STORM'S END
The Baratheon stronghold was composed of pale grey stones, surrounded by a massive outer curtain wall. What made it truly impressive was the hundred year old dragon situated between tower blocks, amidst smoke and shadow.
Aemond had gotten here first.
Hira's heart pounded in her chest, in tune to the thunder that raged. Storm's End indeed, no wonder they called it so.
Hira jerked Luke by the back of his cloak.
"When I say run, you run." There was a bite to her words, and so she sent a reassuring smile to the nervous boy. "Leave your uncle to me."
Frantic, he nodded, understanding the dire situation.
Vhagar gave another roar, to which Zhurong answered just as loud and menacing. She left him across the courtyard, too large for the castle grounds. The walk had her drenched in rain. Gods, she missed her sun-soaked lands. She mourned the cloak Rhaena and Baela made.
The Princess of Leng and the future Lord of the Tides entered the hall. Back straight, hands folded behind, Hira's gaunt was leisurely, taking note of her surroundings and the path and turns they took.
Boros Baratheon sat on his makeshift throne. Right of the Lord were courtiers and three young ladies, assuming they were his daughter.
The hall was bare.
Which made Aemond, dressed in leathers and steel stand out all the more. His hair as pristine as ever, unmatched against hers which looked as though it was submerged in water and her clothes left little to be desired.
He took a step forward, before he gained his bearings, eye shifting to Luke as both nephew and uncle stared each other down. One menacing, the other feigning controlled calm.
A young, plain-faced woman bearing Baratheon colours was a foot from Aemond.
Hira's eyes narrowed.
Thunder belted.
"Lord Borros." Luke addressed, voice echoing in the sparse hall. "I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen."
Hira tapped her foot against the stone floor.
There was a man back home who reminded her of Lord Borros. A sexist, proud pig who enjoyed the labours of those who came before him yet all the same excused himself when time was rough.
He was killed by her mother's hand, when he ran his province, inherited from mother, to the ground.
This was evidence enough that House Targaryen had fallen so far, to be mocked by a stag, when the dragons made Orys Baratheon Lord of Storm's End decades ago.
"Remind me of my father's oath." He questioned lowly. "King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact."
Ah.
The Baratheon woman.
Aemond.
Unwedded, of marriageable age, Aemond. The spare son besides Daeron with a duty to uphold. A prince who came to bargain for a lady's hand in exchange for support for his brother's campaign. It was logical that Aemond was sent to barter.
That didn't stop the longing in her heart that grew deeper.
Have you chosen your side, then, Aemond?
"If I do as your mother bids, which one of my daughters will you wed, boy?"
"My lord, I am not free to marry." Luke answered, steel toned. "I'm already betrothed."
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The Passion of a Thousand Suns | Aemond Targaryen
Fanfic❛❛ Aemond yearned for her, that much she knew. It was a pity duty held a crown over her head, for Hira would have gladly fallen into his desire. ❜❜ - Hira, known to the Seven Kingdoms as Daemon's bastard daughter. In Leng, a Princess, a daughter of...
