Revenge - Aemond Targaryen x OC

Chapter 28 - Eye of the Storm

Amyra's definition of "hasten" did not seem to match his own, but Aemond stayed anyway. After so much time, he could finally admit to himself he would much rather remain in her presence than return to the quiet of his own rooms. Exhaustion gnawed at him though, pulling him into a doze more than once as he stretched out near the fire. Through the haze of sleepy warmth and memories of Amyra's tongue in his mouth was, of all wretched things, his grandsires voice.

Sooner, rather than later, you will be betrothed, and I needn't remind you what the shame of bastards can do to a family.

He would never shame his family in such a way, nor would he sentence his own child to such a fate, but even if he wanted to, Aemond was not sure he could resist the desire eating away at his rationality. It was an unceasing ache, both painful and sweet that he would never be rid of, so long as she walked the realm. Nor, Aemond thought, was it a desire born wholly of lust.

It cannot be. Lust could not possibly forge yearning like this.

And, what was this, exactly? Aemond scowled, for once loathe to acknowledge his ever-practical mind, but the question would not cease. He could never marry her, not so long as she played commoner and he was second in line to the throne. He imagined some snickering lady hanging on his arm, contrite to have been irreversibly tied to the disfigured Prince, rather than the better-looking one in Oldtown. He would have to bed her, this prospective woman. Sire children by her, and more likely than not Amyra would assist in birthing them. His offspring would undoubtedly face gossip and snide remarks, and Amyra labeled the court whore. They would live a life of stolen looks and secret meetings, never to love freely.

Could he do such a thing? Could he sentence them all to such a fate?

Yet...would it be so awful a life? Amyra would have her freedom, as she wished, and it was not as if such a thing was uncommon. Perhaps, he could even seek out a noble lady whose heart lay elsewhere, and they could have an understanding. His conscious bristled slightly at the thought, but what was the alternative? To end things now? To send her away where she could not tempt him? As soon as the thought entered his mind Aemond knew it for the folly it was. Sending her across the ocean to Essos would do nothing to calm the want in his chest.

Suddenly, terribly, the idea of Rhaenyra forsaking her duty as heir to be with Ser Harwin Strong seemed almost reasonable. Understandable, even.

Aemond's eye flew open, and he got up to begin pacing agitatedly. He had lived his entire life trying to learn from his family's frequent lapses in judgment. To foster morals that were unshakable, and become a better man for it. To be more responsible than Rhaenyra, to be a better father than his own, to be more worthy than his brother, and stronger-willed than his mother.

Yet here he was, teetering dangerously close to what, up until this point, he had considered immoral.

He brought both hands to the back of his head, staring into the flames, "Qogralbar," he sighed into the silence.

Fuck.

Silence. Aemond cocked his head, noting just how quiet it had become. He craned his neck towards the bedroom, listening for the sound of water, humming, or anything at all.

Nothing. "Amyra?" he called, but only the silence replied. He hesitated only a second before irrationality took over and he imagined her drowned in the bath, or her head cracked over the tile, or-

He pushed through the curtains separating the bedroom, and then into the adjoining bathroom, "Nymph?" again no reply, but now he saw why. He smirked, smothering a laugh in his throat. At the vanity, wrapped in a robe, Amyra sat quite asleep- her cheek smushed against the wood top, her hair running wet rivulets onto the floor.