A/N: Or the chapter when Drusilla fucks up so badly that she almost ruins the whole plan, and all just because she forgot about existence of one unhinged motherfucker.

«A human-like desire—to ache for one thing, and while getting it finally, missing the old one—was tearing me apart almost all night. I am afraid that though the Highgardens was never a place that accepted me—not a home, even—in some special moments I missed it more than I would admit to myself. Or perhaps, I was missing people and not places. Or perhaps, I was missing myself. But then I realised: I don't quite remember myself anymore. And you can't miss something you never know.»

— From Drusilla Tyrell's diary.

•

'...Your handwriting is terrible, though.' He muses, with the most annoying smile on his face.

Drusilla's eyes roll as she lightly slaps on the hand he is stretching to her, and shakes her head.

'Shut up. It is not that bad.'

But it is... Well, quite awkward. Not royal-like. Aemond knows it well, because despite the differences of each hand-writing, most of the houses give their heirs plenty of lessons, and calligraphy is one of them. Drusilla's handwriting looks as if it is written by a kid that tries to copy their parents' handwriting. He wonders if it could be because she spent some time in absolute isolation, even without teachers and Septa?

'Even Aegon's one is better,' Aemond adds provocatively as the step even lower on the rocky hill, side by side.

It was the sixth day after their first proper conversation, and everyday they tried to spend at least an hour with each other, sharing some memories or talks. And he might admit, Drusilla was an amazing companion. Even when she tried to hit him with a book, for „absolutely disappointing opinion on the best book of this decade" it felt... Well, funny, maybe.

Aemond is bad at understanding humour, but he likes hers.

'Oh, shush,' she almost stumbles, sending herself in the flight down to the sea, when Aemond catches her by the elbow. 'Thank you, thank you, I am fine... Definitely don't want to repeat the scar incident.'

He huffs.

The scar incident was in fact the stupidest history from their shared childhood together. He remembers how all of them decided to play rebels and went exactly here, in this spot, the strangest cliff that could send everyone in death's embrace. Should he mention that everything ended up by Irellea, who slipped and got the biggest scar down her leg, almost drowning to death?

Oh, how mad mother was... It is a good thing that they blamed it all on Aegon and Augustus.

'You seem in a better mood than before,' Drusilla notices, when they get back on the proper ground, sighing.

... Aemond doesn't really know how she does it - always guessing his moods by simply gazing at him, even though he rarely expresses it openly.

'Don't give me that look, Aemond. I know what I am talking about.'

'...Slight miscommunication in the small council, nothing too serious.'

'Can I help?'

Truth to be told, Drusilla is a great help already. Sometimes, she speaks aloud her thoughts about certain political matters that she hears when Otto talks at the family dinner—she pretends not to understand a thing around others, though—and Aemond realises that options she suggests are smart. Rational. He never admits it aloud, though.

'Nothing truly happened. It is only natural that my presence around them can evoke a negative reaction.'

'Excuse you?' Drusilla frowns, almost as if he insulted her. 'You are the Second Prince. Who else deserves to be in the Small Council, then, I wonder?'

He finds it funny how easily Drusilla finds something to judge.

'Most of them are fine. It is just one of them.'

He stops talking. But Drusilla watches him attentively, meaning that she wants him to continue—he still is not used to being able to talk about everything he wants, important or not, like he is a kid again—and he does.

'Ser Henrik. Father's old friend,' Aemond explains shortly. 'He thinks my presence here is absolutely useless due not having an actual experience neither in war nor ruling.'

'Ah, yes,' Drusilla says poisonously. 'My favourite king on the Iron Throne, Ser Henrik. His opinion means so much.'

This comment makes him scoff.

'Can't wait when he coughs out his lungs and dies,' Aemond mutters bluntly.

He tries not to be like this—hateful and spiteful—around mother or Helaena, but he found out recently that Drusilla is not minding his behaviour. Instead, he hears her whispering to herself the analogical swears or threats, when no one hears.

'Let God fulfil your wish,' she smiles at him sweetly. 'Though, maybe he should simply meet with Vhagar.'

The wind blows unmercifully and Aemond winces; he likes the whirls of wind, but not closer to the shore, because there is a lot of sand and he has only one eye.

'What had he done to deserve it?' He hums. 'I rather wonder, if you want to meet Vhagar.'

Drusilla faces him, surprised. Her little hat with lotuses tucked in them gets almost blown, only to be caught by Aemond right in time. They stay like that for a second, with his hand funnily raised above her, as Aemond towers her slightly. Drusilla lets out a quiet "oh".

'Is that an invitation?' She asks.

Aemond steps back, softly putting a hat back on her head, lacing short thin ropes under her chin.

'Is that a yes?'

•

Of course, it is a yes!

Drusilla is so excited!

Dragons! Real, breathing dragons!

And not just an average dragon but Vhagar!

There are not a lot of things that can bring her positive emotions—she learned long ago that they work in the cruellest way, either focusing on one person solely or not working at all—but these creatures? They are one of the little exceptions.

'I don't remember you being so enthusiastic about dragons before,' Aemond notices.

'You don't remember me from my childhood at all,' she parries without hesitation, smiling at the biggest creature she had ever seen. 'Oh, my first time seeing a dragon...'

Surprisingly, Vhagar is nice. Nicer than Drusilla expected, to be honest. She examined her smell before calmly settling beside Drusilla, of course, but it wasn't scary at all. Instead, she finds herself admiring the way Vhagar looks. She also reminds her of a cat a little bit; the one she had back in the Highgardens.

Drusilla once heard that it is important for dragonriders to see their dragons' reaction to the person they want to marry; something, like gaining an approval from their closest friends, she believes. Aemond didn't mention that it was another test, but Drusilla couldn't be too mad at him - she met Vhagar. Though, she was worried.

Drusilla can easily trick people, using everything she has, but dreamers and animals? They feel and know much more. She can't trick them. But somehow Helaena saw her presence as a good sign, and Vhagar accepted her, so it became easier. Yet, she doesn't understand how it happened.

'She likes you,' Aemond tells her absentmindedly, hands gently patting Vhagar's scales. 'Usually, she is more... Unapproving around other people. And she hates Aegon. But you... She absolutely likes you.'

'Does it make both of you, then?'

Drusilla likes teasing him, because when she does, he gets flustered. She didn't notice it at first—well, this idea was hard to comprehend, even, because he is always bold with his words, and teases her as well most of the time—his facial expression doesn't falter. Instead, the tips of his ears are reddening slightly, and it took her some time to see that.

And oh, Drusilla loves that.

'I have an important meeting with Ser Cole,' he replies. 'Allow me to help you to find your way back.'

Oh, a meeting. Good. Because she has her own things to do. Something should be taken care of quickly, and Drusilla doesn't like leaving everything unplanned.

'Can I stay for a little longer? I remembered the right corridors to leave without bumping in other dragons.'

Aemond hesitates, but for this short time her intellect was something that he doesn't doubt, so, of course, he nods in the end.

'Be careful.'

How sweet.

'Sure. Good luck, Aemond.'

Vhagar moves from her sleep a little bit, when Aemond leaves, and for a second, Drusilla wonders how much the dragons feel others' intentions. Because she looks at her so openly that she has the craziest thought that, well, Vhagar knows that right now she plans the murder.

It gets uncomfortable a little bit, and so, Drusilla slowly goes in the opposite direction.

She knows where the right corridor is, but... Well, she heard Aegon's curses from the other side.

And she has her own plan.

A very promising one.

•

'For sake Gods!' Aegon yelps, almost sending himself to the floor, when he notices Drusilla's presence out of nowhere. 'What the fuck you are doing here?'

This Drusilla girl has absolutely zero surviving skills, really. Befriending him? Ignoring absolutely everything danger around her? Acting as if Targaryens are a little and sweet family? And now? Somehow getting in dragons' mouths?

Aegon really doubts if she survives till the marriage.

'Hi, Aegon!' She waves her hand enthusiastically. 'Hi, Sunfyre!'

He glances at his dragon, who watches at the girl suspiciously, almost roaring. It is a strange thing. Usually, Sunfyre simply mirrors his feelings towards people.

'Calm down, Sunfyre. She is my friend. You met her when we were younger, remember?' Sunfyre lets out a harsh sound, but unwillingly lays down. 'Who let you here, little air-head?'

'Oh! Aemond showed me his Vhagar, but then he left, and I heard your voice, so I decided to say hi!' She smiles at him vibrantly, making unsure steps to his side. 'Is everything okay?'

He likes his sister-in-law. He does, really. She helps him, she listens to him—even if his words hardly make sense, stupid blubbering when episodes catch them again—and she cares. But, for fuck's sake, she is so dense sometimes, that Aegon really thinks about offering Aemond put her in some big plastic ball, where she can live without possible harming herself.

'Didn't Aemond tell you not to lurk around? You could get hurt.'

'He was in a hurry so he said to leave this place by myself... Oh, please, don't tell him that I went here!'

He rolls his eyes.

Sunfyre reminds of his presence, and Aegon turns attention to him again, sighing.

There is a little wound from their flight today's flight—usually they land more gracefully, but Aegon for some reason felt a surge of panic from nowhere, and it ended up with wounding Sunfyre's paw—so he turns to his guest, asking.

'Do you have some clean handkerchief?'

Drusilla blinks, before rushing to take one from her pocket. It is one of the usual ones that ladies carry around, with their initials embroidered on silk fabric. So, perhaps, it is not good for using, but...

Aegon shrugs indifferently, sweeping Sunfyre's blood with it.

'Wash it later, I guess,' he mutters almost apologetically, handing it back.

'Oh, poor thing... Is Sunfyre okay?' Drusilla sighs, putting her handkerchief back, not even eyeing the big bloody spot Aegon left on it.

...This woman is really something.

'...He will be soon,' he raises on his feet, shaking his head. 'Come on, Silla, let me take you back to the castle, before you kill yourself just by walking here without others.'

She giggles.

'I am not that dumb!'

...She is.

'Sure, dear,' Aegon rolls his eyes. 'Say goodbye to Sunfyre.'

'Goodbye, Sunfyre! Be well!'

And despite annoyance on his face, Aegon smiles slightly.

'Wanna play cards, when we return, Silla?'

'Oh, I would love to!'

•

Criston Cole knows very little about the woman, named Drusilla Tyrell. But Aegon and Aemond—these two boys that he, admittedly, used to love as his own sons—are fond of her for some reasons. Charmed, even. And though it is nice to see them communicate with someone so warm, even though the Queen trusts her as well, he can't shake off the feeling that it could be dangerous for his Princes. He is aware of how easy women can hurt in their young age, and Aemond was always more sensitive than his brother.

So he finds himself in the difficult position, where he follows lady Tyrell, who is walking with Ser Henrik; with him, riding his favourite horse—as far as Criston Cole saw, Drusilla caught him when he was returning to the castle, after a little walk with his favourite horse—listening to her words carefully.

This image itself is already confusing and strange, and the fact that they travel right to the cliff to talk, makes it even worse. But he can't make assumptions beforehand, so he pretends to be a shadow.

'Am I getting it right? You have information regarding king Viserys's state? That you accidentally heard from Otto Hightower?' The old man asks, furrowing. 'Gods see, young lady, I was never quite trustful of that man. Please, tell me more.'

Criston grits his teeth and waits.

Drusilla absentmindedly takes a handkerchief from her long coat, starting it for a few seconds before smiling.

'...I think I made some mistake here,' she exclaims softly.

'What?' Ser Henrik asks, confusedly.

'But you did it too, didn't you?' She continues, without explaining anything else. There is a second before she waves with her tissue before the horse's face, and it suddenly gets wild. 'Don't try to go against my future husband.'

'Hey! What is–'

He never finishes his sentence. Instead, his horse laps forward, to the edge of a cliff, and ignoring all attempts of the man to stop it or move to another side, falls from it with a clashing sound. There is a sea under the cliff, so Drusilla waits for a characteristic sound of someone falling in it, before relaxing. Though, she also looks down to make sure that it worked.

Criston stays in his place, frozen and surprised.

In the past days she and him interacted, Drusilla always seemed like a young bashful, yet too energetic woman. A little bit naive and childish, but yet... But yet, not a killer.

He needs to go away, to tell what he saw to Alicent.

Yet, she notices him first; eyes wide and mouth falling agape.

'Ser Cole...' He blinks at her. 'I can explain.'

But he doesn't really need an explanation.

It is easy as anything, to understand what happened - Ser Henrik always picked fights with Aemond, and it appears Drusilla is aware of that too. And though he sees that her actions are focused on his protection, it is his responsibility to report this to others.

'Please, don't say anything to anyone, I can explain!' She repeats, running to his side. 'Please. I cannot allow others to know.'

'Because everyone is pretty sure that you are quite an innocent lady,' he finally answers, furrowing his brows.

He doesn't appreciate when women do that. Lie.

'Aemond knows!' She shouts in a whisper, gripping his arm. 'And my future husband is the only one before whom I have a duty.'

Criston stops, pursing lips.

Surely, Aemond should know - he is a smart boy, and smart boys like him rarely leave things like this unnoticed.

But still...

'All I did today, and all I will do in the future, I do it for his protection and happiness solely,' Drusilla continues to whisper, yet quieter than before.

'Why?' Criston asks aloud.

Because, truly, why?

They knew each other for a few weeks, and they are young. He knows how easily such passion lits up at this age, and how it burns down when the masks are torn off.

He remembers Rhaenyra.

Wasn't she like this as well?

'Because I loved him since I was a kid,' Drusilla offers him a saddened smile. 'Because I was here, waiting for him to look at me, while he was always looking at another girl. Who was better than me, who was older and more mature, who was what he wanted. And he remembered about me only when she was away. So, yes, maybe I am not her, but I still want to be the one to make him happy!'

Criston flinches from these words.

Oh, he recognises the girl she mentioned. Very distantly, but he remembers that little maid that enchanted Aemond once, while he still was a kid. He used to talk about her all the time, until the Queen shut him down. Criston never liked her in particular, either. For some reasons, she always acted too bold and too fearless, reminding him of Rhaenyra and Daemon, both. And she didn't even have a royal blood to be justified for such behaviour.

They even looked alike, he thinks, Drusilla and this maid girl. Both having blue eyes, piercing through your soul and dark curly hair. He wonders, if she tries to use this similarity for Aemond to like her more?..

But the point is, Criston knows what she is talking about.

He had been in her place once - swept from his feet by the Targaryen beauty, who instead chose the reckless creation. He got attention only when Daemon Targaryen wasn't around.

'How far can you go to protect him?' Criston mutters after a long pause.

Drusilla offers him a shakened smile—she trembles, he notices only now—and shakes her head.

'No, ser Cole. Going too far it's always easy for us, humans. We are not Targaryens, to slow into madness slowly, allowing it to consume them gracefully. We are mere mortals. We are willing to go as far as possible from our birth, if the result will satisfy us in the end. Ask me what I will sacrifice for him,' she makes a pause, and there is something definitely not sane twirling her blue eyes. 'Ask me, because being stripped from everything, falling to the very bottom - that scares us.'

He doesn't think Targaryens are falling into madness differently from people, but it is the last question that catches his attention.

She is right, isn't she? Because some of us have a lot to lose. She, as a Tyrell heir, risks a lot by killing the man she never saw before. If Criston tells others about this, her reputation and life will be shattered in pieces. She knows that, yet Drusilla willingly chose to kill a nobleman, a veteran, for a person she loves. Well-knowing that she is not his first choice, even.

That is what loyalty means.

And, perhaps, Drusilla is stronger than him, because he can't do that - love someone unconditionally, despite everything. He can only be loyal when people choose him in return. That is why he bends his knee not before Rhaenyra but Alicent.

'Well, lady Tyrell, what would you sacrifice for Prince Aemond?' He doesn't know why he is suddenly as much nervous as she is.

'Everything,' Drusilla spits out, gripping his wrist in hers. 'If his happiness means that I shall kill every single person in this Small Council - I will. If his happiness will cost me my reputation - so let it be. And if happiness will mean that he wants to run away from here, from royalty and all the luxury, I will run with him.'

'Without disgust?' Criston asks, somehow, breathless.

'I would never be disgusted by him.'

And this answer makes his mind instantly.

Though they are silent for a while, he already knows what he wants to say. So he slowly releases his arm from her hold, and sits down on one knee before her—his Queen also wants her protected, after all; and maybe, it is her instincts that tell her that Aemond will be safer around her—lowering his head.

'Perhaps, lady Tyrell, we share the same