The Maiden and the Drowning Boy

Chapter Three - Sorrow In Idle Mind

Traipsing through the narrow, winding alleyways of the Street of Silk was not how Aemond Targaryen wanted to spend this evening. Nay, this was not how he wanted to spend any evening. He mourned the cloak he wore, for he was certain that amidst the cloying scents of perfume and incense, and of the sour of human stink beneath, he'd never get the evidence out.

He wished for the quiet comforts of mother's solar with a thick tome upon his lap as he read aloud to Mother and Helaena as they sewed. Better yet were the times when he could retreat to Helaena's room and read only to her. She would card her fingers through his hair, brush and braid the long strands back as she always had. Other times, she'd lean into his side, soft and warm and smelling of the peppermint tea she always drank before bed. Her long curls would tickle against his neck where her head tucked perfectly, like it belonged there, on his shoulder. Aemond would adjust the warm blanket over their laps to ensure she was cozy. The book would span across them both and he would wrap an arm about her, fingers playing with her beautiful hair.

He'd read stories of the lands beyond. The tales of djinn promising wishes and sphinx spinning riddles from the furthest parts of the Essosi continent. The monstrous woman with half a snake body, and hair made of living vipers from the Basilisk Isles, would always draw gasps when he'd describe the garden of stone heroes the monster made. Helaena would gasp at all the appropriate places, look at him with wide eyes and would ask, "Do they make it out alive?" He'd brush a soft, reassuring kiss to the crown of her head and with a grin, tell her to listen.

They'd read into the night, and then when it was time for bed, Aemond would relish the sleepy kiss he'd receive, chaste and innocent, and still able to make him flush. "Goodnight, dear brother," Helaena would murmur and he'd eagerly press a kiss to the warmth of her palm, over the lifeline, the blood they shared thrumming beneath.

Dear brother, she always said with such love and reassurance; such care and surety that he was her dearest brother, her favorite brother.

"Goodnight, my sweet Helaena," he would tell her before floating his way back to his own bed.

Instead of all those pleasant options, he was left grimacing as a patron from the tavern they were passing expelled the contents of his stomach all over the cobblestones. His brother called his name with obvious exasperation.

"Uncivilized," Aemond muttered, and narrowly avoided pitching forward into the mess when Aegon's hand grabbed his shoulder and hauled him up between him and Alyn Hull, who clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh.

The smile that Aegon gave was not a jovial one, although the drinks he had at the previous tavern made him less sullen and more focused, more intent on forgetting; running as far as he could in another direction. Though not so unusual for Aegon, the lone man in his brown robe and bare feet on the corner beseeching men to return home to the loving embrace of their wives had turned Aegon's frantic need to flee into something darker when his gaze turned inward.

Aemond saw nothing wrong with what the man said. After all, he wanted nothing more than to return to the warm fire and loving embrace of his wife.

"Gellys!" Aegon called and Aemond immediately tried to hide behind the elder boys at the woman in the doorway. "A room for us! Best Arbor you've got. Some Dornish as well."

"Milord," Gellys drawled with that familiar smile - the one burnt on the backs of his eyelids - knowing better than to address the one before her as Prince. "We're happy to serve." Eyes swept over the trio and Aemond tilted his head down enough that his hood made it more difficult to see, yet it did little. "And you've brought this sweet one again! How lovely. Bess, the usual for his Lordship."