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After his proposal, the reader and Aemond have a heated confrontation in the gardens.
themes/warnings: jealous!possessive!Aemond (no surprise that I have to write this for every part of this story... I mean...), angst, language
part one - part two - masterlist
"Will you choose me?"
That managed to stop you in your tracks. Will you choose him? As if you had not chosen him over and over, at every turn, every proposal - only for him to choose to lie with another woman in the end.
And what is worse, he does not seem to find his actions wrong, only defending them. For the good of the realm, he says.
But what if he is sincere about marrying you? Will it only be you, for all time, war be damned? Knowing Aemond, it will not be that simple.
You feel caught in a snare, helpless, for but a second. Weighing your options in your mind.
Yes. Perhaps. No. Fuck you, and your witch.
Your mind finally settles, and you turn to face him, your face cold and unreadable. "That has to be the most selfish thing you have ever said to me."
Aemond appears stunned, unmoving, as he watches you stride towards him.
“Selfish? My desire to be wed to you is a selfish thing?” he asks.
You approach him quickly, breathing heavy as words spill out of your mouth. “I know you, Aemond. Tell me this. Why do you wish to marry me now, after all this time? Why did you not do it fucking seven, eight moons ago? You only want this now because you know that I am serious about getting married to someone else. And what of the unspoken understanding between us that we could never do so because you are a Targaryen, oh great one, and I come from a lowly House of cattle-tending farmers?” You sound venomous, unrestrained, but you do not much care.
Aemond matches you in your ferocity, when he says, “Is that truly what you think? That I would marry you for some foolish reason? That I would do so on a whim? It is true that my family, the council, and perhaps the smallfolk will frown upon our union, but you know what?” He grips your elbow, and you can feel his ragged breathing fanning your face as he drags you closer. “I don’t care anymore. I have always wanted this, and I should get what I want. After everything I have done, all that I have sacrificed for this war, I deserve to marry for love.”
“No, you - ”
“Listen to me, my love,” he leans in, close enough to capture your lips in his if he wishes to. “I’d rather burn everything to the ground, rather than watch you wed another fucking man. I thought you were already well aware of this?”
His lips brush against your ear, sending shivers down your spine, and he whispers, “Do not underestimate my love for you. You’re mine, do you hear? Perhaps you will try to be with someone else, with that Ramsay. But know that it will not end well for him.”
You understand that he is not speaking lightly. That he will make do on his threat if need be. Dangerous, intense, cunning. This was the Aemond you fell in love with, so why should you be taken aback at his words? You crave all of this, all that he truly is.
But you had also thought that all of this, all of him, was only yours.
“No,” you breathe.
“What?”
“My answer is no,” you repeat. “I cannot marry you. Not like this.”
“Because of him?” Aemond accuses.
“Not exactly,” you meet his eye and find a storm of emotion resting there. “You know that I would marry you in a heartbeat.” You remember when he said the same, but it does not sit right with you that he could only have said that out of desperation. Just as he is asking for your hand now, in the heat of the moment.
“Then we shall have it done. On the morrow, if that is what you wish, my love - ”
“But we cannot marry when I do not trust you. When I cannot be certain that you will not go scurrying back to bed with Alys each time you require her visions or her spells.”
Aemond implores, “But it should all end soon. The war… we shall be sure to prevail against our enemies. And then I will have no further use for her. We can have her banished or mutilated for all I care.”
Typical of Aemond to be so thick-headed, and to stick to his ambition. So will he lie with Alys a few more times, breaking your heart, after he has just professed to love and marry you? “I cannot have that.”
“Do you not understand - ”
“I understand perfectly,” you almost hiss at him in your exasperation. “If you wish to wed me, then you cannot have anyone else. By the gods, you should not even remotely desire to be with anyone else, for any reason. Whether it be for the fucking realm, I do not care.”
You pry yourself away from his hold, every step walking back from him giving you room to just breathe. “The very thought of you with her, the truth of it happening, sickens me to my core.”
Laughing menacingly, you add, “Just as the thought of myself with Ramsay angers you so. Tell me, my love - what would you do if I were to ride him, as Alys does you?”
Aemond glares daggers at you, his jaw clenching so hard in his rage.
He seethes, “You would never get the chance. I will bury him long before then.”
“I’ve had enough of this,” you raise your hands in surrender. “I’ll be seeing you.”
“You do not get to simply leave - ” He starts to say, but he is interrupted by someone else rounding the corner.
“Brother,” Aegon greets, an ornate cup of wine held loosely in one hand. Several members of his Kingsguard shadow him, a few paces away. “How come you get to escape our council meetings out here, whilst I waste away with those droll sycophants?”
“Aegon,” Aemond greets, his voice giving away irritation at his brother’s intrusion. “I had no standing affairs today, and I am occupied with something else.”
“Someone else, you mean to say,” Aegon raises his eyebrows at you suggestively. “Nice to see you again, my lady.”
“Your Grace,” you curtsy. “I shall take my leave, so that you might speak to Aemond in private.”
Aegon responds lightly. “Stay, if you please. I do have something to ask you as well. And what is with the ‘Your Grace’? It is just Aegon to you, as always.”
“Of course, Your G-” you catch yourself, smiling now. “I mean, Aegon.” Aemond’s siblings have been more than civil towards you, and if everything else were simpler, then you might even call them your friends.
Now and then, Aegon would make a comment about your status in poor taste, though he means well. One of them being, “What a shame you cannot be made my good-sister through Aemond. The family would surely wed the pair of you, if only you had been a Lady Baratheon, or gods, even a Lannister, though I find the lot of them unbearable. What a shame.”
“So,” Aegon excitedly clasps his hands together, preparing to share some piece of news. “I’ll be holding a small gathering on the morrow. A supper of sorts. Only a few chosen people. Our inner circle, which includes you, my lady.” He wags his finger at you, playfully.
“A feast? Won’t it be improper, Aegon?” Aemond asks, with a tired sigh, already used to his brother’s proclivities.
“Not a feast, dear brother. A small, subdued supper.” Aegon looks to you for support, and you shrug in agreement. He takes a step closer, whispering to you in secret, “It is a feast, actually.” You have to bite back a laugh at his absurdity. It’s somewhat hard to believe that Aegon is the face of the Greens - their cause, their reason to wage this brutal war. Was he not just a young boy who did not choose any of this? A neglected son who was forced to abandon his dream of escape? A crown of thorns thrust upon him in spite of his resistance?
“Aegon - ” Aemonds warns, wary of his brother’s proximity to you. What in the seven hells could he be saying?
“Aemond,” Aegon sings in response, unfazed. “I’ve said my piece. My lady, I shall have my guards escort you when it’s time.”
“Alright,” you say, aware of Aemond’s watchful stare on you. In a split decision, or mayhaps a calculated move, you find yourself requesting, “do you mind terribly if I take Lord Ramsay Beesbury as my companion?”
“Oh, him?” Aegon looks to his brother, weighing his reaction, and immediately growing amused at the fury that he sees. “Well, you may take whomever you please, my lady.”
“She may not,” Aemond quickly counters.
Aegon merely grins, “It’s my party, brother.”
“I don’t fucking care.”
“I am your King,” Aegon states. “My word is final.”
"You could be the Smith himself, and I still would not care. She will not be taking him." Aemond says firmly. Only he can talk back to Aegon in such a way, and he surely takes advantage of this when he can.
They lock eyes, until Aegon bursts in a fit of unbridled laughter, his wine sloshing out of his cup.
"Gods be fucking good," Aegon wheezes. "You can hardly control yourself, dear brother." Winking at you, he says, "I suppose there is a damn good reason why they call us Greens. Aemond here is practically greener than Vhagar's slimy old scales with envy."
"Seven hells." Aemond curses in exasperation. Still, after all that, he throws you a look of warning.
You only smile sweetly in return, your mind already made up.
Satisfied with the outcome of this exchange, you nod to both of them, "I shall take my leave, Aegon. Aemond. But we shall see you on the morrow. Thank you for the invitation."
Aemond bristles at your emphasis on we.
Yet he cannot help but watch in adoration as you walk away, your skirts billowing lightly in the wind. His woman.
That Ramsay will not be able to anticipate what's coming for him.
I thoroughly enjoyed reading all of your comments from the previous parts!! Glad we are all on the same page - Aemond should suffer 🤷🏻♀️ (or at least, grovel and prove himself, for the next few chapters.)
After his betrayal, the reader is determined to forget about Aemond. But her attempts at entertaining a potential suitor seem to be thwarted at every turn, by none other than... who else?
themes/warnings: jealous!Aemond, angst, third (and fourth) parties involved but not really
part one - masterlist
a/n: the title changed, yes! Also, can you believe I actually thought this would remain a mere oneshot? But no, I got hungry for more angst and jealousy and all the good stuff. Much love to all my fellow angst lovers for breathing new life into this fic!
When the whispers started, you knew they eventually reach Aemond.
You were rumoured to be entertaining Lord Ramsay Beesbury, the youngest son of the late Lord Lyman Beesbury.
His older brother, Braxton, was your initial suitor many moons ago. But you refused him, of course. For a certain one-eyed prince.
Lord Braxton had been the one who became Lord of Honeyholt after his father and he has just recently taken a wife. Unlike his father, however, he opted to side with the Greens and to back Aegon's claim.
Ramsay began to seek you out himself, not long after finding out that you are now more receptive to marriage proposals.
Everyone knew. Well, it seems that way, at least. It is common knowledge that you and Aemond were closer than to be expected of mere friends. Any Lord who might ask for your hand knew not to expect to be met with warmth and eagerness. They tried anyway, and failed.
Because each time, and without even needing to say so, they knew that you were choosing Aemond.
"I don't know why you would think that," you lie with a sweet smile, when Ramsay presents his concern about you and Aemond. "Prince Aemond and I are acquaintances, and that is all there is to it."
"Oh." Ramsay smiles, evidently pleased with your response. "My lady, I am glad to be spending this afternoon with you here in the gardens. After some time, I would hope that we can join our Houses, as humble as mine might be." He averts his eyes shyly. Ramsay is surely a gentle lad, as far as you have seen.
"You need not be concerned, my lord. My House is just as humble. But we make do, don't we? At the very least, we do not have to busy ourselves with all the politicking the more nobler Houses seem to get into."
"That is true, my lady." He grins, and you notice lines burst around his eyes, though he is merely five and twenty. Ramsay has spent a life imparting and partaking in laughter.
Unlike a certain sullen, brooding Targaryen. Could you get used to Ramsay? Surely. Could you love him? Perhaps so.
"So what shall we do on the morrow?" Ramsay breeches the distance between the two of you on the bench, and his knees brush against yours under your skirts. He takes your hands in his, "I propose - "
He stops, his head whipping to the side, looking toward the treeline.
"What is it, my lord?" you ask, looking in the same direction. But you see nothing.
"I thought I heard something." He whispers, then looks again to you. "Where were we - "
"Fine weather we're having." You nearly jump out of your skin in surprise, as Ramsay is interrupted yet again. Aemond stands about a foot away from your bench, hands clasped behind him in usual commanding stance.
"My prince." Ramsay stiffens, your hands still held in his. You see that Aemond's attention has been drawn to this, his lips curling in distaste.
You both rise from the bench. Ramsay is no longer touching you, but still stands close.
Closer than Aemond would like. His hand clenches into a fist behind his back. He muses about whether it is unbecoming for a Targaryen prince to sock a young Lord in the jaw unprovoked.
He does not much care either way.
"It is, indeed," Ramsay says. "Which is why I thought to take the Lady out for a walk in the gardens."
"And a fine idea it was," you add, purposefully looping your arm around Ramsay's. "It's best that Lord Ramsay and I get to know each other well, if we are to wed soon."
Aemond decides not to punch the young Lord Beesbury. Not just yet. Clearly you're provoking him and he is not going to give you the satisfaction.
"A wedding in the middle of war?" Aemond hums. "Do you not think such a union foreshadows plenty of discontent and strife, my lady?"
You scoff, "Oh, what does it matter? When will we ever not be in a war, in some form or another? That should not stop us from marrying whom we please. From loving whom we please."
Loving. Love. Aemond's heart sinks. You mention love in front of him, when you have yourself wrapped around another man. One whom you plan to wed.
How can you speak of love, when you are planning to sacrifice it? Aemond might transgress with Alys, but at least he is doing it for the realm. For you.
Is he not? Then why does it seem like he is losing you?
Ramsay beams to Aemond, "My lady is truly clever, is she not, my prince?"
"She is." Aemond genuinely agrees. He only has eyes on you, running over the planes of your face which he has committed to memory, all those nights of watching you sleep next to him. He looks upon you with longing.
With love.
For a moment, everything feels right. You and your love gaze upon each other, all else forgotten. Your arm slides down from Ramsay's in your brief reverie.
Then Ramsay clears his throat. "What are you doing here, Prince Aemond? Can we help you with anything?"
"Oh, I don't think you can," Aemond says pointedly, clearly pleased with himself.
"P-pardon me?"
You interrupt the exchange, your voice icy, "Not busy today, my prince? No plans of battle to discuss? Grand spells to concoct?"
"No." Aemond merely shakes his hand. "I've no use for those at the moment."
"What a surprise," you sneer.
Ramsay glazes over your mention of spells, thinking he misheard things. He then addresses Aemond, "It seems that the tides have turned toward our favour, my prince. The Greens' favour. I can only hope that the aid my House provides has played a part, albeit small."
Aemond does not mince his words, disdain clear in his voice when he says, "Surely the barrels of honeyed wine that your great House provides has been crucial in advancing our cause, my Lord. If you yourself possessed any mettle, then you would out there in the battlefield. Instead you sit here in the gardens, wasting your days trying to covet something of mine. "
Unbelievable. Your mouth nearly falls open in shock at his demeanour. "Aemond..."
"I need to speak with you, my lady."
"I am occupied at the moment, my prince." You respond through gritted teeth.
"It's alright," Ramsay nods to you, clearly disheartened. But he holds his ground, and bravely takes your hand in his. Completely aware that Aemond watches, he leans down and plants a kiss on the back of your hand, eyes on yours the entire time.
Aemond feels his restraint dissipating, hanging on by the flimsiest of threads.
"Come with me," Aemond takes your hand, the very same which Ramsay just kissed, and begins pulling you away and walking towards the tall hedges.
You can feel his thumb brushing against your knuckles, as if trying to eliminate any trace of Lord Ramsay.
"Stop - " you say, but to no avail.
When Ramsay is no longer in your line of sight, you pull your hand from Aemond's grip. "What is wrong with you? Ramsay did nothing to deserve that."
"Ramsay," Aemond rolls his eye. His shoulders are stiff, and you can easily tell he is angry.
"I should go find him, and apologize for your behaviour. Clearly you will not."
"I do not need to apologize for anything to that weak-willed, little - "
"Then apologize to me," you interject, voice breaking.
"Whatever for?" He reaches for you, but you stand still. Doing nothing as his hand cradles your face.
"For everything... for being with someone else... for not choosing me."
"But I choose you. I always - "
"You chose Alys."
His face scrunches at that. Aemond thinks that he did not choose Alys, he merely chose to use her powers for his gain. But it will never be her over you.
"Just apologize to me," you shrug. "Or don't. It does not change anything. We can soon set all of this behind us."
You watch him intently, drinking in every slight change in his expression. The curve of his lips. The way his eyelashes brush against his skin when he looks down.
If you have to let him go, you will always want to remember him. To remember everything.
He says nothing for the longest time, just holding your face in his hands.
Until you step away. His arms fall to his sides.
"I have to choose Ramsay, Aemond. I have to do this for myself," you say.
Still, nothing. His gaze is trained downward, and he feels helpless as he can feel you slipping away from him.
You finally muster up the strength to say goodbye, "I'll be seeing you, my love."
Your feet feel heavy as you walk away, crunching against the small rocks on the path.
"What if we were to wed? What then, hmm?" He suddenly says, making you stop in your tracks.
He continues, "Will you choose me?"
Will Aemond finally give up Alys? Will he marry the reader even if it will be frowned upon and seen as an unfit union? *shrugs* you tell me
Will Aegon make an appearance in part three? *nods* yes. Yes, he will.
In my mind, Ramsay is played by Callum Turner or Jonah Hauer-King. Just a thought. Aemond's got some competition *laughs evilly*
I hope I managed to include everyone in the taglist!! If not, just let me know 🖤
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