ℒove always wakes the dragon (Aemond x OC)

The things he left unvoiced

author's note: this one is short because I'm stubborn about publishing flashbacks separately lmao but I'll give you the next chapter over the weekend ♡

Lia finds herself beyond annoyed with how big the castle is. But she doesn't have the strength to cling to that feeling nor to feel anything else — her emotions were a fuel, and once they wear off, the exhaustion hits her, so heavy it threatens to tumble her to the ground. She's barely gotten any sleep in the last two days, and all the never-ending chasing, fighting, and running only pushed her body closer to complete depletion. Lia keeps walking but has to take a few stops, holding herself against the walls and the stone railing, trying with her every breath to hold on for a bit longer. She didn't even think to question Daemon's instructions — luckily, they were perfectly correct.

She finds confirmation the second she gets down the stairs, just in time to see a couple of maids leaving in haste and in worry. Maester Mellos stands at the doors, wiping blood off his hands with a cloth that's already stained with it.

"How is she?" Lia rushes to ask, "How deep was the wound? Has Mysaria regained consciousness?"

The maester looks hardly concerned. "She has not but that is to be expected, considering how much blood she lost. The healing will not be fast but with enough patience and treatment it won't be painful either," he explains with a bored tone. "I have to do some stitching still."

The man then squints at her, his focus shifting. "Oh, your cut," he remembers, peering at it for a moment, "I've been meaning to examine you at noon. But it is apparently very difficult to catch you in your chambers, Lady Lia."

"I didn't want to bother —"

"Yes, the prince mentioned your reluctance," the maester chuckles dryly, "It wouldn't be much of a hassle to treat an injury of this nature, I assure you. I will send you some ointment in the morrow," he turns to leave back to his room.

"Shall I wait? So I can come to see her when you are done, if that's alright," Lia suggests, a tad tentatively.

There is a trace of amusement on his face. "One would think you have better things to do with your time," her blank expression tells him that she doesn't get the hint, so the maester adds with a sigh, "But surely, you can wait, who am I to forbid you."

Lia tries to catch a glimpse of Mysaria in the room but he slinks in it with surprising agility and quickly shuts the doors.

Her determination fades just as quickly.

Once she's left alone again, Lia finds herself absentmindedly stepping back, legs wobbly, until her back hits the flat surface. She sits down, her back propped against the wall, knees pressed to the chest. Lia tells herself she'll only close her eyes for a moment, merely for a minute but exhaustion lowers her eyelids already. The weight of the last two days, physically challenging and emotionally draining, catches on to her, and fatigue subtly lulls her vigilance. Before she can notice, her body gives in — her sleep is dreamless, long-awaited.

When Aemond enters the hallway, he doesn't see her at first. He is tired too, wrapped up in thoughts, traces of soot on his arms, his coat left in the caring hands of the seamstresses. He toys with the collar of his tunic to let some air in to cool down, he wants nothing more than to draw a bath and let the water wash off any sign of this tiresome night and —

and then his eye catches Lia sleeping, and he can't think of anything else anymore.

He stands still, watching her carefully, affectionately: her head tilted to the side, her face expression softened and peaceful. He'd never seen her this calm before, and he'd hate to rob her of the rest she so evidently deserved. He also can't leave her sleeping in the cold dark hallway.

Aemond barely hesitates, his feet moving on their own accord.

The prince comes to her, slowly and quietly, until he is a step away. He leans closer, hands snaking cautiously around her waist and under her legs — and then he lifts her in one swift movement. She stirs a little, cheek pressed weightlessly to his chest, and Aemond instantly freezes. But Lia stays asleep, the warmth of her breath against his skin sending goosebumps down his body. He allows himself to admire her for just a minute before moving toward her chambers. It is not a long way — just one turn away, a few hundred feet down the hall. But Aemond is in no hurry. He can't stop himself from glancing down at her, and he can't pretend that he isn't enjoying this — having her this close and in his arms again. He reins his heart's attempts to name these feelings.

Once he rounds the corner, he sees Marissa pacing outside the chambers. She catches the sound of his steps and looks up, her eyes widening in bewilderment. The maid opens her mouth to say something but then decides against it, instead opening the door for him to bring Lia in.

Aemond's steps are soundless against the rug-covered floor, and he promptly reaches her bed, then gently lowers Lia, making sure to rest her head on the pillow. He tarries for a moment, his gaze tenderly lingering on her but his voice is effortlessly indifferent when he says:

"If she asks, tell her the maester brought her in."

The prince gives the maid no other explanations and hastily comes out. Once he's outside, he carefully closes the doors behind him.

Marissa is left standing with a very perplexed look on her face. But she doesn't dither for too long — the maid only shakes her head with a puff, then moves to take Lia out of her clothes. She works quickly, removing the boots, the cloak, layers of fabric — and a smile passes over her lips when she says under her nose, to no one in particular. "Seems like a boy so smart but he acts so silly."

Lia only briefly opens her eyes, gaze clouded with sleepiness, mumbling something with a questioning tone.

"Shh-shh, go back to sleep," Marissa tucks her under the covers, "Heard your legs finally gave out, you little weasel. Made the poor pr— the poor old maester carry you in," the lie leaves her mouth swiftly but leaves the maid frowning.

Lia doesn't see it, her eyelids already drooping, body sinking into the bed. And yet, before she dozes off again, a single thought sneaks onto her mind —

in her dreams, the hands holding her felt so very familiar.

And then, as if in unwitting comparison, her memories remind her of someone else's embrace.