the bear and the dragon fair - hotd au.

act two, part four : out of the cage.

Aemond woke the next morning with shame burning in his chest and a foul stickiness between his legs.

The cold water shocked him awake easily enough, but even as he scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, there was a film of filth on him. Even long after the evidence of it was washed clean, he felt the guilt stick to him like tar.

The rest of the morning gave him little relief. Morning meetings with Maester Nymos and the lords of the island were becoming the norm, all of them packing into the small room with the biggest table. Aemond couldn't look Gwyn in the eye, even when the lord tried to catch his gaze. News has been trickling in from the crownlands, and Nymos insists on talking over every. Single. One.

First: Daemon was charging on Harrenhal, hoping to claim the Riverlands for his queen. Aemond frowned at the news; that would be a sore loss for his brother, but Alys scoffed.

"The prince will not survive long in my family's halls," She assured, a dark threat lurking beneath her words. "Dragons are no match for ghosts." Aemond wasn't quite sure what she meant, but it gave him a glimpse of hope.

Second: Remains of Arrax and Lucerys had washed up from Shipbreaker Bay. The shame inside Aemond's gut intensifies, but somewhere outside, he can feel Vhagar hum with pride.

"The remains, or rather, the lack thereof have people questioning." Nymos' voice was as grave as a tomb. "Some are bringing up that if the boy and his dragon have been brought to shore, there should be signs of our prince and Vhagar. My connections tell me it hasn't gone past rumors, but we should keep an eye on it."

Third, and most concerning to Aemond: his mother had confined herself to her chambers after a three-day vigil for him. According to Nymos' sources, she had rejected all food, water, and comfort, and was inconsolable in her grief.

There was little more Aemond wanted to do at that moment than turn tail and flee back to King's Landing, to scoop his mother into her arms and plead for her forgiveness. He had always been the pillar holding her up, and it made his eye smart and sting to think of her collapsing without him. Thankfully, the lords turned their gaze when Aemond dipped his head low, murmuring a prayer to the Mother under his breath, ignoring the wateriness pooling beneath his eyepatch.

In the end, there was little they could do but wait further. It drove Aemond half-mad, to sit there uselessly like a trap with no spring. He should be doing his duty, marrying Maris Baratheon like he promised, kneeling for Aegon, but even in his frustration he knew he was too deep in to back out now. To leave now would only raise more questions, and ruin any advantage he could gain from the North and any surprise they could have.

The recognition of his situation didn't make the fire of his frustration simmer any lower, however, and before long he found himself marching to Vhagar's clearing. So lost in his own head, he almost didn't see the two figures in the treeline of the space.

One was Alys, that was certain, dressed in forest greens and dark furs, curls sweeping down her back. Holding her hand was someone much smaller, a girl no older than three-and-ten. Red hair— the same dark wine that Gwyn had, fell around her freckled face in choppy layers, looking more like an animal had attacked it rather than shears had cut it. Boiled leathers, snow-stained breeches, a small longbow, and a quiver over her shoulders; the child looked more like a wildling spawn than any proper girl of her age. Alys and she were talking quietly, both of them facing Vhagar's slumbering bulk.