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...
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DARKNESS ENVELOPED AEMOND in its cold embrace, cocooning him inside its vice like grip. Aemond tried to focus on how cold it felt within its hold, or rather within the four walls of the maestor's room. This was the closest Aemond had been to the dungeons, trapped with no ability to escape until someone let him free. The old man currently poking at his eye wound smells like cat piss, and it was beginning to burn Aemond's nose to the point of no return. Aemond felt the muscles in his throat twitch at a particularly harsh poke, the cavity beginning to burn like a flame leaving a dragon's throat. "There seems to be no signs of infection, your Grace." The maestor mumbled, stepping away from where Aemond sat in a chair with his head leaned back.
"What about its structure?" His mother's voice echoed from somewhere in the darkness. "Surely that is not healthy." His mother emphasized and for a moment, Aemond feels as though she is looking at him rather than the wound.
"I am afraid your son lost any structural integrity when the... incident occurred." The maestor patted Aemond's shoulder and Aemond felt his fingers curl instinctively, searching for something to hit the maestor with. He did not act on those instincts, as he never did it seemed. "If you are concerned about it, there is an option-"
"Yes." Aemond's mother cut him off sharply, hushing the maestor's rambling momentarily.
"It is completely cosmetic, your Grace. I must caution-" Aemond opened his eye to see the maestor's heavy set frame standing between himself and his mother.
His mother huffed and the maestor fell silent, lowering his head enough that Aemond could see his mother for a brief moment. Her brown, reddish curls covered her face as she kept her gaze pointed to the wall on the right. "I would like to save my son from further embarrassment." Aemond felt his muscles twitch and he closed his eye again, as though his mother had raised a hand and smacked him with those words. No one but his mother and the maestors had seen the wound since that night.
There was no more embarrassment that could be had, except for her. His mother was the one who had to deal with the consequences, not him. She was the mother who had to deal with having the One-Eyed Prince as her son. If what the maestor suggested saved his mother from further embarrassment, Aemond found himself agreeing. He has disappointed her enough. "We could.. shape a gem to go in the socket. It would preserve the structure." The maestor hesitated, glancing back at Aemond with a singular look that he despised.
Pity.
"Let us do that then." His mother accepted, Aemond caught sight of her green dress twirling as she turned away. "I will leave you to it." His mother commanded, fingers toying with the numerous journals sprawled around the tiny, cold room. Anything to distract her from his scar, Aemond supposed.
"Of course, your Grace." The maestor softly spoke, tilting his head down and sighing. Aemond watched the older man move across the room to a small box. "I have a few options, my Prince. Amethyst, carnelian, black onyx..." he rambled as he moved back to Aemond, lowering the box with shaky hands. "...citrine, and sapphire."
