ℒove always wakes the dragon (Aemond x OC)

First impressions

The audience with the Queen goes better than Daemon hoped for — which means it's not half as bad as it could've been.

Rhaenyra's frustration due to the unannounced visit is quickly replaced by burning curiosity when Lia comes in. She sees the girl who doesn't try to hide behind Daemon's back and boldly keeps eye contact with the Queen. Lia stops a few feet away from the throne — and she doesn't curtsy. Instead, she politely takes a bow, not looking away for a second.

Someone else might've considered her behavior insolent but Rhaenyra impatiently stands up to walk closer to the girl, not offended but rather intrigued. Daemon wonders if she sees a younger version of herself in Lia — and his wife thinks of it, too. She is also more surprised by the lack of a title than by the name his daughter chose.

"Not a single person in my village had a title or a last name," Lia points out, and she bears no shame. The look on her face also suggests she doesn't expect the Queen to understand.

Rhaenyra doesn't ponder for long. "It is fair to call you a lady, I believe, since you have dragon's blood in your veins."

"As you wish, your grace," Lia simply agrees — and it's leniency as it is. But the Queen allows it.

She asks more questions than Daemon did, and the girl seems affable with her replies yet somehow she gives all the same information, and not a word more. Still, he observes them with unconcealed satisfaction, pleased with the flow of their voices, with the calmness that sets in the hall, and he's just a moment away from finding relief —

"How did your mother die?" Rhaenyra asks all of a sudden, and it makes Daemon flinch at his spot.

"Of an unfortunate injury she left untreated," Lia begrudgingly answers, and he notices that the violet of her eyes goes a shade darker.

"Wasn't your mother a healer?"

It's not intended as a taunt, Rhaenyra just can't resist wanting to know more, her attempts almost child-like, and Daemon tenses up. They are both perplexed by the dry chuckle Lia lets out.

"She cared too much about everyone else but too little about herself."

There's no hiding of vitriol seeping through her words but Lia's face is indifferent again. Rhaenyra studies her reaction — luckily for Daemon, she does so not as the Queen but as someone who experienced the same loss once.

"Hardships of life only shape your character," she states leniently. "I presume that coming all that way to King's Landing wasn't easy but we are glad that you did. It may take you some time to consider this place home — I assure you, the servants are ordered to satisfy your every whim".

Rhaenyra means well, Daemons knows it, and yet for some reason, he wishes she phrased it better. Whatever Lia actually thinks of the Queen's speech is left unsaid — his daughter only gives a polite half-smile in return.

"That is very generous of you, your grace. Frankly, I feel like I want to rest for a week, nothing else."

"Do you really intend to?" Rhaenyra's friendliness slightly falters. "We planned on having a family gathering at dinner."

"Dare I ask you to postpone it just for a day? Surely it would be rude for me to fall asleep at the table," Lia's smile doesn't reach the eyes, and a lull in their conversation makes Daemon uncomfortable.

"Well, I suppose just a day won't make a difference. After such a long journey you do deserve to rest," the Queen says after a pause. "I need my husband to return to his duties for now. The maid will show you to your chambers," she calls for a girl who's been standing at the door, and the maid approaches them as quietly as a mouse.

Lia's eyes flicker to Daemon, and he almost expects her to argue, but she says nothing aside from a hushed "thank you", and then follows the maid out of the room. Rhaenyra watches them, tacit and pensive.

"I truly do not know what to think," the Queen drawls when they leave. "But she is really quite something," and her appraisal is followed by a chuckle.

Daemon nods, agreeing. Only he doesn't find it amusing at all.





Lia thinks the maid is just a couple of years younger than her but she doesn't want to clarify. Just yesterday Lia was picking up branches to make a fire in the woods, some dirt undoubtedly left under her fingernails. And now she is being led to her chambers by a maid. It feels as ridiculous as it is nauseating, and it only gets worse when she sees the room — the size of the house she's grown in and with way more furniture than she's ever seen put in one place.

Lia stands at the doorway, still and confounded, when the maid humbly says: "If you are in need of anything, you can —"

"No," Lia cuts her off so sharply, it startles the girl.

Lia turns to her with an apologetic look. "What is your name?"

"Annora," she answers meekly, hiding her eyes to the floor.

"Annora, I can guarantee you I need nothing else. You are free to leave for the rest of the day," Lia tries to sound both persuasive and kind — and not disgusted with her own pretense.

The girl gives her a confused look but seems too scared to object so she takes leave with no questions asked. Lia stays at the entrance and listens to her retreating footsteps, disregarding the pompously furnished room. After the sounds in the hall die down she slips out without looking back.





Lia roams around and learns every exit and searches through every room she can open. She follows no rules except one — shall things go south, she must know how to get out, fast and without being seen. So she memorizes the turns, the pattern of corridors and stairs while trying to avoid the people endlessly pacing through the castle. A few times she has to take a step back, hide in the shadows and in between columns while maids and guards and noble women with too many underskirts run by. Lia does her best to ignore the fuss, taking time to explore the huge building, with doors and corners and the awaiting unknown.

When she finally gets to the backyard, it feels like only a couple of hours have passed but Lia is surprised to see the sun setting. The sky gradually darkens, dabbed with yellow and maroon, showing the approach of the evening. Only once she steps outside, she realizes how much she needed some fresh air, how there's a lack of it in the musty, sweltering castle. She is relieved to see that the yard is way less crowded, with only a few servants and a couple of knights at the gates. Her eyes skim over the open space when she hears the metal screeching — distinct and all too familiar to her: turning around, Lia predictably sees two men sparring, their swords being the source of the sound. Her attention is quickly drawn to one of them — lean, tall, and fending off his opponent with ease, his long silver hair flowing with each move.

His hits seem as clear-cut as the features of his face — and although she didn't see him that well the first time, she recognizes him immediately.