Dream Of Winter | C. Stark & H. Targaryen

V For Vendetta

Aemond POV

Time stood still in the middle of the ballroom. It was a single moment that lasted an eternity. No sounds were heard. No movement was felt. Everything just stopped.

Aemond thought the trail of blood almost looked enchanting. Slowly but surely it spread across the tiles, falling into the cracks and magnifying the chilliness in the air.

Macabre beauty at its zenith.

"Daemion! Daemion!"

The scream tore him apart from his trance. Lady Aurora run crying to her husband's side trying to press her hands to his bleeding neck.

Clever girl.

Poor girl.

Suddenly it seemed as if the spell cast on the crowd was broken as well. At once, many highborn left in fear and shouting attempting to flee the scene of the abhorrent crime.

"Maesters! Hurry! Do I have to force you to do your job!"

His mother apparently got her bearings as well. She jumped in the fray next to the dying man and issued orders to the physicians to help him.

In a rare occasion of fortune, the acolytes and their superiors were quick to pass through. The king needed a swarm of attendants whenever he left his room. So they could do away with sending for the servants to deliver the message.

If they dally any longer, Daemion would surely die.

Aemond looked properly at the would be murderer. Daemon stood proudly with a grin. No qualms about refusing his culpability or even justifying it.

Good. He can have justice for himself.

With a quick withdrawal, he pulled his blade, planning at slicing in his uncle's direction.

How he longed for this moment. Craved it more than sustenance. More than air itself.

But Vaemond Velaryon beat him to it.

"You kinslayer scum! Does your depravity ever end?"

The second son of Driftmark never cut an imposing figure. His elder brother Corlys always monopolized the spotlight. By virtue of birth, height and charisma.

But it wouldn't shame Aemond to admit his respect for him massively grew when he tried to lounge at Daemon with nothing more than a pocket knife.

The Merling king must've favored him and his cause for he actually struck true.

With a too quick motion he thrust his weapon at his uncle, slashing his nose and underneath his right eye when Daemon stepped back.

"Stop this! Seize the prince! At once!"

His grandfather's voice rang in his ears. All the guards tried to cut through. Unlike the maesters who were by his sire's side, the Red Cloaks and five of the Kinsguard were stationed along the exits. The nobles kept them occupied. Running like headless chickens.

But Ser Vaemond seemingly found no problem with confronting Daemon on his own. He preferred it in fact. Obsessed with vengeance to forgo his own safety and well-being.

"Aemond! Break off the fight. The guards aren't here yet."

His mother's tone was urgent and reprimanding. But he ignored her and the subsequent cries of recriminations.

This is family business.

"Your son liked to run his mouth just the same. Perhaps i should take your tongue as a souvenir. Rest assured you two will be reunited in your watery halls."