A/N: Possible trigger warnings - drunk Aegon, attempt in sex assault, mention of blood and some type of self-harm?

«Aegon Targaryen, the Second - from what his heart desires, he runs away. To what his heart is disgusted with, he returns.

Alicent Hightower - what she truly wishes, she closes her eyes on. And who she truly loves, she pretends to hate.

Aemond Targaryen - he is afraid of something that follows him all his life, loneliness. Yet, exactly his he seeks from day to day.»

— From Drusilla Tyrell's memoirs.

•

Aegon knows he promised not to drink anymore—he actually managed to keep up without drinking for so long!—but it got messy, somehow. He stayed all alone again, too deep in the thoughts, and that never helped him. He couldn't help but repeat, over and over, how those kids called him father, despite how terrible he was with them. It inevitably reminded him of the way he always reached for Viserys. And for the first time in his whole life, Aegon felt like he was his father's son.

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

He has no intention to drink, really. He just went to his favourite brothel, to feel some warmth again, but–

Cup after cup, and he doesn't know anymore what else he has done.

'Aegon, can I come in?'

His head is ringing madly, reminiscent of clucking bottles, and he hisses, hardly having some power to open the door.

'Oh. Silla.'

He thinks it is her, though in reality it's too dark and his vision is still too clouded. It couldn't be anyone else, after all, because mother would be already screaming and throwing punches, Aemond would never knock, and Helaena never comes here willingly, which, probably for the best.

The world is spinning so fast. Aegon exhales in relief, when he feels Drusilla catching him, allowing to throw an arm on her shoulder.

'Silla, hi-i.'

She doesn't answer.

Rest of time Aegon blacks out. Until Drusilla pushes him in the bathtub, emptying on him the near vat with cold water as he yelps from surprise, starting to shiver badly.

'Are you disappointed in me?' He blurts out, feeling how she settles behind his back, sitting on the floor, starting to sprinkle water on his face. 'Please, don't be.'

'I am not,' Drusilla answers shortly, and pats his head with her free hand. 'It's okay. Sometimes, we go back to the bad things, but it's temporary.'

She talks and talks, and Aegon realises he doesn't even understand what she says, but her voice is the only comfort he has, so he follows his instincts. And instinct tells him to relax.

The sob breaks out through his chest loudly.

'I am sorry, I am so sorry, I am...'

'Calm down, Aegon.'

'Why they are still trusting in me, why they are so much like me, why they–'

'Aegon.'

He stops speaking, but not crying.

'That is the thing with parents and kids. Each of them unconsciously will seek for each other's presence in their life, even if there is no love - in them or for them. And those kids are still small. They love you. And you should try to avoid the fate of your father. Or not. It depends on your wishes. You shouldn't make yourself love them, if in reality you don't. Pretending will hurt them most, when they realise.'

Ha.

Is it what happened with him and mother?

It hurt him more, when he understood how unwanted and hated he truly was. And it is hard to communicate with her after that. Yet, he will always be hungry for her love and attention.

Ha.

'Silla.'

'Yes?'

'I... I need to thank you. F-for everything and...'

Words are getting confused in his head, and he doesn't even see anything before himself. He is tired, sleepy almost, and the world suddenly is such a non-existing mess.

'No need t–'

'No, no, thank you, Silla. I... You help me, and I need to... Comfort you too. Share the...'

Aegon genuinely can't say what he is doing, though the quiet side of his mind is suddenly panicking.

Maybe he tried to push her in the bath, by gripping her hand. And maybe he landed a few kisses on her wrist? His head is too light to understand anything, and to think even. He only stops when Drusilla speaks up suddenly.

'Do you really want to fuck me or are you trying to replace the love you will never receive by pushing yourself on women with the same fiercity that you pushed yourself to your mother, Aegon?'

He is hallucinating, most likely. Because it sounds cold and crude, so unusually indifferent - Drusilla is not like this. But it makes him flinch as if he touched the fire, backing up, in light horror.

'Aegon?'

Oh.

Yes, it is definitely hallucination.

Because when Drusilla appears in front of his eyes again, standing on her feet, a little bit away from him, she smiles. She smiles, though the sleeve of her sleeping robes are torn down; had he done this? He doesn't remember.

'I will fetch knights to take care of you. Rest well, Aegon. We will talk tomorrow.'

And then, everything goes black.

•

Panic is not something Drusilla succumbs easily to. Even in moments when everything goes completely wrong, even when she is nervous, her head is clear and already thinking about her next move, calculating and rushing. It was just like this when Criston Cole appeared in the picture, or when Helaena spoke about her aloud.

But today, as she stayed all alone with drunk Aegon, when he started to push her closer, tearing off her sleeve, wet lips tracing the skin of her arm, moving higher and higher.

Drusilla can't even genuinely remember what she said to him that made him flinch. Whatever it was, it worked and she was thankful, even if this something would ruin her long work.

It feels strange, to act this way, when he hadn't done anything to her; there are girls, who suffered from his hands. There are real victims, and Drusilla is not one of them. Then why, she is still shivering as a stray cat under the rain, throwing up endlessly.

She scratches the same arm with her nails, leaving the bloody marks, red skin becoming ugly and wounded, and then she throws up her dinner. Rinse, repeat. Rinse, repeat. Rinse–

'What do you mean you can't let me in?' She hears outside the room, and the new wave of panic overflows.

Drusilla looks at her own hands, dirty and with blood under her skin, and then, the arm - it is in such a state that it would be easier to assume that the wild animal attacked her. She needs to close the barrel, and–

'I apologise profusely, Prince Aemond, but my lady asked me not to let anyone inside, and...'

'This is my chamber as well. You cannot forbid me from entering it, in my own castle.'

'She feels ill...'

'And so, even more reasons why I should go inside.'

She needs to play it out somehow.

Aemond is going to be soon, and, and–

Perfect picture. Perfect picture. She should be perfect. Not disarranged, not ruined like she is now. She can't be like this in front of people, she can't–

'Your maiden, Kasia, or what is her name is truly a furious thing,' Drusilla hears the sound of opening the door, and then, his voice. 'What is with your...'

His voice trails off.

Drusilla shuts her eyes, so intensely that sees little snowflakes in the darkness.

She knows how terrible it looks.

She can't even imagine what she would think if it was her, getting inside chapters, finding Aemond sitting on the floor, practically hugging the barrel, with blood on her arm and hair in disarray, wet from being dragged in the bathroom and trembling.

Drusilla would mock herself, presumably.

'What happened?'

In a second, there is rustling of clothes, and she can feel Aemond's presence so close that Drusilla fights the urge to back down.

'Drusilla, who hurt you?'

She is still silent, doesn't even trust her voice, when Aemond carefully takes her hand in his, examining wounded skin, most likely. His breath hitches, and there is a moment in which he realises who made it.

She, herself.

'Drusilla, look at me.'

Drusilla doesn't exactly want to.

Instead, she wants to hide somewhere else.

If she was a little bit less panicked, and more collected she would endure her episode in some lumber room. But no, she ran to her personal chambers! Stupid, stupid! It is a miracle that even that room was empty the first ten minutes, either way Drusilla can't even say what she would blurt out to Aemond in such a state!

'Drusilla,' Aemond tries again, fingertips caressing her knuckles. 'Drusilla. You are safe.'

She can't say why these words exactly calm her down almost immediately, allowing her body to relax for the first time in a while. But they do.

'Mhm,' he muses softly. 'You are safe. I am going to protect you.'

This makes Drusilla want to laugh. So far it is her who was protecting him, and paving his way. What a fool.

But she knows, he means it.

'Can you explain what happened?'

She opens her eyes slowly.

She is a little bit taken by surprise of how close Aemond is, bending on his knees before her, faces almost a few inches apart. Drusilla thinks it could scare someone off - his gaze, the intensity of his presence. Somehow, Drusilla finds it comforting.

'Bad memories,' she lies completely.

There were no bad memories about mens assaulting her. Before today, at least.

'What were they about?'

Drusilla already has an answer.

'Aegon got drunk today, do you know?' She starts from far, and she hates how broken she sounds, almost on the verge of tears.

'...I am not surprised. It is only natural that he tries to run away as soon as something reminds him of his responsibilities.'

Drusilla doesn't want to ask; and, he is probably referring to the incident with kids, calling him father anyway. And, well, she is not in the mood for analysing Aegon right now.

'And... You know, he has this... These speeches about how he wants to die.'

'Oh,' Aemond is smart enough to understand what she prompts on, even if she is lying. 'I see.'

He sighs.

Drusilla waits for him to start talking about Irellea again, but it doesn't happen. Instead, Aemond slowly releases her hand, and picks her up, helping to sit on the unmade bed. He once again kneels—their height difference is truly embarrassing—and opens drawers, finding bandages and a little bottle.

'I apologise for my brother,' Aemond starts to speak again, while intending to disinfect her open bleedings. 'I understand how hard it is, to be tormented by memories of the past. But you shouldn't hurt yourself.'

She doesn't hiss from the pricking feeling. She long ago got used to it.

'Maybe, you should think about hurting other things in states like this one?'

'I hurt people on a daily basis, Aemond. I don't need reasons to,' Drusilla croaks, rather instinctively.

The corner of Aemond's lips turns in an amused smile for a short time.

'Things, Drusilla. Pillows. Figurines, vases. Anything.'

'Do you know how much they cost?' Drusilla asks, absolutely scandalised.

'And?'

She opens her mouth and closes it again.

Ah, those Targayens. That might explain exactly why Tyrells are richer than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms.

'The main idea is that you shouldn't hurt yourself, Drusilla. If there are some alternative ways to take care of emotions that fill you, you should use them without caring about anything.'

Drusilla shrugs her shoulders, raising her arm more comfortably, so Aemond could bandage it.

'Thank you,' she answers, and her voice finally sounds more usual-like.

So she straightens her back, raising her chin.

And catches Aemond's glance.

It is full of something... Sincere and dark at the same time. It looks as if he is struggling between desire to lay to her feet and to devour her whole.

'We are not in love, Drusilla,' he whispers suddenly.

Drusilla blinks, but answers without hesitation:

'We aren't. What makes you think that I think otherwise?'

'Who said that it is you who thinks so?'

Oh.

Aemond slightly raises in his place, hand cupping her cheek. For a second Drusilla thinks—hopes, even—that they will kiss again. But he only presses his lips to her forehead, softly.

'I will be behind the doors. You need to change clothes.'

'Okay.'

He leaves the room, and Drusilla sighs again.

Oh, Aemond Targaryen.

What a gentle soul you are.

•

Morning goes smoother than Aemond thought it would; at least, taking in consideration the fact that his mother is really nervous most of the time, somehow looking suspicious even if nothing happened. And Aegon looks fine, too. It's really hard to say that he is dealing with a hangover.

A perfect picture of a perfect family.

Well, if he is ignoring the fact that he was hiding the body of his mother's assaulter—he knows they will need to talk about it sooner or later, but he simply doesn't want to push—and his dear future wife hurts herself from time to time.

In some way, it's funny how Drusilla fits in their crazy dynamic.

She never needed to be scared or warned about them, because she knew from the beginning - they are not so different.

'I am still surprised by the sudden departure of Ser Strong,' his grandfather hums thoughtfully. Turning to his daughter, he asks: 'Remind me what he told you again?'

It is the third question from the whole breakfast, and Aemond can say that he is not going to take it any longer. But before he manages to do something, there is a short, but loud hiss on his left side.

'What's wrong?' He asks automatically.

Drusilla slightly squeezes the roots of her hair, shaking her head dismissively.

'I... I apologise... I think it is a migraine of some sort?'

Aemond opens his mouth to offer her help, when he feels nails digging in his hand, the one that is under the table.

Oh.

She just helps to draw away attention from his mother.

'Silla should rest then,' Aegon says, and Aemond can't help but notice the worry in his eyes.

Drusilla nods, quickly standing from her place. She is already at the end of table, when she tries to bow as an excuse gesture, and stumbles—presumably, intentionally—Otto catching her by elbow, furrowing.

'Perhaps, Lady Tyrell should visit our Maester.'

Drusilla shrugs, blinking at him.

'I... I'm afraid I don't know where it is.'

Otto sighs. Aemond can guess what thoughts are running in his mind, about stupid Tyrells. Ha. He will love how the tables will turn if they ever will.

'I will help,' his mother chides in quickly, clearly searching for an opportunity to leave. 'Let's go, Drusilla. You can lean on me.'

As both of them leave, the doors closing behind, his grandfather hums:

'...What I was talking about?'

Well, clearly not about Larys Strong's departure anymore.

•

Kasia always admired her mistress, for so long as she remembers herself. It is only natural to be enchanted by Drusilla Tyrell. Even before she was taken as her personal maiden, long ago—when Kasia was nothing and no one; her family counted pathetic things as her father lost all their fortune in games—she gazed at her from the windows, when she walked down the gardens with her brother.

She clearly remembers the day, when Drusilla chose her. Lady Tyrell was in the beautiful emerald dress that day, with an umbrella in her hand, and when she leaned closer she smiled playfully at her, asking her name.

But Drusilla Tyrell that Kasia saw in public, and Drusilla Tyrell she serves were different people. It is something Kasia learned not immediately, but with time.

In some way, Drusilla shaped her like a person before opening her truth—and in some way, Kasia should be scared, because it is clearly a way to manipulate her; but she can't be mad, not at her—and teaching her what to do.

Yet, Drusilla knows that Lady Tyrell doesn't trust anyone fully. Not her, not even her brother. There is always something she hides, she doesn't say and prompts only. And Kasia never pushes. She is not sure she wants to know her secrets; she is not sure she wants to die.

But, oh, Kasia still loves her mistress.

She might be a cruel woman with her own plans on the house of Targaryen. But Kasia notices things that Drusilla doesn't. Sometimes, while ruining things, Drusilla helps also. To others.

It was like this in the house of Lannister—a short attempt to marry her to Jason Lannister that she accidentally ended with scandal about his reputation, making ser Tyland Lannister finally shine after the years of being his brother's shadow—or even now, here.

She doesn't even notice that, Kasia thinks.

Or maybe she does.

Maybe all of it - it is little snippets of her main plan.

With Drusilla Tyrell you will never know the truth.

But with Drusilla Tyrell in your company you also never feel miserable.

What a funny thing.

'I am getting tired of playing hide and seek,' Drusilla sighs suddenly, making Kasia stop in the tracks, listening. 'Aemond should be smarter. I gave him enough hints on the final riddle.'

Kasia blinks.

Drusilla shakes her head.

'I made sure it will not be noticeable for others, but for him.'

Kasia clears her throat.

'My Lady, can I help you somehow?'

Drusilla watches her carefully as if considering her offer, but both of them know that in fact, she already planned to order something for Kasia.

'Perhaps, you can. I need you to start an accident dialogue with him, and mention...'

Things Kasia is ordered to do are strange. Most of the time, of course, but today even more.

She can't say what it means or why Prince Aemond should have the big realisation after hearing that. But it's not like Kasia knows what her Lady hides, isn't it?

She bows, deeply.

'Will be done, My Lady.'

Until Kasia is enough to serve her, she would never ask for things.

After all... She loves her mistress.

A/N: Drusilla: (taking Kasia to herself, almost training her to be her little dog, so she would be too blinded by her generosity and protect her even knowing what an awful person she is)

Kasia: I support women rights. But also like their wrongs.