«The first rule—and it is the last one—is to survive in the games for the throne: even if you open the truth, never spill details. Make sure that without them your story will look like a fantasy. Something, others would never believe. Even if you love this person.»

— From Drusilla Tyrell's diary.

•

Aemond quickly realised that his future wife doesn't seem surprised by this statement. Instead, she looks at him with a taunting satisfaction in sapphire eyes, as if she was waiting for this moment to come too long.

And maybe, maybe she truly did.

'I connected the dots,' he continues, despite the lack of answer. He speaks, and it seems almost as if he is a kid again, passing exams before Maesters. 'You and Drusilla Tyrell were always the exact copies of each other. Some even thought that you were a bastard kid.'

Irellea had—has?—no one in this world except herself. With her mother being an unknown woman, leaving right after giving her birth, and father, a mere servant around Tyrells, who died early - that is who she was. In the eyes of others they were practically twins, yet, much for Irellea's disappointment, they weren't connected, not by blood, not by anything in general.

"It would be so much easier," she always told him. "If I was a bastard, I would at least have some rights to claim a better life. But I am no one with nothing behind myself. How cruel."

'Hm-m,' Drusilla answers tonelessly.

With even more determination, Aemond starts to add more details he examined for a last hours:

'I was careless for not studying the matter of the health condition that Drusilla Tyrell had. But according to records about royal families, the lung problems she had were not only hereditary, but also without a cure to find. Yet, in the later mentions it is said that with the help of Gods, Drusilla Tyrell overcame it. But Gods don't exist. We both know that,' she blinks wordlessly. 'More to say... When you first met Vhagar, you told me that it is your time seeing the dragon, which I assume was an honest statement. Yet, Aegon is sure that you met Sunfyre before.'

At this point as he crossed the threshold of their chambers, Aemond was sure - his assumptions were correct. But standing on his knees before Drusilla, watching and not receiving simple emotions was making him nervous again and again. Perhaps, he is paranoid and foolish.

'Drusilla falls out of the window. And dies. I have no idea about how high her room is, but I assume that it was high enough to make her body become an unrecognisable mess. Augustus Tyrell is most likely the one to help you out. By acting that you are suffering from a dreadful grief, you were sent to seclusion as Drusilla's mother. And five years are enough for a ten year old to turn into a young and charming woman. Tyrells' features stayed the same, yet you become leaner and thinner; something you could always blame on puberty. And it is long enough for others to forget little details she had. Am I right?'

No reaction.

'The scar. Not only Irellea was the one to have it, but Drusilla wasn't even with us that day. Something I didn't remember, but got reminded by Aegon. She was sick that day. She couldn't know where we were, but you recognised that place right away,' Aemond smiles proudly. 'I figured you out, Irellea.

And that is when she speaks up, finally.

'You might be smarter than the most, Aemond, but you are no less fool than them,' her fingers catch his chin, leaving him speechless for a second. 'Aemond. You can do better. You missed the most important part.'

He forrows. How could he miss anything? He spent hours rethinking every action Drusilla had ever done since her arrival, every word from his siblings, even. There is no mistake, no missed parts.

'Aemond,' she sings out his name, and Aemond effortlessly recognises the little accent Irellea had when they were younger. Something Drusilla doesn't have not now, not in their childhood. 'Don't you understand? You haven't figured out anything. I allowed you to do that. Without me, you would never find out this secret.'

It is his turn to blink silently.

And then, it strikes him.

Oh.

Drusilla was the one to slip out about seeing the dragon for the first time, and then Aegon recalled memories about her and Sunfyre suddenly. And if Drusilla didn't go to see Aegon after parting with him that day, he will most likely not recall this memory; his brother had a terrible one, alcoholic addiction weakening it to the point when he made up some memories. The same story with her illness. She coughed in front of Aegon to start the thread of actions that she most likely predicted. Knowing that Aemond would get worried in some moment, and pretending that she lied to him about getting treatment—coughing sneakily in front of him this morning—so he could go and see the only person who knows her well. Her maid. And her maid said something she shouldn't. But if Kasia was so talkative, making accidental mistakes while talking with others, Drusilla would never have her around.

It is a long plan. Very hard one. Yet, she played it well, relying only on knowing Targaryens. Knowing him.

And Irellea could be the only one to know every part of him. To play with him like with a kid.

It is really her. In the flesh and bones.

Aemond said it to himself all this day—that she is alive, that she must be really—yet, finally getting proof of it, made him stop in his tracks, shaking slightly.

'Irellea.' His whisper comes out weak. He finds himself not caring anymore. 'It is you.'

Drusilla... No, Irellea slowly sits down on the floor, by his side. Her eyes are lit with something dangerous. Yet, Aemond feels the safest.

And there he was wondering why he was so calm in her presence. Why was it easier to trust her than to anyone? Deep inside, he already knew that it was Irellea. It was his brain that couldn't process the thought.

'How... What is the reason for you being here?'

Please, say it is me. Don't reject what we had.

'I promised you, didn't I?' She whispers, lips brushing his cheekbones. 'Have you forgotten, my dear? The promise we made after Her Grace refused our love. I promised you that once I will return and make everything so our dreams would come true. Don't tell me you forgot...'

How could he? There was no day Aemond didn't remember those words. And though he promised it to her as well, deep inside he always knew that he can't go against his family. He loves Irellea, but choosing between her, the love of his life, and his family is not something he could do.

So he was a good son. Played his part perfectly. Until he didn't.

'You come for me,' Aemond mutters, pressing her forehead to his.

'And you waited for me all these years.'

His lips twitch in a smile.

'You should have told me from the very beginning,' he locks their hands together, and she squeezes it in return, reassuringly. 'You should have–'

'No,' Irellea answers lazily. 'Irellea you remember, and Drusilla Tyrell you know now are completely different people. I didn't want you to love me as a ghost from your past. I wanted you to fall in love with me like who I am now. Do you understand what I mean?'

To fall in love not in the beautiful picture his memory drew in his head, but in her truly. Of course, Aemond knew what she was talking about. But hadn't she realised? He would fall in love with her again and again, completely unconditionally.

'...I see. Then, that time when I saw you speaking with your maid, on the first day...'

'Yes.'

'You played me well,' Aemond chuckles, a little bit bitterly.

But he can't be mad.

Because after all, it's his Irellea. His love had returned to him, and he was always weak for her. If she wants him to be a fool, Aemond will.

'Aemond,' she straightens a little bit, 'I lied to you, but I had no intentions to play with you. My heart is in your hands. Always was. Always will. Whatever I had done, I did it for you. So don't you dare to assume that some of it wasn't sincere. When I said that I killed for you - I meant that. I would do that again, and–'

Aemond shuts her down with a kiss. She gives up easily, wrapping hands around his neck, pushing him closer as he leans eagerly. Irellea stares at him through the kiss—as a lover, as friend, and maybe as a predator—but it only makes him melt.

Irellea, Irellea, Irellea.

'I am all yours,' he paints in her half-opened mouth. 'Always was. Always were.'

She laughs. And this laugh echoes in his mind like the most beautiful simphony Aemond ever heard.

It feels unreal, all of what happens.

She feels unreal.

So he snuggles closer, hiding his face in the crook of her neck and completely dissolves under fingers that cards through his hair. The gentleness with which she touches him, the love—

'You can't call me Irellea anymore,' she explains in hushed tones. 'I am Drusilla Tyrell now. And will be till the end. You should accept that.'

He hums absentmindedly.

Whatever she says. Whatever she wishes.

Oh, how he missed her.

He thought that, perhaps, life itself sent him another person who wishes to sacrifice for him everything as Irellea did. But of course, that wasn't true.

The truth is in this - Irellea was the first person to care about him, the first one to sacrifice something for him, not asking him to do so, and it stayed the same even after all those years.

It is always her.

Her, and no one else.

'Though... I shall ask... Did you really make me think that you are jealous of yourself?' Aemond teases openly.

Because it's funny.

It really is.

'...Shut up.'

It is funny and he laughs.

Aemond feels at peace. A peace he thought he would never have.

•

«My dear Augustus, my dear bane to my existence,

I am getting married.

As I am writing you this, happy and content, as everything seems going just as we expected. Aemond, the love of my heart, accepted me as his future wife, my character and identity all open before him.

So with this letter, you are free to write to Targaryens—Hightowers, more precisely—with agreement to our alliance. I assume, preparations will take less than two weeks. King Viserys's health condition is getting worse, therefore, I believe, everyone hopes to see him attending his son's marriage.

But not the marriage itself holds some meaning for me—I think you know that for me such celebrations can't be considered meaningful enough; the arranged marriages long ago ruined the concept of such days—but finally, your arrival.

We have a lot to talk about, haven't we? And, admittedly, I miss the presence of my most loyal companion. Please, attend my wedding not like a guest or family member, but as my dearest friend and ally.

I shall wait for you soon.

Your sweet, Drusilla Tyrell.»

•

When Aemond lies on her chest like this—resting, breath calm and collected, the trust he has shown in every possible way—Drusilla reminisces of their shared past. How they were running away in the middle of day, hiding in the gardens - a little boy, who was always left behind by his brother and nephews and a girl, whose presence was never noticed by others.

She remembers all of it all too well. The cruel jokes that Aemond suffered through the years. They shared moments of happiness, of feeling like they were important, when in reality it always looked opposite.

Drusilla regrets not being here when Aemond claimed Vhagar, losing his eye. Yet, she can easily imagine the pain he suffered, or what he had said. She knows him just as much as she remembers pages of her favourite book, letter by letter.

Her poor, precious Aemond.

'How have you been these years, my fierce one?' His whisper tickles her skin gently, and Drusilla hums just captivated by the deep in his voice. 'Had life become nicer when you took her place?'

Even with the amount of trust she holds to Aemond, there always will be little details—little, yet important ones—that Drusilla would never reveal to anyone. About herself, about the one that used to go under her name, about Augustus and how they bonded over years, the house of Tyrells and years of seclusion. These secrets will die with her once.

'I wouldn't dare to complain.'

It is the truth, partly.

What is the meaning of complaints? After all, she is the one to decide her fate. It is Drusilla, who changes it just how she wishes. Complaints are useless. But she? She is not.

'You never did,' Aemond huffs, closing his eye.

Her lips curl into a smile as her fingers gently caress his silky hair. It makes her think of all the times they had lost a little bit. Of how they grew up apart, how they changed—yet stayed frozen in time for each other as if they were afraid to change too much; as if they were afraid not to recognise each other—and how long it was, since Drusilla felt this kind of peace.

'Well, for that we always have your brother.'

Drusilla partially waits Aemond to snicker, commentaries about Aegon always being his favourite kind of jokes, but instead, he raises on his elbows, detaching from her, and asks:

'Had he hurt you somehow? That night?'

Ah.

Smart bastard.

'You saw it yourself. I was the one to hurt myself.'

'Yet, you said that it was his words that brought you to such a state,' Aemond recalls. 'And as far as I understand, dead friends are not a thing for you anymore.'

Maybe, she should tell him what happened.

Maybe.

But she wouldn't do that.

Aemond is a hot-headed, impulsive brat. Knowing him, he will fight Aegon without thinking. And the last thing Drusilla needs is to put Aegon against others—no, for future plans she needs him more or less stable—especially, since he doesn't remember what happened back then, memories blacked out by alcohol.

'It is about alcohol,' she ends up, saying. 'I hate when people are drunk. It brings unpleasant memories of when I was a servant. But he hadn't done anything. Well, excluding the fact that he snotted down my gawn.'

He can say he is relaxing by the way he sinks back to her side, palm pressed to her cheek. Drusilla hums appreciatively, almost meowing from this touch.

'Aren't you mad at mother?' He wonders suddenly.

And that is the question Drusilla waited for, actually.

Alicent means the world for Aemond. She is not just his mother, but also the one that protected him and valued for so long. And no matter what she does, she will always be perfect for him. Drusilla is not a fool by any means. And she loves Aemond too much, to put him in position to choose. Quarrelling them, or even attempting to do so, means making a fatal mistake.

So, no. Drusilla is not mad at her. There is no hatred anymore. Yet, that doesn't necessarily mean that she will forget how she was treated by Alicent in the past. It is not about stupid emotions—she never allows herself to be consumed by them, too cautious and careful if she has ones, even—but rather about justice. About a mundane wish to... Prove Alicent how wrong she was.

And for doing that, Drusilla doesn't need to allow Alicent to know the whole truth. She can break her down without actually doing that. With just being nice.

'I feel like a little kid around her most of the time, to be completely frank,' she lies shamelessly. 'As if I need her approval.'

Aemond's face softens in slight understandment.

'You shouldn't. It's okay. You were always better than she thought about you.'

A-ah, how sweet! Her heart is going to melt!

But he is not wrong either.

She always was better. She is better.

Such a shame that she was nothing but a good trained maid for so long.

'Well. It doesn't matter. I told you, Irellea died. And this Drusilla would do everything, so her mother in law would love her.'

In one swift moment Aemond pulls her back, in a hug, burying face in her shoulder. Drusilla blinks, surprised, slowly hugging him back and putting her chin atop of his head; movements slow and unsure.

She is not used to being touched so openly. She is not used to being touched in general, if anything.

Her connection with Augustus is completely different as they both preferred to hold some distance, unless people were around, and the only touches she welcomed before was her friend's.

Of course, she couldn't compare them to Aemond.

His affection was quite contrasting.

One could call them suffocating.

But Drusilla surely knows why it is like this.

Because Aemond, her dear Aemond, is starving. A boy that is rarely touched by others, and rarely comforted, even.

He locked himself up with the walls of his own independence, an ostentatious one, the one that only a fool could believe. And he distanced himself by putting the crown of loners on his silver head, convincing everyone that he doesn't need them.

He did that, while desperately aching for attention.

For someone to see through him.

Well, she is here now. She will give him everything she has.

'Aemond?'

'Mhm...'

'Tell me, do you still cling to the childhood dream you had?'

There is a beat of silence, and Drusilla asks again, voice somehow darker and lower:

'Aemond... Do you still wish to become the King?'

'Why?'

'Because if your answer is yes, I will be the one to make a way for you.'

•

«Congratulations, congratulations, congratulations, amazing Drusilla; important things should be repeated three times!

The one to write to you is still your—as you said it yourself, which I am going to remind you each time when you are complaining about me—loyal companion Augustus.

I believe it is quite obvious that I waited for nothing less from you. I would rather be surprised by failure, than your success. Yet, it is a big step for a world you want to create and live into.

At this exact moment, I am at North—Cregan Stark asks to pass you his warmest congratulations with the upcoming wedding, though he is not sure about attending it; he has an expedition ahead—and therefore, the road back might turn out to be longer than you expect. Yet, hopefully, your wedding will wait for me a little bit. I will try to come back in time.

(None of us have dragons, obviously.).

Nevertheless, Drusilla, I am asking you to be completely careful. This wedding is going to be the worst and best experience at the same time. Targaryens' eyes—all of theirs, I am reminding you—would be all on you. Therefore, keep your chin high and smile wider. Be a perfect sister, wife and daughter in law. Though, I am not doubting you—never did—they are still Targaryens.

You know I would rather play with ice than with fire, but it is different when it comes to you.

Goodluck, my dear little calamity.

With brotherly love, Augustus Tyrell, The Sword of the Highgarden.»

A/N: I was surprised to see how many people actually didn't see the plot of Drusilla-Irellea coming, ahaha. I thought I made it rather to obvious,, Yet, I am glad that someone experienced emotions by this reveal.

If you have questions to the whole swap story, don't worry. We will have an explanation in the last flashbacks chapters, bc Drusilla would never tell the truth to anyone, and she doesn't like to remember Irellea.

Also, if you remember the first two letters Drusilla & Augustus exchanged, about Irellea's death, you can understand it more