«The way to man's heart lies through a good relationship with his mother. Even if his mother is mentally unstable, religious backstabber, who hurts everyone, including herself...»

— From Drusilla Tyrell's memoirs.

•

Despite Aemond fears and uncomfortableness that came from untrust and preference to loneliness, sleeping with Drusilla on one bed ended up being not worrisome at all. In fact, when he woke up, she already wasn't in their chambers, and it surprised Aemond how quiet this woman was that didn't wake him up; him, who flinches from the smallest sounds.

The breakfast was no less quiet. This time everyone seemed too sleepy and tired to make big talks like yesterday, and it was just Drusilla and Aegon, who were buzzing with unending energy.

After that, Aemond left for training, and they met only in the afternoon, when he was on his way to return back to the castle, finding Drusilla sitting under the tree, eyes closed.

'My Prince,' she muses as she notices his presence. 'I assume you are returning from your training?'

Aemond nods.

He already plans to make an excuse and leave, when the understatement of the fact that despite all agreements they will need to share life, hits him. Life is a long thing, even for Targaryens. And sharing it with someone means that they should communicate, because Aemond doesn't want to be like his father, indifferent and cold towards a woman, who made nothing bad to him. So, it probably means that nodding and humming shortly and leaving her alone everytime is not a right scenario to work this out.

But lately he is too lost, blurry mind and unpleasant thoughts bothering him.

All he can think about, no matter how hard he tries to forget, is Irellea. And thus, it feels like a betrayal from him, to be fond of Drusilla, though he understands that it means nothing—that there is nothing between them.

'Would my betrothed like to join me on my way back, perhaps?' He asks after a solid minute of them, glaring at each other numbly.

Drusilla is surprised, when she stutters an agreement as he holds out his hand to help her to stand up.

'Is it too bold to ask to see your training next time?' Lady Tyrell suddenly blurts out.

'I didn't know that you are the type of person to be shy of her own boldness,' Aemond parries, huffing a little bit.

Drusilla rolls her eyes.

'Oh, shut up,' she mumbles. 'Genuinely, though. It might be uncomfortable to train under prying eyes, but I can't help but to be curious. Augustus is a great soldier, I like watching him spar with his friends, but I assume your fighting styles are completely different from him.'

It surprises him how often Drusilla mentions her brother, with such a light intonation. Aemond wouldn't dare to assume that it is possible to be in a good relationship with elder brothers. Though, he also understands that it is quite hypocritical of him to act astonished - his relationship with Daeron, despite a big distance and falling out was never considered a bad one. Not a close one either.

'Is fighting is one of the many things you are interested in?'

Drusilla shrugs.

'I like watching. Not fighting. I actually despise it, the physical fights and wars. Ugly creation of people,' her eyes grow dark for a second, and then she blinks. 'I apologise. I get carried away. So? Is it okay for you?'

'Lady Tyrell, I am the second son of the King. Prying eyes is something I am used to too. You are my guest.'

'Used to doesn't necessarily mean that you are comfortable with it, my Prince,' she says suddenly, raising her head to look at him properly. It catches his breath, her eyes. How can something so beautiful be so hollowed and raging at the same time? And why does it makes him like it even more? 'Sometimes, we are getting used to bad, disturbing things.'

Aemond purses his lips.

He understands what she means, because he feels this way far too often. He is used to indifference from his family, he is used to always being the most unlikable one, he is used to helping out Aegon, though it is awfully unpleasant, to deal with alcoholics. He is used to the thought that everyone loves him if he does things right, and if he doesn't, then he is nothing.

He is used to all of this.

Yet, they ache the same.

He became stronger, but he never feels like that, instead thinking of himself as someone who is stuck in the same body of a young boy, the one that was weak and dragonless.

'I wouldn't be bothered by your presence, then,' he answers swiftly.

She examines him carefully, and for a second Aemond thinks that she reads him, like an open book.

'Your sword seemed quite enchanting,' Drusilla says in the end, so sudden that he only then realises that he holds his breath for a while. 'I heard some rumours, but I had never seen it. May I take a look?'

Aemond hums.

They stop for a second, and he is quick with removing the weapon from his belt, carefully allowing Drusilla to look at it. She stands on tiptoes for better angle, and her fingertips run through carved letters.

'Ellaire,' she reads aloud. 'Is it how you named the sword?'

'Yes, indeed.'

'That sounds majestic. Is it something on high valyrian?'

Aemond's face falls.

He pounds a little bit before answering, almost through gritted teeth.

'It is Irellea's name with changed letters.'

Drusilla caresses accurate letters once again, with a longing gaze, and shudders, taking her hands away as if it burned her.

'You really loved her,' she mutters. 'Wow.'

Aemond thinks of all the time he realised it himself—that he loves the girl who was kind to him, who supported him through everything, that he loves the woman he promised to marry, even though they hadn't seen each other for so long—and nods.

He closes his eyes, hiding the sword again.

'I do love her.' He agrees. Aemond had never spoken about this aloud, never had anyone to, but it feels right to share it with Drusilla, because they both know her, they both mourned. 'The idea of marriage always disgusted me. But Irellea was a woman I would give my heart to. I cared about her. I care about her even now. No one can compare to her.'

It is seconds later when he opens his eyes and realises that, perhaps, it wasn't the best idea, to say that aloud.

Because Drusilla looks complicated. There are the strangest emotions in her eyes, something between a gentleness—as if she is touched by his words, by his devotion—and absolute rejection. Aemond knows these emotions, because he feels it almost everyday.

He has the same look, when mother once again chooses Aegon over him, despite his troubles and disrespect.

Aemond feels... Strange.

He always hates how easy it is to make him feel second place, the comfortable and less problematic replacement for his brother, and yet, he does the same to a woman, who did nothing but be understandable and comforting.

'I assume my words must–'

'Please, don't,' Drusilla stops him.

Aemond does stop. He doesn't want to, but she is rather good at making him listen to her.

'It is fine,' she tells him with a tired expression on her face. 'I am glad that the memory of my friend will always be honoured. And you owe me nothing, and I am not in love with you to dwell over this.'

'Yet, having no personal connection doesn't necessarily mean that you are comfortable with it,' Aemond repeats her words.

'...I knew what I was agreeing with, my Prince. I am not so foolish not to realise that there will always be three of us in this marriage,' then she laughs, and it sounds slightly off. Like a broken record, maybe. 'A little bit crowded, but I think it doesn't really matter. After all, I can't let her go as well.'

Her voice is honest, but he understands that something inside her changed after hearing his words.

'I know I promised to walk with you back,' Drusilla hums before he answers her. 'But I remembered that I left Kasia in the gardens. So, if you don't mind...'

'Should I accompany you?'

But there is no answer, and Drusilla is already left.

Aemond feels... Quilty.

Oh. So is that a feeling that is bugging him.

•

"Hello, my dear Augustus!

Your sweet Drusilla writes to you from her shared chambers with Prince Aemond, with half of the day past, and tiredness washing over me already due not being able to fall asleep last night.

(Please, don't judge me by your own pervertness, I am simply suffering from seasonal insomnia.)

The things are good here, and everything goes just as we planned. Everyone is really sweet to me.

Yet, I am not writing to you to show off with my new life, but rather to speak aloud by all feelings that are bothering me. As I have no one else in this world, as we connected forever not by wish, but a choice, I hope you will listen to me. I am sincerely begging you to burn this letter later, and I warn you that I don't wait for the answer. It is my simple wish to let everything out.

It hurts, Augustus.

It hurts to see him still remembering Irellea.

Remembering and loving, even.

I write it to you, because I know you understand how it feels.

I think of Irellea sometimes too.

I am aware that this name and she herself means nothing to you, but she was my past. She was the only thing I got. And I hardly had anything back then.

I think it hurts me too see the look on his face, when he speaks of her—it is the tenderest expression you would ever see on his face, making you understand he remembers her; calm and slightly childish—and it hurts not because I am jealous—though, you shall understand I am; I would never be so pure and warm like she was, an ugly thing I am—but just because I liked her, too.

No, I think I loved her. I realise it now.

I liked to think that I was indifferent to her, and that sometimes she disgusted me by her simpleness. I liked to think I am better—I am, but it doesn't change how I truly feel—and that is why she doesn't matter.

But she died.

And I find myself understanding that it left a trace on me.

I am sure Aemond will love me sooner or later—and we both now, it will be sooner—but I also think that no matter what, Irellea will always take some special place in his heart.

The sweet kid she was.

Until once she wasn't.

I know you hate her on some extent. I do, sometimes, too. Even now, when I am writing this, despite the way I am missing her.

I hope you know that I would never write it to someone but you.

Thank you for your attention.

With love,

Drusilla Tyrell."

•

Alicent sighs, closing the door behind herself, emotions swirling around her in a chaotic vortex, sweeping her from her feet. She feels like this almost every time she argues with her father, and they do that a lot. And when it happens, she always finds herself in the same place - in the temple of the Mother.

She doesn't have a real one, so instead she hides in religion, weeping before cold statues, allowing herself to be a child again, though she always feels herself like one.

Usually, this place is empty.

Alicent knows that people hardly believe in Gods nowadays, and if they do, they are not really coming to pray until something terrible happens. And no matter how hard she tried, she wasn't able to teach her kids to love it like she does. So, most of the time, it is lonely here.

Today, though, it is not.

There is a short and slender figure, standing with her back to Alicent, hair in a mutch. She doesn't recognise it at first, but when she does, she calls her out, a little bit surprised:

'Lady Tyrell?'

She flinches from a sudden sound, turning to face the interrupter hastily.

'Oh. Your Grace!' She bows slightly. 'I, I apologise... But Prince Aemond said that it is okay to come here, and–'

Alicent slowly comes closer, still startled by her presence here. She doesn't remember Tyrells being a religious family, quite the opposite, she is sure her brother, Augustus, mocked gods once.

'I didn't know that you, ahem, interested in this,' Alicent starts unsurely, locking hands on her abdomen, a comforting gesture.

Drusilla is relieved from not being scolded as she smiles shortly, averting her gaze for a while.

'I... It is, I believe, the only comforting thing I had from my childhood. But most of the time, I just pray to Mother.'

Ah.

What a wonderful girl she is.

Alicent always liked Drusilla Tyrell, and from her very young age thought about advising making her a part of their family. A sweet little child, who clinged in her dresses while playing with Helaena, smiling and laughing.

She hasn't changed much.

'I do, too,' Alicent admits, settling on the girl's right. 'I believe, it's going to be just the two of us here. No one prays here anymore.'

Drusilla hums absentmindedly.

'Ah! Well I... I know it sounds disrespectful! But I found myself praying almost everyday to her just because... You know!' She laughs. 'She is the mother. And I miss mine, so... It is like talking with her again, before she... Uhm. I apologise! Sometimes I am start talking to much, and I know both of your sons absolutely hate that, but–'

Alicent is so touched that she doesn't stop her talks, at first.

She used to think it was just her, but...

Oh.

She puts hand on the girl's shoulder, a poor thing getting so nervous that she paled even more.

'That is okay,' Alicent calms her gently. 'I understand what you mean. As a child with no mother to grow, I clinged to this as well.'

'I just... Feel disrespectful? Because... My mother is still alive, yet, she is so... I mean...' Drusilla stutters, lowering her head. After a while, she raises it again. 'Ah, sorry, your Grace! I am getting a little bit too talkative sometimes...'

Alicent offers her the gentlest smile she has.

'...And I am sharing thing that I probably shouldn't, so I will stop ta–'

'Please, don't!'

Alicent says it so suddenly and loudly that she gets scared of her own voice.

But she really misses it... The feeling of total trust from someone.

She always wanted to be a good mother to Helaena, the mother that is more a friend, even. She imagined them spending a lot of time together, braiding each other's hair and sharing everything. But the more Helaena grew, the less they talked. She flinches from her, and it hurts.

And Aegon? Oh, Alicent shamefully admits that as much as she loves him, she despises him sometimes. It is hard to listen to him, to spend some time, even, and Alicent uses every opportunity to get away from him.

Aemond... Oh, Aemond is not a talker. This kid doesn't need her attention or her in general, so she doesn't even try to talk with him, like she does with Helaena; he is independent, more than anyone in this family.

So, usually Alicent talks with statues.

She is lonely. But admitting it hardly helps.

'I mean,' Alicent steadies her voice, 'you, lady Tyrell, can talk as much as you want. Allow this Queen to be your friend. I understand how lonely it can be, becoming a part of a new family, young and scared of future marriage.'

Drusilla looks at her with stars in her eyes, in awe, and Alicent melts. No one looked at her like this for a long time - it was Aegon in his very little age, who watched her with the same expression. But not anymore, of course.

'You are the kindest soul, your Grace,' Drusilla exclaims, taking her hand in hers, bowing a little bit again. 'I always was charmed by you, by the strength you hold, but it is rare that someone is so kind and powerful at the same time. Your Grace, I only hope to become a woman like you.'

Alicent laughs, though her cheeks grow red.

Oh, how right she was when she decided to bring them together - her son and this girl!

At least one of her kids will be happy in marriage.

•

Drusilla returns from the temple—to think that she spent three hours straight, while praying and talking, shining with her knowledge of prayers that she taught in advance, despite all her hate—near the evening. She is tired and annoyed, wanting to take rest as soon as possible. Though her plans break quickly, when Kasia warns her that Prince is locked out in the chambers, presumably sick.

'My Prince?'

She finds him on the bed, sleeping.

As Drusilla steps closer she notices some medication, the painkillers, she thinks. Might be an eye or a head, then.

He doesn't even get rid of his leather coat, which makes her think that he wasn't planning to fall asleep, but did, accidentally.

'No...: He mutters through the sleep, making Drusilla jolt. 'Don't... Don't...'

Ah.

Nightmares.

Drusilla doubts for a while, before slowly sitting on the floor beside him, not caring for her dress. It is not appropriate, she knows, but then again she has more clothes than the whole Targaryens all together.

She takes his hand, still unsurely—it might be a nightmare where touches scare even more—and whispers:

'You are okay, Aemond.'

It takes just a few seconds from him to react, squeezing her fingers in his hand ever tightly.

'Don't go...'

Oh, poor child.

Drusilla thinks he likes him the most, when he is like this—a little bit shattered and sincere—and not pretending to be the mini copy of his grandfather, which, admittedly, looks stupid.

'I am here. You are okay.'

'Please, don't leave again.'

She furrows, and when he says the next word, it sums up in her head finally; what he sees in the dream.

'Irellea, stay.' And his grip becomes so tight that Drusilla coughs a little bit; she doesn't stop holding him, though.

Drusilla smiles sadly.

'Oh, Aemond,' she says, well-knowing that he doesn't hear her. 'Who needs her, when you have me?'

She might miss Irellea too, but not that much to actually forget who she is.

'Sleep well, Aemond. Your Drusilla will always be here.'

And to her surprise, he goes still.

But he doesn't quite realise her out for the next few hours.

A/N: 

(After the big reveal, main Players rule)

Otto: I don't understand how you managed to manipulate ALL of them so easily!

Drusilla: Listen, old man. You traumatised your daughter, she traumatised her kids. Now, four of them are broken and anxious. They would open up to every person who slightly shows interest in them. See how it works? 

Daemon: Fuck. I should thought about it!

Otto: Why Alicent can't be like you...

Drusilla: Idiots.

/Also, keep the letter she wrote to her brother in mind. It will help you understand something in the future plot.