helaemond . modern au

[dreamfyres]

I want your quiet, your screaming and thrashing
The salt on your lips and the hands that God gave you
And I want your violence, your silent sedation
Your moon eyes, your telescope, morbid fixation

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[dreamfyres]

[ She expects him to notice her earlier. Hyper vigilant as he is, as he's always been. Much more aware of his surroundings than her. Her little brother, not so little anymore, fitted in his ebony suit and polished shoes.

Helaena can't not watch him. She's always watched Aemond. In this place, he is like a shark in water — entirely at home, no bigger fish to intimidate him. She's a rapt audience.

Idly, she wonders if he will recognize her, such as she is now. Older, her hips fuller, her eyes not so out of focus. Gone is the silver-blonde hair that marked her out to the world as other, though there can be no question her familial origins when her lilac eyes are spotted, fringed beneath silvery lashes. She had dyed it on a whim that spring, red just because she could. On FaceTime, their mother was appalled — and then pleased, as it made them look closer. More alike.

They'd never been two peas in a pod. Not like she and Aemond were, once. A long time ago now.

She wonders at this — at how beautiful and vicious he now is. How his features have become sharper, even more chiseled. He's twenty-seven now. He's come into his own features, his body, as Targaryen as any.

An hour in, they call for the forensic expert. She gets to her feet, makes the path toward the stand. The moment of truth. ]