sighed, resting his forehead on hers. "I love you." Aemond said, pressing a kiss to her skin. "I love you." He repeated, again and again until it sounded as if he was promising himself to an oath he would die by.