ℒove always wakes the dragon (Aemond x OC)

Under the Weirwood Tree

His suggestion is stuck in Lia's head as she walks back, more frustrated than pleased. She's got a lead now, but no roads can take her to the place that isn't mapped. She thinks of who can give her more details — any details — and goes through names in her head, yet all options seem unpromising: most of the people she believes to be clueless, some she doesn't want to involve, and none she can count on.

Lia is in the process of bargaining with her pride when a silhouette emerges from the hall, a bright green spot approaching the girl in a stately manner. Lia considers sneaking past her as she examines the woman — her hair a rebellious amber, cascading down her shoulders like a waterfall, her eyes deep brown. Her gaze only falls on Lia for a moment, accidental and distant, as if she is miles away from her body. And yet, before they pass each other, the woman catches onto something — mayhaps, the rare hair color or the long black cloak — and the awareness of a stranger's presence brings her to her senses.

She looks at the girl again, more closely this time, and as her gaze goes up, so do her brows. Her mouth follows, opening involuntarily, but the words don't come out until the realization fully forms — and then blindsides her, so much so that she utters:

"There's so little of him in you, it caught me by surprise."

The silence that follows is alarming, but Lia isn't looking for a quarrel. Instead, she smiles — and it's not entirely forced.

"I am my mother's daughter so I can only take your words as a compliment."

"It was meant as such."

They are both unsure of it.

Alicent introduses herself and then asks for her name; she repeats it out loud as if trying to taste the letters, find a rotten one to wrinkle her nose at but she has no success.

"How do you like King's Landing so far? Or maybe your father is yet to find time to show it to you," her voice is sweetened but her gaze is joyless, studying.

"He seems to be a busy man, indeed," Lia deliberately doesn't call him her father, which Alicent takes note of. "Luckily, I've never needed looking after."

"Does he let you go out in the city all by yourself?" there is no surprise in Alicent's voice.

"Should I ask for permission? I wasn't aware," Lia jests light-heartedly, and Alicent suppresses a chuckle, although still keeping her distance. Her distrust is hidden by the layers of her dress, under the smile plastered on her face.

"Well, he did have time to pick chambers for you. I do hope it was to your taste," Alicent tone warms up ever so slightly, and she examines Lia's features like it's a complicated lock. She wants to pick the right key, to peek inside just a little but she doesn't know where to start.

"I am yet to spend a night in those rooms. But I will let you know," Lia doesn't let Alicent satisfy her curiosity. She leaves with no explanation or excuse, without as much as a hint at who she is as a person and what she may hide in that head of hers, under that cloak that she wears.

Alicent watches Lia go — to the end of the hall, to the stone steps, to the place she has no information about. She imagined the girl differently — maybe just as blunt but not as reserved, not as watchful, not as someone who sees way more than she gives out.

Alicent stays there for a few more minutes, falling into a reverie. And then she decides to change her plans.





Taking strolls in the garden was a habit they formed in their youth — back then, the blood-red crown of the Weirwood tree sheltered them from both the sun and the unwanted attention, granted them moments of calmness, rare and treasured. Years and seasons went by, the leaves shed, dried out and decayed countless times, but in spring they would sprout on the tree again, vivid and irrepressibly resilient. As was their friendship.