The Passion of a Thousand Suns | Aemond Targaryen

Thirty six: of amber flames and cunning deceit

KING'S LANDING

AEMOND

He knew not where he began nor where he ended.

Perhaps he began when he first caught her lilac eyes or when she spoke her words of encouragement over him that fateful night. Mayhap his end was at her demise. At her last breath, when her heart stopped beating, when she faded from the living world and entered the other realm.

Aemond shuddered. His insanity fading bit by bit as he grasped her body, rocking back and forth as a wretched whine escaped the confines of his throat.

Don't do this to me. No, no, you were supposed to wait. Don't do this to me!

"I have it." A coarse sound fell from his lips, "I have the cure, Hira. I have the monkshood. Please! Wake up! Don't do this to me, please."

Dried blood coated her nose, ears and lips. A vacant look was present in her eyes. She was cold to touch. 

He was too late.

He was too fucking late.

"Hira." He cried, pressing her head towards his chest, hiding his face in her hair, hiding his shame, his hurt, his guilt. Everything that was Aemond Targaryen was lost within Hira. He fought the urge to rip his own hair out, to rip the sapphire that seared in his eye socket. He didn't deserve the gem, not when he failed her. 

She didn't deserve this.

I will give anything. Anything. Please.

Aemond pleaded with the gods, still rocking their bodies, the only form of comfort. Holding her close, unable to let go. He gave no damn as to who watched him break down.

Vaguely, he knew the Silent Sisters were waiting to take her body away. He had snarled at one when she approached. 

He should have left sooner, should have gained the monkshood quicker! Shouldn't have been so fucking useless. He was so bloody useless.

And Hira ...

Aemond clenched his eye shut, the emotions raging inside him as he desperately clung onto his wife, willing life into her. To wake up, to breathe, to live. He pressed his lips against her forehead, flinching from the lack of warmth. Wasn't it just earlier that she was breathing? How could this happen in such a matter of time? Who let this happen?

"Don't leave me, not now. Not after everything we've gone through to be together."

I can't do this without you.

Aemond Targaryen doesn't know how to live in a world with Hira Han. He doesn't know how to live among the darkness, without his light. Insanity took its hold onto him, seething into his mind and body. Hira kept the darkness away. Hira was his tether and now nothing held him, nothing grounded him. She was the only faith he believed in.

And she was far too tangled in his soul, to be considered anything but his everything.

He was lost, like a ship out in the sea searching for a lighthouse for guidance home.

Hira was his home.

He no longer had a home.

"We've barely been married for a moon, my love, my princess." He whispered delicately, brushing the strands on her forehead. Her eyes were nothing, not a hint of shine or life. He's never seen her so vacant. He might as well have been stabbed or burnt by dragon fire, it would hurt less. "You promised me a lifetime, Hira. We were supposed to go to Leng. We were supposed to ..."