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“Wherever you stray, I follow”
𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒,
Aemond Targaryen was a boy of broken and burned dreams, stripped clean of his wings and birthright all by the cruel and humorous hands of fate with the shrilling cry of his arrival to this world and a dead egg laid before his feet in a heart twisting offering of begrudging love. Destined to be tethered to the realm of men as from above those who dared to call themselves kin, soared and danced high in the skies with the sun’s burning warmth blessing down upon them, never to join and stuck to forever watch with lingering envy tainting his heart. For so long, he had been the joke, the soiled mark of embarrassment upon the noble name of his bloodline as the days of his youth staggered on and the colder his once beloved egg grew till it was nothing more than a stoney reminder of his disgrace in his hands, never given the chance or basic dignity of those born from the same bloodline to prove himself worth more than the stone encasing his wings.
