Your ghostly lover
Chapter 1
Pairing: Jaime Lannister × Targaryen!Reader × Aemond Targaryen
Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Mentions of Violence and Murder, Mentions of Forced Marriage, Threatening, Isolation, Loneliness, Ghosts and Spirits, Joffrey being Joffrey and butchering some rats
Author's note: This is a House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones-Crossover. The first chapter takes place in the past. The wedding doesn't take place until the Reader is 19.
You're one of the last two living Targaryens. While your sister Daenerys roams free across the Narrow Sea, you're being forced to marry the man who once killed your father. The Kingslayer has yet to find out about the spirit that lives in your mirror and his evil plans.
Six Years Ago
Life was a terrible thing.
In your book, things were going pretty roughly. Was it destiny? Fate? Or maybe you were made to suffer, because of the mistakes you made in your past life. Another theory you had was that you had to pay for the terrible things your ancestors did. Your father, for a start, had been a terrible person. That much was out of question.
Your sister was on her best way to destroy the rest of the world.
Your brothers, they were more complicated. Viserys had been a lost cause, ever since he had been forced to flee. Of course life had taken a toll on him, but did that really make up for all the terrible things he did?
Rhaegar. Rhaegar had been…good, or so you thought. So you had heard.
You missed him. Actually, you missed them all. Without even knowing them.
You were the youngest, the babe of the family, if so you wish. But that didn’t help you much back in the day.
As problems come, this one came fast and unexpected. Your eldest brother died in battle, while your father got murdered by the man who swore to protect him. The same man you were now forced to wed.
Poor, little you. Too tiny and helpless, nothing more than a bundle of joy and youthfulness, when life took its toll on your family. Everyone else either made it out or got butchered.
Daenerys and Viserys were gone. Viserys made sure of it. And of course, he tried his best to keep you safe as well. But to take care of two little babes at once? When he, himself, was no more than a boy?
He set you down for no longer than a minute, desperate to find a way to get out of this godforsaken place. He only had two arms, and yet two little bundles to carry. Three mouths to feed. No milk in sight.
And when the men with the golden colored cloaks came, he had no choice.
It was too late for you anyway. And at least, you wouldn’t know what was going on. You were tiny and helpless. They would make it quick, right?
So, your brother scurried off, your sister in his arm, while you stayed on the concrete, writhing and crying, all cold and alone.
Poor, little you.
And even more so, because it was the Kingslayer himself who found you. They all had the same specific order.
Kill them all.
No matter the age, the size, the gender or how tiny and helpless they were.
He was supposed to kill you.
But when he picked your tiny form up, amethyst eyes full of tears and your little fists swinging through the air, he felt himself smile a sad smile.
A stubborn one. So fierce.
And in the end, he couldn’t do it. He knew, obviously, it might cost him his head. But no matter what or who he was, he wasn’t that.
He was not the right man to butcher a babe. And so he didn’t.
Sooner than later, you found yourself in the arms of the new king. Whatever it was that you possessed – maybe the fire in your big eyes? The innocence? – it gave him pause. To everyone’s great surprise, the new named king didn’t kill you.
If only he did. It would have spared you such heartbreak.
The next few years, you grew up in the Red Keep. Of course you were no one’s child. Expect for your hair color and the amethyst glint in your eyes, there was nothing Targaryen about you.
Aside from your stupid pride and your stubbornness.
You spent your days reading and watching the knights fight in the training yard. Your best chance for some company was your governess, but even that was an old woman, devoid of any emotion.
You were no one’s child.
And you name was given.
The king came from time to time to see how things were going. How you settled in in a world in which you didn’t belong. His children and his gruesome wife eyed you with disdain.
No, that was not true. The eldest one did, and the mother for sure.
The girl was curious and the boy was rather frightened. You loved to make a habit of scaring him. He was like a lost pup and for some reason you found it rather delightful how big his eyes got, whenever you attempted to lunge at him and stopped the last second.
The witch, how you liked to call her, would scold you and threaten you with all kinds of vile crimes, until her tiny, little brother came by and stopped her.
You hated her. You hated everyone.
And what you hated most was how no one spoke to you.
You were no one’s child and you were no one’s responsibility. In court, you saw children with their mothers. They picked them up and cradled them close, when they were weeping.
Weaklings, you thought. But it was not your heart that spoke there. It was your wounded pride and your loneliness.
Oh, how you wished to have a mother. A father. A sibling even. Someone to banter and to argue with, someone who wasn’t Joffrey. He was a twisted little rodent. Someone who cut open living rats, just to see their blood flow and the life leave their eyes as they hissed and cried. Someone who yanked on your hair and cried to his mother when you yanked at his.
Until the witch finally got her will. And you weren’t allowed near anyone. No one spoke to you, unless Tyrion came to fetch you some books. He pitied you, you could tell. How sad was that? Being pitied by the most pitied person in Westeros. Maybe that was the reason, you thought. He knew how it felt. But at least he was someone. You were no-one.
So you read. And you watched. Observed. Listened. But you never spoke.
Everyone was going about their own business, ignoring your existence as good as they could.
Sandor would glance at you with disdain whenever you threw a tantrum, and yet he’d be the one to pull you back, whenever you got into too much trouble.
There was that one time when you were in an especially bad mood. You felt there was no one the world who cared about you and what was far worse, you didn’t care about anyone either. What was there to live for in this godforsaken place?
You mustered up some courage, which wasn’t all too hard. You were a stubborn little wench.
Once the castle got surrounded by darkness, you snuck out of your chambers and blindly stepped your way through the halls. You knew the walls and every stone on the way, because all you did was observe. It wasn’t like you had other children around you to play with. All you had were your books and all the adults you had grown to despise. One more than the other and so on.
So that particular night, you were ready to leave this all behind, cornering the next hallway, when a firm voice stopped you. You froze instantly.
He was that one person you couldn’t quite decipher. You were almost sure, he had never spoken a single word to you. When you caught sight of him, he looked away immediately. It was like there was an invisible wall. And whenever you got too close to it, he pushed you back with all the fervor his constant ignorance and disdain could muster.
“Where do you think you are going?”
With the softest sigh, you turned back around. Your hair was a mess from all the tossing and turning and your eyes glassy by the way you hated life. This one, at least.
“I-“
“No, forget it. Follow me.”
You sighed again and with slow, hesitant steps followed the Kingslayer back to your chambers. He held the door open and ushered you inside. The guards nearby got the scolding of their life, but you? He didn’t regard with yet another glance. He disappeared back into the night and left you alone with your sadness.
You didn’t truly mind. You found, there was something unsettling about him. Of course you knew the rumors about him and his sister, the witch of Westeros. And if one paid close attention, you could see the lewd glanced they’d share from time to time.
It wasn’t that you cared about that per say. It was more that you couldn’t understand how anyone ever managed to love that heartless hag. Not even him. The knight who held no soul.
You were clever enough never to let anyone see your sadness outright. When it came to these people, the ones who fiercely ignored you, you had no feelings but anger and no traits but stubbornness.
It wasn’t until another night, few years later, when someone was kind to you. You couldn’t quite tell who it was, you just knew she was old, but her eyes were gentle. Much different from your governess’ or the dark lord who owned Casterly Rock and half of Westeros.
“Dear child. Forgive me the intrusion.”
You had eyed her suspiciously, half-expecting her to set your hair on fire by Cersei’s order. You had been no older than ten and three, when the old man approached your chambers.
“I used to work for your mother, you see.”
Now, that caught your interest.
“My mother? What do you know about my mother?”
The warmth in her smile had been enough to make you feel wistful and even more lonely.
“I know that she loved you very much. Which was also the reason, why she gave birth to you, despite all the high risks. She knew she would not make it, child. But she still had you.”
A low, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach later, she added: “I have something of hers. And I think you should have it, instead.”
Her visit had been short-lived, but her presence stayed with you. It changed the entire course of your life and probably, the whole future of Westeros.
It was a mirror. A pretty one, indeed, but simply a mirror. It felt odd in your hand. No one ever gave you any presents, except for Tyrion and his countless books. But this, it was different. The weight of the mirror in your hand made you feel somewhat comforted. It was your mothers. Your mothers.
She had loved you.
Someone had loved you.
Even if no one did now, it gave you endless comfort to know, that there once been someone who did.
After holding onto the mirror tightly for what felt like an eternity, you finally set it down and choked back your own tears. Was this how life was supposed to make you feel?
The next thing you remembered varied in your mind. It had been too much and too overwhelming to remember it clearly. It was just too odd. Your mind couldn’t comprehend and so it made up new scenarios and details whenever you thought back to it.
In some versions of the memory, you heard his voice first.
In other versions, you saw the soft glow that gleamed around the handle first, slowly stretching out over the cold surface.
Whatever it was, it was.
And suddenly you weren’t alone anymore.
“Princess.”
A voice so soft-spoken that you hardly recognized it. No, you were sure you were making up things. Maybe the mirror was indeed a cruel jest Cersei pulled on you. Maybe it was tinged in something, some substance, that made you lose your mind.
“Princess.” You heard again. Soft and gentle, like a caress.
You had no idea what a caress felt like.
When you heard him a third time, you were suddenly certain. It was indeed real. You stiffened when you realized the sound came from the mirror.
There was a tight knot in your stomach, as well as your throat.
“What?” You murmured. “What is this-“
You sat up carefully and glanced down to where the mirror was set, only to realize it wasn’t your own reflection you were seeing.
With a soft shriek, you recoiled and scurried over the bed, nearly falling to the ground. This wasn’t a trick, but you wished it was.
He had long, straight hair that looked like it was made of silk, in the same color your own hair was tinged. His expression was soft, but there was something so off about him. His one eye was amethyst-colored like your own were, but the other one, you couldn’t tell. It was covered by a black eye-patch, his lips pressed into a straight line.
He was a pretty sight, indeed. Beautiful even. More handsome than any man, any knight you had ever seen.
But why was he there? Why was he at all?
“I can hear your breathing, princess.” God, his voice felt like a thousand little stabs, caused by the gentleness of a cloud. “Fear not. I wish to see you. ‘tis me, princess. I am your blood.”
After what felt like forever you slowly crawled back over the bed, but not yet enough to face him fully.
“What are you?” You heard yourself whisper in a voice that was your hardly your own.
What then happened was even more strange. His lips curved into a smile and it lit up his entire face. The dark, gloomy prince, who missed an eye, suddenly became something kind and gentle. It made you swallow.
“Not what, princess. Who. ‘tis me, your blood.” He repeated. “You may have heard of me. Aemond. Aemond Targaryen.”
That made you pause. And suddenly you felt nauseous.
Aemond Targaryen? The prince? The same prince who had died so long ago?
“What? You cannot be. Aemond Targaryen died and I am talking to a mirror, for the Gods’ sake! You can tell Cersei-“
“I am not sent by Cersei, princess.”
“Then who sent you?!” Your disbelief slowly turned into anger. Whatever trick this was, it felt cruel to you. You had no one after all. And to make fun of your parentage like this? It was simply cruel.
“No one sent me.” He sighed in a way that made you feel calmer than before, but also tired. “Let me see you, princess. I promise you, I will bring no harm your way.”
You fought and argued with yourself in your head. The clever thing would have been to discard the mirror and inform…Who would you even inform? No one spoke to you and no one would believe you. You would end up the mad girl. So, with a soft sigh of your own, you picked up the mirror, but you held it as far away from your body as you could. And then you faced him, very carefully.
He observed your reaction and his lip twitched in amusement.
“Look at that. The princess is fearless.”
You frowned at that. “I am no princess.”
His good eye shot open. “They poisoned your mind.” He murmured.
Your frown deepened. “Who?”
“The bad people.” He hummed softly. Everything about him was so…calm. “The lions.”
After a beat, he quietly asked: “Do you even know who you are?”
You had a rough idea about it, but you weren’t entirely sure. You knew your parentage held some kind of importance to some people, but that was in the past. You were left to fend for yourself, in a pit filled with lions, but no dragons in sight.
“I…”
He tsked softly.
“My darling, darling girl. It is about time your fire returned. And I will make sure it does.”
