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It was the hour of the owl when your senses stirred you from your sleep. The arm draped around your frame slipped away as Aemond sat up on the mattress, a low groan escaping his throat.
Turning over your shoulder, your heavy eyes widened at the sight of Aemond leaning against the wooden headboard, clutching his face.
“Aemond?” you called out. “What is it?”
“It’s my eye,” he answered hoarsely, a line forming between his brows. “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”
You ignored his dismissal, joining him to sit up as well. “Where’s your ointment?”
“The ointment won’t help. It’s not my scar, it’s the eye itself.”
You frowned. “Is there anything you I can do to help?”
“No, the pain will subside on its own,” he said before wincing. “Seven hells.”
You could only watch as he squirmed again, his shoulders caving in this time. You moved closer, carefully placing a hand on his arm, though it was a futile attempt to comfort him.
This wasn’t the first time Aemond had stirred you both awake, but up until now, the discomfort had only been from his scar, which was easily relieved with a drop of ointment. And while the pain from his scar had bothered him greatly, this was the first time you’d ever truly seen Aemond in pain.
The minutes were long as they passed whilst Aemond continued to heave and tremble from the ache in his empty socket before he finally slumped back against the headboard.
You eyed him warily. “Is it gone now?” He nodded, but his good eye remained closed. “Would it help to remove your gem?”
He shook his head. “No, if only it were that simple,” he muttered. “It’s not the gem. It’s the scar tissue and the nerve damage in my eye socket…”
You pressed your lips into a line, your thumb stroking the back of his knuckles. You remained silent, not knowing what to say, but you had come to learn in your few weeks of marriage that silence comforted Aemond more than anything else.
Aemond glanced at you, catching the worried expression on your face, and took your hand in his, the warmth of his skin enveloping yours. “Do not mourn me, my love. The gods have given me plenty of other gifts to make up for it. A beautiful wife is one of them.”
Your cheeks warmed at his words. “Yet I’ve not seen you without the sapphire,” you said, your voice low and gentle. “Will you show me?
Aemond’s smile faltered at your request. “It is unsightly,” he mumbled, his eye flickering to his lap. “I do not wish to frighten you.”
Your chest clenched at how small he sounded, at how small he looked. He almost looked like a little boy again, the same boy from the distant memories of your childhood. The same boy you spent your afternoons with at the library, the same boy you dreaded leaving when your mother took your family to Dragonstone, the same boy who told you of his dreams to become a true Targaryen, a dragon rider— a dream he so desperately wanted, he wound up paying the price for it with his eye.
But your brother, Lucerys, took more than his eye that night.
Aemond was never the same again. After the matter of his eye and the accusations of yours and your siblings’ parentage were settled, Aemond’s mother had forbidden anyone to visit Aemond’s guest chambers at Driftmark. But you had sneaked in anyway and roused him from his sleep.
Aemond had tensed when he saw it was you and hid his face. You had tried to comfort him, but it only fueled the anger brewing inside him.
“Bastard,” he had called you.
You were young then, shy of the age of nine, but you weren’t a fool— you had discovered the truth of your parentage long before Jace caught on… and long before that fateful night at Driftmark.
Aemond had never been fond of your brothers, Jace and Luke. Before Aemond had claimed Vhagar, your brothers had occasionally joined Aegon in tormenting him for being the only young prince without a dragon. And while Aemond would make a few snide comments on their appearance and how they lacked the colorings of Old Valyria, he had never made any of you. And somehow, that had convinced you that you were different, that you weren’t a bastard, at least not to Aemond.
But clearly, that hadn’t been true.
You gulped, pushing those horrible memories away and tucking them to the back of your mind where they belonged. They didn’t matter now, none of them did. It was a long time ago. Since then, you and Aemond had forgiven each other, Aemond had confessed his love for you and asked your mother for your hand, and your mother had agreed to betroth you to him, hoping to heal the strife between your families and unite House Targaryen once more.
You found it hard to believe the wedding had only been weeks ago, nearly two moons. When the feast had ended, you and Aemond had found yourselves alone in your marital chambers. And it was then and there you had asked to see him without his eyepatch.
He had hesitated but eventually gave in, revealing the sapphire stone in his socket, and while you had been grateful he trusted you enough to bare his scars and insecurities to you, you had always wondered what lay beneath the stone.
You grasped his hand firmly. “You could never frighten me.”
Aemond pulled his hand away. “You say that now, but your sentiments will change once you see me as I am,” he snapped, hi lips tugging down to a deep frown. “I’m a cripple.”
Your own heart stung at the venomous self-loathing in his voice— so full of anger, torment, and disdain. You took his hand again.
“A cripple or not, I would love you all the same.”
Aemond met your gaze. His lone eye studied you keenly, flickering between your eyes for any lie or deceit; yet he found none, only the hope that he would bare himself to you again.
A heavy silence filled the room before he drew in a sharp breath.
With trembling hands, he reached for his eye, hissing low as he removed the sapphire from his socket. He angled his head away from you, but to your surprise, he carefully offered you the stone.
“Thank you,” you whispered, accepting it. The stone was cold to the touch and rested a bit heavier on your palm than you’d expected. Though you’d seen it countless times, you couldn’t help but admire the stone, glistening under the rays of moonlight peeking into the dimly lit room. “It’s beautiful.”
“Mm,” Aemond only hummed in response.
You looked back at him, your fingers curling around the stone. “But I do not wish for you to hide behind it,” you spoke. “Nor behind your patch… not with me at least.”
Aemond remained still and silent, the left side of his face still hidden away from you.
“Aemond, let me see.”
He made no move to turn and for a moment, you wondered if he even heard you.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Please.”
A moment passed. You watched in anticipation as Aemond slowly turned to you.
He refused to look you in the eye as you studied his empty eye socket. He knew it was only a look of curiosity, but to him, it was scrutinizing. It felt like you were staring at a hole in his very existence. Sometimes, especially now, his missing eye felt that way to him, an endless abyss that consumed every ounce of dignity he had; leaving him with nothing but the rage and scorn he felt for his plain-featured nephew.
Aemond’s skin crawled as he pictured the look on your face. Was it disgust? Pity? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He felt silly, squeamish, and small like a child he was no longer. He was a warrior now, skilled in combat, deadly with a sword. He could face a hundred men who wanted him dead without a sliver of fear in his heart, yet here he was, too frightened to even lift his head and face you.
He flinched when you lifted his chin. “Don’t—”
His protests died in his throat when you leaned in and placed a kiss just beneath his gaping eye. Aemond tensed, his breath shuddering. His first thought was to push you away, as though you were playing a cruel joke on him, as though you were one of your bastard brothers; but he couldn’t find it in himself to reject your touch.
A moment passed and you withdrew from the kiss. Cupping his scarred cheek, you stroked the edge of his scar as Aemond stared at you, wide-eyed. You knew what he was thinking, what kind of thoughts were racing in his mind— confusion, pain, sadness, anger. He was consumed by them all day long, even now at night and in the safety of his chambers, like ghosts that haunted his waking moments and still desired to rob him of his sleep.
You just wanted them to stop, all of it, all of his thoughts and insecurities. You didn’t want him to think about them any longer. His stolen eye was not your burden to bear, but you knew its affliction all too well.
Without so much as a second thought, you lifted a leg over Aemond’s and straddled his lap, placing your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself.
Aemond’s mind still reeled from the kiss earlier when your hands pulled his face towards you, his heart pounding when the softness of your lips returned to his scarred skin.
His heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he felt a warm and wet muscle sneak along the ridge of his orbital bone.
The one-eyed prince took a moment longer than he should have to grasp what was happening. Then, he let out a strained noise at the realization it was your tongue licking his empty eye socket.
His head spun at the foreign sensation and he barely had enough time to gather his senses before you began grinding your clothed cunt along the hardening outline in his breeches.
Aemond groaned, his hips bucking up involuntarily and his hands came to rest on your thighs. His breath stuttered in his throat as you continued to rub against him like a cat in heat, your inhibitions long gone.
He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. He couldn’t believe he had you on his lap, clutching both sides of his face, practically slobbering the gaping cavity where his eye was supposed to be, and rutting against him with sheer and unbridled want.
A ragged whine left your lips as you chased your high. “Aemond.”
Your voice seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he’d been. This was no dream, he concluded, this was real. He wasn’t dreaming, yet his hands still took hold of the plush skin of your hips firmly, as if he were scared he was going to wake up and you’d slip away.
Another bolt of pleasure coursed through his body, his cock pulsating against your warmth as your tongue moved down to the rough and damaged skin of his lower eyelids, drawing a straight line across one edge to the other before returning to the dipped and torn skin in the middle.
Aemond guided your hips along his length back and forth, grunting when he swore he felt your cunt throb against him. He bit back a groan and dipped his face in your neck as you continued to nip and lick at his eye socket relentlessly, your tongue flicking and playing with the thin skin of his lids.
Fuck. He was close, embarrassingly close, but it was alright because he could tell you were, too, and soaked. Your arousal had leaked through your smallclothes and thin nightgown, leaving a patch of wetness on his breeches. His cock throbbed at the sight and his fingers dug into your skin again as he pushed you down on his cock and thrusted up at the same time.
A loud moan ripped from your throat, echoing throughout the room. Your hips quickened above him and you gasped as his manhood brushed against your sensitive bundle of nerves.
Aemond’s skin prickled with pleasure as he felt your shaky and needy breaths against his eye.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whined, the friction making your head reel and turning you delirious. “Aemond, I’m…”
“I know,” he shushed you, nodding.
You writhed on top of him, your hips ceasing their movements, but Aemond resumed them on his own, rocking you back and forth, faster and faster as you reached your peak. He continued to rub you against him throughout your high until he finally reached his own, his hips bucking up and stilling.
“Fuck.” He let out a low groan, his warm seed splattering inside his breeches, slowly creating another wet stain on the material.
Slowly pulling away from his face, you rested your full weight on his lap and watched as his chest heaved, his pupil blown wide, and a bead of sweat on his hairline.
You couldn’t help but smile and chuckle at the blush forming on his cheeks and place a chaste kiss on his scar. “I love you,” you whispered, your thumb tracing the edge of his scar again. “I love you as you are, Aemond, all of you. Remember that.”
Aemond returned a shy smile and pulled you back towards him for a hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He inhaled a shaky breath and a lone tear rolled down his cheek.
“I love you, too.”