Nefarious || Aemond Targaryen

27

As the first light of dawn filtered through the narrow windows of her chambers, Aemma stood by the hearth, her hands trembling slightly as she fastened her riding cloak. Her heart felt heavy, nerves gnawing at her insides like an unwanted guest. The journey to Winterfell loomed ahead, a shadow that filled her with both anticipation and dread. She was no stranger to duty, to the expectations placed upon her, but this felt different—final in a way she wasn't ready to admit. A new life awaited her in the frozen north, a world of harsh winds and endless snow, and no matter how much she tried to calm herself, the unease remained.

She knew she would only be there for a couple of days but it were as if just simply being there was a small preview of what her future was to be.

Her mind drifted back to Aemond, as it often had in the days since their last encounter. The frustration, the anger—he seemed to burrow into her thoughts no matter how much she tried to shove him out. His words, his smirks, his frustrating ability to make her question herself at every turn. It had left her unsettled, filled with a quiet rage that simmered beneath her skin. What did he want from her? Why had he come to her chambers only to speak in riddles and mock her? And why couldn't she stop thinking about it?

She sighed, shaking her head. There was no time for this. She needed to focus on the task ahead—her departure. Winterfell. She would eventually leave King's Landing and all its burdens behind. Including Aemond.

Just as she reached for her gloves, a faint noise, barely audible, caught her attention. Her heart quickened, and she froze, the room suddenly feeling smaller, the air heavier. The noise came again—a quiet, almost imperceptible shift in the wall behind her. Slowly, she turned, her breath catching in her throat. There, emerging from the shadows of a hidden passage, stood Aemond. Speak of the devil himself.

Aemma jumped, her body jolting with surprise, her pulse racing as her eyes locked onto him. For a brief moment, she couldn't breathe. How had he slipped in so silently? She clenched her fists, anger flaring within her, mixing with the shock. He had the audacity to enter her chambers again? To sneak in like a phantom just as she was about to leave?

Her thoughts tumbled in a chaotic mess. How long had he been standing there? What does he want this time? Rage bubbled up once more, though it was now underscored by a nervous edge. She steadied herself, swallowing hard as she faced him, her voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and fury. "Have you taken to stalking me now, uncle?"

Aemond stood tall and unyielding, the faint light from the early morning casting long shadows across his face. His expression was unreadable, though his presence alone was enough to set her blood boiling. He crossed his arms over his chest, the weight of his gaze making the room feel unbearably small.

"You think too highly of yourself if you believe I would waste my time stalking you," Aemond replied coldly, his tone sharp enough to cut. "I have more important matters to attend to."

Aemma glared at him, her fists clenched by her sides. "Then why are you here?" she snapped, her patience unraveling. "If you have such important matters, why do you keep finding your way into my chambers? First in the dead of night, and now, just as I'm about to leave."

His jaw tightened as he stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until there was barely a foot separating them. "I came to make sure you understand what you're walking into," he said, his voice low and tense. "To remind you that Winterfell is not some fairytale you can escape to. The North is harsh, unforgiving. Do you even realize what you're about to face?"

"I am only to be gone several days, you speak as if I am to leave for good."

"In the future, I mean, it is not that long until your ten and eighth name day." he corrected.