In honour of the new hunger games movie coming out and my birthday I decided to get a hunger games cake I thought something nice at first but wasn't feeling then I saw my fav hunger games meme and it was fate.
I really missed my opportunity to get a Taylor swift 22 cake 😭😭😭
In another life, you might have found him handsome.
You might have been attracted to his golden hair and the arrogance that he carried with him, but it was hard to be attracted to him when your hands were locked and he had the key.
Besides, you don’t have room in your life for romantic machinations
“You know, I think what’s been throwing me off is that you’re too pretty to be a criminal.” He said towards you and Jesper and Kaz fell silent.
Oh you were never going to hear the end of this.
“We should see how pretty you think I am when I break your fingers.” You retorted, slowly and silently working on the lock mechanism.
“Promise?” He replied almost instantly and your fingers stopped working for a second, stumbling at his response. “Oh, that reminds me, Alina Starkov. She-”
You tuned him out as you undid the rest of your restraints, starting to plot your escape from here.
The window was likely your best and only option, with guards conversing outside of the door behind you three, and the Sturmhond blocking the door in front.
The pirate caught your attention once again by producing more Kruge than you had ever seen at once in his hand, setting it down on the table.
“Twenty seconds,” he nodded to Kaz, turning to leave before looking at you, catching your eye one last time. “You could always join my crew. Always looking for new talent.”
“Go to hell.” You shot back and a wide smile appeared on his face.
“Worth a shot.” He said while walking through the pair of double doors.
Both you and Kaz shot out of your seats, Kaz walking towards the Kruge and you towards the window, which luckily had a landing empty of guards.
“I can’t believe he was flirting with you. A little help?” Jesper said, half-annoyed and Kaz tossed a coin towards him. You rolled your eyes.
“What am I supposed to… when did you know? That I’m a Durast?” Jesper asked, his voice growing soft as he transformed the coin into a lock pick with nothing but his hands.
“In the train, when we were crossing the Fold, in the train. And besides, when you shoot, you never miss and no one is that good.”
“I don’t-”
“Neither of us are gonna out you, Jes.” You said, half-focused on the guards trying to break through the door.
“I appreciate it, but I’m more interested in hearing that from him.”
You turned to Kaz. His eyes never left Jesper.
“I’m not going to out you.”
Jesper gave Kaz a single nod, the handcuffs falling to his feet.
“Let’s go.” You said, one leg already out the window.
You watched as your mother embraced Alicent. She seemed rather happy to see her. Happier than she usually was when your father insisted on visiting Otto, she wasn’t overly fond of King’s Landing.
✢summary: it has been a long time since aemond had let his anger get to him.
✢tags: aemond x targaryen!reader, reader is rhaenyra’s second born child, + mentions of alys
✢tw: idk fighting ig? mentions/suspicions of infidelity, angst (hopefully)
✢a/n: heyy...aemond kinda hit me hard...heh. i've also been informed that my masterlist links are not working. i fixed most of the most recent fics (gojo + hotd fics) and their links and the rest will all be fixed in due time as well. thank u for 2022 guys, it was surreal. dont forget to comment and lemme know what u think !!
“Aemond,” you hiss, pulling your skirts up as you follow your husband as an attempt to catch up with his walking figure. You quickly glance in both directions to check any passersby and switch to your mother tongue. “My mother’s reign cannot be weakened now out of all times! Vermins continue to remain in court, and a single crack will destroy our dynasty,” you whisper vehemently, mindful to keep your voice down. In King's Landing, even the walls have their own eyes and ears.
Aemond turns to you cooly, as if he was making a simple conversation. He raised an eyebrow at you. “And how have I weakened our dynasty, sweet girl?” he asked mockingly, like he was trying to placate a tantrum.
“You run off to Harrenhal at moment’s notice and yet you think you have a better grasp at the city affairs when you are barely even here. You undermined me!” You exclaim, switching back to the Common Tongue. “By questioning my decisions, my choices, my words- you make me look like a simpleton!”
“And shall I look dumb in the council instead? When am I to speak? In our rooms at night?”
“Yes!” You agree, nodding your head. “It is surely not that hard to keep your mouth shut for a few hours as every lady has done for years!”
Aemond sighs in frustration. You spy his hand twitch and you know Aemond is trying to resist the urge to run his hands through his perfectly groomed hair. “I cannot simply stand by and listen to you run the realm to the ground with your ideas!” His voice grows louder, echoing across the ceilings of the arched hallway. “I have pointed out your foolish idea because it is a foolish idea. Dorne has been an enemy of the Crown since the days of Aegon the Conqueror, and you wish to make friends like some child!”
“You overstep yourself,” you warn, your lips curling into a snarl. You feel your dragon blood boil within your veins. “I am Princess of Dragonstone-“
“As I am Dragonstone’s prince!” Aemond retorts, his face wild. It makes your veins pop, the way he felt the need to remind you of an obvious fact as if you were a child.
“I am the heir to the throne!” You shout, not caring if you are hypocritical to the source of your anger or stooping so low in the argument, “First in line to a crown you are rank eighth in.” You take a deep breath, before calming yourself. You miss the way Aemond suppresses a barely hidden flinch. You try to summon the calm wisdom of your mother to pass through your head. “You are free to advise me, to warn me, to prevent me from making any decisions I might make that will endanger the realm, but in no way will your words be more powerful than mine.”
“If that is how you plan to rule, then I should have not chosen to be your husband,” Aemond hisses. His voice is like venom from a snake that makes you weak.
Crack.
You blink, still haven’t let the words settle in your head. It was like King's Landing was blessedly serene, free of any noise and chaos. You are frozen in time, caught unaware, never expecting Aemond to drag your marriage to the fight. You silently curse yourself for not expecting this sooner. Your marriage had been worn down thin recently, most highlighted by Aemond’s sudden preference for Harrenhal over Kings Landing or Dragonstone.
His departures haunt you. In every hallway you walk, you hear hurried hidden footsteps of gossiping ladies that whisper about the absence of their prince. Servants dare not look at you in the eye when you inquire about his whereabouts. The rumors are loudest at night where everyone thinks you are asleep and resting and not the hooded figure huddles in a corner of a tavern.
It is Aemond that makes you break from your state of disbelief, his right hand twitching up to reach your forearm.
You took a step back as soon as you see him move, leaving his hand in the air. You are too busy staring at his outstretched hand, wondering when was the last time you have rejected Aemond’s affections to notice the regret slowly fill his face.
He watched you shamefully, as you gather to collect your broken mask and hastily wear it back on your face, letting your spine pull your back straight and your chin up. Y/N Velaryon is gone, for the Heir of the Throne replaced her.
“Very well,” you mutter, looking him in the eye. You will your voice to be steel, not letting a single crack through your formidable armor. “Matters regarding our marital union are easily fixed. Divorce is not unheard of or uncommon. Good night, my prince.”
You turn away from Aemond immediately, hoping to deny him the sight of your face in which heartbreak is no doubt evident.
-
Out of pettiness or shame, Aemond does not opt to sleep in your shared chambers that night. He retreats back to his old chambers, far, far away from you and your ladies in waiting that would no doubt give him a hateful stare after the state he left you in.
He had said nothing after he had previously spoken, too shocked at his own words to react properly. Aemond had stood there in silence, unable to speak even when you looked at him with betrayal on your face. He had watched your façade crumble into pieces slowly, as if the gods had cursed him to see exactly every detail of hurt splattered across your face.
As he lays in a hastily prepared bed, Aemond cannot seem to catch any sleep as his mind replays the hurt look on your face. Perhaps he can catch you before the beginning of the gatherings with the Small Council to win your affections then. Befriending Dorne does not sound so bad compared to the ache he feels without you next to him.
The next day, Aemond had risen and dressed before the first rays of the sun. He heads to the council chamber hours earlier than the gathering in hopes to catch you alone. Slowly, each council member fills the room and greets him with a soft murmur before settling in their respective seat. Yet the seat in front of him remains empty.
Aemond stares at your place, and the missing orb that is before it. He ponders on your tardiness, for you make it a point to arrive first out of everyone. It is to show good example as heir, you reasoned, Let them see that I am willing and able to change the realm.
Finally, the door creaks and Aemond jerks his head immediately only to be greeted by the sight of his eldest sister. He and the other council members stand in the presence of the Queen before seating back down.
As the council commences, Aemond’s head is anywhere but the council chamber. Have you gotten sick? Unlikely. Were you avoiding him? Possibly, but Aemond doubts that you would miss a council meeting over a fight.
“As for the matter of Dorne,” Rhaenyra says, and Aemond’s attention perks up at the mention of it. “Perhaps we may have to decline their invitation. There is too much risk and little gains if we pursue such-”
“My queen,” Aemond starts, and Rhaenyra’s eyes turn to him.
She acknowledges him with her eyebrow. “Yes, Aemond?”
“I agree that a friendship with Dorne is an almost plausible trap, but we do not need to decline their allegiance entirely,” He reasons. “Perhaps if we establish trade routes, wheat and grain from the Reach for Dornish goods, then we can work towards a relationship.”
He feels the stare of the councilmen, most especially those who agreed with his firm hesitance on Dornish relations yesterday, but most of all, Rhaenyra stares at him with a different look. Her eyes narrow at him, as if she was suspiciously looking for something.
“Dismissed.” Rhaenyra says, and all councilmen stand and rush out the door immediately.
“Have you seen Y/N?” Aemond asks his sister, catching her before she leaves the door. “It is not like her to miss a meeting.”
“She has visited the Sept this morning inquiring the whereabouts of the High Septon,” Rhaenyra responds with a confused look. “Did she not tell you? I had not expected you today in the council for I had thought you would have joined her.”
“Ah, perhaps she had forgotten,” Aemond lies. He forces a smile while his tongue tasts like ash. “Thank you sister.”
Aemond does not waste any time as he hurries back to the place he knew you would find your solitude in. The path to the royal wing was an easy journey. Once he had reached familiar doors, Aemond wastes no time and pushed them open.
“You cannot leave me,” Aemond says in a rush, already failing at his plan to approach you with a cool head. His desperation seeps out of him to freely, and you won’t even spare him a glance.
“We are married in the ways of Old Valyria,” he continues as he forces his voice to steady. “There is no divorce or annulment in Valyria. Marriage is eternal.”
Aemond does not remember much about your wedding as it was sudden and quick. Both of your mothers were eager to reunite the family again to prevent any potential rebellion to come fruit. But it is the look of your face as he cuts your lip that Aemond remembers vividly. The way you had looked at him with trusting eyes and the dark red blood that flowed down your chin had made Aemond’s head empty but for one thought- beautiful.
He watches you now, caught unaware by his sudden intrusion. You spared him a sideways glance from your vanity, a brush held in your hand that combed through your surprisingly unbraided hair.
“No,” you agree, and it sounds hoarse that it makes Aemond wonder if you had not spoken for the last day. But it has also been the first in so long that you had spoken to him that he cannot help but cherish your voice. “But you are free to take a second wife, just like how I can take another husband.”
A scoff escapes him before Aemond could stop it. He scans you up and down, waiting for a crack of a teasing smile. He stares at your cold stare, as he realizes. “My love, surely you cannot mean-”
“Enough.” You halt him immediately, and the words die in his throat. “You need not be king to a poor rule at my expense.”
Aemond’s mind recalls his words clearly. He should have spoken then, took his words back and begged on his knees for forgiveness. Your marriage had not always been a love match, for he had been freshly broken with the death of Alys and you lost with grief at the loss of Jacaerys. And yet, the both of you had chosen one another, at the promise of a union filled with friendship. He had never meant to fall for you.
“I…I did not mean that,” he offers, pathetically. Gone was his usual eloquence and restraint in words he prides himself in. Suddenly Aemond is reduced back to a child of ten, fumbling in his words and anxious about the thoughts that go through a person’s head when they see him. He is reminded of losing his eye, suffering the consequences of his actions. He had taken Vhagar at the cost of an eye, and now his words will cost him his wife.
“I-I never meant…I-” It had been a long time since Aemond’s words had failed him. “Forgive me,” he demands but it comes out as a whisper, barely heard in the quiet room. He fears that any loud noise might scare you away. He never should have shouted.
“You may go back to Harrenhal,” you announce, standing from your seat and turning your back to him. “And I…” Aemond spots you falter, gripping back to your chair in support. “I suppose I shall seek the hands of the noble lords once more.”
He knows you well enough that your knees are close to giving up, and you have gripped that chair like a lifeline. Aemond knows of your disdain of courtship, for you believe that the lords that offer themselves or their sons only seek your crown and the power of the Targaryen name. You will be reduced as a person, with no value but her title and Valyrian heritage.
Aemond briefly realizes in a panic that he had made you feel lesser than yourself, diminished your value to that of a fool.
But still- “Why Harrenhal?”
He sees you shrug nonchalantly. “I don’t know. Mayhaps Alys.”
“Alys?” Aemond asks. There is a confused frown on his face, unable to grasp your thoughts. He had never made it a secret that he loved his lover, but speaking of her strictly as someone who was gone. Upon your marriage, he had made sure you knew of his fidelity to you even when love was not present in your union. You had never commented on Alys before.
“Alys is alive and well,” you growl with anger Aemond did not expect. “Her presence is strong within the Keep and our chambers. I see her in my head as they whisper about your loyalty to her. In my dreams her face haunts me mockingly. I will never be worth what she means to you.”
“Who has poisoned your thoughts?” Aemond demanded.
“Everyone,” you reply and it sounds like defeat. “From carpenters that build the Keep to the prisoners down in the Black Cells. They know. They all know.”
“She is dead.” A fact. Truth. Aemond had buried her himself and guarded her grave for days.
“She was a witch!” You exclaim, a sardonic tone clear in your voice as you move towards your shared bed. The mattress dips at your weight, and you sit on the bed looking every bit defeated. You refuse to look at anything but the floor, letting your silver hair cover your face. “Perhaps she had dragged herself back to life, no? Maybe she is still in your head after all these years. Perhaps it is not her but someone else. Why else would you visit Harrenhal so often? ”
Aemond moves towards you slowly, sitting on the floor beside your legs. He takes it upon himself to sit gently, not wanting to chase you away further. He does not dare touch you yet. If you reject him, then he shall go. But first me must make you understand.
How had it come to this so fast?
“My heart, I have visited Harrenhal so often for I chased a rumor delicate to the crown,” Aemond explains slowly. He wished he had come clean sooner with better circumstances, but he cannot afford to hide the truth from you when his wife is spiraling further and further away. “Whispers have said that the fire that killed Lionel and Ser Harwin Strong was not accidental.”
Aemond feels you shudder. Rhaenyra’s favorite knight has always been littered with happy memories in your childhood. As a child, Aemond had often seen you and your brothers hanging on the great Breakbones’ arms as he walks across the courtyard.
“I see.” Your voice was no more than a whisper. “Do we know the culprit?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must tell the Queen of this news.” Your voice remains distant, for your head is elsewhere. You take a deep breath loudly, and though Aemond could not see you, he imagines you squeezing your eyes shut in both pain and exhaustion. Aemond's heart clenches knowing that your head is clouded by his words replaying again and again in your head.
“I am sorry that I have made you doubt me. I should have told you.” His arm sneaks on your lap to hold your hand and he is not surprised when you do not spare him any response. Aemond squeezes your limp palm firmly, as if a single falter in his grip will make you slip through his fingers. “I am loyal to you, my heart and soul.”
“Are you?” It is Rhaenyra Targaryen's daughter that asks, the one whose shoulders are heavy with the weight of a crown. “Loyal to me?” Do you still plot against me?
As if on cue, Otto Hightower’s face appears in Aemond’s head, whispering the advice Aemond knew he would give. Use her, be the King, get the crown for you are a trueborn son.
Aemond feels your hand squeeze his palm as he holds it. He looks up to you from the floor. Your eyes burn against his, unwavering in your stare. “I would burn down kingdoms and start wars if it meant protecting you. I am loyal to you, my wife, the true heir, as I shall be for the rest of my days.” Aemond swears, shifting to his knees to face you. With both hands, he slowly reaches for your face, letting his eyes roam at every detail of you.
He does not miss the way your eyes have gone red, nor the dark circles under them. You are a shade or two paler than your usual complexion and covered in a thin layer of sweat. Aemond stares back at your violet eyes, challenging and demanding. “I am the only husband you will ever need. I will be your confidant, your friend, your ally. Never shall I give you any reason to doubt me.” Aemond swears.
His fingers find your hair, brushing them back to your ear. He pulls your head down, and you let him. Aemond presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Forgive me,” he whispers to your hair.
“Are you mine? Are you truly, really mine?” You ask, your hands gripping his arms. Finally, it is no longer the princess before him, but it is his wife, whose heart still loves him even after he had hurt her. Your eyes look at his, desperately begging him for any other sign of loyalty.
Aemond happily gives it. Always. “You know I would cross a path of vipers if it meant being with you again,” he replies. In your eyes he reads what everyone must have assumed you fear, that he is still besotted with someone else. But Aemond knows you well enough to know that your fear runs deeper. You fear loneliness, and losing him would mean losing the only person you had ever loved and cherished again, a clear echo of the pain your brother left within your heart.
Aemond wants to laugh and jest, for his love is a fool. Why would he ever leave you when you have given him love and a family he had always wanted? “I have not looked back nor have I looked anywhere else once you have given your heart to me.”
His confession rings around your chambers and echoes back to him. For a few moments, the room is filled with silence. Aemond counts each breath he takes as you look down at him from the bed.
Aemond is prepared to leave you alone and let his promise simmer in your head before he hears you sigh. You release his arms and tear your grip from his hands. Aemond hears clothes rustle before he feels you slide on the floor beside him.
“Neither have I,” came your soft whisper.
He feels you wiggle closer to him and his arm opens immediately, pulling you close. None of you dare to move, content to leave the argument behind with each other in your arms. There is peace, then there is quiet.
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