Sapphires and Carnelian ( Aemond Targaryen X OC)

The Water Looks Beautiful Today.

        Aemond was ten when he learned his life would not be one of joys and riches. Of course, he could have any fine garment his single eye fell upon. He could read in any language, speak in any tongue. He was very aware of the privilege that came with his name and the silver of his hair. He could soar the skies on a dragon that did not like him, and he could find all the pleasures of his body's desires in the brothels and slums of Dragonstone. And yet, on his 18th name day, he sat alone as Lords and Ladies spun across the dance floor. He had remembered the name days of his cousins very well. At the age of six and ten, they had started receiving letters after letters of offers and proposals from across the seven kingdoms. So many that he was surprised the ravens hadn't gone tumbling from the skies of the weight of parchment and wax. 

He had sat by the window as the sons of minor lords complained about the lack of surprise, all while he waited for a single letter. Every time those dark blue wings grazed the skies, he felt his heart skip, his hands curling as though they were waiting to hold a letter of their own. And of course, no such thing ever came. For two years, he spent his time wandering the chambers of his brother and mother, even his dear sister, Helaena, at times.

   Surely this must all just be one cruel jape. Perhaps there were letters, and they simply weren't reaching him. "Anything today, Orwyle?" He would ask the maester every now and then to no avail. He was 18 and three moons when he came to the conclusion that there was nothing, and there never would be. Perhaps he should just go and become a knight, swear an oath to never bed and never wed, but it seemed that was what he was doing already. With a groan, he hit his pillows and watched his ceiling. It was a boring thing of stone and gray, and the moon was a disturbance against the darkness his heart desired. Even with his curtains pulled across the gap in the wall, seeps of brightness soaked into the room. He buried his head in his pillow, tossing his eyepatch on the floor to be forgotten. It was a stupid thing that itched and ached, and beneath the leather, fine lines of rashes were beginning to sprout. Ones he should have looked at, but he knew that he wouldn't. The only comfort that grew in his chest was the one in knowing that his life would be a great story some day. A great tragedy, maybe, but something entertaining, at the very least. A small smile began to grace his thin lips as his mind wandered into a day dream.

He was not beautiful now, no, but maybe in 200 years, perhaps in 300, or 400, a young lady may look at his portrait and believe he was divine. That surely if they existed at the same time, she would be over the moon to marry him. But his smile faded once more at the tragedy. Perhaps he did have a soulmate, and they were only centuries apart. What a sorrow that was. And an even greater one, he thought, that his mother had never found a soulmate of her own. In fact, no one he knew had. With the morning sun came the morning meal of fruit and bread, and he found his fingers running over the crust, pulling on it as conversations echoed around him. "Aemond," His mother spoke up, dragging him out of his dreams.

"Hm?" He hummed, feeling the rough texture of charred bread against his fingertips.

"Stop playing with your food. It is not polite," She said. She was dressed in a gown, just as she was every day. The neckline was straight and cut just below her collarbones, growing into sleeves that did not hug her arms. Beaded embroidery stitched across her chest, ending just at her waist, and just above her breasts rested the pendant of the Seven Pointed Star. It was a good thing that the metal was fine, he thought, because with how much she wore it, surely it should be wearing down soon. One day they would find it in the rubble of the Red Keep, when the demonic building would finally fall, and they would see the grooves of her fingers, her anxious thumbs running across it every other minute.

"There is no one else here," He spoke. And his words were true. Aegon was off and running about, running his mouth where he shouldn't. And Helaena was probably sealed in her chambers, stitching away at fabric and cloth, holding her needle between her lips as she studied patterns in her big book of embroidery.