Peter being the type to film you on his phone so he can jack off to it later while you're splayed out all prettily beneath him. Your face flushed warm, tears trickle down your soft cheeks as the girth of him stretches you open.
And Peter's soooo pretty when he gets noisy. All groans and huffs and moans while his fat balls tap against your soaked folds.
He's so clumsy behind the camera. Too focused on you and making sure you're feeling okay, making sure you're still all there when the plush head of his cock grazes that spongey part inside of you that makes you gasp and your brows furrow.
Peter pushes one of your legs up and over his shoulder, moving the camera to show your pussy off to the camera. "Spread it for me, baby– yeah, like that." You're so quick to listen in this fluffy little headspace; spreading the top of your folds wide to show off the way your pussy wraps tight around his pink-flushed cock.
You shiver a little at the exposure, whispering "Petey c'monnn, m'shy." All you get is a scoff, "No you're not." He gives a light tap to the plush curve of your ass, "Thank you, baby." He hums, pumping into you.
You whimper a bit and he's so quick to tune out everything but you with a "Y'okay?" He gages softly, pumping languidly in and out of your heat. You nod but you're grabbing for him all the same and he just forgets the video all together. Just chucks his phone to the side and gathers you up in his arms, wrapping your legs around his hips as he rolls his hips into yours.
+18 mdni, service submission (reader shaves ormund's chest), power imbalance, unprotected piv, clit stimulation, choking, pull out method, kissing, dirty talk, praise, mutual orgasm, ormund is kinda pervy and has a god complex, fem reader, only lightly edited, 0.9k words (guys I finally did it I wrote a fic under 1k i've been trying for months!!!)
ormund hightower loves his special handmaiden. you've got cool fingers and a delicate touch. he cherishes the time he gets with you.
so much, in fact, that he has you on a very strict schedule.
every night, right at evenfall, ormund calls upon you. he orders you to fill a basin with water for his chambers, and collect a straight razor in order to shave him.
he doesn't like the scratchiness of stubble. it chafes against his doublet and makes him feel unkempt.
you're not the first person to shave him, but ormund is certain you'll be the last. he could never find another who has such gentle hands. could never replace the feeling he gets in his chest when you settle into his lap and use linen to wet the broad expanse of his chest.
you always bring this bowl of salve that creates thick foam when rubbed against his skin. it smells sweet, like open air and sugarcane.
ormund lets you work your magic on him. doesn't say much or ask for more, because you're good at what you do.
you slide the sharp edge of the razor across his pectoral, cutting down the prickly stubble until he's smooth again.
the water basin turns milky white as you rinse the blade before going right back in to remove the hair.
his chambers are quiet, save for your breathing and his and the steady scrape of steel against skin. ormund watches you, admiring the way your lips are parted just enough he can taste your sigh.
everything about you draws him in; the arch of your brows, the shape of your mouth, the scent of you. you're temptation embodied.
and ormund—gods help him—he gives in every time.
his sock grows stiff as you continue your ministrations. and he knows you can feel it, because you give a sweet little smirk in response. barely there, but enough that he knows exactly what you're thinking.
you finish quickly. too quickly. you rinse the razor in the basin one final time, set it aside, and clean the remaining cream from his chest. when you look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, you ask, "will that be all, my lord?"
of course ormund knows that, yes. that should be all. he should thank you and send you on your way.
he doesn't.
instead, his hands find your hips in a practiced manner. "well, there is one more thing you could assist me with," he says. "if you're feeling…kindly."
you nod politely, smirk fully formed now. "anything, my lord," you whisper, voice all low and timid and sultry. "i'm yours to use."
his to use.
it makes him feel holy, like you're some sort of worshiper and he's your favorite diety. ormund feels drunk on your submission, cock throbbing in his breeches. "come, sweetling."
you shift closer, bringing one leg over his lap so you're stradddling him. you place your hands on his shoulders for balance, fingers gentle as they move up the curve of his neck to find his nape.
"lift your dress," he orders.
and you do, following his instruction without hesitation. the fabric bunches as you gather it, baring yourself to him. no smallclothes, but only he would know that.
ormund reaches beneath you to find your cunt, already slick. he lets out a breathy sigh when he feels your clit, pulsing beneath the pad of his finger. "such a needy thing," he mutters.
he leans back in his chair far enough to unlace his breeches and pull his cock out. you lift on instinct, eyes locked on his, and he slides the head of it through your syrupy folds before lining himself up at your opening.
you sink down onto him, and you both let out mirroring sounds of pleasure.
you're so tight and wet, it makes him shiver. the perfect woman for him. he thrusts his cock upwards, slowly at first. but you've done this dance so many times now, it doesnt take him long to find the perfect pace.
ormund fucks you deep. slow enough that you can feel every pulsing vein as he buries his cock inside of you. you make the prettiest noises, low gasps in his ear as he reaches parts of you untouched by another.
his pace is fevered, hurtling fast towards the precipice of release.
"touch yourself," ormund tells you.
you slip your hand beneath your dress to find your clit. he can feel you clench around him, velvety walls squeezing tight. he knows you're getting close when your balance sways, falling forward to bury your face in the crook of his neck.
ormund's quick to grab you, hand finding your neck to pull your attention back to him. "feels good, hm?"
you nod, brows pinched together, eyes wild and zealous. ormund's fingers curl around your throat, and your lips part on a wanton moan. "oh, gods. please, please—"
"give it to me," he orders. "there you go, that's it. you're doing so well for me."
he can feel a rush of release coat his cock, sliding down the base of him and dripping down his stones. ormund surges forward and crushes his mouth to yours for the very first time, swallowing up your moans and the taste of your tongue.
you whimper, and it takes everything in him not to finish inside at the sound alone.
ormund hurriedly pulls out of you, spilling his seed between your slick, sliding his cock through your folds to milk himself dry.
you both come down slowly, breathing in each other's air, coming back to earth, to oldtown, to his chambers.
when you're ready, you climb off of him and stand on trembling legs, righting your dress and squaring your shoulders. "i trust you've found some relaxation tonight, my lord."
ormund thinks relaxation is putting it lightly. euphoria, more like. but he simply nods, licks the taste of you off his lips, and says, "same time tomorrow."
This episode SO FAR is making me so on edge and uncomfortable THE SOUNDTRACK THE DISTORTION THE FUZZINESS THE FUCKING RATS they did a good job making me feel like rhaenyra in this ep I’m gonna throw up the only thing that can fix this is yuri bro rhaenicent please <\3
Content & Warnings (mdni): noncon, glory hole, unprotected sex, revenge plot, multiple creampie, oral sex, rough sex, sex toys, fingering, anal, pregnancy, squirting, reader is General Shepherd's adopted daughter
This is a work of noncon. Please use "cw: noncon" or "dark fic" to filter. Heed the tags. I warned you.
A/N: for the anon who asked for noncon with Price (have a few more) and for @quarterlifekitty who offered up additional brainworms to chew on.
Word Count: 2.6k
A death for a death. An eye for an eye. That’s how revenge always goes. But there is no death to avenge, only betrayal. Price will tarnish the pretty thing General Shepherd loves most.
ao3 // main masterlist
Behind the tree line is a motorway, the distant roar of cars barely audible given the natural barrier. The sky is dark. No stars. Simon’s cigarette is the brightest thing on the lot beside the lone bulb affixed to the building in front of them. It’s above the faded wood door, unprotected from the weather. The bulb is slightly blackened, dampening the light.
“Think he’s trying to kill us?” asks Kyle, eyes narrowing as he observes the worn wood.
Simon exhales, smoke curling around his face as it dissipates into the air. “Price?”
Kyle turns to Simon, top lip curled in disgust. “Fucking look at this place, mate.”
Johnny sticks his hands in his pockets, shrugging. “Not up for getting ya’ dick wet?”
“Fuck off,” groans Kyle.
“Think he’s on to something, Johnny,” croons Simon. The behemoth of a man inhales the last of the cigarette, tossing the butt in the gravel, extinguishing the embers with the toe of his boot. “No windows. Weird lock. Metal walls. Fucking murder shed that is.”
“Think there’s a dead body in there?”
“Limbs hanging from chains?”
“Captain Price, the serial killer?” Kyle’s fist lands on Johnny’s shoulder. “Fuck me. That hurt.” Johnny lunges, the two men wrestling for a headlock.
Rolling his eyes, Simon kicks at Johnny’s shin. “Grow up. Fucking children.” Lighter in hand, Simon clicks it open. Shut. Open again. “Rather do this in the club?” He nods toward the secondary building, the larger one to the left. Muffled, pounding music oozes from the building, growing louder when the entrance door opens. “Where everyone can watch? You into that?”
“Piss off.”
Johnny throws up his hands. “No judgement, Kyle.”
“Price wants us to blow off some steam,” says Simon. “We’ve been pent up. Aggressive since the mission. He’s fucking right.” He side-eyes Johnny. “Also felt bad you almost died.”
Johnny sighs dreamily. “Loves me more than my own, Da.” Johnny throws his arm over Kyle’s shoulder, drawing him in. “Probably bought us one of the bonnie lassies in there. Or three.”
Simon growls low in his throat, eyes on the door. “I have the code.”
Kyle’s head tips back, gazing up into the starless sky. “Let’s have it off then.”
Johnny hollers, shaking Kyle like he’s a ragdoll before taking off to the murder sex shed.
“Out the way, Johnny,” scolds Simon, elbowing him.
Simon punches in the code, the red light flipping green. Twisting the knob, he shoves open the door, revealing darkness. It takes a moment for their eyes to adjust, to unwrap the present inside.
“Fucking hell,” murmurs Simon, stepping into the small room. Johnny and Kyle slide in on either side of him. The door shuts with an audible click. “Is that—”
“It is,” says Johnny, clearly surprised.
No bed or lounge decorates this room. No scantily clad women ready to offer themselves. There’s a hole in the wall. A cutout. Large enough for a human to crawl through. Breeding Hole is painted in glowing green neon above it. Two arrows curve inward to point at either side of the hole. The lettering oozes downward like fresh paint.
The hole is not unoccupied.
Johnny’s surprise turns to lecherous glee. “It’s a fucking glory hole.” He slowly strides forward, gaze sweeping over exposed skin and spread legs.
A woman, but only half, sticks out from the wall. You’re on your stomach, a black board with a red cushion supporting your weight, top end covered by a black curtain. Black stilettos, strappy with a razor-thin heel, is all you wear. The rest is exposed and open for them.
Beside the glory hole are two sets of ankle straps. One set is higher than the hole itself, allowing for legs to be locked open and wide. The second set are level with the support cushion. They can bend your knees, force them open, keep you restrained as they fuck you.
Price didn’t buy one or even three of the workers in the club for a quick fuck. A countdown on the wall denotes the remaining time.
Three hours.
Three fucking hours.
Price bought a session.
Graffiti covers the remaining three walls. Several television monitors play porn without sound. Overhead, music blares, a thudding rhythm that shakes the bones. Light comes from a few stray bulbs in the ceiling, each covered by a clear glass box in different colors. The set-up bathes the space in a kaleidoscope, heightening the pulsing intensity of the room.
Simon, Johnny, and Kyle circle you but don’t touch.
Glancing at a nearby rolling cart, Simon grabs a bottle of lube. “Look here,” he says, nodding his head.
It’s packed with silicon dildos of various shapes and sizes, anal plugs, vibrators, a variety of stimulation toys from a feather to a wooden paddle. There are extra bottles of lube, individually wrapped sanitation wipes to clean themselves, or you, off, and beside that are two rows of disposable cameras with extra film. A sticky note next to the cameras says “Use Me.”
“No condoms,” muses Simon, finding them absent after a second perusal.
“Says breeding,” chuckles Johnny. “Don’t need condoms for that.”
“Think she’s clean?” asks Kyle.
Johnny turns on him. “First you think he’s trying to murder us and now you think he’s going to give us STDs?”
“Not intentionally,” mutters Kyle.
Simon snorts, placing the lube back on the cart. “Think Price is the type?”
Kyle inclines his head. “Maybe to his enemies.”
“Be real shite of him,” laughs Johnny. “After feeling bad for me and all.”
Stepping forward, Kyle traces the lines of your body, fingertips hovering millimeters away from skin. “Hand me the lube,” he demands of Simon, not looking at him. “And a plug,” he adds as Simon places the lube in Kyle’s offered palm.
Johnny claps his hands together, grinning madly. “Aye. That’s how it’s done.”
Gripping the plug in one hand and the lube in the other, Kyle squirts a generous amount. As he places his hand on your ass, you jerk as if surprised. Kyle gives you a generous, reassuring squeeze before sliding his hand between, easing you open wider until your pussy and anus are stretched and exposed. Both tense and flex, and Simon groans.
“Fucking gorgeous sight,” murmurs Simon, rubbing his hand over the front of his dark jeans.
Kyle aligns the plug, pressing the tip against the puckered hole. There is resistance but it pops in smoothly. Your thighs shiver followed by another jerk of your body. Kyle fills his hands with you, squeezing, some of the remaining lube transferring.
Squeezing both cheeks, he settles his clothed hips in front of your exposed pussy. “Perfect height,” he says, lightly thrusting. He backs up, gesturing. “Try.”
Johnny takes his place and then Simon. Height won’t be a problem. They’ll be able to fuck you with ease.
“Who’s starting?” asks Kyle.
When no one moves, Johnny aims for his belt buckle. “Aye. I fucking will.”
Johnny releases his semi-hard cock, easing his pants open and down enough to keep the zipper away from his dick. Fisting the base, he jerks himself, pressing the head of his cock to your clit, rubbing against it. A sharp smack echoes with the music as Johnny’s free hand comes down on your ass. A few more send your thighs twitching.
Kyle licks his lips, joining Johnny, occupying his hand with the other cheek. Simon lingers at the cart, picking up different toys and vibrators, clicking them on and messing with the settings.
Beads of precum bloom in Johnny’s slit. He paints your clit with them, smearing it around to act as lube. A few more beads and he playfully teases your pussy, easing the tip in and out, all while jerking himself to hardness.
“What about this one?” Simon holds up a small vibrator no larger than the palm of his hand. It’s on, shaking wildly, nearly jumping around from the speed setting.
Johnny smacks his dick against your pussy a few times and steps away as Simon approaches with the vibrator.
“Too much?” asks Simon, switching the speed down a level.
“Not enough,” replies Johnny, slowing his hand movements to strokes.
Simon ups the speed again, firmly shoving the vibrator against your clit. Your ass bucks into the air. Kyle lunges forward, placing pressure onto your lower back, forcing you back to the cushion. You writhe under Kyle’s hold, attempting to escape the sensation. Simon, with the continued pressure, swirls the vibrator.
Another jerk, and they all jump back.
“Fucking hell,” laughs Johnny. “Got ourselves a squirter.” Simon is already reaching for a wipe, patting down your skin to clear the excess. Johnny inserts two fingers into your pussy, pumping slowly. “She’s dripping.”
“Need us to hold her?” asks Simon
“Aye,” and Johnny nods at the cameras on the cart. “Want a picture of this slick cunt taking my cock.”
Simon chuckles, handing off a camera to Kyle as he readies his own. He holds it up, snapping a photo as Johnny’s cock disappears.
“Fuck,” groans Johnny. “Tightest cunt I’ve ever fucked.”
Simon snaps a few more photos and sets the camera aside. “We got her, Johnny.”
Together, Simon and Kyle grasp your legs, pulling you toward them and further onto Johnny’s cock. They move as one, adjusting the ankle straps, locking you in as Johnny rests his hands on your back, putting his weight behind it.
Hips sharply jerking, Johnny drives into you, only chasing his end. Lips parted, panting, beads of sweat forming on his brow. Simon and Kyle watch intently, their eyes lust-laced and eager, each of them stroking themselves to hardness as they wait their turn.
Johnny groans out his pleasure, grinding his hips against you as his balls tighten. Kyle already has the camera ready as Johnny slips out. Simon moves when Kyle does, spreading your pussy wide with his fingers. Kyle waits a beat, snapping a photo when Johnny’s cum appears.
“Not enough,” observers Simon. “Needs more.”
Kyle takes position. He doesn’t fuck as wild and hard as Johnny, but his strokes are deep and deliberate.
Johnny smiles behind the disposable camera. “Hold that pose.” Kyle eases your leg up a bit, giving Johnny a clear view of how Kyle’s thick cock stretches your pussy.
The camera goes off and Kyle starts to fuck you again. When the creampie happens, they snap another cumshot photo.
“Not enough,” repeats Simon. “Not nearly enough.”
With three hours on the tab, they rotate, take pictures, make you squirt a few more times. Kyle removes the anal plug, going up a size, insert it while they turn you onto your back. Ankles are secured in new restraints, toes pointing toward the ceiling, legs stretched.
Simon hooks his arms around your legs, hands firmly gripping your thighs. He cares little for ceremony or niceness. Their mixed cum is smeared all over you pussy and ass, overflowing whenever one of them fucks your cunt.
Johnny aligns the camera perfectly, angling just so to capture the position without Simon’s head in the photo and the television monitor off to their left. It’s showing a gloryhole similar to this one.
“Turn her on her side,” instructs Kyle, indicating how with a flick of his finger. “Think that tight ass is ready.”
Unhooking your ankles from the restraints, the three of them turn you onto your left side. Simon eases you toward them a touch. Lifting your top leg, he plants it on his shoulder. He straddles your other leg, aligning his cock up with your pussy. Johnny spreads your ass cheeks for Kyle; the plug removed with a wet pop.
On the other side of the partition, you cry out around Price’s dick as not one but two cocks enter you. They fuck rough. Hard. Whoever they are. Not that you can ask. Not that you can say anything. All you can do is stare daggers at the man keeping your mouth occupied.
Price tuts as you choke on him. “What will your daddy think of you?”
Daddy won’t know about this at all.
You’re taking this but you’ll never speak about it. Whatever your adoptive father did to earn Price’s ire is unknown to you, and you don’t wish to know anyway. General Shepherd never brings work home, but you’re aware of his power, and that he likely has enemies everywhere.
When Price took you from your apartment in Washington D.C., you thought he’d kill you. Make you an example to your father.
“Apologies, love,” murmurs Price, using his thumb to wipe away smeared cum on the corner of your mouth. “But your father’s a bastard.”
There is cum in your hair, on your face, all over the cushion, spread over your breasts. You’re not allowed to swallow. Your mouth is a hole for Price to come in. Nothing more.
Price palms your breast, squeezing, teasing your nipple between thumb and forefinger. “Glad my men are having fun.” Price eases the rest of his cock into your mouth until you gag. He retreats slightly, but only enough for your breathing to return to normal. “They deserve it. After what happened to them. What your father put them through.” He sighs. Shrugs. “Not that they know who they’re breeding.”
Unable to move, unable to speak, you only stare, narrowing your gaze to stinging venom. Price brushes it off like it’s nothing.
Insignificant.
Killing General Shepherd was Price’s gut reaction.
Soap shot in the head, bleeding out, barely clinging to life. They thought him dead. His recovery, as slow as it was, surprised them even more. If Johnny had been killed, if he hadn’t survived, General Shepherd would feel lead, too. Know death was coming for him.
The sole reason Price didn’t fill General Shepherd full of holes is because Johnny lives, and lives well. Price’s revenge requires a different taste, and before him, the spread is bountiful.
A few favors are all it took to put Price in Shepherd’s office at the Pentagon. Place is a fucking fortress but it’s just a building when people owe you. Shepherd will know it’s him. There’s no doubting that. But Price wants him to know.
Price leans against the front of the desk, lightly tapping the final nail against his palm. Around him are pictures. Took a while to develop them. Can’t walk into a store, hand over rolls of film full of cumshots, and ask for them to be developed. He had to do this quietly. Discreetly. Took a few months of planning, but it’s here, in front of him.
Each and every picture is from that night. The only face that appears in any of the photos are of yours. Boys were smart about how much of themselves they revealed. A few didn’t make it, but there were plenty in the end.
Price admires his work, at how the photos cover nearly every surface. Shepherd will walk in, and everywhere he looks, they’ll be a picture of his daughter taking cock.
But there’s one final piece.
Something he didn’t expect.
Something that happened just this morning.
You should have killed me. You should have fucking killed me!
You were angry, standing at Price’s doorstep. Don’t know how you fucking found him, but your Shepherd’s, and he likely taught you well.
Beating on his chest, screaming in Price’s face, you raged, and then you spit out the real truth, the reason you even went looking for him in the first place.
The pregnancy test stares up at Price.
There are three possible fathers. All of them still ignorant about you and what Price did.
He’ll disown me. Did you know that? He’ll force me out of the family over this.
Price won’t put it past Shepherd to act so harshly, but you’re with him now. Left you asleep on his bed, curled up under the covers. He’ll have to tell the lads eventually, but not right now.
Pushing off, Price turns, placing the pregnancy test down in the center of General Shepherd’s desk.
Summary: No one ever expected to be in love with someone they could never have.
Warning: Targaryens being Targaryens, Angst, implied depression (and everything that follows). This is an AU where Aemond survives the Dance of the Dragons and Grey Ghost is claimed. (Basically… typical changes in a fanfic, right?)
Point of View: Third (Using Y/N)
a/n: This is the revised version of the original fanfic of "Evermore" in 2023 that I made, which was stuck with no ending after 3 chapters. I will eventually make the ending. (Original Version's Link)
Song: Beauty and the Beast - Evermore
Main Masterlist
'Evermore' Mini-Series Masterlist
Next Chapter
The day they defeated the Greens’ last defence, Aemond Kinslayer, marked the glory of the Blacks. Ravens sent across the realms to sound the end of the war. Summoning up the lords that had fought in their name to once again bend the knee to Rhaenyra Targaryen.
For those who stood on the other side of the war, their fates are yet to be decided. They are led to wait anxiously for what truly matters now is to keep the true enemy locked away.
The Greens' surviving kin are set to be imprisoned for life. Separated and hidden in different towers, hundreds of miles away from each other. Fearing any of them would conspire against the crown, the council had suggested so.
Up high in an isolated island, a tower stood tall to bear the Kinslayer inside. They kept him in a room at the very top of the tower. Damp and cold from the passing storm that constantly kept the residences company. A room with only one way out. A heavy wooden door at the end of a narrow stairwell. Then, with a barred window on its wall, too high for him to even reach without any assistance. If his eyes are ever able to catch a glimpse of the horizon, it is always a reminder that its vastness does not welcome him anymore. Often time sounds like a founded form of torture for a dragon rider. That is to have to see his kin ride their dragons in freedom while his own fell and lost at sea.
One in particular, had broken not only his heart, but his soul, is to see the woman he had loved so dearly, rides the wind to where his eye could not follow forever.
He eventually learn how to wait and hope. Gladly accepting the only company he was offered. Books, ink, and paper. He wrote every thought possible. Words that were never meant to be out in the world for no raven meant to perch on the window of the tower, which none ever could. The Blacks have decency enough to let him write his mind instead of keeping his emotions locked inside and driving him mad. Or perhaps it was their intention to know what he thought in the first place.
After some times, the thoughts are forgotten. Not even the guards are willing to inspect as they once used to. This forsaken prince has borne no more threat to the world. The guards no longer see how much he has written in a day. Just… many. Most of the ever-changing guards had been leaving hundreds of papers lying waste in the corner of the room. Day and night, he writes what he remembers and wishes to remember still as his memories slip away. He knows this confinement will one day take away his sanity.
He used to have all the tables he could use as his personal table there in the Red Keep. He used to have all the books he could read whenever he wished. Warmed up hearth and a soft bed to lay. Where he is now is far less decent than the one he used in the brothels of King’s Landing. He does not mind it. He cannot mind it, or else he will go mad sooner than he already is.
One day, when his hands moved viciously to write words down on the parchment, he heard a sudden noise come from the creaking door of the tower and a figure walking inside without a warning. A woman demanded that the guards close the door behind her. While both guards looked at each other in surprise, they obeyed.
The moment Aemond looked at her face, he knew well displayed a façade. One that she would use to make sure whose legacy is she a part of. Y/N, the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and his first wife, Rhea Royce. The only daughter born out of duty and spite. The one who earned herself her father’s attention only after claiming the infamous wild dragon, Grey Ghost. The daughter who was never a true Targaryen until Daemon sees her and claims her decades after her birth. The one Aemond kidnapped to taunt his uncle. The one he kept for some time, locking her in the same tower while the war was raging, only to realise no one came for her.
Aemond rises from his seat calmly. He waited patiently until he was convinced that the guards could no longer see or hear anything coming from inside the room. His heart beats at each of her steps closer to him. She reached for his worn-down trousers and brought him to her arms. No words, she just clung to him for dear life.
For a moment, he was frozen. He could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks slowly wet his chest. He put his hand behind her head. Torn between the will to pull and the desire to hold her close. Her legacy had brought him pain of losing, but the woman that she is had always brought him love. He knows well if there is anyone else he could lose, it is her. And so he gave in.
To finally see her again after many months feels like a fever dream. This reunion is unpredictable for he knew the cold truth. If there is one thing he fears about her visit, it is that she bears a piece of unwanted news.
When he looked down and meet her teary eyes, his heart ached once again. Even more when she said, “I do not have much time here now, listen...” An agony came from her sweet lips. The soft voice delivered, “I am to be married. I will have no more reason to come here as a Targaryen.” She trembled in her whispers.
He didn’t need to know who or why or when. He said, “There was never hope. Not with me.” He knew the truth hurt her more than anything. Yet he knew he must not let her live with an empty dream.
She let go of him as she suggested, “Let us run away.”
He took a deep breath to deliver the very thing everyone admitted in silence. “I am the most hated. Even more hated than my mother. If any of them knew you ever wished for this, they would hate you for it alone.” He cupped her face in his calloused hand. Tracing it to remember every detail of it. “I will not let the world hate you because of me.”
She reasoned, “I will leave the light to live in the shadows with you if I have to. I never meant for the crown. If I allow this marriage to happen, it will be a lifetime until I can see you again. They will take me away, little hope to find an excuse to be here.”
Then a sudden realisation hits him. A thought that made his chest pang in pain. A thought that made his teeth clench. He let his grip on her loosen. The silence was deafening, but the words were even more. “I would be lying if I said what I should have said to keep you away. But I will never forgive myself if something were to happen to you.” He takes his time and thinks through his words. He then said in defeat, “Whoever you will be married to is your biggest hope in happiness. The war has taken mine from me; you were never mine to keep. I was never yours either, lady.”
Lady…
He refuses to call her by her name.
Her sweet name…
She has proven to herself just how much she is willing to go through for him. She wishes it would be that easy to just walk away from the man before her, to embrace the great destiny she had as an honourable Targaryen at last, alas. Her desire says otherwise. To leave all logic and walk into this very tower, in a way, she already betrayed her family. “What good is winning a war if you cannot have the one thing you wish to have?” She whispers it to herself. “To love the one thing you wish to love?”
“Let your love go. Forge another one. Wash the desire away. Let my existence fade away from your memory, and you shall have the life you need. With a happy family that loves you. Bearing your husband’s name and his children in peace.” He whispers even faintly, “As you deserve.”
“But-” she tried to talk back.
He took a deep breath and allowed himself to run his hand on his cheeks once more. Lowering himself to see her eye to eye. “If you love me once before and wish to love me once more… do as I said, and I shall be happy. I shall.” Tears ran down his cheek, and if she ever had a chance to see his other eyes, she would be sure to see the love and desperation in those eyes, too.
She answered his gesture by bringing her hand to his scarred face upon his eyepatch. Her touch is soft and haunting. Such a dream, he doesn’t even realise she lifted his eyepatch and took it off. With anyone else, he would have snapped and pulled their hand roughly, but… It’s her. It is his woman’s touch that could turn the hatred and spite, the ugly and discomfort upside down.
“We both know that was as much lie as it would be if I were ever you,” she wept quietly.
They wish more than they said they did. They both wish to throw away the name and be reborn from the ashes they would have turned into. They prayed more than they might admit. To the seven and to the old gods that might still hope to be worshipped if they ever did exist. Like bargaining loyalty for love. Alas, no one knows who will grant a wish that is never meant to be. They leaned closer, falling into each other’s embrace, taking their time to remember what they might never have again after this moment. The sound of the breaths, how warm it feels. The feel of their forehead touching is even more intimate than the Act itself. The lips quivering and the hands cold, one would think it felt like they’re dying. And perhaps, they feel that way.
The thought of never being able to see her again made his once strong, steady hand tremble. The only thing that keeps him together is the fact that he still holds her in his arms to this moment. Soon enough, the moment will pass, and life must go on. In a life where he will not have much to do but to reflect on his actions, he answers the call. Duty to his family, whose name will no longer allow him to bear proudly, and the throne made of nothing but dead men’s swords. Before anyone knows it, his sword would be forged upon that ugly throne even before the day he died, for he is already as good as dead to the rest of the Targaryen. “See to my niece, Jaehaera, will you? I know she will marry your half-brother.” He cared deeply for his family more than he claimed to. Even in his most miserable state, his mind could not help but wander to the only surviving child of his dead siblings, Aegon and Helaena. “Love her as your own and tell her all is forgotten and that she is loved.”
Hearing that, she sobbed even more. She nodded. “I expect nothing less of myself. I will see to her.” Still trying to hold her voice, too afraid of rumours being brought by the guards of this… affection… she has for Aemond. “And your mother.”
He held her hand and chin in his cold hands. He brought her face closer to his, kissing so deeply. She kisses him like there is no tomorrow. It is so passionate and desperate that they do not even think to breathe.
The moment they pulled away, he said, “Perhaps… in another life.” He then pushes her gently. He quickly turned to search through his bed and pull a piece of paper. The only one in the room looks neatly folded. He slips it into her cloak and then kisses her forehead. “Promise me you will live your life to the fullest.” He looked down in shame, he cried in a whisper, “Your pure heart… no monster like me should even pass it.”
“I…” she stuttered. She wanted to say no to him, saying such harshness of himself, but saying it would only bring him more grief, wouldn’t it? This is his way to let go. And so she said, “I… will try.” Deep inside, it felt as if the gods had sentenced her to an ugly fate in life. But who is she to complain? Not when the man before her suffers the most terrible fate of certainty to never be able to experience life and love the way she did.
He kisses her face all over. Pull her cloak and veil to cover the tears and grieve, then he pushes her away just a bit harder.
She looked at him once more, “In another life.” Which he answered with a nod and a smile. A smile, and tears unstopped. The lips formed a lie, yet the eye tells the truth. Then she opened the door and stormed out without a word, bearing the same demeanour as what the guards remembered her father displaying in his annoyance. She stormed and left the guards think she was angry at the prisoner. But that was far from the truth.
Not long after, he breaks. He punches the wall, and his knuckles are red, bleeding, even. He took a deep breath and stopped it the moment he took notice of a piece of paper that he knew was not the one he usually used, lying on the floor near the door. He picked it up and open it. He still thought it was his until he read ‘My dearheart, Aemond.’ Only by those words, he realises he will never be able to let her go the way he expected himself to do. He reads through it as if it is some holy book in which words would be chanted throughout his constant prayers.
The moment he hears a roar from outside. Grey ghost. He tried not to care, but his heart longed to see her once more. He stacked the very few books he had, but tall enough for his eye to peek from the windows, only to see her fly away to the melancholic sunset on the horizon and fade amongst the clouds as they fly higher. Now I know she’ll never leave me. He whispers to himself, I will be waiting here forevermore.
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