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The fever encapsulated his body like a tight, heavy, unwanted embrace from a person that had yet to realize they had been sweating too much. Hot and cold all at once. A small groan left Aemond as he turned in his bed. Every movement sent signals of anguish through his muscles. It wasn't as bad as it had been two days ago, but this stubborn sickness refused to leave him promptly. He rarely got sick, but this time around it was one of the harsher examples.
What irritated the 10 year old the most was the fact that he was missing his studies; he could deal with the sweating, the pestering of the staff who came by every hour or so to change the cold cloth on his forehead, the tasteless broth he was made to drink, and he could keep the eminent boredom somewhat at bay by reading in the bed to which he was confined, but the fact that he was missing his customs was harder to accept.
The grown-ups just didn't understand; he had to study and be better than he was yesterday. He had to train his mind as well as his growing muscles to show himself worthy of the name Targaryen. Why could none of them understand that?
His mother certainly didn't; stopping by every few hours to check on him, putting a hand to his forehead while commenting on his ever present too hot temperature. The worried line between her brows seemed to be permanently carved into her face after his mere two days in bed. She was fussing needlessly, Aemond had no doubt about it. Still, he couldn't deny the gratifying sense of comfort he felt whenever she'd come by and check on him, ask him if he was drinking enough water, if he needed anything out of the ordinary and so forth. Her efforts almost made up for the fact that she couldn't quite hide the sheer force she had to use to make her present this side of herself; like the maternal instincts simply didn't come as natural to her. It wasn't something Aemond's young mind was able to articulate into words, but he felt it in his chest. The slight tense strain in the air around Alicent when she comforted him, like she really had to put in the extra effort and remind herself how a mother was supposed to be around her young.
She struggled.
It had never crossed his mind that he ought to hold it against her though. She was simply his mother, the only one he had, and he cherished her for all she did and could give. It wasn't her fault that he'd gotten sick. And it certainly wasn't her fault that Aegon, yesterday, had decided to wake Aemond in the morning by emptying a bucket of ice water on him while laughing.
That prick.
His prank may have earned Aemond another day of sickness. His older brother had laughed diabolically at him, saying ‘this ought to cool your fever down a bit’.
Aemond shivered at the thought, and sneezed. He rubbed his reddened nose with the sleeve of his shift and settled back against his pillow again. Every movement made him ache. He threw a glance at the book pile on the table next to the bed. Longing for sunshine and fresh air, the silver-haired prince groaned and pulled up the covers to his chin. He'd read most of the books before but he had nothing else to entertain himself with. Quietly, Aemond hoped sleep would find him again so the days would pass by faster and his health would replenish sooner. He closed his eyes and tried so. After fifteen minutes or so, there was the faint sound of his door clicking open, then shutting again. Assuming it was most likely the staff coming to set broth on his table or to check on him, he paid it no mind and didn't bother to open his eyes. There was a shuffling of feet, soft steps, then the sound of them stopping at the foot of his bed. They were probably looking at him, assessing his state. Any second now they'd wake him and ask him how he was doing. But no voice came, which puzzled Aemond. He blinked his eyes open fully and turned his head to look at them.
He had expected a taller figure, and the color red of the maid's gowns. Instead, he saw a head of dark hair, and a big set of eyes that blinked once as they looked at him quizzically. His niece didn't smile. She just stood there, looking at him with those eyes that seemed to study him as if she were some kind of curious hound.
“You're still sick?” She asked with a vexing type of ignorance.
“It's been three days,” she added just as senselessly.
There was a tension on Aemond's forehead, when his brow furrowed at the sight of her.
“I know,” he replied with a voice thick with irritation, and yet it was veiled by the complete lack of restraint the sickness had put him in.
She had a bad habit of just waltzing into his chambers and seeking out his attention, as if she owned the entire godsdamn keep. But it was no use to scold her on it. Aemond had long ago learned that his rebukes towards her bounced off of her, as if his words were a mere passing breeze. And even if he could find some meaning and inspiration to reprimand her for her insolence, he physically did not have the energy.
He simply scoffed and turned in his bed, tugging up the covers as he faced away from her. A small hopeful part of him alleged that she might grow bored once she came to realize he could not be poked with the state he was in, and then make her leave. But that hope was frail.
The fever ridden prince heard her feet shuffle against the floors, as she instead of leaving stepped closer to him, up on the side of the bed where his back was turned to her.
“You're not feeling better?”
She asked, surprisingly softly.
“... A bit,” Aemond murmured without turning around. It was strange hearing her ask him that. He reckoned the words would have had a more comforting effect had they come from his mother.
She pouted her lips in contemplation for a couple seconds, as she looked at the sweat-damp back of his neck where small clumps of silver strands stuck to. The princess couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him with his hair all loose. Just the mere act of leaving the top part down instead of neatly tied back, gave him a softened exterior that made him seem so… Defenseless in a sense. Obviously he still held that pesky wall of his up, trying to remain on guard, but the fever had clearly softened his edges in a way that almost made him seem endearing.
She'd always felt provoked by that pesky wall of his, though she did not possess the maturity nor capability to put a finger on why. Nor did she have the vocabulary to understand that feeling of how her uncle always seemed to have but a sort of armor on constantly. Even now as he laid there in but a thin shift that stuck to his warm feverish skin, he seemed to remain behind a shield.
She knew that they were family, but she didn't quite understand it. They were just a couple children living in the same castle from opposite sides of the same family that held a thinly veiled disdain towards one another due to her mother's succession.
But she never thought about that when she was with Aemond in their customs.
She never kept in mind that he was the younger brother of Aegon who, by all meanings of the word, was a threat to her mother. But Aegon could hardly remember the High Valyrian glyphs, so she didn't quite see how he could be a threat to her.
With Aemond on the other hand, she thought more of him as an egg. An egg had a shell that could be cracked to reveal the contents; reveal its purpose. In a driven subconscious way, she was curious to know what Aemond contained, what he meant his purpose was.
She'd never say it out loud, but the past three days in class had been rather dull without him there. She had grown accustomed to finding small ways to get his attention, when she found her mind drift as the maesters tutored her, her siblings and cousins. Like the time when the maester had his back turned to the students, and Aemond was taking notes, she'd suddenly reached across the table with her tiny hand and poked his cheek. Aemond had turned and looked at her wide-eyed as if she were mad.
She had settled back in her seat as if nothing had happened, and when the maester turned around at last, he had politely asked Aemond to stay focused and not stare at the other students. Her mouth had been tight as she struggled to keep herself from giggling. Aemond did nothing but purse his lips, as his face and ears grew red hot and he resumed on his notes, staring down at the papers, as his fingers nearly snapped the quill.
Her gaze wandered from Aemond's back over to the small bedside table with the books stacked. Each and every one of them were history books and bland texts about heraldry.
Boring.
She looked back at Aemond. He felt her poke the back of his shoulder. It wasn't hard enough to hurt his aching muscles, but more like the press of a kitten's paw.
“Are you bored?” She asked.
“I'm trying to sleep,” he grumbled.
“Liar,” she stated flatly.
Aemond heard her fingers tap the surface of something.
“I brought a book,” he heard her say.
“I have books,” he grumbled back, still with his back turned to her.
Even though he wasn't looking at her, he was certain she just rolled her eyes at him.
“Yeah, but this is a fun one,” she countered and threw a glance of disdain to the stack on the bedside table. She was inches away from adding a comment about how he was trying to read like a grown up, even though he was only ten, but she withheld the urge.
Finally, Aemond turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. His eyes were narrowed in skepticism. Truly she did hold a book in her right hand. He recognized the red leather bound cover as one of the old fairy tale books that had once been read to him and his siblings when they were much younger.
He tch’ed at his niece and once more rolled over in his bed, showing her his back again.
“That's for stupid children,” he muttered as if the very idea of reading it were beneath him.
Still, she remained immune to his mockery.
“You're a child too!” She countered stubbornly. The silver-haired prince did not have a second to conjure up another snarky remark, before he was muted in surprise at the feel of his mattress dipping behind him under her weight.
“What are you doing!?” He exclaimed, sitting up, and looking at her wide-eyed as she settled next to him with the book in her tiny hands. His shock at her very audacity and insolence was so all-consuming, that he had forgotten to feel the ache in his sore muscles from his hasty movements. A flush bloomed over his indignant face. She had no place in his chambers, no less the bed in which he slept and was fighting his illness in. She was fully dressed in a red gown decorated with gold and black embroideries and freshwater pearls - she hadn't even bothered to take off her slippers. All while he was but a sickly mess with messy hair, dressed in a cotton shift that stuck lightly to his skin from hours of sweating, and his breeches. Never in his wildest nightmares would he have imagined being so close to her while he was in this state of undress. But he could feel he ought to feel shame for it, that this was all improper and beyond anything he had been taught of how any princess and prince were to interact with one another.
“Reading to you,” she answered plainly, utterly unmoved by his distress as she opened the book in her lap, and with meticulous care gently flipped through the pages.
Aemond opened his mouth, about to protest, when she turned the book to face him, showing a title.
The Dragon's Gold
The title written in perfectly crisp, intricate calligraphy sent an unexpected spark of familiarity and nostalgia through him.
Right. It was one of the ones he remembered more vividly. But she had most likely had it read to her many more times, as Aemond had an inkling that Rhaenyra was more inclined to read to her children than his own sweet mother had been. But what did that matter?
Aemond scoffed softly.
“I'm not a babe no more,” he dismissed to let her know he refused to be amused by a story from his youth.
“And dragons don't hold gold,” he reasoned.
“They don't care for that,” he spoke with the arrogance of a scholar who'd studied the beasts for centuries. It was important that she understood he would not marvel in stories that held no foot in the true biology or nature of dragons.
She merely rolled her eyes.
“That doesn’t matter. It's a great story!” She argued with a beaming, insistent smile, and wiggled her hips for a more comfortable seating, with the book in her lap.
She seemed about ready to read to him against his will, before her eyes darted between Aemond and the pages in contemplation. Then, from where she had before sat across from Aemond, she crawled to sit next to him, book in her lap still, shoulders rubbing slightly back against another pillow, supported on the headboard. Aemond was stunned by this further display of discourtesy, but all he could muster was a grumbled sigh of irritation. He had no business trying to act surprised by her behavior.
“Ready?” Her smile beamed to him in encouragement, as she adjusted the book in her lap. She was so close to him that their shoulders touched, and Aemond was certain she could feel his fever radiate from him. Before he'd even mustered up a response, his niece took to reading aloud. She made the story come to life with a gentle form of enthusiasm that she probably had deemed fitting for the sickness that Aemond was battling on his own.
She was poised and serious in a way. A way that only a young princess trying to act more proper and grown up than she was could muster. It nearly made Aemond chuckle dryly witnessing this display. Instead he just leaned back and listened; he reasoned that if he yielded for now, mayhaps the girl would grow tired of her endeavors and leave sooner rather than later. He could humor her till then.
But against his will, Aemond saw the story come to life before his eyes. The young boy reasoned with himself that the pesky fever had lowered his defences too much, leaving him susceptible and weak against the girl's voice filled with wonder. That voice was simply too insistent. Her words prodded open his ears, and squirmed their measly way into his brain, making him live through the tale, regardless of whether he would allow it or not.
The characters came to life. He saw the sleazy merchant, the brave knight, the glistening golden scales of the dragon. He nearly felt the warm breath of its fire. She had gotten to the part where the knight stood face to face with the dragon. Glistening gold and jewels spilled between its claws as the beast hovered in warning before the kn-
“Which is your favourite?” His niece's voice broke character, as she turned her head slightly to Aemond's side.
He blinked once and lifted his gaze to look at her properly.
“‘Favourite?’” Aemond asked, brows pressing together. His eyes were somehow both glassy and dull at the same time.
“Of jewels and gemstones,” she responded and poked him with a surprisingly gentle finger against his fever pink, freckled cheek.
Aemond showed no immediate response to her touch, but gave a faint tch at the realization of her question.
Such a girl thing to inquire.
“Don't have one,” he stated flatly.
That earned him a soft roll of her eyes.
“Everyone has one,” she insisted.
After a beat, her eyes moved over his face, like they held questions of their own from simply looking at him.
“I like emeralds,” she revealed, even though he didn't ask.
Aemond's eyes travelled from hers over her face, like he was trying to decipher a hidden meaning in her statement.
When he found none, his lips remained sealed.
“Hm,” he hummed.
“Sapphire, I s’pose,” was the final admittance.
His niece nodded and gave a small smile.
“They are pretty too,” she mused and turned her attention back to the book, now that the matter had been settled, and resumed her reading.
The dark-haired girl read on for the remainder of the story. When she finished, she picked a new one, with little inquiry or protest from Aemond. Her annoying voice had made him forgetful in regards to his sickness. At least that much did her disturbance help.
Then he noticed her lean further back against the headboard. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand when a yawn crept up on her.
“Tired?” Aemond asked her, and felt like a fool immediately after. The contagion had set in and not long after her yawn had ended, his own followed.
“You can't sleep here,” Aemond berated, voice slightly thick with drowsiness.
“I won't,” she mumbled, with a protesting furrow forming on the brow. She turned another page and kept reading to her uncle. The strain and hint of exhaustion in her tone gave a certain relaxing flare to her voice, which affected Aemond's senses the same way dream wine did. His eyelids grew heavy in spite of himself and one side of his head tilted softly to rest against hers.
He hardly noticed when she stopped reading. The book simply laid open in her lap, and it wasn't long before her head rested against the fever ridden prince's shoulder, eyes closed instead of reading. Aemond knew that she'd be in trouble for being in his chamber under these circumstances. He might get scolded too. But the consequences and weight of them faded away as he slowly drifted off in the seated position, leaning against the headboard of his bed, Head tilted and supported against his niece's, who in turn supported her head against the warmth of his shoulder.
Whatever, was his final thought, before sleep caught up with him.
It’s not important right now.