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The next morning Aemond woke up very early. The bruises on his body were still stinging. Outside it was raining, the muggy air of summer had become even more heavy, and the light was so dazzling it gave him a headache. Nevertheless he got dressed and hurried to the training grounds. He was always strict with himself: the worse he felt, both physically and mentally, the more he trained. After running a few laps and practising with his sword he started sparring with Ser Criston. The persevering training from such a young age had started to pay off: now he could easily match Ser Criston, even though sometimes he would still get overpowered by him. That day Aemond swung his sword with even more fierceness, agility and precision. Maybe it was because of the lingering rage from the day before, or maybe it was because of the excitement from the dream he had that night.

It had been a strange dream, he couldn't remember exactly what had happened, but somehow he could still recall Nyla's white rough hands on his body.  He could still remember those small hands caressing his neck, and then going down to his chest while brushing against his nipples, thence down to his stomach, with her fingertips drawing circles around his belly button, and then going even lower, lower, deep down to the point of reaching his consciousness twirling in pleasure and yearning. He could still remember those black eyes following her fingers, scanning his skin underneath them, magnetising eyes filled with lust and desire. He had woken up craving to see those eyes in reality, and he was still craving them.

After his training he retired to his chambers and, to his pleasure, found her right there. He felt his chest getting warmer and more tense at the same time. Nyla had already prepared a bath mixed with his favourite cedric scented oil, cleaned his bedroom and she was now placing the books he used for his morning studies on the large wooden table.

When she noticed him entering she stopped for a moment and raised her head. The moment their eyes met Aemond felt his lower belly tingle and averted his gaze.

"Good morning Your Highness. I've already prepared your bath." Her voice was as formal and stable as always. She had been a few metres from his naked body just the night before, and yet she seemed so damned unbothered. He felt embarrassed because he was the only flustered one, so he kept quiet.

"Then if you don't need anything else I'll be taking my leave, Your Highness," said Nyla while heading to the door.

Aemond, who was still at the entrance, grabbed her wrist as she was attempting to leave. She was taken aback by the sudden touch and looked up in surprise. Because Aemond had placed himself in front of her, their bodies were very close, and when she raised her face, he could feel her soft breath on his neck. Her skin had a delicate aroma of cedar.

"Stay here, I need you to assist me while I study," he stated.

In truth, he didn't really need her help, but they had just met, and if she left right then, he wouldn't have been able to see her again before lunch.

She stepped back and nodded in agreement. Aemond's grip on her wrist tightened for a moment before releasing her. He then clenched his fist, savouring the residual warmth of her skin on his hand, and headed to the bathroom, wanting to get over with his bath as soon as possible.

–

After drying his hair and getting dressed with the clothes Nyla had prepared for him, Aemond sat down at the table, ready to start the study session.

Because she was still standing near the table, he invited her to sit down as well. For an instant, her eyes were crossed by uncertainty, but she did as he requested, sitting slightly far away from him.

"You know how to read and write, right?" Aemond had seen her reading a book in the past, it was an old, small, worn out book, probably something that had been abandoned or forgotten by a young lady at court.

"I do, Your Highness."

The feeling of closeness Aemond felt with her was crushed every time she called him in such a formal, distant way; making him doubt that such familiarity might have been only his one-sided perception.

"There is no need for you to address me like that."

She looked perplexed.

"In what manner do you wish to be addressed?"

"When it's just the two of us you can call me Aemond." He was eager to hear her call his name.

"I'm not allowed to do so, it is not proper Your Highness."

"I'm allowing you to. And who decides what is proper anyway? I'm probably above anyone who gave you the order to call me that way."

She was still silent. Her stubbornness irritated him.

"Who do you serve?" he asked with a sharpening tone.

"It is you, Your Highness," she replied meekly.

"Yes, it is me indeed. So when I ask you to do something, you just do that. Take no worry in what others may think, if they say something I'll have their tongue."

Upon hearing those words her expression was instantly filled with worry and discomfort.

"Please never do anything like that on my behalf." It was the first time she pleaded with him. It was simultaneously satisfying and burdensome: he didn't want to scare or upset her.

He sighed. "Alright, I won't. Just address me less formally."

She hesitated for a moment before assenting.

"I'll address you as you please then."

Aemond smirked: he felt like he had just got rid of the first wall that divided them.

"So... how did you learn how to read and write? I didn't know maids received a proper education."

He was genuinely interested, but his question came out the wrong way, sounding cocky and mocking.

"Yes...maids don't usually receive that kind of education. History, poetry and philosophy are luxuries not fitted for those who work all day roughing their hands." To his surprise she answered to his mocking with mocking, but her voice was still polite.

"I didn't mean to offend you-"

"You could never offend me. I'm not entitled to feel offended by your words." Once again, she was putting up that wall.

"Well, then I entitle you to. If I say something you don't like, just say that. You can speak comfortably with me."

She seemed puzzled, but didn't give the impression of disliking his proposal.

"Alright then," she agreed after a short silence.

"It was my sister," she continued, "she was the one to teach me. She used to work for Grand Maester Mellos, he took a liking to her and taught her the basics. She tried her best to teach me what she had learned. However, I'm still very lacking in such areas."

"I see. I didn't know you had a sister." Aemond realised how little he truly knew about her.

"I had one. She died two years ago."

"Oh..." Perhaps he didn't know anything at all. He wanted to comfort her, but didn't really know how. He wasn't very good at such things.

"Were you very close?" As the words left his lips he immediately regretted them. He felt so damn stupid for asking that.

"I mean- you must miss her a lot..."

"We were close indeed, very close. It's been a while though, since her death. I'm quite alright now." Her eyes were serene, her voice composed and calm; she looked so mature. He was captivated and impressed by her composure, but for some reason, he also felt a strong sense of jealousy. He had always struggled to process and control his emotions, while she was the opposite, always in control of everything. She would never say anything wrong, nor let out more than she intended to. For the first time, he realised how much their age difference mattered. She must see me as a kid, he thought.

"I don't want to distract you any further from your studies. If you want me to help you with something, I'll be happy to do so," she continued, probably trying to change the topic of conversation.

"I will study philosophy today. Are you interested in the subject?" He wanted to teach her something. Maybe I can impress her, he thought, his heart already fretting in anticipation.

"Well, I don't know much of it. But I think that conducting the analysis of the obvious requires an unusually bright mind and can shape the less bright one into a rigorous one, at least." Of course impressing her wouldn't have been that simple.

"That is true, indeed," he agreed. He tapped on the cover of one of the large, gold-bound books on his table, then stood up and got closer to the window, looking down on the city. The scent of incense had started to spread in the room. He realised he was truly happy in that moment—life felt serene, uncomplicated, and pleasant to live. He wanted to freeze that moment forever, just the two of them, enclosed in a safe space from the world, far away from all his worries, bickering about this and that, discussing philosophy.

"Do you know anything about the wheel of history?" he asked, still looking outside of the window.

"I'm afraid I don't," she replied. He could sense curiosity and interest in her voice.

"Archmaester Rigney once wrote that history is a wheel, for the nature of man is fundamentally unchanging."

"And what is the nature of man?" Her eyes were filled with anticipation, like the ones of a curious child.

"It is the desire to assert oneself on others," he explained. "When we are children, we have a certain idea about ourselves, a pure unripe idea that has yet to crush against the impression that others have of us. But when that happens, when we start to question ourselves, to gradually feel estranged from the original self due to the confrontation with what is outside of us, that's when the first crisis arises. And the natural response is trying to gain power because power is the only way to make others see us the way we want them to: to force them into our primitive unripe idea of ourselves."

"So all men seek power, but what they truly want is to be understood," he pondered for a moment upon hearing her words. He had never seen it like that.

"Perhaps," he said while nodding his head. "Perhaps they seek it because they already know they'll be misunderstood."

"Well, I guess that when you don't have any trust in others, you resort to strength and violence to protect yourself." She got up too, getting closer to the window. They were now side by side, their hands almost touching.

"How can you have trust in others when everyone is just trying to survive, to fulfil his own interest? In the end, brute force is the only solution; only the strong can prevail and ensure his safety. That is why seeking power is natural." Aemond turned his head and stared into her eyes. Now they looked like such gentle eyes.

"You speak as if we're doomed to be divided into oppressors and oppressed."

"That is indeed what the world is like."

"Well, if that's true, then I'd rather be oppressed than to oppress."

He chuckled: she was so innocent. "That would get you hurt a lot."

She also smiled. "Yes, but suffering injustice doesn't taint one's soul, only perpetrating it defiles it. And my soul is very dear to me; it's the only thing I truly possess."

At that moment, when he saw her pure smile and heard those words, Aemond knew that it wasn't simply lust he felt for her.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Author's note:

Hi guys! Sorry for taking so long, this was a bit difficult to write, but I hope you like the result <33

Q: Do you think Nyla reciprocates Aemond's feelings?

      /)  /)
ପ (˶•-•˶) ଓ ♡
    /づ  づ [thank u for reading!]