ℒove always wakes the dragon (Aemond x OC)

A Fleeting Touch

The faces she's met with look far from joyful — a few maids walking around the courtyard are worried, the guarding knights are perplexed. Tyland arrives at the castle first, and he is quickly rushed in, with maester Mellos by his side. Daemon greets Lia at the gates, his gaze softening at the sight of her being mostly intact.

"When I said adventures, I did not mean any of that," he gives her a hand to help her down. She hesitantly accepts it, while Daemon studies her face. "Is this a cut? Or shall I say, a scratch? How did you manage to stumble upon a bear is truly a mystery."

"Lord Tyland did the stumbling part. I had no time to get a good look at the beast," Lia shrugs it off.

It's hard to say if he believes her or not but he does figure out that she needs to rest. He's learned to give his children space but with Lia, it seems like he never gives enough.

"I ordered to bring dinner to your chambers," Daemon informs, following her into the castle after she says goodbye to Ser Harrold. "And you should see the maester about your cut," he urges but Lia only nods, her head and feet already feeling heavy. "Whatever else you need, just let me know, alright?"

She needs the most to be left alone, but that sounds rude even in her head. She can tell he is making an effort to be there for her — or at least it appears like he is, and it's tempting to appreciate it. It will also take way less energy to do that.

"How is Lord Tyland?" Lia asks. "Did the maester say anything?"

"He mentioned something about the bandages being quite tight," Daemon sneers. "I think it means he was impressed but he will never actually say it."

"I need no compliments, as long as he knows what to do after the bandages are off," she remarks, and maybe it's another trait they share — dry humor, or just mirth of any kind to mask the tension, and the pain, and worse. And yet, she doesn't trust him enough to not wear a mask around him.

"We'll have to wait and see," Daemon says, coming to a stop, resisting from questioning her any further. She takes his silence as a sign to leave, and it hurts him a little that Lia cares about their talk way less than he does.

He watches her rush up the flight of stairs, then turns to go his own way, his thumb rubbing a signet ring on his finger without him even noticing it. Daemon walks halfway across the floor when it dawns on him: he's never once heard of bears living in those woods.





Lia follows the familiar route — but with each corridor and turn she only grows more fatigued, and it takes an effort not to drag her feet. She watches her faltering steps, сool tones of stairs and dimly lit walls merging before her eyes, and when someone takes hold of her hand, she almost doesn't register it. Long fingers softly press at her wrist, bringing Lia out of her drowsiness, and she turns around — and bumps into Aemond's chest. He puts some distance between them in an instant but his eye is fixed on her face as he's examining it carefully. His hand stays wrapped around hers when he says:

"You are bleeding."

"It's dried up already," Lia tries to weakly protest but he puts his index finger right above her split brow.

"There is still blood," Aemond tells her quietly, in a caring tone she never heard him use.

His touch is light, and his finger moves around the scarlet stain that oozed down her cheek, and she closes her eyes for a second. She can't seem to remember what it was like when he was cold and rude with her. She can't see the way he's looking at her lips right before his fingertip stops an inch away from her mouth.

"You need to see the maester," Aemond concludes, and the feeling of his touch on her face disappears. His other hand is still in place, warming hers.

"I think he's busy as it is," Lia looks at the prince again.