For almost her entire life, Daella Targaryen has lived as Mellara Rivers, the bastard daughter of Arnold Arryn and cupbearer of Lady Jeyne Arryn. First and trueborn daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daella had but slight contact with her fami...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
F O U R T Y , A E M O N D
I'm dreamin' of all the possibilities I'm kissing all over your body, my Nefertiti ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Aemond lay deadly silent in bed, his eye closed and his arms wrapped around the warm body of his wife. For just a moment, he tried to take everything about her in. Her soft breathing caressing the skin of his chest, the feeling of her heart beating steadily, her silver locks tickling him, the way their limbs were entirely tangled into a single embrace. His fingers trailed an absent-minded pattern over her bare shoulder and despite being asleep, he could feel a thin layer of goosebumps break out over her skin.
He opened his eye again, for every time he closed them his mind conjured up the picture of her frightened expression this afternoon. Aemond knew he should have stopped after his wife had warned him, if not after the first time, then the second one. He shouldn't have pushed her into a full breakdown, tears rolling down her rosy cheeks in both sadness and terror, but the thought of Daella going behind his back to plot with his half-sister had filled him with such rage he could barely contain himself. The worst thing was that the said rage was not in the least directed at the girl now resting in his arms.
Aemond was very selective in letting certain people close and keeping a distance from others, always had been. When his mother had announced the marriage to Daella, he had not expected much from it. Of course, he was fascinated by the girl who could say one thing so earnestly and yet mean the complete opposite, and he would perform his duty as husband, but never in a million years had he foreseen that he would actually grow to care about his wife. He guarded his heart with the utmost care, and yet she had managed to slip through the cracks.
If Daella had truly gone to her mother with the intention of plotting his downfall and Rhaenyra's ascension to the Iron Throne, that could only mean that Aemond had failed. Failed in his duty as King, failed in his task of winning her to his side but worst of all, failed in his commitment to being her husband and lover. It was this realisation that had driven him to a rage he had never felt before and if that wasn't bad enough, he redirected his anger to the woman he had vowed to protect.
Needless to say, Aemond counted himself fortunate that Daella was even looking at him after how he had treated her.
Aemond's eye flickered down to the sleeping woman in his arm. Her head was resting on his chest, right below his chin, and she had curled up her arm beneath her. Gently, his fingers moved some of the white locks over her shoulders and he smiled as Daella let out a soft murmer, a sign that she was dreaming again. There was no bruise on her throat, but he knew that he hadn't been far from creating one and feeling a wave of self-loathing, he let the tips of his fingers glide down the fragile structure of her neck.
