Veil of Shadows | Aemond Targaryen

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The next day, Visenya found herself drawn to the godswood, a sanctuary untouched by time. Nestled between the roots of the ancient weirwood tree, she held a book in her lap, though her mind wandered far from its pages.

Sunlight filtered through the red leaves, casting a dappled glow over her face and illuminating the world in a soft, crimson light. This sacred place, unaltered since her childhood, was a refuge from the ceaseless schemes of the court. It was a place of stillness amidst chaos, her favorite sanctuary.

Closing her eyes, Visenya let the warmth of the sun soothe her troubled mind. Her thoughts drifted back to the night before, replaying the strange and intense encounter with Aemond.

The words they had exchanged were raw and honest, cutting through the barriers they had erected between them. She recalled how he had reached out to wipe away her tear, his touch gentle, almost tender. He had cupped her face and kissed her forehead, his lips soft and warm against her skin.

The memory stirred a storm of conflicting emotions within her. On one hand, she hated the intimacy, the vulnerability it had exposed. It felt like a betrayal of her own resolve, a weakening of the walls she had built to protect herself.

But on the other hand, a small, treacherous part of her had found comfort in his touch. It reminded her of the boy he once was, the boy she had once cared for deeply.

Yet this longing for the past felt like a dangerous indulgence, a slippery slope that threatened to erode the wall she had built around her heart. How could she reconcile the tenderness of his embrace with the pain he had caused her? How could she forgive the man who had stood by while Aegon humiliated her, who had been complicit in her suffering? The man who had taken her innocence, who had played a part in her imprisonment?

Visenya's mind was a turbulent sea of conflicting emotions, each wave crashing against the walls of her resolve. Aemond's touch the previous night had been gentle, his kiss a whisper of softness against her forehead, but these fleeting moments of tenderness could not erase the deep scars he had inflicted.

She remembered the look in his eyes, a mixture of regret and something deeper, but even that sincerity felt like a double-edged sword. It was as if he were asking her to forgive him, to overlook the wounds he had helped to inflict. How could he expect such a thing from her?

The night Aemond had taken her innocence was a wound that had never fully healed. It was an act that had shattered her trust, leaving her feeling used and betrayed. She had been a prisoner in every sense, her body, mind, and spirit shackled by the choices and actions of the men around her. Aemond, the boy she had once trusted, had become a part of her captivity, an inflictor of her pain.

But she also recalled the intense conversation with Aemond in their chambers earlier that day. She had boldly suggested that they might have been better off crowning him instead of Aegon. To her surprise, Aemond hadn't reacted with anger. Instead, he had listened, his silence more telling than any words. It was as if her words had struck a chord within him, revealing a vulnerability he rarely showed. That silence, that unspoken acknowledgment, had been the first crack in the facade.

Later, standing before the Iron Throne, she had pressed further. It's a disgrace to the legacy of Aegon the Conqueror that Aegon wears his crown, she had declared, her voice ringing with steely resolve, yet tinged with undisguised disdain. Aemond had stood before her, his stoic facade betraying little, yet his silence spoke volumes. It was a tacit admission, a begrudging acknowledgment of the truth that he dared not speak aloud.

In the grand hall, where the weight of history hung heavy in the air, Aemond had revealed more than he perhaps intended. His voice, a solemn whisper amidst the echoes of the past, carried the weight of truth. "When Aegon spoke of it in council, everyone was angered," he had confided, his words dripping with quiet indignation. It was a rare glimpse into the inner workings of the court, a revelation of the simmering tensions that lay beneath the surface.