Summary: Married off to King Aegon, she endures humiliation and betrayal in silence until his brother, Prince Aemond sees the fire in her that Aegon never could. Bound by resentment and forbidden desire, they forge a dangerous connection in the shadows. But in a court built on lies and whispers, even the strongest secrets cannot remain hidden forever.
Warnings: mentions of drinking, cheating, and other explicit content. 18+ MDI.
Word count: 5.3k
You can’t breathe.
You stand there. Your fists balling at your sides. Watching as your lord husband coos at a child in its mother's arms no older than a month. There was no mistaking that bastard was his, the silver hair, violet eyes, the blood of Old Valyria plain for all to see.
When the news of the prince's return from the south was announced, you had your girls put in their finest dresses and rushed them down to the great hall to greet their father, whom they loved dearly despite his lack of attention. You listened as your husband's arrival was announced and watched as the large doors were pulled open. Aegon came into view, and then another young woman stepped from behind him carrying what looked to be a small ball of knot of blankets nestled in her arms. Suddenly, hushed voices filled the room, and you were greeted with nothing more than a sharp slap to the face, one that you refused to show the sting of.
You watch the scene unfold in front of you staring at the woman, a love-sick smile plastered across her face as she watches your husband lavish over her child. Long pale hair frames her sharp-featured face, her beauty like a shadow.
Anger burns your eyelids, tears threaten to spill but you quickly blink them away before looking down at your own two beautiful daughters who have yet to see their fifth name day. Your eldest tugs on your dress confusion, lacing her features as she mumbles something you don’t quite catch, too focused on controlling your boiling emotions.
It takes everything in you not to crumble you’d been betrayed, blindsided, lied to, but that wasn’t the worst of it oh no not by far. The humiliation was far superior. You could feel the eyes of those who gathered in court, it felt as though a thousand knives were pricking your skin.
You ignore the sound of your name too focused on Aegon, gods what you would give to slap that stupid fucking smile off his face one that you’d never had the pleasure of seeing not even when he had the decency of looking at his own daughters.
Slowly the pieces start to fall into place the frequent and lengthy trips that were ‘none of your concern’, the letters you were warned not to open. You had your suspicions sure, you knew of his numerous visits to the street of silk and had heard the whispers of silver-headed children born to whores, but that is what princes do is it not? They father a dozen bastards and no one blinks an eye. So you’d managed to tuck your feelings away never asking questions for a good wife didn’t pry, you let your love for him blind you. How foolish you were to think that anything outside of wine and whores would ever be enough for your dear husband.
Aegon lifts his head, eyes drifting from the babe’s face to yours, his expression one of mock innocence. Not an ounce of shame present, in truth you hadn’t expected any. The woman’s gaze soon follows her lover’s. Her eyes locking onto yours, she offers you a careless smile that almost shatters your composer. Pride is what keeps you standing there, stopping your sour words from spilling, replacing them with gritted teeth and clenching fists.
Aemond was trying his damndest to hide his amusement, he stood to the left of his mother, whose attention was completely occupied by her son and his mistress. Aemond’s attention, on the other hand, was entirely focused on you. His gaze burns into you like a branding iron, observing your every move. His eyes drift down to your hands where your nails dig crescent moons into your palms. He watches as your stare locks onto the child in the woman's arms trying so desperately to keep your tranquility as you search your husband's face desperate for answers that you already knew. If looks could kill Aegon would’ve burst into flames.
Aemond never cared much for the details which involved his brother's intimate life, though he knew his tendencies and how often he indulged in whatever tempting pleasure brothels had to offer and this bastard he had managed to father one of many didn’t surprise him. However, his acknowledgment of the child did. The bastard being a long desired son was sure to have undoubtedly influenced his brother’s hysterical decision for you had only provided him with daughters. That was the jest of it all was it not? A southern whore grants a prince what his own wife could not. Aemond admired your restraint and how carefully you played your hand, you mimicked your uncle in that way never allowing your emotions to spill publicly rather preferring private outbursts in fear of tarnishing your stainless reputation.
He could remember when you’d first arrived in Kings Landing, how naive you once were. You had not always been Aegon's plaything or the subject of his scorn, once you had been the jewel of your house, a favored niece of Ser Otto Hightower. The old hand raised you in his shadow whispering lessons of power and patience. He had sharpened your tongue with histories, and trained your eyes to see through the honeyed lies of courtiers. Your father, a lesser son of the Hightower line had little to offer beyond loyalty, and so it was Otto who took you under his wing.
He saw in you what he had long lamented in Alicent, steel where there was softness, calculation where there was obedience. It was he who placed you in King’s landing, at first as a companion to Queen Alicent, then as a lady at court in your own right. And it was he who maneuvered your marriage to Aegon suggesting you as a suitable match for the eldest prince, with hope to weave more of his own blood deeper into a line of kings. This proposition did not go unnoticed by the king and his easy agreeable nature as within a month Viserys agreed for he had long feared that his son’s appetites would be his undoing.
“A strong wife.” Otto had said, “Might make a strong king.”
You had not been asked. You had been told. Yet even then, you did not protest.
At first, you dreamed you might succeed where Alicent had failed, where duty and patience might shape the boy into a man. But Aegon was already lost, a creature of taverns and brothels surrounded by those too fearful to speak the truth. He laughed at your counsels, spurned your bed, and mocked the dignity you tried so desperately to instill in him. In time he came to resent you for the very qualities had praised.
In time the marriage bed grew cold, while Aegon stumbled from whorehouse to throne. You were expected to smile, to bear it, to endure the whispers. All the while you carried the weight of your uncle's expectations that you should tether Aegon, control him, mold him into something resembling a king.
Instead you became the target for his failings. “Too proud,” he said of you when the talk of his infidelity was whispered through the halls. “Too barren,” when his drunken seed never quickened in your womb. “Disgraced.” when you only bore him daughters
And so little by little the jewel you once were became tarnished. You became the woman the court mocked in whispers. Only Aemond ever looked at you and saw not failure but fire.
The night continued without delay as a feast had been prepared for the prince's return, one that you may have enjoyed if not for the disgusting sight of Aegon and his whore doting on the product of their disgraceful affair. Which resulted in you indulging in more than a few goblets of arbor wine in hopes that it would distract you from your ever-growing anger.
He’d been glued to the woman’s fucking side ever since he’d arrived refusing to take his eyes off the squirming brat for more than a few moments rejecting anyone's attempt at conversation. Until he calls out to your two sweet daughters beckoning them over to where he stood. Your girls, ever obedient make their way to their father the eldest, sparing you a glance as they pass. Aegon’s smile widens as they approach scooping the babe out of its mother's arms while lowering himself to one knee presenting the child before them as if it were some sort of astonishing trophy.. Bile rises in your throat, your breathing turns shallow as your eyes stalk the scene playing out before you.
Your hands grip your skirt, the fabric being stretched taut. You want nothing more than to lunge at him, to rake your nails down that arrogant face, remind him of the vows that he has so carelessly cast aside for a mere night of pleasure. Your eyes lock onto the scene as your youngest’s hand slowly reaches for the babes, Aegon’s face beaming with pride. It was if a dark storm was clouding your vision the thought of your perfect daughters touching the product of Aegon's retching desire was almost enough for you to break.
The sound of your seat scraping across the cold stone floor echoes through the great hall once loud conversations dimming into faint whispers. The silence was deafening so much so that you could hear your own heartbeat drumming in your ears, the hall had become nothing more than a stage, with an audience patiently waiting for your reaction as if this was all some twisted play. Yet you endure.
Aegon catches your eye then, rising from his knee tilting the babe as to give you a better look.
“Is he not the very Image of me? A true prince of the realm.” His tone drips with arrogance, his words only feeding the fire that smolders within you.
The tension in the hall was palpable hanging in the air like a thick fog, the only sound being the soft whimpering of the child curled in your husband’s arms. Your words are caught in your throat replaced by a bitter rage, your composure only a fragile mask threatening to shatter with each passing moment.
“You are a disgrace. You and your whore. Damn your son who shall never be a king” Gods how you long to scream those words make him feel even a drip of the humiliation you felt, but they never escape your thoughts. Instead, you remove yourself from the hall away from prying eyes, away from the overwhelming pain this day had brought forth. It was too much to bear. Tears begin to spill from your eyes burning your cheeks as you rush through the halls of the red keep desperate to be alone. Guards stationed throughout the hall are dismissed with a mere flick of your hand.
You find yourself engulfed in a wave of rage even more powerful than the last when coming face to face with the doors which led to the chambers shared with your cunt of a husband. Slamming the large oak doors open you storm inside letting them crash behind you. Never have you felt so belittled, so degraded. Your husband's cruel display of infidelity mocked the loyalty you’d once given, dissolving any ounce of it left turning it into bitter rage.
The room acted as a shield granting you solitude from prying eyes, a comfort you welcomed. Suddenly with a strangled sob you lash out cursing Aegon, his whore, and his childish games. All rationality leaves your mind as you grab the nearest object, an ornate glass pitcher filled with sweet wine and cast it across the room with a guttural cry. It shatters against the wall sending fragments of glass across the stone floor, dark red liquid splatters onto a nearby rug sure to leave a stain. Blinded by anger you snatch up anything you can reach, tearing the chamber apart piece by piece ripping green velvet curtains from their rod before moving on to a table swiping off all that lays on top. Everything becomes a target, a victim of the hostility you so wished to inflict upon your husband. Each crash and clatter echoed through the room, once beautiful decorations now litter the floor.
The only thing halting your assault was the creaking of the door causing you to whirl around and hurl a large tome you had unknowingly picked up towards the sound it smacks the wall mere inches from the door, half expecting it to be Aegon you pick up another ready to aim for him when he comes into view. Except it wasn’t him it was his fucking brother instead, you were disappointed to say the least as you were looking forward to seeing that book slam into his smug little face.
You snarl “Get out.” The demand is simple yet Aemond fails to move causing you to decide that any Targaryen would do as you launch the book directly at him to which he steps aside letting it hit the floor with a disappointing thud. He begins walking towards you making you pick up a miraculously un-shattered goblet throwing it at him not paying much care to your aim. He lets out a low amused laugh while shaking his head watching as the glass shatters when it collides with the ground.
He takes his time looking around the room, a smile plays at his lips upon seeing the product of your wrath. “I rather like it in here. It seems to hold far more entertainment than the events beheld at the feast.” His words mock your emotions making you scoff.
“I have no care for your miserable words, Get out!” You make the demand once again praying for his retreat, yet it never comes. Your words only edge him on giving him a sense of competition to which he is more than happy to indulge in.
“Gods, I will not be your jester Aemond!” You snap, unable to stop tears from spilling, angrily brushing them away as soon as they come.
He cocks his head. “Did I ask that of you?”
You throw your hands into the air, your voice holding onto a harsh bite. “Then what? What are you here for? To twist a knife further into a bitter wound? To further my humiliation, is that it? Is that why you have come?
“Ah, yes, I’d almost forgotten about my brother and his beloved bastard.” He taunts. “Such a pleasant surprise, is it not? I can only assume the mother is more than content, her own little prince being paraded around for all to see.” His words leave a vile sting in their wake.
“How dare you.” You breathe. “How dare you mock my pain!” You make a move, striding across the room in search of yet another object to throw. “You will never fathom what this has done to me; my honor is forever marred by the loins of your vile brother, who will place his bastard child above all else!” You think of your daughters in that moment, their inheritance being ripped away so easily being pushed aside by that little brat. Your eyes stray from Aemond for a second too long, allowing him to catch you off guard. He takes a mere three strides before he has a hold of you, grabbing your wrists, knocking out a candelabra you’d picked up.
You struggle in his grasp. “Let go of me!”
“Do you plan on continuing your fit?” He is behind you now with an arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his hand snakes to your jaw, keeping your head in place forcing you to look at the destruction.
He rests his chin on your shoulder. “Look at the mess you’ve made.”
“It is your brother’s mess.” You snap, trying again to release yourself from his hold, the back of your head crashes into his mouth. A faint grunt leaves him, as your retaliation is met with a hand clasping around your neck, testing a squeeze which halts your movement.
“My dear, how angry you are.” he tsks while moving to stand in front of you, wiping at the soreness with the back of his hand, his other still settled on your neck as he starts to push forward, stopping only when your back meets the cold stone. “Such a distasteful way for a lady to behave.”
His gaze meets yours for a moment before glancing to where your breasts rise and fall almost spilling from your bodice, his hand travels from your neck as he reaches for the decorated necklace nestled between them, his fingers trace the intricately woven sapphires molded together with gold. He shakes his head, letting out a short laugh.
“Such a shame.” His voice was barely audible as if he was speaking only to himself.
“No.” Your voice is stern. “You will not pity me Aemond,” his name escapes your lips with a crack.
“Pity you I do not, though I do envy my dear brother.” He is calm with his words not a hint of malice intertwined.
“Envy?” The word leaves you like venom. “Do you envy him his whore? Or the shame he throws upon his wife?
Aemond’s lips twist into a faint ghost of a smile tugging at the scar that marred his cheek. “Neither.” He speaks almost softly. “ I envy him you.”
His words stilled you, more cruel than any jest could have been. His single violet eye burns into yours unflinching. “Aegon squanders all that is given to him. He drinks, he whores, he pisses away the crown's dignity, but you? You are the only treasure he does not even see he owns.”
His hand still curled loosely around your throat, slides lower until it rests against your collarbone, his touch deceptively light. “The gods mock us.” He murmurs his head tilting slightly, “when a whoremonger like Aegon is blessed with a son, while you..” His gaze lowers pointed and cruel, “you have given him only daughters.”
The bite of his words pierced sharper than you wished to show. Your jaw clenches as you try and hold your tongue.
“You think yourself cruel Aemond,” You spit, pushing at his chest though he does not budge “but you are only bitter and jealous, jealous of a life you so wish to live.” This made him laugh sharp and joyless.
“Jealous? Perhaps. Do you think I can not see it? If my seed quickened in your belly, if you bore my sons, they would not be cast aside for some southern whores whelp, they would sit the throne with the fire and blood to keep it.”
You should have struck him for such words. You should have spat in his face, screamed, denied him and his vile ideas. But instead you found yourself still, trembling, not with fear but with rage. Rage for Aegon, for his bastard son, for the humiliation you had been forced to endure before the eyes of the court. All while Aemond’s words coiled inside you like a serpent, whispering truths you could not ignore.
“How dare you speak of such treason!” You force out, though your voice cracked.
His jaw tightened, his eye set ablaze. “Treason? No. Aegon's reign is a poison against the very crown he wears. You know it to be true and so do I.” Aemond leans closer, his breath hot at your ear. “Better sons might yet be born. Sons with purpose. Sons with claim. Only if you wished it.”
You closed your eyes. For a heartbeat you saw Aegon’s smug smile, the bastard babe snuggled in his arms, the whispers and wandering eyes of the court. You saw your daughters, your beautiful innocent daughters being pushed aside for a whores child. And in that moment the venom that had been festering within you spilled free.
When you opened your eyes, they burned with something cold and sharp. “And if I did wish it?” You asked your voice scarcely above a whisper, “If I bore you sons.. What then Aemond?”
For the first time his composure faltered, a flicker of hunger crossed his face though it faded right as it came. “Then the realm would remember their names long after Aegon’s rule is spat upon and forgotten, your dear daughters would not dare be cast aside. My sons and yours would hold the Iron Throne with dragonfire.”
You exhale slow and steady. Hatred for your husband churned with a dark thrill at the thought. To wound Aegon as he did you, to shame him as he did you, to replace him with sons of your own making, sons not of his weak, drunken loins but of his brother’s cold steel.
At last you give a single measured nod. “Then perhaps my prince, we should see to it that the gods are mocked no longer.”
Aemond’s smile was thin and sharp. “I had wondered when you’d cease playing the dutiful wife.” His voice like venom wrapped in silk.
He did not leave then, instead he lingered his eyes raking over you in a way that stripped you bare. Slowly, deliberately he reached for your hand lifting it as though he meant to kiss it, but his lips never touched. He only held it, tight enough for you to feel the strength coiled in him, tight enough to remind you that he could take what he wished.
“You have been wronged,” his voice low, each word deliberate.
“Shamed before the whole court. Laughed at, pitied, scorned, Aegon would see you crawl in the dirt while he struts like a cock. I would see you raised higher than him.” His hand caresses the side of your face, his touch feather-light.
Your mouth was dry, your throat aching, but you forced the words out. “And what would you ask in return?”
His lips twitch into a humorless grin. “Only what Aegon squanders. A wife of beauty, of pride, of cunning. And sons to carry my name.”
The brazier by the hearth crackled, throwing long shadows across his sharp features. For the first time you felt truly seen not as Aegon’s wife, not some ornament in the Hightower scheme, but as a woman in her own right. And yet that gaze was terrifying in its clarity, as if he had already decided your fate.
When you did not answer, Aemond steps closer. So that your skirts brushed his boots, so close that his breath stirred the loose strands of your hair. His hand came to your chin, tilting your face upward until you were forced to meet his eye.
“Every time you look upon that whore’s brat in my brother’s arms, you will think of me. And of the sons we might bare.”
His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, a touch light as a whisper but sharp enough to leave you trembling. Instead, you stood frozen, your heart pounding like a war drum.
His hand fell from your chin only to graze along your jaw down the line of your throat, lingering at the hollow where your pulse beat frantically beneath his fingers.
“Tell me, do you dream of it?” His voice was a whisper now, silk over steel. “Of a throne that should have been yours, of a crown placed on your children’s brows? My children. Our children.”
The fire popped loudly, but neither of you looked away. The chamber was silent save for the hammering of your pulse. His nearness was suffocating, intoxicating, dreadful and yet you leaned the smallest fraction closer, as if drawn into his orbit despite yourself.
Aemond’s lips hovered a breath from yours, the faintest ghost of contact brushing against them before he pulled back, denying you, denying himself. The cruelty of it sent heat rising in your chest, fury and want tangled so tightly you could not tell one from the other.
“I will not take what you do not give,” he said softly, though his eyes burned with the promise that he could. “But you will give in time. You will come to me, begging, and when you do, you will not crawl as you do for Aegon. You will stand.”
He closed the distance, and something like a bargain was sealed in the space where breath met breath. His hands tangle in your hair as desperate heavy breaths escape him. His mouth moves to your neck licking hot strips that send shivers down your spine, soft moans leave your mouth as his desire grows more vigorous. His hands move to your bodice pulling it low to expose your breasts before dropping his mouth to meet them you tilt your head your eyes squeezed shut, your hands now intertwined in his silver hair silently begging him for more. His mouth leaves your breast with a pop.
Aemond’s hands begin to work at the ties of your dress quickly untying them letting the fabric pool at your feet, he takes a step back looking over your body with a deep hunger in his eye his hands glide down your waist settling on your hips his head now resting on yours, shallow breathes leave you as his wandering hands go lower.
“Jorepnon.” The word rolled off his tongue like melted gold, though you have lived among the Targaryens for sometime Valyrian was still so foreign to you.
The look of confusion on your features makes Aemond release a breathy laugh, his hand now under your chin, the pad of his thumb pulling at your bottom lip.
“Beg.” His voice was low, the lust rolling in his eye, he yanks your head backwards, firm grip on your hair. “Beg.” The command was sharper this time sending fear through you but it faded as fast as it had come.
“Please..” Your voice was barely a whisper, only making Aemond’s patience wear thin. “Please Aemond.” Your tone now desperate, desperate to obey him.
His face crashes into yours, the kiss more heated than the last, his tongue teases your lips to which you happily let him in your tongues now dancing with each other. His hand moves from your hips to your ass squeezing the soft flesh, your body is heated with desire.
Somehow in the midst of all of it he had guided you to the bed your legs hitting the soft fabric of the plush blanket that rests on top, before he pushes you to your back he admires you for a moment your hair splayed out before you, your body starting to glisten with a sheer sweat. Aemond starts to sink to his knees, confusing you, making you try and sit up to which his hands push you down, one now laying firmly over your hips keeping you in place the other gliding down your thigh.
“Gevie..” The word is soft, his eye catching yours as his feathers kisses down your stomach before stopping at your mound. Your head falls back waiting in anticipation though Aemond is never one to wait too long.
He licks a long strip through your folds making shallow breaths escape you, his grip on you is firm, his free hand moves to your cunt as he pushes one finger inside and then two. Your eyes squeeze shut soft moans now echoing off the walls, his pace grew faster as you got closer the sounds leaving your lips growing louder and louder and then, he stopped. You lift your head angry that he had denied you release yet you say nothing the look on his face was enough for your pleas to subside.
Aemond moves to shed his own clothes quickly untying his tunic and then his trousers fumbling with the lacing before finally pulling them off. You can’t help but stare, his skin was like porcelain almost completely untouched, it was as if the gods had sculpted him themselves.
You rise to your elbows as he crawls over you, his manhood now resting on your stomach while his lips trail hot kisses down your neck, before they settle on yours. It was different than before, he was softer. The kiss was slow, intimate, one could almost cry.
He shifts his weight to one arm, the other sliding his member through your folds, soft grunts leave him as your hand comes to tenderly touch his face.
“Aemond..” Your voice was light, your eyes pleading for more. “Let me bare you sons.”
In one quick motion he sinks inside you, letting out a low moan. His pace is agonizingly slow at first one hand on your shoulder the other with a grip on your hip lifting your leg to his shoulder. His eye meets yours for a single moment, the hunger now more evident than ever.
He begins pounding into you, his fingers digging into your flesh sure to leave bruising. Your soft moans growing louder, if you weren’t so sure that your dear husband was fucking his whore you would have feared him stumbling upon the scene oh what a sight that would be.
Your nails rack down his arms making him hiss, the vulgar sounds of your skin meeting fill the air. He flips you over then pounding you from behind his hand now pushing your face into the bed, your moans muffled by the lush blankets. Aemond’s pace grows sloppy, hinting at his release, yours not too far behind. His hand slips to your clit rubbing delicious circles, making you fall over the edge with a lewd moan. He continues to pound into you furthering your high, it was too much. You cry out, the pleasure to great though his pace never falters as he chases his own release. He cums with a low groan, his seed spilling inside you he continues to slowly pump in and out desperate for his seed to quicken in your womb.
Aemond leans down his breath hot at your ear, his hand now cupping your belly. “Our son shall rule.” His voice was dangerously low.
─────────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────────
Weeks had passed since that night, and in time your belly began to swell. The king was deep in his cups when you found him. Wine slicked his lips, and the stink of it hung about him like a cloak. He was slouched upon the chair by the fire, crown crooked upon his pale brow. Aemond lingered at the far wall, silent, one hand folded neatly behind his back as though he were carved from stone.
“Aegon,” you said softly, smoothing your skirts. “I have news.”
He squinted at you, then laughed, clumsy and half-slurred. “Gods, don’t look so solemn. What? My lord father risen from the grave to scold me? Or did some septon choke on his prayers?”
A small smile adorned your lips “I am with child.”
The words filled the chamber like a bell tolling. Aegon blinked, then lurched forward nearly spilling his cup. “A child?” His grin cracked wide teeth stained red with wine. “By the gods my heir! Mine!” He staggered to his feet, seizing your hands in his clumsy grip. “You’ve done your duty at last wife. My son, my prince! At last.”
You let him hold you, let him kiss your knuckles with wet careless lips. Your face was serene, though your belly clenched with something colder than fear.
Behind him, Aemond’s eye gleamed in the firelight. He had not moved, not spoken but his gaze found yours, and in it you read the truth unspoken. His mouth curled, the barest shadow of a smile so fleeting Aegon never saw it.
“My son,” Aegon repeated, swaying as he spoke. He clutched you as though you were a prize he’d won in some drunken game.
“He’ll be king one day. Aegon the Third! Or perhaps Jaehaerys, eh? A name to make the histories tremble.” He threw back his head and laughed, wild and graceless.
You only nodded, eyes lowered. A dutiful wife. A dutiful queen.
But when you raised them again, they found Aemond’s. He had not looked away.
And you thought, Not his son. Yours.
“Iā drēje dārilaros hen dārion.” Aemond’s voice was low as he spoke, Aegon looked at him, confusion lacing his features, Aemond then repeated his words this time so his daft brother could understand him.
Summary: You arrive in Winterfell lending aid to House Stark but seeing Jon brings back lost feelings you both share.
Warnings: mentions of drinking, kissing, fluff.
Word count: 1.4k
Your heart pounded in your chest as you rode through the gates of Winterfell the familiarity of the high stone walls and the sight of Stark banners bringing back the memories of your childhood. You had, in the past, spent many years in Winterfell growing up with the Stark children. Your father became a good friend of Ned Stark; while fighting alongside each other during Robert's rebellion. Leading to many years spent in the castle.
You arrived in the courtyard of Winterfell, the cloak you’re wearing doing surprisingly little to suppress the cold winds of the North. You had been called as a bannerman of house Stark to lend aid and fight the white walkers beyond the wall. You look around, all the people of Winterfell seem to have solemn faces ‘it’s quieter than I remember’ you think to yourself while dismounting your horse stirrups rattling, the stable boy rushes over to take the reins from your gloved hands leading your horse away. Your men follow you, dismounting their horses, gathering their things and moving supplies, all of a sudden the yard is buzzing with movement.
“Y/n!” you turn at the sound of your name to see Sansa walking towards you, “lady Stark” you bow slightly she lets out a small laugh as she embraces you, “you mustn't call me that y/n” she smiles “well you are lady of the North are you not” you ask “that I am yes, but to you it will always be just Sansa” she states “very well than Sansa” you smile “take me to Lord Snow.”
The castle is darker than you remember, as Sansa leads you through the doors of the great hall, you catch sight of Jon, the young man you once remembered as a solemn and brooding child.
Walking past the large tables in the middle of the hall you pull off your gloves, you look up to see Jon sitting at the high table reading a letter “Jon” Sansa says he looks up, his face breaking into a warm smile when his eyes land on you. You can’t help but smile back. You haven’t seen Jon in a long time, not since before he left to join the Night’s Watch. “My lord,” you take a slight bow, he stands and begins to walk towards you not saying a word, his gaze lingering.
Finally he speaks “My lady”. He lets out a small laugh before wrapping his arms around you, you can feel the warmth radiating off of him even with the layers of fur between you, he lets go resting his hands on your shoulders before they move to cup your face.
“Look at you” he mutters, eyes raking across you he pulls away “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“I’m sworn to House Stark my lord” you reply “it is an honor to fight for your family.”
“My lord” Jon repeated “since when were you one to be so formal”? He teased.
You can’t help but smirk, while walking past him with your hands clasped behind your back making your way to the table running your fingers along the edge,the teasing tone in Jon’s voice luring out your own wit. “And here I thought that being declared King of the North automatically earned you the title of ‘my lord’.”
Jon chucked, a low rumble escaping his throat, “yes it does except, we grew up together there is no need for formality between us.”
“I suppose you're right” you agree, your voice lightening. “However don’t let that get to your head, a little formality never hurt anyone.”
Jon raises an eyebrow playfully. “Is that so? Then perhaps I should start using ‘my lady’ whenever I address you.”
You laugh “you can certainly try but, I can’t promise I won’t retaliate”
Jon shakes his head, a smile dancing on his lips.
A fortnight had passed since you'd first arrived back in Winterfell, and tonight you were dining with the Starks and their men in the great hall, enjoying the loud conversations and laughter ringing throughout the room. It had been a long while since you’d allowed yourself a good time. You spent the night laughing and socializing with the others. Not noticing the way Jon was looking at you.
As the talking and laughter slowly began to die, people began to retire to their chambers, you being one of them as the fatigue from the day's ride was finally wearing on you. Standing up making your way out to a long hallway lined with sconces providing a small amount of light as you pass various chambers while walking to your own.
Opening the door you’re greeted with warmth radiating from the fireplace, you walk to a small table in the corner of the room picking up a few letters that you had yet to open, before dropping them back down rubbing your temples knowing that the night would be full of endless reading.
Jon hadn’t put much thought into what he was about to do, maybe it was the wine or maybe it was just pure ignorance he thought to himself, as he was making his way through the dimly lit corridors. When he arrived at the door, his heart was pounding in his chest taking a deep breath before he raised his fist to leave a soft knock.
While on your 3rd letter of the night you hear a light knock at your door, getting up from your seat at the table curious as to who it could be. Unlatching the door expecting it to be Sansa you were startled to see Jon standing on the other side.
“Jon” you said surprised “it’s late”
For a moment he didn’t say anything, his gaze lingering on your face.
“Evening” he said “I hope I haven’t disturbed you”
“No, it’s alright” your eyes scanning his face for any indicator of what he was there for. Tilting your head slightly to one side. “Has something happened?” you asked
“No, no, may I come in?”
“Yes of course. Please come in.”
Moving aside Jon steps through, making his way to stand in front of the fireplace. He looks nervous, still thinking something had happened you ask once again.
“Jon” you pause, he looks up, his eyes finally meeting yours. The look on his face starting to worry you.
The silence hung like smoke in the air as you awaited his response.
He mumbles, moving one of his hands to run through his hair, turning back to face the fire watching the flames dance. You cautiously walk up behind him reaching to put a hand on his shoulder, he turns to face you leaning into your touch.
Long forgotten feelings wash over you.
“Jon, please tell me” you insist, your hand now resting at his jaw he leans further into your touch before covering your hand with his. You stayed like this for a short time relishing in the moment, the unspoken understanding filling the space between you. Removing his hand from yours to cup your jaw as he draws himself closer, his eyes searching yours for permission.
You quickly nod, before he closes the gap between you, lips brushing together. Your lips part slightly, letting his tongue slip inside. His hand glides to the nape of your neck, then moving to your waist, pressing your bodies together. You moan into the kiss, hands running through his hair while he trails gentle kisses leading from your jaw to your collarbone, small breaths escaping your lips.
Pulling away, his gaze meeting your own.
“You have no idea what you do to me” he whispers.
The look in his eyes was evidence enough revealing what he felt without uttering a word. Yet he continues to speak. Hands coming back to hold your face.
“I-” he pauses for a brief moment gathering his thoughts. “You are my every thought” He breathes. “The only person able to ground me, make me feel whole. Not a day goes by where I don’t think of you. How I wasted all those years believing I had no chance, only to be standing here right now. With you.”
Tears begin to swell in your eyes threatening to fall.
“You consume every part of me, body and soul.” He gently wipes away the tears that begin to fall. “You are everything to me.”
You smile at him, leaning into his touch.
“I love you.”
The words feel heavy.
He starts to speak afraid of your rejection, you cut him off colliding your lips together for a brief kiss before pulling away resting your forehead against his, shallow breathing filling the room.
“And I you.”
The words so lightly spoken, Jon wasn’t sure he heard them.
Leaning in to kiss you softly once more, running a hand through your hair, his eyes full of nothing but affection. “My lady.”
annaxmalina
origamiaround
jacobvanloon
stormborns
andulkaphoto
baratheonpilled
germansingergirl
2087
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
kianamaiart