Stelsa, the girl crafted from the broken leftovers from the Gods, is far from the expectations of a normal lady. Her father, Aaeron Meryls, and her uncles sought to train her in the way of the blade. Many whisper about her origin - is she bastard li...
"It was exactly what Stelsa had become in JUST A SHORT TIME."
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THE DRAGON RING THAT encapsulated Aemond's finger had left a divot in his skin. There was not a day that went by that this piece did not adorn Aemond in some way. It had long grown too tight to fit comfortably on his finger, but Aemond continued to wear it despite that very fact. He would rather it mold into his flesh that let there be a day he did not wear it. It was just a ring – a hint of the blood that ran in his veins. Aemond cared little for jewelry...except for this ring.
He considered having it resized but doubt flourished with that thought. Who would properly care for it? Would it be ruined beyond return? Would it lose its integrity? Aemond pressed his lips to the cold stone, exhaling through his nose as he closed his eye. It was just a ring. But it was his ring. It was a piece of him. Of his strength. It was what he had gained that very night. Before this ring, he had wasted days inside his chambers. Before this ring, he had chosen to remain docile. Before this ring, he had not found the strength to continue. Before this ring, he had lost her.
His future wife.
It had been one of the few things to bring him comfort in her absence. Whenever he wore this ring he had his strength. Aemond lowered the ring to the cloth held in his other hand. The green dragon had long begun to rip at the stitches but it still remained in his figure. His thumb brushes over the frayed stitching as he brings it towards his ring, but he stops before it can touch. Aemond's eye remains on the green dragon and he practically watches those pulled apart green strings retie themselves.
It was dark here. There was barely any light flooding through the cracks of his curtains and his skin continued to tingle at the slightest of breezes. Yet he still felt the filth of those women on his flesh. He could feel it seeping into every crevice of his flesh – taunting him as it drew closer and closer to his soul. Despite this feeling, Aemond did not dare to break his gaze from this small gray cloth as he traced his finger over the green wings. His hand reached to itch at the back of his neck.
"My Prince-" A knock on the door breaks Aemond's trance, his head turning to watch as the door to his chamber opens and Ser Arryk steps in. "-your presence is being requested. Lord Cregan Stark and his men are set to arrive momentarily." Aemond nods at him, setting down the gray cloth on the table as he rises from his chair. He forces the dragon ring on his finger as he moves to follow Arryk out of his room.
Aemond's hair swayed with every step he took towards the Great Hall – his gaze trained on the path ahead of him. An array of guards moved about before the grand doors, preparing for the arrival. Yet, one figure stood before those doors like a pillar of strength. "Aemond." She called to him yet Aemond felt his feet dig into the stone beneath them. Stelsa stood before him with the same worried gaze she had for some time now – ever since he fled from her in their garden.
Aemond had fled from her.
It was something that still haunted his thoughts yet his mouth refused to open – refused to confess the way she had been replaced that night. It had no longer been them inside that garden, lost in the throes of lust, but rather a younger version of himself stuck inside a room with a woman he did not know. A woman he had dreamt of killing time and time again.
