ℒove always wakes the dragon (Aemond x OC)

Stolen From a Cradle, Found in the Clouds

The evening slinks through the windows and corridors, but Daemon is too busy to notice — his table is piled with parchments and books, and the flow of the sentences doesn't run dry while he is immersed in reading. When a guard walks into his chambers, Daemon's eyes stay peeled to the pages, and the words of the knight skip past his ears. The guard clears his throat, then repeats himself, a bit louder this time.

Daemon lifts his head, astonishment slowly passing over his features. "Come again?"

"Prince Aemond is here to see you, your grace," the man announces.

Daemon raises a brow and instantly puts the book aside. He nods at the guard, and then watches the younger Targaryen walk in, hands clasped behind his back — he is his usual reserved self, only this time his gaze is veiled with concern, and that emotion slithers through his face. Daemon finds this change intriguing, his focus completely on the prince.

"Nephew," he drawls with a grin, with his eyes attentive. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Aemond demonstratively waits for the guard to leave and for the doors to close. It takes him a minute to overcome his undisguised unwillingness to be here.

"There is something I need to talk to you about," Aemond forces out. "Regarding your daughter."

Daemon has four of them and yet, he doesn't ask for clarifications. In recent years, Aemond hasn't shared a single conversation with either Baela or Rhaena, and their unspoken dislike toward each other is as obvious as it is understandable. Daemon has never interfered, convinced that trying to fix things would be as pointless as fighting off a fire with bare hands. So the conclusion he draws is predictable — unlike the nature of Lia's relationship with Aemond.

Daemon tries to sound disinterested and unmoved. "What about Lia?"

Aemond looks like he's one step away from walking out, like he'd rather be anywhere else but in these chambers. Still, he explains."Her dragon is what I want to know more of," — and his voice is agitated, and he hopes to hear that his hunch is wrong (deep down, he feels that it isn't).

Daemon's expression is unreadable at first as he tries to guess the prince's motives. And then the real reason behind Aemond's words slowly trickles up to him, and the corners of his mouth stretch into a grin so wide, his eyes crinkle. That reaction alone is a tell-tale that he already knows the answer before the question is even asked. Daemon takes joy in having knowledge — and he's the one to drag his pleasure for as long as he can.

"Her dragon is a beautiful creature, isn't he," Daemon nonchalantly remarks, leaning back in his chair. He is so evidently stalling, Aemond almost lets out an annoyed grunt, and for a moment, he is tempted to leave, and that idea has its allure. But he is the one to never stop halfway.

"I take it, you were the one to gift her mother the egg," Aemond continues, "Where did it come from?"

"And why are you asking, may I know?"

The younger prince holds Daemon's gaze and looks for a proper explanation. For the one that won't turn this conversation into an argument — or more so into a fight. Well, Vhagar disobeyed me, and I was terrified she'd kill your daughter. How is that for a reason? Aemond bites his tongue.

"Did Vhagar show any reaction to him?" Daemon straightens his pose, looking less amused and more uneasy.

"She's... shown curiosity she doesn't naturally have," Aemond fetches a half-true answer.

"Hm, what a surprising change. The old beast has always been unbothered, indeed. I would've questioned it too, if I were you. But the real question is," he slightly leans on the table in Aemond's direction. "Can you keep a secret?"

Aemond suppresses the urge to ask if Daemon actually deems himself trustworthy enough.

"Should I swear in the name of the Seven?" the prince asks utterly deadpan, and it makes Daemon sneer.

"I doubt the Gods can give assurances but your intent is admirable," he gives Aemond a long, appraising look, then points at the chair at the opposite side of the table. "Please, take a seat."

Aemond crosses the distance in two steps, and as they sit in front of each other, Daemon thinks this is the most Aemond has ever said to him in years. It's also the first time they are speaking one-on-one.

"You see," he starts from afar, "The egg has come a long way before I got a hold of it. But the means used to obtain it were not particularly... righteous."

"Then those means aren't a concern of mine, rest assured," Aemond responds with indifference. He would never use Daemon and righteous in the same sentence.

"It was a gift from a friend of mine. He retrieved it for me as a favor, one could say," the older man leniently omits the details Aemond didn't think to ask for. "He got it from the man who wasn't worthy of such possession. He wasn't meant to have a dragon but he dared to steal it."

"So your friend stole it back? To restore justice, I assume," Aemond holds back a huff but there is laughter behind his eye.

"That's one way to put it," Daemon takes no insult, and a satisfied grin touches his lips. "We also thought we'd teach that prick a lesson. He had no right to take the egg, let alone purloin it from the dragon's cradle."

But then his smug expression fades, and his face is shrouded by the emotion Aemond didn't expect to see — an actual regret.

"He broke the trust of someone I came to care deeply about," Daemon adds, and the vagueness of his words is not motivated entirely by intent but rather so by the pain those memories bring. Aemond finds no glee in witnessing his abrupt moment of weakness. But that last part of the story is all the proof he needs.

"Any chance that man was the son of the Sealord of Braavos?" the prince asks plainly.

Daemon casts a glance at him, and his features welcome back the jaunty arrogance, the cocky self-confidence. "It might've been the only noble thing to... What was his name? Must've slipped my mind."

Aemond doesn't remember his name either — he only knows it was the man Laena Velaryon meant to marry. And if he stole the egg from her, that can only mean one thing. Daemon waits for him to voice it, almost teasing in his patience. He also wants to drag their discussion just a little but Aemond has no wish to do so.

"That does explain Vhagar's unexpected behavior," his voice is disappointingly neutral and so is his face. "You have my gratitude for the trust you've shown me," he stands up from the table with every intention to leave as fast as he can.

"Will you tell her?" Daemon suddenly inquires.

Aemond slows down his step but doesn't think for too long. "It would only be fair for her to know."

"Well, that is very considerate of you," the man remarks, his gaze set on Aemond's profile as if he's trying to wade through his flesh and bones, to get a grasp of the prince's feelings. He's never had much luck with that.

"Your mother raised you well, prince Aemond, I will give her that," Daemon says, making the prince turn to face him when he's only a foot away from the door. His grip on the handle tightens at the mention of Alicent, at the mere suggestion of an upcoming insult that he knows Daemon always keeps at the ready. But not this time. "Your manners were never a concern of mine, especially when it comes to... interacting with the ladies of the court. I sure hope it will stay that way when it comes to my daughter."

Aemond's eye flashes in anger but the emotion quickly sinks into his darkened iris. He pulls the door open and lets out a dry chuckle:

"You thinking that she needs your protection makes me doubt you know her at all."

Neither of them sees the change in the other's face the second the door is shut.