The Blue Princess ☆☽ Aemond Targaryen

CHAPTER THREE

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

"Even the smallest dragon dreams of the sky, unaware of its own strength, waiting for the day it will spread its wings and soar."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

❀ 121 AC ❀

Sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows, casting a soft, golden glow over the vast room. The light danced across the rows of ancient tomes and scrolls, their spines lined up like sentinels guarding centuries of knowledge. The warm rays illuminated dust motes that drifted lazily in the air, adding a sense of tranquility to the library.

Naerys and Aemond were seated at one of the large oak tables, deeply immersed in their studies. Naerys, with her delicate Valyrian features and silver hair cascading in gentle waves, sat with a heavy volume open before her, her pale-blue gown shimmering softly in the warm light, giving her an almost ethereal presence. She leaned forward, her slender fingers tracing the unfamiliar Valyrian script, frustration flickering in her eyes as she struggled with the text.

Beside her, Aemond was a striking figure in his dark green attire, the deep color complementing his own silver hair and sharp blue eyes. Even at ten namedays, he carried himself with a composed air, his usual stern demeanor softened by the care he took in guiding Naerys through their lesson. He glanced at her from time to time, noting the furrow in her brow and the way her lips pressed into a thin line of concentration.

As Aemond guided her through the lesson, his mind drifted to the significance of these studies. He had spent countless hours in this very library, pushing himself to master every line, every word. To him, these lessons were more than just academic-they were a means to compensate for what he lacked. Without a dragon to ride, he felt he had to forge his own path to greatness through knowledge and skill. Every book he studied, every lesson he absorbed, was part of his quest to become not just another Targaryen prince, but someone who commanded respect and wielded power with precision. It was his way of ensuring that, despite his perceived shortcomings, he could still stand out and achieve his ambitions.

The fire in the hearth crackled gently, its warmth adding to the cozy atmosphere of the room. The scent of parchment and ink mingled with the faint aroma of burning wood, creating a comforting backdrop to their study session.

"Let's try this phrase, Naerys," Aemond suggested, his voice steady and encouraging as he pointed to a line in the book. "It's 'Īlva jorrāelagon,' which means 'Love binds us.'"

Naerys's gaze dropped to the text, her brow furrowing deeper as she hesitantly attempted to pronounce the phrase. "Īlva-Īlva jorrāe-" She stumbled over the words, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I'm useless."

Aemond leaned closer, his voice gentle and full of quiet assurance. "You're doing great, Naerys. It just takes time."

Naerys's shoulders slumped, her voice quivering as she confessed, "You're so good at this, Aemond. You make it look easy, and I'm just... I feel like I'll never catch up. I'm an idiot." Her own words stung as they left her lips, echoing the fear that she was somehow falling short, a nagging doubt that no matter how hard she tried, she would always lag behind. She glanced at Aemond, trying to hide the tears that threatened to well up. He was so composed, so assured-everything she felt she wasn't. A part of her feared that if she couldn't keep up, she might one day become a burden to him, a thought that pained her deeply.