A/N: Possible trigger warnings - mentions of alcholic behaviour, basically alcohol withdrawal in the second part of chapter.

«Comforting gestures—a way to heart and trust.

Aegon Targaryen the Second: Hugging his head, slowly rocking the side to side - most likely the motherly gesture that he wanted to experience.

Aemond Targaryen: Look in the eyes. A sign of full surrender - presumably finds it easier to spot a lie while looking in eyes and understands if a person is disgusted by him or not better. Also, highly depends on if you are looking at his eyepatch or not.

Alicent Hightower: Hands. She needs to grab your hand all the time. Or arm, in general. And she needs to be sure that you return the gesture. She hurts her fingers, and skin, so might as well try to prevent it to see if it comforts her better.»

— From Drusilla Tyrell's memoirs.

•

Aemond remembers vividly how he passed out on bed, head aching so desperately that he hardly breathed, too afraid that it would trigger another wave of chronic pain. He remembers a fever dream, he remembers her. In one second he was in a gentle hug of Irellea, and in second she was slightly pushing him to the side of Drusilla, who waited for him on another side—Aemond refuses to believe in prophetic dreams, he is not his sister, but maybe it a sign after all—accepting fully.

As he opens his eyes, he notices, almost instantly, that he holds someone's hand, or more precisely, fingers even. His grip is too strong, in a way he usually holds his sword, and he realises it instantly.

It is Drusilla Tyrell who sits on the floor, cheek pressed to his mattress, sleeping.

Aemond blinks surprised.

He brushes her hand with fingertips, noticing the redness of it, and it strikes him that perhaps his hold will leave some bruises. Yet, Drusilla doesn't look like she tried to leave and couldn't.

'Lady Tyrell?'

She flinches from the sound of her name, clearly a light sleeper.

It takes her a few minutes to blurry and sleepy eyes get used to weak light and the brain starts processing the surroundings.

'Oh,' she mumbles. 'My Prince. You woke up. How do you feel?'

Aemond furrows.

'It is quite cold. Why are you sitting on the floor? There is the second part of the bed, if you forgot.' He doesn't know why he sounds so harsh, almost annoyed.

Drusilla ignores his frustration, but stands up nevertheless.

'The layers of dresses are enough to keep me warm, don't worry...'

'I wasn–'

'And I wasn't sure if it would be comfortable for you, when you woke up.'

He thinks that it's not fair that she cares so much, even though he hurt her—accidently, but still—today.

'I will take that as a sign that you feel better,' Drusilla continues to talk, slowly stepping to the long mirror. She fixes her clothes and hair methodically. 'We are a little bit late to the dinner, if I am not mistaken, but it would be a bad tone - to miss it. Though, if you are still unwell, I can ask the maid to bring it to you here.'

The last thing Aemond wants to see now - it is the dinner hall. He thinks he might as well fall with migraine again just from the sight of it, and the understanding that he will need to endure the company of his elder brother is not helping at all.

But...

'Ask it to bring it here. Yours and mine portions, both.'

Drusilla raises brows.

'You want a company?'

No.

He doesn't want company.

But when Drusilla is around it doesn't feel like a company. She brings him a strange amount of calmness as if he is spending time alone - almost with the same pleasure, even.

No... Not with the same, because Aemond never liked to be alone. And he likes to be around Drusilla. It is peaceful almost as he is alone, but not lonely.

'If you wish to spend time with others, you are free to go,' he snaps.

It is like this most of the time.

Physical pain leaves and Aemond becomes an annoyed mess. And he knows Drusilla has a temper. Yet, she doesn't leave, sighing quietly.

'Don't make assumptions for me, My Prince,' though there is a short smile on her face, her voice is almost warning.

Then, she silently rings the little bell on the table, and her maid appears, taking command and running away, to get the food and warn others that Aemond is unwell today.

They don't talk until she returns with two trays, setting them on the table. Drusilla draws for him a chair, settling in front of him.

'Do you want to pray?' He asks, because he remembers her asking about temples earlier.

Drusilla shakes her head.

'Do you?'

They stare at each other, before huffing synchronically, and starting to eat.

'Does it happen often?' Drusilla hums, reaching for a cup of wine. 'Headaches, I mean.'

'That depends,' Aemond replies quietly.

He doesn't want to speak a lot about that—his weakness is something he hates truly, and it is awful enough that someone saw him in this state already—not about migraine, not about chronic pain in his socket.

'Are you searching ways to my mother's heart?' He changes the topic, cutting the meat.

Drusilla smiles.

'Guilty as charged! I missed her presence I think,' she hums, putting hand on her palm. 'You wasn't around, but when we were kids I looked up at her a lot.'

He remembers distinctively how his mother always praised Drusilla, but he couldn't understand why. And it always annoyed him back then, because when he spoke of Irellea, mother stopped him, saying that she is a poor commoner, not a fit for a prince, trying to pair him with her instead.

Funnily enough, mother won this one.

And though Aemond loves her, he is still bitter.

He remembers how much it hurt Irellea.

'Mhm.'

'She seems lonely to me, though.'

'She is,' he adds absentmindedly. 'We hardly make her a good company.'

'I think everyone in this family is a little bit lonely,' Drusilla pounds. 'I know this feeling. When I was younger, I was lonely all the time. And Augustus hated me back then.'

'And Irellea?'

Drusilla's corners of lips curve in a smile.

'You forget that she was a little bit older than us. I know two years are not a big difference, but I still bore her out most of the time,' she shakes her head. 'She was amazing, though. I think we all stared at her like this - with hearts in eyes, you know? But I found her being more distanced as you both fell in love. So I clinged to Aegon as much as I could, but it wasn't the same, because I needed to share him with Augustus. And our parents... Well, you know them. An insane mother and father who loves her too much to turn his attention to us.'

Does that mean that Aemond unconsciously stole her only friend?

He actually never noticed that she and Irellea were close. Surely, Irellea was her right hand, a trustful face, but... Perhaps, Aemond never listened when it came to Drusilla, simply. And Irellea... She didn't speak a lot about her life in the Highgardens.

'May I ask you the question?'

'You already did,' she teases, eating though gracefully, yet almost unstoppable. Aemond wonders if she ate today properly, even. 'But go on, my Prince.'

'Were you in love with her?'

Drusilla is so startled by the question that she knocks over the cup with wine on herself, coughing slightly, eyes wide.

'Excuse you?'

...Perhaps, he overstepped.

Aemond raises a little bit, quickly handing her napkins as a red stain leaves its trace on her beautiful dress.

'I don't mean it in the bad way.'

'Excuse you?' She sequels again, rubbing napkins over the dress so harshly as if she wanted to make a hole in it.

'I don't treat this kind of attraction differently,' he tries again.

He simply thought...

Well, she sees how Drusilla speaks of Irellea, eyes fond and with so much gentleness in them, that lacks even when she talks about her brother. And, well, Helaena told him once that maids and their ladies sometimes share special connection, so–

'We can drop this topic of conversation.'

'My Prince, I...'

The knock on the door is so heavy and impatient that Drusilla jumps on her place again.

'What is it?!' Aemond hisses, not in the mood for interrupters.

'I am so sorry, my lady Tyrell!' That girl, Kasia, screams. 'But the Queen Mother urgently asks you to visit the southern wing of the castle! It is the question of life and death!'

Drusilla pales, and before Aemond registers, she is already leaving their chambers, either waiting to stop their conversation completely or just because she really got worried.

Aemond sighs.

Perhaps, that is not the best way to communicate with your future wife.

...Though he can't help but wonder if his theory is the right one, then is Kasia...

He shakes his head, and the late realisation comes to him.

Isn't the southern wing the one where Aegon's room is?

•

Drusilla pants harshly, when she reaches the chambers where Alicent asked her to be. They are vast and there is a smell of alcohol, so she understands right away whose it is. There are no guards, and from screams she hears, she already presumes why. Aegon ruins his image enough in the daylight, and they don't want new talks. Understandable, but knowing how destructive he could be—to himself and others—it is a very dangerous decision.

Door is slightly open, and Drusilla catches a little snippet from their conversation before she enters.

'...Are you going to kill your own mother for this?!'

'Give me the damn bottles!'

They both sound desperate, on the verge of tears, even.

She understands why instantly.

Aegon looks wild. His clothes are screwed, and his eyes are opened wide as he tries to reach the alcohol that his mother closes with herself. Drusilla isn't sure if he is drunk already or not - he is steady on his legs, but the smell and look is terrible.

Alicent shivers, and Drusilla thinks she might be scared of him at least a little bit.

'Aegon! Your Grace! What's going on here?!'

Alicent sighs, relieved, and gestures with her hands.

'You called her?!' Aegon laughs, though it is bitter and harsh. 'Oh, look at you, pretending to care?! Usually you just call that twat so he can knock me off! Did you find a new play thing, mother? Aemond is not so perfect anymore?!'

Drusilla whistles mentally.

Oh, family drama...

'Aegon, what's going on?' She asks, voice and face confused at the same time, stepping closer.

'He was irritated all the evening,' Alicent almost whispers, looking at her son, absolutely betrayed. 'And then he tried to fight Haelana for a whiskey! And now? Now what, do you want to kill me for this wine?!'

Oh.

Drusilla thinks she knows what it is, but she is not sure why others don't.

Aegon—the one, who spent his last years drinking without breaks, at least a bottle every day—was sober for the last few days. And he is an alcoholic. An addict. They can't just stop magically. And when an addicted person doesn't take what they want they fight for it, like animals.

'You don't fucking understand!' He yells at her, raising a hand.

For a second Drusilla thinks he might hit her, and Alicent fears that too, but in the end he punches a wall from her right side and steps back, plopping on the bed.

He is shivering, like a stray animal, fingers gripping white roots so strongly that he might actually pull some hair.

Alicent starts trembling as well, but it is an upcoming panic attack or something in between, probably.

Drusilla blinks.

Oh, how she hates alcoholics.

She hates this smell, she hates their mood swings, she hates how pathetic they are.

She wants to leave.

Instead, she plays her role, a white sheep she is, moving to the bed. She stops in front of Aegon, hands slowly pulling his arms away.

'Aegon. Aegon, look at me,' she gently nudges him. 'Tell me what's wrong. When did it start? What do you feel?'

He snaps his head high, sharp, and looks mad, probably, wanting to hiss at her or scream, but he stops, stare growing more and more watery. Drusilla knows how she looks at Aegon when he plays with him. Pretending to care was always easy, after all. And it is enough for him to break down.

'I...' He starts to sob right after. 'I can't, I just want...A little sip. I don't have... Silla, can I have a little sip? Just a little? It will make me feel better.'

'Will it really?' She pats his curls. 'Aegon, alcohol cannot help you feel better.'

'But it does! It does, it really does! I don't feel so ugly when I drink it, I swear! Everything stops being so suffocating!' He croaks desperately, clutching in her dress like a little infant kid.

What an imbecile.

Drusilla knows she is not right for actually blaming him for his addiction—apparently, she has some remnants of conscience to understand that—but she has this terrible habit to think she wouldn't become the same in other people's places. That she would be smart enough to understand how it works and what she shouldn't do.

And if they can't do that... Well, they are weak.

She understands how wrong it is, she remembers Augustus hating this part of her—there a lot of parts of her he hates, admittedly, but gladly the feeling is mutual—but she doesn't feel guilty.

'Oh, Aegon, it doesn't,' she murmurs. 'This devious thing plays with your brain, my dear friend. It helps you to pretend that it is better and slowly eats your personality in return for those short moments. Aegon, I beg you, look at yourself, you were so fine with no drinking in the past few days!'

'Past few days, and you are already a weeping kid!' Alicent interrupts them suddenly. 'Do we really need to call someone all the time to calm you down? You are an adult, Aegon!'

Drusilla purses her lips.

Why can't she see that it is not helping?

Or maybe she is just the type of person, who is comfortable around misery and despair? That got too used for it, that she scares that changing it for the better might ruin her?

Before the worst could happen, Drusilla tucks Aegon closer, allowing to hide his face in the silk of dress, hugging his head, fingers gently carding through silver hair as she rocks them lightly.

It takes from her twenty three seconds—not the quickest of her results, but one of the most, and it might be the tiredness that helped her—to start to cry.

'Please, your Grace,' she whimpers, turning big eyes on Alicent, 'don't blame him for that. He is doing so good! Please, your Grace! He just needs to understand it. I am proud of him. It is a big step already. Please, be proud of him, too?'

Drusilla knows she played her cards right, when Alicent lets out a gasped sound, whispering something about her being right.

But still, she doesn't come closer to give him some affection.

(Oh, please, if Drusilla had a choice she wouldn't as well!)

Aegon ends up falling asleep in the middle of his hysteric, and they silently take the wine away. Alicent doesn't say anything anymore—and Drusilla pretends to be still too shaken up to speak first—but she slightly squeezes her hand in hers, before leaving.

Drusilla returns to her chambers full of disgust.

•

Aemond hadn't followed Drusilla, but in the end Helaena came to him for a few seconds, telling what happened. So he is not surprised to see lady Tyrell absolutely drained, when she comes back. She simply sits in front of the fireplace, and stares. Usually observant, Drusilla doesn't even notice him approaching with two cups of tea, until Aemond coughs intentionally.

'I hope it's not wine,' she mutters sarcastically, accepting it. 'Thank you, my Prince.'

He chuckles.

She can be funny, this Drusilla.

'Can we talk?'

'Right now?' She groans, raising her head high. 'It is better to be a good talk, my Prince, or I think I might seriously leave this house sooner than later.'

Aemond knows she is joking, but the thought of him searching for a fiancée among all these dull girls scares him, almost unironically. Funnily enough, in his mind it is already decided that they are going to marry each other that he tends to forget that it is her answer that will be the final decision, not his.

He sets his cup on the table, and slowly sits down on one knee before her. Drusilla chokes with a little sip she did, and Aemond patiently waits for her to come to her senses.

'What are you–'

'I think we started very wrong,' he makes himself start, words coming hard, never being something he could wield so easily as a sword. 'My father, the King Viserys—you haven't met him yet, but you will at the end of the month most likely—who is in terrible condition, calls my mother with the name of his first wife, who died. Do you know that?'

Drusilla blinks owlishly.

'...I am sorry?'

'What I am trying to say is that, I don't want to become like him.'

'Okay...?'

Aemond sighs.

'I wish to forget Irellea,' he finally says.

Drusilla shakes her head, a little bit amused.

'Oh, my Prince, you can't just forget people in your life. Especially the good ones.'

'You are right, of course, but what I am trying to say is that I don't wish our marriage to be... Crowded, as you said.'

Drusilla blinks again.

'I believe–'

'I want our marriage to be about both of us. We are intending to be friends, aren't we?' He waits for her to nod. 'I don't want this marriage, friendship, whatever, to consist of three people.'

'We are going to have kids once, probably. And then, it will be three–'

This woman!

'You are impossible to talk,' Aemond rolls his eye.

At first, he thought it was a good thing - that Drusilla is so loyal to his love for Irellea. It pleased him, in some egoistical type of way. But it became less normal as he slowly understood that he was breaking a promise that he gave to his mother once - a vow of not becoming like all men that surrounds her.

And it meant that Aemond should be gentle and respectful, attentive and not imposing. Perhaps, he knows very little of love to someone, who is not his family member. But he surely can try to learn how to love a friend, something he always lacked.

'I hardly know anything about you,' Aemond continues after a long pause. 'And you don't know anything about me. So, how about spending tomorrow in each other's company?'

Drusilla looks at him emotionlessly, but there is a slight twitch up the corners of her lips.

'You aren't scary at all, do you know that, my Prince?' She muses slowly. 'This is sweet of you.'

Oh, Aemond can be scary. But something tells him that Drusilla will not be impressed.

'My mother taught me better,' he grins.

'I can see that,' she answers, mirroring his expression. 'Well, I don't see any reason to decline this offer. Should I call you Aemond, then?'

'Only if you wish, Drusilla.'

•

«Greetings, Drusilla. The one to write is, of course—as if someone would write to you at their free will—is Augustus.

To be honest, reading your letter made me wonder if you wrote it drunk, and if not for the fact that you despise the idea of such a state, I would think that Prince Aegon made you his drinking buddy.

I think we discussed it already that you should stop romanticising your life in the poor attempts to feel more emotions. It is not working and you are confusing some things. We both know