Revenge - Aemond Targaryen x OC

Chapter 24 - Memory Walker

At first, Aemond could not make sense of what he was seeing. He was aware of his body only by the wind, horribly cold and cutting on his bare skin. Beyond that, it was just white- no matter where he looked white, white, white.

Am I blind?

His heart began thumping wildly, his palms grew slick despite the freezing air. Blindness was irrational, he told himself, blind people didn't see white.

Because that is all that filled Aemond's vision, from every angle was the same tarnished white pressing in.

"Get a grip,", a voice called, seemingly from nowhere, or from everywhere, "Look up."

He did as the voice told him, angling up as far as his neck allowed.

"Holy shit," Aemond breathed, staggering back through the dusting of snow beneath his feet.

Before Aemond, standing sentry merely a few strides away, was the Wall. The Northernmost border that separated Westeros from the wildlands. It clawed upwards, toward the heavens, so tall Vhagar might not even be to see over. It stretched as far as he could see in each direction, perhaps the largest architectural wonder Aemond had ever seen. Of course, he knew the Wall spanned three-hundred miles, and of course, he knew it covered the entire northern border, but knowing was not the same as seeing.

Aemond came forward in a few quick strides, pressing a hand to the icy expanse.

"Hm," he hummed, for the Wall was not nearly as cold as he imagined. Then again, neither was the frozen ground beneath his boot-less feet. Everything was too real to be a dream, yet not whole either. Cold as it was half-remembered.

The Prince frowned, Where are my boots?

"Focus!", said the voice, and Aemond grunted as an invisible hand seemed to knock very hard on his head, or rather, within his head.

"Sorry," they said softer, "Perhaps it is more my misdeed than anything. I've never invited someone into my head this way."

That sentence struck Aemond as confusing-

Oh.

Amyra, flying, shells in the water, a wolf, secrets told over a fire. It came flooding back, banishing the fog hanging over his mind.

"There you are," she said, and he heard her smirk floating on the air, "Follow me."

He had little choice, this was her mind, after all, her memories. It struck him then how intimate this was, to walk among someone's memories, to turn their mind over like a book. Closer than a kiss, and more telling too.

His material body fell away, or his unmaterial body rather, and he was once again hurtling through light and color. Blue mostly, but in more shades than Aemond had ever noticed.

Ground materialized, more solid than seemed prudent for a memory, catching him off guard. He stumbled, catching himself on the ice beneath. The wind, though softer than real life, blew unceasingly, scratching at him irritatingly. Aemond raised his head, blinking hard against the gusts assaulting him, but nothing could prepare him for the sight before his eye.

"Beautiful, is it not?"

Aemond stood, feeling slightly dizzy at the height without a dragon beneath him. The horizon that greeted him was so foreign, so unlike anything he'd seen even on dragon back. Beautiful seemed too small a word for the unending expanse of white, for the ferocious mountains in the distance. Everything looked so clean, so untouched. As if the Gods had sculpted this place an hour past.