CHAPTER TEN
❛hidden lineage.❜

trigger warning: mentions of SA and douchebags

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EARLY 130 AC ⸻ Kings Landing   ⸻

AFTER Rhaenyra's invitation, Lyria found herself hastily walking towards the library to give herself time to think.

As she pushed open the heavy wooden door, the sight that greeted her was unexpected. Aemond, surrounded by piles of history books, was deeply engrossed in his reading. The flicker of the firelight played across his features, casting him in a thoughtful light. His surprise was evident as he looked up and saw her standing there.

"Lyria," he acknowledged, his tone a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "I didn't expect company at this hour."

Lyria hesitated at the door, her initial instinct being to retreat. "It's been a long day, and I merely sought some peace by the fire," she explained, a slight fatigue edging her voice. "But I see the spot's taken, so I'll leave you—"

"No, please, stay," Aemond interjected quickly, gesturing to the space by the fireside. "You don't need to leave on my account. Do as you please."

With a moment's hesitation, Lyria nodded and moved to sit by the fire, the warmth welcoming her tired body. She settled into the soft couch, drawing her shawl closer around her shoulders. The room fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire and the occasional turn of a page.

After a minute, curiosity overcame her, and she turned to Aemond. "What are you doing up at this hour?" she asked curiously.

Aemond looked up from his book with a smirk. "Reading." Lyria rolled her eyes at his words, "well of course reading but what about?"

"I've been learning all I can about the Blackwoods," he revealed, his eyes briefly scanning the spines of the books around him.

Surprised, Lyria raised her eyebrows. "I didn't think you'd care to know about our house," she admitted, her voice laced with genuine surprise.

"You'd be surprised by a lot of things," Aemond replied, a playful undertone in his voice.

The conversation paused as Lyria absorbed his words, the warmth of the fire casting a comforting glow around them. After a moment, Aemond's expression turned more serious. "Although," he continued, his interest apparent, "there was something interesting I found about the Blackwoods."

Lyria turned to face him fully, intrigued. "Oh?"

"Yes, and it made me curious," Aemond said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze intent on her. "Were you born in Blackwood?"

The directness of the question took Lyria aback. She hesitated, then shook her head. "No," she replied softly.

Aemond's interest peaked as he turned to face her completely, his body language showing his heightened curiosity. "Oh really? And where are you from?"

Lyria paused, the memories of her past a blurred, distant echo. "I don't know," she confessed, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "All I remember is being given over to House Blackwood when I was eight. I asked Lady Basalia's uncle once about who had given me to them, and he said some peasants from an old house."

Aemond absorbed her words, "peasants from an old house," he mused aloud, his voice thoughtful. "It's intriguing, isn't it? How the past has a way of concealing itself until the right moment."

"I suppose it is my Prince. I've never seen a need to search for information but sometimes I wonder if there's more to the story, more that I'm meant to discover."

Aemond's gaze lingered on her, considering her words carefully. "Perhaps there is," he said slowly.

Lyria felt a shift in the air. "What do you mean?" she asked, her brows knitting together in confusion.

"Have you ever heard of House Valen?" Aemond inquired, watching her closely for any flicker of recognition or realization.

Lyria paused, searching her memory. "Yes, but only once," she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "I overheard Jahaena mention them during a ride once. They were from the Stormlands but ceased to exist about eleven years ago." Her voice trailed off, wondering why Aemond was interested in such a seemingly irrelevant piece of history.

Aemond's next question came pointedly, "How long have you been with the Blackwoods?"

Lyria hesitated, sensing the gravity behind his seemingly simple inquiry. "Why does it matter?" she started to ask, her defenses rising slightly.

But Aemond cut her off, his voice firm yet imbued with an undercurrent of urgency. "Answer the question," he insisted, stepping closer to her in a way that seemed to fill the space around them.

Taken aback by his intensity, Lyria unconsciously retreated slightly, her back pressing into the couch. "Eleven years," she answered, her voice a whisper that barely escaped her lips.

Aemond stopped just in front of her, his presence overwhelming. He bent down to her level, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart race. Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear, "Curious, is it not?"

The words sent a shiver down Lyria's spine, not just from their proximity but from the words of what Aemond was suggesting.

As Aemond straightened, stepping back to give her space, Lyria was left to process the flood of emotions and questions his words had unleashed. Could there be a connection between her past and the fallen house? Or was it mere coincidence?

"House Valen...," she repeated softly, trying to make sense of it all. Aemond watched her, curiosity etched across his features. He knew he had given her much to ponder, possibly too much.

Suddenly Lyria's huffed as frustration surfaced and boiled over. She stood abruptly, crossing the room with determined steps towards Aemond. Her finger jabbed accusingly at his chest, her voice sharp with emotion. "Stop playing mind games, Aemond. I'm simply a handmaiden, and that is all there is to it. My parents probably died of disease. I'm lucky to have been found and given to House Blackwood. They have always treated me with the utmost respect." She paused, her eyes flashing defiantly. "The same can't be said for you."

She instantly regretted her words as she saw Aemond's eyes darken, the atmosphere shifting palpably. He closed the distance between them in a few quick strides, his movement so swift it caught her off guard. Before she knew it, Lyria was pushed against the wall beside the fireplace, Aemond's hands planted firmly above her head, effectively pinning her in place.

Her breath hitched, eyes wide with fear as he leaned down to her level. His voice was low and dangerous. "Be careful of your words, dear Lyria. I'm still the Prince."

The close proximity and the stern warning ignited a rage within her that Lyria couldn't suppress. With a surge of strength, she pushed against him, managing to break free from his hold. "Just please stop playing games, Aemond!" she yelled, her frustration spilling out. "I cannot bear this much more. I'm happy not knowing my lineage; it will not make a difference now even if I was some long-lost lady of a fallen house. What matters is not what once was but what happens now. I have a duty now to Lady Basalia, who is to be YOUR wife, by the way."

Aemond stepped back, the surprise evident on his face as he processed her words. She continued, her voice laced with a cold, cutting edge. "Which makes me wonder why you have not gone to check up on her once since that night."

His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched visibly, the anger manifesting as a tight line. The air around them crackled with tension, each word from Lyria adding fuel to the fire that was clearly building within him.

"I have my reasons," Aemond finally said, his voice tight with controlled anger. "My duties extend beyond personal check-ins."

"Understanding duty and carrying it out are two different things, Aemond. Maybe you should spend less time in the library and more time with the people who will soon be your family."

Aemond's frustration was palpable as he watched Lyria turn to leave. His response came swiftly, laced with a tinge of disdain. "You wouldn't know the first thing about family," he retorted sharply. His voice hardened as he continued, "I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully. What happened that night was tragic, yes, but the letter was not meant for you—it was for Basalia. I had to get you out of there."

Lyria stopped dead in her tracks. Memories of a recent confession rushed back to her, Helaena's handmaiden's words echoing in her mind. She fixed her gaze on Aemond, her voice barely a whisper. "How did you know about the letter, Aemond?" She knew the answer, but she needed to hear it from him, needed to confirm her suspicions directly.

Aemond's confident facade faltered for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as he realized the slip he had just made.

"Yes, I arranged it," he confessed, his voice colder. "The plan was for Basalia to be raped so severely that she would have to leave King's Landing, and the marriage would be called off. I never wanted to marry The Mad Lady. Or so they call her."

Lyria's reaction was immediate, a laugh of disbelief escaping her despite the horror of his words. "You're absolutely insane," she said, her voice tinged with incredulity and disgust. "I'm done with this."

As she turned to leave, Aemond moved quickly to block her path. Lyria tried to step around him, but he matched her movements, his presence imposing a physical barrier.

Her heart raced, fear beginning to take hold as the implications of his actions—and his current desperation—sank in. "Aemond, please get out of my way," she pleaded, her voice firm yet tinged with anxiety.

"No," he said, his tone resolute. "Not until you hear me out."

Lyria took a step back, creating distance as her mind raced. "You tried to have my sister raped, how dare you ask me to listen to your vile words?" Her accusation was sharp, her disdain for his actions clear.

Aemond paused, the severity of the situation pressing down on him. He took a deep breath, knowing that his next words might be his last chance to reach her. "I know what I did was unforgivable, and I regret the pain it caused. But that night, when I saw you there, everything changed. I realized I couldn't go through with it, not with you there."

Lyria's expression hardened. But deep down she felt a fire pool in her stomach. "You think that changes anything? You still orchestrated a nightmare, Aemond. For what? To avoid a marriage you disdain? You endangered us all."

"I know it was wrong. I see that now more clearly than ever. I'm asking not for forgiveness, but for a chance to make things right. I care about you, Lyria, far more than I anticipated. It was wrong, all of it. But I can't go back. Let me prove that I can be better than the man who made those decisions."

Lyria's voice was thick with emotion, each word underscored by a palpable sense of betrayal. "How can I trust you? I could have died, Aemond. We both could have died."

Aemond's expression was one of deep remorse, his voice soft and filled with regret. "And I'll regret that for the rest of my life. Knowing that I put you in danger." He stepped closer, the distance between them charged with tension and unspoken emotions.

Before Lyria could react or pull away, Aemond reached out, his hand gently cradling her face as he leaned in and quickly kissed her.

Lyria's breath caught in her throat as she felt his fingers brush softly against her skin, the warmth of his touch stark against the cool air of the library.

The kiss was tender at first, a hesitant meeting of lips that spoke more of his apology than any words could. But as Aemond sensed a fleeting, unspoken permission from Lyria, the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent. Lyria's initial shock melted into a whirlwind of bliss.

As they kissed, Lyria's hands found their way to his chest, not to push him away but to steady herself against the wave of feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over and tracing warm paths down her cheeks, the saltiness mingling with the bittersweet taste of the kiss.

His heart raced as he felt her respond, deepening the kiss as much as he could.

Finally, Lyria pulled away, the silence around them became heavy. Lyria's eyes, still glistening with tears, met his in a silent question.

Her voice, when she spoke, was a whisper, cracked with emotion. "Aemond," she murmured, her heart heavy with the complexity of her feelings. "What are we doing? This isn't right."

Aemond's voice, low and intense, broke the fragile silence that had settled between them. "I don't care," he said, his words resolute and laden with emotion. "Lyria, you are all I want. I don't want Basalia; I want you, and I will continue to want you till the day I perish." His confession hung in the air, a stark declaration that seemed to echo off the walls of the library.

Lyria, overwhelmed, found herself unable to respond. Her eyes dropped to the ground as she struggled to process the depth of his words, her hands still lightly resting against his chest from their earlier embrace. The reality of his confession—and the complexity it now added to an already tangled web of feelings—left her reeling.

Aemond reached out gently, his fingers lifting her chin to guide her gaze back to his. "You don't have to respond to that now," he told her softly.

With a deep breath, she took a step back, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer, as if committing every detail to memory.

Then, without words she turned towards the door. Aemond, not ready to let the moment end without a final plea, called out to her. "Lyria," his voice carrying a mixture of hope and desperation, "I know you did not care to, but please look into your past. I think you'll be surprised by what you find."

Without turning around, and without a word, she continued out, the quiet click of the door marking the physical and emotional distance now placed between them. Tears still streamed down her face, as she covered a sob with her hand.

She felt ashamed of herself, especially now she realised she had enjoyed it.

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