Aemond
Mother could never find out.
After spending the entire night in his chambers, going through Longstrider’s The Wonders of Man, Aemond slowly came to realize how cross his mother would be if she discovered what he was doing.
She had spent months wringing Aegon’s neck for consorting with Jacaerys.
Should she discover what he was doing, she might toss him into the Black cells.
You are being silly.
It was not like he had struck a blood oath of friendship with her.
He had just lent her a damnable book.
And once he got the fires of the Freehold back, he could return to pretending she and her kiss did not exist.
When the sun rose on the following morning, he could scarcely rise from his bed.
He had to force down his bowl of porridge, all while listening to Mother scold a half-awake Aegon for insulting some Lannister girl.
When Ser Criston arrived, he practically leapt out of his seat, eager to be rid of them.
The knight had promised him additional battle training, and Aemond was eager to throw some blows.
They chose the gardens for their sparring grounds.
There was a clearing beside the dragon fountain where Ser Criston judged no one would disturb them.
However, before they could enter the hedge maze, a familiar figure cut off their path.
“My Prince,” Septa Melara rushed over to them in a flurry of grey robes.
Her eyes were so wide, Aemond was certain they would fall out of her head.
“Ser Criston, good morrow.”
“Good morrow, Septa.” The Kingsguard replied with a cordial nod.
“It is good I have found you.
I am in need of assistance.”
“How may I be of service?”
The aged woman twiddled her thumbs.
“Well, it is a delicate matter.”
Ser Criston’s coal-black eyes pivoted to Aemond.
“I will only be a moment, my prince.”
The two walked deeper into the hedge maze, exchanging hushed whispers in rapid succession.
Aemond strained to hear, but they had gone too far for him to make out anything they were saying.
Instead, he contended himself with sulking in silence beside a bushy arrowwood shrub.
The silence did not last long.
“Aemond!” a strangled cry sounded from the branches.
He jerked, almost tripping over his cloak.
A pale face rose above the canopy.
“Lucera?”
Ser Criston’s stern baritone bid Aemond freeze.
Lucera dove down into the bushes again.
When Aemond dared to look back, the knight was still engaged in an animated dispute with the Septa.
Taking slow, methodical steps, he walked backward till his back hit the shrub.
Before he could react, a hand shot out and yanked him into it.
He fell on his backside with a loud thud, thorns slashing his skin.
A torrent of curse words threatened to escape his mouth, but Lucera covered it.
“Shh!” she commanded.
A moment later, Ser Criston’s voice rang out.
“My Prince?” Aemond listened to the clatter of mail and armor as the knight paced around the gardens.
“Gods be good; he has gone missing too!” Septa Melara croaked.
“I shall find him.”
He and the Septa spent an eternity scouring the bushes, calling his name.
After their voices had gone hoarse from the effort, Ser Criston bid her to return to the castle so he could alert the Lord Commander.
It was only when their footsteps abated that Lucera dared to breathe.
Aemond shook her grip off in a fury.
“Are you mad?
What do you think you are doing?”
His half-niece settled into her crouch, eyes downcast.
“Is it not obvious?
I am hiding,” she announced, pleased.
She looks as if she has escaped the kennels.
The front of her cream gown was filthy, marred with flecks of dirt and lint.
The long hair her servants had so painstakingly tried to gather into a braid was disheveled, entangled with leaves and dried flower petals.
Still, her pudgy cheeks were flush with color, and her lips upturned into a lively smile.
It was almost pretty.
“Gods, you are going to get us in so much trouble,” he chided, attempting to adjust his surcoat.
The thing was covered in a blanket of thorns that would most likely take him hours to remove.
“I am sorry, but I wanted to speak with you.”
“And it did not occur to you to simply ask to see me?”
She huffed, puckering her plump lips.
It was a trait she shared with Jace, though it looked more comely on her.
“As if the Septa would have let me.
She has been shadowing me since the moment I rose from bed.
I have not been able to take one single breath without her presiding over it.
If she could, I think she would follow me to the privy too.”
Aemond chortled, his anger vanishing in a puff of smoke.
“Alright, why did you want to see me?”
“I finished your book.”
“You finished it?” His mouth fell open. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
She bobbed her head with enthusiasm.
“Yes.”
“But it has five hundred pages.”
“Oh yes, I know,” she launched.
“I spent the whole night reading it.
I have not had a wink of sleep, but it was well worth the effort.”
Without even realizing it, Aemond peeled his lips into a smile.
Not so different.
“And?
What did you think of it?”
“You honestly cannot ask me that question.” The two of them shared a chuckle, and she inched closer.
“I knew it would be full of secrets, but I did not expect to learn so many new things.
I mean, I never knew that a Valyrian woman had attempted to fly her dragon to map Sothoryos.”
Aemond nodded eagerly.
“Janaera Belaerys.
She and her dragon Terrax flew south of Sothoryos, farther than anyone had ever been.
When she failed to find anything except mountains and jungles, she declared it a land with no end.”
Lucera knitted her brows.
“That is stupid.
Everything has an end.
She must have given up too soon.”
“She spent three years flying in one direction.
If she says it has no end, I am inclined to believe her.”
“Or perhaps Sothoryos just happens to be much larger than anything we have ever known.”
“Someone should probably check that.”
The radiant smile that blossomed on her lips was a sight to behold.
“Yes, somebody should.”
She held his gaze for a bit, the brown of her eyes swirling like oak bark.
Plain as it was, it was still lovely.
Warm.
“May we leave the bushes now?” he blurted.
“I have sat on a thorn, and it is starting to really hurt.”
Lucera wasted no time.
Like a crane, she angled her neck up to peer above the shrub canopy.
When she judged there was no danger lurking nearby, they both rushed out of the bush and headed deep into the maze.
“I will see about returning the files to you this evening,” she commented after a comfortable silence.
“You can keep it a while longer,” he said, gingerly falling in step with her.
“Maester Orwyle has not asked me about it.
He thinks I have set it aside for now while I occupy myself with something else.”
“What?”
He paused, swallowing.
“The Wonders of Man.”
Again, the radiance that emanated from her smile left him stumped.
“You did read it!”
“Well, not yet.
I am still going through it.
I have just reached the part where he talks about the Bone Mountains and the sister cities nestled there.”
“Oh, that one is my favorite.” She leapt up in front of him like a rabbit, giddy with excitement.
Kayakayanaya, Bayasabhad, and Samyriana.
They are giant fortresses that are manned by warrior women.
They ride horses, wield a bow, and are trained to handle knives, spears, and slings.”
His brows went up.
“They have warrior women?”
“Yes!
They believe only those who give life should be allowed to take it.
So they only let women fight.” The proud way she announced that made him pause.
He could not imagine her or his sister donning mail to ride off into battle.
Nevertheless, he kept the thought to himself.
“What do they do with the men?”
Her teeth worked her bottom lip.
“It depends.
Some of them grow up to be great fathers.
Leaders of their people, which is wonderful.
The rest of them they geld and have them serve as cooks, priests, farmers, and scholars.
Which is not quite as wonderful.
The gelding, not the cooks and scholars part.”
They reached a fork in the maze, and Aemond gently stirred her into the left passage he knew led to the overlook.
“You do not say?” he chuckled.
“Well, I suppose everyone does stupid things.”
“It is most likely tradition.
Something their forebears did.”
Lucera cast him a look.
“That is no answer.
They should not just do something like that because others before them did.
They should have a good reason.”
The overlook was deserted, as expected, and they could see the entire stretch of the river as it flowed downstream into the bay.
“Tradition is a good reason.
It exists to help us in our lives,” he reasoned.
“Think of Old Valyria.
If their customs were useless, we would not be bothering to learn about them.”
She heaved a sigh, leaning against the railing to peer down at the crashing waves.
“That is different.
We practice the traditions of Old Valyria because they help us control our dragons.
That does not mean all traditions are good.
Think about it.” Her head snapped back to him.
Wind was gusting in her face, blowing rivulets of dark hair into her eyes.
It made her look wild, like a woodland spirit who had wandered into the castle by accident.
“There is no good reason why I should be made to do needlework or dancing when I am not good at it.
Nor is there a reason for you to be lesser simply because you have not claimed a dragon yet.”
The jab bit him right in the heart, but he kept his composure.
“It is all just stupid rules concocted by some old men who cared naught for anyone’s wants but their own,” she continued.
“If you ask me, we should do away with all of it.
Be free and do what we like.”
The words sounded lovely on her lips, but he recognized the edge they had.
Of course she would say that.
She and her brother were living refutations of said laws and traditions.
“I dare not ask what you think freedom is,” he remarked with far too much snark in his voice.
She seemed not to notice.
“Well, that is easy enough.
Happiness.
In a perfect world, we would all be free to do what makes us happy.
Jace would be a powerful and beloved king, while I went out into the world on dragonback to have adventures.
And you.
Well, I do not know what makes you happy.”
He side-eyed her briefly.
Her words seemed so childish.
Easy to laugh at and even easier to dismiss.
Yet he could not deny that the yearning for the happiness she spoke of resonated deeply within him.
“For now, I would just settle for being free of my brother.” He leaned over the railing beside her, taking in the smell of river water drifting from below.
With each crash of the waves, a thick layer of soapy foam would bubble to the surface.
“We are to have history lessons tomorrow.
I am to help him with his reading and make sure he actually finishes it on time.
I would rather bathe in dragonfire.”
Lucera traced the stone railing with slender fingers, drawing circles with her nails.
“Well, yours is easy enough.
You should just skip it.”
Aemond balked.
“What?”
“I am going to the beach tomorrow.
You can skip your lessons and come with me.”
His teeth sank into the inside of his cheek.
“No, I cannot.
I promised I would help him.”
“Why?
He can read himself, can he not?
He just does not want to,” she grimaced.
“There is no reason for you to sacrifice yourself for his betterment.
Not only does he not care for it, but it reduces you.”
Those words resonated in his mind long after the two of them parted ways.
Ser Criston gave him quite the earful when he discovered him in the garden sitting below a hickory tree.
Aemond only half listened to the scolding, too lost in his own thoughts.
The listlessness did not leave the following day either.
He and Aegon were sitting in the confines of Maester Orwyle’s writing apartments, pouring over the histories.
The moment the Maester left, his brother ceased pretending to pay attention and laid his head on the table.
Then, he started snoring.
He does not care.
He had no concept of family or duty.
No wish to learn or better himself, not just for his own sake, but for the sake of others.
All his desires lay at the bottom of a wine cup.
I should have been the firstborn.
He was well versed in history and philosophy, spoke two languages, and could recite verses from the Seven-Pointed Star from memory.
He was always mindful of his duties, always taking care to be on time and to be proficient with a sword.
And all he got in return for his efforts was a chance to play nursemaid to a drunken lout.
It is stupid.
And it exists for no good reason.
Scoffing loudly, Aemond Targaryen slammed his book shut and rose from his seat.
His brother did not move at all when he headed for the door.
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