Work Text:
The Red Keep had always been a place of shadows. Its corridors whispered secrets, and the blood of dragons simmered in its walls. It was a place where loyalty could be both a weapon and a curse, and for Ser Arryk Cargyll, that curse had grown heavier with every passing day.
Arryk moved swiftly through the dimly lit halls, his footsteps barely a whisper against the stone floors. The air was thick with tension, the looming conflict between the greens and the blacks casting a pall over the entire castle. The Dance of the Dragons had begun, and loyalty was a fickle thing. He had fought alongside his brother, Ser Erryk, and though they were bound by blood, the fissures between them had widened. Erryk had chosen Rhaenyra, and Arryk had sworn his sword to Aegon. And to Aemond Targaryen.
Aemond. The name alone stirred something unsettling in him. The one-eyed prince, the fierce dragonrider of Vhagar, was not a man to inspire warmth. His eye patch hid a wound that ran deeper than flesh, and his cold, calculating demeanor kept nearly everyone at a distance. Yet, despite that, or perhaps because of it, Arryk found himself drawn to Aemond in ways he could not explain.
He was not blind to the prince's cruelty. Aemond’s thirst for vengeance against his enemies, particularly Rhaenyra and her children, was palpable. But beneath the surface, beneath the icy exterior, Arryk sensed something else—a deep well of loneliness, a hunger that went beyond war and bloodshed.
That night, as Arryk made his way to the chambers where Aemond had taken residence, he couldn't help but wonder if he was making a mistake. There had been rumors, whispered conversations about where Aemond's true loyalties lay, about the dangerous path he was willing to walk for power. Yet, Arryk knew something else too—that Aemond's loyalty, once earned, was unshakable.
Arryk paused at the door, his gloved hand hovering over the iron handle. For a brief moment, he hesitated, wondering what Aemond might think of his intrusion. But something compelled him forward.
When he stepped inside, the chamber was dimly lit, the flickering fire casting shadows on the stone walls. Aemond sat by the hearth, his long silver hair cascading over his shoulders, one blue eye gleaming in the low light, the other hidden beneath the familiar black patch. He glanced up as Arryk entered, his expression unreadable.
"Ser Arryk," Aemond greeted him, his voice smooth and quiet, like the edge of a blade.
"My prince," Arryk replied, inclining his head in a respectful bow. He stepped closer, feeling the heat from the fire warm his skin.
"What brings you here at this hour?" Aemond asked, his gaze lingering on Arryk. His voice held no malice, only curiosity.
Arryk stood tall, though his heart raced beneath his armor. "I thought we might speak, my prince. The days grow darker, and I find myself… uncertain of many things."
Aemond’s brow arched slightly, but he gestured to the seat beside him. “Uncertainty in these times is dangerous, Ser Arryk. But come, sit.”
Arryk took the offered seat, his heart beating faster than it should. They had fought together, side by side, but this felt different—more intimate, somehow. He watched as Aemond poured them both wine, his long fingers graceful as they handled the cup. There was something mesmerizing about the prince, something that drew Arryk in despite the warnings echoing in his mind.
“You’ve served my brother loyally,” Aemond began, his voice low, “and yet, you seek answers from me?”
Arryk met his gaze, the flickering firelight catching the gleam of Aemond’s single eye. “I seek more than answers, my prince. I seek understanding.”
Aemond’s lips quirked into the barest hint of a smile, though it was a cold thing. “Understanding of what, Ser Arryk?”
“Of you,” Arryk said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “You wear your anger like armor, and yet, I sense… there’s more to you than that. Something deeper.”
For a long moment, Aemond said nothing. The silence stretched between them, heavy and fraught with tension. Arryk feared he had overstepped, that he had revealed too much of his thoughts, but then Aemond stood, walking to the window that overlooked the courtyard below.
“People see what they want to see,” Aemond said quietly, staring out into the darkness. “They see the one-eyed prince, the cruel son of Viserys, the vengeful brother. But what they fail to understand is that power comes with a cost. I’ve paid that price more than once.”
Arryk rose from his seat, moving to stand beside Aemond. “And yet, you bear it alone.”
Aemond turned to him then, his expression hard, but his eye—his one eye—softened, if only for a moment. “You speak as though you know me, Ser Arryk. But you are mistaken.”
“Am I?” Arryk stepped closer, close enough to see the tension in Aemond’s jaw, the tightness in his shoulders. “You carry the weight of this war, this crown, and yet, I see a man who desires more than just victory.”
For the first time, Aemond’s mask cracked, just a sliver. “And what do you think I desire, knight?”
Arryk hesitated, his heart hammering in his chest. The pull between them was undeniable, like the gravity of two stars drawn toward each other. He reached out, his hand brushing against Aemond’s shoulder. “I think you desire someone who sees you for more than your title. Someone who knows the man beneath.”
Aemond's breath hitched, his gaze locking onto Arryk's. For a moment, neither of them moved, the space between them crackling with unspoken tension. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, Aemond reached up and covered Arryk's hand with his own.
"Perhaps you are not so mistaken after all," Aemond murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.
In that instant, the walls they had both built around themselves began to crumble. Arryk stepped closer, his fingers trailing up Aemond's arm, feeling the taut muscle beneath. Aemond's breath was warm against his skin as their lips met—tentative at first, then with a fierceness that mirrored the storm raging within them.
For a moment, the world outside the chamber ceased to exist. The war, the treachery, the bloodshed—it all melted away in the heat of that kiss, leaving only the two of them, bound by something far stronger than duty.
When they finally pulled apart, Aemond's eye searched Arryk's face, as though trying to make sense of what had just transpired. But there were no words needed, no explanations. They both knew that what they had found in each other was as dangerous as the war they fought.
But it was also worth every risk.
"Stay with me tonight," Aemond whispered, his voice soft, vulnerable in a way Arryk had never heard before.
Arryk nodded, his heart swelling with something he hadn’t felt in years. Loyalty. Affection. Perhaps even love.
As the night wore on, they stayed together, the shadows of the Red Keep bearing witness to a love forged in the fires of war—a love that, like the dragons they rode, was as fierce and unyielding as the Dance itself.