She is Daemon's daughter but she wants nothing from him, rides a dragon and doesn't shy away from a fight. She also hides a dangerous secret and has her own reasons for coming to King's Landing.
Aemond wonders if he can tame her.
✧...
author's note: this chapter and the next one are one of my favorites, and I hope you'll enjoy them just as much ♡
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Aemond is the very embodiment of imperturbability, each stroke of his sword deliberate and sharp, and Ser Criston can't let his guard down for one second. It's a sequence he's learned over the years: there is no rush in the prince's attacks, there's exhausting suspense. Aemond watches him, throws in a few teasing strikes, leisurely but maniacally tiring his opponent out. Only when you least expect it, he will deliver a series of blows, strong enough to knock an adult down, just enough to satisfy his ego.
And yet, Ser Criston senses that something is off. The prince is missing his usual fervor, his competitive energy, not pressing the fight but rather tolerating it, which Criston considers odd.
"Your focus seems to be elsewhere, my prince. I wonder what's on your mind."
Aemond shoots him a cold glance and easily blocks his hit, then spins and abruptly strikes forward, his sword stopping at Criston's neck.
"Wondering does you no good, Ser Criston," the prince remarks with a small grin, retreating.
"Fair enough," he smiles in return. "I suggest we take a break."
They had to start later than usual, and by now all the spectators dispersed and the yard has long been empty, quiet, softly illuminated by sunset. One of the guards goes to light the torches on the walls, and Aemond absentmindedly watches the flames grow, taking a few gulps of water. Despite Ser Criston being right in his observations, training still had a calming effect on the prince. He did enjoy the slight soreness of the muscles, his mind concentrated on the momentum of movements, on the way his body adapts to the tempo and responds to the threat. He concludes he can go for another round, still invigorated, somewhat restive, always at the ready.
But when Aemond turns around, his eye is drawn to a cloaked figure, and all the clarity and concentration dissolve upon realizing who he's looking at. He recognizes her immediately.
Christon follows Aemond's gaze, spotting the girl, too, and then squints a little.
"Is that —"
"I believe so," the prince replies tersely.
They were on the way to the training yard when they saw Alicent leaving Helaena's chambers, looking surprisingly grim. Caught in the moment, she had to reveal the cause of her sour mood — or maybe she was looking for a reason to tell someone of it. She wore a grimace of annoyance as she recounted what happened at the small council's meeting. Her explanation left much to be desired but Criston listened attentively, seemingly intrigued. Both he and Alicent missed Aemond's stunned expression — somehow he instantly guessed who was the rider of the white dragon.
It has long been known that his mother and Daemon have a bone to pick with each other, but Aemond is never hasty with his judgment. His uncle's daughter is a girl he knows nothing about, so he tries not rushing to conclusions, or labeling, or worse. And yet the prince clings to the image of her — so audacious in her freedom, coming into their lives at the speed of a dragon she wasn't supposed to have. He let himself wonder how their first meeting would go, how she'd be forced to wear a smile and navigate awkward conversations.
