Tags: established marriage, infidelity, angst, grief & mourning, canon typical violence, smut, dub con, p. in v. sex, forced orgasm
Wordcount: 3,300
Crippled with grief following the death of your brother, you start an affair in secret. However your husband Aemond discovers it and reclaims you, needing to reestablish ownership over you.
Aemond Masterlist • Kinktober Masterlist
Of all the ways to lose a person, death is the kindest. — R.W. Emerson
Whether it was grief who had led you here, or an unconscious desire to cause hurt in answer for the hurt you were feeling, you could not say. In hindsight, this whole tragedy had been preventable, but in your grief and your rage, you had discarded any thoughts of consequences and lived in the moment, desperate for reprieve.
Following the death of your younger brother Luke, you lived in permanent torment, the profound hatred and betrayal you felt towards your husband Aemond consuming your every breath. You were in mourning and yet you had not been allowed to wear black at court—no condolences had been offered to you either, for fear of the prince’s reaction, and thus loneliness became your sole companion.
Until one day a young man had approached you in the Godswoods, on your first outing since learning the news. Black had been forbidden to you, but isolation had not, and you suspected Aemond somewhat preferred for you to remain out of sight, as your position was still a precarious one. You were a prisoner in what had been your own home since your wedding, and the young lord seemed sympathetic to it.
He had offered you gentle words and kind prayers, taking an interest in how you were coping with such devastation, and within a few weeks, his kindness had extended well past the bounds of propriety. He had become your only companion, and your lover as well as your confident. Whenever you could find a private moment, you sought comfort in his arms and a reprieve from your terrible condition.
However the Red Keep kept no secret, and one night as he slid through a secret passageway that led into your chambers, it was not your soft arms that waited for him, but your husband’s sharp blade. As a tamed predator dragging its prey to present to its master, Aemond had brought him to your chambers where you waited in your night gown, unaware of the tragedy that would unfold.
“Have mercy, my prince!” you cried out as you were confronted with the horrible sight—the young man kept immobile, the knife resting precariously at his throat, his eyes pleading with you.
Aemond was looming over him, dragging him like a ragdoll, at the mercy of the perfect sharpness of the Valyrian steel dagger. The monster you thought you had tamed was now turning against you and you found yourself much at its mercy, like your lover was.
“You do not deny it, then?” Aemond yelled, pressing the blade further into his skin, drawing blood.
“Mercy, please,” your lover whispered, but you knew it was no use.
It was not in Aemond’s nature or character to be merciful, even less forgiving, and now both of you would have to suffer the consequences of your transgression. You blamed yourself for your foolishness, as you knew that he could hold a grudge for a decade and not let time soften his hurt. Your brother had suffered such a fate, and now surely you would.
“Sheath your blade and we shall talk,” you begged, but it fell into deaf ears. You fell to your knees as your lover whimpered, blood seeping into the collar of his shirt.
Aemond’s face was contorted with rage, his eye dark with fury, but his hands were steady and you feared the floor would soon be tainted crimson with your lover’s blood. Knees on the cold stones, you could hardly find your words.
“I beg of you, allow me to explain,” you stammered, although you could not think of anything that would save you.
Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, your whole body hot with fright, the instinct to flee thundering at your breastbone. “Do not put the blame on the wrong person,” you cried out, and something terrifying occurred—in an instant, Aemond’s face smoothed out and he regarded you with something akin to pity.
Blinded by his rage, Aemond had not seen your distress since he had entered the room and now, a terrible idea was growing in his chest, swelling behind his heart, carried by foolish hope and love.
“Tell me the truth, wife, did he force himself onto you?” he asked, and you shook your head, a great sob wracking your shoulders, more strangled pleas falling from your lips.
“He did not force me,” you admitted with a cry, and regret instantly dawned over you.
Aemond did not rage, or lash out, or unleash his fury upon you. Instead his face grew cold and his voice dropped into a whisper. “Did he somehow coerce you?” Aemond asked, his voice low and yet no less threatening. He could not reconcile what he knew of you with such an act of treason, and his rage only found an equal in his heartbreak.
Caught in this irreconcilable situation, you realized only two paths were waiting for you—damnation and death, or redemption. If you could convince him that you were coerced, perhaps you would be saved from his wrath, as it seemed he was not so blinded by his anger that he would forget his heart.
“I’m afraid,” you said, and it was the most visceral truth.
“You have nothing to fear, my love,” he murmured, and such sudden adoration was not reassuring, rather it was an owen of the wrath he could unleash, were your answer not satisfactory to him. “Tell me the truth of it, did you betray me?”
Breath nearly choking you, you pleaded to all the Gods for forgiveness, and gave into the path of potential salvation that was appearing before you. Under your lover’s horrified gaze, you shook your head again, playing to your husband’s weakness.
“I was never willing,” you cried out. “He left me no choice. I did not want to sully your name.”
It devastated you to betray in such a way the one person that had been kind to you, but the primal part of you screamed, your survival instincts burning any thought of being honest with your husband. You could not allow yourself a choice, you had to survive, to see your family again.
Your lover trashed against Aemond’s grip, a great cry of pain erupting from him, which was quickly quieted by the blade slicing into his skin as your husband threw him across the floor, reaching for his sword and unsheathing it. “You dare defile what is mine!” he roared, and even your sobs caught in your throat at the utter fury of his tone.
Before you could call for his mercy again, a guard came into the room and following your husband’s orders, took you away, uselessly kicking at his armor. The shadow of his sword on the wall and the horrified scream of your lover was all you saw and heard before the door slammed shut.
Aemond could not say how much time had passed, and when he had felt so utterly tired, down to his very bones. His hands were still shaking, his arms sore from yielding his sword in such a way. It was the second time now that he had taken a life, both times to right a wrong.
When he had heard whispers of your transgressions, he had dismissed it as cruel rumors meant to weaken him, but as they kept coming his way, he had to admit there was credit to them. Since the passing of your brother you had grown cold and hateful towards him, until he could no longer stand your coldness.
He did not send guards to find evidence for him to believe, and instead did the work himself. How could he claim to love you, if he could not confront the man that was soiling you?
Now that traitor had died, and it had been a catharsis—he loved you, the Gods damned him, he did.
At first he had believed you to be complicit, but seeing you on your knees, pleading to have a word with him instead of screaming victorious accusations in his face, he had faltered. How could he imagine that such a pure creature as you, the woman he had devoted himself to and bound his soul to, was able to betray him in such an intimate way?
It would have been so easy for a man to use your grief against you, or worse, use your mother’s current betrayal to manipulate you. Aemond had enemies since he had proclaimed himself regent, and he supposed using his wife was an easy way to wound him.
Now he stood more alone than he had ever been before, and desperate to have an equal at his side, someone to defend his claim, and while he knew that you would never relinquish your loyalty to your mother, you could not deny your love for him.
Therefore he had prayed, in those moments you had pleaded with him on your knees, that you had been coerced, and his heartbreak had lessened when you had admitted to it.
Aemond walked into his chambers where you had been brought and found you seated near the fire, your bare feet tucked under your nightgown. It was the middle of the night and yet you were awake, your eyes rimmed with red and your face flushed with exertion.
“The man is dead. I killed him for daring to touch and touch what is mine,” he announced calmly, and your only answer was a shudder. You stood carefully but did not walk towards him. He loathed to see you, a creature made for love and all the purest things in this world, rattled in such a way.
“He did not die right away, I made sure he had the time to regret ever looking in your direction. I made sure he knew nothing but pain,” he continued, his voice soft as velvet, relishing the pain he had inflicted upon this traitor.
He came to stand before you, his thumb tracing the curve of your chin, enjoying the shiver of fright that went through you at his words. His lips pressed to your forehead and you startled at the touch.
“What will you do now?” you asked, your voice trembling, with hope, with fear. “Annul our marriage, surely.”
“Annulment?” Aemond inquired, bewildered and slightly offended. “You think I am allowed the privilege of annulment? Furthermore, you might be my wife but you are your mother’s daughter, and that is dangerous. As long as I breatheI will never let go of you.”
Aemond tilted his head to the side, examining you with attention, from your wide eyes to your trembling lower lip. “While he was begging for my mercy he swore to the Seven gods that he had not taken you by force,” he told you, attentive for the most minute reaction from you. “You would not do this to me, would you, my love?”
“No, I would not,” you whispered desperately, your promise a hot breath against the pad of his thumb.
Aemond wanted to weep with how sweetly you begged, and he swallowed against the acrid taste of doubt in the back of his throat. There was not enough bravery in the world for him to confront his treacherous thoughts, that you had been complicit in this affair, and that there was nothing honest in your accusation. You did not know the power you held over him, and how he was the one trembling at the mere thought of your willing transgression.
The truth was he would rather see you dead and mourn your loss than see you in the arms of another man—he wished to own you, possess you, only for the ultimate certainty that you would never leave his side. He could never believe you had turned from him, lest he shattered his own spirit irrevocably.
“You will always be mine, will you, my dearest niece?” he asked.
In that moment he appeared so vulnerable that something in you wavered, and you were reminded of the gentle man you thought you had known in the earlier days of your marriage. You loathed him for what he had become, and for what he had forced you to do in order to survive, and a deep, buried part of you was desperate to turn back the hands of time and retrieve your lost husband.
“I will,” you pretended to vow, damning yourself in front of the Gods, but you did not know where your dishonesty truly lied. You knew he was the most dangerous when he was wounded, and sought to soothe him, pushing yourself up on unsteady toes to seek his mouth.
When he did not return your tentative kiss, you were tempted to fall to your knees once more, but he stopped you with a hand below your chin. “Dry your tears, my love,” he soothed, and you wondered how death could be so beautiful.
Slowly, Aemond walked you back to his bed with a precise idea in mind, delighting in how pliant you were. He knew what had to be done now that he had avenged you and himself. You had been tainted, and for both your sake and his, he had to reclaim you.
“I will not have this man be the last one to touch you,” he said, his hands going for his belt and unbuckling it, making quick work of the clasps of his doublet.
“Uncle—” you tried to appeal to his better nature, but he was determined.
“Disrobe, let me see what is mine,” he ordered, and you knew you had to commit to the choice you had made in order to survive.
Without a word, you bared yourself to his sight, your trembling hands pulling at the laces of your gown and letting it fall to the ground. You shuddered under his piercing gaze when you thought it should not have been him to touch you on this night, but it seemed the Gods had seen it fit to bring you back to your husband. He mirrored you, shedding his layers of leather until he stood just as bare, but no less menacing.
You shuddered when he traced the curve of your breast with the pad of his thumb, followed the crease between them down to your belly, then slipped two fingers between your folds. “Did you take pleasure with him?” he asked, touching you with ease and practice, forcing you to close your eyes and focus on your composure.
“Never,” you breathed, attempting to ignore the slow wave of his fingers at your most sensitive place.
The length of his silver hair fell over your chest as he dipped his head and kissed your throat, making you shiver. You fought against all your instincts, closing your eyes again against the onslaught of regretful tears that burned your eyes. Aemond might have wounded you more than you ever thought was possible and yet, he was the only one who knew how to touch you. While your affair had provided comfort, nothing like your husband’s touch could exhilarate you.
You bitterly regretted that he had not been born at your side, and you loathed to be bound to him. Rooted to the spot and kept in place by his mouth to your skin and his fingers pushing inside of you, one last instinct finally kicked into action. “Aemond, please,” you cried out, but it only served to incense him.
“Do as I say, it is for your own good,” Aemond said as he forced you to lay on the bed, taking his rightful place between your thighs. “You need to be reminded who you belong to,” he added before claiming your mouth as well, swallowing your cry when he pushed his length inside of you.
His slim waist was clutched between your knees when you arched away from the mounting pressure, his cock sheathing itself. Aemond pulled one of your wrists and held it to the sheets, and judging from the victorious look on his face, you could tell your true feelings were visible.
“Look at me,” he said when you turned your head away.
Bracing his weight on your more firmly, his free hand slithered between his flat stomach and your own, seeking your core once more. He teased it with a brief touch, then another, then pressed firmer in rhythm with the rocking of his hips—it made you cry out and arch your back, the dual sensation pulling at your core like a hook.
“Did you beg for him the same way you beg for me?” he asked, vicious, and a great shudder of fright ran up your spine, suddenly afraid he had figured you out. Perhaps he had, or perhaps he was caught in his heartsick delusions, the result was the same—you cried out when you realized what he wanted from you.
“Aemond, no,” you pleaded. “Not like this.”
It seemed that taking you was not enough, that he needed your pleasure for his revenge over your lover to be complete. The tight circles his thumb was drawing on your core were clouding your mind and taking your words from you, and for a frightful moment you found yourself wondering why you had ever desired another’s touch.
Suddenly his sins and his twisted soul did not seem so terrible when he was taking you so well, practiced and precise. The rolling of his hips was more of a snap now, stretching you with each thrust and making your limbs seize in pleasure.
“It is the only way for us, now,” he said, his teeth at the tender spot under your jaw. “You allowed this man to touch you! Answer me, did you cry for him like this, did you beg me as you are begging me?”
“I did not,” you protested, far too weakly, fearing the intensity of your release, which was creeping at the apex of your thighs, making you clench around his cock.
Aemond moaned, incensed and wild, and the sight of him only spurred you on. His grip at your wrist was grounding you, his wide eye spearing you to the spot, and you hungered for his mouth, for his kiss, or perhaps you wished to hide from his piercing gaze. As he looked down, you thought you were entirely seen, entirely discovered.
“Did you think of me when he was inside of you?” Aemond crooned, a wicked grin at his lips, and that was your undoing.
Pleasure crested deep in your core and you were powerless to stop it. A great sob was pulled from your chest, tears rolling down your cheeks as you surrendered to the waves of your release. Shudders rocked your entire frame, the pleasure so sharp and sudden you could hardly breathe, and for a moment you were suspended above your body, in that breathless state of ecstasy.
Aemond pressed a clumsy kiss to the side of your face, laughing victoriously until his own breath caught and he buried his moans in your neck, his hips stuttering against yours.
Guilt coiled behind your breastbone as you laid there, pleasure still coursing through your limbs, Aemond kissing a few, lingering kisses between your flushed breasts. “I have neglected you for my duties to the crown,” he lamented, panting. “I left you alone to be the victim of sin. I will not make that mistake again.”
When he pulled back, his face was hard but his eye was soft, still, and the way he looked at you reminded you of the night of your wedding, his softness, his hesitance.
“From now on, you shall remain in my chambers under heavy guard,” he said, his hand releasing your wrist only to circle your throat gently, his thumb pressing into the center of it until nausea rose in your stomach.
It was the same hand that had held his sword, that had murdered your lover—and yet it was so soft and warm, you wanted to surrender to it.
Tags: established marriage, infidelity, angst, grief & mourning, canon typical violence, smut, dub con, p. in v. sex, forced orgasm
Wordcount: 3,300
Crippled with grief following the death of your brother, you start an affair in secret. However your husband Aemond discovers it and reclaims you, needing to reestablish ownership over you.
Aemond Masterlist • Kinktober Masterlist
Of all the ways to lose a person, death is the kindest. — R.W. Emerson
Whether it was grief who had led you here, or an unconscious desire to cause hurt in answer for the hurt you were feeling, you could not say. In hindsight, this whole tragedy had been preventable, but in your grief and your rage, you had discarded any thoughts of consequences and lived in the moment, desperate for reprieve.
Following the death of your younger brother Luke, you lived in permanent torment, the profound hatred and betrayal you felt towards your husband Aemond consuming your every breath. You were in mourning and yet you had not been allowed to wear black at court—no condolences had been offered to you either, for fear of the prince’s reaction, and thus loneliness became your sole companion.
Until one day a young man had approached you in the Godswoods, on your first outing since learning the news. Black had been forbidden to you, but isolation had not, and you suspected Aemond somewhat preferred for you to remain out of sight, as your position was still a precarious one. You were a prisoner in what had been your own home since your wedding, and the young lord seemed sympathetic to it.
He had offered you gentle words and kind prayers, taking an interest in how you were coping with such devastation, and within a few weeks, his kindness had extended well past the bounds of propriety. He had become your only companion, and your lover as well as your confident. Whenever you could find a private moment, you sought comfort in his arms and a reprieve from your terrible condition.
However the Red Keep kept no secret, and one night as he slid through a secret passageway that led into your chambers, it was not your soft arms that waited for him, but your husband’s sharp blade. As a tamed predator dragging its prey to present to its master, Aemond had brought him to your chambers where you waited in your night gown, unaware of the tragedy that would unfold.
“Have mercy, my prince!” you cried out as you were confronted with the horrible sight—the young man kept immobile, the knife resting precariously at his throat, his eyes pleading with you.
Aemond was looming over him, dragging him like a ragdoll, at the mercy of the perfect sharpness of the Valyrian steel dagger. The monster you thought you had tamed was now turning against you and you found yourself much at its mercy, like your lover was.
“You do not deny it, then?” Aemond yelled, pressing the blade further into his skin, drawing blood.
“Mercy, please,” your lover whispered, but you knew it was no use.
It was not in Aemond’s nature or character to be merciful, even less forgiving, and now both of you would have to suffer the consequences of your transgression. You blamed yourself for your foolishness, as you knew that he could hold a grudge for a decade and not let time soften his hurt. Your brother had suffered such a fate, and now surely you would.
“Sheath your blade and we shall talk,” you begged, but it fell into deaf ears. You fell to your knees as your lover whimpered, blood seeping into the collar of his shirt.
Aemond’s face was contorted with rage, his eye dark with fury, but his hands were steady and you feared the floor would soon be tainted crimson with your lover’s blood. Knees on the cold stones, you could hardly find your words.
“I beg of you, allow me to explain,” you stammered, although you could not think of anything that would save you.
Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, your whole body hot with fright, the instinct to flee thundering at your breastbone. “Do not put the blame on the wrong person,” you cried out, and something terrifying occurred—in an instant, Aemond’s face smoothed out and he regarded you with something akin to pity.
Blinded by his rage, Aemond had not seen your distress since he had entered the room and now, a terrible idea was growing in his chest, swelling behind his heart, carried by foolish hope and love.
“Tell me the truth, wife, did he force himself onto you?” he asked, and you shook your head, a great sob wracking your shoulders, more strangled pleas falling from your lips.
“He did not force me,” you admitted with a cry, and regret instantly dawned over you.
Aemond did not rage, or lash out, or unleash his fury upon you. Instead his face grew cold and his voice dropped into a whisper. “Did he somehow coerce you?” Aemond asked, his voice low and yet no less threatening. He could not reconcile what he knew of you with such an act of treason, and his rage only found an equal in his heartbreak.
Caught in this irreconcilable situation, you realized only two paths were waiting for you—damnation and death, or redemption. If you could convince him that you were coerced, perhaps you would be saved from his wrath, as it seemed he was not so blinded by his anger that he would forget his heart.
“I’m afraid,” you said, and it was the most visceral truth.
“You have nothing to fear, my love,” he murmured, and such sudden adoration was not reassuring, rather it was an owen of the wrath he could unleash, were your answer not satisfactory to him. “Tell me the truth of it, did you betray me?”
Breath nearly choking you, you pleaded to all the Gods for forgiveness, and gave into the path of potential salvation that was appearing before you. Under your lover’s horrified gaze, you shook your head again, playing to your husband’s weakness.
“I was never willing,” you cried out. “He left me no choice. I did not want to sully your name.”
It devastated you to betray in such a way the one person that had been kind to you, but the primal part of you screamed, your survival instincts burning any thought of being honest with your husband. You could not allow yourself a choice, you had to survive, to see your family again.
Your lover trashed against Aemond’s grip, a great cry of pain erupting from him, which was quickly quieted by the blade slicing into his skin as your husband threw him across the floor, reaching for his sword and unsheathing it. “You dare defile what is mine!” he roared, and even your sobs caught in your throat at the utter fury of his tone.
Before you could call for his mercy again, a guard came into the room and following your husband’s orders, took you away, uselessly kicking at his armor. The shadow of his sword on the wall and the horrified scream of your lover was all you saw and heard before the door slammed shut.
Aemond could not say how much time had passed, and when he had felt so utterly tired, down to his very bones. His hands were still shaking, his arms sore from yielding his sword in such a way. It was the second time now that he had taken a life, both times to right a wrong.
When he had heard whispers of your transgressions, he had dismissed it as cruel rumors meant to weaken him, but as they kept coming his way, he had to admit there was credit to them. Since the passing of your brother you had grown cold and hateful towards him, until he could no longer stand your coldness.
He did not send guards to find evidence for him to believe, and instead did the work himself. How could he claim to love you, if he could not confront the man that was soiling you?
Now that traitor had died, and it had been a catharsis—he loved you, the Gods damned him, he did.
At first he had believed you to be complicit, but seeing you on your knees, pleading to have a word with him instead of screaming victorious accusations in his face, he had faltered. How could he imagine that such a pure creature as you, the woman he had devoted himself to and bound his soul to, was able to betray him in such an intimate way?
It would have been so easy for a man to use your grief against you, or worse, use your mother’s current betrayal to manipulate you. Aemond had enemies since he had proclaimed himself regent, and he supposed using his wife was an easy way to wound him.
Now he stood more alone than he had ever been before, and desperate to have an equal at his side, someone to defend his claim, and while he knew that you would never relinquish your loyalty to your mother, you could not deny your love for him.
Therefore he had prayed, in those moments you had pleaded with him on your knees, that you had been coerced, and his heartbreak had lessened when you had admitted to it.
Aemond walked into his chambers where you had been brought and found you seated near the fire, your bare feet tucked under your nightgown. It was the middle of the night and yet you were awake, your eyes rimmed with red and your face flushed with exertion.
“The man is dead. I killed him for daring to touch and touch what is mine,” he announced calmly, and your only answer was a shudder. You stood carefully but did not walk towards him. He loathed to see you, a creature made for love and all the purest things in this world, rattled in such a way.
“He did not die right away, I made sure he had the time to regret ever looking in your direction. I made sure he knew nothing but pain,” he continued, his voice soft as velvet, relishing the pain he had inflicted upon this traitor.
He came to stand before you, his thumb tracing the curve of your chin, enjoying the shiver of fright that went through you at his words. His lips pressed to your forehead and you startled at the touch.
“What will you do now?” you asked, your voice trembling, with hope, with fear. “Annul our marriage, surely.”
“Annulment?” Aemond inquired, bewildered and slightly offended. “You think I am allowed the privilege of annulment? Furthermore, you might be my wife but you are your mother’s daughter, and that is dangerous. As long as I breatheI will never let go of you.”
Aemond tilted his head to the side, examining you with attention, from your wide eyes to your trembling lower lip. “While he was begging for my mercy he swore to the Seven gods that he had not taken you by force,” he told you, attentive for the most minute reaction from you. “You would not do this to me, would you, my love?”
“No, I would not,” you whispered desperately, your promise a hot breath against the pad of his thumb.
Aemond wanted to weep with how sweetly you begged, and he swallowed against the acrid taste of doubt in the back of his throat. There was not enough bravery in the world for him to confront his treacherous thoughts, that you had been complicit in this affair, and that there was nothing honest in your accusation. You did not know the power you held over him, and how he was the one trembling at the mere thought of your willing transgression.
The truth was he would rather see you dead and mourn your loss than see you in the arms of another man—he wished to own you, possess you, only for the ultimate certainty that you would never leave his side. He could never believe you had turned from him, lest he shattered his own spirit irrevocably.
“You will always be mine, will you, my dearest niece?” he asked.
In that moment he appeared so vulnerable that something in you wavered, and you were reminded of the gentle man you thought you had known in the earlier days of your marriage. You loathed him for what he had become, and for what he had forced you to do in order to survive, and a deep, buried part of you was desperate to turn back the hands of time and retrieve your lost husband.
“I will,” you pretended to vow, damning yourself in front of the Gods, but you did not know where your dishonesty truly lied. You knew he was the most dangerous when he was wounded, and sought to soothe him, pushing yourself up on unsteady toes to seek his mouth.
When he did not return your tentative kiss, you were tempted to fall to your knees once more, but he stopped you with a hand below your chin. “Dry your tears, my love,” he soothed, and you wondered how death could be so beautiful.
Slowly, Aemond walked you back to his bed with a precise idea in mind, delighting in how pliant you were. He knew what had to be done now that he had avenged you and himself. You had been tainted, and for both your sake and his, he had to reclaim you.
“I will not have this man be the last one to touch you,” he said, his hands going for his belt and unbuckling it, making quick work of the clasps of his doublet.
“Uncle—” you tried to appeal to his better nature, but he was determined.
“Disrobe, let me see what is mine,” he ordered, and you knew you had to commit to the choice you had made in order to survive.
Without a word, you bared yourself to his sight, your trembling hands pulling at the laces of your gown and letting it fall to the ground. You shuddered under his piercing gaze when you thought it should not have been him to touch you on this night, but it seemed the Gods had seen it fit to bring you back to your husband. He mirrored you, shedding his layers of leather until he stood just as bare, but no less menacing.
You shuddered when he traced the curve of your breast with the pad of his thumb, followed the crease between them down to your belly, then slipped two fingers between your folds. “Did you take pleasure with him?” he asked, touching you with ease and practice, forcing you to close your eyes and focus on your composure.
“Never,” you breathed, attempting to ignore the slow wave of his fingers at your most sensitive place.
The length of his silver hair fell over your chest as he dipped his head and kissed your throat, making you shiver. You fought against all your instincts, closing your eyes again against the onslaught of regretful tears that burned your eyes. Aemond might have wounded you more than you ever thought was possible and yet, he was the only one who knew how to touch you. While your affair had provided comfort, nothing like your husband’s touch could exhilarate you.
You bitterly regretted that he had not been born at your side, and you loathed to be bound to him. Rooted to the spot and kept in place by his mouth to your skin and his fingers pushing inside of you, one last instinct finally kicked into action. “Aemond, please,” you cried out, but it only served to incense him.
“Do as I say, it is for your own good,” Aemond said as he forced you to lay on the bed, taking his rightful place between your thighs. “You need to be reminded who you belong to,” he added before claiming your mouth as well, swallowing your cry when he pushed his length inside of you.
His slim waist was clutched between your knees when you arched away from the mounting pressure, his cock sheathing itself. Aemond pulled one of your wrists and held it to the sheets, and judging from the victorious look on his face, you could tell your true feelings were visible.
“Look at me,” he said when you turned your head away.
Bracing his weight on your more firmly, his free hand slithered between his flat stomach and your own, seeking your core once more. He teased it with a brief touch, then another, then pressed firmer in rhythm with the rocking of his hips—it made you cry out and arch your back, the dual sensation pulling at your core like a hook.
“Did you beg for him the same way you beg for me?” he asked, vicious, and a great shudder of fright ran up your spine, suddenly afraid he had figured you out. Perhaps he had, or perhaps he was caught in his heartsick delusions, the result was the same—you cried out when you realized what he wanted from you.
“Aemond, no,” you pleaded. “Not like this.”
It seemed that taking you was not enough, that he needed your pleasure for his revenge over your lover to be complete. The tight circles his thumb was drawing on your core were clouding your mind and taking your words from you, and for a frightful moment you found yourself wondering why you had ever desired another’s touch.
Suddenly his sins and his twisted soul did not seem so terrible when he was taking you so well, practiced and precise. The rolling of his hips was more of a snap now, stretching you with each thrust and making your limbs seize in pleasure.
“It is the only way for us, now,” he said, his teeth at the tender spot under your jaw. “You allowed this man to touch you! Answer me, did you cry for him like this, did you beg me as you are begging me?”
“I did not,” you protested, far too weakly, fearing the intensity of your release, which was creeping at the apex of your thighs, making you clench around his cock.
Aemond moaned, incensed and wild, and the sight of him only spurred you on. His grip at your wrist was grounding you, his wide eye spearing you to the spot, and you hungered for his mouth, for his kiss, or perhaps you wished to hide from his piercing gaze. As he looked down, you thought you were entirely seen, entirely discovered.
“Did you think of me when he was inside of you?” Aemond crooned, a wicked grin at his lips, and that was your undoing.
Pleasure crested deep in your core and you were powerless to stop it. A great sob was pulled from your chest, tears rolling down your cheeks as you surrendered to the waves of your release. Shudders rocked your entire frame, the pleasure so sharp and sudden you could hardly breathe, and for a moment you were suspended above your body, in that breathless state of ecstasy.
Aemond pressed a clumsy kiss to the side of your face, laughing victoriously until his own breath caught and he buried his moans in your neck, his hips stuttering against yours.
Guilt coiled behind your breastbone as you laid there, pleasure still coursing through your limbs, Aemond kissing a few, lingering kisses between your flushed breasts. “I have neglected you for my duties to the crown,” he lamented, panting. “I left you alone to be the victim of sin. I will not make that mistake again.”
When he pulled back, his face was hard but his eye was soft, still, and the way he looked at you reminded you of the night of your wedding, his softness, his hesitance.
“From now on, you shall remain in my chambers under heavy guard,” he said, his hand releasing your wrist only to circle your throat gently, his thumb pressing into the center of it until nausea rose in your stomach.
It was the same hand that had held his sword, that had murdered your lover—and yet it was so soft and warm, you wanted to surrender to it.
"At the beginning, Alys is very much Aemond's carer. And as we get to know her over the course of the episode, there might be something more." – Ewan Mitchell
HOUSE OF THE DRAGON | Season 3, Episode 5, "Unbowed and Unbent"
The challengers trotted back to the south end of the lists to await their foes: Ser Abelar in silver and smoke colors, a stone watchtower on his shield, crowned with fire; the two Lannisters all crimson, bearing the golden lion of Casterly Rock; the Laughing Storm shining in cloth-of-gold, with a black stag on breast and shield and a rack of iron antlers on his helm; Lord Tully wearing a striped blue-and-red cloak clasped with a silver trout at each shoulder. (…) At the north end of the field (…) the equal of their foes: the Ashfords’ billowing orange silks, Ser Humfrey’s red-and-white diamonds, Lord Leo on his white charger with green satin trappings patterned with golden roses, and of course Valarr Targaryen. The Young Prince’s horse was black as night, to match the color of his armor, lance, shield, and trappings. Atop his helm was a gleaming three-headed dragon, wings spread, enameled in a rich red; its twin was painted upon the glossy black surface of his shield. Each of the defenders had a wisp of orange silk knotted about an arm, favors bestowed by the fair maid.
A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
1.02 Hard Salt Beef
Have you ever seen the Hightower at Oldtown, Ser Criston? Ormund and I had a game, to "run the tower." You'd start at the base before dawn and aim to be the first one to see the sun rise from the beacon. Of course, I let him win. He was a thin-skinned twat even then.
I have had these made. Do you think it's a good likeness? You are the sign our allies have been waiting for. The son of Viserys, the beacon shining from the High Tower. From the lowliest of the faithful to Borros Baratheon himself.
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