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I could tell you the tale of mine, in replacement of it.

[ Lifting her hand, she traces the shape of where she thinks it might have been in the sky here. ]

Auroth was the mount of a goddess, Auril. When there was a battle between the Gods of the realm, he sacrificed himself to protect her and ascended to the sky as a reward for his selflessness. It is said people born under his star are cold, but dangerous in their rage.

[ Her eyes flick back. ]

It is a sweet tale.

[ auroth, auril, and a battle between gods. it's familiar in a strange way, how some stories seem universal. every world has its gods and its conflicts. aemond wonders if these gods are the same ones across the universes - taking for themselves new names and faces, like a child might pick up a new shiny pebble or button as keepsake. ]

Perhaps he is my patron, were I born in your world. I would share in his rage, I should think.

[ aemond reaches for lauralae's hand where it's held out to the sky, bringing her fingertips to his mouth to press kisses to her knuckles. ]

What sort of mount was he?

It is an easy thing to do. There is much to find rage in, in all realms.

[ To not be chosen, to be cast aside, to be hurt and harmed, to be stung by those that you once thought you loved - idle things that register in her mind, that burn inside her. A high price paid, but she will have her vengeance.

Drawn back to herself, her eyes flicker gently at the press of a mouth to knuckle, and she permits her fingers to brush gently over the shape of his, to seek out a touch to his jaw. She had told Alia how fond she was of the shape of him, and it remains so. ]

It is said he was an ice snake. They called him Icefang, the Swallower, and the Lightning Bolt.

An ice snake, ascending to join the stars.

[ something like a drake, then, if he be large enough to mount? aemond lets his imagination paint the image of a silver-blue dragon flying across the sky, wings where clawed limbs may be, eating lightning and drinking thunder as it courses through the twilight sky.

what a pretty picture it makes, and what a pretty maiden lauralae is before him. aemond can't help but smile against her fingers. ]

Does that make you my Auril? Would you allow it, when you have a greater power in your hands than I?

I am no goddess.

[ It makes her smile all the same, a flickering of it on her features. There’s warmth to her around him, those soft affections bubbling inside of her and making her want all the more of his time. She is want to be greedy, she thinks, as has been her downfall before - to want more and more and more until there is little else to grasp.

Tempering herself is the harder of the battles. ]

And I would not have you die for me, sweet Aemond. But we might protect one another in this strange place.

I would think dragons are their own gods, Lauralae. Perhaps, if gods would not regard us worthy of them, then we do not likewise need them.

[ aemond learned ambition at an early age, claimed for himself vhagar when he took his lesson in it. was it the will of gods that he claimed her, only to lose his eye? did the gods guide lucerys's hand that night? that would give the gods too much credit, he thinks.

no, they have little need for gods, especially in a place like this. he has his family, and he has lauralae. though he desires vhagar to be with him, he still finds himself pleased to have what he has here. gods didn't give him this abundance, after all - he brought this to life with his own efforts and lauralae's assent. ]

I would like to protect you too, if it pleases, however I might perform that duty. You are dear to me, I'm afraid.

[ he's not going anywhere now. ]

There are Gods that take the form of dragons, but they do not all do so. Each deity has an animal or a form most preferred, and that might differ from one realm to the other.

[ Lauralae could not consider herself an expert, not in all the Gods, but she learned enough to know the names of the most paramount and important of them. If she thought him truly a man who wanted to know them all, she would share it - but as it stands, she thinks it best to keep it to herself.

The stars above them are sparkling, bright lights in the sky, but it does not seem as bright as his attention on her, the way that her smile curls ever so softly. ]

You say it as though I would find it a punishment. You are dear to me, as well. Truly so.

[ he mentions fear only because he doesn't know what this kind of affection might look like. he adores her, perhaps more than adores her, and she gives her affections to him willingly. it's terrifying in its own way — what should he do with it? rare is the time that someone gives him their fondness willingly. aemond can't even remember the last time it happened back home. ]

I might become sharp in your hands, in time. Would you still think it of me? That I am dear to you.

[ is he inviting his own heartbreak this way? who knows. aemond hasn't learned in his time at home, and he's not learned here either: how do you love someone gently? but it discredits lauralae to think she can't handle him. after all, she has fire in her blood, contained in her hands; she knows herself better. aemond need trust her in this, too. ]

If you could choose a different shape for yourself, which one would you prefer?

[ his own answer is likely obvious, but it doesn't mean he would not hear other answers to the same question. to be outside the mortal shape of a man is a known power in westeros, after all — wargers, shape-changers, children of the forest, even the draconic children and giants of old. ]

Edited 2025-01-20 08:13 (UTC)

[ It is a strange thing to her, to even have affection directed to her. The more she is in this place, the more she is around the friends she has come to call her own, the more comfortable she is and the more she recognises the good in herself. It means that she is more able to accept what Aemond offers her, the gentleness that is in his hands, despite his rage, despite the danger he might present. ]

You know what I am. What I have done. Am I not sharp as well? Am I not equally dangerous? Would you change your thoughts of me?

[ To love is to be violent, in her experience. Her parents had been cruel with her, demanding, shunning her when she had chosen a different path? Is she not a monster? Is she not a beast? Had she not done such horrible things?

The urge to hold him is overpowering, but she tempers herself. In this, she can be patient. ]

I think... I find most pleasure in being a wolf. It feels as though it fits my form, as though I breathe best when I shift to it. I have not practised with other creatures often, however.

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sweats... ignore the time stamp...

i do not percieve

we close our eyes (figuratively)

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