Aemond Targaryen lived to become a weak old man, withering in the cells underneath Dragonstone. One mistake caused a lifetime of pain.
Losing Baelon, was the start to the end of the Hightowers. But it wouldn't be the end of them.
Alys Rivers a wit...
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。.✦ ☾
This can't be happening, please, stop.
Stop!
Aemond yells out, raising a rock over Jace's bleeding face, his breath ragged as his fingers tremble. "Aemond." A voice whispers
Aemond turns, but it is too late, he is blinded.
The screams that filled the dark cave could shatter even the strongest of knights. Aemond collapses, clutching his bleeding face. No, not again. The crying prince waited for some relief, but it didn't come. He waited for a guard, for anyone, but it was silent.
Something was different, he felt warm. He opens his remaining eye, feeling fingers rake through his dirty wet hair. The figure was blurry, but they were there.
Baelon sobs, looking up at his younger brothers. "Go! Call a Maester!" He orders
Lucerys lets out a scared breath, his fingers trembling as he drops the knife, his hand coming to his face. "Wh-what did I do."
Where were the guards? "Lucerys go!" Baelon yells, his own face welling up with blood, his wound long and ugly. Baelon looks down at Aemond. "It's okay." Baelon whispers, leaning down and kissing just below the wound, his lips wet and trembling.
The two held onto each other, waiting. Baelon rocks him back and forth, listening to his wails of pain.
"By the gods!"
....
Aemond presses his lips together as the maester stitches his eye shut, trying not to let out a single sound of pain. His other eye finds Baelon, watching as his fingers tighten over the seat, holding his own whimpers of pain.
He almost wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but he held himself back.
Blood pulled at the floor, creating a small river under their feet, the Maester would shift and his shoe would graze the blood. Aemond hated the sight so he looked back at Baelon.
The furnace felt agitating at his side, almost licking at his wound. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable Everyone gathered in the large hall, watching.
Finally, there was some reprieve as the Maester cut the final stitch. He breathed in relief, but it came out harshly and hot.
"How could you allow such a thing to happen?" His father asks, he sounds tired, almost annoyed. He doesn't bother looking at him.
