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“You shouldn't be here.”
Those were the first words out of his mouth, nearly growled in frustration, when he opened the door to his chambers only to reveal you on the other side. The hour was late, the halls quiet and dark.
“I- I wished to see you, my prince”
Pulling you inside, he swiftly closed the door behind you. His body invaded your space, forcing your back against the wall. His hand came to rest on the stone beside your head, his arm trapping you in place.
You were taken back by his actions and it showed plainly on your face. You had not seen him in years, not since Laena’s funeral, and in truth, you no longer knew the person standing before you. That idea made you feel uneasy.
You had always been close with your uncle, but when your brother sliced his eye, he completely shut you out. He wouldn’t let you see him before you left Driftmark, though you tried to visit his chambers several times. Afterward, you wrote him enough letters to fill a book, but they all went unanswered. Eventually, to his despair, you stopped trying.
Aemond had been attempting to stifle his shame by ignoring you. It was your younger brother that disfigured him, after all, and it left him humiliated. The prince had feelings for you and he couldn’t bear the thought of you shying away from him after he’d been made into a monster, just like everyone else.
Years later when you saw him after arriving in King's Landing, your brothers eager to catch a glimpse of those in the training yard, your eyes still lit up. It made him feel small and nervous. In all the time that had passed, you’d become a beautiful young woman with an air of grace and elegance. Time, however, had not been able to make Aemond whole again.
That very night, you stood before him in the dim light of his chambers and it was the first time you'd had a good look at him. His face was familiar to you, though it was older, its features now much sharper.
You cursed the black patch that obscured the mark left by the blade, curious to discover what lied beneath it. You pondered whether the leather felt harsh against his skin, or if he'd grown used to it by now.
His large frame hovered over yours, meant to intimidate you. His close proximity forced you to look away from him and you drew your bottom lip in between your teeth anxiously.
“You claim you’ve come to see me, yet your eyes evade me.”
“Forgive me, my prince,” you returned, your gaze now meeting his own.
He stared at you for a moment, trying to discern the look on your face. Eventually, he pulled away from you, unable to find an answer. You always did have a tendency to leave him guessing.
“Aemond will do just fine,” he grunted at you, now facing the other way.
You adjusted your skirts and stood up a little straighter. “Oh, I assumed formalities would be expected, given you’ve spent the last six years disregarding me.”
He gave you a dry chuckle in return, “if you cared for formalities, you would not be here.”
When he turned to look at you once more, you studied his face shamelessly and the scrutiny made him tense. “If I recall, formalities were never something you valued either. Though, I suppose after all these years you are all but a stranger to me.”
“I take no great pleasure in that fact, I assure you.”
His honestly surprised him, as he tended to hold his cards tightly against his chest. He had learned to be suspicious of others, but alone in your presence that seemed to slip away. Aside from his mother, you had always been the one person to support him, to meet him with unquestioning kindness. He hoped to the gods he hadn’t lost that, even if he deserved to.
“Then I beg you to help me understand your sudden and unceasing indifference,” your voice grew louder, but he could find no hint of anger in your tone. “I showed you nothing but devotion, yet your coldness left a wound in my heart that still bleeds.”
He thought back to when his injury had been discovered and the families convened within the halls of Driftmark to sort out the incident. You had defended him, despite the insults he’d thrown at your brothers, and by extension, you. You did not think less of him after he claimed Vhagar for himself, even if it happened right under the noses of Laena's grieving daughters.
All that only served to make it more difficult to give you an answer, even if he was no longer a foolish child. “It... It does not matter now. You have moved on, have you not?”
The question, more than anything, was a last ditch attempt to put an end to the guilt stirring in his stomach, but your incredulous expression only made it worse.
“Have you?” The defeat in your voice was evident.
His eye moved to the floor and you took the opportunity to glance around the room, committing to memory what little pieces of Aemond you could. The pile of books beside a short, well burned candle on the table next to his bed. The blanket and pillow in a pile near the fireplace. The belt that held his sword placed neatly and carefully by the door.
“This was a mistake,” you finally spoke, resigning yourself to the fact things could never go back to the way they once were.
“No, wait.” He moved closer, his fingers reaching out for yours, just barely brushing them before his hand fell back to his side. “Please.”
“I will not long survive your twisting of the dagger, Aemond.”
"I did not move on," he began weakly, "for years, you have haunted me, both in waking hours and in my dreams."
His confession left you confused, your eyebrows furrowing together, "then why-"
"The shame I felt knew no measure," his hand reached up, subconsciously grazing his scar. "You were always gentle and tenderhearted, but I was left a monstrous cripple. I would have been an embarrassment to you."
"Oh, Aemond," you breathed. Though he stood before you as a man, it was obvious that the sweet, shy boy of your youth still occupied his mind to some degree. Your voice was just above a whisper, "how you mistake yourself."
You approached him slowly, his vulnerability making him look like a hound in fear of his master's raised fist. He fought the urge to look away from you. You stopped only a foot or so short of him, something akin to sadness dominating your features.
Your fingertips came to rest on his cheek, then trailed over the scarred ridges of his face with care. Your gentle touch pulled a soft sigh from his lips, his eyes fluttering shut as he allowed himself to relish in a rare moment of peace. Silently, he wished that the soft pads of your fingers would melt into his flesh so that he could hang on to the feeling forever.
Your touch ghosted over the eyepatch, your head tilting in a silent plea. Hesitantly, his hand reached to pull the leather from his face, his breath catching in his throat as he gauged your reaction. Your eyes softened and your stomach fluttered as his sapphire reflected in the light, commanding your attention.
“Does it hurt?” you questioned.
The warmth in your voice forced him to swallow a lump that formed in his throat, “not anymore.”
Your hand cradled the side of his face, while your thumb continued to brush over the harsh mark just beneath the blue stone. Your lips parted and your breath was steady as you continued to observed him. Even then, he waited for you to turn away in disgust, to suddenly realize how grotesque the sight before you was. The idea consumed his thoughts, his shoulders slumping as he prepared himself for the worst.
“To look upon such divinity,” your voice grounded him, pulled him back to reality. “I consider myself blessed.”
As the meaning of your words sunk in, Aemond’s teeth clenched together, trying to prevent the tears that threatened to spill down his cheek. He studied you, searching for any hint of jest or deceit, though he found what he always did when he looked at you--- affection and tenderness.
Aemond felt a fierce rush of emotion overtake his body as his gaze moved between each of your eyes. It was as if you’d reached into his chest and squeezed his heart for all that it was worth. In his mind, the action would be warranted after all the grief he’d subjected you to.
He could not help it when leaned down, bringing his lips closer to yours. He was unsure of himself, shy in a way that reminded you of moments you shared in the past. You did not pull back, you did not scorn him, so he dipped his head and the closed the space left between you.
His lips felt soft against your own, his hands finding your hips and pulling you closer to him. You felt the wetness of his quiet tears against your face and it made your own eyes sting. All the pain you’d felt over the years seemed to bubble up and pour over, but it was accompanied by other emotions, too--- relief, bliss, love.
You gripped the fabric of his shirt, his arms now wrapped around your waist, each of you desperate to feel the other. Even so, the kiss wasn't clumsy or rushed. No, the way your bodies melded together was slow... fervent. When you finally pulled away, only a few inches between your faces, your breathing was deep as you tried to appease your lungs.
He watched you, noting the way your lips had grown just a touch plumper and how your eyes were dewy with emotion just like his own. For a fleeting moment, he berated himself for ever thinking you would disdain him for the injury he endured.
“Surely,” he began, taking your face in his hands, “any divinity I possess is born only from the love you always shown me, however undeserved.”