The Prince and His Flower

O N E - H U N D R E D - T W O

Things felt like they had come to a complete standstill; the Triarchy was still weeks away from Westeros, Daemon had disappeared along with Nettles, and each day felt even more similar than the last. Eat, scout, plan, and sleep, all day, every day. Of course, there were other activities that went on in the night, but Aemma thought it improper to speak them aloud.

Weeks came and went, and now it was the eve of her eighteenth nameday. Despite the months slowly rolling by, that day had snuck up on her, and now she sat on the windowsill in her nightgown, her legs dangling over the forty-foot drop to the ground below. She swung her feet slowly, letting the wind wrap around them. Harrenhal was sleeping, the only movement below from the occasional guard that passed by, torch in hand as they patrolled. 

Aemond was... elsewhere, attending to his duties as needed. She had sent him away last night and the night before that, seeking solitude in their chambers as her and Luke's birthday approached. She regretted her decision now, wishing he was waiting for her in their bed as she shivered. A light knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts; it was too gentle to be Aemond or Daeron, so she assumed it was a servant coming to check on her.

"Forgive my disturbance Princess, I came to stoke the fire upon Prince Aemond's request." She was tiny and quiet, her hair hidden under a white scarf and a matching white apron tied around her waist. It shocked Aemma how tiny she was, but she simply nodded and turned away. "Will you require anything else, Princess?"

It was very much like Aemond to ensure her every need was met, always fretting over her like an overprotective hen. Sometimes she worried she didn't reciprocate his attentiveness enough, but more often than not she simply didn't know what else to do in return. "Where is he now?" She asked.

"He is in his solar, I believe. Would you like me to take you to him?" The servant had a quiet voice like a mouse and seemed nervous to even be in the same room as her.

She nodded and hopped off the windowsill, shrugging into the thick cotton robe provided. The servant lit a candle and led her through the dark hallways, her hands shaking.

"Do I frighten you?" Aemma asked, breaking the silence. 

"No." Her hand shook even more.

She laughed then, shaking her head. "Lies. Don't fret, I have no plans of turning that pretty face of yours into minced meat."

The servant laughed nervously.

"You must think I am cruel, then." She hummed.

"No."

"Evil?"

"No."

"Monstrous?"

"No."

"What do you think, then?" She snapped. The servant jumped, nearly dropping the candle. "Careful now, one more fire here and I'll truly believe this castle is cursed."

"Erm... I think we are here." The servant curtsied deeply before retreating, the candlelight disappearing as she turned a corner.

Aemma knocked on the door, deciding to be polite for once instead of just barging in. There was some scuffling on the other side of a door, then a quiet thud and a loud curse before Aemond threw the door open, one hand covering his eye and the other gripping the door tightly. He was shirtless, and his look of annoyance quickly changed to surprise as he slammed the door shut in her face.

"Oh." She quirked an eyebrow, trying to decipher what just happened when he opened the door once more, his originally frizzy hair smoothed down and a wide smile on his face as he leaned on the doorframe.

"Good evening," he finally spoke. "Did you need something?"

The laughter that erupted from her lips was certainly loud enough to wake the entire castle, but she paid no mind as she pushed past him and entered the solar. It was a mess, which was very out of character for him, but she could see where he had hastily stacked his parchments as a means to tidy up. In the corner was a small cot, which looked more uncomfortable than sleeping on the cold, hard ground.