Stelsa, the girl crafted from the broken leftovers from the Gods, is far from the expectations of a normal lady. Her father, Aaeron Meryls, and her uncles sought to train her in the way of the blade. Many whisper about her origin - is she bastard li...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
AEMOND GLANCED AT the tip of the blade pointed at him — ending the spar and rendering Criston Cole the winner. The Dornish knight grinned down at Aemond, lowering the blade to his side. His dark hair clung to his skin. "You put up a decent fight, my Prince." Cole complimented, turning to put his blade back in its sheath. Aemond's fingers curled tighter into his own blade, questioning why the knight had put his sword away when Aemond was nowhere near finished. He would not be finished until he no longer froze in the gaze of fear. Aemond refused to put his blade down until death kneeled before him, holding up its sword as a token of his victory.
"What Ser Cole is trying to say is you almost bested him" A voice boomed from behind Aemond making him turn. Rhyk strode down clad in his armor, his dark curls bouncing with each step he took down the staircase. He grinned towards Aemond, his honey eyes glimmering in the sun. "You have improved since we last sparred. Perhaps I may be your next opponent?" Rhyk shot out, his fingers tapping against his blade restlessly. Aemond glanced at Cole who raised a dark brow in question, but turned to Aemond to answer. He could see what Cole hid behind his dark eyes though he did not voice it. There had always been a lack of trust. Cole served his mother dutifully. Harwin served Rhaenyra dutifully. Harwin had beat the shit out of Cole. Rhyk was close with Harwin. It all added up. The prince nodded after a moment, accepting the challenge as he moved to circle his new opponent. Future adversary or not, Aemond knew Rhyk had wisdom to bestow and he would not be the fool who denied such knowledge.
"I leave the Prince in your hands then, Ser Rhyk. It would appear I am due to patrol here shortly." Cole nodded his head towards Aemond and shared nothing more than a glance at Rhyk. The older knight smirked and hugged out an amused laugh as Cole walked away, pulling his blade free from its confines.
"How was your nameday, my Prince?" Rhyk brought up the topic as though it were easy, and Aemond supposed it should be. It should be easy to discuss, but it was not. The bugs that festered just beneath his skin began to stir and Aemond felt the urge to call on Vhagar to burn his flesh off. Burn his flesh so he may start anew, free from their touch, free from-
"It was fine." Aemond did not dare move his gaze away from his blade, but he did not dare let the blade tilt far in his palm. To do so would allow a glimpse at himself and that was not something the prince wished to do.
"You hold your blade as though it is foreign to you." Rhyk morsefully comments, lips tightening after those words leave his mouth. "And I know that is far from the case. Is something troubling you?" Aemond swallowed at that.
"No." The word left his tongue before the prince could even consider the validity of it. Aemond shifted his gaze to look up at Rhyk and found his honey eyes locked on him — observing him. After a quiet moment, Rhyk lifted his blade and nodded for them to begin.
