They say Daenys Velaryon is as mad as Aegon The Conqueror himself. Perhaps it's the fact that when she was conceived, her father was looking into the eyes of Joffrey Lonmouth instead of her mother. Or maybe it's because Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen has taken to spoiling her daughter unneccessarily.
It most likely is that every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air, and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.
Daenys' coin lands on the same side as Aemond's.
pairings: aemond targaryen x fem!velaryon!oc
warnings: 13.3k words, lots of fighting (like lotssss), sorta toxic relationship, enemies to lovers, shameless smut, hair pulling, hitting/slapping, knifeplay, unprotected p in v, fingering, aemond being mean, daenys being crazy, they don't know how to handle their feelings
notes: crossposted on aO3 here
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It's an unforgiving dawn when Princess Rhaenyra wakes to an odd sensation between her legs and soaked sheets.
The storm is strong, rain battering against the windows as wind howls through the stones of the Red Keep.
Rhaenyra is screaming because this babe is going to kill her, and if it doesn't she is sure she will scorn it for ripping her cunt in two. Evidently she does not, and instead sobs when the midwife hands her the child who is screaming at the top of its lungs.
Rhaenyra can barely hear the woman's soft voice, "It is a girl, Your Grace," over the wailing of her daughter. It is truly an ear piercing screech.
She doesn't look at Ser Laenor, nor Ser Harwin who stares longingly at her from his post at the door. No, Rhaenyra is focused wholly on the bald babe in her arms who is curling her fist around Rhaenyra's silver locks in a firm grip.
She is squirming, and does not even settle down when Rhaenyra attaches her to her teat. A dragon, her mother thinks, smile wide as she strokes the babe's head.
"Daenys," Rhaenyra says as she looks up to her husband for the first time, who kneels down beside her with a wet smile, calloused fingers stroking his daughter's cheek. "Daenys Velaryon."
"After the dreamer," Laenor agrees.
Rhaenyra hopes that this will signal a new era, peace between the brewing tensions of Alicent and her children. Daenys the Dreamer, come to save the Targaryens once again.
Perhaps Visenya would have been more fitting.
At eight namedays, Daenys is untamable. Wild silver hair flows down her back, which will no doubt have to shorn off with scissors now that she has thrown herself into the mud and brambles of the Godswood. She rarely lets the maids brush her hair, even fleeing from her own mother as if the hairbrush is a dagger poised at her heart.
Her violet eyes have the same storm-tossed energy that flows through the rest of her small body. Sometimes, her mother calls her Stormborn, and Daenys does not know if it is because of the violent rain on the day she entered the world, or if its the rowdy way she spends her days - wrestling her younger brothers to ground or chasing her Grandfather with a wooden sword. Recently, Daenys' new favorite past time has been stealing unattended vials from Maester Orwyle and throwing them at Aegon.
Rhaenyra scolds her, but has to turn away to hide her laugh behind her hand as a raging Aegon chases after Daenys covered in grey slime.
It is the same year that she demands to be taught with a sword like her older uncles and younger brothers. Rhaenyra relents, and Laenor is caught between amusement and fear. (He sends his sister a raven about the situation, which earns laughter from her, and an approving smile from her husband. He seems to be inspired, because at Baela's next name day, he gifts her a dagger.)
She has no dragon, though her brothers are much too scared of her to tease the way they do with Aemond. Daenys claims that she will mount Vermithor the next time they visit the Dragonmont on Dragonstone.
Daenys does not tame the Bronze Fury, and the wicked beast burns half of her hair off when she gets too close to him. She is otherwise unhurt, Rhaenyra thanks the Seven, but the Maesters have to cut her hair even shorter than the last time. The silver mane rests against her chin now, drawing attention to her violet eyes. Daenys does not cry, but she is angry and will not let anyone cut it again. Rhaenyra makes her promise to brush it. (She does not.)
Daenys thinks that Dragonstone may be cursed, because Lady Laena and her father perish not long after they take up residence on the island. Daenys has never felt the ache in her chest before, but she does not know what to do with it, so she evades the eyes of her mother's knights and sneaks down to the rocky shore, then screams into the sky. Daenys lets two tears fall down her face, wiping them up and falling to her knees. The stones cut through the skirts of her gown and press into her skin, but she can scarcely feel the pain. If anything, she welcomes it.
The young girl slams two fists into the rocks, creating gashes on her knuckles. She rises, not bothering to dust the dirt off of her dress and climbs back up to the castle. Rhaenyra shrieks when she sees her daughter and gives the gaurds a tongue lashing before dismissing them. Daenys does not care that she has gotten them in trouble. All she can think about is why her mother is not as sad as she was when they left Kings Landing.
That was when the court had learned of Ser Harwin Strongs death, and Daenys had found her mother clutching her chest, weeping on the floor later that night. Daenys is not stupid. She knows her brothers look nothing like Ser Laenor and everything like Ser Harwin. It does not bother her, for they had traveled the same way out of their mother's cunt, and that was what mattered. When Daenys had to get her nest of a head cut short, she had taken the old silver strands and braided them through Jace, Luke, and Joff's own brown curls. They beamed up at her, and Daenys matched their smiles, all looking so much like their mother. But she was still ever the dragon, and later that evening, Daenys tackled Jacaerys and bit into his shoulder. He sobbed, she laughed, and Rhaenyra did not hear of it.
Driftmark is a boring place, Daenys thinks. Her grandmother holds her and her cousins against her skirts, though Daenys struggles against her arm. Rhaenys shoots her a hardened look that would scare even her own mother, and Daenys settles.
She hasn't seen much of Baela and Rhaena, but has always prefered the former who is never hesitant to rough house with her. Though, Baela won't be able to grab onto her hair, short as it is now, which gives Daenys the upper hand.
Daenys had tried to pull her cousin away for fun, but Baela had dug her heels in, a stony look on her face. Your mother burned herself, Daenys wants to snap at her. Let it go and come play.
She does not say this of course, but refuses to turn her head and meet Baela's eyes. Rhaenys has placed Rhaena in between them to ease the tension.
Jace and Luke wake her that night, yelling that Aemond claimed Vhagar instead of Rhaena and Daenys can scarcely believe what she is hearing. (Aemond, their uncle who has somehow not been impaled by the stick up his arse, has mounted the largest dragon in the realm?)
Daenys follows them, if only to see for herself.
They reach their cousins in the hall, Baela comforting a raging Rhaena who Vhagar surely would have swallowed in one bite.
The ground shakes as Vhagar lands, and Aemond swaggers into the castle with the ego of a man whose balls have just dropped.
"It's him," Baela confirms and Daenys wants to snap that she can see her uncle, thank you.
Aemond, the idiot, responds. "It's me."
"Vhagar is my mother's dragon," Rhaena insists, but Aemond cuts her off.
"Your mother is dead."
Finally someone has said it, Daenys thinks.
"And Vhagar has a new rider now."
"She was mine to claim!" Rhaena yells at Aemond, who is annoyingly calm.
"Then you should have claimed her. Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride. It would suit you."
Daenys rolls her eyes. "Do you truly let nothing go, uncle?" she drawls, and his head snaps to hers.
Aemond is six moons older than her, but Daenys has never thought of him as anything other than a simpering pup, still attached to his mothers teat.
It seems he has some newfound fire as a dragonrider now, though, and tells her: "If you weren't such primitive bitch, maybe you too would have a dragon now, niece."
Daenys sees red in her vision, but Rhaena is upon Aemond first. He throws her to the side with little effort. Baela is quick to punch him, but Aemond counters back, and she too is on the floor.
"Come at me again and-" Aemond does not finish his sentence, because Daenys has taken her foot and slammed it in between his legs. Aemond lets out a strangled sound and falls to his knees, and Daenys grabs his shoulders, throwing herself on top of him as they both go down.
She does not care that he claimed Vhagar, is not angry that he hit her cousins, and she absolutely knows she is a primitive bitch. No, she is clawing at his face now because she wants a fight. She wants to feel pain and anger and excitement.
Aemond regains his senses and throws a fist into Daenys's throat, causing her to fall backwards and gasp for air. Jace screams then, and charges at Aemond when he gets back to his feet. He lands a punch, but Aemond evades two others, slamming a kick into Jace's side and a fist into little Luke's face as he comes to his brothers defense.
Now, Daenys is angry, because only she can throw her baby brothers to ground. Her uncle does not retain that right. She throws her body at his legs, pulling so that Aemond loses his footing and lands heavily on his hands. He snaps his head around and throws his knuckles towards her, but Daenys sees the strike coming and ducks, sending an elbow into Aemond's mouth. She feels the sharpness of his teeth on her arm and relishes in it for a moment.
But Aemond is quicker, more trained than her, and he takes his boot, sending a hard kick to her forehead, and Daenys finally lets out a cry as white spots flash her vision. He kicks the side of her head again while she is on her back, and Daenys thinks she can feel the warmth of blood traveling down her forehead and dripping into her violet eyes. She tries to sit up, but her head is swimming and her arms keep giving out beneath her.
Jace is upon Aemond in a flash, pulling Aemond off of his sister and throwing him to the ground. Rhaena and Baela join him now, landing strikes to Aemond's face, and Daenys can hear his groans of pain from the ground beside her. (Was it his groans, or hers?)
She does not have time to concoct an answer before she sees a flash of brown hair fly backwards as one moves forwards. Aemond has thrown the girls off of him and wrapped his arm around Lucerys' neck, reaching for a stone upon the ground.
Daenys forces herself up, limbs flailing in a rush of adrenaline to reach Luke.
"You will die screaming in flames just as your father did," Aemond spits as Daenys pushes off of her knees, trying to find purchase in the gravel under her feet. "Bastards."
Luke is crying now, and Daenys is swaying.
Aemond turns to Jace, giving him a cruel smirk. "He doesn't know, does he? Lord Strong."
Jace sheathes his blade, but Daenys is up and grabbing the back of Aemond's hair, attempting to slam his head into the stone wall. But her arms are still too uncoordinated, and Aemond turns rather easily in his grip.
"Or will your brute sister come to save you again?" her uncle sneers as Jace, pushing Daenys backwards as she trips on the end of her night gown. "A pity. Perhaps your bastard bloodline will sit the throne if you fuck your sister's trueborn cunt. Though, I doubt such a beast would spread her legs for anything less than a giant."
Daenys growls at Aemond, legs coming up to kick him, but he pins them down. She tries to claw at him with her arms too, but Aemond pushes off of her when Jace charges with a yell. He tries to slash at Aemond with the blade, but their uncle is much to swift, and knocks Jacaerys down again. He goes to pick up the forgotten rock, eyeing Jace before turning and looking down at Daenys. There is that cruel smirk again, but Daenys only mirrors it with one of her own.
She can see Luke behind him holding Jace's knife, and when she swipes up a cloud of sand, her vicious little brother brings the blade across Aemond's face. Daenys feels the splatter of blood on her face and the yell of the guards, but she succumbs to unconciousness enitirely too soon.
Daenys is being carried, she can tell as much, in a strong set of arms. She can hear her mother shriek her name, followed by her brothers, but she cannot open her eyes. Her head is pounding, so much more than it had when she had stolen a flagon of father's wine and woken up the next morning in a cold sweat.
She hears the Queen screeching, and Jace is saying that Aemond was going to kill her, and that him and Luke were defending their sister. Baela and Rhaena are quiet in their grandmother's arms, but all Daenys can make out it the screaming match between her mother and Queen Alicent, and then Aemond is mumbling something and Daenys thinks that her mother might be crying for her. She hears her name from her grandfather's lips, and the Queen is arguing, but he cuts her off. There are birds dancing in Daenys' vision, and she wonders if this is what her Aunt Helaena sees all the time.
Daenys wakes up two nights later to the Maester threading a needle through her scalp. It is a stinging sort of pain, but the pounding of her skull drowns it out. When the Maester is finished, he retrives her mother and Rhaenyra rushes in with a sob on her lips, arms wrapping tight around her daughter.
"My love," she says, something like guilt in her eyes. "Your brothers told me what happened, and you fought bravely, my girl, but you are no match for a boy as cruel as your uncle."
Daenys wants to argue. She wants to tell her mother she could have been crueler than him, but now is not the time.
"And how he defaced you, Daenys," Rhaenyra's face now holds rage in it. "This ugly thing," She mutters, and Daenys can feel her mother's gaze across her temple.
She informs her daughter that they needed to cut her hair, again, and Daenys is fuming even if the reason was to sew together the crack in the side of her head. It is not such a bad mark, she supposes, when she looks at it in the mirror. It is in the shape of a V, though it is slightly jagged and a bit too wide to deem it so. Later, Jace tells her it is a V for Velaryon, and Daenys decides that she likes the sentiment.
She also decides that the next time she sees Aemond Targaryen, she will kill him.
It had been a fair trade, Aemond had declared. An eye for a dragon was a small price to pay. Especially considering it is Vhagar, Visenya's behemouth of a war beast.
Aemond knows that he deserved her - he had claimed her. He is also sure that if Rhaena is tried she would surely be burned alive. Almost like his niece was, and he thinks that she most certainly deserved it.
His niece, who despite basic courtyard sword lessons (which he does not think is becoming of a woman, let alone a princess) had managed to land blow after blow on him. She had that unhinged look in her eyes, all teeth and nails like a wild animal. He cannot help but relish in Daenys' anger. He had loved to elicit a reaction from her, to see her bleed. He thinks that she loved it too.
Aemond knows he would have killed her, had he brought that rock down. His half-sister was close to wringing his neck, one eye or no, for knocking her daughter unconcious. Ser Rickard was holding the girl in his arms, her body limp and head bleeding. If not for the steady rise of her chest, Daenys would have looked dead.
His mother tells him that the Maesters deem Daenys fine, slightly concussed and sporting a new scar on her temple. Aemond wishes he had kicked the wits out of her and split her skull in two. His mother seems to think the same, for she is seething at the attention the young princess receives over her wound. Especially from the king.
They call him the one-eyed prince now, and Aemond hates the name. He is the rider of Vhagar, not some stupid boy who has had an unfortunate accident rendering him sightless and weak.
No, he will be stronger, and skilled, and a better dragon rider than even the Rogue Prince himself. Aemond will not concern him with the likes of his bastard nephews or his blazing niece.
Well, he tries not to. It seems the pull to Daenys is like that of the moon to the waves. Strong, unavoidable, and deadly.
Six summers have passed, and Aemond is a man full grown now. At eight-and-ten he is taller than Aegon and his father, but the latter does not count for much since he is always hunched over anyways.
His silver hair has grown long, though he takes to pinning the uper half back rather than letting it fall into his eyes like Helaena does. He has never forgiven their mother for marrying her off to Aegon.
Six summers have passed, yet Aemond is afflicted by anger as Rhaenyra and her small army of children arrive in Kings Landing. She had married Uncle Daemon not long after Ser Laenor and Lady Laena's funeral, and it had not taken long for her traitorous cunt to pop out two new princes.
Those, at least, have the Targaryen silver and violet eyes. They look much more like their sister, and Aemond supposes that Daenys could pass for Daemon's daughter as well. But she is Laenor's, that much he can confirm, unlike her three brown hair cunt brothers.
Aemond looks at Daenys now. If Rhaenyra was the realm's delight, Daenys is the realm's doom.
At seven-and-ten she is full grown, but Jacaerys has surpassed her in height. Her silver hair has stayed at her chin, and Aemond does not think that he has seen a woman with hair that short. He does not think it is fitting of Targaryen customs. (He tries not to think that it suits her quite well.)
She holds herself like her mother, in a self-assured domineering sort of way. Her gown is Velaryon blue, embroided with gold floral details. It is laced tight against her body, with large sleeves that flow out and a black overcoat that lays atop it. The neckline is square and lined with lace, and an intricate lavender sea glass pendant sits lays against the soft skin of her chest. Aemond follows it up the curve of her neck and to her lips that are pressed in a tight line. Her violet eyes are narrowed, and the sun reflects against them, highlighting her cheekbones. He sees it then, the scar that he gave her on the side of her head.
It is no where as drastic as his, and is in the general shape of a V. The upper line disappears into her hair, but the point of it meets jaggedly at her temple. He smirks.
Like her mother, Daenys is devestating. Targaryen beauty mixed with Velaryon regalness and she is Queen Alysanne come again - half dragon, half sea. But no, Aemond knows that she is much more lethal than the good queen. He has seen it then, and he sees it now in her purple gaze.
Daenys is no dreamer, for her namesake. He thinks she is much more akin to Maegor I. (She thinks she is Aegon I).
Daenys can feel Aemond's gaze on the side of her head. She gnaws her teeth together, then snaps her violet eyes to his one, boldly looking at her little brother's work.
Aemond has lost all of the softness he had as a child, all sharp lines now. The scar on his face stretches from forehead to cheek, though his eye (socket) is obscured by a leather patch. He is smirking at her now and Daenys sets her jaw, swallowing so she does not cross the courtyard and strike him across the face. She supposes she'll get her revenge soon.
She does not want to kill him any less than she had six namedays ago.
Seasmoke's roar is strong but distant, as if sensing her rage.
Three days after the incident (as her mother calls it) on Driftmark, Daenys had fled to the caves near Blackwater Bay.
She returned with her father's dragon, who had not been seen since his death.
Rhaenyra had been furious, recounting her order that Daenys was never to approach another dragon again after her sour encounter with Vermithor.
Daenys had argued that Seasmoke had come to her, and chased the girl through the rocks, tackling her down not unlike the way she did with her younger brothers.
Rhaenyra had conceeded then, and allowed her heart to swell with pride for her oldest child. Seasmoke would be a fitting mount, she knew, for her daughter had all the carelessness and swagger of her father. The Princess of Dragonstone almost regrets her exception when she finds Daenys in the courtyard with a wide smile, covered in cuts and sticks. She claims her and the dragon were wrestling. (Seasmoke is five times her size).
Daenys whispers a reassurance in high Valyrian under her breath as if her dragon can hear her. Rhaenyra side eyes her, and she quickly responds with a small smile, watching her mother's eyes soften. It is hard to be back in the Red Keep, especially with familial tensions so high.
She can feel her mother bristle under Alicent's gaze, and Daenys and her brother follow after their mother.
Alicent insists they be escorted. Rhaenyra ensures her they do not. Aemond lingers after they have left, watching the swoosh of Daenys' skirt as she disappears around the corner, no doubtedly to her old chambers in Maegor's holdfast.
He debates following after her, cornering the princess and pressing a blade against her neck. Or perhaps he would enjoy holding her by the fire more. He pictures slamming her head against the stone before flexing his hands and bringing himself out of the daze.
His jaw clenches, and he turns on his heel, set to retrieve his fighting leathers and take out his anger on Ser Criston in the courtyard. Mayhaps his bastard nephews would wander down and he could beat them senselessly to ease the hunger in his body.
It is not particularly hard to beat Ser Criston, Aemond thinks.
After all, he was taught by the man. One might think that would suggest Criston Cole would also anticipate Aemond's every move, but a young prince has the luxury of the training with the finest swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms. In the realm, even, if you count one teacher from Braavos who had hit Aemond a little too hard and been hung at the command of his mother.
Ser Criston will not hit him that hard.
But Aemond wants him to.
It is much too easy like this - knowing the knight's next step, his next swing.
Eventually, Ser Criston does get a jab in, but only because Aemond's eye has found two of nephews approaching the courtyard.
Criston follows his gaze, lowering his sword and letting out a scowl.
Aemond is smirking.
"Have you come to show off, nephews?" His voice is rough and teasing but Jacaerys and Lucerys stay where there are against the stone wall.
"Do remind me, I have seen to have forgotten how strong you are."
Luke makes a step forward but Jace grabs his arm and holds firm, going to open his mouth before he is cut off.
Daenys appears behind him, ruffling Luke's hair before she passes him, though he is already almost as tall as her.
"Still sour, Uncle? I would have thought after all these years you would have moved on. Perhaps gone on to be a mediocre swordsman. But still worrying over my little brothers, it seems. It must be hard, being bested by someone thinking you had the upper hand. Though, I guess you never had quite the eye for knowing your place."
Aemond's breath comes out slow through his nose, and he resists the impulse to lash back out at her. He takes a moment instead, looking over his niece.
She is smiling, and it is a dangerous thing matched with the glint in her eye. He is so busy looking into those violet orbs he almost does not notice her clothing.
Leathers. Daenys is in leathers. And hanging low on her hip, which he tries not to focus on the curve of, is a belt holding a longsword. He wonders for a moment if it is dark sister, and Daemon has allowed her to use his Valyrian steel, but it is not. Similar though, with an impressively dark hilt and a gold accented cross gaurd.
Aemond's first instinct is to laugh, because he has never seen a woman in fighting leathers with a heavy sword at her side (save for the tapestries of Queen Visenya). But he refrains, and instead focuses on the heated thrill in his blood. The thought of fighting his niece, of entertaining a silly princess who thinks herself a warrior. Shoving her into the dirt and making her scream for mercy as he carves her up. Yes, this will do.
He looks to Jace and Luke instead.
"Even as children I thought it pathetic that you allowed your sister to fight on behalf of you...as men, it is utterly disgraceful."
Luke scoffs. "We are not allowing her to do anything, Uncle."
"Truly, by the end of this, I may think to pity you at the hands of our sister," Jace chimes in with a smirk twin to Daenys'.
"Are you afraid, Aemond?" Daenys asks with faux concern. "Thinking about the kingsgaurd watching me deface you once again."
He does not remember the last time he heard Daenys say his name. A shiver runs up his spin after hearing it from her lips.
He hums at her, crossing his arms behind his back. "I recall your brother doing my defacing. And I leaving my own mark on you."
Daenys can feel Aemond's eye on the scar at her temple, and it pulses against her head in response.
"I suppose I'll have to give you a new one, then."
"I suppose," Aemond agrees.
He turns towards the center of the courtyard, Daenys taking her spot adjacent from him when Ser Criston speaks, "This is no place for a woman, Princess Daenys."
She whips her eyes towards him, but Aemond cannot read the emotion in her face.
"Perhaps you may join your mother in solar where I am sure she is happily lounging."
"I wonder, Ser Criston, if Aemond learned his bitterness from you." The man's jaw clenches, but Daenys tsks and continues. "I also wonder, how good of a knight you be without either of you hands."
The smile she gives him is sickeningly sweet, all pink lips and no teeth.
"I cannot allow this," he presses on.
Daenys steps foward, angling her chin up at him. "I am a princess of the realm, Ser Criston. If you do not get out of my way, I will impale you through the stomach and watch as you fall to your knees before me. Then, I will run to my guards, crying of how I acted in self defense after you dared strike me, and I will watch as they drag your weak body to the floor of the throneroom. I'll have no choice then to tell my grandfather then of what you have done, and he will order for the removal of your head, though not before I took your eyes and your tongue. I think my mother would quite enjoy the sight too."
Criston swallows hard, eyes roving over Daenys' face as he tries to decipher truth from fiction.
"Move," she growls, and finally, he acquiesces.
Aemond tries to ignore the feeling in his chest. He is sickened by her, not because of her words, no he quite enjoyed those, but by her sheer audacity. Who was she, to waltz back into the Red Keep and demand the head of his knight. To demand a mark of hers on him. Aemond decides he will have to mark her first.
When Daenys sheethes her longsword and begins to move, he expects her to flow. To be lithe and smooth like the way the whores in Flea Bottom dance and move against each other for his pleasure.
She is not.
Her aim is heavy, and the first swing of her blade cuts right in front of his face. He tries not to react, and moves instead.
Aemond moves around her, swiping at her knees, but she blocks in low and raises her arm quickly, thrusting her blade towards his neck.
He brings his sword up to block, and knows he overpowers her in strength for when their blades meet in the middle, her wrists falter.
But Daenys has been training for several summers on Dragonstone. She understands she is no match for the strength of a knight, not even that of her brothers. So she has learned to use a man's strength against him.
Whereas a man would parry, meeting strike for strike, Daenys moves out of the way each time, sending a harsh slash for any part of his body.
She smirks at him just as Aemond feels the sting of blood trickle down his arm, a small bit of black leather sliced in two. He looks back up, readjusting his grip on the hilt, and charges at her in anger.
Daenys is strong, and fast, and impressive with a sword, which makes Aemond all the more rageful.
He does not care about the swords, then, as he raises his foot and hooks it around her calf, bringing Daenys down to one knee. He has the sword in his hand, but instead of holding it to her neck, he takes the pommel and strikes it across her face, teeth clenching delight as her head snaps to the side.
Someone cries out from behind them, one of her brothers, Aemond assumes, but Daenys holds a hand out as if to reassure them even as her head is down.
Aemond can see the drip of her blood on the dirt, relishing in victory, until she lifts her head and meets his eye.
He nose is not at an unnatural angle, but there is a large gash across it, and blood streams from her nostrils. It pools in her mouth, and she takes her tongue across her teeth, relishing in the copper taste before smiling at Aemond.
Daenys drops her sword and pushes off of her knee wrapping her arms around Aemond's middle and sending him backwards.
His head hits the dirt hard, and he can see Ser Criston moving towards him out of the corner of his eye.
"Fuck off," Aemond bites out, and immediately turns his attention back to Daenys.
Her fist catches him high on the cheekbone, but he retaliates by kneeing her in the side and shoving his niece to the dirt.
He is on top of her now, and they are both panting hard, silver hair messy.
Aemond tries to pin her wrists against the ground but she throws her weight upwards, sending an elbow to his jaw and a kneeing him in the cock.
He wheezes for a moment, but bears his full weight on top of Daenys, holding her squirming body down.
"Yield," he bites out, but Daenys just gives him a bloody smile again.
Aemond does not have time to move back before Daenys lifts her head and smashes it into his face, causing Aemond to groan and fall off of her.
The thick of her skull slammed into his own with her full strength, and now all he can see are white flashes and feel a vicious pulsing where his eye once was.
Daenys is lunging for him again. His lip is split now and his nose feels odd and his face is surely bruising already.
But Aemond would rather die than let her win.
He does not have time to reach for his sword again, because Jacaerys is pulling Daenys off of him, and then Criston is lifting him to his feet.
Jace whispers something in her ear, and his sister gives him a smile, all blood and teeth. Aemond thinks that her brother is scolding her, but she pinches his ear instead, and reaches for her longsword in the dirt.
Aemond pulls away from Ser Criston with a growl.
"I do nog believe we are finished, niece."
Daenys does not even turn her head around to answer him. "The king has summoned me. And I fear he is much more important than you."
Aemond does not know if he wants to scream or simply cut her head off. Anything to close that savage mouth of hers.
Anything to get him close to her.
Rhaenyra had scolded her daughter as she found her, though not too harshly, for she has never once had full control over the wildness of her first born. But to be the heir, she had to be presentable. Womanly. Chivalrous.
That is the image Rhaenyra shows her daughter in before the court and her father.
The maids cleaned up Daenys' body and the maesters tend to the bloody mess of her face. She is a strinkingly beautiful and proper princess in her gown, save some small redness that could not be covered by powder on her nose.
King Viserys is even impressed with his granddaughter's swordsmanship and endearingly tells her of her resemblance to the Warrior Queen Visenya.
Daenys wants to tell him just because she is a woman capable of harm does not mean she must be incarnate of the only other female in her line to do so.
She is a conqueror, she wants to tell him. She will bring a new age to the realm as queen, she has decided. And Daenys thinks will save her cruelness for those that deserve it (like Aemond) and put on the perfect image for the smallfolk. Loved and feared. Worshipped and hated.
When Daenys departs from the King's solar, she scarely has any time to herself before she is done up again to sup with the entire family.
The maids bathe her and then dress her in a gown more formal than she is used to dining in. Her mother arrives at the door to her chambers and lays a gentle hand on Daenys' cheek, them presses a kiss to her daughters cheek.
Daenys beams in return, greatly for her mothers unyielding attention, and links arms with her.
Rhaenyra has always enjoyed a dramatic entrance, Aemond thinks, and Daenys is no better.
His eye follows his niece as she takes a seat beside her mother, which unfortunately happens to be across from him.
Daenys' gown is a pale pink, with black floral designs on the bodice and long, billowy green sleeves depicting red roses. The heart shaped neckline bares her ample chest, void of any necklaces but still flushed pink from the heat of her bath.
Her short silver hair is pulled back in a simple knot, while the bottom half flows in damp natural waves that end just below her chin.
Aemond notes that with this hairstyle, he can clearly see the scar on her temple.
Daenys does not look at her uncle as she takes the chair across from him, and the table is large enough that even if she mindlessly outstretched her leg it would not reach him.
His face shows the remanents of the tussle earlier, a purple bruise on his cheek bone and a cut near the cupids bow of his lip. Daenys' own face does not fare entirely better, though the maids have done a fine job of covering up the welts on her jaw and cheek, however the jagged cut on the bridge of her nose is having trouble healing, even with salve from the maesters.
Rhaenyra greets her father with a kiss on the cheek, and they begin to speak of her family's time on Dragonstone (notably not mentioning her marriage to Daemon) though Rhaenyra explains his absence as pertinent duties at the castle. They continue to talk amongst themselves, Aegon whispering something in Aemond's ear as Jace and Luke lean over their mother to speak with Daenys.
Alicent is the first to break the boundary.
"I heard of Jacaerys and Lucerys' betrothals to Baela and Rhaena. My congratulations are in order," The Queen says politely.
"Thank you, Alicent," Rhaenyra nods her head but refrains from saying anything else.
"Though, would Princess Daenys not wish to be wed before her younger brothers? A woman of seven and ten is quite old to still be a maiden."
Rhaenyra drops a piece of her silverware and Daenys stop chewing her meal.
"I was not married until I was of that age. And still, the status of my daughter's betrothal is between myself and her. After all, it is not something that I take lightly," Rhaenyra curtly responds and pauses as if to add more, but Daenys replies first.
"As second in line for the throne, Your Grace," Daenys starts, violet eyes digging into the Queen's hazel. "It is of the utmost importance I find a suitor not only worthy of title as future King Consort, but also a match I consider as an equal."
"I hardly think a woman need concern herself with finding an equal. A man's duty will always be to reign above his lady wife," Alicent shoots back, then takes a long sip from her goblet of wine.
"Perhaps another woman," Daenys says lowly, and it is clear she is speaking of the Queen herself. "But as the granddaughter of the king, and daughter to the heir of the Iron Throne, I have trouble finding someone that may stand on equal footing. After all, a dragon does not find its equal amongst sheep."
Aegon is drunkenly giggling, and Aemond cannot understand why until he follows his brother's gaze to the scowl on his mothers face. The great hall seems to quiet, a tension quickly brewing before the King begins to speak.
"Such fire in you, my girl," The King breathes warmly towards Daenys who returns his words with a warm smile that makes Aemond's stomach curdle. In rage, he assumes. (It is not rage).
"You remind me so much of my Lady Mother, the Princess Alyssa. Well, as much as a can remember in our short time together. Though my grandfather enjoyed reminiscing of her youth - she enjoyed swordfighting with my father - "
"No doubt much more civil than your daughter, Rhaenyra," Alicent interjects, looking back at the King. "She came at our son as if a wild animal this morn. Her presence enough in the courtyard was most unladylike, yet she goads Aemond as well."
"Twas merely a swordfight, Your Grace," Rhaenyra responds coldly, and Daenys tries to find Aemond's eye but he is not looking towards her, and instead is glaring at his mother. "Our children have the tendency to get...carried away."
Alicent scoffs, and Daenys is sure she will bring up the night that Luke took Aemond's eye but Viserys reigns them in once again with a loud laugh.
"Yes, well princes and princesses are subject to the same impulses as the commonfolk. In fact," He laughs again and it is an odd noise, the crackling of his decaying lungs amplified. "My grandfather told me of how my mother smashed a flagon of wine over my Uncle Vaegon's head after he had insulted my Aunt Daella. I think the Princess Daenys has done a fine job of impressing her late great-grandmother. And her mother too, who remains the youngest and fiercest dragonrider of the realm."
Rhaenyra beams at her fathers words, seemingly ignoring the annoyance radiating off of Alicent. But Viserys can feel his wife's ire, and turns to her with a sigh.
"I am sure Daenys did not mean it, Alicent. Aemond is perfectly capable of handling himself, aren't you, boy?"
Aemond's jaw clenches. "Yes, Father. My niece simply became overtaken by her own temper. I am glad the Prince Jacaerys was there to remove her from the yard, for I fear she would have surely fatally wounded herself if we had continued."
He is trying to provoke her, Daenys knows, so she clenches her fist under the table and smiles back at Aemond.
"On the contrary, Uncle. I believe Jace had taken pity on your state and reminded me of the situation at hand. I am used to fighting the most skilled of warriors, and had forgotten that you rank well below them."
It seems her uncle's plan has backfired on himself, because he is standing up and slamming his palms on the table, glaring at Daenys' giddy face. But before he can begin to retaliate the King is laughing again, and the sound seems even worse this time. He begins to cough and Rhaenyra stands to tend to him, but he waves her back and takes a sip from his goblet.
"I only find amusement in your quarrels. For it seems that a match for Daenys would so clearly be Aemond. A dragon for a dragon."
Alicent makes a noise in her throat, and Rhaenyra actually seems to agree with her.
The joy has fallen off of Daenys' face and Aemond is frozen, head slowly turning to look at his father.
"Father," Rhaenyra begins but Viserys softens at his daughter's distress.
"Twas a jest, Rhaenyra. I understand that political marriages may be more complicated than such. Though familial alliances are necessary as well, and Aegon and Helaena have strengthened King's Landing, while yours sons and Daemon's daughters will reinforce the ties between Dragonstone and Driftmark, but there has been nought a tether from King's Landing to Dragonstone..."
He trails off but Daenys' head is already spinning and her chair is moving against the stone floor.
"I wish to be excused, Your Grace," She tells the King, who just nods with a smile, apparantly unaware of her anxiety.
Rhaenyra grabs her hand but Daenys only gives her a soft squeeze and gives her brothers tight smiles before quickly walking back towards her chambers in Maegor's holdfast.
She slams the doors shut, thankful for the absence of sworn guards for the time being.
It is why she does not expect the sound of them opening only moments later, head whipping around to meet the eyes of the last person she imagined to see.
"Get out," Daenys seethes at Aemond, who calmly walks towards her with his hands clasped behind his back, before she turns back around.
"And here I thought you showed no other emotions than wrath and madness. But the mere mentions of a betrothal to me and you look like a doe caught in a snare."
Daenys bares her teeth at him and whips back to face him.
"I merely became sick with disgust at the thought of ever sharing a bed with you. Of having you ever think yourself worthy to rule at my side."
The sound of his footsteps nearing her are loud against the silence of the room. But she does not move, even as he approaches.
"And what makes you think I would ever allow such a thing? For all I know, my father could withdraw Rhaenyra's claim and place it on my brother instead. And without any children between him and Helaena yet, I would be made heir to the throne."
"You speak of treason," Daenys spits. "You will never see the throne if I have anything to do with it."
"And why is that, niece? Skoro syt ēdruta ao va moriot concern aōla lēda nyke?" Why must you always concern yourself with me?
"Kesrio syt daorys else isse bisa lentor vestragon naejot realize skoros iā manipulative, foul dārilaros iksā," Daenys bites back, but it only makes Aemond smile. Because no one else in this family seems to realize what a manipulative, foul prince you are.
"And what of you, Princess? Why does no one seem to recognize that fire coursing through your veins? See the wickedness you hide beneath smiles and curtsies?"
Daenys hums in response. "Because I am heir to the heir. So truly, I could do whatever I wish. Though everyone is so content to see my wide smiles and hollow compliments. They cannot begin to understand the blood of the dragon."
She suddenly realizes how close Aemond is, his head angled down to look into her eyes.
"Yes, I suppose you are quite the vicious dragon," He murmurs, hand coming up and brushing against the scar at her temple. For a moment, she wonders if he will cup her cheek the way her mother does, but his eyes darken and his hand moves backwards, tangling in her short silver hair and pulling hard.
Daenys does not let out a cry, only clenches her teeth. Aemond's grip forces her head to tilt upwards, baring her neck to him.
"But I won, that night. I marked you."
"You lost an eye," Daenys spits.
"And gained the largest dragon in the realm," Aemond responds calmly.
"Is that what this is? Am I to pay for my brother's doings?"
"Perhaps. Or I could leave an even better mark upon your skin."
Daenys' eyes narrow, and she can see his free hand moving out of the corner of her eye, but when she moves against the grip he has in her strands, he pulls even harder.
She hears the blade sheath before she feels the cold metal on her neck. Aemond lightly trails it over her throat and caresses it down the side of her neck.
"Do you mean to mark me, or maim me?" Daenys asks, but there is not a hint of fear in her voice.
"I suppose I have not decided yet," Aemond tells her, and his knife caresses ths soft skin of her chest.
She swallows hard when it finds the top of her breasts.
Aemond smiles. "Does this excite you, Tala?" Niece.
"I could ask you the same question, Kepus," Daenys breathes back. Uncle.
Aemond angles the point of the blade over her heart, forcing Daenys to walk backwards until her legs hit the dresser against the wall. She is cornered now.
"I should kill you," Aemond hisses, his composure falling a bit.
"Then do it," Daenys taunts, and as Aemond looks into her violet eyes, he knows that she is being truthful.
His blade begins to move again, lightly trailing over her breasts until it finds its way under the strings at the top of her bodice.
"Not tonight," Aemond whispers, and the blade cuts through the laces, baring Daenys' breasts to the cold air.
She sucks in a slow breath, chest heaving as her nipples harden against the cold air.
Aemond runs the blade over them and Daenys shudders, but no sound leaves her mouth.
"I should take you here," Aemond tells her, his eye boring into hers. "Fill you with my cock, my seed. Let my half-sister find us."
His free hand trails down her gown, ghosting over her upper thighs. He bunches the fabric of her skirts up to her knees.
"You would be defiled then, unable to marry some High Lord cunt and give him heirs that would sit the Iron Throne. You would be ruined."
Aemond's violet eye is so sharp, yet he does not expect the next word out of her mouth.
"So do it," Daenys tells him, holding his gaze. Her legs drift apart as she leans further back against the dresser and brings her skirts higher. Daenys takes Aemond's hand resting on her thigh and brings it under her chemise.
Aemond has to bite back a groan then, because her wetness has coated her inner thighs, and the feeling of her warm, sopping cunt against his fingers is exquisite.
The arm that braces one side of Daenys leaves the wood and finds his throat. Her grip is hard, and her fingers find his jaw.
"Is this what you wanted, Uncle? All that fighting, all that anger, for what? My warm cunt?"
Aemond does not move her grip, but instead shoves two fingers inside of her wetness and finally Daenys moans.
"And you, niece? Were you dripping in your leathers as you struck me? As I held you down?"
"Yes," Daenys admits and Aemond bites his lower lip hard, curling his fingers. Daenys bucks her hips towards him, breasts brushing against his tunic as the blade is flattened between them.
She pulls back, and Aemond drops the knife, surging forward and capturing her mouth with his.
The kiss is not nice. It is teeth, and tongue, and the tang of blood, though neither can deciper whose.
Aemond groans into Daenys' mouth as her fingers against his jaw tighten, and he lifts his thumb to brush it against that sensitive part. Daenys whines, she whines, and Aemond quickens the speed of his fingers, pumping them in and out, thumb moving in tight circles until he can feel her tightening around him. Daenys lets out a sharp cry into Aemond's mouth as she clenches his fingers, gushing all over his hand.
He pulls back with a smirk, looking into Daenys' glassy eyes and raising his fingers to his mouth. He tastes her then, bitter and sweet at the same time. He removes them, them shoves them into Daenys' mouth, half expecting her to bite down on them. She does not, and instead swirls her tongue around them, tasting herself. Aemond imagines the feeling of her tongue on his cock.
He pushes down on her tongue and she bites him then, causing Aemond to withdraw his hand with a hiss. Before he can scold her, Daenys' hand flies out and grabs the collar of his tunic, pulling him in towards his mouth. It's an overwhelming mess of herself between their mouths, and Daenys bites Aemond's lip as his hand comes up to palm her breast, fingers toying with her nipples. She draws blood, but smooths her tongue over the cut, licking it up.
Daenys' hand tangles in his silver hair and she tilts her head to angle to angle her mouth to allow Aemond to move his tongue deeper. Her nose hits his, and Aemond hisses, still tender from the weight of her forehead smashing against it. Daenys laughs into his mouth, content with her work, so Aemond removes his hand from her breast and pushes his thumb into the covered bruise at her jaw. She hisses into his mouth but opens her thighs wider.
Aemond steps closer between them, bound cock pressing up against her bare core. He presses her further against the dresser, cock grinding as Daenys rolls her hips seeking friction. His hands find her waist, then move down to her hips and he pulls her against him. His hands roam downwards, finding her bare bottom and squeezing, which only makes the wetness of her cunt against his breeches more apparant. It's painful now, how much he wants to be inside of her, and Aemond cannot take it anymore.
His hand finds its way back into Daenys' hair and he pulls her mouth off of his, yanking unneccessarily hard but making her grin all the same. He pulls off his tunic, and Daenys admires the way his muscles in his arms and stomach flex against the candle light. His hands move to unlace his trousers and he frees himself, stroking his cock with wetness of the beads at his tip. Daenys licks her lips at the size of him.
"This will hurt."
"I'm not a maiden," Daenys scoffs, and pulls her skirts up around her hips, putting her glistening bare cunt on display for him.
"How unbecoming," Aemond tells her, stepping forward and dragging his tip across her slit. She groans in response, one hand coming up to cup her breast.
"The fire of a dragon is not easily satiated," she purrs, and Aemond groans, hand tangling in her hair yet again.
He pulls Daenys' head back and takes her bottom lip between his teeth. He leaves her mouth and scrapes his teeth across her jaw, then her cheek, then up to scar at her temple. He towers over her now, but Daenys has bent her body to accomodate to him. Desperate for more.
Aemond pushes into her and groans into her hairline at the sheer warmth of her. Daenys moans too, hand flying up to grip Aemond's upper arm as he adjusts inside of her.
She is tight, and wet, and hot, and Aemond pulls out slowly, then sheaths himself back inside of her fully. His hand braces her hip as he begins to move, pumping in and out of her at a steady pace.
Aemond leans foward, desperate to feel her deeper as he knees cage either side of him. Daenys is making small noises, but they are muffled as she bites the skin of his shoulder. His hand leaves her waist and finds her neck, pulling her mouth off of him and squeezing.
"I should let the whole castle hear how you spread your legs for me," he breathes against her mouth.
Daenys' pink lips curve upwards. "Give me something to tell them about, then."
Aemond pulls back and pushes her down against the dresser, back connecting with the wood. He grips her hips, pulling the lower half of her forward and Daenys locks her legs around his back.
"You should choose your words more carefully," Aemond tells her, snapping his hips foward at hitting that spot deep inside of her.
Daenys cries out, but his hands ony grip her hips harder, slamming into her at a brutal pace.
Her hands fly out to brace herself, but she is only clawing at wood as her moans fill the room.
Aemond is biting back his groans, but Daenys can tell that he is relishing in the way her cunt pulls him back inside of her.
The sound of them becomes obscene, her wetness coating the entire length of his cock as his balls slap against her bottom.
He leans forward then, squeezing her throat as he takes her breast in his mouth, sucking and pulling in a way that has Daenys cursing.
Her hands finally find purchase, nails digging into the skin in his back creating streaks of blood. Aemond groans and moves his hand in between them, rubbing in tight circles. Daenys' head flies forward and she bites down hard at the junction of Aemond's neck and shoulder. He hisses, but ruts into her harder. She sucks at the wound she has created, then lets her head fall back hard against the table once she feels that familiar pleasure building.
"Aemond," she whines, clenching impossibly tight around him as she spasms. That is he undoing, he thinks, but he wants more. He needs more.
He pulls out of her and Daenys growls at the loss of him, but he takes her hips and flips her around, braces her stomach against the dresser and her feet on the ground. Aemond sheeths himself inside of her again, pelvis meeting her backside and Daenys cries out. She is still sensitive from her last peak, but the stretch of him is toe curling and she cannot seem to want him to stop.
Aemond pulls her skirts up higher, grabbing fistfulls of her bottom and spreading her, watching as his cock moves in and out, coating with her slick. His jaw is clenched so tight he think he might break a tooth.
Daenys is babbling, uncharacteristically so, overstimulated from the feeling of him moving in and out of her. Aemond takes his hand and smacks it harshly against her backside, and Daenys is moaning, pushing herself back towards him.
"I hate you," Daenys seethes, forearms bracing her upper body as she turns her head around to look at him. She has tears at the corner of her eyes and the top knot of her hair has loosened, silver strands falling in front of her face.
"And I you, niece," Aemond grunts, not letting up his pace. "But it seems your cunt has a different story to tell."
He reaches forward, grabbing a handful off her hair and pulls her upwards. Daenys pushes herself off of her arms and back towards Aemond. His hand wraps around her neck, and her arm reaches behind, fingers wrapping around his locks and yanking maliciously hard, making Aemond hiss.
The curve of her bottom against him is satiating, and he watches as Daenys her hand between her legs as Aemond quickens his pace.
The noises are more than lewd, between the wetness and the cries, and Aemond knows that the room reeks of sex. He could fuck the princess all day and night, he thinks, but the way she is clenching him now is sure to have him spilling inside.
She peaks again with a pained cry, somehow she is even tighter than her last one, and Aemond savors the feeling of her before he is spilling inside of her.
He makes a soft noise against the back of her hair, and Daenys is unsure if she imagined it entirely or if he truly reached his release whispering her name.
She releases her grip on his hair and his arms fall slack, softening cock pulling out of her.
Daenys takes a breath, then pulls her skirts down and fiddles with the strings of her top.
"Get out," she tells him, not even deigning to turn around.
Aemond grunts, pulling himself back into his trousers as if he is not covered by the slick of her. "Presumptious of you to think I was not already leaving."
Walking towards the hearth, Daenys does not respond, only staring into the fire. It is the last thing Aemond sees before he turns on his heel and disappears.
It is not hard to avoid each other in the size of a castle as large as the Red Keep.
Though neither of them will admit they are trying, Daenys and Aemond have no interest in seeing one another.
That would bring up feelings which are rather unfamiliar for both. Anything past familial relationships (which are much easier for Daenys than Aemond due to the nature of their families) is uncharted territory and most unwanted.
So it is most unfortunate when Viserys summons both of them to his chambers.
Daenys is with her mother when the servants inform them, to which the women assume must be some sort of discussion for future heirs to the throne. It is not until they enter the King's apartments and see Aemond and Alicent at his bed when they realize it is far from so.
"Leave," Viserys waves a hand towards the maids and maesters who hesitantly file out the doors.
He coughs a bit as he sits up, taking Alicent's hand as she places another behind his back. Aemond is silent, standing above her with his hands clasped behind his back.
His eye does not so much as move towards Daenys'.
"Father," Rhaenyra says with a wet voice, heavy with concern. "Are you well?"
Viserys gives her a soft smile. "As well as I can be, my girl. Though I'm sure it does not ease you that I have called you here."
He looks between his wife and his daughter knowingly.
"Yes, well, it is not often that your wife and son must know of matters to do with the crown," Rhaenyra says curtly while Daenys stays silent.
Aemond notes that Rhaenyra does not call him her brother.
"It is nothing to do with that, Rhaenyra."
It is Alicent to speak this time. "Then, what is it?"
"I...I am growing tired. I am growing weak in mind and body. Rhaenyra will inherit my throne, but I do not wish to leave the rest of my children without security. Without family. It is my deepest regret that I had not tried harder to keep my family together. My mother and father, my aunts and uncles, they had foolish quarrels but they loved each other. They married one another. I feel as though my line is being divided between the children sired by my lady-wives. I cannot have this. And so, I do this not only for the crown, but for our family. For the bloodline of the dragon."
"I will have Daenys and Aemond married by the next moon."
"Father!"
"Viserys!"
It is an explosion of yells, so loud and sharp for just two women but Rhaenyra and Alicent are at it with the King, with one another.
Aemond is stiff as he turns to look at Daenys who stands at her mothers side with parted lips. At her side her hands fist her skirts.
"I will not hear it!" It is not so much a shout as it is a command, as if Viserys were possessed by the history of Targaryen kings, words dripping with strength and power.
"We need to strengthen our bloodlines. Aegon and Helaena will not be responsible for that, my son and my granddaughter will. And, Rhaenyra, before you speak of politics to me, there is no one so similar to Daenys than Aemond. Not only does this secure power for the realm and the throne, but it also gives your daughter her wish for equality. I can think of no man finer to be her Prince Consort than my son."
Aemond thinks that it is the first time his father has truly given him praise. He smirks a bit -- normally it would have been to bring Daenys discomfort, but now, it is for himself. A silent victory. For even if he is being shackled to Daenys against his wants, he will see the throne. (Deep down, it is not so much a shackling against his will. It is a match made of fire).
Daenys' jaw strains tightly, but she lets her skirts drop from her hands.
"As you wish, Your Grace."
Notably, she does not call him 'Grandfather'.
"Yes, Father."
Notably, he does not call him 'Your Grace'.
Viserys nods, telling Alicent he is tired while Rhaenyra storms out of the room, leaving Daenys to her own devices.
Daenys looks at her soon to be mother by marriage and meets her raging eyes, clouded by an emotion that looks similar to fear.
It is the first time today that she has to fight back a smile.
Yes, Alicent should be terrified of her.
Aemond nods when his mother whispers something in him, then departs from the room without so much as a goodbye.
In a mixture of anger and displeasure, Daenys follows after him.
She catches him as he turns a corner, shoving at his back causing him to fall forwards towards the stone. He is quick and catches himself, turning around and grabbing Daenys by her wrist. He yanks her forward and does not need to pin her against the wall to hold her in place. She does not fight.
Daenys looks up at Aemond, violet eyes fuming.
"Did you tell your mother of my exploits? A cruel plan to ruin me? Or was it truly your idea? Had you not been able to handle the taste of rejection?"
Aemond laughs at her last words, making Daenys' snarl deepen.
"Rejection? You think me so wounded by the ending of our tryst-"
"Tryst-" Daenys makes a surprised face but Aemond continues.
"That I would run to the Queen, cock tucked between my legs? You think so highly of yourself, Princess," he sneers. "I would rather be fed to Vhagar than to ask for your hand. But I must agree with my father in his note that I would make a fine ruler. Perhaps he agrees with me in your weakness."
"I think we both know that the realm fears my rule. You fear it. Because I am filled with the power of a man in the body of a woman."
"If you will not be a weak ruler, then you will be a mad one, and we will all suffer for it. Tell me, Princess, will you be Aenys or Maegor?"
"I will be Aegon," She snaps before taking in a sharp breath. "No...I will be even more formidable because the realm has never seen the strength of a woman on the throne. My mother will be an exceptional Queen, just and strong. But I will be wrath and fury. I will be fire and blood."
"You are a mad woman," Aemond responds, face closer than it had been moments ago. His grip on her wrist is still tight.
"Perhaps," She tells him, eyes hard, before wrenching her wrist from his hand. "Do not get in my way."
Aemond does not have the chance to argue before she is gone.
The wedding does not happen in two moons, as Daenys hoped it would.
It happens a fornight later.
And she is furious.
The dress is a ridiculous thing, constricting and structured, completly unlike the flowing silk and soft velvets she loves.
The skirt is as wide as the alcoves of the Red Keep, and she can hardly fit through the curved opening to reach the hall.
It is a dark sea green, Velaryon blue, of course. The edges are lined with pearls and the fabric is textured like the sandy beaches of Driftmark.
Daenys supposes her father's house does not matter in this moment for three reasons:
One, he is dead, and will not be escorting her down the aisle.
Two, the dress will ultimately be covered with a large Targaryen cape placed by Aemond.
Three, the fire in her blood has always seemed to outweigh the sea.
It is Daemon's arm that Daenys tucks her hand into. He had come to King's Landing at his wife's beckon, just as furious as she. Alyssa would have preferred it to be her Grandfather's, but between the ire she still feels and his illness, she supposes her stepfather will do.
Daemon understands her to a point. He has that same frightening glint in his eye. It excites her mother, she knows. She thinks the same may disgust Aemond. (Why does she care what Aemond thinks of her?)
The walk up to the dais is much shorter than she would have hoped, and the bustling hall is filled with courtiers completely entranced by her. Out of the corner of her eye she can see some women sneer, either in jealousy or in disapproval at the length of her hair, the scar on her face.
But the silver waves are down. Tamed, but down. Because chin length hair does not make it easy for the maids to braid, and Daenys still comes close to biting anyone who dares attempt to harshly pull it out of her face.
Daenys does not look at the women, and certainly does not look at the men who have their eyes transfixed on her chest. No, she looks straight at Aemond.
He is in fine clothes, coal black and blood red. Flowing and sharp at the same time. His leather patch has metal details today, but somehow his violet eye shines brighter than the silver next to it.
Aemond is peering through her dress. Not at her body, but into her soul. He looks as if he wants to devour her.
In anger or desire, she does not know.
She promises to devour him first.
When Daemon leaves her in front of the Septon, Daenys' eyes burn. She is angry and she is upset and she feels completely out of control. Most of all, she feels confused. Because she wants to smack Aemond and rip him to pieces as much as she wants to attach her lips to his and have him completely fill her.
Daenys has always been in control. She has always known what she has wanted.
She has always wanted to kill Aemond. Now, she doubts that. (She doubted it the night they lay together, too. But told herself that she simply had not been in the right position to execute then.)
The wedding is formal, none of the Valyrian rites that Daemon and Rhaenyra had taken for each other. The Septon speaks and Aemond's lips are moving and then so are Daenys' but she can scarcely hear her own voice.
She has not dared to look at her mother, who she knows will be stiff, hands slicing into Daemon's arm. Jace, Luke, and Joff will no doubt be under the same turmoil, filled with disdain.
Daenys does dare a look at her betrothed's family. Her Grandfather is beside his wife, composed and almost jovial. Alicent's face is only what she can imagine her own mothers is. Helaena is smiling softly, but she is not looking towards them so Daenys cannot determine what it is for. Aegon looks bored, wiggling his leg and knawing at his bottom lip, as if fighting a craving.
When her gaze comes back to Aemond's, the Septon is deeming that they seal their vows with a kiss. She does not lean forward.
Aemond comes to her, head bending down and pink lips parting softly as they press against hers. Neither of them close their eyes. Daenys feels her lashes flutter against Aemond's, interlocking with his before he pulls back and stands back up straight.
The ringing in her ears grows loud as he places the Targaryen cape over her shoulders and takes her hand. It is the softest touch she has ever felt from him. Daenys despises it.
Aemond walks forwards first, leading her into the crowd of cheering courtiers and to the banquet hall.
The feast begins. The battle has ended.
"Eat," Aemond tells her, voice heavy.
"No," replies Daenys, not even looking away from the dancing lords and ladies in front of them.
"Fine. And when you find yourself on the dance floor swaying with weakness and you collapse into my arms, they will all whisper of how your strapping husband saved you."
That image does it for Daenys and she scowls, but skewers a piece of lamb and begrudgingly chews it.
Aemond smirks.
"Do not think you have any say over my actions. The two were unrelated. I was simply finally regaining my appetite after I lost it remembering that I have just been wed to you."
"Of course," Aemond agrees, and it angers Daenys even more. Where has his fire gone? Why is he not snapping back at her? Not falling into her traps and baiting her with his own?
The night goes by, and Daenys scarcely talks to her husband in the hours.
She dances with her mother, who looks close to tears, something hard and dangerous in her eyes.
She drinks with Jace, who ensures her that if she does not destroy Aemond, he will.
She carries Joff in her arms, twirling him around, denying Luke when he thinks it funny to ask if she will do the same.
She finds herself talking to Helaena, who only stops to tell her that she has gifted Daenys a centipede carcass, for she finds resemblance between the two. Before Daenys can even begin to form an answer, the princess excuses herself to her chambers for the night.
She refuses a dance from Aegon who has found his hands drifting too low when they should be concerned with holding his goblet of wine straight.
Daenys successfully avoids Aemond, until she sits down at her chair to rest. Aemond has not left his seat, or perhaps he has but she has been too preoccupied to notice.
Aegon has somehow followed her back as well and his drunken voice carries throughout the hall.
"The bedding ceremony!" He slurs, laughing to himself. "Yes, my brother, my dear brother, shall give our niece a proper fucking before-" It is Alicent who grabs his ear, cutting him off.
"There will be no bedding ceremony," Aemond hisses, then turns to the remaining crowd. "My ladywife and I will be retiring to our chambers for the night. Please, continue to indulge yourselves."
He sounds very princely is his command, with Viserys gone abed due to illness some hours ago, he has commanded the room well in his place.
Daenys does not scold him that she can defend herself, but instead follows him, desperate to be done with ceremony. She stops and kisses her mother on the way out, assuring her that she will be alright. That everything is alright.
Daenys gathers her giant skirts in her hands, trailing after Aemond. She is fairly intoxicated, hungry, and completely overwhelmed. It is so unlike her, she thinks. But her stony facade is failing, she wildness uncontained. An animal without a cage. A storm without a sky.
When they reach their shared chambers, Daenys only takes a moment to look around the unfamiliar room before she turns to Aemond.
"You are acting unlike yourself."
"Am I?" Aemond turns around slowly, without emotion on his face.
"Do you aim to become a docile husband to me? A prince whose duty is to his wife? Because I do not want that. I want to yell at you and I want you to push me and I want to hit you. I will be a ruler with unbridled fury and fearlessness, and I will not have my council use my husband to placate me," she takes a breath, chest heaving, but continues.
"And I do not want you to make me better. I want you to make me worse. I want you to fight me and cut me and curse me. I want to burn and I want you to burn with me because all this time I have wanted to kill you, wanted to take my revenge for that night that you defaced me. I do not give a fuck about your eye. I wanted to do it myself. I wanted to take you apart."
Aemond sees a blade come out of the sleeve of her dress, but she does not move to grip it. Just holds it against her forarm. Their eyes meet again.
"And-and all this time, all of these years I have wanted to kill you. I have wanted to feel your blood between my hands and your flesh between my teeth. I had thought that I wanted to bury a blade between your shoulders or run it across your neck."
Daenys is crying now, still holding the blade as tears trail down her cheeks and to her neck.
"But I cannot. I cannot kill you, Aemond. I want to feel your blood and your skin because I want to feel you. I have since that night, I think. There was always a twisted rage in me, but that night, you awoke something of desire that I cannot seem to quell. And when you took me in my rooms, it only seemed to snap whatever had been created into place."
"I cannot kill you, but you will not kill me. I am future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I have a realm and a family and a duty."
Her next words were a whisper, lips wet with salty tears. "But I think you might destroy me anyways."
The blade clatters to the floor, and Daenys stands there, as if processing her words.
Aemond cannot place the look on her face, confusion or craze.
He does not decide on either before he crosses the room and takes Daenys' face in his hands.
His large hands are holding either side of her head with pressure, and her wet violet eyes meet his one.
"You irke me," he tells her. "I loathe you. You are everything that I am not. You are heir. You have a mother unyieldingly devoted to you. My father cares for you more than he ever has for me."
Daenys' face is hardening once again. Aemond continues. "And yet..."
"And yet I find myself unable to stop myself from thinking of you. I think there is something broken in me. I wanted you to feel the pain as I brought that rock down on your head. I wish to leave my own mark on you. To dirty my own skin with the slick of your blood."
His grip on her face tightens.
"I want to break you open and see how your heart beats. I do not wish to placate you. I wish to be your equal. To share mine own rage with you. To feast on the wild vexation that seems to plague the both of us."
"I am you, Daenys."
She meets his mouth with hers this time, and it feels like a jolt through her entire body. Her nails are clawing at the collar of his surcoat, feeling the wild pulse of his neck beneath them.
Aemond's hand moves to the back of her neck, holding hard, in comfort. His other threads through her hair and he tries to pull her impossibly closer.
Daenys feels his hot tongue in her mouth and she is licking back, desperate to be closer.
She moves to start pulling her dress off, hands struggling with the layers. Aemond pulls back and pushes her own hands away, taking the fabric and pulling at it hard. The skirts begin to rip away, and Daenys is pulling the rest down, shuffling out of the underlayers and chemise until she is completely bare before Aemond.
He stares at her for a moment, then moves forward with an unbridled speed, mouth hitting hers as his hands find her waist.
Aemond hauls her up then, one hand against the small of her back, the other at her neck again. Daenys is clawing at his shoulders where her hands lay for purchase. He walks them towards the oversized bed and growl then, throwing her down and immediately tearing off his own clothes. He throws his tunic off over his head, then goes to unlace his trousers until he is standing bare before Daenys.
Aemond moves to her on the bed, caging her underneath him with his body. She is gazing up into his eyes with a look of hunger and something a bit softer. His hand comes up to grip her jaw between two fingers.
"You are mine," he tells her.
"You are mine first," she replies.
"I will give you an heir, and a spare. But I will rule beside you."
"You will be Prince Consort," Daenys bites.
Aemond lets out a huff. "I will be your equal in everything but title."
"Perhaps. Unless you still aim to kill me," she smirks, and Aemond is back to giving into their games.
He hums, "Not tonight," and seals their mouths again.
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