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.
✧...
warnings: profanity, mentions of blood and torture (nothing too detailed or gruesome, don't worry).
this chapter and the next two will be intense so buckle up. also, thank you so much for 100 likes! I appreciate it a lot ♥
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The headache is the first thing he feels — it's the weight in the back of his head, nagging, sickening, disorienting. It takes a few in-and-out breaths to ward off nausea, to wait out until the ringing in his ears goes down. He wants to reach his hand to the skull to assess the damage, but he can't lift his arm and he can't quite understand the reason for it. His palms are glued to his lap, feet glued to the floor, his body barely shifting in place despite all his attempts.
Ser Aren cannot move an inch, and that's what finally makes him open his eyes.
Ropes are the first thing he sees. They go from his ankles up to his calves, knees, and thighs, strapped around his waist and ribcage, shoulders and arms, and wrists. Ropes come out from under the chair he's placed at, their ends secured to his bed that's moved closer. Only when he follows them with his eyes, he notices her — a girl sitting on the dresser, a face he's never seen before.
Moonlight cuts through the darkness of the room, outlining her features, translucent yellow drowning in the black material of her clothes. She sits with her back to the wall and looks straight at him, not blinking, bizarrely immobile.
"Who the fuck are you?" he spits out, his voice so gruff, he has to clear his throat. The ropes are too tight, rough, infuriating, and he finds it weird that his hands aren't tied behind his back. The girl is silent, and his glaring has no effect on her which only annoys him more. He squirms and puffs, he feels humiliated, he's still not fully sober.
"You think some ropes will hold me down?" Aren arrogantly snorts. He doesn't sound very sure of himself.
"Seems to me that they are doing exactly that," she notes dryly, her voice giving him no hint of who she is.
"You've got some nerve," he says under his breath. "You know who I am? Not the man you shoulda messed with."
He hears a short chuckle, but her face stays blank.
"Anything else you'd like to share? The night is long," the girl drawls, unimpressed, with one of her legs against the back of the couch. His couch, upholstered in gold, patterned brocade that her boots will surely stain, and she looks like she couldn't care less.
"Who do you work for?" Aren growls, his eyebrows snapped together. "Whoever it is, they are as good as dead."
She dismisses his question with the same indifference. "I only came to talk, no need to get so upset."
"Then what the hell is this?" he points at the ropes with his chin.
"I heard your temper is rather poor. Didn't want it to get in the way," her voice offers no soothing, and as much as he is pissed, he grows slightly bothered. He is also angry at the mere thought of how pathetic it makes him look.
