Brightflame | Aerion Targaryen x Wife!Reader - A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms (Part One)
Note: Hello, anyone who sees this! Just writing an idea that came to my head! I may or may not have more in mind might write a part 2 lol. This is just for fun sorry if it’s not accurate or anything :3
Summary: Married by promise. Bound by pride. A year into their union, Aerion’s wife learns being married to a Targaryen means enduring the fire — and being tested beyond reason.
Warnings: Marital conflict, angst, public humiliation, jealousy/possessiveness, arguments, toxic, she/her pronouns are used, afab, 3rd pov.
Part Two: Here | Part Three: Here
The room was filled with laughter and endless chatter; everyone was engaging in conversations. All but one, a young lady sat bored, she had committed herself to gently swishing the wine in her goblet. Her eyes glazing around the room for her imbecile husband, who was surrounded by people busy entertaining others' company rather than her own. Utterly humiliating, she thought as she took a sip of her wine; she could feel the scrutiny of the women around the room. Once more, her husband has made a fool of her. Her husband was by all means a prince; he was Aerion “Brightflame” Targeryen.
It had only been a year since they wed. Yet, there have been rumours and gossip surrounding them since they were betrothed. Their marriage was…based on a promise of two men fighting together. Her father had been a rare friend of Prince Maekar, and once a stupid promise led to their children being betrothed. Which led to her growing up alongside her betrothed and his family. She was considered a bit ill-tempered, silver-tongued, and intelligent; she received the greatest care. She and her husband fought constantly, growing up bickering and full-on physically fighting each other. She had never backed down from a fight or a challenge. At first, she couldn’t help but be happy upon learning what a betrothed meant; she believed possibly… that when she and Aerion married, he’d…be kinder to her, so with that fantasy, she just went on every day. Of corse that was all but a childish fantasy…reality was much crueler. Aerion never once forced himself on her; he never physically hurt her…he was at least better in that sense than many husbands. But—he was difficult to…be married to. They argued endlessly. Aerion's words were sharp and cruel. Yet, she was devoted to being a good wife; she tried to hold her tongue and restrain herself from challenging him. Because at the end of the day, their reputation and marriage were constantly scrutinized.
In moments such as this feast, she grew to resent her stupid husband…she wished for conversation, perhaps even for attention. As if sensing her wish, a lord approached her. “My lady, it is a crime to see you unattended. Might I interest you in conversation?” he spoke warmly. Normally, she’d politely refuse, but the music was lively, and she did not wish to be lonely, seeing no harm in a mere conversation.
Across the hall, Prince Maekar closed his eyes. He had hoped this evening would pass without incident. But he knew his son. Aerion did not take kindly to such situations. Maekar’s eyes shifted to where she sat, speaking animatedly now, her hands moving as she explained some point. She was radiant when engaged, her whole face alive. She had always enjoyed intellectual conversations since she was a damn child. Maekar rubbed his forehead, swearing, knowing the headache that was to come as he grabbed the wine jug poring himself more wine.
Aerion did not notice at first; he hardly would send a glance his wife’s way. But for some reason, his eyes travelled. Across the room, his wife laughed wholeheartedly. Aerion tilted his head as his eyes followed how her hand touched that ugly lord's hand. The lord seemed to be bending a bit, moving closer as they spoke. Aerion’s jaw tightened; he no longer heard the chatter that filled the hall. One more little giggle, and Aerion immediately strolled over. He harshly put his hand down on the table as he sat in the empty chair on his wife’s right. Aerion said nothing, just glared down intensely at the lord, who immediately put distance and scurried away. “I assume you had an enticing conversation, wife?” He said as he grabbed her wine chalice, drinking it calmly. But she knew better, “Yes…we spoke of irrigation and grain storage,” she replied hesitantly. “Ahh, how thrilling,” Aerion stated sarcastically as he continued to pour himself more wine. “Did I interrupt such a fascinating conversation? Ah, I would hate to have! Wife, do you wish me to go get your lord back so you might engage in conversations of irrigation and fucking grains storage while caressing each other, hm?” Aerion said his voice was getting more and more riled up as he spoke. She rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. “It was only a conversation, I was left unattended by my own husband, someone came to have one with me, that's all,” she stated simply. Aerion leaned closer, his voice lowering so only she might hear.
“Do you find me a fool? He was flirting with you, and you enjoyed it, giggling merrily,” he stated angrily, “Do not test me before the court, wife.” She got closer, leaning in, her eyes held his intense stare. “No, you do not play me for a damn fool and shame me before the court, husband”, she stated back in his exact tone. For a heartbeat, neither moved, each holding their ground, waiting for the other to back down. Then Aerion straightened, offering her his arm with rigid courtesy. “You will dance with your husband,” he declared. She blinked and simply arose from her seat, taking his hand. After all, it had not been a request. Across the hall, Maekar exhaled once more. It looked ominous to see his son leading his wife to dance with a smile.
Aerion Targaryen led his wife into the measure with perfect composure, his hand firm at her waist, his expression smoothed into princely civility. They moved through the floor with practiced grace. They had danced together since childhood feasts; they matched each other well. She almost…allowed her guard to drop, perhaps believed her husband to have let the earlier situation go. He had even smiled at her, which was rare. As the dance shifted and hands were meant to part only briefly before rejoining once more…Aerion had released her. Before she could breathe, or even think, her husband moved to the circle's edge, asking a lady to dance. Gasps and whispers rippled through the people. As the lady and Aerion dance. His wife stood all alone in the center…her face instantly flushed red, she had just been utterly humiliated by her own husband. After a mere moment, her chin lifted, and she held her head up with a tense smile. As though she had released him by choice, she merely excused herself from the dance floor, gracefully walking, calmly and steadily back to her seat. All while ignoring the whispers and rumors.
As she sat back in her seat, she felt her smile faltering and her hand trembling. Immediately, she straightened and refused to let anyone see how…utterly defeated and humiliated she felt. She felt a lump in her damn throat and was sick to her stomach, yet she did not run off or cry. Aerion’s wife shakily reached for her wine chalice and drank it. Her back tensed then untensed as she felt someone pat her shoulder once…then twice…Maekar had tried his best to comfort her. It was a spectacle. Maekar exhaled once through his nose as his eyes followed his son dancing around with some lady. “You may leave the hall,” Maekar said. She shook her head, “No, I will endure…I will not flee and look even more of a fool.” She, too, had her damn pride and ego; she sure as hell will not give anyone, let alone the satisfaction of seeing her break.
hi everyone! ah i’ve been soo inactive :( my college classes have been keeping me occupied. i’ve been wanting to write sooo bad hopefully i’ll be able to get some time too! thank you so much to everyone whos been reading my works i appreciate it! <3
i had an idea for a fic and I think you should can be the one to make it just:
arranged marriage with Aerion with pretty dull sex UNTIL one day she gets wine drunk and gets horny and actually finishes for the first time. cause that’s a medieval woman and Aerion is not very kind to care just yet.
So that happens and she wants it again and gets frustrated when the next time is just like the others before so she either talks to someone like that Daenerys scene in s1 or kinda fights him or is just bratty and he gets excited saying bullshit like I like you with fire in your veins and they have great sex where he’s actually very passionate. end story ?
OOO THIS ONCE I STARTED THINKING ABOUT IT IN MY HEAD LOL I STARTED WRITING DOWN STUFF SOOO….COMING SOON FOR SURE (also i’ve never written smut before i gotta go read some good smut now pls recommend me some :3)
Brightflame | Aerion Targaryen x Wife!reader - A Knight of The Seven Kingdoms (Part Three)
Note: Hello everyone! Here is part three of this mini series. I honestly enjoyed writing this fic so much. Thank you for all the notes in the other parts!
Summary: After pushing his wife to her breaking point, whispers and rumors flood the court — and Aerion is forced to lay his heart bare.
Warnings: Marital conflict, angst, mentions of public humiliation, mentions of suicidal ideations, arguments, injury, toxic, possessiveness, swearing, mentions of blood and hurting, 3rd pov, she/her pronouns used, female reader, etc. (If anything is missing, please let me know)
Part One: Here | Part Two: Here
Mornings were never truly quiet. Servants bustling around, sometimes engaging in idle chatter. However, the hall felt different this particular morning; the servants were speaking in hushed whispers, looking around the hall.
Aerion’s wife moved quietly through the servants and guards. She could already feel the eyes on her. Her injured hand rested lightly, hidden by a cloth she held tightly to hide the binding wrapped on her palm. No matter how much precaution Aerion and his wife took, information spreads like wildfire. Rumors of the guard’s hearing arguments, shouts, and loud bangs from the married couple's bedchamber spread along with a servant contributing to have seen the maester called. The spectacle of the feast was also largely brought up by servants and others who resided in the halls; they could help but interpret…that Aerion’s wife was punished for speaking to the lord…perhaps his temper got the better of him.
She continued to walk straight to the dining hall, expecting the worst. Egg would certainly mention the rumors he has a knack for hearing gossip. Certainly, it would reach Maekar. Aerion was gone from the bedchambers when she had woken…persuambly training.
Upon entering the dining hall, she sat a bit unladylike, reaching for a piece of bread. Her eyes trailed up across from her, sat Maekar and Egg. She took a bite, looking away with a sigh. They definitely knew. In this moment, she wished her stupid husband were here; he was the cause of this… It's only right that he dealt with the aftermath and his father. Maekar's gaze was sharp and assessing. His eyes trailed from her head to her neck as if trying to find something wrong with her. Maekar had heard of the maester summoned late in the night. Such things did not pass through stone walls unnoticed. His eyes landed on her hand, and he immediately leaned forward, dropping his elbow to the table, letting out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temple as he grumbled out, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Maekar looked at her, gesturing to her injured hand, “What befell you?” he said it bluntly. Aerion’s wife simply bit at her bread, looking down at her plate. She tried to be as unaffected as possible, but after last night…she could barely contain her heightened emotions. Egg was eerily quiet…she could only assume he was furious enough not to speak a word. Probably had enough of his dysfunctional family.
“Beautiful day, isn't it?” Aerion stated, opening the doors a bit loudly.
Aerion’s wife clicked her tongue, letting out a deep sigh. Stupid idiot she thought. Aerion came striding into the dining hall. He had an easy-going expression on his face. Maekar deadpanned, and Egg was glaring at him. Aerion let out a breath, “Ah, looks delicious,” as he looked at the food laid out on the table. Maekar stood. “Come,” was all he stated as he walked towards the doors. Aerion tilted his head. He grabbed a goblet, drinking it, “I shall eat first”.
“Come now, boy,” Maekar demanded harshly. His voice was firm and loud. Aerion cursed under his breath, but he listened. Aerion walked lazily after his father…annoyed. Maekar had moved to a secluded corner, and Aerion hadn’t paid attention until he had been pulled and shoved against the wall.
“What the fuck occurred in the night?” Maekar asked plainly.
“She slipped,” Aerion huffed out.
“Slipped? Do you take me for a fool?” Maekar demanded as he pressed Aerion more harshly into the wall.
“The fuck–” Aerion complained.
“What have you done to my daughter? Answer me now.” At Maekar's question, Aerion sighed deeply…as if he gave up on bothering his father.
“She was crossed with me last night, I humiliated her at the feast…she took offense,” Aerion stated lightly.
Maekar's gaze sharpened. “You left her standing”.
“Yes,” He replied, “She shouted at me and said she hated me.” Aerion delivered the words cooly, yet his jaw had tightened, and his brows knitted almost imperceptibly. Maekar noticed it.
“She began banging her hand down on her vanity, which broke the hand mirror, and it did not stop her from striking it continuously, thus the hand” Aerion explained. His voice remained even as though unbothered.
At his response, Maekar released him and turned his back to him. Aerion knew his father seemed to have quite the soft spot for his wife; he saw her as if she were his own daughter.
“And?” Maekar asked as he folded his hands behind his back.
“And she complained and whined how she wished to have never been promised to me…that she’d rather marry a stable boy, a servant, or a bastard,” Aerion stated, letting out a short, humorless breath of laughter. Maekar’s mouth twitched faintly.
“Or that she’d rather be dead than continue bearing the torment that is being my wife,” He continued, rubbing his neck; he had an expression of annoyance. Maekar remained silent, giving Aerion a blank stare.
“Ha, she even spoke of driving a blade into her throat to be free of me.” Aerion let out a short, dry chuckle. “As one’s wife does,” He said sarcastically, looking down at his hands.
Silence followed. Maekar stared at his son for a long moment. Then, he suddenly laughed deeply. Aerion’s eyes flickered up sharply, squinting at his father.
Maekar shook his head, almost incredulous. “Ahaha fuck–she said all that?”
“Yes,” Aerion stated unamused, staring blankly at Maekar.
“She is your match,” Maekar said, amused.
Aerion couldn’t help but scoff lightly, “She is dramatic”.
“She is spirited.”
“She is unhinged, a mad woman.”
“She was wounded by your actions.”
Aerion’s jaw flexed, “I did not, I would never strike her…” he whispered, his eyebrows furrowed.
“I know,” Maekar said immediately. It surprised Aerion to hear the certainty in his father’s voice”.
“You know?” Aerion questioned.
“I raised you.” Maekar said plainly, “You have many faults, Aerion, but striking your wife is not among them.”
Aerion’s posture eased, though he would never admit the sense of relief his father's words brought him.
“That girl,” Maekar continued, “has done nothing but defend your name since she was brought to this house…she has done nothing but love you in all your flaws”.
“I know,” Aerion stated.
“Do you?” Maekar asked. The question lingered in the air.
Aerion’s eyes darkened. “I–”
“You must learn how to love her well…people grow tired…sooner rather than later,” He stated.
“She unsettles me,” Aerion admits.
“Ha, good that girl is strong enough to wound you where others cannot,” Maekar states, amused.
“She said she hates me…that she is tormented being my wife,” Aerion states, looking away, his jaw tight.
“You believe her? If she felt nothing…she would not have been offended or shouted at you,” Maekar replied
Aerion exhaled slowly. “I will not allow her to ever speak…of taking her life again.” Maekar sighed, studying his son with a nod. Silence followed once more.
Maekar smirked, “You did wish for a wife who would not bore you to death…now you have one.”
Aerion’s mouth curved faintly, clicking his tongue. “She's mad.”
“As you are…a fucking perfect match,” Maekar stated dryly. They both give him a fucking headache.
Maekar turned his head, signalling for Aerion to follow him as he walked back to the dining hall. He suddenly paused, “If she ever speaks of harming herself again—”.
Aerion shook his head, “She will not”.
“If she does, you tell me immediately,” Maekar said firmly.
“Yes”.
Meanwhile, back at the dining hall, Aerion's wife continued eating, shooting glances at the doors. Egg pointed at the bandaged unwrapping from her palm. “It looks dreadful”.
Her expression softened. “It is not dreadful,” she said lightly. “It's a mere scrape, I was clumsy and slipped”.
Egg did not look convinced.“You are never clumsy.” She cursed under her breath. Egg was extremely observant. Egg ignored her obvious discomfort.“Does it pain you?” he pressed.
“A little.” She answered shortly, then continued to pick at her food.
“Did he hurt you?” Egg asked bluntly. She understood his concern…, but at the moment her emotions were heightened, she did not want to speak on it…she did not wish to explain how she went mad and hurt herself.
Aerion’s wife put her fork down a bit too hard on the table, scooting her seat back. “I do not wish to speak on the matter any further!” She huffed as she walked towards the doors, frustrated. As she reached to open the doors, Aerion and Maekar had already opened the doors before her. Both of their eyes fell upon her. Her eyes were watery, lip trembled slightly. Aerion immediately reached out to her. He quickly assessed her, then turned his eyes behind her to Egg.
“What have you done?” Aerion asked lowly.
“What have you done?” Egg replied, his glare sharpening.
“Mind yourself,” Aerion said angrily as he strided towards the table, pointing at him.
“She should not be hurt! I do not like it!” Egg stated his jaw tightened. He cared deeply for Aerion’s wife…she was much too good for his stupid brother.
“And what you like or dislike matters not!” Aerion said, slowly glaring at him. Egg leaned forward, his grip on the cutlery knife tightened as he stared darkly up at his brother.
“Enough!” Maekar demanded his voice firm.
“No! He—” Egg shouted, turning his head from his father to his brother, frustrated.
“Enough, I am well…it was nothing but a damn moment of weakness…it was nothing, I hurt myself by accident,” Aerion’s wife said suddenly as she moved to Egg’s side, moving her hand on top of Egg’s that held the knife. She was reassuring him. She turned her head to meet Aerion’s gaze. She mouthed “Enough” to her husband. Whose posture immediately relaxed, and he grumbled under his breath, annoyed. The hall immediately relaxed…returning to its usual. Egg slowly sat back down, Maekar took his seat, and Aerion lazily sat in his chair next to his wife. She let out a breath of relief, walking slowly around the table back to her own seat. Aerion’s arm moved to rest behind her back as he ate and drank from his goblet.
Rumors moved faster than ravens. By the second hour past noon, many rumors had spread of the young couple, and the tale had shifted shape a total of three times. From a lover’s quarrel, to a prince losing his temper, and to the princess harming herself. From ear to ear, the tale grew more detailed with speculation. Many grew curious if it had been more than the public embarrassment that occurred at the feast.
The fact that the prince had embarrassed his wife in the middle of the dance was enough to fuel a few rumors that he had taken a mistress. After all, they were betrothed due to their father’s wishes. The princess…was a bit silver-tongued…had he gotten tired of her temperament. Perhaps he never loved her, after all, they had been wed for a whole year…and she had yet to carry a baby.
Aerion’s wife felt every stare as she crossed the inner courtyard. Her posture did not change; she walked straight, her head lifted. She had endured these looks her entire life; after all, she was betrothed to Aerion fairly young. These rumors had not been unheard of…but this time, it made her heart falter. She had been emotionally drained…her heart could not bear to hear the whispers… ones that she herself had thought of many times alone. She finally reached her and Aerion’s shared chambers at last. She closed the heavy door behind her with a bit of force.
Only then did she allow herself to breathe; she closed her eyes briefly. Aerion’s wife crossed the bedchamber slowly to the window, and she peered out. Her eyes followed the servant’s passing, the knights' training, and people engaging in conversation. Her lips pressed thinly, she felt nauseous…she couldn’t help but think about how everyone believes her husband does not love her. She believed… perhaps foolishly that Aerion did love her…in a way…but it did little to calm her mind nor silence the whispers that filled their home. Her palm throbbed…yet it did not hurt as much as her heart felt against her chest. The heavy door opened, interrupting her thoughts. Aerion stepped inside casually as if the rumors that had been uttered about them did not touch him. How infuriating.
“Do you care?” Aerion's wife questioned, and she blurted out angrily. He did not face her as he moved around the room.
“Of course I care,” He said lowly, absent-mindedly, his brows furrowing slightly.
“Because it harms your pride?” She asked.
“Because it harms you,” Aerion replied plainly.
“They question…your devotion, our marriage, and whether you desire me,” She stated. He met her gaze, “Yes, it seems they do,” as he sat on their bed.
“Do you even love me…desire me?” Aerion's wife whispers with a grimace, looking away.
“Yes,” he said immediately
“They whisper of infidelity…” She continued.
His expression darkened. “Who? I shall—”.
Aerion's wife scoffed. She rubbed her temple.
“You are my wife,” He stated, “I love you…I desire you”. How he loved his wife…since the moment he had seen her… he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was. Then, over time, she was the only one…who made him feel so alive. His wife…was always so spirited. God’s he remembers how they’d fight like animals. She had snatched his practice sword and mocked him. Resulting in him, out of anger, tackling her into the dirt. They had rolled around, and she had bitten and scratched him. He had laughed and got up as she shoved him off…which she did not take kindly to and punched him in his nose. Which only resulted in more fighting until they had been forcibly separated, all bruised, and scolded by his father. Boring? Aerion could almost laugh at the absurdity of the rumors. If his wife were boring, he would not have to fight against every man who dared stare at her. If she were boring, he would not remember every insult, every argument they have ever had. If she were boring, he would not have been reduced to his damn knees, rattled at the sight of his wife's distress and words that night. He had certainly, since a young age, gotten into multiple fights to defend her honor, her beauty.
Aerion mumbled, “Do you remember how, once when we were children, I had fought with a boy and left him unconscious?”
Aerion’s wife blinked, confused. “I do not recall which fight you speak of; you’ve gotten into many.”
“I fought him because he said you were plain, you were too busy throwing stones,” He said with a laugh.
She let out a soft breath. “What of it? It has nothing to do with our conversation.”
His gaze softened slightly. “You are the only woman I have ever loved and continue to love and desire…I have never found you lacking…you are enough for me”. His wife stared blankly at him… analyzing him, searching his eyes for a hint of a lie.
“You’re exhausting,” She sighed out, not knowing how to react to his words.
Aerion’s expression shifted; he let out a soft breath of air. “And yet…you remain.”
“I remain because you are not as cruel as they think…flawed, yes…but not unlovable,” She admitted, as she met his eyes steadily. He did not respond; there were no words he could speak that could describe how incredibly…moved he was. So a kiss sufficed.
Word Count: 2.5k
Reminder I’m sorry if Aerion or anyone is ooc this is just my interpretation and writing of them i’ve only watch the show :)
Guiding the Flame | Aemond Targaryen x Novice!Reader - House of the Dragons
Note: Hello everyone! Honestly, I don't know why I wrote this (I'm crazy like that). I've just thought a lot of this, so I decided to just write. Hopefully, no one throws tomatoes at me for this. I briefly did a bit of research, so I'm unsure if it's totally accurate to the Faith of the Seven. I know Aemond is not that popular right now but I wrote this for fun! Might write more parts :)
Summary: Queen Alicent turns to the Faith for guidance when she begins to see a darkness within her son Aemond. Advised by an elderly septa, she tasks a young novice with offering guidance and counsel as a way of attempting to soften her son's hardened heart. Will the novice guide the flame...or be engulfed in it?
Warnings: Novices are women who are training to be a septa (essentially a nun). Female reader, she/her pronouns used. Mentions of religion (the Faith of the Seven).
A darkness was beginning to spread within Aemond…one of which kept Alicent Hightower awake long at night. He had once been her least worrisome child. He was a good son; he was studious, a bit reserved, and devoted. Since the incident that occurred at Laena Targaryen’s Funeral…something has shifted within him. Now he is something…entirely different.
He has become ambitious…which has sharpened him into something colder, unforgiving, and calculating. And what frightened her the most…was not his strength…but the absence of warmth and softness within him. It seems he has lost it along with his eye.
In the Red Keep, Alicent kneeled, candlelight flickering in front of her as she prayed. Beside her kneeled an elderly septa, a trusted confidant known for her wisdom and discretion. When the prayer finished, the other septa and people left the room. Alicent did not follow, remained kneeling.
“There…there is something amiss in my son,” Alicent confesses quietly. The elderly septa simply regarded her thoughtfully. She moved her head, signaling for Alicent to continue.
“He grows more distant…each day…I believe he has…lost his way,” She states as if it pained her to admit.
The elderly septa chose her words carefully, “My queen, perhaps he merely needs some guidance”. Alicent's fingers tighten around the skirt of her dress. She shakes her head, murmuring “He does not listen nor does he speak his mind…his heart he is reserved”. The elderly septa remained silent for a long moment before speaking once more.
“Perhaps he must be guided by someone who…he cannot command or intimidate,” the elderly septa suggested.
Alicent let out a small puff of air. “I fear there is no such…person”. She put her head down, burying her face in her hands.
“There is…a young novice under my guidance and tutelage,” the elderly septa hesitantly states, “She is bright, educated, and steady in spirit…is gentle and asks many questions”.
Alicent moved her face from her hands to look at the elderly septa. “And you believe…she is the person who will not be intimidated…or easily commanded by my son?” she asked hopelessly.
“Yes…it may benefit them both, in guiding another soul, she may strengthen her own devotion to the Faith,” the elderly septa states.
Alicent sighs in relief, nodding her head. The elderly septa moves her hand to Alicent’s shoulder softly to reassure her. Alicent moved her hand to hold the elderly septa’s “I do not know what…I would do without your wisdom”. The elderly septa’s eyes soften, “My Queen”. They both smile at each other.
The novice…stood fiddling with her robe, it was muted colored…it made her feel severely underdressed in such a library room. Even the books look prettier, she thought. Upon being told she was to guide a prince, she nearly drove herself into a panic…how was she, of all the people in the realm, to guide a prince? The novice began to believe perhaps…gods were testing her. Still, she made no complaints and did as she was told.
She hadn’t heard much of Prince Aemond…only that he was occasionally referred to as the “one-eyed prince” and had claimed a large ancient dragon. Of course, more spread about his older brother…there were countless rumors surrounding Prince Aegon.
The novice moved to look through the shelves of books, reading the spines absentmindedly. She did not know what awaited her, but…she hoped that…Prince Aemond was polite; he did not have to be kind…as long as he was polite, then that was enough.
She froze as she heard someone clearing their throat behind her. Turning her head, she immediately lowered herself into a bow.
“I apologize!” She immediately blurted out. She was met with silence. Slowly, the novice peeked her one eye open and immediately closed it upon noticing the sharp gaze on her.
“Prince Aemond…I am the novice who…will be offering you spiritual guidance,” The novice stated softly. Once more, silence engulfed the room.
“You aren’t elderly…you’re very young,” He finally spoke calmly.
“Ah, yes, as I explained, I am…after all a novice…I shall take my vows soon, I am not a septa yet, my prince,” She said with a small smile. Aemond stared once more at her. His eye were looking at her hands that were trembling… noticeably.
“You tremble,” He stated plainly.
“It’s mere nerves, my prince, I assure you…I do not fear you, I merely fear failing in my duty and disappointing my mentor,” She said softly. She was trying to choose her words carefully.
Aemond tilted his head, assessing her. “And what is this duty you speak of?”
“To offer guidance…a listening ear without judgment… to speak wisdom and truth,” The novice says, standing a bit straighter.
He let out a faint exhale. “Many people claim to listen and harbor no judgment, yet…it is all a facade.”
The novice lifted her head slowly and avoided eye contact. “I was told you do not speak your mind…your heart.” The air changed; she can sense his frustration.
“Where did you hear that? My mother?” He said lowly with a scoff.
“I was merely told you may benefit from a bit of guidance and counsel…that is all, my prince,” She quickly corrected herself.
Suddenly, Aemond took a step and another, leaning closer. The novice could feel his presence more…it certainly was looming, commanding, and a bit intimidating. “And you believe you can guide me?” He asked.
She inhaled, steadying herself, clearing her throat, and took a step back. “I was chosen…and I believe even princes carry burdens like any other…even Targaryens…who are said to be closer to Gods than humans…suffer and bleed like any other,” the novice explained. Aemond’s eye squinted at her. She immediately caught herself; she had made a grave mistake. Her words…she was insinuating that princes and most of all Targaryens are like common folk, she will have her tongue cut or worse, her head.
“You are not what I expected,” Aemond stated. He moved calmly, sitting in the chair, leaning his elbow on the table, staring at her. Her brows knitted slightly; she felt tense…stiff.
“And what did you expect, my prince?” She asked slowly.
“Someone older…more certain,” He replied steadily.
“If…I do not meet your expectations…perhaps another novice or elderly septa is more…” the novice said, trailing off. His gaze lingered on her longer, his eye flickering from her eyes…to her lips…and to her hand clutching a necklace whose pendant was the seven-pointed star symbol of the Faith.
“And if I do not desire guidance or counsel?” Aemond asked, “If I have no faith?” His questions were quiet…she could sense the honesty.
The novice did not answer immediately; instead, she slowly moved to the other side of the table and stood behind a chair.
Clearing her throat, “Then perhaps we may begin there,” She said gently. Aemond’s sharp expression shifted; he was intrigued. He lifted his hand, signaling her to take a seat.
The novice took her seat across from him, and she folded her hands neatly on her lap. She gave him a hesitant little nod.
The gods were not testing her faith but her composure…it dawned on her. Aemond sat up straighter, his gaze never leaving her.
“Very well,” Aemond tilted his head calmly. “Guide me.”
And so…a novice got entangled with a prince who would later be the reason she questions her strength against temptation and desire.
I love your Aerion fic💖💖, but could you make an alternate version of the second part? Where she achieves her goal, and he goes crazy.
hiii thank youu! 🤍 the alt ver. are you saying the wife go through with the suicidal ideation? is that the goal you speak of ? sorry it just me curious as to what you meant :)
oh my god…… i absolutely ADORE your Aerion fic and would literally get on my hands and knees to beg for more 😭 incredible writing my heart HURTS
thank youuu! i’m thinking of either writing another part or making another fic! it’s crazy to me how much attention my first fic is getting i did not expect it🙂↕️
Brightflame | Aerion Targaryen x Wife!Reader - A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms (Part Two)
Note: Hi everyone! Here’s part twooo! This took me a bit to write T_T it was so fun writing it though…some how it ended up with a bit of desperate-pathetic aerion…literally imagining it as I wrote had me going crazy 0_0 but anyways…hope you guys like it :)
Summary: In the aftermath of public humiliation, Aerion’s wife reaches her breaking point and for the first time, it rattles him.
Warnings: Marital Conflict, angst, mentions of public humiliation, possessiveness, toxic, arguments, suicidal ideations, blood licking, injury, blood, 3rd pov, she/her pronouns used, afab, female reader. (If anything is missing please let me know!)
Part One: Here | Part Three: Here
The feast had at last ended. Torches guttered in the outer halls. Servants moved like ghosts beyond thick stone walls. Laughter had faded into distant murmurs and then into nothing at all. In their chambers, silence reigned.
Aerion’s wife sat before the vanity, the mirror reflecting her constrained expression in the dim candlelight. One by one, she took the hairpins from her braids. Each ornament felt like a lie.
She looked radiant tonight. Dutiful. Regal. Every inch a prince’s wife. Like a doll, to convince the realm that all was well within her marriage. Her fingers slowed. All that care. All that effort to show the court she was a good wife. That their marriage was sound. That she was content. Gone. Undone by a tantrum…a single gesture on the dance floor.
She combed her hair down slowly, methodically breathing deeply, then letting out in an effort to remain calm. Do not break, she told herself.
Across the room, Aerion shrugged off his doublet and laid it over a chair. He moved with easy confidence, unhurried, as though the evening had passed without issue. As if he hadn’t completely ruined how hard his wife worked on their reputation in a single night over a single brief conversation with some lord.
Aerion watched his wife through the mirror, his head tilted as if he was searching for a hint of distress, anything that would give him the satisfaction he so craved.
She had not spoken since they left the hall. It was peaceful for once, Aerion thought without his wife’s incessant nagging. He unfastened his collar. “You had an eventful evening,” he remarked at last, voice light. “Mm. Did you enjoy your conversation with that lord?”
Her comb stilled, hands curling tightly around the brush. Their eyes met in the mirror. Aerion wore his infamous smirk; he sensed the effect he had on her tonight, and it was exhilarating and satisfying after constantly trying to get a rise out of her for so long. He hummed with a mocking chuckle.
Nothing was exchanged for a moment. He continued undressing, smirking, basking in this “glory”.
Suddenly, his wife slammed her fist down with the comb in her hand on the vanity, her trinkets and handmirror broke. The crack echoed in the chamber.
“Shut up,” she hissed out in pure anger. Aerion’s brows rose slightly. He gave a low whistle. He had not seen her this furious since they were children and she’d bloodied his lip with a thrown book.
“Watch that tongue of yours, wife,” he said casually, utterly unbothered. That was enough to set her off; she could no longer contain her anger and frustration.
“I wish my father never made that promise to yours!” she burst out. The words tore from her like something long caged. “I would much rather have married a stable boy, a bastard, a lowly servant—than be your wife!” Aerion’s expression sharpened; he was getting ready to begin speaking, possibly putting her in her place. But she did not stop.
“I hate you!” she cried. “Do you hear me? I hate you! I would rather die than continue being your stupid, miserable wife!” Her hand came down again upon the vanity repeatedly. Not stopping even as blood began coating her vanity.
Aerion moved before he fully thought. He crossed the room in three strides and seized her wrist.
“Enough.” His grip was iron. She tried to free herself, but he held fast. Blood slid down her fingers, spattering the vanity.
“You will not maim yourself to make a point,” he said sharply.
“Let go of me!” she shouted, struggling. “You don’t get to touch me!”
The fury in her eyes startled him more than the words. This was no petty anger. This was frustration and humiliation turned raw. Aerion dragged her forcefully to the small water basin in the corner of the bed chamber. He grabbed her bleeding palm, plunging it harshly into the basin, causing water to sloosh and spill. She hissed at the sting.
“Have you lost your wits?” he demanded. Aerion still held her wrist tightly as he pulled it out. He continued to drag her through the room as he grabbed a cloth, wrapping it. The floor had drops of blood and water throughout the floor. The mess resembled much of their marriage.
“Have you?” she spat back. “You humiliated me before the whole court!”
His jaw tightened.“You chose to sit close enough to another man for him to think—”
“It was a mere conversation! I chose to have it because I did not wish to sit alone like some discarded doll!” She snapped. He stilled. The words landed heavier than her earlier shouts.
Her breathing was ragged now, tears burning but unshed.
“You left me there,” she said, voice breaking despite her effort. “You left me in the middle of the floor like I was nothing.” Aerion seemed at a loss for words.
“I am a person, your wife, and you have humiliated me!” she continued, her uninjured hand poking his bare chest. Her shoulders trembled. “And I have done nothing but try. I have held my tongue when you were cruel. I smiled when you dismissed me. I have defended you when others whispered. I have loved you when you gave me no cause.” That word hung between them.
Aerion’s grip loosened slightly. She laughed once—hollow and bitter. “You think I would shame you? That I would betray you? I have restrained myself every day of this marriage for the sake of your father, for the sake of your house. I have been good.”
Aerion looked into her eyes; he had an unreadable expression. She leaned closer, her eyes full of emotion as she whispered, “And you make me look like a fool.” Silence swallowed the room.
Aerion stared at her. Then to the floor, at the blood. At the tears she refused to let fall.
He had meant to assert control. To remind her of her place. He had not expected this.
“I do not need you to be good,” he said at last, “I did not ask you to be good”.
She couldn’t contain the scoff that passed from her lips. She let out a disbelieving breath. “Then what is it that you need, Aerion? Hm? Obedience? For your wife to always be miserable?” He did not answer. Because he did not truly know. Possession and control had always been instinct.
Her hand trembled in his again, though now from shock more than rage. The adrenaline had faded, and all that remained was throbbing pain. Aerion's eyes trailed down to her palm as if he sensed her pain. His thumb moved slowly, caressing her palm. The gesture was awkward.
Unpracticed. She stared at him…she wished she could understand him.
“You cannot have your childish tantrums and resort to humiliating me in front of everyone.” His wife uttered defeatedly. Something in his chest tightened. He did not like that tone. It felt like distance. It shook him…he usually relished in having her defeated, yet he felt no satisfaction.
“You would rather die?” he asked quietly. Her jaw clenched, she nodded her head, and pulled her hand out of his. The honesty struck like a blade. For the first time that night, the unbothered mask cracked.
“You are my wife,” he said again. As if trying to once more gain control. But this time the words lacked triumph.
She pulled her hand back, cradling it to her chest. “And you are my husband,” she replied. “Gods help me.”
She turned away from him then. Not storming. Not weeping. Just… turning. As if she could not bear the sight of his face. And somehow that felt worse.
Aerion stood in the candlelit chamber, staring at the blood stain on his hands. He had won and had made her feel defeated as he desired. Yet the victory felt hollow. And for the first time in a long while, Aerion Targaryen did not feel entirely certain he was in control.
The chamber felt smaller. Suddenly, his wife began to laugh. It was soft at first. Then sharper, more hysterically. Aerion’s head snapped up at her, his eyes wide. She pressed her uninjured hand to her mouth as though trying to hold back her laughter. “Gods,” she breathed between uneven chuckles, “I have been around too many Targaryens.”
Her eyes shone too brightly. “Perhaps the madness rubbed off on me. Perhaps I have caught some of your damned family madness.”
Aerion did not answer; he continued to watch her. “Hah,” she let out again, the sound bordering on frantic. “You do not know. You do not know how much work I put into this marriage.” She began pacing near the vanity.
“For our reputation. For this house. For this damn, stupid family.” Her voice rose and fell unevenly.
“I smile when you dismiss me. I defend you when you are cruel. I temper my tongue so no one may say your wife is wild or ill-made. I sit through councils, through feasts, through endless chatter—shaping how they see us.”
She pointed at herself with a trembling finger, “Me”. She laughed again, though her eyes were wet now. Then she suddenly moved forward, reaching out to him.
“Gods, I want nothing more than to take this blade and stick it through my throat so I need not endure another moment of being married to you,” She said as she reached out and grabbed the blade from Aerion’s hip quickly. She moved back near the vanity, away from Aerion, and swished the blade around a bit as if admiring it.
Aerion moved instantly. He closed the distance in two strides and caught her wrist before harshly snatching the blade from her hands.
“Enough,” he said sharply.
“I work so hard!” she cried. “And you grow angry because I spoke to a lord—one I would have never spoken to had you not abandoned me every single chance you get”. The accusation landed like a thrown dagger.
“You humiliate me in front of everyone. I look like a fool, Aerion! Do you understand that? A stupid, devoted fool!” Her chest rose and fell too quickly now.“The court sees it. They see I love you more than you love me.” She laughed again, and the sound cracked.
“The people do not see how fractured our marriage truly is; they do not see just how much you seem to harbor resentment toward your wife…but they do now…you have not only humiliated me. You have humiliated our house. For what? A childish tantrum?” Her breath trembled. Aerion was silent; he did not move, he listened.
“I would rather you had waited until we were alone and struck me.” The words froze in the air.
“I would have rather you hit me!” she shouted, voice breaking. “At least that would not have made a spectacle of us!” The chamber went utterly still.
Aerion moved. He grabbed her wrists, his grip tight and firm to still her pacing. “Do not speak of me striking you,” he said, voice low and dangerous—not in threat, but in offense. She hated how his touch made her heart beat quicken, how it somehow made her feel comforted. Aerion did not let go, even as she weakly tried to pull her wrists free.
“You annoy me so much,” she muttered, the fire draining into something rawer. “So much.” Aerion stared at her. He was processing it all, remembering the words she had spoken so carelessly about ending her own life.
“You think I have no devotion to you?” he asked quietly. His expression looked offended and hurt. It made his wife's expression falter… why must he make that face… as if she had wounded him, and not the other way around. He exhaled sharply, letting go of her, turned from her, running a hand through his hair. “You laugh with another man, and you expect me to feel nothing?”
“Yes!” she burst out. “Yes, I expect you to trust me; it was a mere conversation…I'm tired of always being so alone.” The word echoed louder than the others.
“I do not trust easily,” he admitted, the confession dragged from him like a thorn. She studied him then—not angry, not manic—just worn.
“I have given you no reason not to…you are my husband,” she said tiredly…mentally exhausted from everything. Aerion stood there, uncertain in a way he despised.
“You will not ever speak again of putting a blade to your throat,” he said quietly.
She lowered her hands. His eyes were steady now—not mocking.
“I would burn this entire realm before I allowed harm to come to you,” he continued.
“And yet you burn me yourself,” she replied softly. That hurt him. He did not deny it. She moved to sit at the edge of the bed, and slowly her face saddened at her own words.
Aerion moved to her…he sank slowly to his knees, not breaking eye contact. He looked up at his wife, bringing her injured hand to his lips. Prince Aerion Targaryen was not a man who lowered himself before anyone…yet here he was on his knees for his wife.
“Do not ever speak of putting a blade to your throat,” he said again, but this time the words were not merely stern—they were raw and desperate. He reached up suddenly and caught her chin between his fingers. Not gently. Firm. Demanding her.
“Do you hear me?” he pressed. “Do not even jest of it.”
His wife did not move; she was still caught off guard. She scoffed, looking away. “Aerion—” His hand tightened, and he shook her head a bit.
“Do not ever hurt yourself as you did just now.”
He lifted her wounded hand slightly, blood dried at the edge of her palm.
“Your hand is already ruined for the week.” His voice roughened.“If you feel anger—strike me. If you feel hurt, curse me. If you must draw blood, draw mine.” His thumb pressed under her chin, lifting her face higher. He leaned his forehead to hers…she could not break eye contact…his eyes were intense. “Kill me before you harm yourself.”
“You are mine,” he said quietly. “And I do not share what is mine with death.”
Her lips parted slightly at that. He had never spoken like this. Never with urgency that trembled beneath the words.
“You would leave me?” he murmured, barely above a whisper now. “You would abandon me to whispers and ghosts?” She felt the shift in him. The boy beneath the prince. The boy who had grown up with her. The boy who was once a glad child and who liked fishing.
“I will not hurt myself,” she said, voice steadier now. His grip did not loosen.
“Say it again,” Aerion said firmly. She almost rolled her eyes—but the seriousness in him held her still.
“I will not harm myself,” she repeated. Silence lingered. Aerion searched her eyes. Only then did his grip ease. Her anger vanished…she felt pathetic…for how much she loved him…how he undid all her anger.
His hand slid down to take her injured palm carefully.“You will scar,” he observed. The blood had slid down her forearms. Maintaining eye contact, Aerion bent once more to his knees…lifting her arm up, his tongue darted out, licking up all the way up to her palm. Her breath hitched…heat rose up her neck. He looked…so pathetic…and oddly submissive. He grabbed her uninjured hand, leaning his cheek on it.
“You would rather I struck you?” he asked quietly, eyes softening. His wife looked away; she felt as if she continued to stare at him…she would forgive him.
“Yes, in that moment…I-I said it in anger,” She muttered…it was embarrassing because who would rather be hit by their husband. She just worked so hard to maintain their reputation…to show the public…all was well in their marriage. For since their betrothal…rumors and gossip have always spread…since they were married, had been arranged…since she…was not like other ladies. She felt…as though she owed it to her father…to Maekar do her best to reflect well on their decision and houses.
“I would never raise my hand to you.” There was no hesitation in his words. None.
She had loved him. Even when she should not have.
His gaze softened. “Do not leave me,” he said. It was honest and genuine. Her heart stuttered.“I am still here,” she replied. He leaned forward and pressed his lips briefly to her brow, then to her lips. Aerion kissed her fiercely, passionately, as if expressing everything he never shows. She broke the kiss first to breathe. He leaned forward, chasing her lips. His wife couldn’t help but study him. Then, almost cautiously, she lifted her hand and ran her fingers through his silver hair.
“You are behaving strangely,” she murmured, watching him carefully. It was as if he had changed or something clicked in him. He was acting soft. His mouth twitched.
He rolled his eyes faintly, though there was no true annoyance in it.“You are my wife,” he said. As though that explained everything.
“Only you would be my wife,” he continued, his voice lowering. “No other.” Her fingers paused in his hair.
“My pretty, fucking mad wife,” he added, not unkindly. “You are my match.”
His eyes held hers—steady now, intense without anger. “My soulmate, my flame.” The words settled heavily between them. Soulmate. Flame.
She paused. It was enough to leave her breathless. A warmth crept up her neck, betraying her composure. “You speak strangely tonight…” Her hand moved up to touch his forehead to check if he was ill or fever-driven.
He clicked his tongue, moving his head at her fussing. “I speak the truth.”
“You also spoke cruelly hours ago.” His wife stated plainly. He did not flinch from it.
“I was angry.”
“You are often angry.” His jaw tightened, but he did not deny it. She looked at him, really looked at him. The man who had left her in the center of a dance floor. Was it now the man who knelt between her knees who was speaking of soulmates?
“You are cruel…and then soft…kind even,” She muttered as if exhausted from juggling his mood swings.
“I am…not cruel.”
“You humiliated me moments ago.”
“That is not the same.”
“It feels the same.”
A flicker of irritation crossed him—but beneath it lay something else. Frustrated with himself. “I do not know how to be gentle without feeling weak,” he admitted, voice lower now.
Her brows softened. “Being gentle to one’s wife is not weakness…because we are… meant to be equals.” Aerion paused. He looked away, his eyebrows furrowed as if trying to understand. She cupped his face gently, her expression soft.
“You are dangerous when you are tender…what am I to do with you?” She sighed
“Dangerous?”
“Yes.”
“Explain.”
She hesitated. “Because I want to believe you.”Aerion kissed her palms.
“Then believe me.”
“I do not know which version of you I am speaking to…one moment you are cruel, then kind…” She whispered.
“I am both,” He exhaled slowly.
“That is what unsettles me.”
She rubbed her thumb, caressing his cheek and lower lip. Silence followed, settling upon them.
“I…I do love you…I am devoted to you,” Aerion suddenly declares.
“And…I love you and am devoted to you…Yet I am human and cannot withstand such… cruelty without breaking at times,” His wife replied.
“I have never loved anyone else as I love you,” he said. He had never desired another for marriage. Never courted another. Never allowed another woman close in the way, he only allowed his wife. She was enough…he could never be bored with her, for she challenges him like no other and makes him feel alive.
“You are mine,” Aerion stated more…both in confession and possessiveness.
“You’re impossible”
“And I am yours…I do not say things lightly,” he said, voice steadying. “You are my match. No one else could endure me.”
“That is not romantic,” she said dryly.
“It is true.”
A small smile touched her lips despite herself. He leaned forward and brushed his mouth against hers…slowly.
“You doubt me,” he whispered against her lips.
“I protect myself.”
He drew back slightly, studying her face.“I will not humiliate you again.” The promise came abruptly. She searched his eyes for any trickery and found none.
His wife sighed deeply, “You'd better keep your promise.” Her palm throbbed; she had been ignoring it. He noticed her pained expression and began untying the cloth. He frowned at the sight of it. The cut was deeper than either had first believed. The broken mirror shards had sliced clean and cruelly across the heel of her hand. Blood had crusted in thin lines down her wrist. The bleeding had slowed, but the cut gaped unpleasantly. He stood. “You require a maester.”
His wife opened her mouth to deny it. If anyone sees her hand…all sorts of gossip and rumors will spread, damaging their reputation even more.
“You require a maester.” Aerion repeats firmly.
“Fine.”
Word Count: 3.5k (i’m unsure if i should write more parts :3)
