Led By Fiery Passion (currently being revised)

Part 13

 

Aemond

A few more weeks had crawled by since Aemond last sent Aenyra a letter—and he'd sent more since then. Far too many. He'd rewritten some, scrapped others, sent rambling scrolls full of his thoughts, apologies, even drawings of Vhagar soaring over Blackwater Bay. And still... nothing.

Every day without a reply was another needle under his skin.

He'd spent countless hours in his room, pacing, brooding, revisiting every word he had spoken on Driftmark, every moment with her, every glance, every accidental touch. Had he truly ruined everything with a kiss? Or was it worse than that?

Maybe it wasn't what he did. Maybe it was just what he was.

She probably thinks I'm a monster now, he thought bitterly, running a hand down the jagged scar that carved through the right side of his face. A hideous, one-eyed freak. He looked at his reflection often—not in vanity, but punishment. His sapphire glinted coldly back at him, a cruel, beautiful reminder of the girl who used to love that color.

I wouldn't want to look at me either... so how can I really blame her?

"Aemond."

His mother's voice cut through his thoughts like a blade. He turned sharply to the door where Alicent stood, half-silhouetted in the hallway.

"You've received a letter."

He didn't even hear the rest. His body moved before his mind could catch up—leaping from the bed so fast he nearly tripped over his boots. "Thank you, Mother," he said breathlessly, taking the letter from her hands with trembling fingers. He rushed to his desk, already working at the seal.

But he paused when he noticed she hadn't moved.

"Mother?" he asked, glancing back.

Alicent smiled softly, her eyes sad. "It's just... it's been so long since I've seen you smile, Aemond. That's all."

And then she turned and closed the door gently behind her.

His heart thundered in his chest as he broke the wax seal. His hands shook slightly as he unfolded the parchment. But the moment his eyes met the words... the breath caught in his lungs.

Dear Aemond,

Please stop writing me. I thought I made myself clear when I didn't respond to any of your letters over this past year. I choose my family over you and our friendship. Don't embarrass yourself any more than your looks already do.

Love,
Aenyra Targaryen

For a long moment, Aemond just stared at the page, the words burning into him.

"Ha," he laughed, a single, breathless sound—more pain than amusement.

Then the rage struck.

He crumpled the letter in his fist and swept his arm across his desk, sending books, quills, scrolls, and ink crashing to the floor. His chest heaved, his teeth clenched. He stood there, trembling, fists balled, and turned toward the mirror on the wall.

That cursed mirror.

He stared at his reflection—the brilliant sapphire gleaming like a star in a ruined sky—and ripped the mirror from its hinges. It shattered across the stone floor with a deafening crash, splinters of glass flying everywhere.

"You chose your family?" he hissed. "You think I'm an embarrassment?"

His jaw tightened, his voice lowering to a growl.