They used to humiliate me, you don't know anything about it. Jace and Luc thought it was funny that I didn't have a dragon, so hilarious. I would have rather died by Vhagar's fire that night than not won her, they pushed me into it and then they beat me for it because they were mad I was better than them. When I fought back they threw sand in my face and hacked it open! I was ten. Do you know what it feels like to have your eyelids sliced open because they were fusing together, weeks later, and an eyeball sliced out at the root by an old maester whose hand trembled so badly he pulled while it was still attached? You don't understand.
[ Snapping as he walks past him, he gestures as he bites out the worst of it (almost: he can't talk about the gods damned pig, it's still gutting). ]
I don't need you to, but don't tell me I'm the one who needs to make amends.
[ It strikes him: has Aemond ever really talked about it, for himself? Or has it only ever been to use his pain as a weapon against Rhaenyra? Did he ever once cry about the pain and the injustice and have a response that wasn't about needing to be strong for his brother?
Gods, as much as Daemon hates the Hightowers, he hopes so. He barely sees Alicent as human, just a husk filled with her father's lust for the throne, but she must be a mother, too.
As best he can, he gives his nephew space to be angry about it, and does not bite anything out at him. Though it is a struggle. Above them, Caraxes shifts, and it betrays Daemon's mood behind his well-practiced mask. Difficult for him to not rise to an argument, purely because he likes arguing. Maturity blows, sometimes. ]
Not amends. Peace. [ Which is almost as galling and twice as hard. Which he knows, so: ] I'm shit at it, too, Aemond.
[ They are so alike. It's striking. He thinks Viserys tried to say so, yesterday. ]
[ Caraxes' shadow shifts, he can feel the warmth from the sun blinking in and out on his back but he resists looking around. His heart feels like it's beating for two; a soft rumble flutters through the stones of the dome and he catches his breath. ]
Aegon is my brother.
[ That makes all the difference, the duty and love intertwined to a point he can't separate them. ]
[ It is very interesting how the target for their arrows has abruptly slid over half a mile, there, don't think he hasn't noticed. Daemon manages not to make an exasperated sound, somehow. ]
I do love her. I always will.
[ That's how it is. Even when he hates her, he will still love her. It does no good to lie to Aemond about anything, but especially that. ]
But the reason I didn't linger in your quarters was because Jace and Baela were in the corridor as well. And that's all.
Because they were just betrothed, which they have wished for since they were young, and they decided to go out into the city to celebrate where the eyes of propriety could not be cast over them. And because I am so learned in the ways of ruining the crown's reputation, I wisely anticipated this and prevented them from making fools of themselves, and we spent the evening in a perfectly respectable tavern listening to some ghoulish bard sing about the Andals.
[ Punished for accidentally being a good parent.
Aemond, please, you have to see how this is actually Very Funny. ]
[ ... It's a bit funny, he doesn't let himself smile and looks back at the city. The fact Daemon had to spend an evening playing nursemaid is a little ridiculous and he's glad he was in such a stupid situation, as punishment for not being in Aemond's bed.
His silence isn't an angry one, for once. Hair loose, he shakes it out and picks at his nails. ]
I spent the evening with Aegon's friends then went to bed.
[ It was fucking exhausting being social with that many extroverts, okay. ]
[ Getting out of being busted for shady behavior via leveraging his own shady behavior while attempting to meet his near thirty-year-younger nephew for a sexual encounter is either a new personal best or a new personal low. Regardless, achieved thanks to Aemond. 🏆
Finally, the ruffles of his nephew's feathers begin to smooth. He knows it isn't an all clear (Vhagar should be used to hearing Daemon on one side of a hard conversation or the other, given all his experience adjacent her, but one never knows, she could shake the foundation of the pit and pop up over the wall at any moment, really), but it's better than ten minutes ago.
Daemon wonders why he's even trying to make peace. Wouldn't it be just as satisfying to know his only recourse would be to go and cry to his mother about it, then watch her crack to madness to know it's happened again? Mm, but he likes Aemond, and he likes the fishhook pull of his blood. ]
You're a good brother to him. And a friend, too, I suspect.
[ Currently setting aside that he knows just what Aegon was whispering in full earshot of his daughters over the clan's great dinner, that he isn't worth anyone's loyalty, not like Viserys has ever been, because ... because. What's Daemon going to do, drop the cunt off a ledge? He'll sort himself out in time like Daemon has, hopefully. ]
[ It's safe up here, in the clean wind that never touches the city streets with dragons underfoot and above. There isn't a political agenda here in the pit where you either ride a dragon or don't, all that matters is you know what you're doing. You're certain of yourself and don't get burned as a result.
His stomach twists with all the distance between them since the morning, literal and figurative, so when he sighs and paces over to Daemon he places a hand on his chest that furls in a clasp there to hang on, chin tipped down to watch his hold as if it might slip and lose him. He shakes his head against the arguments rattling around in his head (Rhaenyra, his mother, all of the in-fighting) and leans toward the only thing that makes him happy. ]
Do you feel it too, here? [ Fingertips press just below a heart. ] When you fly so fast you miss a breath? That's how it's felt all morning. Like my body wasn't mine to command, it made me mad.
I wanted to cut the lungs out of someone if it would let me breathe around the way I need you.
[ So young, so vivid and fierce, and he's never felt the blood compulsion until now— has Daemon done right by him, indulging in it, or has he made things worse? Impossible to judge with finality. He knows that if their positions and ages were reversed, this is what he'd have wanted. It must be less cruel than to deny it.
(Noble excuses, for a selfish desire.) ]
Like pain but better, [ is what he says of it, and perhaps it's illuminating about why Daemon spend all day teasing it higher, unwitting about Aemond's real agony. Daemon likes it. ] Breathe with me.
[ —it's what he said while they were last here, together, somewhere far below. Daemon does not return his touch, yet, allowing his nephew (the illusion of) command of him for a while longer. ]
[ He turns his head to be closer, looking down between them at his grip in Daemon's tunic. It feels like his blood is boiling but now it runs in the right direction, fury turning into a fierce calm of yes, here, with you. More intimate than kissing, almost, to be stood so. ]
[ Clkclkclk, shifting scales on stone, the creeping presence of a red nightmare leaning over as if to check who said The D Word, cheekily feigning confusion. Is there someone for Caraxes to burn? Does he need to forestall any real fighting with a snap of his wide, wide jaws? Hope springs eternal.
Daemon finally does touch Aemond, a hand light at his side as he tips his head up— ]
Very funny, [ a dry admonishment to his dragon, who lingers for a moment before withdrawing his snaking head with a rumbling breath that could so easily be laughter. Daemon rubs his thumb against where the lowest edge of Aemond's ribcage sits. ]
He is very attentive, [ Daemon says with clear warmth, ] and easily bored.
[ Challenging behavior to manage in so much as a dog, dangerous and terrifying to consider when faced with one of the largest bonded dragons left. But he knows Aemond understands. Easy has never been an option for either of them.
Not for dragons— not for anything, it turns out.
A slow breath in, and out. Aemond could still find a place to put a dagger. They're very close. ]
[ He warms to Daemon, holding his tongue on the parallels drawn between dragon and rider. Aemond is much more easily settled with physical contact, calmer than he has been all day; a nod to agree that he hears the confession, it's not going to be a point of contention any longer, and he Mmmms as though sealing the matter. ]
You should do as you like for the rest of your stay. No more games, just ... find me when you want to.
[ Was he being a brat before? Never. But, just in case, he skirts around the issue as he looks away at Caraxes. ]
[ Letting Daemon weasel out of actually saying the words I'm sorry is perhaps unwise for the long term, but this is better than carrying on an argument. He is sorry, anyway. (Mostly.) (Sort of.)
He holds him more firmly, though he still lets Aemond choose where he'd like to be leaning against him. ]
You're beautiful when you're angry, [ Daemon tells him. ] You distracted me past better sense, even as you were.
[ Well. Beautiful is not something he hears often (or ever) and it clouds his high cheekbones with a faint blush. Or maybe that's the wind scoring across them now and then, who can say?
Aemond is all long lines and slouches against him from hip to chest. ]
You shouldn't have followed me to the yard. I was halfway through winning several swordfights against you when you showed up.
[ To have so much power over him is heady. All he did was miss a hoped-for meeting, and Aemond was on the warpath, and demolishing squires and pages while imagining his uncle's face. Just like when he fucks those other boys.
Daemon pets his side, keeping him close. ]
And what grievous injury laid upon me was your favorite?
[ Bloodthirsty is not an unattractive trait in a mate, for a Targaryen. ]
[ Daemon's huff is a low laugh, somehow not a wince. Almost as if it's not the first time someone has wished for such a fate to his nether regions. (Wouldn't even be the first time someone has tried; Daemon has a way about him.) ]
Then I'll be glad of your surrogate use, for I'd be sorely unable to make anything up to you, otherwise.
[ Working against your own interests there, little dragon. ]
[ The offer surprises him. Daemon knows this isn't like trying to impress one of his lordling playmates— he knows Aemond will be well aware that he's inviting a more experienced rider into his immediate sphere of influence, leaving himself vulnerable to close scrutiny, and furthermore, trusting Daemon not to send any mixed signals. He lays a hand over his nephew's chest, his heart; what a sweet boy, even while he's desperate to draw blood.
There's no point to mentioning the times he's ridden Vhagar before, it must be assumed as obvious, between his father and Laena. A sulking boy being sent home with orders from Baelon not to let him wander off, and his brave, wild girl, laughing over her shoulder and dragging him away for a victory lap, a lifetime marked in increments by his interactions with the great animals their blood binds them to. Different, this time. ]
If you don't mind a chaperone.
[ Caraxes, of course, won't just sit waiting around for them to get back. But this won't be his the first time he's experienced such an outing, and besides, in terms of keeping secrets, they could have no better
[ Pleased, he covers the hand on his chest with his own to give a grateful (happy) squeeze, brightening up by degrees. Sharing his dragon isn't something he does lightly, it doesn't mater how many riders she has had before or with whom Daemon rode her; Aemond and Vhagar are their own team and he wants to show Daemon what that's like up close. Everyone thinks she's old and slow, a boulder overhead, but for Aemond she owns any sky as easily as a kite and has an ancient beauty derived from warmongering. She's always ready to attack, to twist, to soar, and always does when he asks her ... he can't imagine her denying a command.
Aemond blinks slowly, taking away any seriousness from the rolling of his eye. ]
You're impossible to get alone, on land or in the air. Luckily I'm used to it. [ He tugs on his hand, easing back. A bounce in his step. ] Let's go now, before someone wants you for an excessively unnecessary excuse.
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[ Snapping as he walks past him, he gestures as he bites out the worst of it (almost: he can't talk about the gods damned pig, it's still gutting). ]
I don't need you to, but don't tell me I'm the one who needs to make amends.
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Gods, as much as Daemon hates the Hightowers, he hopes so. He barely sees Alicent as human, just a husk filled with her father's lust for the throne, but she must be a mother, too.
As best he can, he gives his nephew space to be angry about it, and does not bite anything out at him. Though it is a struggle. Above them, Caraxes shifts, and it betrays Daemon's mood behind his well-practiced mask. Difficult for him to not rise to an argument, purely because he likes arguing. Maturity blows, sometimes. ]
Not amends. Peace. [ Which is almost as galling and twice as hard. Which he knows, so: ] I'm shit at it, too, Aemond.
[ They are so alike. It's striking. He thinks Viserys tried to say so, yesterday. ]
You've forgiven Aegon.
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Aegon is my brother.
[ That makes all the difference, the duty and love intertwined to a point he can't separate them. ]
Wouldn't you forgive your brother anything?
[ Ya hypocrite. ]
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[ He leans forward. ]
And my niece, too.
[ Not even a little hypocritical, in fact. Jace and Luc are still Aemond's blood, no different than Rhaenyra to Daemon—
And Aemond and Daemon themselves. ]
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[ Arms folding, he leans on the jut of a parapet and starts unbraiding his hair for something to do. ]
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I do love her. I always will.
[ That's how it is. Even when he hates her, he will still love her. It does no good to lie to Aemond about anything, but especially that. ]
But the reason I didn't linger in your quarters was because Jace and Baela were in the corridor as well. And that's all.
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[ STARING. With one very suspicious lavender eye. ]
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Because they were just betrothed, which they have wished for since they were young, and they decided to go out into the city to celebrate where the eyes of propriety could not be cast over them. And because I am so learned in the ways of ruining the crown's reputation, I wisely anticipated this and prevented them from making fools of themselves, and we spent the evening in a perfectly respectable tavern listening to some ghoulish bard sing about the Andals.
[ Punished for accidentally being a good parent.
Aemond, please, you have to see how this is actually Very Funny. ]
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His silence isn't an angry one, for once. Hair loose, he shakes it out and picks at his nails. ]
I spent the evening with Aegon's friends then went to bed.
[ It was fucking exhausting being social with that many extroverts, okay. ]
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Finally, the ruffles of his nephew's feathers begin to smooth. He knows it isn't an all clear (Vhagar should be used to hearing Daemon on one side of a hard conversation or the other, given all his experience adjacent her, but one never knows, she could shake the foundation of the pit and pop up over the wall at any moment, really), but it's better than ten minutes ago.
Daemon wonders why he's even trying to make peace. Wouldn't it be just as satisfying to know his only recourse would be to go and cry to his mother about it, then watch her crack to madness to know it's happened again? Mm, but he likes Aemond, and he likes the fishhook pull of his blood. ]
You're a good brother to him. And a friend, too, I suspect.
[ Currently setting aside that he knows just what Aegon was whispering in full earshot of his daughters over the clan's great dinner, that he isn't worth anyone's loyalty, not like Viserys has ever been, because ... because. What's Daemon going to do, drop the cunt off a ledge? He'll sort himself out in time like Daemon has, hopefully. ]
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His stomach twists with all the distance between them since the morning, literal and figurative, so when he sighs and paces over to Daemon he places a hand on his chest that furls in a clasp there to hang on, chin tipped down to watch his hold as if it might slip and lose him. He shakes his head against the arguments rattling around in his head (Rhaenyra, his mother, all of the in-fighting) and leans toward the only thing that makes him happy. ]
Do you feel it too, here? [ Fingertips press just below a heart. ] When you fly so fast you miss a breath? That's how it's felt all morning. Like my body wasn't mine to command, it made me mad.
I wanted to cut the lungs out of someone if it would let me breathe around the way I need you.
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(Noble excuses, for a selfish desire.) ]
Like pain but better, [ is what he says of it, and perhaps it's illuminating about why Daemon spend all day teasing it higher, unwitting about Aemond's real agony. Daemon likes it. ] Breathe with me.
[ —it's what he said while they were last here, together, somewhere far below. Daemon does not return his touch, yet, allowing his nephew (the illusion of) command of him for a while longer. ]
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I would breathe fire with you.
[ Not just breathe. ]
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Daemon finally does touch Aemond, a hand light at his side as he tips his head up— ]
Very funny, [ a dry admonishment to his dragon, who lingers for a moment before withdrawing his snaking head with a rumbling breath that could so easily be laughter. Daemon rubs his thumb against where the lowest edge of Aemond's ribcage sits. ]
You are.
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[ Caraxes the red jester. Aemond watches them both with interest, leaning more into Daemon's side by the time the Blood Wyrm has sloughed away. ]
He's worse than a court gossip, ears permanently open.
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[ Challenging behavior to manage in so much as a dog, dangerous and terrifying to consider when faced with one of the largest bonded dragons left. But he knows Aemond understands. Easy has never been an option for either of them.
Not for dragons— not for anything, it turns out.
A slow breath in, and out. Aemond could still find a place to put a dagger. They're very close. ]
I feel it. Just there.
[ His heart. ]
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You should do as you like for the rest of your stay. No more games, just ... find me when you want to.
[ Was he being a brat before? Never. But, just in case, he skirts around the issue as he looks away at Caraxes. ]
I won't make any more scenes.
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He holds him more firmly, though he still lets Aemond choose where he'd like to be leaning against him. ]
You're beautiful when you're angry, [ Daemon tells him. ] You distracted me past better sense, even as you were.
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Aemond is all long lines and slouches against him from hip to chest. ]
You shouldn't have followed me to the yard. I was halfway through winning several swordfights against you when you showed up.
[ Snrk. He sucks a breath in through his teeth. ]
Awkward for you ...
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Daemon pets his side, keeping him close. ]
And what grievous injury laid upon me was your favorite?
[ Bloodthirsty is not an unattractive trait in a mate, for a Targaryen. ]
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I wasn't aiming for a thigh.
[ Lucky for the squire, he missed. ]
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Then I'll be glad of your surrogate use, for I'd be sorely unable to make anything up to you, otherwise.
[ Working against your own interests there, little dragon. ]
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[ He looks thoughtfully at the sky, then over a shoulder at Caraxes and back to Daemon again. ]
Would you ... like to ride with me? Upon Vhagar.
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There's no point to mentioning the times he's ridden Vhagar before, it must be assumed as obvious, between his father and Laena. A sulking boy being sent home with orders from Baelon not to let him wander off, and his brave, wild girl, laughing over her shoulder and dragging him away for a victory lap, a lifetime marked in increments by his interactions with the great animals their blood binds them to. Different, this time. ]
If you don't mind a chaperone.
[ Caraxes, of course, won't just sit waiting around for them to get back. But this won't be his the first time he's experienced such an outing, and besides, in terms of keeping secrets, they could have no better
wingman
EEYYYY ]
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Aemond blinks slowly, taking away any seriousness from the rolling of his eye. ]
You're impossible to get alone, on land or in the air. Luckily I'm used to it. [ He tugs on his hand, easing back. A bounce in his step. ] Let's go now, before someone wants you for an excessively unnecessary excuse.
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