ℒove always wakes the dragon (Aemond x OC)

Fingers interlocked

The fire is now blinding, the air scorching her lungs, and she can barely see a thing, swallowing down the coughing, tearing the dried piece of fabric off her face. Aemond leads the way — by memory or by instinct, but he moves speedily, tugging them along, his gaze always coming back to Lia after every turn. She can't tell how long it takes, the whole building smoke-filled and aflame, all colors reduced to orange and red, until she sees a patch of the night street peeking through the doorway in the distance. They make a beeline for it, just a dozen more steps — and then three of them finally pop out of the door.

The scenery outside is different, more crowded, with gold cloaks running around to bring water, help with the kids, and keep away any gawkers. Both Lia and Aemond are out of breath but they manage to lower Mysaria down to the ground, her inhales weak and yet the rhythm of them is still steady. Lia gently shakes her up again, then frantically calls for the nearest septa, takes a flask with water from her, brings it to the woman's lips.

Mysaria comes to her senses with a gasp. She mumbles haltingly. "He w-was looking, he wanted to know about the girl. I knew it was you, I didn't — he wanted — I w-warned you, I..."

"Blood is dead," Lia tells her reassuringly, "You do not have to worry about him, he —"

"He paid Blood, he pays everyone," she interrupts, anguished, the pain from her injuries slowly starting to claw at her body, "They are his eyes and ears, and... his bees are everywhere, h-he..." a groan passes from her lips.

Lia pays no mind to her incomprehensible explanations but gets more worried about the state the woman is in. They need to remove the knife, stop the bleeding, bandage her, and —

Someone grabs her by the arm and yanks her up, but the harshness of the movement softens the second she is turned to face him — Daemon looks at her with wide eyes.

"Are you out of your mind?!" he utters, not with reproach but with distress, "Why would you run into a burning building? Why would —" Daemon notices the prince and exhales with irritation, then glances back at her, "You need to stop rushing to everyone's rescue, you are putting yourself in danger!"

It is a weird, long-forgotten feeling — someone being so worried about her in a fatherly manner, with such a fierce concern.

"You need to help her," Lia moves his hand away to back up and give him a full view of Mysaria's body, "It's a deep wound and must be treated with caution."

Daemon glances at the woman but his gaze doesn't linger, like he isn't actually looking. "Why would I... I can't just take her to the castle," he rebuts blankly, then tries changing the topic. "Are you hurt? How's your head? It's only been a day since —"

Aemond coughs, the sound muffled but sharp, and Lia instinctively wants to turn to check on him but Daemon's carelessness leaves her too displeased to shift focus. The blazing fire is yet to subside — as is her persistence.

"You are not listening," she frowns, "There is an actual knife sticking out of her shoulder, and she needs to be examined by the maester."

"I cannot —"

"You are the Prince Consort, you surely can," Lia insists, and her annoyance mirrors his but she takes it further, "Whatever past you two share, her life should not depend on it."

Aemond coughs again — it's a dry wheezing type of cough, a concerning type. Lia briefly closes her eyes, and her head does hurt, and her clothes feel dirty, and she wants to look at Aemond, and Mysaria is still untreated and in pain — and she shouldn't, she doesn't want to care so much, and yet she can't stop.