green lies, black hearts

VI

a/n: thank you all for the support, it means the world to me. for note, a double line break means it's no specific pov.

TW: panic attack in Shaera's pov

~+~

Shaera

"My mother will have my head," Shaera muttered, keeping her head down as she walked beside Aemond. Embarrassment had flooded her cheeks. Embarrassment and shame. But those were better. Anything was better than the utter humiliation. The fear. The helplessness that had kept her feet rooted to the floor like a scared child as those two men laughed at her.

Simple, they had called her.

Was she simple in the mind? Aemond had done well to always call her foolish in their conversations, save for one. Well. One out of maybe...well, she could count the amount of conversations they had had on one hand. And now, he walked beside her, silent as the grave, hands folded behind his back. They had barely spoken since he let her back onto her feet-after she had stewed in her self-pity, in his arms, long enough-but perhaps one of the good things was that he had not managed to validate the cruel words of the men.

Vapid. Plain. Weak. Boring. Nothing more than a pretty face.

Bastard.

Lady Strong.

Shaera had endured it all. She had never paid much mind to any of it. Perhaps because it was all in passing? But even then, why had it hurt so much? Why had she clamped up? Why had the world around her disappeared until all she could think of was her standing in that tunnel, her siblings and uncle fighting over a dead woman's dragon? Why had she held her father's gift so tightly? Shaera looked down at her hand.

It was wrapped with torn fabric.

Aemond had torn his cloak and wrapped her hand.

She snuck a glance at him. How was she supposed to go about thanking him? Surely he would just throw this all back in her face. What else could he do? She had already hardened her resolve for the ways he would insult her. Now he just needed to hurl it her way.

Standing on his uninjured side, she was able to see his hard gaze. Did it ever soften? Yes, she knew it did. She had seen it when he looked at Helaena. When he looked at his mother. At dinner, she had even seen him smile just slightly-a mere twitching of the corner of his thin lips. But Shaera knew that had been a private moment, one that was not hers to be privy to. So she had looked away before she could intrude any longer. And so, even now, she looked away for fear that she would see something she wasn't supposed to. Or didn't want to.

(If she had stayed her gaze a second more, she would have seen Aemond's attention flicker down towards her. She would have seen that his eye darted between her cradled hand and her sad features. She would have seen his jaw clench, his lips part as if words were about to trickle out like a babbling brook, and she would have seen his nose flare before he looked towards the ever-looming keep, unable to stomach the sight of her anymore. He told himself it was because he hated her weakness, how she put the dragon blood in her to shame.

(He refused to give any other name to the manner in which his heart ached at her sadness, just like that day he helped her to her feet when they were children.)

"Are you wishing for my pity?" Aemond asked her.

There it is. Shaera rolled her eyes and folded her hands together over her skirts. "Firstly, uncle," she huffed, "I need no one's pity." Shaera clicked her tongue. "And if I did, it certainly wouldn't be yours."