Appetence || Aemond Targaryen

10

Lyra's breath came in shallow waves as she stood by the carriage, watching the stable hands load her things for the long journey north. Her heart raced, excitement and anxiety curling deep in her chest. Dreadfort. The name held a certain weight, an unfamiliar family waiting on the other side—her mother's kin, the Boltons. She had grown up hearing of them but never meeting them. Now, it was all happening, and the reality of leaving King's Landing, of putting distance between her and everything she had known, made her stomach twist. Yet, in a strange way, it was what she needed most.

Her fingers brushed over the soft fabric of her cloak, drawing it tighter around her shoulders. The air was crisp that morning, the skies were gloomy. She hadn't spoken to Aemond since the night at Driftmark, since everything had unraveled so violently between their families. Not once had their eyes met. And for good reason, she told herself.

Helaena stood nearby, watching the proceedings with a slight tilt of her head. They had spoken often over the past few weeks. Aegon, of course, was nowhere to be found, probably off in one of the taverns or brothels, living recklessly. Lyra couldn't say she was surprised.

But as the final crate was loaded onto the carriage, her father approached with that measured, thoughtful gaze of his. Larys Strong never showed much outward emotion, and today was no different. There was a brief nod of acknowledgment as he stepped closer, standing just a little too far away to be comforting. "Everything is in order. The Boltons have been notified of your arrival. You'll be treated well." His voice was low, calm, as though he were making yet another careful plan, rather than seeing his daughter off.

Lyra gave a soft nod. "Thank you, Father. I... I appreciate everything."

She wanted to say more, to express the whirlwind of feelings she had about this decision, but it felt impossible to put into words. Her father had arranged it all, as promised, not asking questions when she had pleaded for time away from here. The North had been her only escape, the one place that wasn't tangled in the tragedies of her family or the tensions between houses. She hoped Dreadfort would provide the distance she craved.

"I'll write," she added, though both of them knew she wouldn't be writing as often as perhaps she should. There was an unspoken understanding between them—they were family, but closeness had never been their way.

Larys nodded once more. "Of course."

And then, just as Lyra prepared to take her leave, she noticed a figure standing a little further back, his silver hair catching the dull light of the morning. Aemond. Her breath hitched, and she forced herself not to look away, not to shrink under the weight of everything unsaid between them. Why was he here?

Helaena had already stepped forward, her soft voice pulling Lyra back to the present. "Safe travels, Lyra. The North... it will be good for you." She smiled gently, offering a farewell that, while kind, always held something deeper that Lyra could never fully understand.

"Thank you, Helaena," Lyra said quietly, managing a small smile in return.

But her eyes couldn't help but drift back to Aemond. He hadn't said a word, not since he'd arrived, just stood there with that inscrutable expression of his. She wondered, briefly, if he had come out of obligation, or perhaps there was something more behind his appearance. He had avoided her for weeks, but now, when she was finally leaving, he was here.

Helaena stepped aside, giving space, and Lyra knew she couldn't ignore Aemond's presence any longer. She squared her shoulders, trying to brace herself for whatever this moment might bring. But when he finally moved, stepping closer, she was surprised at how steady her own voice was.

"Aemond." His name slipped from her lips like a challenge, though she wasn't entirely sure what she expected.

He looked at her, his gaze intense, but he didn't speak right away. Instead, he studied her for a moment, as if weighing whether to say something or remain silent. Finally, his lips curved, not quite a smile but more of a knowing smirk.