just thinking about grumpy!aemond x sunshine niece!reader, that's all
Intimidating uncle who only smiles for his sweet niece?? How can I refuse? :> I hope u like it anon
Synopsis: Aemond’s icy demeanor softens as his playful niece, Y/n, brings joy and warmth into his life through her persistence and tender moments.
Aemond x Niece!Reader
The vast expanse of the Red Keep stretched before them, a labyrinthine structure of ancient stone and intricate tapestries of the Targaryens rich history. Within its cold, echoing halls, moved with his customary stoic grace, his singular eye perpetually narrowed, his demeanor perpetually grave. It was a disposition well-suited to his character, a shield against the tumultuous world he inhabited. Yet, like a glimmer of sunlight piercing through storm clouds, his niece, y/n, was a stark contrast to his brooding presence.
Y/n’s laughter echoed through the halls as she flitted about, a vision of radiance and mirth. Her wit was as sharp as Valyrian steel, and her spirit as unyielding as dragonfire. She was a beacon of joy in a court often shrouded in intrigue and gloom, and though many found solace in her presence, Aemond was not among them. Or so he would have others believe.
The gardens of the Red Keep were a sanctuary for y/n, a place where she could escape the stifling formality of court life. She found Aemond there one afternoon, standing by a marble fountain, his expression as inscrutable as ever. With a mischievous smile, she approached him.
“My dear uncle, why do you always seem to be plotting the downfall of the Seven Kingdoms?” she quipped, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
Aemond’s eye flicked towards her, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I find little cause for humor, niece. Unlike you, I am not so easily distracted by frivolity.”
“Frivolity?” she repeated, her tone playful. “Surely, you do not think the pursuit of happiness to be frivolous, Uncle. It is the very essence of life!”
He huffed, turning his gaze back to the fountain. “Happiness is a fleeting illusion, y/n. It is duty and strength that endure.”
“Ah, but what is duty without joy? What is strength without laughter? A kingdom built on sorrow and scowling faces is a kingdom doomed to fall” she countered, her voice gentle yet firm.
Aemond’s expression softened ever so slightly, a fleeting hint of amusement in his eye. “You are relentless, aren’t you?”
“Relentless? Perhaps. Or simply persistent in my never ending quest to make you smile” she replied with a toothy grin. “I believe there is a smile hidden somewhere beneath that scowl.”
Aemond arched an eyebrow. “You overestimate your abilities, niece.”
“And you underestimate mine, uncle” she shot back, her tone light but her words carrying a subtle challenge.
Days turned into weeks, and y/n’s persistence in engaging Aemond in conversation did not wane. She would find him in the library, poring over ancient tomes, and offer her commentary on the latest court gossip. She would join him during his solitary walks along the battlements, teasing him about the weight of his thoughts.
One evening, as they dined with the royal family, y/n’s quick wit came to the fore once more. The courtiers were discussing a recent skirmish at the border, the atmosphere laden with a slight tension. Aemond’s expression was particularly dour, his mind clearly occupied with strategic considerations.
“Uncle Aemond” y/n began, her tone deceptively innocent, “do you believe the enemy quakes in fear of your legendary glare? Perhaps we should send a portrait of you to the battlefield. It might end the war without any bloodshed.
A ripple of laughter spread around the table, even King Viserys chuckling at her jest. Aemond’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile breaking through his stern facade.
“You have a dangerous tongue, y/n” he said quietly, though there was no malice in his voice.
“Only when it is necessary to cut through the gloom” she replied with a wink.
Despite himself, Aemond found his defenses weakening. There was something irresistible about y/n’s unwavering cheerfulness, her ability to find light in the darkest corners. She was not deterred by his gruffness, nor intimidated by his icy demeanor. Instead, she met him with a courage and joy that was both infuriating and captivating.
One evening, as the sun set over the Blackwater Bay, they found themselves alone on the roof. Y/n leaned against the balcony, her eyes reflecting the golden hues of the sunset.
“Do you ever tire of being so serious, Uncle?” she asked softly.
Aemond sighed, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It is not a matter of choice, y/n. The burdens I bear are heavy, the responsibilities immense.”
“And yet, you bear them with such strength. But even the strongest warriors need respite” she said, turning to face him. “Allow yourself a moment of peace, Aemond. If not for your sake, then for mine.”
He looked at her then, truly looked at her, and saw the sincerity in her eyes. The walls he had built around his heart began to crack, ever so slightly. Perhaps there was wisdom in her words, a truth he had long ignored.
“Very well,” he conceded, a faint smile gracing his lips. “For your sake, I shall try.”
Y/n beamed, her joy infectious. “That is all I ask, dear Uncle.”
In that moment, he found a glimmer of happiness he had thought lost forever. As he leaned closer to her, their breaths mingling, he felt an unfamiliar but welcome warmth.
With a gentle tilt of his head, he closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them.
They drew back slightly, their foreheads touching, and Aemond could not suppress a soft chuckle.
“It appears you’ve managed to disarm me with a kiss” he said, his tone lighthearted.
Y/n’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she responded, “I had hoped that a kiss would be more effective than a sword. It seems I’ve found a more persuasive weapon.”
Aemond raised an eyebrow with a playful grin. “Am I to expect a steady stream of kisses to temper my seriousness?”
“Only if it ensures that you’re less somber” her smile teasing. “But fret not, I shall reserve my attacks for the most opportune moments.”
“Special occasions, then?” he inquired with mock seriousness. “I shall need to prepare for such events.”
Y/n’s laughter was light and musical. “Indeed, but for now, simply relish this one. It appears to be quite effective.”
Aemond shook his head, still smiling. “Your talent for lightening my mood is alarming. I may have to enlist you as my personal jester.”
“And here I thought I was merely your charming niece” she retorted in faux indignation, giving him a gentle nudge.
“Charming niece and occasional troublemaker” he corrected, “but I find I am quite content with both.”
Their shared laughter filled the space between them, making the day’s burdens seem lighter.
Summary: Aemond feels ever so slightly jealous when he watches his wife feed their babe, he'll have a taste for himself tonight.
WARNINGS: mdni, afab!reader, lactation kink, breeding kink, unprotected p in v sex, reader is already a mom, breastfeeding, aemond craving the good old tiddy milk, tiddy sucking, teasing, biting, nipple play, aemond is so down bad for the milkers. + not proofread.
WC: 2,078
A/N: I suddenly got the urge to write this I'm not kidding 😭😭 // diviver credits to @cafekitsune
You coo softly while gently rocking back and forth as the small babe in your arms begins getting fussy in between your arms, you pat her gently and reassure the fussy babe, while caressing her cheek.
“Are you hungry, my dear?” You ask her as if she'll respond verbally, a small croak leaves her throat before she coos, stretching her tiny arms and placing it upon your breast as a way to answer your question. You chuckle at her action before pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Shall I take her to the nursemaid, princess?” The maidservant allotted to you questions, putting your comfort as a first priority, you shake your head, “No need, I shall feed the babe myself.” You reject her politely, “Can you undo the lace?” You ask her, and she nods, her fingers making quick work of the lace that's holding the top of your gown together, you pull the material down — along with your chemise — just enough for one of your breasts to be exposed but cover everything else.
You hold the baby in a feeding position, and she immediately latches onto your nipple, suckling as she makes soft satisfied noises, as her hunger is being satiated. You giggle at her cuteness and watch as she closes her eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep.
The door to your shared chamber opens and you lift your head up to see Aemond, carrying a bunch of scrolls and books in his hands, he sets them down on the nearby table before turning his attention to you. “My prince.” the maidservant greets and Aemond nods, “Prepare a bowl of water and a rag, after that, leave us alone.” He commands her and she bows, swiftly beginning to do what she's been told. After the maid leaves the bowl and leaves, Aemond quickly begins to retire for the night, undressing himself, usually, he would call in a manservant or you would help him, but he cannot call the manservant when you're breastfeeding, and neither can you help him because of that.
So he does it himself, after undoing his upper garment, he wears nothing but his white plain transparent tunic and breeches ; that are more suited for sleepwear, loose and thin. Aemond later washes his hands and forearms thoroughly, ridding them of any kind of dirt before making his way to you.
“How was your day, Husband?” You ask him, watching as he comes near and stands next to you, staring at you for a second before sitting down beside you. “Hm, t'was decent, what about you?” He asks you, his gaze dropping down to your chest. “It was good, I did not wish to partake in any social meetings today, but rather decided to spend it with her.” You look down at your child who is now sleeping. Aemond hums before he lays his head on your shoulder getting comfortable in your presence enough to express his desires.
“I want to have my wife tonight.” He mutters, nuzzling himself into the crook of your neck as his gaze remains fixated on your chest while he rests his hand on your thigh, slowly drawing imaginary patterns on it, indicating what he wants. Your face heats up at his implications, “You will, husband, let me call the servant and have her taken to the nursery for tonight.” You reply to him, slowly pulling her away from your breast and covering yourself up.
“I will call for the servant.” He offers, hoping to help you out and you nod, he opens the chamber door stepping out and turning to the guard before asking the guard to fetch a servant, to which he immediately obeys and goes to get one. Aemond gets inside, making his way over to you before he takes your child from you and hands her over to the servant who had entered the room just then. “Take care of her for the night in the nursery, should there be any news that she was hurt in any way, I will cut off all of your limbs.” He threatens to which the poor servant just nods her head in fear assuring him that no harm would occur to your child, and then she takes her away.
The door closes and Aemond secures it tightly so it doesn't open upon impact. And all the while Aemond was talking to the servant, you had quickly gotten undressed and were now sitting in your chemise, putting the gown that had fallen to the floor away.
Aemond goes straight to the bed and sits on it and you watch as he removes his eyepatch, placing it on the table next to the bed before he turns his attention to you. He looked so ethereal when he was staring at you, his sapphire glinted as the fire from the chambers reflected off from it. “Come.” He commands and you slowly make your way over to him, now standing in front of him.
He looks up at you the tension thick in the air as his eye is filled with pure desire for you. he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your chest and pulling you, this causes you to stumble and lose your balance which he takes as an advantage to pull you onto the bed with him, flipping you over and getting on top.
His hair curtains around your face as he stares at you, his eye moving back and forth between your own, taking in your beauty. You raise your hand and gently tuck his hair into his ear before caressing his cheek, “You're so beautiful.” You hear him say and you smile, “I could say the same about you, husband.” You respond, He gives you a small smile before tilting his head slightly and connecting his lips to yours.
His lips felt soft against yours, you reciprocated and kissed him back. You felt the heat bloom in your core as he slowly grinds himself against your lower abdomen while kissing you. He slowly slides his hand against yours before intertwining your fingers with his. You parted your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to slip inside, allowing him to deepen the kiss which resulted in him humming in satisfaction.
He pulled away shortly after, panting for air, his kisses then trailed down towards your neck, he pecked and nipped at the skin of your neck, leaving bite marks as a way to mark you as his, he untwined his hand from yours to pull down your chemise, causing your tits to spill out of their confines.
He presses kisses down to the valley in between your breasts before he stays there for a while, “You know, I'm jealous—” he begins, his other hand coming up and gently fondling with your breast, “— that our daughter gets to have these whenever she wishes, meanwhile I'd have to wait until night.” He whines slightly, his thumb pressing over your sensitive nipple making you gasp slightly.
He decides he doesn't want to waste any more time and immediately wraps his lips around your nipple, pulling and suckling on your breast like a babe, he swirls his tongue and flicks it up and down the bud, Aemond hums in satisfaction when he feels the taste of your milk in his mouth.
He squeezes and fondles your other breast, rolling your nipple between his index and thumb finger and pulling meanly on it. Your breathing becomes shorter and faster as you begin to get aroused by his ministrations which prompts you to rub your thighs together trying to ease the throbbing between your legs with some friction.
It doesn't go unnoticed by Aemomd, but he instead focuses his attention to your other breast, repeating his actions and drinking your milk selfishly for himself, his teeth grazes against your bud and you wince slightly at the burn it causes only for him to bite onto it, making you whine and squirm before he sucks on it again as a way to soothe the pain he just caused. He pulls away with a wet pop and you take notice of the milk that's dripping from the side of his mouth and down to his neck which was such a perverse sight, yet you couldn't help make you feel more aroused so you guided his head back to your breast again.
And so he took your breast in his mouth once again, drinking all of your milk up you moaned in pleasure as his tongue flicker up and down your bud. You whimpered because you are sensitive from earlier feeding.
You felt him humping against your thigh as he tried ease the tension between his very own legs, he let go of your breast, unable to hold himself back anymore, he sat straight up and began to slip down his pants and take off his tunic, you did the same with your chemise, discarding it and throwing it someone to the side of your chamber.
He spreads your legs wide and lines his cock against your entrance slowly pushing it in, this causes you to tremble in excitement as his cock stretches you deliciously, you let out a gasp once he is fully settled. He lifts your hips off the mattress, holding you by your thighs as he slowly begins to move.
His thrusts were slow at first, almost as if he's teasing himself until he begins to pick up on the momentum, thrusting his hips back and forth, he begins to pick up the speed quite steadily.
You grind your hips to match his rhythm as your body jolts up and down the bed, your tits bouncing as a result, the moans of his name leave your lips like holy chants, “Aemond— oh fuck– right there– Aemond—!” all the while his tip is continuously hitting that sweet spot of yours, he grips one of your breasts and stares at it intently, “They look so good when they're swollen and full of milk.” He refers to your tits, he squeezes your tit slightly and watches as droplets of milk begin oozing out. “Oh gods— you're still full– fuck.” He quickly shifts his weight, dropping your lower body down onto the mattress and leaning forward to take your breast in his mouth while he fucks you.
“Seven fucking hells–— I don't think I can ever get enough of this ; perhaps I should keep you pregnant constantly, Yes? So your tits are always full of milk, for the babe” he grunts, his peak nearing as he mouths at your nipple. “And for me— ” His thrusts become more frantic and desperate, “You would like it wouldn't you? I know you would. You'd love to be full of me— I can only imagine how gorgeous you'd look, constantly waddling around while carrying my child— Answer me.” He growls. “Yes yes yes yes! yesyes! Aemond! I'd love it so so so much please please—” You babble as you feel your peak nearing. “Good girl— fuck!” He moans as he peaks, and your babbling is cut short as you gasp because you too reach your high right after him, the pleasure explodes inside you like a volcano, slowly seeping and coursing through your veins, you feel hot, warm, cold, suffocated all at the same time due to the intensity of the pleasure.
Aemond slows down his thrusts before fully stopping and pulling out, he watches as your cunt pushes out his spend to which he tuts disappointedly at before scooping it up with his finger and pushing it all back in.
“Here I am; planning to keep you full of my child and yet you're here denying it? Such a disobedient wife.” He slaps your clit as a punishment making you whimper, “I apologise— t'wasnt my intention.” You reply, breathlessly and he hums.
He lays down next to you, catching his breath along with you. You watch and his hands rests on your lower abdomen. He grabs you by your hips and turns you around to face him before he grabs the sheets and throws them over you both before pulling you close, your breasts pressing up against him, and the milk transfering over to his chest, making it sticky.
“Aem— it's messy.” Your voice comes out slurred and Aemond simply hums, “Let it be.” He hugs you even tighter, and you sigh, before wrapping your arm around his waist, hugging him back and you both slowly drift off into sleep.
— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡
Pairing • Aemond x female reader, Cregan Stark x female reader
Tags • post-Dance of the Dragons, the Greens win, infidelity, angst
Wordcount • 3,420
Aemond Masterlist
As your husband Aemond kickstarts the Dance of the Dragons, you escape to join your mother's faction. In the two years of war, you find comfort in the arms of Cregan Stark, only to face the consequences of your actions when the Greens come out victorious.
Winter was slowly spreading in the northern region, and yet the cold wasn’t responsible for the chill in your bones. You were more of a haunting figure in the ancient fortress than a guest; you were aware of your sorrowful mood, your faraway eyes and continuous deep sighs. You had found comfort in the Godswoods, and Cregan Stark had been more than gracious in granting you protection and reprieve from the war.
The acrid taste of betrayal had cut through the sweetness of your marriage when Aemond had come back from his mission as an envoy to Storm’s End, securing a match between his brother Daeron and Lord Borros’ youngest daughter.
You had always prided yourself on your fortune, of having found love and harmony in the arms of your uncle, as your mother had herself done, and you were utterly certain that nothing could ever pull you away from Aemond.
Your heart had sunk to the depth of your bones as your husband had confessed his terrible act, holding onto his pride and refusing to admit he had lost control of his great beast.
You could see the horrible truth in the slight tremble of his hands and the wildness of his eye—it was full of fright and not of rage, but still, he clung desperately to his tale that his revenge had been calculated.
On that night, he had put his pride and his bloodlust above the love he held for you, and you hadn’t found any drop of forgiveness anywhere in your soul. As you mourned the loss of your brother Lucerys, you also mourned the loss of your husband as you’d known him—hatred and war changed people, you would soon learn.
As two men came into the night to extract a horrible and unfair revenge, and the screams of your aunt Helaena resonated under the high ceilings of the Red Keep, you were smuggled away to Dragonstone.
You had no taste for revenge in your heart, and the bloodlust of some of your mother’s men turned your stomach—you had been relieved upon finding none of that thirst in Winterfell as you were sent to negotiate with Cregan Stark.
The vows taken by Rickon Stark were upheld by his son, and soon the North had declared for your mother, banners of crimson hues hung on the rampart of Winterfell. Winter was creeping in, and the troops were preparing to march south, waiting until the last harvest was secured until they left their families, unsure they would ever come back.
You found an unexpected friendship in Cregan Stark. He was a man of honor and patience, leading his men with a calm, commanding presence that stemmed from respect rather than intimidation. The bond of unwavering trust between the northerners filled you with confidence for the battles that were to come.
“A raven came from Harrenhal,” Cregan announced as he stepped under the high canopy of the Godswood one night, where you often found peace and comfort near the Weirwood tree. “Prince Daemon has secured the seat, we shall all gather there as one host.”
“Thank you, Lord Cregan,” you answered, glancing at him over your shoulder as he approached.
“Has sleep eluded you again?” he asked softly, handing the letter to you and watching intently as you unfurled the curled paper, tracing the familiar lines of Daemon’s handwriting with your eyes.
“Sleep and I are old friends that have unfortunately fallen out of touch,” you said with a sad smile, and Cregan’s features softened. You looked aside, swallowing—around you the Godswoods were eerily silent, barely a sound could be heard, only that of a breeze rushing through the leaves, quiet as a spring stream when the ices melt.
You weren’t unaware of Cregan Stark’s attraction to you, even though you had spent weeks mistaking it as the natural devotion of a lord towards his queen’s daughter. The adoring look in his eyes was discreet, but you occasionally noticed the way his gaze lingered on your face sometimes, never venturing anyway inappropriate but intense, still.
The pain of Aemond’s betrayal had made you slightly blind, but as the sharp sting turned into an ache with time and the preoccupations of war, you found yourself welcoming the honest friendship Lord Cregan was offering.
The man was honorable to a fault, never demanding anything of you, only offering words and gestures you were secretly longing for.
“When are we leaving?” you inquired, rolling the parchment onto itself again and handing it back to him.
“In no more than a fortnight,” he replied, and perhaps it was the prospect of battle now near, or the fact that you had included yourself in the party that he would be leading—whatever it was, it made him bold. He stepped closer, slipping the letter back into the fold of his heavy cloak, and you inhaled shakily as the scent of leather and wolf pelts filled the air around you.
He leaned into you slightly, his breath fanning over your face, and you closed your eyes, welcoming his kiss. You shivered as your lips parted, relief spreading to your very bones—after all those months of sorrow and nervous tension, it felt good to be cherished, even though it was by a man you had no love for.
His lips were firm and assured, his tongue just as confident as it prodded yours. He was a bit rougher than you were used to, but it delighted you—until the memory of Aemond’s kiss came back to the forefront of your mind, and shame curled in your stomach.
“Lord Stark,” you whispered as you pulled away.
“I am sorry,” he replied, taking a step back. “I would not offend you.”
“Neither of us should forget that I am married,” you tried to reason against the warmth in your breast and the yearning that crept under your skin. His kiss had awakened a hunger that had laid dormant until now, curled in the pit of your stomach, eating away at your core rather than setting your skin ablaze.
“I am aware of that fact,” he said solemnly.
“Surely you would not be one to ignore the vows of marriage,” you continued, and for a second you worried you had gone too far and that he would abandon his endeavor. Tears almost came to your eyes at the prospect, and you were ashamed at how quickly you considered making an advance yourself.
“You are correct, I would not,” he murmured, lowering his eyes a moment, gathering his words before speaking them carefully. “I am not proud to covet another man’s wife, even if he is my enemy.”
“So you admit you have been coveting me?” you asked, and your boldness made his eyes darken.
“I desire you, and I have grown to admire your character as well as your beauty,” he said openly.
Your cheeks flushed at his forwardness—you could not say any man had ever been so direct with you, even your own husband when you had been courting. You closed your eyes against the prickling heat rising in them, and his hand reached up to stroke the side of your face, catching the first tear with his thumb.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to upset you.”
“You did not. My husband did, when he betrayed me,” you whispered, leaning into his gloved palm despite yourself. “I loved him, but what is love in the face of betrayal and the slaying of kin? Some sins cannot be forgiven.”
“I would never betray you, even if we never came to share a bond. My affection comes free of expectations,” he assured you, but you could feel his slight hesitation.
“Are you not expecting my love, then?” you wondered.
Cregan remained silent for a moment longer than felt comfortable, and you shifted your weight as you waited for his answer. The more selfish part of you longed for a heartfelt declaration, while the other hoped it was only a matter of lust. His thumb traced the shape of your cold lips and you trembled.
“It would be a lie to say I do not wish for your love, but I am a realist,” he started, and you were caught between elation and regret. “I know that despite your sorrow and your anger, you still have love for your husband. His betrayal wouldn’t sting so much otherwise, after all these months.”
“Perhaps it is simply that my pride is wounded,” you tried, but you couldn’t even convince yourself.
“Your heart aches for him,” Cregan replied, and you wondered how a man you had known for less than a year could have such insight on your own emotions.
“I do not know that I can give you my love,” you whispered as an apology,
He seemed to hesitate for a moment.
“Since you have allowed me to speak my desires freely, would you take a suggestion?” he asked, and you nodded silently. “As you said, some sins cannot be forgiven. Not only has your husband sinned against you in taking the life of your brother, he has killed his own kin. I cannot think of a more grievous sin,” he started, waiting for his words to register in your mind.
“Speak your mind plainly, I beg of you,” you replied.
“He disgraced you by his act, and I loathe to see you bound to a kinslayer,” Cregan said. “You have a legitimate cause of annulment, as you do not have any children by him. Free yourself of him, and wed me instead.”
A year later, King’s Landing
The carriage came to a halt in the middle of the courtyard, and as you were dragged out, you immediately noticed the looming figure waiting at the top of the stairs. It felt like a decade since you had set foot in this place, and even though your memory was sharp, you scarcely recognized it. The war had turned more bloody than you could have imagined, and now your faction was decimated. Desperate to find your younger siblings again, you had fallen into a trap and into the grip of the treacherous victors.
The large entrance door at his back, Aemond was poised, his arms crossed behind his back. It had been almost two years since you had seen him, and the sight of his lean silhouette made you want to weep. Whether it was dread, sorrow or regret, you could not tell.
“Wife,” he greeted you, his tone cold and unforgiving.
Tears in your eyes, you followed the two guards escorting you, themselves walking behind the lithe shadow of the Prince Regent. You trembled as you were led to your old quarters, unsurprised to find them unchanged, and your slight tremor turned into a shudder as you were left alone with Aemond.
“For what it is worth, I am sorry we are reuniting in such tragic circumstances,” he said as the heavy door closed behind you, and you startled, your eyes closing as hot, silent tears escaped them.
“If your contrition is sincere, then let me leave and find my brothers again,” you pleaded, although aware it was useless.
“I cannot grant you leave, not after what I had to do to get you back,” he replied and you could have wept from the guilt as the Riverlands’ fate was etched into your mind. “First, I would know the truth.”
“What truth is there to say?” you asked, crossing your wrists in front of your abdomen, the perfect posture of the poised lady, even though inside you were feeling anything but poised. Your skin felt as though every nerve was frayed, and you felt dizzy from the incessant ringing in your ears.
“That you have betrayed me in the worst of ways,” he announced, his face a mask of indifference, but you could see the truth of his emotions in the tense line of his shoulders and the way his hands were clenched. You still knew him, knew the tells of his body even after two years apart.
Silence fell over the two of you, and the meaning of his words registered slowly—you closed your eyes for a second, tightening your grip on your own wrist.
“Surely kinslaying is worse than a sin of the flesh,” you replied nonchalantly, but you dreaded his reaction.
If he knew for certain what had transpired while you were at war, then his desire for vengeance would have had the time to grow and you knew only too well what happened to hatred that festered in his heart. It eventually turned bloody, one way or another.
“You do not deny it, then? That you betrayed me, laid with the enemy,” he retorted, his voice thick with disgust.
“Cregan is not the enemy!” you protested, and Aemond visibly flinched at your use of the man’s name. It spoke of a familiarity that he loathed to consider.
“You gave yourself to him!” he accused, and the disgust turned into visible hatred. He had been strangely calm until then, but you knew it was coming at an end. You barely flinched when he snapped, rushing to you and reaching up for your throat.
Your hands grappled with his, your nails digging into the back of his knuckles, desperately trying to pry his knuckles from your neck. “How disappointing, wife,” he thundered, and fear curled in your stomach. “How I had hoped he had forced himself on you. I far prefer imagining you pinned down, unable to fight him off… At least you would have preserved your dignity.”
You cursed through gritted teeth and wheezing breaths, your small fists hitting his arms as his grip tightened for a second. “Have I married a whore, then?” he shouted as he released you, and you fell back against a nearby tabletop, your hands coming up to your throat, soothing the sharp string. “Am I to bring you to the nearest brothel, where you belong?”
“It is fitting then, since I married a kinslayer. We each are the worst of our sex,” you coughed.
“How many others have there been? Of the ten thousand men in Lord Stark’s host, how many did you fraternize with?” he spat out. Horror dawned on you as you realized the extent of the rumors that had reached his ears—or rather, the lack of extent.
“I did not offer myself to any of those men, and I certainly didn’t lay with Cregan Stark out of—” you searched for your words, unsure how to voice the great deed you had done. “Mindless lust.”
“Did you love him?” the sudden question took you aback, and as you watched Aemond pace the large carpet at the foot of the bed, his fists clenching and unclenching, you were almost relieved that he bore no weapon on his person. You knew only too well that the worst of him wasn’t his fury, but his heartbreak.
“What?” you gasped, bewildered, hoping he would retract and you wouldn’t have to face the truth.
“Did you love him?!” he repeated, his voice wavering slightly as his sharp features contorted in grief. He had lost weight, you suspected, as the hollow of his cheek was more apparent than ever, his nose and chin looking somehow more pointed.
“What if I did? Is that what you want to hear?!” you yelled back, your voice breaking into a coughing fit as you forced your bruised throat to raise its tone.
“Do you want to hear of the way he kissed me?” you accused, even though it was barely a whisper. “Do you want to know how gentle he was, each night that we spent together, how devoted?”
Aemond’s sharp features contorted in pain once more, and the sadistic pleasure of seeing him live the scene as you told it made you feel powerful. He might have been the one with the more physical strength, but you held this power over him—the power to torment him, to hold your betrayal over him like the sharpest dagger to his throat.
“How do you think the rumors made their way to you?! I screamed so loud every night the entire war camp heard us!” you shouted, feeling yourself coming unhinged.
Aemond shouted so loud it sounded like a roar, a great, terrible sound that rattled your bones as he rushed to your side again, grabbing you by the arms this time and bringing you up to his level. You could only press on your toes and curl your hands around his arms to find your balance, lest you fall into him fully.
“Do you love him?” he asked, his voice breaking. As close as you were now, you could see the wild look in his eye clearly, a deep pool where you dreaded falling into. “Tell me,” he begged behind gritted teeth.
He looked at you with something akin to adoration for a second, and the tears that spilled down your cheeks then were cold. You said nothing as the seconds passed, caught in a storm on your own making. Neither your twisted pleasure nor your grief provided solid ground.
His mouth crashed against yours violently, and you remained frozen until he made a sound of despair at the back of his throat, and your body moved on instinct. You knew the touch of your first lover, you knew his tells and his weaknesses—you reached up to tangle your hands in his hair and he let you.
Aemond moaned, his mouth dropping open as your tongue prodded past his firm lips, and his entire frame curled into your embrace. He kissed you, ravenous and starved for your affection, for your attention, and you reveled in the power you had over him once more.
“Tell me he coerced you, tell me it was a mistake, a desperate play at securing his allegiance,” he hissed as he pulled away to allow you a breath, a reprieve from his desperate conquest.
“Would you rather think I gave myself up for an army, rather than seeking comfort in his arms?” you asked, a breathless laugh pushing its way past your lips.
Aemond’s silence was answer enough, and as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, you made your decision. You pushed away from him, smirking slightly as the devastation on his handsome face—you knew how scarcely he showed that side of himself, the burned side of the coin that he was so desperately ashamed of.
“I say this without undue cruelty, but I found in him a kindred spirit, a gentle, honorable soul that comforted me in my grief,” you started, your tone unbearably cruel in its nonchalance.
Aemond felt his ribs ache under the stress of his ragged breathing, the pit of his stomach feeling raw for the confession you were currently making.
“Comfort should only be provided by your spouse,” he contested. “Despite this war, I am your husband still.”
Grasping at straws, he feared he would fall to his knees as your next words reached his ears.
“You are not. As you committed the sin of kinslaying, mine own kin as well, you effectively gave me grounds for annulment. A Septon granted it, and made me Cregan’s Stark lawful wife in the process.”
The Stranger ripping his beating heart out of his chest could not have caused him more agony, Aemond thought in that moment.
His hopes were burned to ashes as he heard the truth in your words, and saw no lies lurking in your eyes—the sweetness of you smile on your wedding night, the warmth of your hand as the High Septon tied it to his, the blush of your face as he proposed marriage—all color faded from his precious memories.
He felt as a doll made of cloth that children had pulled apart, his fury and his grief thrown away to the fire, his heart in tatters on the floorboards. The raw pit of his stomach throbbed in agony, his mouth dry as bones.
You faltered under his apparent calm, taking a step back as he reached for you. This time you didn’t resist as he wrapped a large hand around your neck. The skin was soft under his palm, he felt you swallow. His voice was flat as he spoke.
“A Septon cannot undo what has been done before the Gods of Old Valyria, and sealed in blood,” he reminded you, and your ensuing sob felt as a great storm in his grasp—your lips were chapped under his as he took your mouth again, your kiss tasting of salt and iron.
Requested by a lovely anonymous reader ♡
Dividers by @zaldritzosrose
A special thank you to @arcielee who helped me with this request, and gave me the most angsty idea, that of having Cregan suggest reader gets an annulment and marry him instead. Full credit to Arcie for that particular detail.
Tags • sibling incest, reader is 18+, canon divergence, canon typical misogyny, mutual yearning, romantic tension, love confession (sort of)
Wordcount • 4,260
No longer able to bear the way Aemond dismisses you and treats you as fragile, you take the opportunity to disguise yourself as a dragonseed to claim a dragon and prove yourself to him.
Aemond Masterlist
Morning was still thick and heavy over the horizon, but the Red Keep was no longer asleep. Such were the ways of war, and men were early to rise to pour over maps and correspondence, sending their orders to troops on the battlefield and their propositions to reluctant allies. In a way, you admired their steadfastness and determination, and envied the way they were serving the cause, fighting for the realm.
Despite knowing of the horrors of war, and probably should have been relieved to be left out of such proceedings, you wandered around the castle day after day, feeling forgotten and without any use while you longed to defend your family. Not only were you a princess, but you were one without a dragon, and therefore served no purpose other than to be called on and used in a political match.
Being sent away to wed some unknown lord and give birth to his heirs simply for his banners and armies was the most distasteful fate you could imagine, and thinking on it, you far preferred it your tormented wandering.
As such you haunted the castle’s corridors alone, your mother too preoccupied with her daughter who was drowning in grief and her eldest sons—one who laid in bed in agony while the other wore the crown in his stead.
In the last few days, you had caught scraps of conversations and had learned that tension was mounting in the Riverlands, with Daemon having taken over Harrenhal, and the Reach being divided over the lack of declaration from House Tyrell.
The Council contemplated sending an offer of marriage to entice them to declare for Aegon, but such a prospect filled you with terror and disgust, and you were desperate to find another way to prove your use to your own family. However, since the war had started, Aemond had kept you away from all matters relating to the crisis of succession, dismissing you at every turn.
The two of you had grown up close, being the two youngest siblings, and you often felt as though Aemond thought it his role to protect and shield you from harm—were it Aegon’s cruel ways or your mother’s expectations. Both of you shared the same considerations and interests, and you had always prided yourself in having his confidence and his trust, just as he had yours.
However as your father passed away and the realm plunged into darkness, it became obvious to you that Aemond still considered you a child, and certainly not an equal. He did not include you in debates or conversations, encouraging whoever was in his company not to burden you with grim matters and he made sure to keep you from any bloody news.
One morning as the prospect of being shipped away like a brood mare grew closer, you decided to impose your presence at Council, hoping to be considered as more than a womb to be bargained with, and to convince Aemond.
“Princess,” Lord Jasper greeted as you entered the chambers. “What do we owe the pleasure?”
“I have heard that Seasmoke now has a new rider,” you said, immediately turning to Aemond, who was walking the length of the room as he was prone to do while troubled.
Arms crossed at his back, Aemond stopped his pacing. “How do you know?” he asked—so far, all he had himself heard were rumors coming from fishermen along the coast.
“I have my ways, and I’m not completely incompetent,” you replied, perhaps too harshly, then turned to the men seated around the table. “Do we know who has claimed him?”
“We can only guess it was the lady Rhaena,” Larys Strong replied.
“She has tried once before and nearly lost her life,” you remarked. “Surely there is another—”
“Never you mind,” Aemond interrupted, stepping closer to you. “Do not trouble yourself with it, sister, everything is under control. Have no fear.”
“As you say,” you replied, then sighed. “Have we news of Daeron?”
“Yes,” Aemond nodded, but when no additional details came, you understood his answer was very much a dismissal. None of the men at the table came to your rescue with a more complete answer, and therefore you had no choice but to leave, swallowing humiliated tears.
Aemond had not expected your presence at Council on that morning, and it had rattled him somehow. For days now Lord Jasper had been relentlessly presenting the idea of offering you in marriage to House Tyrell, and despite the fact that it was politically sound, it made Aemond’s blood boil.
All the more since he was now regent, Aemond considered it one of his utmost important roles in life to protect you. This world was harsh and ugly, he knew it all too well, and he would rather see you upset over being dismissed than see you suffer the horrifying realities of warfare. He had seen what tragedy had done to your sister Helaena’s mind, and how it had warped his mother’s judgement, and as long as he could help it, you would not suffer the same fate.
The farther away from these matters, the safer you would be, he told himself. As long as you remained hidden from enemy eyes, as far from a threat as possible, no one would come after you.
Still, it wounded him to keep you at arms’ length. He was not a sentimental man, and while he cared for his family as any man did, it did not compare to the love he had for you. It was perhaps his only true weakness, and it ran deeper than was comfortable. It made rage and passion alike burst and boil in his blood, clouded his reasoning despite his better judgement, and threatened to unhinge him more than he already was.
The crestfallen look on your face haunted the rest of that morning’s Council meeting, and well into the rest of Aemond’s day, until it became unbearable. Once evening had fallen over the castle, he sought you out, wondering what sort of apology would soothe you. He knocked and entered, surprised to see that you were still in your day clothes.
“Has something happened?” you asked as soon as he had crossed the threshold, eager as always to know what was happening beyond those walls, to a realm that was tearing your family apart.
“There is nothing to trouble you with,” Aemond placated, pressing a kiss to your brow, hoping the gesture would serve better than words of apology, but it was foolish of him to harbor such hope. The sour taste of disappointment spread in his mouth when you pulled away from his embrace.
“Surely you must realize the way you treated me in front of the Council today,” you accused, and even though he had come with the intention of reconciling, frustration rose in him. Instead he grew cold again, an attitude he seemed to turn to quite often these days, and that he knew you despised.
“Might I remind you that you have no seat at Council,” he said, ruthless in both his words and his tone, which was neither right nor helpful.
“Is it because I am a woman?” you inquired, standing your ground for the first time he weeks, and in other circumstances, Aemond would have admired it. “Or is it because I do not have a dragon?”
“I simply wish to spare you, sister, you should be grateful,” he insisted—he wished he could make you understand without causing you more harm, but perhaps making you hate him was the easier path to what he was hoping to achieve.
“Oh, I should be grateful for being undermined and dismissed at every turn?” you scoffed.
“It is my duty to keep you safe,” Aemond tried, clinging to the rhetoric that kept you and him apart, that was supposed to ensure your safety, but instead was ripping you away from him.
“Do not hide behind the facade of duty,” you replied, nearly spitting the word out. “It has nothing to do with duty.”
“What does it have to do with, then?” Aemond shouted.
“Trust,” you said, the word cutting through the air sharply, rendering him silent. “Or the lack of it. Confidence in my abilities. I do not have a dragon therefore I am of no use to you, and you do not trust that my intellect could be of any use to you in Council.”
“Those are councils of war, sister,” he tried to explain once more, but you would not hear him.
Instead you grew cold as well, and quieter. “And women do not belong in war, do they?” you whispered, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Were you a boy, it would change nothing,” Aemond said, but he knew your conversation had reached an end, no matter how unsatisfying it was.
“Leave me, please, I would like to change for the night now,” you said. Aemond curled his fists so as not to reach out for you and complied.
It was only when he had left the rooms that you released the breath you had been holding—anger, despair and sadness were coiled in your chest, making your breastbone heavy. Barely a minute after he had gone, your maid came into the room, holding a linen shift over her arm—she looked preoccupied.
She started to undo the laces of your gown, but suddenly stopped.
“Princess, I thought you ought to know,” she started, hesitating. “There is a rumor spreading in King’s Landing. The kitchen maids were discussing it.”
“What rumor?” you asked, looking at her over your shoulder.
“That Rhaenyra is calling for… Targaryen bastards,” she whispered, undoing your gown fully. You let it drop to the floor and turned to face her.
“Whatever for?”
“As you are aware, there are unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone,” the young woman said pointedly, and the words made your breath catch in your chest. “She is looking for riders.”
Your heart started beating wildly, and an unstoppable idea came to your mind. The decision was made before you could fully comprehend what you were about to do. “I will need plain clothes,” you told your maid.
Making your way through the city and onto the boat without being recognized was easier than you had anticipated—after all, most of the other women and men answering the same call also had white hair, and no one looked at you suspiciously. You had borrowed one of your maid’s dresses along with a long cloak that kept you hidden.
Keeping to yourself, you easily made the journey, knowing the hardest part awaited you at Dragonstone. If you were recognized, you would be taken prisoner, but it was nothing compared to what you would face in the island’s caves.
All knew that claiming an adult dragon was a show of courage and determination, one for which you would now risk your life for. Despite the terror that coursed through your veins, you decided that it was worth it—you would rather perish in the attempt to claim a dragon than to be traded for an alliance or to watch idly as your family tore itself apart.
Hiding behind one of the men who was tall and broad enough, your face obscured by your cloak, you listened as Rhaenyra spoke to the assembly gathered in Dragonstone’s library.
In truth, you were still amazed at the sheer number of people present, and wondered how many among them were true offsprings of House Targaryen. You wondered how many had been fathered by your own father, and the prospect of you sharing close blood with these strangers was uncomfortable—while girls and women in your family were closely guarded, it seemed the men were free to start hidden bloodlines, fruitful enough to topple an entire dynasty.
Rhaenyra warned against the danger of facing a dragon, but it somehow did not weaken your resolve. “If you survive, you will be transformed. No man or woman can face a dragon and be otherwise,” she said, and it was exactly what you had come for. You were determined to shed the person you were, and become anew, or you would die trying.
“The dragon named Vermithor is the largest in the world after Vhagar, and perhaps, the most fierce. He’s called the Bronze Fury. We’ll go to him now,” she concluded, and the mention of this name made your heart beat wildly—Aemond and you had often spoken of him, as he was believed to have been born from one of Vhagar’s eggs. You thought of Aemond’s pride if you were to bring back this dragon to King’s Landing.
“May the gods bless you,” Rhaenyra said, unaware of the fact that a potential instrument of her own demise was among the people she was blessing.
As you made your way down to the caves, you thought that if anyone was worthy in among this brood, and unto whom the Gods should bestow their blessing, it was you, surely—you were a true daughter of the Targaryens, after all, the only legitimate child here.
However the Gods tempered your arrogance quickly, in the form of furious bursts of fire. Vermithor was a force to be reckoned with, and would not let himself be claimed so easily. Lost to the crowd of people in a panic, you regretted your foolish courage, which had been replaced by primal terror.
Crying out as many were, you cowered in the dark, falling down stairs carved in stone, and ignoring the pain in your ankle, fled as far as you could from the beast. Down and down you went, crawling over rocks and stumbling down tunnels, heart in your throat, with only one instinct left in your body—survival.
Soon you were alone and that prospect frightened you even more. You wondered where the others had gone, either having died to the beast’s fire, or having found a way to flee to safety, back to the fortress while you were left to flounder in the bowels of the volcano.
Falling once more down a tunnel you had not seen, you yelped in pain and fear alike, until you realized it led to a cave. It was rather large and plunged in shadows, except for a hole in one of its walls which carried white light from the outside. Tears of relief clouded your vision and you ran towards it, desperate for a way out.
However your escape was cut short when suddenly, one of the walls moved, and you realized it was no rock at all. It was a dragon.
The great beast unfurled and rose from its sleep, shaking itself before approaching—your breath caught in your chest and before you could even think a final prayer, you were being pushed into the ground by its pointed snout. At that moment, you thought of Aemond. You regretted not leaving a letter to explain your actions, and you wondered if he would ever know of your fate, if he would seek revenge on your behalf.
But before regret could come to you, surprise and curiosity did—instead of furious fire as you would have expected, the dragon instead purred and snorted before laying back, its snout to the ground.
“Oh,” you whispered, your voice broken from your crying—Aemond and you had often read the journals of past Dragonkeepers, and knew of a docile, gentle dragon.
It was Silverwing.
On trembling legs you rose and came to her, running your hand along her snout, then her neck, and she only purred, the sound reverberating under your hand. In that moment, you thought the Gods had blessed you indeed.
Back in King’s Landing, Aemond had not seen you since the night before and it worried him. He had been refused at your door by your maid that morning, the young woman claiming that you were indisposed and unable to receive visitors. Remembering your words and the expression on your face, he thought it best to allow you the space you seemed to require, but the conclusion of your conversation sat uneasy with him.
All throughout the Council session of that afternoon he pondered over how to make you understand that besides being regent, he was now the head of the family, and thus your safety now befell on him. His endeavor to keep you away was driven by his duty to you, and by his love for you. He knew he would never forgive himself if you were to come to harm.
As was usual now, he paced the room, walking around the table in a loose circle that kept his courtiers attentive and on edge. It was better to have them fear for an outburst, to keep them eager to resolve the matters at hand rather than have them grow complacent and useless.
However what came next out of Lord Jasper’s mouth stopped his pacing, and displeased him greatly. “I have taken the liberty to draft a letter to deliver to House Tyrell,” the man said, and Aemond wanted to strike him where he sat.
“No,” he replied before any more could be said about it.
“My prince?”
Turning to face the man pointedly, he leaned over the chair facing him, which still sat empty since Cole’s departure. “My sister will not be offered to the Tyrells,” he said slowly, enunciating each syllable so that there could be no mistake as to what he meant.
“It is a sound match, your grace,” Larys Strong said, and Aemond had half a mind to slam his head into the tabletop.
Curling his hand into a fist, he chose each of his words carefully, and his pointed tone left no room for any sort of misunderstanding. “She is not yours to do as you please, but mine, and I have decided that she shall remain here,” he announced to the Council.
Larys Strong looked down. “Very well, we will think of another offer.”
“Ser Ormund has sent word. Tessarion has finally taken to wing, but the dragon is young, and untrained, and we—” Lord Jasper explained, only be interrupted once more.
“Dragon!” came a cry from the rampart, and all men stilled, listening for more calls, or for recognition. While it was rare for Vhagar to take flight over the city without her rider, it was known to happen from time to time. However, within a few seconds, another panicked cry came.
Aemond was out of his seat and onto the balcony in an instant, pushing its doors open until he could see over the city, and he was stunned by what he saw—a silver dragon was circling the city, roaring and chirping as it went.
Without hesitation, he rushed downstairs to the courtyard, jumping on the first horse that he could find. Overhead, the ramparts were alive with soldiers getting into position, maneuvering the scorpions to follow the dragon’s course.
As Aemond crossed the Street of Looms and made his way to the Dragon Gate, the bells were ringing all across the city, and panic was spreading, even though no fire had come yet.
Making his way to the field where Vhagar was dwelling, Aemond wondered if their reports had been false, and Rhaena had not claimed Seasmoke, but tamed another one. There was only one other silver dragon except Dreamfyre, and she had not been seen in years, instead nesting in the bowels of the Dragonstone volcano.
However his questions soon got their answer, which was not one Aemond could have ever guessed. As he left his horse on the hill, Vhagar was already rising in curiosity, stretching out her neck and roaring at the beast now circling over them.
Before he could reach the rope ladder, Silverwing had landed, chirping in what sounded like a playful manner, and in her saddle, a feminine figure dismounted. “Brother!” the rider called, and the voice stopped him in his tracks.
Aemond watched, one hand on the pommel of his sword and the other extended towards Vhagar, who was making a deep growl of recognition, the closest to a purr she was capable of. The figure approached in confident footsteps, and suddenly his eye made sense of what he was seeing—dressed in servant clothes and covered in ash, you were giving him a small, victorious smile, your chin held high.
“Sister,” he greeted in confusion. “What have you done?”
Glancing over your shoulder, and then back at him, you gave him an arrogant look. “I did what was necessary to ensure our survival,” you replied proudly. “I went to Dragonstone and claimed a dragon of my own.”
Aemond was momentarily stunned by the scale of the achievement, before his might caught up to his heart. “How could you put yourself in danger in such a way!” he admonished.
“I was tired of you dismissing me, and treating me as a child!” you shouted, raising your voice for the first time while addressing him. “Well I am not a child anymore, now I am a dragonrider, such as you.”
Pride suited you, he found, despite the ash on your face and the obvious ordeal you had been through.
“I can fight, and I will not ask for your permission to defend my family,” you said, your tone sounding determined and final, and Aemond knew then not to contradict you.
Standing there with Silverwing at your back, he was struck by how much you had changed in the span of a day, and it had nothing to do with your appearance—there was a glimmer in your eyes he had never seen before, one that exhilarated him.
It was not in his character to admit to his shortcomings, and yet one was currently looming over him, with a pointed snout and silver scales that gleamed into the sunlight.
“It seems I underestimated you, sister,” he admitted.
“So it seems,” you confirmed. “Now let us announce to the Council, that I am to join this war after all.”
Once the city had been assured that they were not under attack, and once the outrage at Rhaenyra’s summoning bastards to turn into dragonlords had slightly abated, you had retired to your chambers to bathe and dress in proper, clean clothes.
Pride and utter elation were still coursing through your veins, and you felt as though you had been changed into another person entirely—Rhaenyra had been right in her words of warning. It seemed the Gods had favored your boldness, and perhaps rewarded your patience after years of feeling on the fringe, not overtly excluded, but still aware of your difference.
Now you would no longer hesitate, no longer lower your eyes or cower—you would listen to your instincts and your desires, you would take what was rightfully yours, and obey orders from no one.
The evening was still early when a knock to your chambers interrupted you. Still dressed in a simple robe, hair damp from your bath, you called your visitor inside, unsurprised to find it was Aemond.
Standing with his arms crossed behind his back, he sighed. “We have sent word to the fishing outposts along the bay, we shall know soon enough if Vermithor has a rider,” he said solemnly.
“Surely you have not come here at this hour to tell me this,” you replied, setting your hairbrush aside.
The corner of his eye twitched, but his mouth did not move for a moment, but then he finally spoke, and his voice was quieter and softer than it usually was.
“I regret having underestimated you,” he said, lighting a flicker of hope inside of your heart. Slowly, you rose from your seat to face him, and even though claiming a dragon had not changed you physically you felt taller, more assured as you stood before him.
Months of anguish lifted from your shoulders, and you wanted to weep with relief—once more you were facing him as an equal, not a burden for him to bear and protect, but someone who could remain at his side.
“I have come to ask you…” he said softly, his eye earnest like you had not seen since the open honesty of youth had been replaced by the bitterness of manhood. “Come with me, to Harrenhal?”
Those were words you had never only dreamed of hearing, and now they were coming from his very lips.
“Together we will easily prevail against Daemon and his army,” you replied, delighting in the small smile that pulled at the corner of his lips.
Almost on instinct, he reached for you, and while you had expected him to press a kiss to your brow as he usually did in brotherly affection, he instead surprised you with a graze of his lips to your cheekbone, his breath hot and slightly uneven against your skin.
“All I ever wanted was to protect you,” he said once more, but those were not the words you heard.
What you heard instead was a confession, unspoken words that had too long laid silent between the two of you. Without a word you pushed up against him, swallowing his shallow breath with your lips, and a spark flared up inside the both of you, awakening desires that had been buried for far too long under the weight of a misplaced sense of duty.
“All I ever wanted was to be at your side,” you answered against his lips, and your words were vows that he clung to with the certainty that no matter the outcome of it all, he had already had his victory, and with that assurance in mind, he knew he could conquer any hardship and best any foe.
Summary: Since childhood, you have felt an invisible thread tying you to another. When Prince Aemond Targaryen loses his eye, you collapse in agony, finally understanding the truth.
But Aemond does not want a soulmate.
He does not want weakness, does not want someone sharing in the burden of his suffering. He tries to shut you out, to deny the bond, but fate does not bend so easily.
And no matter how much he resists, he cannot ignore the one truth that has always been, when you hurt, he hurts, too.
And when he finally stops running, when he finally accepts the love that has always been his, he learns that pain is not a curse… but a promise that neither of you will ever face this world alone.
Since childhood, pain has never been yours alone.
You felt it when you were small, scraped knees, bruised elbows, little pains that barely mattered. But you also felt things that were not yours.
The sharp sting of a lash, a blade slicing through skin, the deep ache of wounds that no child should bear.
You learned to live with it, to endure it in silence.
Until the night a boy lost his eye.
That night, pain unlike anything you had ever known tore through you. You collapsed where you stood, hands clawing at your face, sobbing as fire seared through your skull.
It was endless, unbearable. You had never screamed before. That night, you did.
And somewhere in the world, another screamed with you.
Years passed.
The pain lessened, but never disappeared.
You still felt it sometimes, a sword’s bite, a deep ache in the ribs, old wounds that never truly healed. But you endured.
You lived in a small holdfast in the Riverlands, far from the power struggles of court.
But when King Viserys died and the kingdom fractured, your father chose to swear fealty to Aegon the Usurper.
Which was how you found yourself in King’s Landing.
It was in the halls of the Red Keep that you first saw him.
Prince Aemond.
And you knew.
His gaze found yours across the corridor, his lone violet eye narrowing slightly, as if he had felt something, recognized something.
You turned and fled before he could approach.
But fate would not be denied.
The second time you met was at a feast.
You had been given no choice but to attend, seated near the high table, your father eager to prove your family's loyalty. You felt it before you saw him—his presence, sharp and suffocating.
And then he was there, lowering himself into the chair beside you.
Neither of you spoke at first. The air between you was heavy, thick with something unspoken.
Finally, his voice cut through the silence.
"It was you."
Your throat tightened. You kept your gaze fixed on the goblet in your hands. "I don't know what you mean, my prince."
Aemond scoffed, leaning in slightly. "Do not play coy. We both know the truth." His voice was lower now, for your ears alone. "You are the one who shares my pain."
You shuddered. "I don't want this."
"Neither do I."
The words should have made you feel relief. Instead, they cut deeper than any blade.
You turned to look at him then, at the sharp lines of his face, the storm in his violet eye. "You cannot deny it," you whispered.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I have spent my life trying."
You swallowed past the lump in your throat. "You feel it, don’t you? When I hurt."
He said nothing.
But that was answer enough.
Days passed. Aemond ignored you, and you tried to do the same.
And yet, the bond did not allow for silence.
One evening, you accidentally cut your palm on a broken goblet. The pain was minor, a sting, nothing more.
But across the hall, Aemond flinched.
Your eyes locked.
Without a word, he strode toward you, his hand seizing your wrist. He turned your palm over, inspecting the wound.
You watched, wide-eyed, as he pulled a cloth from his sleeve and gently wrapped your hand. His touch was careful, precise, soft.
He met your gaze, something unreadable in his expression.
"You should be more careful."
And then he was gone.
He started watching you after that.
At feasts. In the training yard. In the gardens. He never spoke, but his presence followed you, heavy and inescapable.
Until the night you were hurt.
A foolish accident, tripping down the stone steps, your ankle twisting beneath you. The pain shot through your leg, and you barely had time to gasp before a roar echoed through the halls.
And then he was there.
Storming toward you, his eye blazing with fury.
He dropped to one knee beside you, his hands ghosting over your form, searching. "What happened?" His voice was tight, controlled, but you could feel the panic beneath it.
"I-I'm fine, Aemond, I just fell-"
"You are not fine," he snapped.
He exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead to yours. The gesture was shockingly intimate. "I felt it," he whispered. "Your pain. It-" His breath shuddered. "It hurt."
You swallowed hard. "Because we are bound."
He was silent for a long moment. Then, so softly you almost didn't hear it—
"I do not want to be alone anymore."
Your heart ached.
Carefully, you reached up, your fingers trailing over the sharp lines of his face. He did not pull away.
Instead, he leaned into your touch.
"Aemond," you murmured.
Something broke in his expression then. His lips parted slightly, his hand lifting to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin.
And then, finally, after all this time-
He kissed you.
It was slow, hesitant at first, as if he was afraid you might disappear. But when you melted into him, when your fingers curled into his tunic, he claimed you.
When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. His breath was warm against your lips.
"You are mine," he whispered, "as I am yours."
You smiled softly, pressing another kiss to his lips, as gentle as a promise.
"Always."
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
Tags ✦ arranged marriage, wedding night, voyeurism, angst, dub con, power imbalance, loss of virginity (both reader and Jace), oral sex (female receiving), p. in v. sex, threesome (sort of), dark Aemond, overall Jace is going through it
Wordcount ✦ 6k (sorry not sorry)
Wed to your uncle Aemond for political appeasement, you did not expect him to request that your twin, Jacaerys, stand witness to the consummation. It would be a simple formality, if only your twin was not desperately in love with you.
Aemond Masterlist ✦ Jacaerys Masterlist
The bells of the Great Sept were tolling, loud in the sky of King’s Landing. A royal wedding was to be celebrated, and such an event never ceased to delight the people of the city. Many had dressed in their finest clothes and taken to the streets in the hope of seeing the bride or the groom.
Dressed in the Targaryen colors, in a gown more intricate and grand than you had ever worn, you were making your way through the city, the litter carried by several horses, bouncing on the cobblestones as it took you to the place where you would be married.
Seated across from you, your twin brother Jacaerys was looking more anxious than you felt, and you almost considered fleeing from this ceremony, for his sake more than your own. Clearing your throat, you reached out to him, curling your hand over his.
“Marriage is the way people make alliances and solidify them, and have been for centuries,” you repeated what your mother had told you. “Perhaps it won’t be the tragedy you seem to anticipate.”
“Aemond certainly thinks it will be his triumph,” Jacaerys snorted in disdain. His face was obscured by a long curtain of dark curls, but you allowed him the semblance of privacy as he mourned what was to come.
“This is an opportunity, Jace,” you tried to convince him as you had done many times since the announcement of your betrothal, not meaning to be reassuring rather than placating. “One of a kind.”
“Surely there was some other way,” he lamented, quieter than he usually protested about anything, and you removed your hand.
While you had wept when first announced that the king would see you married with your uncle Aemond, fearing for your future and your happiness, you had long prayed about it and had written to him from Dragonstone. If such was meant to be your fate, then you would surrender to it, if it brought an end to the tensions between the two factions of your grandsire’s family.
Walking down the aisle to the altar weeping would not serve you, and you far preferred using your energy for making the best of a situation you had not chosen.
“Are you so pained, seeing me at his arm?” you asked Jacaerys as the litter rocked and swayed when it took a curve, slowly ascending the slight hill where the Sept was built.
“I should not say,” your twin brother answered, heartbroken and petulant.
“Jacaerys…” you tried again, reaching for him once more.
“You are my sister, my twin… Half of my soul,” he finally relented with a great sigh, returning your gesture of affection and intertwining his fingers with yours.
“You will always be half of me, nothing can change that,” you said with a small smile, and at that he brought your joined hands to his face to press a kiss to the back of your knuckles. You wondered whether such a tender and chivalrous gesture would be part of your marriage, or if your uncle was incapable of bestowing them.
“I have a request,” Jacaerys whispered, eyes downcast. “May I kiss you one last time?”
It took every ounce of your resolve for you not to weep when his lips fell to yours, firm and chaste, a simple press of the mouth that carried all the sorrow and grief that inhabited both you and your twin brother. You held onto your certainties and prayed that the Gods would eventually release you of your sadness.
While you would always cherish the special bond you shared with Jacaerys, and would likely always love him more completely than you could ever love someone else, you were promised to another.
Gods willing, it would be a sacrifice for a greater prize—that of peace and reconciliation.
Such feelings filled your heart as you stepped from the litter a minute later, and you clutched them within your ribcage. Above the Sept, the sky loomed, dull and gray, like an omen.
Seeing you approach the altar at your brother’s arm, Aemond had felt the closest thing to exaltation as he had in a long time. He had delighted in the delicate trembling of your frame, the wavering of your voice as you had pledged yourself to him and now, ceremony completed, he felt utterly victorious.
You were beautiful, only a fool would deny it, but the greatest thrill he felt resided in the very obvious fact that you belonged to Jacaerys. It would be the closest thing to a revenge he would get on the bastards, but it would have to do.
He would get to purify your blood and give you white-haired children, he thought, and Jacaerys would have to live with the fact that you were bound to him, irrevocably, and in flesh. The young man’s eyes were fixed on him from the other end of the royal table at the banquet all throughout the feast
At his side, you had hardly touched any of your food and were sipping wine more regularly than seemed to be your habit, but it visibly did little to calm your obvious nerves. Aemond found he was eager for the evening to end and for the two of you to retreat to his chambers. A thrum was going under his skin knowing that if all went according to his plan, he would defile you under your brother's watchful eye.
As cheese and fruit was served, along with a darker wine, Aemond rose carefully, goblet in hand.
“A toast, to my dear nephews, and to my niece,” he started, then corrected himself with obvious delight. “Or should I say to my wife, now.”
At his other side, the King hummed, pleased, while further down the table, Jacaerys hid his annoyance with a cough. “May our union be fruitful and bring honor to our family,” he said with a bit of flair he heard his mother sigh at.
Looking up at him with confusion and apprehension, you looked like a lamb to the slaughter, but held onto your composure admirably. You forced a small smile onto your face. “May the Gods hear you, husband,” you added.
“A witness to the consummation, I believe is custom on the bride’s part,” Aemond continued without waiting for the tension to abate, and he could almost hear his mother’s reproach, although she remained silent, glaring at him worryingly.
Rhaenyra did not miss a beat and answered promptly. “I shall be present, then.”
Aemond hummed a biting laugh. “No, sister, I would not ask this of you. I think your son can deputize for this particular duty,” he said with a tone that left no doubt as to his determination. “They are twins, surely secrecy and modesty are not in their habits, are they?”
Before Rhaenyra could protest, Jacaerys spoke up, rising from his own seat. “It is alright, mother. I will stand as witness,” he assured, his tone perfectly calm while anger was clearly painted on his face.
Such an expression remained as Aemond led you away from the banquet and down the hallway to his rooms. You took his arm with a trembling hand but allowed yourself to be led, which he appreciated. So far you had seemed much timid and meek, but he knew it was a front you put up, and he wished to see what was underneath. Perhaps that side of you was reserved for your family.
Aemond was sure he could get you to fold and surrender, and he would put his every effort into it. Mayhaps the presence of your brother would help break you in, and the mere idea put a shiver to his spine.
His rooms were sparsely furnished and less luxurious than that of his siblings, but it was a space he felt at ease in. Large bookshelves covered the main wall, and a mural painting of the burning of Harrenhal sat above the head of his bed—he saw it caught your eye as soon as you entered.
“You may sit there, nephew,” Aemond instructed, gesturing to an armchair that had been placed at the side of the bed, where Jacaerys would get an unobstructed view of what was to occur. “Disrobe,” he told you just as promptly.
“Entirely?” you asked, a bit incredulous.
“Yes,” Aemond replied as though it was natural. “No need to be shy, I’m sure it’s nothing your brother has not seen.”
Standing in the middle of the room, you looked slightly out of place in your embroidered wedding gown and intricate hairdo. Aemond wanted to see it all undone, he wanted you bare and vulnerable, where he could reach under your skin.
He did not wait for you to voice your compliance, instead turned to his own clothes as Jacaerys sat where he had been instructed to—he was strangely silent, and Aemond wondered when the first acerbic comment or critic would come.
He did not let his nephew’s presence shake him, instead took pride in undressing himself slowly, revealing the body he had worked on so tirelessly since the first flutterings of manhood. He had honed each and every muscle in the yard, and he knew his height was to his advantage. What he lacked in facial beauty, he made up for in other ways, or at least he tried to.
“I shall need help to unlace my gown,” you spoke up, and from the corner of his eye Aemond saw that you had undone your hair and let it fall around your shoulders. Your feet were bare on the stones, shoes and socks discarded.
“Your brother may help,” Aemond replied casually once more, and the creaking of the chair outside of his line of vision, followed by footsteps, signaled to him his nephew’s compliance.
The young man was strangely obedient, and it intrigued him as much as it unsettled him. Perhaps it was on your instructions, as you seemed intent on putting up a good front.
“Thank you,” you whispered to Jace as he came up behind you and pulled the laces of your dress with expert fingers. You could hear his ragged breaths that he tried to keep quiet, and threw him a gentle look over your shoulder. “I shall be fine, now.”
Your twin nodded, letting the fabric fall at your waist and stepping back, your double meaning not lost on him. You quickly dropped the heavy dress to the floor and stepped out of it, and when you looked back up, the sight of the scene in front of you cut your breath.
Aemond was walking towards a nearby table, bare as the day he was born, his pride obvious in the way he rolled his shoulders. At the side of the bed, Jacaerys was sitting in an armchair, resolutely staring at the wall.
You could not deny your uncle painted quite the picture—his long, white hair unraveled at his shoulders, a silky curtain that grazed the divot at the small of his back. He was lithe, silky skin stretched over what looked to be lean muscle, more visibly carved than Jacaerys. He was handsome, even with the scar, and his missing eye, but you doubted that he would be very tender.
You quickly dropped the last layer of your clothes before you could think better of it, folding your shift and settling it over the back of a chair, knowing you might want to find it quickly once the deed was done.
You averted your eyes as Aemond turned to face you, a cup full of wine in hand. “Come here, I would see you before we start,” he said, sounding almost pleasant.
Carefully stepping into the light of the torch, you crossed your wrists low on your belly. Heat rose to your cheeks when Aemond took an appreciative glance while sipping his wine.
“No need to be shy, little dragon,” he crooned, and you would have thought him mocking if he did not sound so firm. “Show me.”
Aemond cleared his throat slightly as you uncrossed your wrists and bared the apex of your thighs to his gaze, instead crossing your arms at your chest. So preoccupied with your own nervousness, he was sure you did not see how his own hands trembled.
You were not a girl paid to pretend you enjoyed his company, but a niece who would likely not hesitate to tell him his shortcomings, and such a prospect was both incensing and terrifying. It was a chance to prove himself, but it could just as well be his undoing. It was a shame you were not Lucerys’ twin, he swiftly thought—but surely it was better for you, or he might have been more cruel.
“Drink,” he murmured, handing you the goblet he had been sipping from. “It won’t do if you are too tense,” he explained, throwing a glance over his shoulder when Jacaerys took a deeper breath at his words.
You followed his suggestion, uncrossing your arms to take the cup in hand, and he allowed himself the first touch of the night. Your hand shook and the cup wobbled when his thumb followed the underside of your breast, then pressed into its lovely curve until it bounced when he released it.
He relished in how you obviously reacted positively to his touch, your skin rising in shivers all across your chest and arms, your cheeks flushing.
Running his fingers along the soft line of your waist produced the same effect, in addition to a sharp intake of breath when he reached your hip, the pad of his thumb teasing the crease leading to the apex of your thighs. You shifted your weight under his quiet inspection, and he could see you wished to speak, to diffuse whatever tension he was imposing on you.
“Gevie,” he murmured before you could find your words, and the shudder that rocked your frame told him you had understood him perfectly.
He was not one for praise but it seemed you were. Although it was certain there was no love between you, and perhaps never would be, he wondered if there could still be more than marital obligation. This tentative desire between the two of you certainly exhilarated him.
Delighted and more excited than he had anticipated, he curled forward, dipping his head into your neck to smell your sweet perfume and pressing a kiss to your soft skin, teasing and trying to coax more reaction from you. “Lay down,” he whispered into your skin, taking the cup from you and setting it aside.
Jacaerys held his breath as you approached the bed, and he forced himself not to react. This moment was the first step into your marriage, and he had vowed to himself that he would help you take it. If you were committed to this, then he would support, but one word from you, or a sign that you wished to flee, and he would take you.
The both of you knew this, and it was this trust that seemed to settle your nerves as you laid across the sheets, your eyes fixed on him.
He tried to slow his breaths, so that you could follow him, but he could not loosen the tense line of his shoulders, no matter how much he willed himself to relax.
Aemond climbed after you, agile in the way a predator was, and settled easily between your parted knees. His long hair fell over his shoulders, hiding his face as he tucked himself into the cradle of your hips, and the sight alone was enough to bring Jacaerys to tears.
You took a long breath, your eyes never leaving your twin as you felt a hard line of heat press against your most intimate place. You curled your hands around your uncle’s—now husband’s—shoulders, blunt nails digging into his pale skin. Suddenly your head swam and something in the pit of your stomach screamed at you to flee, but it was too late.
Jacaerys nodded encouragingly, though a silent tear was rolling down his cheek, and you swallowed the rising plea in your throat, the sight of his distress somehow making you braver.
The pressure grew as Aemond pressed the tip of his length against your entrance, gently, then firmer, as if he was trying to get you used to his presence there. “Breathe, little dragon,” he murmured, in the same almost-crooning voice he had used earlier, and it settled you somehow.
Then, with a quick, firm snap of his hips, Aemond pushed inside—you cried out, the sharp pinch of his intrusion causing you to clench, pain irradiating your lower half. Jacaerys’ hands curled on the armrest of his chair and he breathed in sharply, startled.
“Hush, little dragon,” Aemond soothed as you whimpered, himself sounding half inebriated. “It is done.”
Eyes closed against the pain, you could not tell if your sobs were those of sorrow or relief. As he had said, it was done, you had been irrevocably breached. Now, you expected him to mindlessly take you, but to your confusion, he did not.
“Aemond?” you asked when he pulled out, making you hiss.
The stretch of him inside you still burned after he was gone, and you feared it would make the rest of the evening much more painful than you had anticipated. Rising to his knees between your parted thighs, he threw his hair over his shoulders and looked down at you appreciatively before unhooking your knees from his slim hips.
Instead he planted your feet on the bedding and bent down, sliding down slightly until he could comfortably press a kiss between your breasts.
“Let a husband enjoy his reward,” he instructed, and you sunk back into the sheets and pillows, and surrendered to what he had in mind.
Jacaerys realized what was to occur, and he did not know if he ought to be relieved or furious. It seemed Aemond did not intend to take you mindlessly, and to either ignore or savor your pain. Instead he would linger and savor your pleasure, and Jace would have no escape from it.
He felt his lower lip wobble, furious tears rising behind his eyes, but he held on to his courage as best he could. You threw him a confused look, and he forced himself to give you an encouraging nod and a small smile. You flushed, keeping your eyes on him as Aemond pressed a row of kisses down your abdomen.
Jacaerys saw on your face the moment Aemond kissed your core, when your mouth fell open and your brows creased. Aemond curled his hands around the back of your thighs, holding you in a place with a bruising grip, humming against you. One of your hands tentatively reached for the top of his head, and he allowed you to tangle your fingers in his long locks.
He tried a broad lick, the flat of his tongue sliding along your crease, but it wasn’t until he prodded the small bud at the top of your folds with the point of his tongue that you truly surrendered. Pleasure came to you in sharp waves, the precise licks and presses at your core, simple but effective, almost ruthless in their persistence.
Little by little your knees lowered, your feet losing their balance on the sheets, and eventually your legs fell fully open.
The sight was breathtaking, Jacaerys had to admit. The usually cold and collected man was allowing you to rock up against his face, your fingers tight in his silver strands. Jacaerys wanted to smirk at how the balance was reversed now, even if only for a moment.
He could also no longer deny the sight aroused him—despite his hatred for Aemond, the play of pleasure over your face was delightful, and each of your sighs were making him twitch in his trousers. The edge was within your reach, he could tell, and his own cock throbbed when you whined in frustration. Aemond had pushed himself back and over your body once more.
“Wait,” you cried out, pushing a hand flat against his chest. Aemond ignored you, a frown coming over his face and he pushed back, but you did not relent. “I would—” you tried. “Valzȳrys, kostilus.”
Husband, please. That seemed to calm whatever protest had risen in Aemond, and although his frown did not relent, he let you guide him by the shoulders until he was sitting back on the sheets, and you were straddling his lap clumsily.
You threw a bewildered glance at your twin, and he could not tell what your intentions were, to submit Aemond or to make matters easier for yourself. Or mayhaps you had noticed his interest and wished for him to have an unobstructed view of what was to occur. Aemond did not let himself be subdued so easily, and it was obvious who had the upper hand when he pressed up inside you once more.
The stretch still burned, but underneath it the thrumms of your refused peak roared back to life, a new kind of pleasure rising in you. His eye was dark and intense, his hands a guide at your hips.
“Sȳz,” he praised, his lips stretching into a grin.
He willed himself to be patient, gauging what rhythm made you clench around him, made you grind back down against his thrusts, chasing your pleasure. For a little while the room was nearly silent, and the only thing Aemond could hear was your panting and Jace’s shaky breaths. He snapped his hips up harder; the vice of your cunt around his cock was making him wild and reckless, and he knew it wouldn’t be long now.
“Don’t silence yourself, little dragon, let him hear,” he suggested, grinning as you complied, a ragged sob tearing through you at the next thrust, pleasure building slowly, unfamiliar and coming from deep within.
In the next moment Jacaerys found himself rooted to the spot, speared all the way through by your burning gaze and Aemond’s victorious one. It was almost furious in its intensity, making the back of Jace’s own eyes prickle with hot tears.
Whether it was anger, frustration or jealousy, he could not tell anymore. His nails were digging crescent moons into his knees through his trousers, but the pain did nothing to soothe the hardness between his legs.
“Aemond,” you called urgently, and something snapped inside of your husband. In an instant he flipped you easily, and your back hit the sheets without great consideration. Legs propped on his slim waist, he kneeled between your parted knees, his face slack with pleasure.
Your voice caught in your throat at the sight—his sapphire seemed to gleam, the thin curtain of his hair falling over his sharp features, and you could not stand it. You threw your head to the side, catching your brother’s desperate gaze just as the mounting pressure inside of you threatened to let out.
Aemond kept looking down, curious, to where your fingers had slid over to your nub, pressing quick circles into it. Pride erupted in his chest as you tightened around his length, your peak finally tearing through you. You cried out, barely hearing Aemond’s dark chuckle over the rushing in your ears, helpless to the waves of pleasure washing over you, making you tremble and clench around his cock.
He fell forward, hiding his face and his grunts between the swells of your breasts, his cock spilling in time with your own pulses, a victorious sort of release shaking his slender frame. Years of tensions seemed to pour out of him and he almost wanted to praise you for it.
Silence fell once more, and dread took over the last remnants of your release. You held yourself utterly still, waiting for Aemond to push himself back up, but he did not. Instead he pressed his forehead further at your breast bone, his breath coming in harsh pants. You dislodged your hand, still caught between your bellies, and uncaring for the wetness at your fingers, and reached for his head.
Palm settling over the crown of his hair, you threw your brother a confused look.
Jacaerys had followed your peak with breathless interest, and now that it was done, he found he still could not breathe. His skin felt too tight, stretched so thin across his muscles and bones that it itched, and it was all more than he could bear. Mayhaps Aemond was tamed for a minute, and he could make a swift exit.
“Perhaps I should go, now that it has—” he tried, only for Aemond to interrupt him with a tutting noise.
He unfurled his slim frame slowly, and his face was perfectly controlled once more. He pulled out of you without ceremony and slid off the bed, stretching and rolling the long muscles that sat beneath his pale skin.
“The night is still young, nephew,” he announced with a grin, clearly parading his bare body, which was now coated in a thin sheen of sweat. “Or perhaps we should be chivalrous and ask the lady. What do you say, princess? Should your brother stay?”
Bringing your knees together to hide yourself, you were taken aback by this sudden suggestion. You had hoped to slither away as soon as duty was done, but this strange display of vulnerability had you curious, and you thought it best not to unleash his anger if you refused—besides, you did not wish to part from Jacaerys quite yet, while you were still reeling from it all, leaving you exposed.
“He can stay,” you simply said, stalling for time, hoping for a way to recover that tender stillness he had displayed. It seemed pleasure of the flesh did not subdue him so easily.
You stood up, grateful for your twin who shot up from his chair and gave you an arm to hold. You looked around for something to cover with, but did not find any robe or dressing gown for you to put on.
Jace, always a thought ahead of you, pulled a sheet from the bed and wrapped it around your quivering shoulders.
Still bare and unashamed, Aemond observed the little scene from the foot of the bed—he had to admit you painted a lovely picture, mirror images of each other, your soft hesitancy colliding with Jace’s obvious fury. The two of you were shaking for different reasons, and you almost looked like a pair of newborn fawns he longed to sink his teeth into.
Thus, he pressed the issue, eager to know what laid behind your restrained gestures and looks.
“Tell me, nephew. I am not so naive to think you have never touched her, but I admit I was surprised to find her still a maid,” he hummed, sharp and crueler than was honorable. “That is an impressive control of your urges, I did not think the likes of you would be capable.”
“Enough of your taunting,” Jacaerys hissed, barely soothed by you running your hand down his arm.
Aemond chuckled darkly. “Do not be so hostile. I am offering. She is mine now, mine to do with as I please, and I think it would like to see you try,” he explained, amused at your puzzled look. “It is a one time offer, nephew. I will not be this generous again.”
If Jacaerys had been disoriented all throughout the day, none of it had prepared him for such a thing. He wondered what there would be to gain from it, if only leverage. Perhaps Aemond wished to give him a taste, only to hold it over his head for the rest of his days, and the thought was as unbearable as it was tempting.
“Disrobe him,” he suggested to you, almost a question, and the shadow of an idea crept up the back of your mind.
Without a word, you raised your hands to the buttons of Jace’s doublet and unclasped the first one, nearest his throat. “Sister,” Jacaerys whispered, his own hands coming to cover yours. “I could still go.”
Instead of an answer, it was a kiss that you gave him, pressing yourself up until your mouth was flush with his, and unashamed. He melted into you by instinct, responding to your passion. Your tongues curled together, practiced, and he barely noticed your fingers slipping from his hold and following the row of clasps down to his waist, tugging at his belt.
Something dark spread behind Aemond’s breastbone, a longing for warmth and the honest familiarity of such a kiss. He found himself insatiably curious and hungry—he wondered how it would be, to witness the coupling of young love, and he knew he wanted to see it only for the satisfaction of holding it in his hand and threatening to crush it.
Belt undone and doublet pushed off his shoulders and onto the floor, Jace was quick to discard his boots, the back of his neck still risen in shivers, ready for this farce to be called off. His heart was in his throat, but the temptation was too much for him to resist, and his cock was hard despite his worries.
“Don’t spill inside her, if you can avoid it,” Aemond commanded, sitting back on the bed and pulling at your sheet until you took a few steps forward and laid back on the mattress, knees parted. “I hear moon tea is quite unpleasant.”
You forced yourself to ignore the heady possibility of such a consequence—bringing Jace’s child into this world, humiliating your husband and forcing him to annul. It would be terribly easy to pretend Aemond had never consummated, thus forcing your brother to act, as he himself was the only witness.
However, proof that this fantasy was nothing but wild imagination, you noticed that the inside of your thighs was wet, unpleasantly so, and you allowed Jacaerys to wipe them before he took his place between your parted legs. He had left his shirt and trousers on, seemingly unwilling to bare himself to Aemond’s gaze, which earned him an amused tilt of the head.
“Shyness? How endearing,” he mocked, but his mirth died when you welcomed Jace into your body, foreheads coming together in shared bliss.
The sweet tightness made Jace’s head spin but he held on, pressing grateful kisses to your cheeks and lips. Euphoria was taking your breath and your voice, and you rocked back against him even though you felt sore, heartbreak and elation twirling together in your chest.
Even though it was only a bite of a poisoned apple, you gladly took it. No matter the twisted pleasure Aemond might have taken in watching you, knowing his offer was one of damnation, you made sure to commit every sigh and touch to your memory.
Stretched at your side, Aemond watched, unraptured—the easy way with which you pressed up into Jace’s hands, the tip of your fingers tracing invisible lines between his freckles, and wondered how sin could look so honest and angelic.
“Never been inside a woman, nephew?” he couldn’t help but ask, and Jace gritted his teeth against a retort. “I took your first and now you take his…” Aemond continued, burrowing closer until he could croon against your temple, pressing a kiss to it, while Jacaerys buried his face in your neck. “You should thank me for it.”
“I am on my knees with gratitude,” Jace replied, more of a hiss than a grunt.
Aemond wanted to chastise him for his impertinence but was taken aback, freezing in slight disbelief at your next move. Instead of reaching for your twin again, it was at the back of his own neck that your hand settled on, pulling him in. He allowed it, letting you lick into his mouth with that passion he had witnessed earlier, unbearable soft and slow.
He returned your kiss, exploring, in hope of tasting the sweetness that seemed to bloom between you and your twin. Some days he envied this state of being born as two—never in his life had he ever felt so tied to someone he could call his own, and he knew that even the satisfaction of ripping you away from your twin’s arms could never fill that absence.
He would have to find contentment in the fact that it was in his mouth that you were moaning as Jacaerys thrusted into you, and it was sweeter than honey on his tongue.
Even as you ran out of breath and broke the kiss you kept him close, your moans fanning over his cheek, your hand a vice at the back of his neck, pulling some of his hair uncomfortably.
“Thank you, husband,” you sighed after a while, and Aemond knew he could not let Jacaerys have this victory.
“Let me give you a hand in pleasing her,” he said, breathless when he would have wanted to sound biting.
He reached down to where your two bodies were joined and pressed at your core. He drew a light circle on it, pressing and teasing until a whine tore out of your throat, and then let his slim fingers find a steady rhythm, pleasuring you in time with Jacaerys’ gradually hurried thrusts.
Fury was scratching at the inside of Jace’s ribs but his heart was too full. For countless nights he had dreamed of having you, of taking what was rightfully his by birth, but given to another by oath, and he almost didn’t care that it was finally offered to him by the man who now could claim ownership over you.
For a moment he lost himself in his worst nightmare and his greatest wish tangled together, and in the way you clenched around him and clung to him, your legs wrapped around his waist, your heels digging in the back of his thighs.
Jace was not allowed the satisfaction of hearing you falling over the edge, instead Aemond swallowed the moans of your release, keeping enough awareness to notice that your twin was falling apart, ready to follow you.
“Enough,” Aemond commanded, his hand curling at the back of Jace’s head and pulling on his curls until he regretfully pulled out of you, allowing himself one slow, final thrust.
Your hand tangled with his around his length and soon, ropes of pearly white were coating your skin, Jace’s groan of ecstasy buried in the side of your neck.
“Well done,” Aemond hummed, and in one last bout of sadistic pleasure, pressed a kiss to the top of Jacaerys’ head, uncaring for the fact that he was still quivering from his release. “You may leave now, I believe you have seen enough to confirm the marriage was consummated,” he instructed as he rose from the bed again, choosing to ignore the renewed hardness between his own legs.
He was unused to succumbing to his desires, and he did not wish to partake in that weakness shared by so many men. He would take you whenever was necessary, he told himself, and no more. It would not do well for him to get used to your warmth.
“You may go, brother,” you added tenderly, and pressed a kiss to Jacaerys’ cheek under Aemond’s cold gaze. The young man nodded with a small smile and picked up his doublet and boots in silence.
Redressing himself, he kept his eyes low on the floor, shame coloring his cheeks and making his lower lip wobble. However when he walked past Aemond to leave the room, he purposefully held his head high despite his obvious emotion.
“Give me a son soon enough, and perhaps I shall allow him to come and play once more,” Aemond then turned to you and hummed, not bothering to check that the door had fully closed behind Jacaerys.
To his great surprise, you did not cower in humilation—instead you stood up much as your brother had done, still bare and your skin barely wiped from the evidence of what had taken place this night. You leveled him with a gaze he loathed to realize was some sort of pity.
“Be tender or be cruel, it matters not,” you said, sounding more sad than anything else. “I will never give you what I gave him.”
Without another word you picked up your cotton shift and slipped it over your body once more, leaving your wedding gown splayed on the back of a chair, discarded and forgotten, and you crossed the room without so much as a glance to him, your bare feet making quiet sounds on the stone floors.
Aemond barely heard the door creak open. He had no word for the heat that burned behind his eye.
Dividers by @zaldritzosrose. Requested by @thewhisperedone ♡
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Tags: angst, family secret, canon-typical incest, plot twist, mild smut
Wordcount: 3,125
Growing up, Aemond has always felt a strong bond towards you, Rhaenyra's first child, without understanding why. Until one night, the truth about your shared connection finally comes out.
Aemond Masterlist
Growing up as the only daughter of Rhaenyra, it would have been logical for you to seek friendship with another lonely girl among sons—Helaena—but instead it was in her young brother that you found companionship.
Whenever you struggled to find your place beside Jacaerys and Lucerys, it was with Aemond that you sought comfort and a distraction. The two boys shared a bond you were not privy to, and you could hardly blame them. You were a daughter, their eldest, and in some ways more like your mother than either of them were—or perhaps the truth of it lied elsewhere.
Aemond was a kindred spirit of sorts. You liked his quiet manner, his thoughtfulness and his bravery, and it seemed he understood you better than anyone else in your family. The two of you cherished common memories of sunlit childhood afternoons in the Red Keep’s library, reading about Valyrian customs and Targaryen ancestry.
Over the years you lamented the limited resources available to you, and the stern way with which most Maesters wrote their journals. The both of you hungered for more, for a deeper understanding of your Valyrian ancestry.
This common passion was what allowed your bond to continue even as time, distance and tragedy pulled you apart. You kept a regular correspondence between Dragonstone and the Red Keep, exchanging mundane stories as well as discoveries you made over the years, in the library of the dragon island.
There was nothing you enjoyed more than reading Aemond’s tight handwriting on parchment, sharing with you his new translation of a poem or recounting of battle.
The slow transition into adulthood did not dull your affections, and as you approached your coming of age, Aemond had to admit he entertained the hope of a match with you, but he knew only the king could approve of it. This hope was tainted with the certain rejection that would come from your mother, and he dared not entertain the fantasy that he would one day call you his.
This personal tragedy of his was only intensified as Aegon and Helaena were wed, and he knew it would only be a matter of years before his own betrothal would be made. Their wedding was not as grand an affair as it should have been, but the wine was pleasant enough for Aemond to indulge.
Your presence made the event more bearable, even though he was surprised that Rhaenyra had attended and brought her eldest children with her. His stomach was in knots for fear that she had come only to discuss matters of marriage with the king—Aemond spent the entirety of the day observing you and Jacaerys, attempting to decipher whether or not you appeared closer than siblings.
The banquet lasted well into the evening, and his senses dulled by the wine he so rarely drank, Aemond retreated to the safety of one of the balconies overlooking the hall. Leaning against the railing, he watched the joyful discussions from afar and distantly listened to the music, a cup in hand.
He purposefully did not turn when you approached—he was feeling strangely maudlin and perhaps even jealous, and it was making his missing eye pulse. “Let us hope this match shall prove auspicious, in the long run,” you commented, sounding less than convinced. You leaned next to him, your shoulder brushing his, and it made a shiver run up his spine.
“A kin wedding, that is all we can hope for,” he said, almost to himself, but you immediately picked up on it.
“You have no more sisters. Or was I mistaken about Daeron's sex?” you asked, hiding your smirk in your cup.
You knew the topic of marriage must have been on his mind, now that his two eldest had wed, he was the next. You were sure the Hand even had a few candidates ready to parade in front of him. The thought turned your stomach slightly, but you had never allowed yourself to fantasize about any other alternative.
“No, I don't,” he said, and in his simple answer lied many other words. It was a common occurrence between the two of you whenever you spent time in each other’s company—silent conversations, silent words that you both heard clearly but did not need to be uttered.
“I have brothers,” you commented, almost off-handedly, perhaps to get a rise out of him. You had refused to admit how much the issue of marriage also pressed on your mind, but as time went on and the carelessness of childhood left you, so did your ease to bare your heart to him.
You were no longer children, but a boy on the cusp of manhood and a girl flirting with the age of womanhood. He would ease right into it, you knew, and you could already see in him the shapes of the man he would become—you would rage and fight as the expectations of your own gender would be thrust upon you. Still, despite your distaste for it, the budding woman in you longed for the man forming in him.
“You would not want to waste yourself on…” he started, and you silently chastised yourself for the bait you had thrown at him.
“Don't,” you warned, the wine making your tongue bolder than your mind. “I have no advantage over them… They cannot help their birth, just as I cannot help mine.”
Aemond then turned to you, wondering what you had meant, but you pushed from the railing and walked away, glancing at him over your shoulder as you made your way to the outside. You did not know whether you were grateful or frightened that he followed you into the gardens. The night was warm, and the smell of the flowers was almost sickening.
“What did you mean?” he asked, almost angry at your insinuation.
For a moment you wondered whether it was wise to confess to him what was occupying your mind. It was a truth you were familiar with, but now that questions of matches were coming up, you felt the need for honesty.
“There was a night, many years ago…” you started, then sudden shyness took hold of you. “Surely you've heard of it, the king sent Daemon away for it,” you whispered, knowing your friend would likely understand the insinuation.
Aemond looked down as the meaning of your words set in. “There was a rumor indeed, that Daemon was the one to… deflower Rhaenyra,” he replied, and you winced at his crudeness, but appreciated his quickness of mind.
“It is true. The proof is here for all to see…” you smiled, chagrined, twirling a strand of your silver hair and smoothing it down repeatedly. “It was always said I was born early…”
The meaning was not lost on Aemond, and despite the outrageous implication, he was glad you had not been fathered by Harwin Strong, as all knew your brothers had been. It was an open secret, one the king seemed blind to, and one that had cost him his eye. To know that you had no Strong blood in your veins only made Aemond’s affection sharper.
He looked at you insistently, at the way your hair shone in the moonlight and the glow of the distant torches on the garden’s main path. He licked his lower lip, hungry for a kiss he was too self-conscious to ask for.
“Are you going to hate me now, that I'm a bastard?” you taunted, tilting your chin arrogantly, and your assurance made his stomach clench with a feeling he was unfamiliar with. “Or will you grace me with forgiveness because my father is a white-haired, pure blood Targaryen?”
Aemond was silent for a while, contemplating the harbor below and swallowing the feelings that threatened to spill out of him. He dug his nails into his palms so as not to reach out for you. “You should be proud of who your father is,” he finally replied, softer than he intended.
“You admire him, secretly,” you grinned, giving him a gentle shove.
“It is merely the wine, I've indulged more than I should,” he defended, and that was that.
This confidence never spread further than the gardens, and Aemond had the grace not to mention it again. The next couple of years, you could feel that the topic of marriage weighed heavily on his mind, and that forging a strong legacy mattered to him above all else. He was lonely, you also realized, and longed for a family of his own.
Your letters remained the same and so did his, discussing the same topic you were both passionate about, only sometimes the end of your sentences would suggest more profound preoccupations. The memory of that night in the gardens kept him warm when sleep eluded him, just as much as his frustration for not having had the courage to kiss you. He had to find satisfaction in how quick you were to reply to his letters.
Aemond had known it would all come unraveling one day, but he had not expected it to occur during a dinner where his entire relatives were there to witness it. His rage outweighed his affection for you and the offense to him was too great. His eye socket pulsed as Lucerys laughed, and his chest turned to stone. The words were out of his mouth before he could think them through, and the temporary satisfaction of having said them made his blood boil as he walked back to his rooms.
His breathing loud to him in the quiet of the room, he was expecting you to storm in, shout and rage at him. Instead when you came in, it was only with calm and utter devastation on your face. It was worse, he thought, and he would gladly take the palm of your hand to the cheek than your sorrow.
You had set foot in his rooms only a handful of times in recent years, and you had always been perplexed by its peculiar layout. It was cold and sparsely furnished, barely comfortable, and the painted mural of the Black Dread burning Harrenhal felt strangely ominous.
“When you insult them, you insult me,” you said, cold and shaking with rage. Aemond was standing in the middle of the room, his back turned to you, his one eye staring back over his shoulder.
“You are nothing like them. You are not one of them,” he replied, not turning to face you. His fists were clenched at his sides.
“What am I instead, then?” you cried out, the calm facade you had worked so hard to build while walking up to his quarters vanishing. “They came from the same womb I did, why are you so intent on hating them for a fault you easily forgave in me?”
At that he finally turned to you, and for a long moment you both remained silent, face to face, staring at each other. Your friendship had broken, clean like a broomstick over a thigh, snapped like a branch in the wind, and neither of you knew how to go on from there. Now you wondered what would come instead, or if you would be forced to part, pulled in two different directions—the idea was unbearable.
“Do not act as though you do not know. As though you do not feel it as much as I do,” he broke the silence, pleading gently, and you were almost surprised that he would be the one to yield.
You were standing at the edge of a precipice, your toes dipping into the void below. The truth was burning your throat, your eyes, as much as your heartbreak was pulling at your chest.
“I do feel it... I've always felt it,” you had to admit, and his nostrils flared, excitement bursting in his stomach.
“Still you would choose them,” he accused. His breath was hot over your face, an unexpected touch of tenderness to his voice.
It was now or never, he knew. He could try one last time to bring you over to his side, to convince you that you belonged with him. He could feel you escaping already, slipping through his fingers, and he was desperate, clawing at whatever he could reach.
“We have an understanding that goes deeper than this. They could never understand, that you and I—” he tried, and he could feel the tears pooling in his eyes. It would be his last attempt, baring his heart and hoping you would not stab it with rejection.
You looked stunned at this confession, almost afraid, and you shook your head. He knew that look in your eyes, he had seen it before—you were on the edge of a confession once more, like that night in the gardens years ago.
“What are you not telling me?” he whispered.
“We've been on the edge of this conversation many times, but I don't think you are ready to hear it,” you replied, taking a few steps back. Aemond followed you, and still you stepped back again, until the two of you were walking a frantic circle around his room.
“I think you know it, deep down... It’s in your blood! You know who you are, and that is why you hate them so much…” you lamented, gesturing wildly. He could not help but think of how beautiful you were in your fury, in your pain. “What you hate in them, you hate in yourself. You love your mother too much to question her, I understand,” you continued, obviously desperate for him to come to his own conclusion.
“You are not making any sense!” he said, and it only seemed to make you even more frantic.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why the bond we share is so intense, why it pains us so to be apart?” you asked, almost choking on your words. “Haven't you ever wondered why we looked so alike as children? The king often marveled at the mysteries of blood, at why we looked more like siblings than cousins…”
“What are you saying?” he shouted back, his nerves boiling under his skin, until finally, your words hit him like a slap across the face.
“We have the same father!” you cried out.
His breath froze in his chest at this revelation, like all the fire in his chest had vanished, blown out by the cold breath of your confession.
“Daemon,” the name pushed past his lips and seemed to resonate under the ceiling, swift like an executioner's axe. Tears caught in your lashes and you batted them away as you looked up at him, pleading, imploring.
“On that night he brought Rhaenyra to the brothel... When they came back to the castle, Queen Alicent was waiting for them, in her chambers,” you whispered, apologetic. “I do not know the details. Only that—”
“Don't you dare,” Aemond hissed, suddenly picturing the unthinkable, and he was almost furious at you for implying such impropriety. Under his skin, his blood was rushing and he could almost feel his bones grind against one another, as if his body was molding into something new.
“It was the recklessness of youth. All it took was one night!” you explained, recounting the words you had heard from both your parents. “She meant to confront them, she did not intend…”
He loathed how despite his disgust something settled in him, at his very core, and the more he considered every little doubt, every little question he had ever had, the more it felt right.
“Did he…” he breathed, unaware he was even asking, wondering if he was a product of violence as well as transgression, if aggression was part of him as much as this continuous hunger for you was.
“No, of course not,” you said, simple as that. Then you asked. “Are you not proud that he fathered you, and not the king?”
Aemond turned, looking up at the mural above his bed for strength, and the next breath felt easier, his ribcage expanding with more freedom. He should have been appalled, he knew, and he was almost disgusted at himself that he wasn’t.
Still, this revelation seemed to settle the score somehow, and rectify the indignities he had lived through until then. In his veins wasn’t the blood of the weakest monarch in Targaryen history, but the same blood that ran in you, the blood of a warrior, of a rogue.
“We are the same, you and I. We were conceived that same night, by the same man... Surely that counts as something,” you said behind him, as though you felt necessary to justify the affection you had confessed a minute prior.
“It was meant to be,” was Aemond’s answer as he turned to face you again, and it was as though he was seeing your face for the first time, with a soul-crushing clarity. “One soul split into two… We should have been twins,” he murmured, reaching up to stroke your cheekbone with the back of his knuckles and you smiled, chagrined.
Aemond kissed you like wildfire, hunger and despair seeping through your skin from his touch alone. Gone was your initial fury, swept away by the all-encompassing truth Aemond finally was a part of. You were distantly aware you might have just triggered your own downfall, or perhaps even his, but the sweetness of his lips upon yours erased all your cares.
“You should have been mine,” he whispered, and you wanted to beg him to take what he was owed, but you did not need to.
It was with trembling hands that you both sought the other’s skin, suddenly burning with a fire that could only be extinguished with touch. Leather creaked and velvet purred as his doublet and your gown hit the floor, cotton shirts and shifts almost teared off, leaving red streaks on porcelain complexions—the same freckles that speckled your chest speckled his.
Aemond’s air was knocked out as you shoved him on the settee, but soon you were pressing yourself against him, breathing life back into him with yet another ravenous kiss.
Your lips were molding so easily along his, your tongue bold and curious as you straddled his lap, your hips finding their place over his. You mewled as he bent his neck and licked your breast, then sucked the peak into his mouth. It was ungainly, unrefined, and it stung almost as much as the pull of your fingers in his hair.
When finally you lowered yourself on him and his hard length pushed into you, tearing past the thin flesh that was his to take, the friction was rough and imprecise. And yet it was the closest to the heavens you had ever been, and your soul sang a perfect song.
“Now we’re one,” you whispered.
Dividers and beta reading by the wonderful @zaldritzosrose ♡
Requested by @m00n5t0n3.
Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed reading. Comment to be added to the taglist.
Summary: A collection of Aemond and you taking advantage of ovulation week.
Warnings: 18+ breeding kink, swearing, oral(m+f), fingering, p in v, public, dry humping, incorrect explanation/medical information bc its medieval and they actually don’t know anything abt women!
Authors Note: the plot is being desperate for aemond so 🤷🏼♀️ this wasn’t on my w.i.p. bc it was written spontaneously in one sitting x
Word Count: 3.7k i think this might just be pure filth like fr
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You have had the most intense need for Aemond the past two days. Anytime you’re both alone you’re on him begging for him to take you. This morning is no different as you beg on your knees blocking him from leaving your shared chambers. He stands above you with an amused smile on his face as you pout and bring your hands up to his thighs.
“Husband, please.” you bat your eyelashes at him. “Gods please, please,” your pleas but a whisper. “Aemond, please. Let me just suck your cock before you train. Please?” his eye bulges at your brazen words.
“You should hear yourself.” he says lowly as he tilts your chin up. “Utterly indecent.” he clicks his tongue watching you rub your thighs together.
“Aem,” you whine pressing your forehead against his thighs. “Please,” your begging is going straight to his cock and he feels his control slipping. “Husband,” his fingers are tugging at his laces on his trousers the next second. “Thank you, Aemond.” you sit up quickly and pull his trousers down. You reach in and free him, bringing his tip to your mouth quickly.
“Better, my needy little wife?” he groans as you suck harshly on his tip. You hum around him, lashing your tongue against his tip. When his droplets meet your tongue your eyes flutter shut and you suck him down your throat. “Fuck,” he lets out a throaty moan bracing his hands on the wood door behind you.
You start to bob your head quickly while clenching your thighs and listening to his soft pants. His hips softly jerk and you moan around him matching your pace to his. You pull almost all the way off of him to suck and lap at his tip. Your fingers wrap around his shaft and pump him as you worship his tip. You wrap your lips around his tip and suck as you quickly pump him watching his stomach flex. He groans as his forehead presses to the door next as he lets out soft curses.
Aemond can’t help but jerk his hips into your hands and mouth and when he looks down at you he sees you watching him with devotion. You start to suck down his length again and you feel him twitch down your throat. You smile, hollowing your cheeks as his seed starts to fill your mouth. You hum contently as you suck down everything he gives you. He pulls you off of him with a heaving chest and you help him back into his pants. He helps you stand and pulls you against his chest.
“Thank you.” you mumble into his jerkin. “Do you think when you’re done training you could fill my cunny next?” you look up at him and smile seeing his cheeks flush.
“I have some things that need tending to today.” he chuckles as a frown forms on your face.
“Are they more important than filling your wife?” he clenches his jaw, willing his heart to stop racing. “I’m already dripping for you.” you grab his hand and guide it under your night dress. “I need you so badly, Aem.” you whine as he slides his finger down your slit watching you squirm in his arms.
“We will both have to have some patience today.” he says through his teeth as he dips his finger into your warm cunt. You beg and plead him as he slowly pumps his finger before slowly pulling it out and trailing it back up your slit. “I’ll be back.” he presses his lips to your forehead before slipping his finger in his mouth and looking at you with a dark eye. “My sweet wife.” he hums and slips out the door behind you.
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When Aemond walks into your shared chambers after his meetings he quickly shuts the doors hoping no one heard your whimpers. As he walks up the stairs he sees that you’re spread out across the bed in one of his tunics with your hand buried between your thighs. Your other hand is squeezing your breast above the material as your fingers circle your bud. You hear his footsteps and peel your eyes open as soft whimpers leave your lips.
“Aemond,” your chest heaves as your fingers speed up. His fingers grab onto the hem of the tunic and he pulls it up and over your head.
“What has gotten into you?” he chuckles as you grab his hand and bring it to replace your own between your thighs. He watches your eyes shut again as your hips roll against his fingers. He dips two fingers into your core and you moan loudly arching off the bed. “Spread your legs more for me.” he pats your thigh with his other hand and he settles between them. He brings his face down to watch your pleasure coat his fingers. His tongue flicks against your bud pulling gasps from you.
“Gods Aem, yes,” you whine when he curls his fingers. He slams his fingers into you as his tongue circles around your throbbing bud. Your whimpers spur him on to lash against you faster as they become more broken and high pitched. “Aemond,” your legs slam around his head as your pleasure bursts through you. He pulls his fingers out quickly and soon his tongue is in their place lapping at your release.
“Is this what you do when I’m not here?” he pulls back and looks at your heaving chest. “Hm?” he hums, starting to circle his thumb against your bud. “You sit here and play with your cunny?” your fingers grip around his wrist as your legs start to tremble. “Gods you’ve been no better than a common whore these past couple of days.” he starts to kiss up your body while his thumb continues to swirl. “Should I take the day tomorrow and just fill you?” he chuckles as you nod your head.
“Yes, please yes.” you nod your head as you feel your stomach tighten. His teeth take your nipple and your eyes roll back as your pleasure is pushed over the edge. Aemonds tongue circles the bud he bit before kissing across to your other as he slowly continues to slide his fingers through your wetness.
“I’ll see what I can do.” he lifts up and presses his lips to yours as he starts to untangle from you.
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Aemond had moved most of his meetings to the early morning in hopes that you will still be abed by the time he is done. As he’s walking down the hall to his next meeting he’s greeted by you turning the corner. He watches your face flush as your teeth dig into your lip and he groans knowing he’s going to be late to this meeting. You take quick steps and stop in front of him and look up at him with a small pout.
“You didn’t even wake me to say goodbye.” you press your hands on his chest.
“That’s because I would’ve had to say ‘goodbye’ to you for an hour.” he smiles resting his hands on top of yours. “I only have two more meetings and I’ll be done for the day.” he watches you step another foot closer pressing yourself against him.
“Aem.” you whine softly.
“Can you really not wait?” he cups your cheeks knowing he’ll be dragging you into the nearest tunnel entrance in a minute.
“I need you.” his hands leave your face at your words and grabs your hand quickly leading you down an empty hall. He looks around and nods when he finds the alcove. He presses the door open and helps you in and clicks the door shut behind the both of you. When he turns you grab his face and pull him down to your lips.
“This is going to be quick. I’m to be in the library in ten minutes.” he flips you and presses your front against the stone and starts to lift your skirts. “Of course you have nothing on under here.” he shakes his head as he’s met by your slick cunt. He grabs your ass and you arch back into him and press your cheek against the stone. He unlaces his trousers quickly and is soon pressing his tip around your wetness.
“Aemond,” you pant and your nails dig into the cool stone as he presses into you. He snaps his hips into you, pulling a loud moan from you. “Please.” you squeeze around him and he groans, digging his fingers into your hips.
“What are you begging for now?” he chuckles at your small whines.
“Fill me. Aemond please.” you roll your hips back into him and he snaps his hips into you harder. You lean back into him and with every snap of his hips he pulls a gasp from your lips. “Mm yes,” you pulse around him and smile as you feel his seed pour into you. He keeps pumping into you as you shake in his arms. “Thank you Aem.” you hum as he pulls out. He groans watching his seed slide down your thighs before he pulls your skirts back down.
“Of course, my needy wife.” he presses his lips to yours. “Go back to our chambers and I’ll be there in a couple hours.” you nod as he helps you out of the tunnels.
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“I’m sorry I’m late, Grand Maester.” Aemond quickly takes a seat at the table across from the man.
“Do not worry, my Prince.” he offers Aemond a smile. “What is it that you needed to discuss?” he nods prompting him to speak.
“How can I tell if my wife is with child?” he feels his cheeks flush as the Grand Maester smiles.
“When was her last moon blood?” the maester asks and Aemond nibbles his lip, counting the days.
“About a fortnight ago,” he nods.
“Why do you think she’s with child?” he raises his brow and Aemond knows his cheeks must be bright red now. Gods he should’ve gone to someone else first but he wanted someone with the proper knowledge but divulging this to a maester?
“My wife has been particularly.. insatiable.” he avoids the maesters eye contact.
“I see,” Aemond can hear the smile in his voice and he’s absolutely mortified.
“Nevermind. Speak of this to no one.” Aemond rises rapidly and the maester stands with him.
“My Prince, a moment.” he calls out. “That is a side effect of carrying a child, yes.” he nods his head. “But as you’ve told me it’s only been two weeks since her last moon blood I’m thinking it could be what we call ovulation.” Aemond scrunches his brows unfamiliar with the term.
“And what is that then?” he purses his lips still not happy to be in this conversation regardless of whether he prompted it or not.
“During the years of study we’ve been able to learn more about the woman’s body and what happens monthly along with the moon blood. Many tend to have an influx in certain.. needs around two weeks before their next blood. We think it has something to do with the body being ready to carry a child. It’s still being studied but I wouldn’t be surprised if she is carrying a child soon if what you speak is true.” the maester offers all of the knowledge he knows and Aemond nods, not understanding a thing he is speaking about.
“Thank you, Grand Maester.” he turns and begins walking to his next meeting, taking a mental note to find books on this.
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After his talk with the Grand Maester yesterday he kept you awake all night until he was spent. Gods the thought of you carrying his child had him.. what was that word the maester used? Ovulating. If you were ovulating then so was he. When he woke this morning the view of you in the soft golden light had his cock stirring. He pulled the blankets down your body and groaned watching your skin pebble. Your eyes blink open as he brushes his fingers across your cheek. He rolls over on top of you and you melt into him as he presses his lips to yours.
You wrap your legs around his waist as he slides his tip up your slit. Your hands bury themselves into his unbound hair as it curtains around you. He continues to rock his hips into yours as you hold him closer. He kisses down your neck and sucks softly as you whimper beneath him. He reaches between the both of you as lines himself up with your entrance. As he pushes into you, your breath catches as you arch into him.
“Aemond,” your fingers tighten in his hair as he starts a slow rhythm. He kisses his way back up to your mouth sealing your lips together. His hips start to fall into yours quicker causing you to gasp into his mouth. “Yes, please,” your hands move to his back and hold him closer as he rolls his hips into yours after every thrust.
“I’m going to keep filling you with my seed until I’m sure you’re carrying our child.” you hold him tighter at his words. “That’s what you want right?” he lifts up and watches your face scrunch with pleasure. “Your little cunnys telling you it wants to be filled? Hm?” he chuckles, feeling your legs shake around his waist.
“Please, Aemond yes,” you whine rocking your hips with his. “Fill me, please. I want to grow our child. Please let me.” he presses his forehead against yours as his thrusts become erratic. “My husband please,” you arch up into him. “Let me give you children, Aemond.” your toes curl as your pleasure approaches.
“My perfect wife.” he grunts, still snapping his hips into yours. “I’ll keep you bred and filled on this bed until you’re swollen with my seed.” his words push you over the edge and your eyes roll back as you fall apart. You shutter as he fills you, continuing to slowly rock into you. “Go back to bed. I’ll wake you when I’m ready to fill you again.” he kisses you softly before he rolls back over and pulls you against his chest.
ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত
Aemond needs to know what the maester was talking about at their meeting. He makes his way to the library after making sure you were overly satisfied and tucked into bed for a nap. He refuses to ask for help in finding the section and starts where he believes it would be. He lets out a relieved sigh when he finds a couple different books and gathers them before bringing them to a table. A servant scurries over and offers him a couple candles before giving him his space.
The accountings of the maesters tell him more than the Grand Maester did and he was thankful for taking the time. He was shocked to find out how thorough these maesters were doing their studies and was looking forward to seeing these signs appear on you. Thinking about your breasts swelling had his mouth watering. The sensitivity your body will feel when he presses his lips against you. His breathing deepens as he keeps reading and thinking about you growing with his child. He snaps the book shut when someone touches his shoulder.
“What are you studying so dutifully?” he relaxes at your soft voice. You walk slowly around the front of his chair and he looks up at you with a raised brow.
“Why do you have a cloak on?” he starts to open the fabric to pull it off only to be greeted by your bare body. “Gods,” he hisses. “We are in the library.” he silently scolds you yet still brings his hands to your waist and pulls you closer. He pulls the tie and the cloak slips to the ground as you stand between his legs. His eye travels over your chest that’s littered with his bite marks and as he looks between your thighs he can see the trail of your mixed pleasure from earlier still leaking down your legs.
“I can be quiet.” you bite your lip.
“No you cannot.” he chuckles, pulling you onto his lap and bringing his hands up to your breasts. “Do you like that someone could just walk over here and see how you’re begging for me? See how desperate you are?” he pinches your nipples and you let out a soft whine.
“Please Aemond,” your body shutters as you grind against his trousers.
“Take what you want then.” he smirks and sits back watching you hump against him.
“I want you to touch me.” you whine into his neck as you rock your hips. “Please Aem,” you press your lips to his neck. “I need you to touch me, please I’ll-
“Gods be quiet.” he puts his hand over your mouth. “The whole Keep will know what’s going on.” he groans as you continue to rock against his cock. His thumb moves to brush against your bud and you moan into his palm. He watches as your eyes squeeze shut the faster he circles his thumb and the way you shutter. He sees your pleasure ripples through you and onto his trousers.
“We need to go to our chambers.” you nod with a heaving chest. He grabs the discarded cloak and wraps it around you once more. He leads you out of the library not bothering to put the books back. He tugs you along with him half tempted to pick you up to get you in bed quicker. His cock is straining against his trousers and he can feel the wet spot that you left behind.
“Aem, slow down.” you whine and squeeze his hand. He groans and picks you up and continues to your chambers. You pout and dig your fingers into his back to which he responds with a quick spank. “Aemond.” you gasp.
“What?” he chuckles, taking the last corner to your chambers. He opens the doors and thuds them closed behind us. He walks over to the bed and drops you back on it, watching the cloak open along with your legs.
“Please,” you look up at him, spreading your legs wider. He unlaces his trousers and pushes them down enough to free himself. He coats himself in your wetness before pushing into you. “Yes.” you softly gasp as he starts to rock into you. He pushes the cloak open and grabs your breasts roughly as he snaps his hips into yours.
“My perfect and eager wife.” he feels you squeezing around him tightly. “Going to be swollen with our child soon. I know it.” he grunts, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours desperately. You whine into his mouth as he ruts into you. Your high tears through you and you feel him fill you a second later.
“Thank you Aemond,” you hold him tightly as he keeps pushing into you. “More,” your legs wrap around him and he chuckles.
“Let me undress.” he kisses you softly before pulling your limbs off of him. “Pull off your cloak.” you whine sitting up and untying it from your chest. You toss it off the bed and sit up watching him slowly pull his clothes off. After his last piece of clothing hits the ground he starts walking over to you and you spread your legs for him. “Gods,” he rasps watching his seed leak out of you.
“Please.” you reach out for him. “Please Aemond,” you whine.
“Shh,” he shushes as he settles between your legs. He trails his hand between your thighs and slides his fingers through your wet core. He pushes two fingers in with ease and watches as your eyes shut. He feels your body tremble as he kisses across your chest before sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. His teeth tease the hard peak and your fingers tangle in his hair.
“Yes.” you gasp grinding against his hand. “Aem, yes,” his thumb begins to swirl around your bud. Your body is vibrating with pleasure as he coaxes more out of you. He pulls his fingers out of you only to replace them with his cock. “Aemond,” you moan loudly. He lifts up from your chest and looks down to watch as he repeatedly buries himself in your dripping cunt.
Aemond watches your stomach flex and your breasts bounce with every thrust. Your mouth is open as the most obscene sounds come from you along with his name. You open your eyes and look up at Aemonds flushed face and his eye locks with yours. You cup his face and bring his lips to yours. The kiss is slow and sensual as he starts to slowly rock his hips into yours. He thrusts start to become harder, pulling soft gasps from you.
“You’re taking me so well.” he whispers, boxing your head in with his arms. “I can’t wait to see you grow with our child. My beautiful wife.” he presses his forehead to yours. Your fingers dig into his back as your toes curl with pleasure. He groans as you pulse around him and his hips falter. He regains his composure and starts to push into you frantically chasing his pleasure. You squirm beneath him with whimpers falling from your mouth continuously.
Aemond chuckles listening to you babble incoherently as your legs fall limply to your sides. He snaps his hips quicker into you while your fingers dig into his arm as you feel as if pleasure is never ending. A sigh comes from deep within you as you feel him start to fill you. His thrusts become slow as he kneels back and pulls out of you causing soft gasps to pour from your mouth at every inch.
“Perfect.” he groans, flipping you both over so you rest against his chest. You whine when you feel him slip back inside you and slowly roll your hips against him. “Rest.” he runs his fingers up your spine, softly jerking his hips up into you.
Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader | Arranged marriage
summary: After Aemond gets sick, you, his wife, take it upon yourself to take care of him. And he doesn't want you to. Or does he?
warnings: some swearing, insecurities (him), PiV, fingering, sloppy make-outs, Aemond is a little mean, creampie (this is fiction, use protection), not really enemies to lovers but he doesnt really like you......at first
5.6K
Note: hello i am back. also i giggled writing this ngl
MDNI
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Aemond didn't love you. At least, not really. He knew his marriage had been nothing more than a political match, and he always did what was expected of him.
But he didn't love you.
It had been hard for you, at first. Especially the first few weeks. When you were younger, you had dreamt of a loving marriage with a handsome husband. And while your husband was handsome, your marriage was not loving.
It was late, and you were sitting on a chaise in your shared chambers. Outside it was pouring, every now and then a lightning flash drawing your attention. Aemond had left right after dinner, wanting to fly with Vhagar to ‘clear his mind’,
You believed it was just an excuse for him not to spend time with you.
And now, hours later, he was still gone. You were worried for him, worried that he might get struck by lightning, or perhaps even deadly sick from the cold wind and the heavy rain.
You sighed again, standing up and looking out of the window. It was pitch dark outside. You knew your husband was smart, deadly so, but still…
You turned quickly when you heard the door creak open, revealing him. Utterly soaked to the bone.
His long white hair was curly from the rain, and the cloak he was wearing was dripping rain onto the stone floor.
“Aemond…” you said softly, stepping a bit closer to him. But he didn't reply. He didn't even look into your direction.
He walked towards the dining table, removing his cloak and hanging it over a wooden chair.
His boots were caked in mud, his tunic and breeches clearly wet as well. He walked over to the fireplace, sitting down on the divan. You fidgeted with your hands, moving to grab a soft cloth from your nightstand.
“You’re soaked,” you said, slowly moving over to him and holding out the fabric to him, “you’ll get sick if you don't remove your wet clothes, or… or at least take a warm bath.”
He didn't accept the cloth, however, deciding the fireplace was far more interesting to look at than you.
“I am not some weakling to fall ill from the rain,” he replied, standing back up again. He turned his back to you, his hands unclasping his sword belt and hanging it off the side of another chair. “I have ridden Vhagar countless of times in worse weather than this,” he said gruffly, and you weren't sure if he was bragging or simply stating a fact. “I will not fall ill from this.”
His tone was cold and dismissive, his eye scanning his dagger for any imperfections. “Do not worry about me, wife,” he said, and the way he said the word wife so coldly made your stomach drop. “I have no need for your… attentions.”
He walked over to the cupboard, pouring a glass of wine only for himself. And he still didn't look at you.
You nodded stiffly, turning to sit back down onto the chaise.
Oh… how he hurt you. You always believed you could handle an indifferent husband. A husband who barely spoke to you, barely showed you any affection. But this? The way he spoke to you, as if you were the most annoying person he’d ever met… it hurt.
You turned your head again, seeing the way his breeches and tunic were still wet, his hair too. He would definitely get sick in the morning. And a small part of you really hoped he did.
“You could have said thank you, at least,” you said suddenly, surprising even yourself.
Aemond paused, his grip on his cup tightening ever so slightly. The only sound that filled the chamber for the longest moment was the sound of rain pattering against the window, the sound of wind howling outside.
Finally, he turned, his cold eye meeting yours.
“Thank you?” he said coldly, something close to a scowl on his face. “For what? Your unwelcome concern? Your constant meddling?”
He stepped closer, his tall frame blocking the candlelight. “I have no reason to be thankful,” he said, “you are my wife, in name only. Do not forget your place.”
His warning was clear; leave him be, or face his anger. He scoffed, turning away and walking over to the window again.
You stared at his back, barely even breathing. Then, your embarrassment turned to annoyance.
You stared at your husband, seeing his wet clothing.
Oh, he would definitely be sick come morning. And you would have fun saying ‘told you so’ as he lay in bed, unable to do anything.
You stood up, walking over to your husband. You placed a warm hand on his arm, and you could feel him tense for a moment.
“I’m going to bed,” you said softly, sweetly. “Goodnight.”
You paused for a moment, just long enough to hear him quietly mutter a ‘goodnight’ back.
You turned, walking over to your large four-poster bed where you disrobed and put on your nightgown. Aemond didn't turn to watch, simply staring outside of the window. When he had finished his wine, he decided to join you in bed. He undressed, pulling his soaked clothing off and slipping nude into bed. He lay still on his back, staring at the canopy above. And though he was quite cold, he didn't move closer to you.
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You felt awfully giddy waking up the next morning. Your husband hadn’t left for training yet, something he usually did at the crack of dawn.
He was sick, you were sure of it. He had been coughing and shivering all night.
You got up silently, rushing to your closet and putting on your most extravagant nightgown and robe you had. You’d even done your hair and squeezed your cheeks for a lovely flush.
Aemond coughed weakly, looking a lot more pale than usual. You slowly walked over to his side of the bed, holding the same cloth you had offered him the night before. You deftly wiped his brow, tutting softly.
“Oh, dear…” you said softly, “that doesn’t sound good…” Aemond just opened his one eye halfway, his temperature only a bit higher, but his entire body sore.
“I am fine,” his rough voice said, clearly not even having the energy to sound as angry with you as he wanted. He looked over at you, seeing the nightgown you were wearing. He had never seen you wear the damn thing before, not even on your wedding night.
“Do not play nursemaid, wife-” he said in a warning tone, before coughing again. “I have no need for it.”
You just hummed, your head tilting to the side a bit. “I see… shall I fetch maid Alta, then?” You watched as he clenched his jaw at the mention of the maid, the woman anything but gentle with her rough handling of things. He stayed silent.
“I didn't think so,” you hummed simply, “you’ll have to do with me.”
You stood up, grabbing another thick blanket to put on top of him. Aemond stayed silent, mad that his wife beat him. The last thing he wanted was that damned maid taking care of him with that loud voice of hers. He much preferred your gentle touch, though he’d never admit it out loud.
You moved over to the open window, closing the heavy curtains and plunging your chamber into darkness again. “My maid shall fetch the maester,” you said softly, the darkness helping his headache lessen. “In the meantime, rest.”
The heavy wool blanket felt nice around him, the warmth it gave helping the shivering lessen. He watched you move around, the extravagant nightgown billowing behind you. It looked nice, the blush on your cheeks looking lovely as you placed a cup of water on his bedside table.
He would pick you over Alta any day.
“Make sure your maid hurries,” he said with a rough voice, “so I do not need to suffer your attentions any longer.”
He tried to sound cruel, but he ended up just sounding exhausted and uncomfortable. His body hurt, his head pounded and his throat felt like sandpaper. His one eye closed, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. He tried hard to fall asleep, wanting just a small moment where he didn’t have to feel his painful body. And when he did fall asleep, his dreams were filled with odd visions, shifting between his dragon ride on Vhagar’s back, to visions of your lovely face, smiling down at him and taking care of him with soft hands.
Yet every single time, he would jolt back awake, being sent straight into a coughing fit that hurt his sore body further.
The maester established that he indeed had a cold, and the man moved to make a brew for him that would hopefully lessen his sore throat and rebuild his strength. He ordered the prince a lot of hydration, rest and warmth.
“Thank you, maester,” your soft voice said, and you moved closer to your husband. You wiped his brow again, seeing his tired eye look at you. You leaned closer, carding a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.
“Told you so…” you whispered sweetly, before exiting the chamber along with the maester, ready to take the brew with you that he’d make.
Aemond watched you leave, feeling a flicker of irritation at your words. You had told him so, but still… he couldn’t help but smile weakly at your teasing, feeling a flutter of warmth in his chest.
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After a moment, you reentered the chamber, holding a warm mug filled with the brew. It smelled quite bitter, but the maester had said it would be good for the prince.
You sat down next to him on his bed, helping him sit a bit straighter.
“Drink this,” you said softly, seeing the dark circles under his eyes, “the maester said it will help a great deal.”
He held the mug, your hand supporting it as well, and he started drinking the bitter liquid. It was awful, and he felt his head spin the slightest bit.
But you stayed close to him, making sure he was alright and that he finished the brew.
“Just a bit more,” you whispered, “then I’ll let you sleep.”
“Stop coddling me like a child,” he said with a strained voice, his words lacking his earlier bite, "I can finish the brew by my damn self.” Even as he said this, he allowed you to help him finish the mug, the warm bitter liquid soothing his throat. He handed you the empty mug, and you placed it back on his nightstand. Then. you helped him back under the warm blankets, making sure he was comfortable.
“Thank you,” he said after a moment, barely audible. You almost missed it, wanting to call him a child for the way he was acting, but his words made you hold your tongue.
“Rest,” you said instead, blowing out the two candles and plunging the bedchamber into darkness. You stood up, closing the wooden door behind you. Even though the day was young, you decided to stay inside. Just in case he needed you. And to your surprise, you didn't mind that.
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You decided to go back into the bedchamber in the evening, carrying a warm, watery broth. You set it down on his nightstand, lighting a few candles. Then, you softly touched his arm, looking down at his face.
“Darling… wake up,” you said softly, seeing his one eye slowly open, "I brought you something light to eat.”
You watched him wake up slowly, groaning softly as he tried to sit up on his own. Then, you shifted to look at his eyepatch, a frown forming on your face.
“That must be giving you such a headache…” you mumbled as your hand moved towards the leather. Aemond tensed immediately, his hand coming up to grab your wrist. “Leave it,” he said, his voice still rough from his cold. “I am used to it.”
Even though you listened to his tired words, you still persisted, gently removing the leather eyepatch. Aemond clenched his fists, staring down at his lap as he was suddenly exposed. And he hated the feeling. He hated feeling so vulnerable, so exposed, in front of his wife, no less. But still, as you were sitting next to him, not saying anything, he couldn’t push you away. Your presence felt soothing, almost nice. And he didn't wish to part from it.
You grabbed the warm broth, bringing the spoon to his lips. To your surprise, he didn't complain this time that you were treating him like a child. He simply parted his lips, allowing you to feed him. The broth tasted nice, made exactly right so it wasn’t too heavy for his stomach.
You quietly looked at your husband, seeing his sapphire eye and the scarred tissue for the first time since marrying him two moons ago. You had only heard stories about it, of how frightening he looked. But now, seeing him so sick and exposed, you only wanted to take care of him, to make sure he was alright.
“The maester told me you are barely using the balm he made for your eye,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence between you two. “He said it helps with redness and… and soreness.”
Aemond’s one eye flicked over to yours, annoyance overcoming him again. How dare you speak to the maester about him? About how he takes care of his own body? It was no one's business but his.
He opened his mouth, wanting to shout at you for your disobedience as a wife, but no sound came out when you gently brought another spoonful to his lips. He sighed, deciding to just eat the broth in silence instead.
It was just… difficult. No one had cared for him in such a gentle way before, had scolded him for the way he treated his own body. And certainly no one had seen him so vulnerable.
Suddenly, the thought of you, his wife, seeing all of his scarred ugliness, filled him with a deep, unadulterated dread. He wanted to look the other way, hide his disfigurement from you, but you gently raised another spoonful of broth.
He swallowed before speaking again. “I have been taking care of myself since I was but a young boy,” he stated, "I do not need anyone’s help.”
You sighed quietly, shaking your head. This man--your own husband--had denied you a lot. The loving marriage you had always dreamt of, any sort of affection, attention, even conversations. He hadn’t even touched you after the consummation.
So you would deny him this.
You helped him finish the broth, standing up to put the bowl away on the far end table. When you returned to his side, you were holding the balm.
Aemond tensed when he saw the ointment, his single eye narrowing. “I am not a child,” he hissed lowly, a clear warning in his voice. Even though she had seen it correctly, his scar tissue a lot more red than usual and the skin feeling tight and itchy, he did not wish to be coddled. He didn't need anyone. He didn't need his wife. But even as he thought that, the thought of your gentle touch caring for him even when his visage was so incredibly flawed, was a welcome one.
He clenched his jaw, searching your face for any revulsion, but he only saw a determined look on your face.
“Keep complaining like that and I'll treat you like a damn child," you replied, catching Aemond off guard.
His wife? Swearing? That was… unexpected.
He stayed still as you swiped some of the balm on your finger, then gently applying the soothing cream to his scars. And he couldn't help but let out a shuddering, relieved sigh. It felt heavenly on his skin, soothing the angry tissue. And your touch was so soft, so gentle, it made his chest ache with something he didn't dare name.
He studied your face, seeing the concentrated look on your face. Your brows furrowed slightly, the candlelight dancing on your complexion. He allowed his gaze to trail over the bridge of your nose, following the gentle curve of your lips. You looked… lovely. He had never allowed himself to properly look at you, not wanting to either be distracted or perhaps even disappointed. But looking at you now, seeing the way you were so focused on gently caring for him, he felt an emotion bubbling up inside of him. Something he didn't dare name, even if he did not know what it was.
You pulled back, closing the lid of the balm. “There we are…” you said softly, clearly content with your own work. “Go back to sleep. I’ll bring this with me, so you don’t put it on again.”
He watched as you grabbed his eyepatch, blowing the candles out again. And Aemond felt… a lot better. The warm broth had warmed him up from the inside, having stilled his aches a bit. The balm on his eye had felt heavenly, too, relaxing the angry tissue.
He felt his lone eye slowly close, exhaustion overcoming him. But this time he felt a lot lighter, a lot better. And this time, he slept well. And he dreamt of you.
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Two more days passed just like that. You took care of your husband, feeding him and applying his balm. You wiped his brow, helped him drink and even brought his chamber pot so he didn't need to strain himself too much by having to walk to the other room. It was nice, having your presence constantly with him. Even doing the dirty work for him, you did so without complaining.
Every single time he woke up from his slumber, you were by his side, flashing him that sweet, worried smile. He had hated your constant presence at first, but now, if he woke up and didn't see you immediately, he could feel a frown forming on his face.
By the third day, he already felt a lot better. His body didn't feel as sore, his throat also feeling a lot better. His headache had disappeared completely. By the end of the day, he was strong enough to drink his water on his own. He sat upright, spotting you on a chair next to the bed, asleep with a book in your hand. Aemond stared at you for a moment, the setting sun making your skin glow in the loveliest of ways.
He reached his hand out, grabbing your arm and softly squeezing it. You slowly woke up, eyes heavy and a bit puffy from sleep. For a moment, you both just looked at each other. He watched as you sat straighter, stretching your back and straightening out your dress.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, "I didn't mean to fall asleep.” You set the book down, turning to face him more. “How are you feeling?”
Aemond watched as you stretched and straightened your dress, noticing you yourself also looked quite tired. He realised how selfless you had been these past days, clearly neglecting yourself in order to take care of him. He swallowed heavily, clearing his throat.
“Better,” he said, his voice no longer rough from his fever, but only a bit rough from disuse. “I believe the worst of it has passed.”
And he meant it. The fog in his mind had lifted, his body not as sore and feeling a lot stronger. He sat a bit straighter, wincing a bit as he used his muscles. He then looked at you again, his gaze drifting down as he saw how your chest rose and fell as you breathed, the soft swell of your breasts underneath your gown. His gaze moved further down your arm, until it rested for a moment on your ring finger, where he saw your wedding ring.
It felt strange, having been so cared for these past days.
“Thank you,” he said finally, looking back into your eyes, “for taking care of me.”
You just hummed, standing up from the chair. You looked at him, a surprisingly playful glint in your eyes. “It was in my vows,” you said, your lips curving up the slightest bit.
“I shall call for my maid. She will prepare a bath for you,” you looked around for a moment, noticing the bedsheets also needed to be changed.
“I will have a bath after you.”
Aemond was a bit caught off guard by your teasing words. It had been in your vows, he remembered the spoken words ‘in sickness and in health’ as if it were yesterday. But after the way he had treated you, he hadn't expected you to tease him.
A small smile formed on his lips, and he nodded his head. “A bath sounds wonderful,” he said, “thank you.”
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After the bath, he had put on simple linen nightclothes, lying back in bed. The bath had felt wonderful, and the clean sheets were nice as well. But he still felt exhausted.
He watched as your maid entered the chamber, moving ahead to refresh the bath for you. You entered later, wearing only a robe, clearly ready for your own bath. You looked at your husband, seeing some of the colour having returned to his face. “Was it nice?” you asked him, walking closer to him.
Aemond had already shifted underneath the warm blankets, nodding drowsily. “The warmth was most pleasant,” he replied, studying your face. Then, he softly patted the spot beside him, an almost pleading look in his eyes. “Join me,” he said quietly, “just for a moment.”
You hesitated for just a second, before making your way over to the other side of the bed.
“Alright,” you whispered, “until my bath is ready.”
Aemond watched as you hesitated for a moment, but moved to settle next to him in bed regardless. And truly, he couldn't blame your hesitation. These past moons of married life, he had never once been kind to you, never tried to initiate any closeness. He had been distant, cold, sometimes even mocking.
He looked at you as you crawled onto the bed, sitting down next to him. You weren’t quite touching him, but still sat quite close. He moved his arm behind you, not quite embracing you, but still an attempt at intimacy. And for Aemond, it was a huge step.
He looked at you for a moment, noticing the way you grew less tense, the way you allowed yourself to relax in his presence, and he felt that unfamiliar warmth bloom even more intensely in his chest.
He cleared his throat, making you look at him. “These past days…” he started slowly, trying to gather his thoughts, “you have been a true wife to me. And I am… truly grateful.”
The words felt a bit forced, a bit clumsy, but they meant a lot. You felt that same flutter in your chest as he did, a warmth blooming on your cheeks.
“You do not need to thank me,” you whispered softly. You looked at him, feeling more drawn to him than you had ever felt before. But before you could act upon those feelings, your maid entered the chamber again.
“I must bathe,” you breathed out, quickly moving away and standing up. But before you slipped away into the other chamber, you shot him a playful smile over your shoulder. And to Aemond, that meant everything.
By the time you returned from your bath, Aemond had already fallen into a deep sleep. You smiled softly, watching him for a moment.
“Goodnight,” you whispered after a moment, exiting the chamber.
You took care of your husband the following days, until all he had left was a soft cough and a little sniffle. Aemond’s mind was a lot more clear now, and while he should feel happy because of that, he actually felt quite annoyed. Because all he could think of was you.
You, his sweet wife that had cared for him so diligently. His wife that hadn't even flinched when you saw his full scar, but instead taken care of it.
And you, his beautiful wife, that he had only taken once because of his own bitterness.
He remembered the wedding night. It had been short, awkward, probably not even having felt that good for you. You had let out a few moans, most of them muffled by your own hand. But they had sounded… cute.
Aemond cleared his throat, deciding to get up and get dressed instead of remembering his consummation. He was a prince, and he definitely was not in love.
He had already put on his breeches, reaching for his tunic when you suddenly entered the chamber again.
You gasped softly when you saw him half undressed, quickly covering your flushed face with your hands. “I’m sorry!” you squeaked out, “I-I didn't know you were not dressed yet!”
Aemond didn't feel annoyed however. He felt quite pleased with your flustered reaction. He calmly slid the linen tunic over his shoulders, leaving the top open.
“Do not worry, wife,” he said simply. “In fact, I am quite… flattered by your reaction.
You slowly lowered your hands, looking at your husband. He looked good. Great, actually. He was no longer sick, and he looked fit and normal again.
You watched as he walked closer to you, his eye locked onto yours. “In fact, I am intrigued by it. By you.”
You flushed a deeper red, Aemond caging you in against the wall and him. “By me?” you asked in a whisper, a small smile forming on his lips.
“Aye… by you, my lady. By your sweetness… your innocence…” he trailed off, a hand moving up to softly touch your jaw.
You looked up at him, eyes wide. “My innocence?”
He just nodded again. He leaned even closer, his lips awfully close to yours. You could feel his warm breath, smell the scent of the salts of the bath he had taken earlier.
“I wanted to thank you,” he rumbled quietly, “for taking such great care of me this past week. I wish to… return the favor. To take care of you.”
You swallowed heavily, shaking your head. “You don't need to thank me-” you managed to whisper, your heart pounding fast in your chest.
Aemond just let out a low chuckle, moving closer.
“I want to,” he replied in a whisper, finally attaching his lips to yours.
He kissed you deeply, allowing all of the pent up longing and denied intimacy to finally pour out. He held your waist tightly, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours. He softly nipped your bottom lip, slipping his tongue inside when you gasped softly.
It was needy and sloppy, and Aemond relished in it. His hands started moving up your body, groping your soft breasts through your gown. You whined into the kiss, your back arching. Aemond groaned in reply, moving his wet kisses down your throat.
You felt his hips press into yours, a hardness pressing against your stomach.
Oh, but he felt so good.
His hands moved towards the back of your dress, undoing the clasps until the fabric fell away and pooled around your feet. Aemond growled softly when he felt your hands hold onto his tunic, and he easily picked you up, carrying you towards the grand bed.
You felt so hot, and your heart was beating so fast, yet you felt so excited. You couldn't believe your husband was undressing you, making you feel all sorts of things in the morning. It felt naughty, it felt… right.
“You are exquisite,” he breathed out, staring down at your figure splayed out underneath him. He leaned down again, kissing you deeply. You parted your lips immediately, needing him more than air. His hands slid underneath your shift, before pulling it up and off of you completely.
His hand groped your breast, pinching the nipple until it was hard and straining. He parted from the kiss, taking it into his mouth.
You moaned out, arching your back at the feeling. “O-oh, yes-!” you gasped, egging him on. He groaned at your eagerness, his cock twitching in his breeches. You were so responsive, so soft. He had never been so turned on in his life.
“You're mine,” he rumbled lowly, his hips grinding against your naked core. You moaned even louder, the drag of his thick, clothed cock against your aching clit making your head spin with pleasure.
“Do you feel that?” he panted as he looked back at your face, “do you feel how hard I am for you? How hard you make your husband’s cock?” he smirked, making you gasp out at his words. “Feel it,” he whispered the order, his dark eye meeting yours, “it's yours, after all.”
He guided your hand with his own, moving it down until it was pressed against the hard ridge of his cock in his breeches. It throbbed at your touch, and you moaned again.
“Gods,” you moaned out, his lips attaching to your collarbone, “I need you so badly.”
Aemond smirked against your skin, licking a stripe up your throat. “Tell me what you need,” he said, groaning when he felt your hand move over his cock.
“I need you,” you whined out, "I want you to make me feel good.” You swallowed heavily.
“Please.”
Aemond groaned again, leaning down to press his lips hard against yours. “Then have me.”
He undressed quickly, nearly stumbling, before crawling back on top of you.
His thick cock pressed against your stomach, spreading pre-cum over your soft skin. He groaned almost as if he was in pain, and he was sure he was going to be in pain if he didn't feel your warm, wet walls clenching around his cock soon.
His hand nearly trembled as he slid his hand down to your cunt, swiping up some of your wetness. And, fuck, you were drenched.
He groaned out, pressing his head in the crook of your neck as he slid a finger inside of your wet heat.
“By the Gods,” he panted, sliding his digit in and out of you, “you feel so good, so warm-”
You moaned out, hips writhing under his ministrations. Your nails were digging into his shoulders, moans of his name escaping your lips.
He slid a second finger inside, stretching you out in the most delicious way. And when his thumb pressed against your clit, you weren't able to form words anymore.
He thrust his fingers in and out of you, making you more and more wet. He wanted to make you come on his fingers, he really did, but he just couldn't wait any longer.
He slid his fingers out, the wet noise your cunt made making you whimper.
He reached down, grabbing his hard cock and lining it up with your sopping wet core. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, my dear wife,” he groaned softly. He teased you just for a moment with the tip, just enough for him to hear those cute, needy whines again. And then, he slid inside of you, his thick member stretching you out.
“Aemond-!” you moaned out, your head dropping back against the pillows. This was different, so different from your consummation. This was hot, and needy and it felt amazing.
“My wife,” he panted into the crook of your neck. He stayed still inside of you for a moment, allowing you to adjust. He lifted his head, pressing a needy kiss to your lips.
“You take me so well,” he panted, sliding out until his tip remained inside of you, before filling you again. You moaned out, and his strong hands guided you to wrap your thighs around his waist. And when you finally did, he started fucking into you. His rhythm was steady, deep, aimed to pleasure you as much as himself. He groaned out, kissing you as his hips slammed against yours, the bed creaking underneath you.
“Gonna make you feel so good,” he rambled, probably more to himself than to you. “Gonna fill this pussy up-”
You held onto him, Aemond feeling your body tighten and coil underneath his. He moved his free hand down, rubbing harshly at your clit, wanting to make you come undone so badly.
“Come for me,” he panted against your lips, his lone eye meeting yours. “Let me fucking feel it-”
You gasped out, whining and mewling as the knot in your stomach grew tighter and tighter and--
He stared deeply into your eyes, kissing you hard when you finally came--hard.
Your back arched off of the bed, your cunt clenching impossibly tight around his cock, nearly forcing him out. But he pressed himself harder against you, moaning your name as you came.
“Fuck, fuck-” he panted, slamming himself deep into you one last time, staying deep inside as he came hard, painting your insides white with his thick cum.
“Gods-” he panted, his voice nearly a whine as he was overcome with pleasure. Your nails digging into his shoulders only made his pleasure last longer, and after what felt like ages, the final waves of both of your climaxes finally ebbed.
He collapsed onto the bed beside you, holding your trembling form close. For the longest moment, neither of you talked. You just curled up against your husband, breathing in his scent.
“My princess,” he panted softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That was… amazing. You are amazing. I cannot believe how… how blind I have been.”
A soft smile formed on your lips, his words making you feel lighter than you had felt in ages. You looked up at him, seeing that same smile looking back at you. He kissed you softly, covering you with warm blankets.
“I’m just glad you see me now,” you whispered in reply.
Tags ✢ angst, lovers to enemies, emotional torment
Wordcount ✢ 2,400
As regent, Aemond rules as king in all but name, but what he needs most to assert his power is for his wife to bend the knee to him. However, you remain loyal to your mother Rhaenyra, which prompts him to send your children away to force you to comply.
Aemond Masterlist
“Doubts. Only evil, sir, never has any.” —Andrzej Sapkowski.
While it was not in Aemond’s character to be naive, he had never expected his own wife to ever turn against him in such a fashion. He believed his union to you to be strong, based on duty but woven tighter by mutual respect and admiration, until he could hardly distinguish his own person from you. In many ways, you made him a better man, a complete man, and he knew he had a similar influence on you.
For several years you had lived happily as husband and wife, bringing into the world children that brought two sides of a divided family together—the match had been made from a young age, and he had grown into a man with the knowledge that one day he would be yours, and you would be his.
Nothing had come to undo the betrothal made by the king, and therefore you had wed upon your coming of age, and as quick as could be, the Gods had blessed you with a child.
King Viserys had praised the two of you upon the birth of your eldest boy, Aerion, then again when a second son followed, and those were perhaps the only times he could remember praise from his own father.
However the king’s death had shattered what Aemond had thought to be unbreakable, as though the man responsible for the match truly was the one force keeping it together.
From the very day Aegon was crowned, you slept in separate chambers and could barely bring yourself to look at him. As weeks went by and it became apparent that the war would last, you became colder, but Aemond bore it with gritted teeth despite his bruised heart, for the sake of his children.
Now months had gone by, and Aegon laid in bed, unable to make any sort of rulings, leaving his brother to step in and take his place on the throne. It was the right decision to name him as successor, however Aemond could hear the whispers in the hallways, behind the pillars, an undercurrent of resistance.
The people of the court struggled to accept him as regent, and he knew the one way to remedy it. He knew the one way to assert his power and finally gain the respect he was owed.
Were you, the pretender’s daughter, to bend the knee to him, they would get inspired to do the same in turn, and not simply for survival, but out of conviction.
After all, how could they respect him if his own wife shunned him?
Aemond found you in the quiet of the afternoon, curtains drawn in the nursery, watching over your youngest son’s sleep. Maelor was near two years of age now, and you still preferred to nurse him and care for him on your own rather than leave him in the care of a nurse.
If there was one quality all could see in you, it was your devotion to your children, complete and absolute—you gave them your time and attention, and thought there was no other duty you would rather perform than that of raising them.
He stepped into the nursery quietly, unwilling to wake his son, and under your watchful eye, approached the crib and bent over, pressing a kiss to his son’s hair. “There is a matter that we ought to discuss, that we have let quiet for too long,” Aemond said quietly, watching over the slow rise and fall of his child’s breath.
“I have no wish to discuss any matter with you,” you replied curtly, voice as quiet as his. Piercing your canvas with your needle, you followed along the pattern you had drawn, hoping the conversation would not take place, but your husband was determined.
From the corner of your eye, you saw him lay a hand on your child’s back, the tender gesture reminding you of times long lost, making your heart clench painfully. How a man could be so tender with his own and so ruthless with others had once charmed you, but now you found it distasteful.
“I am regent while Aegon is incapacitated, and it reflects badly upon me that my wife is nowhere to be seen, when she should be at my side, supporting me,” Aemond said, his tone cold and punishing.
“It is so because I do not support you, as you know. It is true, you are my husband and while there is still love in my heart for you—” you replied, a choked sob shattering your voice.
Aemond looked at you then, and for a second you felt as though the chasm between the two of you had mended once more, but the feeling was as quick as a blink, and you could not dwell on it. “I will not show you support,” you said, decisive.
“You will,” Aemond said, almost regretfully.
“I recognize no monarch but my mother,” you replied. Setting your canvas aside, you rose, unwilling to hear the arguments you had already heard too many times. The chair rocked a few times under the absence of your weight, creaking quietly.
“For this you might lose everything,” he replied, and his calm demeanor unnerved you more than any outburst of rage could have. “I will not give you a choice.”
“You cannot force me to my knees, and there are no threats you can make against me that will change my mind. You might threaten me with violence, and I shall not cave,” you whispered furiously, but still too loud, and your son stirred in his cot.
Aemond soothed him with hushed coos and a firm hand at his back, rocking him side to side until he calmed again, a deep sigh coming from his parted lips. Then, Aemond looked at you, almost sad. “I will never lay a hand on you. I do not need violence to make you obey.”
He took a few steps forward, towering over you, the smell of leather and ash overpowering. “Say farewell to your children, they depart for Oldtown on the morrow.”
Your breath froze in your chest, as well as your heart. “No,” you whispered.
“The capital is not safe for them, I am sending them with my own kin, my cousin Lord Ormund’s wife will look after them,” he said over his shoulder as he left the room, and you followed him running calling after him.
“I beseech you not to do this. Children need their mother!” you cried out, nausea rising in your chest until you could hardly breathe.
Aemond came to a stop in the middle of the hallway, turning to face you with the disinterested coldness he usually reserved for his courtiers. “I agree, and I wish it was safe for them to remain,” he said, and you wondered how he could pretend sending his own sons to the other side of the realm was not shattering him as well.
There was no arrogant smile upon his face, no cruel sneer, and you thought you could not give him the satisfaction of your sorrow. Taking a deep breath, you clung to reason, forcing your tears away.
“Perhaps you are right, and they will be safe from harm in your cousin’s home,” you choked.
Aemond tilted his head, giving you an unconvinced hum, but you carried on. “I will never betray my mother, even if you take my children from me,” you vowed.
At that, the corner of his mouth finally lifted. “We shall see.”
As he had threatened, the next morrow found you at dawn in the courtyard, watching your sons’ trunks being loaded into a carriage. Since the announcement had been made to your eldest the evening prior, that he would be sent to Oldtown with a distant cousin, he had clung to you more than he had done in recent months, and had refused to sleep unless you were watching over him.
Aerion watched as his dragon, locked in a cage like a hound, was hoisted upon the roof of the carriage and secured into place.
“Mother,” he pleaded, and you loathed to see such confusion in him, a boy who had since birth shown much sensitivity—in many ways, he reminded you of Aemond as a child, and you mourned the boy you had fallen in love with, before the throne had twisted him into this cruel stranger.
“It is for your own safety, my son,” Aemond assured him gently, pressing a kiss to his brow. “Now say your farewell to your mother.”
Swallowing your tears and forcing a smile on your face, you kissed Aerion’s cheeks, tucking his hair behind his ears. “It won’t be long until we are reunited,” you promised him. “Look after your brother, and speak of me often. Tell him the stories I used to tell you.”
“I don’t want to,” he protested, tucking his head into your chest when you embraced him tightly.
Powerless, you then allowed Aemond to take him by the shoulder and guide him to the carriage, holding onto the certainty that no matter the agony of it, it was the righteous path to follow. Honor would prevail and your mother would soon come to deliver you.
With a sob upon your lips, you kissed Maelor, breathing in the scent of his hair before handing him to the nurse, who looked at you in utter sadness. No doubt sensing your distress, he fussed, and you tucked his blanket under his arm, against the nurse’s chest, upon which he would now rest his head.
“Please do not let them forget me,” you pleaded to her, to which she nodded before turning and making her way to the carriage.
Maelor’s wails broke through the morning air, and Aerion looked over his shoulder, distraught. Still, you let them go, holding on your composure until the carriage had left the courtyard. Then and only then, hand clapped over your mouth, did you wail. Pressing your other palm to your belly where you had borne them, it was a miracle that you did not buckle to your knees.
At your side, Aemond loomed over you, his mouth to your ear. “You know what to do,” he said before kissing your temple in cruel affection. “Bend the knee, and I shall bring them back.”
Never before had you wished violence upon anyone, but in that moment, your hand burned with the desire to slap him across the face and scratch his skin until he bled. “You are cruel, I was aware of that. Never had I expected you to extend this to your own sons,” you nearly spat in his face.
The grin that he gave you made you shiver. “You shall cave, I know of it.”
For days that turned into weeks, you held on with all your might, drawing strength from prayer and the knowledge that your sons would not be mistreated. Despite the loathing that had replaced your love for your husband in your heart, you knew the Hightowers would care for Aemond’s sons.
Haunting the castle like a wraith, you lingered in the gardens, breathing in the cold air from the sea, the first licks of winter, and prayed that this war would end quickly.
The aching throb inside of you was not easing, if anything it was growing with each day, desperate to hold the babies you had birthed. At first you had hoped you could find solace in their nursery, breathing in their smell on the pillows, but Aemond had the room emptied, and you were left with nothing but your memories.
Then the first letter came, written in the nurse’s careful handwriting but with Aerion’s words—it was a plea to come back to your side, telling you of the sleepless nights, the way little Maelor had retreated into himself.
For days and nights you prayed and pleaded with the Gods for strength, for resilience, but your dreams were plagued by your crying children, Maelor’s wails from the morning of their departure ringing in your ears even after you had woken.
As your husband had predicted, you caved.
Your mother had birthed, nursed and loved six children—you hoped she would understand, one day, and forgive you for your betrayal. Now you understood what she had told you one day, that there was nothing a mother would not do for the sake of her children, even surrender her own dignity.
One cold morning you made your way to the throne room, waving through the crowd that parted to let you pass. Seated on the Iron Throne, his hand resting atop the pommel of Blackfyre, Aemond was holding court with the assurance of a man who knew he would soon be uncontested.
The whole of the court was present, and people from the city, having come to make their petitions. All would now witness your downfall, at the hands of your own husband, the man who had loved you, held you so tenderly and given you two sons. How such an act of love could be used for such pain was beyond your understanding.
Heart in your throat, you fell to your knees, trembling, as your husband looked upon you with severity.
“I—” you stammered through your name, knowing you were betraying it. “Hereby swear allegiance to Prince Aemond, and acknowledge him as regent of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm.”
Aemond leaned forward, looking at you pointedly, and you forced the words out of your mouth, closing your eyes against burning tears, conjuring the faces of your sons to your mind. “I do also declare my mother, Princess Rhaenyra, a pretender and usurper of the Iron Throne,” you sobbed.
A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd, but you could hardly hear it over the thundering of your own heart. Shame spread like a poison through your veins and you were locked into place, your knees heavy into the ground, and you thought then that you would never be able to rise again.
“Rise, my lady wife,” Aemond called loud enough for all to hear, with a falsely reverent tone in his voice, but did not trust your legs to carry you.
Slowly, Aemond made his way down the steps of the Iron Throne, and as though he was being galant, helped you to your feet with a firm hand at your arm. Holding you firmly, he lifted your face towards his with a finger hooked under your chin, and watched as you sobbed silently, trembling ever so slightly.
With a low hum, he kissed your mouth, bolder than he usually was in the public eye. “I shall write to my cousin tonight. Your children shall be back in your arms soon enough,” he promised, and to all it must have looked like a husband consoling his wife, an act of genuine affection. “In the meantime, you shall be back in mine. I expect you in my chambers tonight, and all the nights to come.”
A/N: Dividers by @/saradika. Based on an anonymous request.
Summary - All know that the young Prince Aemond has want for a dragon. The gods have not seen that fit just yet. When his nephews and brother taunt, he breaks. His niece picks up the pieces.
Warnings - Bullying, crying, first kisses, just two angsty little ten year olds lol. Reader has silver hair and violet eyes, no mention of skin colour.
WC: 1.4K
It was hot, boiling to the point of sweat trickling down your back, being trapped by your riding leathers. It didn't bother you. The warmth comforted you like a womb.
Adrenaline was still rushing through your body as you skipped through the Red Keep, having went for an afternoon flight to elude your septa. A quick bath was drawn, after which you walked the few strides across the holdfast to your uncle's chambers.
The silver-haired boy whose birth was within a few moons of yours was your dearest companion. Oft were days spent together, evading responsibility and education to laze, read, and dream.
His door was opened by Ser Criston, who stiffly nodded at you as the hinges creaked. You gave him a large, high-chinned smile and strolled in to your friend's rooms. He was not difficult to spot. There in the corner was the meek prince, laid on his side in bed, his back facing the door.
This cannot be good.
"Aemond?" You asked softly as you approached, rounding the bed, only to see him wiping treacherous tears.
The last thing he wanted right now was company. Especially not yours. Shame was burned into every inch of his body. You would think him so weak. The young prince had smoke and soot upon his face, his hair messy, and his blue eyes turned red. "Go away." He sniffled, voice sharp but cracking.
"No." A pout gathered on your lips. You crawled onto the bed and laid so you were face to face. He grimaced and avoided your gaze.
You raised a hand to his cheek, forcing him to meet your violet eyes, offering a pitiful smile. That just made him feel all the more pathetic.
"Have you too come here to jeer?" He sniffled, voice soft and as angry as it was sorry. "The pink dread? Canny, was it not?"
Your eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly parted in confusion. "The pink dread?" A hand smoothed down his frizzed hair. "I do not follow."
Aemond sniffled. It was unsurprising that you were not aware. It was only ever you who was kind to him, but when one is so often betrayed by those closest to them, it leads suspicion to grow.
"My brother. And yours." He spoke weakly, inching himself closer to you imperceptibly. "They gave me a pig."
You blinked, still unsure. "A pig? That is why you weep..?" The soft pad of your thumb began working on a particularly stubborn spot of ash on his cheek.
The prince let out a watery scoff. "They told me they had found a dragon- They even made it wings."
A wide, stupid expression was on your face for a moment before you leaned your head forward, anger gathering inside of you.
"My brothers are cruel."
"I care not about your brothers- I just want a dragon." He squeaked, leaning his cheek into your caress.
"I ask for so little, mother will not let me attempt to claim one, and father-" Sniffle. "He will not give me another egg."
The prince let out a weak sob and finally let his arms wrap around his niece. "He thinks I am not worthy."
You cupped the back of his head gently, beginning to rub slow circles on his back. "Oh, Aemond."
"You are worthy." Sheets rustles as he solemnly dropped his head into your neck. "You will have a dragon one day. Large and great."
The prince sniffled. "It does not feel that way."
Fingers weaved into his hair, scratching gently at his nape. "I can picture it." Whispered against the top of his head.
That placated him just slightly, and he relaxed, the arms around you less tense but just as tight.
"You are the true blood of the dragon." You said quietly, meeting his vulnerable expression as he lifted his head with an open look of your own.
Blood was something you often thought of. It was not as if you were a babe anymore. A Targaryen princess of ten has a budding mind and the ability to do the sum that Rhaenyra and Laenor did not equal whatever you were. You were not of Velaryon blood. But you were also not of Strong blood as you believed your brothers to be. Whispers of the rogue prince often circulated the castle. It seemed logical that he was your father. Your mother's wedding had occurred not long between Prince Daemon's swift leave of court and your mother’s supposed ruination.
It was an isolating thing, being unable to identify yourself for what you were, always performing under the guise of being someone else.
"Your blood is far more true than mine." Your uncle whispered. The voice was soft but not self-deprecating, more obsequious.
A soft sigh left your lips. "Aemond-"
He immediately let you cut him off, his tear-reddened eyes gaining courage.
"I know who your father is. You are a dragon purer than any."
A pout gathered itself on your lips, disregarding the last sentence. That promptly made the prince backtrack.
"I meant no insult."
He blinked, one of the arms winding your waist loosening to rise to your face, cupping it.
"I only meant that you are a real Targaryen. Not a half breed like me, or a bastard like your brothers."
Slowly, your face softened, leaning into his palm openly. Aemond gave you a gentle smile, the reason for his previous sadness forgotten at the sight of your violet eyes.
"You are a dragon." He whispered, leaning his head closer to yours but not so close that he could feel your warm breath.
His gentle tone calmed you, stroking his cheeks. Chubby with baby fat, but you thought him handsome, you always had.
The silence made an idea grow in your head. "Do you know why your brother is so cruel?"
The prince's frown came back as if it had never left, and he shook his head.
"No woman has ever kissed him without coin."
You smirked, stilled your hand on his cheek, and leaned in to press a peck to his mouth and giggled as you pulled back.
Your uncle's lips were slightly parted, looking at you with both shock and a blushing grin. "Why did you do that?" He whispered like it was a secret.
A high, excited giggle left you again, leaning your forehead against his, gathering yourself to speak quietly. "You are my closest companion."
Your eyelids fluttered shut, feeling his arm tight around your waist. "And you are handsome."
"I have great love for you, Aemond."
The young prince just blinked at that. It fell from your sweet lips so plainly that he felt stupid for not expressing his own affections before.
"And I you, princess." He whispered, eyes wide with wonder.
A happy hum left you, and you nuzzled your head into his neck.
"Do not call me princess anymore. I prefer… my love."
Aemond huffed softly, resting his chin atop your head.
"Very well… my love."
"Good." You murmured in satisfaction, squeezing his bicep.
"You have a dragon now, by your own declaration." You teased.
It took the boy a few moments to catch your meaning, and he hugged you tighter when he did. "Thank you… for cheering me. And coming when I did not wish it. I know I am not easy to be with when I am frustrated." He muttered with a quiet, self-deprecating tone.
"Do not apologise, Aemond." Curious fingers traced along his collar, rubbing his throat aimlessly. "Just promise me that you will allow me to your heart without barrier."
"I promise."
Your hand tapped his chest impatiently.
He blinked for a moment.
"Oh- My love."
You grinned in victory. Then untucked your head from his neck to look into his blue eyes.
"My mother said that I may marry who I choose. Do you want to get married?"
His eyebrows raised in surprise. But he briskly blurted out. "Yes."
The angle of your neck was acute as your tilted your head to bury into his chest once again.
"I am pleased." Was spoken with a melodic voice, coming from someone who clearly got everything they bargained for out of this interaction.
"As am I."
He wasn't exactly sure how often and where in the sentence he should place the newfound endearments. The prince supposed that abundance was better than starvation.
"My love."
The prince and princess were just children. Children who had little grasp of political unions or the reasons behind the tension between their mothers.
They had overzealous thoughts of love, and unrealistic expectations of marriage. They were people with naivety taller than their own statures.
If they heard those court musings, they would roll their eyes.
Together, they would prove that one can never be exorbitant in love, as long as it was reciprocated.
Beneath title and precedence, they were a boy and a girl who had grown together since babes, rattled the same toys, babbled the same sounds, and wanted for the same thing. One another.
Aemond Targaryen m.list 🗡
meet my babies as babies
this is how i imagine king! aemond and niece reader when they're younger. v angsty.
might be ghosting for the next two weeks; exams
I hope you enjoyed!! requests open and wanted mls <3
Summary - After three long moons of waiting, you were finally to marry your uncle. This war had cost many much, but for the king, it was a godsend. He would finally have his queen.
Warnings - Strong language, targcest, mentions of violence, death, and blood. Bloodthirsty Aemond and reader, soft Aemond. Wedding night. P in V, oral f, fingering, breeding kink, loss of virginity (both parties), aftercare. Translations: ‘ñuha jorrāeliarzy’ = my beloved, 'gevie' = beautiful, 'avy jorrāelan' = i love you, 'jorrāelagon valzȳrys' = my dear husband, ābrazȳrys = wife. Reader has silver hair and violet eyes but skin colour is not mentioned.
WC: 6.7K
Part 1 & Part 3 ...Can be read as standalone.
Nine moons ago you stood at a pyre for your brother, killed at your uncle's hand. In a week's time, you would walk down the aisle to marry that same uncle of yours. How funny things play out.
After your swift removal from Dragonstone, the emotional encounter you had with Aemond in the throne room, and the night you spent in his arms, his hand certainly did everything he could to speed along the wedding.
The Lannister was under the utmost stress and duress when he had strode into the king's chambers the morning after the princess's deliverance to the keep, and saw her asleep in pale sheets as if they were her own.
Yes, this wedding was to be had, immediately!
Tyland's swift initiative made his grace happy. All supported the union to his niece, for it was politically clever to prevent rebellion, and would continue the pure Targaryen lineage. As king, you would assume that Aemond would have that in the back of his mind, but no.
This marriage was for love, something he was currently too deep in to pay attention during his own small council meeting.
"My king? Your grace?" Lord Jasper Wylde repeated, holding a roll of parchment open with fat fingers.
Aemond hummed barely in acknowledgement, spinning the specked granite ball before him, the stone making a rather vexing noise against the stained teak.
"As I was saying, the princess has been spending unimaginable amounts of coin on futile pursuits in anticipation of the royal wedding." The man's dark eyes looked down at his piece of yellowed parchment like he was bracing himself. "The cost of her last gown could sustain a northern village for a five year winter."
The king smiled to himself and glanced across at his lord. "And you take issue with my queen exercising her pleasures?"
Ironrod bit his lip — the king was not to be tampered with in any state, especially not in matters regarding the princess — and let the parchment retract into a roll.
"I express concern."
The silver-haired man's smile grew into a smirk as he stood from his seat and took a leisurely stroll around the table, enjoying the tension.
"Well, then. Refrain." Spoken as he finished his walk, and laid his arms over the back of Wylde's chair.
Nothing was limited to you now, as your uncle made impossibly clear that eve after the aforementioned, as he sat leisurely on a chaise in the queen's rooms — which were made yours the moment you arrived by his decree, of course — which you had made your wardrobe, and reading room, for it was not as if you were sleeping separate from him.
The wedding was a week away, now. And you could not wait. The seamstresses had delivered your gowns for the celebrations — beginning tomorrow, starting with a series of tourneys.
Aemond sipped his wine slowly, his lone eye trained on you as you spun in your silken pink dress — dyed from an exotic and toxic plant hidden deep in the jungles of Ulthos — adorned with rubies, garnets, golden threads, and everything else your pretty little self wished for.
His voice was soft and slow, as if your presence made him sleepy from the lullaby of your sweet scent. "Breathtaking, my love."
Impatient feet were already half way across the room, having your handmaiden unlace your gown. You called back, looking at the back of his head, his hair in its usual half-up style. "There are matching gems on your tunic!"
A rich chuckle left him. "Wonderful."
The shush leaving your lips sounded the same as the whoosh of fabric when your dress fell to the floor.
Spring had broken in the past moon, but you still developed goosebumps as you scampered back to the chaise, curled silver hair bouncing.
The poor girl attending to you swiftly left the room, she figured she should not see what the princess in just her chemise would do with her uncle, whom she was rumoured amongst castle staff to be rather libertine with.
"You have the patter of a kitten." The king mused, pulling you by the waist to sit on his lap, eliciting a quiet squeal from you.
"It is cold." You complained, leaning your head against his chest, happily melting when he draped a blanket over you.
"Then let allow me to warm you up, ñuha jorrāeliarzy."
The days after that passed quickly, filled with soft moments viewing the lists' combat — you giggling as men were impaled and drained of their lifeblood, his grace doing the same while squeezing your hand — and stolen passions.
Before you knew it, you were laid alone in bed the night before your marriage was to take place. You had decided to seek rest alone for the first time since you had been returned to the Red Keep.
This was something Aemond thought utterly stupid and nonsensical, but you rationalised it by saying that you were going to be up the entirety of the night thinking, and that your tossing would disturb him. He didn't agree or care, but relented his protests in favour of your peace.
The breeze on your balcony was cutting, despite the thick robe you had covering your gold embroidered nightgown.
You sipped repeatedly on a glass of warm honeyed milk, violet eyes flitting upon the city and sea. Watching Vhaghar and Vermithor swoop together in the distance.
Thoughts of sadness were not what kept you from sleep, but rather suspense. You had dreamed of marrying your uncle since you were a child.
Memories of the day of the horrid pink dread, after which he had dragged you into his bed to be held and comforted. That day he wept and told you of his jealousy; Aegon was betrothed, and he resented it.
All Aemond wished for was a betrothal, but your mother refused whenever you asked.
What a fool that woman was. If only she could see you now.
The subject of your mind quickly turned to your wedding night.
You were not vestal in the way that most brides were. You had been touched by your uncle, and he by you. His fingers had felt your cunt clench around them, his tongue tasting your essence.
But you were still a maiden in technical terms, and your groom was too. Years ago, before you truly understood what a man and a woman did on their wedding night, you promised that you would remain pure for one another, and that vow had been kept.
You wondered how it would feel, both physically and emotionally. Would it hurt? Likely, for you had seen his gift many a time, and it was no small feat. Even if it were agony, you would endure it for the sake of your love.
But he was gentle, you reminded yourself, he would make it tender, sensual.
The picture of him atop you, breath heaving, sapphire exposed as he murmured sweet nothings while entering you flashed in your head.
It was a nice image. A reminder of the intimacy you would soon be treated to, the oneness you had always had and would now be able to act on.
You thought of bedding ceremonies, what an archaic thing they were for so many girls to suffer through.
That could never be you, of course. In fact, when the Grand Maester had brought up the topic, Aemond banished him from the council chamber.
An amusing thought.
Sounds from the city below took your attention. Fire and hollering seen and heard. They knew nothing of you, and yet they were celebrating your marriage as if it were their own.
In the past months, you had made a few ventures into the city for charity work, and the smallfolk adored you.
Not only were you The Realm's Beauty, but now also, as named by an orphan little girl whose hair you braided, The Realm's Heart.
That day out was also great fun. For you were front and centre, watching a man be gutted from belly to throat by a city watchman who dared not to bow when you descended from your carriage. A smile crept onto your face.
The bright moonlight projecting a sleeping Vhaghar's shadow against the Blackwater had thoughts of slipping through the tunnel into Aemond's chambers to watch him sleep, but you decided against it.
Tomorrow could not come soon enough.
But then you crawled into bed, your eyes shut, and opened immediately. It seemed tomorrow was today, and today was the day you would wed.
Already, there were maids about, flitting around the room like chased moths. The ceremony was not even until the break of day, yet it seemed you were already in the clutches of beautification.
While your skin was scrubbed of its top layers, your groom was pacing about the castle like a mother chasing her child.
The king had trained at the break of dawn, as usual. Then began pouring over mundane courtly things so they would be handled for at least the next week to give him a brief window of time to float to the surface and enjoy married life before duty drowned him once again.
The wind whispered in Aemond's ear as he stood out on one of the high balconies, overlooking the city. Tyland was speaking of something that he was half tuned into, something about the Baratheons being insulted by the lack of opulence in their apartments. Typical.
His lone eye glanced up at the sun, still early-blazing. Gods, it was like watching a dried snail climb a mountain.
"Ah, your attire has been delivered." The golden-haired man's sing-song voice told his grace that everything was going to plan. "I would advise your grace to dress now. The wheelhouse shall be slow-moving with such crowds gathered."
The king nodded.
With the blink of an eye that was really a few painful hours, King Aemond was stood upon the highest altar in the Grand Sept — the one which was fronted by a steep flight of steps, positioned between the winged mother and father — awaiting his niece as every noble lord and lady in the realm eyed their ruler. A plush cloak was in his hands, red and black, embroidered with dragons.
Outside, the wind had your translucent veil dancing. You stood before the massive doors all alone.
In most cases, a girl would have her father walk her down the aisle. Of course, you did not have one of those. Nor a brother or grandfather. In dire cases, the King — as the sire of the realm — would accompany a maiden. But you were marrying him, so he was rather preoccupied.
To walk alone felt freeing. You were not bound by the chains of duties nor the rules of men, only urged by love and choice.
The doors swung open, soft sounds of the harp being heard as you slowly stepped forward into view.
Aemond's eye was on you from the get-go, the gazes of the nobility the least of his concerns.
You were the stuff of dreams. A pale violet was your gown, your veil matching. It was a shade lighter than your eyes, making them pop even more. It draped over your silver hair, the bottom of which flowed free, curled loosely.
There was a trail of braids at the top of your head, framing your crown, the one your groom had made for you. A lighter, slightly dainty version of The Conqueror's crown. You looked like the queen you were always destined to be.
So much finery of jewels adorned you that he could not process it all, only the sweet, overjoyed look on your smiling face.
Gods, he loved you.
He was deaf to the sound of your shoes clicking against the steps during your approach. When you were finally face to face, he could not hold back his own grin.
The war was worth this. It had killed off all of those fools who had dared to deny their love fruition. No more would they live deprived.
The two lone Targaryens laughed at the memory of that bloodshed. What a joy that so called tragedy was to you and your uncle.
The High Septon's old, croaky voice began.
"You may now cloak the bride under your protection."
The fabric mad a swishing sound when it was unraveled. The king draped it around you meticulously, clasping it at your chest, and even carefully freed the bottom of your hair from the confines of the cloak, letting it fall to your waist once again.
You stood face to face, smiling up at him like a maiden from a tale too kind to be more than far fetched.
And he shared that same expression, his large hands taking yours.
"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon each other and say the words."
"I am hers, and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days." He spoke unwaveringly, looking over your face slowly as if trying to compute your beauty.
"I am his, and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days."
The king squeezed your hands gently, before letting go of them, wrapping an arm around your waist.
"With this kiss, I pledge my love."
His hand found your chin, yours reaching up for purchase on his shoulders.
Then he leaned in, capturing your lips in a gentle, shallow kiss. The Sept erupted in applause, but the couple barely heard it.
After a few long moments, his grace broke the touch and pressed a kiss to your temple. This was all he'd ever wanted. He had the throne, and now he finally had his niece.
"Wife." He murmured lowly.
How tender it was, despite his rough voice.
You tilted your head up to meet his eye, hands on his shoulders slipping to his forearms. "Husband."
The king grinned.
After the quick leave you took from the Sept, and the rocky carriage ride in which you had to perform for the smallfolk, you were finally back at the keep, sat in the throne room, at the high table beside your uncle.
While he conversed with Tyland over something small, you took the opportunity to admire him. The way the rubies in The Conqueror's crown glistened upon his brow. His tunic of black velvet, and the way his silver hair contrasted against it. That sharp jawline…
A soft hum escaped you, and you turned back to look at the floor, where many were moving about gracefully, and even more clunky and drunk.
After supper, a few dances, and an obnoxious amount of wine that seemed to have no affect on you, you had grown impatient. Your husband, even more so.
But how were the king and queen to slip out unnoticed? They were not, so it had to be a quick elopement.
The sneaking man you called your uncle weaved through the crowd as if he were a thread, avoiding eye contact and conversation with each and every noble as if they had personally offended him.
"Come, my love." He whispered in your ear from behind, pulling you by the waist away from your conversation with some of the ladies.
You didn't question it, feeling the anticipation inside of you as he weaved between the crowd until you were out of the throne room.
The pull of his hand in yours was strong as he brought you down one of the side corridors you used to play in as children, and then pushed open a false wall and began to carefully lead you towards the holdfast.
Before you knew it, you were in the king's candlelit chambers, standing patiently as your husband undid the ribbon of your dress while he distracted himself with pressing kisses to your shoulders and neck.
The air was thick and hot, as if the act had already taken place.
Anticipation was a feeling you were both wracked with, warmth growing between your legs as you thought of what was to come, and felt his warm lips against your ear.
Your uncle let you shrug off your dress alone so he could quickly unfasten his tunic, pull it over his head, kick off his boots, and unlace his breeches.
You went unusually quiet as you watched him, eyes focused shamelessly on his hardened cock. Long, pale, and thick with blue veins running from his balls to his tip. That tip was ruddy, and angry. It took your full attention.
The king noticed your gaze and smirked silently, tugging off his eyepatch.
The of image of him stark naked with his scar bared had everything inside of you roaring for debauchery.
Your fingers grasped the hem of your chemise, and you pulled it over your head gracefully, letting it float to the floor while you stared at your uncle with a growing smirk on your face.
"Dear gods."
He let out a ragged breath and walked the few quick steps to scoop you into his arms, and kiss you simultaneously.
Your tongue invaded the warm cavern of his mouth immediately, brushing against his and tasting the cider in his spit.
Aemond placed you onto the bed as if you were glass and climbed between your spread legs all without breaking the kiss. He groaned into your mouth, a hand raising to grip your jaw to deepen the kiss. The groan was a most guttural sound of utter need, as mirrored by the way his cock twitched against your thigh.
No, he would not rush this for his own selfish pleasure. The king would pick apart his niece piece by piece until her sweet cunt was so ready it wept into the mattress.
He broke the embrace of your lips, and swiftly continued along your body. He was pressing open-mouthed kisses to the valley between your breasts when he reached a hand down to your sex, murmuring in pride when he felt how soaked his queen was.
"You drip already." His thumb began to rub your pearl slowly and firmly, just as he had perfected since you were four and ten in the library, after discovering a book that should not have been in there.
Those long fingers ghosted along your breast —possibly his favourite part of you, so round and full… — before squeezing gently and leisurely brushing his thumb over your pebbled nipple.
"Did my wife get this wet from thinking of my touch?" One finger teased your entrance as the other continued it's caress of your nub.
Your body felt as if it was on fire, and yet you reminded yourself, you had not even begun.
"Answer me, niece." His pink lips captured your peak, suckling as a babe would while he groped and twisted your other tit, causing your breath to quicken.
His cock was so heavy against your leg, you could feel it weeping.
"Yes."
He pushed his finger inside your warmth, and curled it, stroking your inside walls while just barely quickening the touch on your pearl. Your walls squeezed his slim finger, and a soft moan escaped you — your sounds gave him such pride, for they were never false or dramatised.
One of your hands was gripping the sheets tightly, your other coming to cup the back of his head while your hips began to shallowly rock with the motion of his fingers. You could feel your peak winding itself in your womb, you could almost touch it.
The king ruthlessly halted his efforts, causing you to let out a childish whine that you could not have controlled if you tried, your body trying to chase his caress even after he had taken it.
There was a thin trail of spit led from your nipple to your uncle's mouth when he lifted his head, only to look into your eyes for a brief moment.
"I know, my darling."
As he began to kiss down your body, tongue dragging below your navel, beginning to smell the heady scent of your arousal, gods, he was home.
Those commanding hands were on your thighs, pulling them over his shoulders so he may be eye-level with your core.
He sighed quickly and buried his nose into the soft gathering of silver hair upon your mound, inhaling your scent.
"But I must taste my wife."
Breath ghosted over your cunt, and then he dived in, dragging his flat tongue from your entrance to your pearl, and then wrapping his lips around it, sucking without mercy or reprieve.
A melodic moan escaped you. "Oh, Aemond." The crown of your head touched the headboard as your eyes shut.
The sweet sounds of your pleasure made his hips rock against the bed — he couldn't, lest he spend himself pathetically before you had even felt him.
The king released your clit from his abuses and moved instead towards your warmth, while still nudging his nose against your pearl.
A demanding hand let go of one of your thighs to reach up to your stomach, asking for yours as he plunged his tongue inside of you and groaned at the taste.
Another mewl escaped you, and you took his hand, letting him tightly interlace your fingers.
You were on the edge once again, breath heaving, eyes squeezed shut. His grace was determined to push you off of that edge.
He was blissed out with his tongue in your cunt, dragging it along your fleshy inner walls to massage that spot inside of you, nodding his head against your folds to nudge your pearl.
You clenched around his tongue and breathed shakily. You tensed. He let go of your other thigh and brought his index to your pearl, rubbing it once, twice, and then you were gone.
The coil inside of you snapped, and your womb spilled. Black and white flashed over your eyes, all the while you shuddered with the utter exertion.
The king was breathing heavily when he lifted his head up, his saliva and your pleasure dripping down his chin.
He watched with wanton hunger, cock twitching as seed gathered at the tip, balls aching for relief.
After a moment or two, your eyes fluttered open and you met his.
You looked so beautiful, flushed and open, like a goddess of fertility. Fertility — gods, he could not wait to fuck a babe into you.
He kissed your hip and climbed his way back up to be eye to eye, and leaned in to press kisses along your jaw, hips aligning with yours.
"Are you ready, my darling?"
His was was low and rough, but tender all the same, one hand brace on the side of your head while the other reached down to slowly circle your pearl.
A soft breath of pleasure escaped you as you forced yourself to relax. "Yes."
You were nervous, of course. It was only natural. But you knew that you had no cause to be; Aemond would take care of you. He would be so meticulously careful to the point of irritating you.
For he was nervous too, but it was overtaken by pure desire. He took a glance down between you, taking a hold of his length to guide it against your core, until the throbbing tip was touching your warmth.
You clutched his bicep tightly, legs spread wide. Trusting eyes met his; ready and wanting.
The king pressed his forehead against yours and pecked your lips softly before looking into your wide violet eyes.
"Yes?" He asked once again, forcing his voice to be even with great struggle as he tortured himself by rubbing between your folds to gather wetness.
You looked into his lone eye silently for a short moment, before nodding. You wanted this wholly.
He mirrored your nod, gaze locked on your face to detect any hint of discomfort.
With that, he pushed in just slightly. Your warmth had him making struggled sounds. He felt pure pleasure.
Laying beneath him, the stretch was like being impaled, stinging and sharp.
The king halted before a whimper escaped you.
"Sweetling-"
"Keep going." You cut him off quickly, voice a bit harsh as your fingers dug into his bicep.
Aemond didn't argue, only leaned in to devour your mouth — in hopes of distracting you. His niece never liked to be argued with, so he decided it best to obey.
His hips began to press forward, allowing a few more inches to find refuge in your tight cunt — all the while rubbing your pearl to make this as pleasant as possible. Your uncle groaned into your mouth as your tongues battled, swallowing your soft sounds of pleasure as they began.
The pain of the initial sting had dulled, and now you simply felt overly full, despite him not even being halfway inside of you.
As if he had read your mind, the king pushed himself to thrust shallowly forward once again, burying his length into your warm core to the hilt. He moaned into your mouth, low and utterly unsteady.
The white sheets were clenched in your free hand, breathing heavily when he broke the kiss, keeping your foreheads pressed together.
"Better, my darling? How is the pain?" His voice was a low timbre, shaken by the gentlest torture known to any.
He was just a man, he had long had these carnal desires for his niece, and now, taking her innocence all the while losing his was driving him to the edge of madness.
The thought of being fully inside of her, claiming her as his filled him with a possessiveness stronger than he has ever felt before.
"Gone. Fret not, Aemond." You said breathily, feeling him pulse inside you just as you clenched from his deft finger's touch.
He groaned suddenly, whether it were your velvety core or your melodic voice lilting his name.
"My gods… you feel incredible." The feeling of your fleshy walls clamping around his shaft dragged yet another rough sound from his throat.
"You may move. Just…slowly."
Those words were his saving grace, and at the sound of them, he pulled out and carefully thrust back in, the tip of his length rubbing against the spongy spot inside of you.
A soft moan escaped you, met in kind with your uncle's, a strangled sound resembling your name.
This was overwhelming for him, he could not control himself at the feeling of your wet inner ridges, along with the sound of your sweet whines.
His hips began to piston against yours, blinded by ecstasy and green love. The rush of blood through his body combined with the effort had his biceps flexing.
How pathetically quick this act was going to be.
The feeling of being entirely overfilled and overstimulated was all you could think of.
"Aemond…" You whined. His quick fingers, and his thick, veined cock kissing your womb had you near the point of no return once again.
The king was no different. The sound of his name on your lips only spurred him on.
His head had dipped to the crook of your neck, roughly murmuring in your ear with quick breath and even quicker thrusts. "I wish to die here, being squeezed by this warm cunt." His teeth nipped at the cartilage.
"Fuck.."
You whined, free hand moving to his back for some sort of stability in this rush of sensations, nails digging into his hot, pale flesh.
"I am going to fill you with my seed — gods — swell you with my heirs." His teeth bit at the fiery flesh of your neck.
"Husband, I'm so close."
Husband. The word he had longed to hear fall from your lips since you were children, now being whined out as he overwhelmed you with his thrusts.
He moaned shamelessly, and spoke in hasty, rough tones while wet sounds of his hips slapping against yours filled the large chamber.
"Come, ābrazȳrys. Spill around your king's cock."
Your core began to spasm around him uncontrollably. That straight command shattered you, and your ecstasy peaked with a sharp whine and an arch of your sweat-slicked back.
Any clear vision was blurred, sounds muffled, every sense bar touch dulled. For the sensation of your uncle's shaft pistoning passionately in and out of your soaked, abused cunt had your entire body shaking.
"Yes, my queen." He half-growled, voice strained and hitched, hips colliding with possessive intension.
You felt as if you were floating.
And the one-eyed king was moaning like an overpaid whore, thrusts growing erratic and hasty. His scar burned with the intensity of it.
The sight of his wife with eyes rolled so far back the violet was barely visible, the feeling of her spasming around his throbbing, desperate cock was ecstasy.
"Take it, seven hells-" With that, his strong body tensed, as he pumped you full of hot virility, creamy spend, and when he mewled in euphoric relief; his body finally stilled.
The feeling made you whimper, finally coming down from your overwhelming high and laying limp.
The king's spent body would have wobbled if not for his resolve.
The breaths from his lungs were deep and ragged as he took his second hand from between your legs and placed it on the other side of your head. He put all of his weight on his palms, his pupil still wide from the feeling of being inside of you.
The sheets clenched in your hand were freed, and you raised it to hold his cheek, still breathing unevenly.
"Oh my gods…" You chuckled.
Your uncle cracked a smile, — common around you, a rarity to others — kissed your temple, and nuzzled his face against yours.
The sapphire in his socket was glinting under the candlelight, and flickered when he shifted to pull out of you with a wet sound, almost a squelch. The king looked between your bodies, eye drawn to the puddle beneath you.
Your thighs were sticky, marked and spread apart, and despite your husband's attentive gaze, you did not feel discomforted.
Thick, white seed was dripping from your cunt, filling him with pride and the sense of utter ownership.
He had to remind himself that he had a duty to perform after his duty was performed.
His grace stood on his knees and reached for a cloth, wetting it in the basin on the bedside table, and began to clean your pleasure and his from your folds to your thighs.
"Are you very sore, ñuha jorrāeliarzy?"
His question was soft and caring, asked while his eye was set on task with great focus.
"Only a bit."
A sigh left him as he threw the cloth elsewhere and laid himself down beside you, pulling you against him with a strong arm — heavily defined from his hard work — around your waist.
"I suppose that is to be expected." Your husband reached up to tuck some stray silver hair behind your ear.
His lanky legs intertwined with yours, determined to keep you close.
The king was looking at you as he has since you were mere children, like you hung the moon, the sun, and every star in the sky.
"I did not hurt you so, did I? I fear I got carried away…"
The peace of the afterglow had come over you gladly; you allowed your eyes to close and dipped your face into his neck, inhaling the scent of his sweat with perversion. He tightened his arm around you, pressing your naked chests together as one.
"No, Aemond. You were perfect."
Doubting words tipped his tongue, but he did not argue. "I am glad you feel that way."
He raised a hand to cup your head, gently massaging at your scalp.
His touch made you relax even more, if that was possible. Your finger began to trail lazily over his bicep.
"And did it meet your expectations?" You teased.
"My dreams paled in comparison." He murmured against your hair, pressing a firm kiss to your crown as he pulled the covers over you both.
A smile played across your lips, and you lifted your head only to place it against the pillow, nuzzling your nose against his playfully. He huffed in amusement.
He remembered you doing just this that night in Driftmark before he claimed Vhaghar. It was on the darkened beach, waves crashed in the background. 'Dragon kisses' you called them, 'for luck'. The memory warmed him.
Despite the gorgeous sight of your face, comfort called his eye to close, and he began to slowly rub your back.
The pad of your thumb brushed over his sapphire, then leisurely along his scar. You leaned in to press a kiss just below his socket.
"Gevie." Whispered against the skin.
That word made him squeeze his eye shut, telling himself that this was not a dream.
"Mm…"
Any fault of his had always been your delight.
In childhood it was his whining to be seen, to be a dragonrider; and you had indulged him. Your ear was always pricked when he wisted of having a great beast of his own, and your own saddle was always open to him, taking him into the skies upon Vermithor, you with the reins, his arms tightly around your waist.
And now, in adulthood, his still-constant need for comfort, and the marred skin of his monstrous face never bothered you. You adored those qualities.
The gods had given him a blessing he could never comprehend nor think himself deserving of. But he was thankful, every second of the day, he was rapt on his niece, obsequious.
"Avy jorrāelan." He whispered, feeling sleep tug at his edges from your safe embrace. "My sweet wife. A beast such as I shall never have merit enough for you."
"Shush."
He huffed softly, blindly pecking your cheek. His obeisance pleased you, and you began to stroke his hairline as if he were a cat; and he did make a small sound, reminiscent of a purr.
"Avy jorrāelan tolī."
Things had fallen into place so perfectly, you thought. Many call the gods cruel, but they had thrown you into a life and love you dreamed of. You were married now. The queen to your great king.
"Issa jorrāelagon valzȳrys."
The one-eyed king smiled to himself.
The light covers rustled as your tired uncle shifted, pulling you to lay your head against his chest, pressing your ear to his heartbeat. He held you protectively, kissed your temple and continued to rub slow circles over your soft skin.
"Sleep, ābrazȳrys."
You breathed slowly, but stiffened after a moment. Something weighed above you.
"The sheets, Aemond. I did not bleed." The words were quiet but anxious. It was not as if you were known for your virtue, considering the servants had long been gossiping of your closeness with the king. But your maidenhood was his only tonight, yet his damned ability to pleasure you left no proof.
He didn't stop his caresses, but rather accelerated them, pressing another kiss to your hair.
"I shall bleed for you, niece. Worry not."
That relaxed you. It was only then when you realised how exhausted you truly were, and the moment your violet eyes shut, sleep took you under its wing. Your breath evened against your lover's chest, curled into him for protection.
He held you tightly in your rest, feeling an intense sense of pride as he looked at your beautiful, unguarded figure, completely vulnerable only to him. How lucky he was.
The tight hold he had on you only broke to take out your earrings. One dangling amethyst was placed onto the bedside table, while the other was stabbed into his thigh bluntly.
He held still as he pushed it in further— unaffected by the pain, having gained a high tolerance from battle and the constant aches in his head since the loss of his eye.
The earring was set aside as his blood began to drip onto the sheets, and he relaxed, leaning his head into the pillow and looking down at your cradled form, rubbing your waist slowly. How beautiful you were in sleep.
He thought of heirs. How this night's end of both your innocence could easily be the beginning of life anew. The thought grew a fire inside of him, not only for the imagery of you heavy and round with child, leaking breasts… but for want of a babe. A happy child possessing your beauty and grace who would succeed him with strength.
All he wished was to be a good father, to support his children in their endeavours, and not neglect them as Viserys had him.
No, he would hold them in their sorrows, celebrate their triumphs, and be shrewd in his advices. He would make an effort to be a man to be looked up to.
He was sure you would not need to. You were already nurturing, and soft, and caring. The embodiment of the mother. The picture of you with a silver-haired violet-eyed babe at your breast flashed in his mind.
His lone eye shut and he rested his head further against the pillow.
These were all thoughts for tomorrow. For tonight he wished only the think of his impossible felicity. First he had claimed the throne, and now he had claimed once again; you.
His arms flexed around you, supporting his wife against his chest with a reverent touch.
With that, rest pulled him under, leaving his head empty and soul comforted. His heartbeat evened out beneath your ear.
The kinslayer held you all through the night, pulling you closer if even possible. Your sweet husband simply needed the touch.
When the sun began to peak through the horizon, Aemond woke as usual. But he did not rise to train, no, this day was for loving.
During the night your head had moved to tuck itself into his neck, and your leg laid over his thighs. He rested his chin against your shoulder and pressed a gentle kiss there.
The heady scent of arousal and exertion was still on your skin from the night prior's passionate affairs. It was mixed with your usual sugariness, making the most pleasurable concoction.
He was hard again — the consequence of both the morning and your proximity — but would not bother you with it. He would only continue to admire you, trailing his long fingers slowly up your back.
It was likely an hour before you woke: a time he spent admiring you silently.
When your head began to shift and nuzzle his neck, he cupped your nape and murmured softly in his low, deep voice.
"Good morrow, my love."
Consciousness had barely taken you, but already, there was a lazy smile on your face.
"You are still here." You murmured as you shifted into your elbow, looking into his eye with affection.
His silver hair was messy and his eye was rimmed with crusted sleep, but you still thought he was the most handsome man in the realm.
How you gazed at him with such tender care always amazed him. A large hand raised to cup your face.
"I would not leave you for the training yard on a day such as today." He leaned forward to peck your lips tenderly, then your cheek.
"Nor shall I ever leave you." He leaned his temple against yours. "I am imprisoning you in this bed until further notice." His strong arms pulled you to straddle him.
A loud, giddy giggle escaped you.
This was your reality now. Days spent by your husband's side, and nights in his arms, eternity spent in his apparently frozen heart.
How you loved him, just as he loved you obsessively.
Pleasures were had twice that morning before the king finally rose, and let us just say that a few blushing maids who thought it was finally time to collect the marital sheets were rudely awoken by the image of his grace mewling beneath his queen.
It was a picture of passion far too visceral for their innocent dispositions.
No one could deny that this marriage was a love match; and by the sticky sheets, nor could anyone denounce the fact that it had been consummated.
King Aemond Targaryen finally had his queen, and may every god be damned should he let her go.
Aemond Targaryen m.list
help he looks so sad in the top right pic.
THIS WAS SO LONG I'M SORRY
i hope you enjoy my lovlies!! pls send requests and feedback
Summary - King Aemond Targaryen, Lord and Protector of the Realm, had what he had long dreamt of: The Iron Throne. His siblings were dead, his mother, his scheming grandsire... all of it to his satisfaction. But there was one thing he had not yet claimed, or more so reclaimed. His dear niece.
Warnings - Strong language, blood, targcest (uncle and niece), mentions of violence, death, insane but soft aemond, reader is also off her rocker, overall depravity, but happy ending :)) ‘ñuha jorrāeliarzy’ = my beloved, 'gevie' = beautiful, & 'avy jorrāelan' = i love you. Reader has silver hair and violet eyes but skin colour is not mentioned.
WC: 3.1K
Part 2 & Part 3 ..Can be read as standalone
The throne he had long coveted was finally his. A seat of iron that made any man sit awkwardly.
Not Aemond Targaryen, first of his name. No, he was upright and tall, pricked like a horse's ear. By the way the corners of his mouth upturned just slightly, one could tell: He was looking forward to this one.
His niece — you — were dragged to the steps — resisting the guard's hold, bloody, and clad in a ripped black and red embellished dress. Fitting.
The last survivor of Rhaenyra's line. His childhood companion. The object of his lifelong desire.
"Princess."
The light, airiness of his expression could be felt without sparing him a glance. Not only did you have no desire to face him, but you simply couldn't. Too much had been lost. Your mother, your brothers, your cousins, your near sanity. The impossible love you held for your uncle since but babehood, all gone for the vacuous chair he assumed to sit.
"You will address your king."
That made you lift your head. The sight of him on that sharp seat dressed in obnoxiously decorated leather, and the conqueror's crown upon his brow, made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He looked how your mind's eye had always pictured Maegor The Cruel.
He fit the bill, too. He had taken an inheritance that was not his, burned the Riverlands to their mucky foundations, and still had the gall to call himself king.
You may have been on your knees, but you were in no way obeisant. Your violet eyes locked onto his lone blue one, and you spat without breaking the look.
"You will respect your king!" Ser Kevan Bracken hissed down at you as he pushed the back of your head roughly, forcing you to fold as if you were worshipping the throne itself.
Aemond blew out a quick breath through his nose, and snapped. "You dare cuff about the princess as if she were a common criminal! Leave, Ser. You are relieved of your duties."
The knight's eyes widened and his head snapped up, his hands letting go of you and joining behind his back like a guilty child.
The split on your bottom lip was dripping red and you took the opportunity to wipe it. Aemond's declaration of "Do not have a hair on her head harmed." followed by a quick list of threats was clearly not heeded.
The picture of the straightest, strongest woman he had ever known or loved, knelt and bloodied as a boy after stealing a loaf of bread, well, it had his grace prepared to have those fists Kevan so loved broken and mangled until his fingers were shaped like letters.
"…Your grace, I am sworn to safeguard House Targaryen until the end of my days. To protect against enemies and punish traitors."
"You were. Before you dared to strike the epitome of our line." The king stood and began slowly stepping down the flight of iron. "Go with haste, I will have your head taken along with your title.”
The knight looked at him in alarm for a brief moment before deserting the throne room. Why tell such a wretch that your injury had been there before he encountered you? It was not as if he would be spared.
The king stood and descended the throne quickly, until he was stood just one step above you, gazing down at your greasy silver hair and scratched shoulder. His hand moved to the back of your head.
You tried to jerk away from his hold. But he didn't let you, only gripped your unharmed shoulder to keep you still. The blood from your lip was now dripping onto his boot.
"Who hurt you, my love?"
Any drab of sense had left your body months ago, you were not in your right mind. All you saw was red. His words made you want to pull the dagger from his belt and finish him. Unfortunately, he had anticipated that, and didn't wear his weapons.
"I am not your love." Spoken hoarsely as your forehead pressed against his knee. The familiar scent of pine, smoke, and leather making you want to both vomit and weep.
"Yes," He lowered himself to crouch, gripping your jaw without letting go of your shoulder. "you are."
The words were barely out of his mouth before your palm cracked against his cheek.
The war had hardened you, made you even more fiery. The king suppressed his irritation at the petty slap, instead keeping his expression neutral despite the red mark blooming on the side of his face.
He stared into those wide, bright eyes he loved so much. "Behave, princess. You would not want your groom to have a bruise on the day of your nuptials, now, would you?"
Your knuckles were about to connect with his face, judging by the look strained across your features. Your uncle adjusted his grip to hold your wrists together tightly but gently, stroking the bone sticking out at the joint of your hand and arm. All the while not letting the hold on your jaw slip.
"Nuptials? Has your mind truly gone to waste as they say, uncle?" The rip at the waist of your dress only widened as you rose onto your knees, exposing your navel. Nothing but outrage was felt by you. You were shouting so loudly that the Kingsguard was likely alert behind the heavy throne room doors.
Aemond's expression didn't change at your outburst, in fact, your bother made him come even closer, his nose almost brushing yours as he leaned in.
"I know you feel great grievance, and yet, there is no need for all of this commotion."
"Commotion? Fucking commotion? You and your half-breed siblings murder mine in cold blood, and you class that as commotion?"
Difficult to shut up, as always — but he was not complaining, he had missed your voice so. He would allow you this rant, occupying himself with stroking his thumb along your jaw. Words continued to spill for a few long moments, before stopping, your voice taken by the tears dripping down your face.
Tears which he tasted the salt of when he kissed them away. "Do not be saddened, sweet niece. You will be my queen, as you were always meant to be."
The familiar touch of his lips against your skin made you shiver. You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head so hard it would be at risk of falling from your neck.
The dilemma which his words had you facing made you want to be buried in black soil and absorbed into the earth from which you came.
"You shake your head at my words. For what reason, ñuha jorrāeliarzy? I have claimed for us what you were scorned."
You were the eldest of your siblings, the only who possessed undeniable Targaryen features — whether you were your true father's or Daemon's was besides the point — yet your claim was passed over for your plain brother. The petty reasoning Rhaenyra gave? To not overwhelm the lords. That made you carry a certain resentment for the woman who gave birth to you — your brothers as well. But to resent and to wish death are entirely different things.
"Do not act as if you committed heinous atrocities for the sake of love for me. You wished to kill Lucerys. You wished for the throne. It was all for your own selfish gain."
"Perhaps I did seek vengeance. But do not act as if I did not have you in my thoughts when I claimed this crown."
"Do not connect me to your cruelty. In mind or in spirit." You snapped.
"Sweetling, I have done awful things." He murmured without empathy as he made the somewhat risky choice of letting go of your wrists to wrap an arm around your waist, rubbing his hand up your back slowly.
"I have burned many a man and his home, culled mere meek orphans sent to battle, and all of it mine own. But only ever for want of you. We shall be one, as we were destined to."
His lips pressed against your temple. You didn't recoil. You had never felt so weak.
"Don't you wish to be my wife?"
"Not. Like. This."
"I regret all hardship the war has cost you," His lips pressed against your temple every few words. "I would take your pain trebled and bear the weight dutifully."
The throne room felt colder than ever. Being here, in the keep. It all felt wrong. The way he murmured soft words like some sort of sorcerer didn't, though.
"And I shall spend my life atoning for hurting you." His hand — now with your blood smeared across it — let go of your jaw to tuck your hair behind your ear.
"No one can atone for what has happened."
The words were shaky, your voice quiet as to not let tears fall once again. This was no simple matter; he had killed Lucerys, plotted with his grandsire to murder your siblings while his own elder brother watched with pervasive pleasure as his dragon devoured your mother in six bites.
"The gods have scorned us to live in torment for our sins."
"The gods? My sweet love, have you become pious to justify placing your desires aside?"
You huffed out a short breath and shut your eyes.
"You will be my queen, and I but your humble servant." He pecked each of your eyelids softly. "As we have always wished… You would deny me, my darling?"
A broken, shaky sigh left you. "Aemond… I cannot." His name felt heavier than before.
"But, you can. You will. That feeling in your bones, dear niece, that heaviness will be gone once you give yourself wholly to me." He tugged you even closer, the hand on your back still rubbing firm, grounding circles over the tattered velvet of your dress, his other lithe fingers weaving into the hair at your nape.
His lips pressing against your scalp, as he nuzzled his nose there to inhale your sweet scent he had missed so much. That was the worst part of the gods-forsaken war, — not losing his siblings or mother — being away from you. Six moons felt like a lifetime.
The whisper of your name felt too personal. "I may have the throne, but it is an empty prize without you by my side." His hand snaked to cup your cheek, making you look at him as your foreheads pressed together.
His eye was teary.
"I beseech you, my love. I kneel before you, my person lies all unlocked to your occasions."
He let go of your waist to cup the other side of your face, his large hands taking over your cheeks.
Aemond was not ashamed to beg. Not to do so if it was for you. "I plead for your hand. For without it I am nothing, as I was before I had you."
All you felt was exhaustion. Exhaustion from grief, hunger, tiredness, and emotion. Giving in seemed so sweet. So easy… but you couldn't.
"Tell me to take my egregious words back into my hollow soul." He said hoarsely as his lips almost brushed yours.
Violet locked on blue, pupils blown wide. You didn't shake your head. You didn't squeak out a word of defiance.
Aemond waited for a short moment, giving you the opportunity to back down. Such a thing did not happen.
So he kissed you. And you didn't fight it.
The touch was gentle — as to not hurt your poor cut more — but not lacking passion, embracing until his tongue was wrapped around yours, and both of your saliva was mixed and squelching. He could taste your blood, and it only angered him. His sweet niece was hurt. This kiss felt final. Deeper than any rushed embrace that you had ever shared in a hidden alcove.
You pulled back after a few long moments and sniffled. Crimson smudged across his chin as he stroked your reddened cheeks.
"You will not regret this, my queen." He murmured quietly as he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose.
Those words made your insides flutter in a way that had you shivering.
His hand slipped down to your waist, feeling the goose flesh where your ripped dress wasn't covering — you never did tolerate winter well, such hot, pure dragon blood unsettled by it. He quickly unclasped his cloak and draped it around you carefully.
His thumb stroked across your cheek slowly, eyeing the dark circles under your eyes. "Are you wracked with fatigue, sweetling?"
You nodded.
"Let us get you to bed then. Or would you like a meal first? A bath?"
"All of it." The words were soft and hoarse.
"Of course." The king scooped up his niece effortlessly, and strode towards the exit, boots quietly tapping against the stone floor.
"Door!" He called out, and the guards opened them dutifully. If it wasn't for their helmets covering their baffled expressions, they might have lost their eyes to his grace's dagger. They saw the rabid king carrying his disgraced half-sister's only remaining child as if she were a precious jewel.
The corridors of the keep were emptied already, your uncle having commanded the entire court into their chambers without a word of context.
The walk to the holdfast felt like a dream. Inhaling his scent, wrapped in his furs, being held like a bride as your cheek pressed against tough leather, listening to his heartbeat. After everything, you should've fought him. but you didn't. You had no ire now, if ever you did.
The king's chambers, that's where he brought you. Not to your rooms, not to his childhood ones, but the king's; his.
A bath was drawn in the bathing chamber, the space wafting with scents of exotic incense and the marble tub filled to its lip with steaming, milky, oiled water.
Aemond left you alone to bathe, only so he could command that all of your things remaining in your old rooms be moved to the queen's chambers, for a ship to fetch your other possessions from Dragonstone, and a dragonkeeper to unchain Vermithor and allow your restless beast to fly to King's Landing. As well as to call a meeting to plan his wedding.
The small council was a fight he made quick work of, his hand, Tyland Lannister, being the dutifully prudent — and cautious — man he was, followed every order with a nod and delegated easily.
The king returned to his chambers when you were in the middle of your meal, sat in one of the window alcoves in a red silken nightgown that made you look especially valyrian. “Gevie." Your uncle spoke as he strode over.
Your gaze was scarcely pulled from your fork — he had venison smoked in anticipation for your arrival, your favourite — before he was staring down at you.
Long, cold fingers reached out to tuck your damp silver tresses behind your ears as he looked down at you. "Clean? Contented?"
Your head moved in an automatic nod, looking up at him with wide, calmed eyes.
"Good. Very good." He took a seat beside you — the warrior sitting on embroidered cushions —, his body angled towards yours as he pulled your legs into his lap and clasped a hand around your calf. "The food is to your liking?"
A soft chuckle escaped you as you took another bite.
"What is funny?"
It seemed that your dynamic was the same, as if war hadn't torn your family asunder.
"In our time apart, I had almost forgotten how worrisome you are."
He huffed and wrapped his other arm around your waist. "You mock me."
"No." You murmured against his shoulder as you laid your head there. A twinge of amusement could still be heard in your voice.
That seemed to content him, and he just rubbed your side for a few moments. Your plate was set aside in favour of leaning into him. While in the quiet embrace, it hit him once again that no one was going to stop this, to pull them apart for propriety's sake as had happened so many times before.
He is the king. His word is law. His wants are his. "Will you sleep in here with me tonight?"
The nod was slow but sure. Your fingers ran up his clothed arm slowly, tracing the stitched black dragons on his sleeve. "Yes."
He sighed in relaxation and kissed the top of your head.
After an hour of sitting there, conversing quietly, the sun had set. Your uncle picked you up, placed you carefully onto the bed, and tucked you in, hands creasing duvet like some sort of nursemaid.
The large doors creaked when he left for one last duty, then returned and slid behind a divider to get into the bathing chamber and change his clothes. His hair was down when he was back in your view, his chest bare, and his scar uncovered. He had decided to leave on thin linen pants, not wishing you to think he had an alternate agenda.
The sight was so soft, you curled up in his bed, waiting. He climbed in swiftly and drew you to him with an arm around your waist, his other hand adjusting the covers around you.
You let your head fall into the pillow, eyes trained on him being so attentive. He relaxed and laid fully beside you, face to face.
The scar on his left side was calling to you. Is it odd that was the part of him you missed most? You raised a hand to his cheek and stroked your thumb over it slowly, brushing his waterline carefully.
He did not bristle at the touch — after he lost his eye, you were the one to comfort him, defying your mother to hold his trembling hand while the maester stitched him up — but rather shut his lone eye and leaned his forehead against yours, lips pressing against your cheek. "I have dreamt of this moment more times than I can recall."
You let out a quiet breath at that, and tucked your head into his neck.
He kissed your head. "Avy jorrāelan."
With that, sleep took you. Your rest was far too peaceful.
A part of you was wicked, you had always felt deep down. There were bite marks on your soul from that imp clawing it's way in. Now you realised how much larger that rotten part was.
His grace saw that part of you. It was his greatest pleasure, to have your tenderness all to himself while watching the evil simmer inside for others. It emboldened his own.
People whispered of your uncle's madness, and yours as well. The Realm's Beauty, devolved into a woman whose comprehension of cruelty had disappeared. None of it mattered, for Aemond had you.
Tragedy had claimed your shared kin, but it had to happen. Death upon death was the only currency strong enough to pay for a love as true as yours.
Aemond Targaryen m.list
my first time writing for this man but i've been yearning to for years, so spiritually i have an entire library of fics for him
also can u tell i wrote this while listening to waco, texas on repeat lol
please lmk what you thought and send any requests my way!
@torturedpoetism i've read your aemond work and it's amaze, i hope you like this!
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