ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ - House of the Dragon

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

It was not my greatest idea to not invite Aemond to spend the night in my quarters.

Much to my own despite, I had grown rather used to his presence on the bed, impregnating the sheets and my own skin with his scent of lemon and vanilla.

I knew I shouldn't have, since I was to leave the capital and I would never sleep near him again. And it would have been rather awkward if I shared a bed with Luke or Joff, and suddenly said Aemond's name in my dream.

But I couldn't help it, I loved sleeping with my uncle. Specially since my own nightmares were far from my mind as he would have his strong arms around me.

The main problem that night was, that he was my nightmare. And I woke up alone, in the two sides bed, sweating and searching for his comfort. I felt insanely pathetic, when I found myself almost begging to the gods to hear his husky voice, to feel his rough hand stroking my back. If I had a knife close, I didn't doubt I would have stabbed myself to gain some consciousness. But, somehow, Aemond had found out about the little blade under my pillow I always slept with, and had put it far from the bed, above a tall wardrobe I couldn't reach.

The path to his bedchambers was short, since I was almost sprinting down the dark passages in order to find him as soon as possible. It was a mistake, not grabbing a cloak. But there was no turning back.

The secret passages were empty, but the sounds of small paws crawling around made me tense almost unconsciously. I hated rats. And that city seemed filled with them. That had double meaning, since even the men and women of the capital were rats, treacherous and liars and constantly forcing me to fight my own intrusive thoughts.

Aemond seemed to be struggling with his own sleep. He kept turning, gripping the sheets as if he expected it to be something else, and muttering things I couldn't understand from my spot next to his bed. He was no wearing the eyepatch, and even though I had gotten used to the blue of the sapphire, the grotesque image of his missing eye without it almost made me flinch.

I had tried to ask him, to show it to me, though I never found the words nor the strength to do it. And now, looking at it without his consent or knowledge, felt as a violation.

I forced myself to swallow, digging my short nails against the palm of my hands, and muttered his name. If I thought unconsciously searching for him was pathetic, hearing my own voice, barely a whisper I couldn't even hear, could have killed both me and Daemon.

I sighed, clenching my hands one last time before digging my knees in the mattress, and leaning forward to slightly shake his shoulder. Aemond slept with his balconies closed, and the warmth of the room could have made me sweat if I wasn't already. Why was I even sweating? I had slept with him before, even before we started whatever we were doing. I had no reason to feel that nervous.

I hated his devotion for the closed doors though. I always slept with mine open, specially in Dragonstone, for the place to be as warm as a dragon's scales. The wild wind cooling my quarters made a great contrast with it, but now, due to Aemond, I had spent two days sleeping covered in sweat, and I felt like stabbing him for it. Why did he like being hot that much? The sensation was overwhelming, the fire in the fireplace, no wind around, the heavy blankets covering his body.

If he was a dragon, he didn't act like one.

My uncle finally woke up after a few more violent shakes, sudden and almost frightened, and his hand flew to my wrist as if he thought I was some intruder. I had expected something like that, but feeling his fingers around my exposed skin in such a strong hold made me flinch unconsciously.

"Sorry, I jus-just... I-I couldn't..."

Where was my stepfather when I needed him? Where was his sword cutting my skin, his fist breaking my nose, his knee taking the air away from my lungs? Where was the Dark Sister he had created? Why couldn't I finish a sentence without stuttering like a defenseless woman? Was it the nightmare? The hole of his missing eye staring back at me? His hand not letting go of my wrist?