KING'S LANDING
AEMOND
Aemond woke up alone, curled under Vhagar's wing in the dragonpit.
The gaping hole in his face throbbed, the empty eye socket stinging. The eyepatch was long gone, stuffed underneath his tunic and hanging along his neck. Hira's sapphire jewel safely tucked away in the pocket of his tunic.
At first Aemond ventured on Vhagar through King's Landing with no destination in mind, until his thoughts conjured images of Lucerys and Arrax when they were last seen in the skies. Then, on foot he wandered Flea Bottom, from the depraved streets where no chastity or virtue existed, to the stalls of late night vendors, passing the Sept without a second glance and walking along cobbled roads.
There Aemond sighted his nephew.
Haunting brown eyes and tousled hair greeted him. Eyes so defiantly Ser Harwin Strong's that looked broken and lost stared back at Aemond.
Only when he held his knife against his nephew's throat, did Aemond realise it wasn't Lucerys come back from the dead, but rather a man who had brown eyes and similar hair. Not the same shade as Luke's, the shape was wrong, sloped nor small. The hair was too short and too dark.
It wasn't Luke. Even when the stranger cut his hand, Aemond felt nothing of the string as great as almost seeing his nephew in the flesh.
He left the corpse of the man rotting the streets of Flea Bottom in penance for touching a prince of the dragon's blood.
In every corner Aemond glimpsed, Luke was there. Vacantly gazing at his murderer. Doing nothing but judge as though he was the Father and Aemond the criminal awaiting judgement. With a pointed finger, Luke peered at him, a question in his eyes.
Aemond snarled back.
Fuck off. He yelled in his mind.
Luke stayed, dwelling in the lost abyss of Aemond's panic and regret.
Leave, bastard.
You owe me a debt.
Boy. Nephew. Lucerys. Luke.
Chubby cheeks and awestruck eyes that once sparkled at Aemond, back in the younger days of nephews and uncles running across the Red Keep, before Vhagar, before Driftmark, before the realm placed the weight of dragonriders on their shoulders. Before bastard was a word either of the boys knew.
The heart beating inside Aemond's ribs lurched, causing the prince to grasp his chest tightly. He struggled to breathe, lungs unable to fill with air that he so desperately needed.
Only the nudge of Vhagar's nose brought Aemond from the brink of another panic.
Right, he thought. His feet led him to Vhagar again.
Under the crescent moon Aemond fell asleep under his dragon's wing. Despite hiding beneath the massive reptilian, Luke's beady hazel eyes stared on. Even in abhorrent moments like these, Aemond never took to drinking or whoring. He would never sully his honour nor Hira's, and drinking was more of his brother's forte, so hiding with his mount was the best option and the safest.
Now dawn, he wondered if the damned ghost of his nephew would haunt him in the light.
The side of his face stung worse than last night. The damn eyepatch clinched against his forehead and cheek. The jewel was heavy in his pocket.
Kinslayer. The realm called him. A curse for life, one that would hang over him like a noose.
Back at the Red Keep, Aemond stumbled into an empty bedchamber. Behind closed eyelids, Luke's falling body crashed against the waves, washing away into nothing.
YOU ARE READING
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...
