Love Is The Death Of Duty • Aemond Targaryen

26.

As the evening shadows lengthen and the flickering candlelight casts a warm glow over their shared chambers, Maegor and Aemond finally have a moment of respite. The tension from the earlier confrontation in the throne room lingers, but the privacy of their quarters offers a welcome reprieve. 

Now fully relaxed, Maegor lounges on the large oak bed, boots and undershirt long discarded, his expression a mix of contemplation and nonchalance. Aemond sits next to him, back resting against the wooden frame of the bed. He stares occasionally out the window close by, whenever lightning shines in and catches his attention. Outside the storm is still raging.

"So, what do you make of the letter from Dragonstone? What does your father want?" The older Prince turns to Maegor, his single eye reflecting concern.

Maegor sighs, running a hand through his wavy silver hair. 

"It's obvious. This is about Winterfell." His tone is flippant, as if the matter doesn't weigh heavily on his mind.

Aemond frowns, leaning in closer and sprawling next to his nephew. 

"You don't seem worried. Daemon's anger is not something to take lightly, you know this better than anyone."

Turning towards him, Maegor props his head up on his elbow so he can get a better look at him. 

"He's the only one in Dragonstone who tries to understand me. And believe me, uncle, when he hears the full story, he will take my side." He says with confidence, already visualizing everyone's reactions. 

"Besides, it's not like I didn't expect this. I'm certain mother is behind this, she'll want to reprimand me for my failure. Again." Maegor clicks his tongue a sudden irritation rushing over him and with it unpleasant memories that always seem to gnaw on his mind. 

Sensing his displeasure Aemond places a hand over his nephew's cheek, gingerly caressing his face and chasing away all the dark thoughts. 

"Don't stay gone for long. I need you back next my side." The older Prince whispers with a hot breath, his lips hovering just above his consort's, not touching yet.

Maegor flashes a smirk, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

"You know I can't stay away from you, I'll go mad if I do. But I'm not in a hurry to leave. Not yet." His fingers bury in Aemond's silky locks, pulling him closer to finally kiss him.

The days that follow are filled with stolen moments of heated passion and quiet companionship during the night. Aemond makes an exception and doesn't attend the council meetings while his nephew is still around, to make the most out of their moments.

Instead, him and Maegor spend all of their time together locked in their chambers or sparring in the training grounds trying to make up for the time apart in advance. The new specter of Daeron's presence and his distaste for Maegor and his brother's relationship to the Prince looms in the Red Keep, but Maegor pays him no mind. He's of no importance to him when he's too determined to savor every moment with Aemond before he must face his family's nagging.

One night, as they lie entangled in each other's arms, tired and sated after their love making Maegor turns to Aemond, his voice a low murmur in the dim light. 

"When I leave for Dragonstone, I will send a letter as soon as I can. We need to resolve the matter with lord Borros and your mother's delusions together."

Cuddled up to his side, Aemond nods in silence, his fingers tracing patterns on Maegor's taut chest.

Maegor's laid-back attitude is evident in the way he handles the looming confrontation. While Aemond frets and plans, full of worry for his nephew, Maegor lounges with a carefree air, often making light of the situation.