Add a second problem that won’t stay in its lane. While the main conflict grows, introduce another issue that keeps interfering and making choices harder.
Give every victory a cost. Let each solution create a new complication instead of clean relief.
Turn side characters into sources of pressure. Their needs, secrets, or mistakes should actively affect the main plot, not sit politely in the background.
Reveal information at the worst possible time. Timing alone can make a simple twist feel devastating.
Force the protagonist to choose between two things they want. The plot thickens when there’s no option that feels “right.”
Let past actions come back ugly. Consequences that arrive late hit harder and deepen the story’s layers.
Complicate the antagonist. Give them leverage, allies, or a point that almost makes sense.
Change the stakes midway. What the story is about shifts, even though the conflict stays connected.
Introduce a secret that reframes earlier scenes. Not a random twist—one that makes the reader rethink what they already know.
Let the character’s inner conflict sabotage the plot. Their flaws should actively make things worse.
⋆˙⟡ summary your husband has been tormented with jealousy at your new sworn shield.
⋆˙⟡ notes this was fun and hot.
⋆˙⟡ warnings sex 18+, p in v, riding, possessive and jealous baelor, dirty talk, pussy eating, implications of a biting kink
MASTERLIST
Baelor knew of your standing amongst the many folk of the Realm. They looked upon you, his second wife, as a young beauty. It seemed both Lords and Ladies alike got lost within your gaze, stammering their House names as you greeted them. Your beauty gained you a vast amount of attention, the good in hand with the bad. Perhaps this was why your guard must double on your tours of the Realm, or why you followed after your Husband as he walked through the Keep.
"Husband," you called out, his pace swiftly outdoing your own, "you must think it as silly as I. A sworn shield?"
"Yes, my dear wife." He did not halt in his trail toward the small council room, wanting this conversation to be brought to an end, though that did not seem likely. The death of most conversation was when you willed it so, not him or anyone else. You had that effect on people, and what was worse, you were aware of it. Used it to your advantage, in fact.
"I am not a Queen. Merely a Princess save by marriage." You reasoned.
Baelor finally stopped, eyes closed to refrain from talking to you as he did his many small council men when they would not listen to him. He held the patience of many Houses of men in his body alone, that would not falter with you. You had picked up your skirts to chase after him, finally stopping as you reached his chest.
A familiar scent. A very familiar scent.
You craned your head toward his neck, standing on your toes to better reach him. "Is that… lemon?"
Baelor felt his cheeks heat at your observation, wanting to run from his sweet wife as you stared up at him, a challenging smirk stuck to your face. "I miss you during my day of many duties, I carry your scent as a reminder."
He said it so casually, as if this was not such a grand declaration of love toward you. Your knees nearly buckled at his admission.
"Baelor Targaryen." You gasped, hands clutching your chest. "I will find this marriage annulled to wed you all over again, if you are not careful with your words."
He breathed out a laugh, reaching his hands to grasp your cheeks within them. "Must I be so careful? I am enraptured by you, even after our many years of marriage."
The scarce moment between you was sweet, innocent, free of any duties that you were both bound to, you did not want to sour it with digging your heels in on the matters of your protection. But you did anyway, you were nothing if not a vessel to keep Baelor on his toes.
"Must it be? A sworn shield for me sounds like utter nonsense." You pleaded, your hands shifted from your chest to his. Your touch waged war between his mind and body, he had little option than to submit.
"You sound much like Maekar." His tone was amused, light, hopeful to sway his decision on this sworn sword. "But your protection is paramount to me, I will not risk your life because you wish to wander the halls alone."
You huffed, stomping your foot like a sulking child not getting their way, before shuffling away from your Husband. "Nonsense."
You were not even permitted to choose your sworn shield. Not a grand moment of the Kingsguard lined before you, pointing below to a particularly beefy one. No, in stead, you had been woken and summoned to the gardens by your Husband, the cloaked guard stood beside him.
"My dear wife," Baelor greeted you, taking your hands into his and bringing them to his lips. His kiss was soft, any firmer and you would be dragging him to your bedchambers. "This is your sworn shield, Ser Caine."
The knight bowed his head before you, your polite smile convincing enough to have him smile back at you. Baelor was contented with his decision as he looked at you, accepting the protection, being safer for it, settling Baelor's heartbeat during his routinely duties. But as he looked at Ser Caine, a familiar sight as he had seen before in most Lords that met with his wife. He had been damned.
You were beautiful, Baelor knew that. He was more than happy with it, to have a wife that was so easy on his eyes, it made his duties as a Husband simpler. But he could not cage the chill in his bones, as it swept through his chest like a wind from the North. Ser Caine's gaze had not left yours, as you rambled innocently about something only you thought so fondly of.
Baelor spent many a day and night listening to your words, how they fell from your mouth in a ramble completely separate from your mind. He entertained it, encouraged it, you were a person of your own will, and felt natural enough with him to carry yourself in such a way. It felt foreign to see it happen so quickly with this Ser Caine.
But Baelor was nothing if not dutiful. This was the happenings from this moment forward, there was little to be done with it.
Baelor could not fault the poor knight, he was exceptional at his duty. He spent every moment at your side, or at the door of the rooms you occupied. Some nights even guarded your bedchambers. He was simply performing his duty, doing as he had sworn to do. So why did Baelor feel so… vexed? He was a busy man, though he wished he was not. When not in small council meetings, he would be at the King's side, aiding him on his authority over the Realm. He did not have the time to give you, even if he yearned for it, so you mostly existed in thought.
He would pass the library, dragging himself to yet another called upon meeting, catching you drifting between the shelves, Ser Caine closely behind you, his own eye upon you. As if the books that surrounded you were any threat. He simply continued on his path, shaking his head free of his poisoned thoughts.
He would venture outside to locate his sweet wife, to take a moment at your side to look upon you fondly, to relax the stiffness in his shoulders. And would see you, blunted steel in hand, sparring with Ser Caine. Albiet lightly, the knight was not a fool. He did not clash your swords, did not attack, only defend from your strikes. His lip firmed, bordering a sneer, at the sight of you both.
Your laugh echoed through his chest, only lifting the smile of your sworn shield. You engaged in your laughter, the swords clattering to the ground beneath you as you played the victor. Baelor was controlled by envy, jealously, this feeling had not yet been named. He had not felt this with Jena, his late wife, only with you, his younger, prettier wife.
"Husband." Your voice was smooth against his ears, melting whatever hardened, sour feelings had gathered within him. You approached him with a simple kiss to his cheek. "Did you see my technique? I feel my call to war is imminent, I must be armoured and horsed immediately."
Ser Caine laughed behind you. Stolen the laughter from Baelor's throat.
"If only, dear wife." He spoke, his fingers reaching to fiddle with your necklace, the gem he had gifted you settled on the hollow of your throat. "The Realm would not lift a sword toward you, for you are too kind."
"And pretty, I hope." You added, allowing Baelor's eyes to shift over your body. Awaiting his answer.
"I need not say it, for you already know what I think of your beauty." He answered, taking hold of your heart as he did every time you spoke. It was simple for him, he need not do much to have you a mess in his hands.
He was not oft so affectionate with you in public view. He saved his sweet words and sweeter touch for the privacy of your chambers, but he was a man at his core, he would not be mistaken for his place at your side. He allowed your hands to rest on his chest, he allowed his hands to cradle your cheeks. He yearned to kiss you, touch you, have you come undone around his fingers. But duty had called him away once again.
"Your Grace," a serving man stood behind him, taking him from your grasp, "The King summons you to his solar."
"At once, Husband." You bowed your head, stepping away as he drifted away from you. Scarcely a look over his shoulder at you, and your heart retired to its sunken place in your stomach. With a deep sigh, your chest felt hollow.
"Ser Caine," you spoke, eyes stuck on the wall your Husband just disappeared behind, "I wish to visit the gardens this afternoon."
"Of course, my Lady." He spoke, taking his place ahead of you and taking the lead toward the gardens.
You would not dare admit it to your Husband, but you were delighted of his appointment of Ser Caine as your shield. He was dutiful, but kind, indulged in your humorous remarks. Made your days less hollow. Of course, when Baelor had appeared to see you between his day, he retired to his role as Guard. Or when Valarr and Matarys would bombard you with excitable happenings of their days. But when your Husband and sons-by-marriage had been stolen by responsibility, you found a friend in Ser Caine.
You sat opposite each other in the library, books open between you. You had reached such new depths of boredom, you had made a game between you. The first to find spilt ink on a page won. Won what, you had not yet gotten that far. But it evolved into a race, who could find the splotch of ink first?
Your fingers dragged over the rough page, assessing between the lines of words for any abnormalities. Ser Caine contained as much vigor as you, flipping between pages faster than you had. You were both so lost in your fun, you had not noticed your Husband enter the library.
Ser Caine raised from his chair with haste, spine straightened and hand atop his pummel. Only then did you look up from your book.
"Do not tighten your guard on my account, Ser Caine." Baelor commented, reaching for his wife to raise you from your seat. "You are at my wife's service, not my own."
The knight did not move.
"Husband." You cooed up at him, an affectionate hand on his cheek. "To what do I owe this visit?"
"I missed you. That is all." He spoke, his next words quieter. "I must speak with you."
As you followed your Husband's path, Ser Caine had shuffled to folow you.
"Stay, Ser Caine." He ordered.
Baelor had taken you through the library's doors leading toward the gardens, seating you before himself on one of the many benches that aligned with the rows of foliage. His hands held yours, cradled them in their vast size over your own, smoothing his thumbs over your knuckles.
"What is the meaning of this, Husband? You concern me." Your eyebrows knotted where they separated, eyes glassy as you looked upon your Husband's uncomfortable face.
"I must go to Oldtown." He declared. "There are trade disputes I must settle."
"And why must I stay here? I can accompany you." You argued softly,
Baelor just shook his head, only tightening his grip on your hands. "There is little need, sweetheart. If I bring you, we would only stop along the roseroad more. It is much swifter this way."
He was right. It would be quicker had you remained here, but you would not be happy. Your heart would be ripped from your chest as he rode from the gatehouse. You knew he would take Valarr and Matarys, too. The boys were ripe for learning responsibility. So you would be utterly without your family.
"I will be back with haste." He assured you, freeing a hand to pull your shoulders into him. "Scarcely a moons passing."
He peppered kisses into your hair, marking you with his love as he prepared to leave. You would feel hollow until his return, it sickened you with grief. You kissed the boys cheeks, cradled them against you to wish them a safe journey. You could not see their horses leave, you could not be near the gatehous as they rode off. In stead, remaining in the gardens, where Baelor had told you of his departure.
You turned blue in their absence. In Baelor's absence. Your bed was a vast wastland of fabric, unnessary for the little room you took up. You did not feel his affection on your shoulders come the morn, nor did you feel it between your thighs. You ate supper alone, duty says not even Ser Caine could be seated with you.
It gave you little option but to spend your efforts talking with Ser Caine. You had grown fond your sworn shield, the knight vowed to make you laugh as much as he did to protect you. He would walk aside you around the gardens, around the Keep, would talk with you through your chamber door as you bathed. It passed the time until your Husband would return.
Baelor was reeling with your absence from his side. His temper was shorter than usual, though still more evident than Maekar's ever would be. He could not believe a moons passing was wasted on journeying to Oldtown to slap the wrists of some Lords, and journeying back. Time wasted away from you, your beauty, your kindness, your touch. His mind would wander to Ser Caine, how he was undoubtedly fawning over your every breath. His gaze steadfast on the curve of your waist, or the bare skin of your sternum. Laced with his jewels, as the knight looked at his wife.
He knew your difference in age was something oft mentioned in his leave, how you were young and beautiful, yet handed to a once-before married Prince of the Realm. He was tormented by how softened the Lords and Ladies gazes upon you were, how sweetly they spoke to you. Of you. His ego was of no concern to him, he took pleasure in the Realm looking so kindly upon you. A match well made for the goodness of your Houses. But seflishly, he wanted you entirely for himself. Only he would be admitted to look upon your beauty.
He nigh on exerted the energy of his horse on the return to King's Landing, the horse scarcely halting before he dismounted. He did not conform to waiting until nightfall for you, the thought of being envious of the fabric you wore had decided it for him. You were to be reclaimed by him. Now.
Not a moment wasted.
He found you, walking aside your sworn shield, and advanced toward you. His footing was firm, his hold on you the opposite.
"Allow me to see my wife, Ser Caine." Baelor was rigid in tone, eyebrows raised in search of defiance, but was met with none. "In fact, you must guard our bedchambers from any person requiring my presence."
You could scarcely keep the pace of your Husband's, who held your hand in his on your movement toward your bedchambers. You were ravenous for him, your mind and body yearned for this very moment. Whatever conversation you held with Ser Caine now forgotten, laid to rest the moment you saw your Husband in his approach.
Baelor closed the door after ushering you inside, a passing glance at your sworn shield as he disappeared behind it. You were already tugging at the fastenings of your dress, cursing your maidens for tying it with such force this morn.
Baelor was busying his hands with his own garments, eyes remained on your frame as it lost your skirts, revealing more of your skin to him. He felt his mouth water, hungry for the taste of your flesh coated in lemon scented oil.
"Did you settle the trade disputes, Husband?" You questioned him, climbing onto the bed on your hands and knees, crawling like an animal over to where he laid.
"I do not wish to talk of the Realm with you." He grunted, taking firm hold of your hips as they settle atop him. He was already hardened beneath you. "I only wish to hear your pretty little sounds."
You giggled, placing your hands onto his bare chest as you lowered onto him. The feeling was familiar, made your toes curl as they settled on his legs. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, guiding you as you moved against him. Even as you mounted him, taking most of the range of movement, he still controlled you.
"I have longed for you around me, sweetheart." He breathed, not daring to close his eyes in fear of missing how your eyes rolled back. "So soaked for me, sweetheart?"
You only nodded, fastening your pace as you took him over and over again. The sounds coming from your cunt were just as the ones he dreamt of, in the many nights spent away from you. But the sounds coming from your mouth were new, desperate, whiny. He would not last under you.
He protected your frame against him, turning you both so your back hit the bed beneath you. "So beautiful." He sighed, kissing down your chest, giving his attention to your breasts and how they firmed under his touch.
"The Realm knows it," he kissed down your ribs, your breath shallowing, "I know it."
"But you are all for me." He paused at your hipbones, ghosting kisses at them before lowering himself further. "Isn't that so?"
You nodded, his tongue delving deep into you. The way it danced over you had your stomach tensing, you nigh on pushed him away. But you would not dare do such a thing, when he was so skilled at finding your release. Better than you ever had yourself.
"Say it." He moaned, pausing his tongue just to order it from you.
"I am all for you, Husband." You whimpered, your fingers shook as they cradled the back of his head. He could not be any further inside you, but you wished him to be.
"Louder." He ordered, lifting his head to insert two fingers and to watch your face as they entered you. "I want the Keep to remember that regardless of your beauty, you remain my wife."
"I am your wife, Baelor." You cried, his fingers curling inside you to further chase your release. You felt tears build in your eyes, lost in the haze of desire that Baelor had called upon. He knew your body so well, knew what you did and did not respond to. No other could do as he did. He would remain confident in that fact.
But his gaze was dark, that chill not yet satisfied. He must enstate himself further, in a manner no man would forget.
He tore his fingers from you, and in his gaze was not the soft Husband you were so used to. You saw dancing flames, ash, dragonfire within him. You would hunt it down, find it, assess it, take it for yourself. You hungered for him in this moment.
He gestured you to the edge of the bed, taking you in his arms and lifting you. With a strength you seldom witnessed, the Hand scarcely finding a moment to show such a feat. He carried you to your chamber doors, and your heart quickened as he pressed your back against the engraved oak.
His lips found yours once more, grunting into your mouth, the sounds undoubtedly echoing through to this sworn shield of yours. The worst had not yet come for that poor, lovesick knight. Baelor slammed into you, jolting your bodies against the door, only forcing your moans out of your chest with a volume so unladylike.
"Louder, my wife." He instructed, his forehead colliding with yours. "They all must know. You are mine."
His venomous words in your ear, the oak against your back, the way he thrusted into you, it had all mixed into a mighty charge for your pleasure. He was hunting for it, you could see the embers in his eyes heighten, taken completely by desire. He built a vengeful rhythm against you, his grip tighter than it oft was when he fucked you, consumed by something darker, twisted. You invited it, regardless.
"That's it." He grunted against your jaw, flexing his jaw to refrain from biting at you. Lost in hunger, pleasure, jealousy. "All mine."
His words sent you over the edge, your entrance tightened around him as you welcomed his seed within you. A collision of your pleasure with his, erupted from your mouths against the thick door. You had no concern with who heard you be undone, only the man that cradled you, restored your soul to what it had been before he left.
He chuckled as he held your sweltering skin, lips flush against your cheek.
"What has taken you, my Husband?" You breathed against him, the throes of desire still biting at you. He remained inside you, not wanting to part with the pleasure he brought upon you both. And the satisfying heat he felt sweep across his chest.
With Baelor and LS? (Maybe Lyonel too if you want 👀)
⊹ ࣪ ˖ pairing: baelor "breakspear" targaryen x f!stark!reader x lyonel baratheon
⊹ ࣪ ˖ wc: 1.5k+
⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes/content: stark!reader, suggestive, lyonel being lyonel (but also a bit of insecurity?), soft dom!husband!baelor giving his wife whatever she wants (stan this progressive king!!!). if last one was "lord taketh" then this one is "lord giveth" or however the hell that saying goes. enjoy lmao.
Lyonel gets as far as one leg in his trousers before you speak.
“Lyonel,” you murmur into the darkness, your voice low and roughened by sleep. “Come back to bed.”
He freezes mid-hop, like some petty thief caught with his hand on the bread.
The royal bedchamber is all ember-glow and shadow, fire sunk low in the grate, painting the walls in crawling orange licks. The bed around you is torn apart like a spilt fruit basket: furs tangled, and drooping precariously; linen clawed apart, by whose hand you could not say; one pillow lies across the floor like it’s attempting to flee from your marriage bed. The air is still full of heat and scent of skin, and even though your throat is no longer caught on broken moans, you can still feel them between the stone walls, can still hear their faint echo.
“You can’t just say things like that,” Lyonel says without turning. “You’re the queen.”
“Queen,” you echo with a small, undignified snort. “You remembered.”
“Hard to forget,” he drawls. “There are dragons carved on the bloody chamberpots. I assume they’re stitched on your dragon’s smallclothes as well—”
“Only the winter pairs,” Baelor supplies helpfully from behind you, infuriatingly mild.
When you turn, he’s half-propped on his elbow, hair mussed, the beard shadowing his face, making the defined line of his jaw stand out. His hand rests warm and heavy over your ribs, thumb idly tracing the naked line there. In the half-light, Baelor’s mismatched eyes appear almost the same—both dark and intent, both taking in the stormlord trying to bolt from his bed.
Lyonel huffs despite himself, but his typical humour doesn’t stick. His shoulders are too tight. There’s a darkening mark on his neck where your teeth sank in; a faint red print on his hip where a dragon’s hand held him down.
“All the same,” he says, forcing lightness into his tone, "stormlords aren’t meant to sleep under dragon roofs. Certainly not in dragon beds. Not if they fancy seeing old age.”
“You?” you challenge, brows quirking up deliberately. “Respectable old age?”
“Fine,” he amends. “Not maimed, then.”
He drags his gaze up from the floor, away from his own abandoned clothes, to Baelor.
“You’re really just…” he gestures vaguely at the bed, the three of you, very evidently naked, “... all right about this?”
Baelor, to his credit, considers the question carefully. His expression is exhausted, yes, but there’s no anger in it. Just that maddening, thoughtful calm of his.
“About my wife’s oldest friend putting his hands on said wife,” he says, “in our bed?”
“There it is,” Lyonel mutters under his breath. “Now he breathes fire.”
Baelor’s mouth twitches into a wry little smile. “I put you there,” he reminds him. “You think I didn’t notice you undressing on the wrong side of the room?”
Lyonel’s mouth parts like he’s ready with one of his usual, witty remarks, but comes up empty. He stands there, looking almost boyish, caught stealing apples.
“Could’ve still been the wine,” he argues. “And your wife’s terrible influence.”
“My influence is impeccable,” you shoot back. “You kissed me first.”
“And you kissed me back,” he fires back, affronted. “Very enthusiastically, I might add.”
He looks briefly, foolishly pleased at the recollection; you see the way the memory floods across his expression, leaving him near dazed where he stands. Then the old wariness floods back in, thick as a tide rolling in.
“I’ve wanted this so long my bones ache with it,” he says abruptly, a bitter chuckle shaking his shoulders. “Which is why this is where I limp away before the both of you remember you’re a wolf and a dragon and I’m just… weather. Passing through.”
The idle drag of Baelor’s thumb stills on your skin.
“You dislike my house that much?” he questions quietly.
Lyonel’s mouth curls as if he’s unsure if that’s a trick question or if Baelor is making fun of him. “Your house burnt a good portion of this realm, last I recall,” he explains, expression souring with too many memories. “That’s the thing about us Stormlanders, you know, we remember. Dragons come, and we lose roofs and brothers. Call me sentimental, but it doesn’t incline me to trust.”
He flicks a look in your direction, and it softens, helplessly, around the edges.
“And then your wolf walked into court,” he adds with a helpless little laugh, “with ice in her eyes and stubbornness of a mule, and I’ve been lost ever since. So yes. I don’t like Targaryens, and I don’t trust Targaryens, either. And I want your wife so much I can taste it, which is precisely why I should leave before this gets any worse.”
You push yourself up, the sheets sliding down your bare form, and Lyonel’s eyes snag there, throat working.
“You don’t get to decide what we do and do not regret,” you tell him flatly. “You only get to decide whether you’re going to run.”
“And you don’t get to decide you hate sharing a bed with a Baratheon after the fact,” he fires back, a brittle edge to his words that’s so unlike him, your mouth snaps shut. “You’re both… you. This is a story, a song. I am not sticking around for the part where it curdles. I won’t.”
“Lyonel,” Baelor says. “Look at her.”
Much to your surprise, he obeys, his gaze swinging to you like a man approaching a cliff-edge. You stare back, wolf-still, nothing to hide behind.
“I’m not a bored southern lady chasing scandal,” you tell him bluntly. “If this were a one-night… diversion, you’d be already gone.”
“And I,” Baelor adds from behind you, “am done behaving as though what’s between the three of us doesn’t exist because it makes lesser men uncomfortable.”
Lyonel grabs a bedpost to steady himself, his chest rising and dipping with an audible swallow.
“Is this what this is for you?” you wonder, a touch softer now, seeing the glazed look in his eyes. “A dream you’re hoping to wake up from before it hurts?”
Lyonel laughs, but it’s lacking the crackling liveliness you know him for, the warmth of his mirth you’ve grown accustomed to. “What else can it be, my lovely she-wolf?” he demands, but there’s something pained in those words. “You’re a wolf, and he’s a dragon, and I’m the idiot who thinks he can stand between you and not get burned.”
Baelor’s hand leaves your ribcage; he sits up fully, back against the carved headboard. The firelight catches in the silver at his temples, in the different colours of his eyes, the broad, sturdy set of his shoulders and chest, mapped by your hands and sampled by your tongue.
“I need her,” he says simply, as if stating an obvious, unadorned fact. “The realm knows it. I’ve never pretended otherwise.”
His gaze moves to you, heated and hungry, gentle, then back to Lyonel.
“I also like giving my wife what she wants,” he continues. “Tonight, what she wanted was you.”
Lyonel laughs, but it scrapes out more ragged than he likely intended. “And when the novelty wears off, or some spepton has a fit, or you remember you invited a Baratheon into the King’s bed like some—”
“Have you ever known me to do something by accident?” Baelor asks, cutting through, his tone still gentle, but there's a sliver of power in his voice. “Ever?”
You smother a smile when Lyonel opens his mouth, then close it again. “No,” he admits grudgingly. “Which is exactly why this feels like madness.”
You give him a look. “Good. Then it matches the rest of our lives.”
You extend your hand towards him across the tangled sheets, palm up; no expectation, no command, just your hand open in an offering.
“Come back to bed,” you repeat softly. “Or don’t. But stop pretending you were ambushed. You’ve been circling this for years.”
His gaze hungrily falls to your proffered hand. Big, scarred, sword-callused fingers flex around the waistband of his trousers.
“I don’t like dragons,” he mutters, some last flimsy attempt at defence.
“Nor should you,” Baelor says. “They’re dangerous. They burn things when mishandled.” His own hand comes up to rest beside yours, open. “But you’ve managed me this long.”
Lyonel’s throat works, scoffing before he shakes his head, hand scrapping across his beard. “You’re both insufferable,” he concludes. “And arrogant. And reckless.”
“Yes,” you say with a small hum. “You fit right in.”
Watching the war across Lyonel’s face makes you fear he will insist this never happened and let it rot his insides for another decade.
The moment slips by.
His trousers hit the floor. He limps back to the bed with grim resolution, like a man going to the gallows with some vain hope that the death will be swift, at least.
You catch his wrist when he’s close enough, drawing him down between you with a small smile. Baelor’s arm winds around your waist at once—gentle and possessive, dragging you closer to make Lyonel space. The Stormlord ends up half sprawled over your front, half braced against Baelor, the three of you a tangle of heat and limbs, creating a knot you hope you never untangle.
“Comfortable?” Baelor asks, his voice low, light in a way that almost comes across as gentle teasing.
“Absolutely not,” Lyonel snarks. His hand finds your waist under the sheets, thumb skating the curve like he’s trying to memorise the shape of you. “I’m going to regret this as much as the wine, no doubt.”
“Probably,” you say into the curve of his throat, placing a light kiss there to taste the salt on his skin. “But you can regret later.”
an: dunno why but for all his flair and charisma, I think in this set up and/or when faced with something he genuinely wants, Lyonel would get a bit prickly. Humour is great armour until it cracks.
Pairing | Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader
Summary | Longing for you seems to have become a daily habit for Arthur as of late, amidst work and rest, and while he could honestly say watching you from a distance was enticing enough, there were a few things he desired more.
Tags | fluff, a pining Arthur (as per usual)
Word Count | 4.8k
A/N | Hello again, lovelies! I wrote together a shorter fic about Arthur that's a bit more lighthearted than the stuff I usually write. Hope you like it! <3
By the way, feel free to throw in some requests if you'd like <3
It was smooth—so smooth, like thick honey filling his ears, soothing every ache and doubt, every pain and hardship. Like cough drops eased his throat, your voice found its way into his head, numbing his mind until it turned to a sickly syrup when the familiar, bashful laugh quietly filled the air. He damned every bird that sang, every crow that cawed, despised Swanson’s drunken rambling, for it distorted your soft murmurs, keeping him from imagining you were right beside him, whispering the words in his ears instead.
A soundless chuckle left Arthur as he realized the absurdity of his thoughts when he, for once, let them drift away, unwilling yet drawn to them. He couldn’t deny, though, that there was a certain allure to think of you this way, to direct any thoughts that could be even remotely romantic to something so good—so pure. Longing and a fair bit of desperation were surely in play, ever the dreamer and, more often than not, a procrastinator.
“Fool, Morgan,” he mumbled under his breath, shaking his head to rid himself of these thoughts when his imagination became so vivid he could almost feel the touch of your hands on his skin.
The gazing sun blazed unforgivingly when he opened his eyes, a shudder running through him when you could be heard closer than before. He basked in your voice’s rich, hushed tones as your figure appeared before him through the trees separating you. Droopy eyes followed along your silhouette as you slowly passed him in the distance, sinfully following along the tiny show of curves your clothes allowed. Against his will, they drifted to the place where your apron had been tied tighter than usual, following along the cotton until they caressed the part where your dress pushed against your bosom, squinting his eyes to try and see the supple flesh that now seemed so inviting, so soft and heavenly.
His lids closed once more when warmth started seeping into his veins, bringing his arm to rub against them so the image of you would wishfully leave. Utterly and fascinatingly dumbfounded is where you had brought him, whether you were aware of it or not, and while he could honestly say it was unlikely you were, somewhere he damned you for bringing him to his knees so effortlessly. Who would have thought he could plow through men easily, neither afraid nor with an ounce of difficulty, yet somehow, you made him feel both of those things the moment you crossed his mind.
It was absurd, really, and Arthur was not a man familiar with the sole thought of being uncomfortable. Yet, you managed to make his skin prickle until it felt like bugs scattered through his body, so distraught—barely recognizing himself when your eyes found his, both mind and body limp.
“Oh, Arthur,” Startled, he perked up by the sudden noise, blinking a few times as he removed his arm that had shielded him from the evening sun. Quickly, you leaned down over him where he had perched himself against a tree, deciding that snoozing away would be the most productive way to spend the rest of his day, even though the bark scratched against his sore back— the distant howling of Reverend irritating his ears.
“How did this happen?” Nimble fingers found their way to his cheek, lifting his face so you could inspect him thoroughly. A look so displeased formed on your face that if anyone else had been the reason for it, he wouldn’t hesitate a second to bury them ten feet underground. He almost chuckled at the thought, all too aware of your hatred for bodily harm and other such nonsense Arthur himself saw as chicken feed. Yet, he couldn’t help it; it was entirely too endearing for him to belittle you for it, finding your immense vexation heart-warming—when it was directed at him, of course.
Your soothing caress, though, reminded him of the throbbing pain that pinched his jaw, and as he moved it to get rid of the stiff sensation, he hissed, downplaying it by tilting his hat further down, relaxing against the tree. He did not care to remove your hand, though, secretly basking in the softness of your skin against his tender, pulsating one—tongue growing limp in his mouth as his mind grew blank, losing the art of speaking he otherwise had quite a knack for.
“Ain’t nothin’,” he mumbled, sleep lingering in his voice. It wasn’t just nothing, and he was pretty sure you knew that, too, because he could almost hear the way your brows furrowed at his seemingly grumpy answer.
You only sighed, frowning deeply when your hands left his cheeks to grab his hat, which you carefully put on the moss-filled ground. Softly, your fingers brushed the sweaty strands of his hair from his forehead, flattening out the harsh lines that had almost become a consistent part of his face by now.
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” you retorted, sitting on your knees to better examine his purple bruise. “Is it sore? You’ve bled, you know.”
He could almost laugh at the worry that laced your words, hidden behind your careful wording. How very usual, and not any less unbecoming of you to notice every scratch and cut on his skin like your eyes could see through clothes and metal. More than that, he was still bewildered that you could see deeper than that, through both flesh and bone, like you had skinned him alive and examined every part of him. It was, to many extents, terrifying—being so bare and naked in someone’s presence, even though he was clothed to the till.
“Mmh,” he ruffed out a sound of acknowledgment. He was too deep in thought to feel your stare, which should have made the hair on his body stand straight up in fright if his eyes weren’t closed. More so, he grew lost in how your fingers caressed his face, stomach almost turning upside down when they found their way to his hair, dragging through the honey-blonde strands.
“Long day?” You had to admit defeat, deciding that irritating an already grumpy Arthur would ruin both yours and his day. Although you were still not pleased he kept the reason for his beaten face from you, but when it came to Arthur, it could have been all of the above. You should have become used to it, but it grew more complicated to deal with as time passed, just as it did having to ponder his whereabouts. Not once did he tell you of his misfortunes; the only way it would get through to you was from the other’s talking—surprised faces turning towards you when they figured Arthur never let you in on their daily business and various mishaps in the form of bruising and worse, a red, dark liquid only you seemed to find distressful among your dear friends.
A huff was your only answer, and as you gazed at him for a few seconds, you could almost believe he’d gone back to sleep. Slowly, a small smile grew on your face, all too aware that he’d not been back at camp for a few days, which was surely the reason for his aloof nature, deeming it a valid reason for snoozing off. Truly, he wanted nothing more than to feel the grasp of slumber pull him back down, but sleep could never rival you, and the tender touches you left on his skin made him believe he might be dreaming. But again, most of his dreams these days consisted of you, whether of the nightmarish sort or not.
As your fingers graze his scalp, a shudder runs through his body, his thoughts cast far away, fingers twitching where they lay at his side, itching to reach out to you and to pull you into his arms so he could feel your body against his—feel the skin that hid underneath your clothes. Or, perhaps, he should say those damned clothes, which hugged your body so beautifully. Arthur often wondered if you were doing it on purpose, pondered if you’d picked it out simply to torment him—as if he wasn’t a man made to suffer already.
There were days when sleep was so far away he could almost swear that, in his deluded and exhausted state, he could feel the same caresses on his skin that he felt now. The ghost of your lips caressed the juncture of his neck, only to realize that his hair strands were blowing against his skin from the soft wind. He couldn’t decide if it was in his favor, growing more miserable than anything when he realized you hadn’t been there. Torture and some other types of depraving punishment were what it was.
“Come ‘ere,” he mumbled, tired hands lifting slightly to invite you in, beckoning you to crawl into his embrace. His mind was jumbled, and he hadn’t had much sleep as of late, and your touch—your addictive, mind-numbing touch—managed to set his head askew. Oh, how he always wanted more of you, realizing slowly that the thought of not getting what he now wished for would leave him in horrendous anguish.
“What?” Your smile faltered slightly, confusion now written on your face at his sudden words.
“I said," he muttered, a mild annoyance lacing his voice as one hand reached for you. “Come ‘ere.”
“You should rest,” you answered, blushing at his sudden display as you removed your hand from his hair. Your heart skipped a beat as you glanced at him, finding his half-lidded eyes gazing at you. You had trouble admitting it to yourself, yet his lap seemed more inviting when your eyes faltered to find somewhere else to look, trying to ignore his one hand that patted his thigh to beckon you further.
“To hell with that,” he muttered, frowning when he saw you move away from him.
“Well, there’s, you know…” you said quietly, looking behind you through the trees, trying to spot your camp members through the foliage. “Someone could see, Arthur.”
“Come on, sweetheart, it’ll help with the pain.” You gave him a ridiculous look as he moved his jaw and pretended to hiss from the pain, not amused by his blatant lie and laughable attempt at coercion.
“Oh?” Despite his poor endeavor, you couldn’t help but see the corners of your mouth lifting against your will, hand intertwining with his reaching one as you glanced behind you again, conflicted.
His heart warmed at the sight of you, your bashfulness and avoidant eyes only making him long for you harder. It wasn’t unusual for you to avoid his advances, to glance or walk away when he neared you, too shy for your good. Certainly, perhaps he came to you in moments where physical contact might not be deemed appropriate. Yet, the thought of your careful eyes that gazed around you, the small hitch of your breath when he stepped closer than usual in the presence of others, was addictive, bordering on a selfish enjoyment, perhaps.
Without a single notice, you were suddenly tugged forward as you cast a last glance backward, expecting someone to wander further into the surrounding woods as many of you do to escape the merciless sun, finding yourself toppling over Arthur’s body. Gasping slightly, you craned your neck to gaze at his now closed eyes, an amused smirk covering his lips when the palm of your hand hit his chest slightly, sitting up on his lap so you could gain some distance.
“Beatin’ an already wounded man?” His tone was mimicking bafflement, yet the corners of his mouth he couldn’t quite bring down gave him away, and as you scoffed at him, huffs of laughter he tried to quiet down escaped him. “I didn’t peg you for a masochist.”
“I thought you said it didn’t hurt?” Your arms crossed, unamused by the teasing that seemed to grow more frequently as you spent more time with him.
“Well, it does, but it don’t hurt when you do that thing with your hands,” Oh, how unfair it was, twisting and turning his words to make you speechless time and time again. Yet, you should’ve known; Arthur always had a way with words you couldn’t quite understand. “Y’got some kind of witchcraft goin’ on, or what?”
“I might,” you said, narrowing your eyes when his hand squeezed playfully on your waist, wondering what suddenly got him in such a mood after his previous nonchalant—and incredibly grumpy—self. Yet the slight flutter in your stomach persisted as his admittance rang in your ears, tickling your insides when he let his palm rest against you instead of moving away.
Arthur only raised his eyebrow at your words, enjoying the gasp that left you when he suddenly, deliberately, let his legs shift upwards, rendering you nowhere else to fall than towards his chest. The warm, rumbling of his chest against the side of your face when he laughed quietly was infuriating, yet all the more enticing when both hands covered the small of your back, firmly caging you in his arms so you couldn’t possibly move away.
“Arthur-” you started but found yourself being cut off.
“Well then, don’t stop those magic hands of yours if that’s what you're doin’,” he mumbled, lifting you further up his chest to rest his head against your shoulder, secretly enjoying how he finally had your body against his. A job very well executed, he’d say.
A sigh left you as you surrendered, arms wounding their way around his neck as his grip tightened around you and, in the process, pressed you further against him when he felt your hands slither their way into his hair once more. As you combed through the soft, wild strands, you felt the breeze caressing your skin, the distant, low rumble of clanging pots, and Uncle’s loud complaints mingling in the air.
“What really happened today, Arthur?”
“Hm?”
“With your face, I mean. What happened?” He only sighed at your question, and while you had expected to get no answer like usual, it surprised you when you got one.
“Ran into some fellers with John, that’s all. Y’know them Lemoyne boys, right?”
“Mmh,” you hummed in acknowledgment, feeling his thumbs slightly rub against you where they rested.
“They sure ain’t tough, but he got a lucky punch, I guess,” Arthur grumbled, obviously displeased with the poor fellow’s moment of luck. “Punched him a whole lot harder, though.”
Raising, you caressed his cheek softly while Arthur leaned his head against the tree to gaze down at you, his expression losing the irritation. With careful movements, you placed a kiss against the tender, slightly purple skin that stretched across his jaw, letting your lips hover for a moment as your eyes closed.
“Good,” you whispered, focusing on the faint flutters that seemed to travel across the place where he let his touch wander. “My tough outlaw,” you drawled, eyes glinting as your eyes met his, the corner of your lips lifting slightly, yet a certain tenderness hiding in your voice as you spoke.
“Yeah?” he squinted his eyes at you, hands squeezing around your waist once more, his touch not quite as lighthearted as before but slower, almost kneading the supple skin through your clothes. “You think so, huh?”
“Mhm,” you hummed, feeling your heartbeat slow as the air around you shifted, turning humid as a shiver passed through your body. “I do.”
Letting your eyes falter from his, you stroke your fingers over his jaw, letting them slowly make their way down the slope of his neck until they trail over the specks of hair that covered the skin uncovered by his unbuttoned shirt. Slowly, you hooked your fingers over the button, pulling slightly on it so the fabric tightened around his shoulders, feeling his gaze heavy on you.
“What?” he smirked when you paused. “To shy?” You couldn’t tell if he meant to speak the words teasingly, for his tone appeared darker and lowly, eyes testing you carefully.
“Of what?” you retorted, watching his chest move as you took notice of his breathing that had grown heavier beneath you, finding his hands gliding lower down your waist so they now gripped onto the sides of your hips.
A quiet, strained laugh left him as you released his shirt, preparing to lean away slightly when his presence became too much—too imposing. Yet, you didn’t get the chance, only finding Arthur to straighten his otherwise slouching back to lean towards you, arms circling your waist so you wouldn’t fall back in surprise.
“Arthur…” you mumbled, feeling small when he suddenly towered over you. The sides of your thighs rested snuggly against his waist as your skirt gathered around you, the mossy ground damp against your bare knees.
“Mmh?” he hummed, raising an eyebrow when you spoke his name. You felt his hands flex restlessly, eyes plastered solely on your lips—as if his mind was further away than he let on.
“What are you…” you trailed off, words coming out in a breath as you moved slightly to escape the buckle of his belt that dug into your lower stomach, stilling when you heard a low grunt leave his chest, the damp skin of his forehead meeting your shoulder as his head fell limp.
Your breath hitched as you felt Arthur’s arms circle your waist, hugging you tighter against him while taking a deep breath to secretly breathe in your scent—internally groaning when he felt the curves he dreamed of not too long ago as his hands slowly caressed your sides. Cheeky, sure, he was all too aware of it, yet the sole thought of having you in his lap like this without naughtily copping a feeling would be a lost opportunity he would feel saddened about if it passed.
“Oh,” he heard you mumble in surprise. “You know, this could be seen as a violation of private space,” you said matter-of-factly, petting his head in jest. “Also, it’s very unbecoming for a man to throw himself on an unsuspecting woman like this, more so in the middle of the woods, you know.” The rest of your words turned into nonsensical babbling, with no words registering, yet he enjoyed the sweet purring of your voice that vibrated against his cheek.
Arthur, being more prone to being a standoffish man, surely did his part to surprise you at times. Some would say hot or cold; you would say it was more of a tug between his responsibilities and wants, whereas the previous, more often than not, won. Unfairly, for that matter, yet you felt you had no say in it and, therefore, letting the parts play themselves out. You felt, though, that you had every right to be baffled by his twists and turns, careful of his moods, and worrisome of the nature of which he seemed to stretch the sanity of his own self.
“What do you say in your defense, mister Morgan?” you asked righteously—craning your head back in preparation for his answer as you wished your thoughts away.
“Mmh,” he mumbled against your skin, in actuality not having processed a single word that left your mouth, only reveling in the soft murmur of your voice that now surrounded him when you spoke, feeling the warm skin of your neck against his cheek that felt so soft. He would worry about rubbing it raw with his beard if not because he, at this particular moment, couldn’t think of anything but the swell of your hips that rested in his lap and the soft, pudgy thighs encasing his own.
“Mmh,” you quoted, “is not a suitable response-!“ Your last word ended in a small shriek, cut off by the realization that you were suddenly pushed towards the ground, your back meeting the soft moss of the forest floor. A breathless laugh left you at the motion, a small thrill traveling through your body when you felt Arthurs’s lips place themselves in the juncture of your neck, humming slightly as he did.
“Hey,” you said softly, gripping the hair that littered the nape of his neck to lift his head so he would finally look at you. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Sure,” he drawled, casting you a glance before letting his head fall back down, pushing his weight further into you.
It had been a dangerous move to gaze at you, as it always seemed to be, he’d come to find, and the sight itself made tiny, almost unnoticeable tendrils of warmth climb their way up his skin. He only got lost further into you, feeling the corners of his mouth rise when your legs found their way to his waist as if unconsciously. A dangerous invitation, indeed, yet one he couldn’t refuse even if it would mean his death, for it let him rest more comfortably over you, feeling the soft curvature of your body behind the heaps of clothing.
With a quick glance down amidst the small kisses he placed tenderly on your neck, he almost groaned at the sight of your bare legs that were now visible thanks to your skirt that had gathered above your knees. He imagined for a short while running the palm of his hand slowly among the meaty flesh of it, trailing his way to the inside of your thigh where you would be so sensitive—so responsive.
“No, you’re not,” you sighed, smiling when he once more met your gaze, your features softening when you felt his hand travel down your arm to intertwine your hand with his, unbeknownst to you the reason solely so they wouldn’t find their way down your bare thighs.
You had to admit, his persuasion tactics were entirely too well executed, and against your proper nature, they wronged every rule you had set for yourself—including being straddled by a man in the middle of the woods. Yet there was always something unrecognizable in his gaze, like molten coal swimming deep in his eyes, the light glow of embers burning at times as if caressed by the wind. Addictive, and there was no other way around it, no way for you to part with the thought of him.
“Well, ” he paused momentarily. “It ain’t my fault.”
“Oh?” you scoffed. “Then who’s fault is it?”
“Yours,” he said confidently, raising his brows in fake mock when your eyes suddenly squinted at him, the lines in your face deepening in disbelief at his accusation.
“My fa-” Once more, you were cut off; this time, Arthur’s laughter vibrated deep in his chest as if your reaction in and of itself amused him.
“Alright, alright,” he mused, another snicker leaving him when you turned your face away from his kiss. “Easy there, tiger. Quite feisty today, aren’t you?”
“Arthur Morgan, you are being incredibly difficult!”
He only hummed at your scolding, placing his lips on yours when your head turned towards his once more, unrespectful yet non-complaining. Slow and deliberate, the palm of your hand rose to protest but only ended up pressing lightly against the side of his chest to savor every second—the very sensation of being close. It didn’t help that his hands that were still on you created a warmth that seeped through your clothes and lingered on your skin, and as you lay there, tangled together on the forest floor, every passing sound seemed so far away, like a distant murmur that couldn’t quite reach you just yet.
For but a moment, you opened your eyes when the familiar graze of coldness you always felt when Arthur’s lips left yours spread. A smirk formed on his lips as his voice dropped into a low, raspy murmur, vibrating against your skin in a rumble.
“What’d I say? Like taming a tiger,”
You exhaled a soft laugh, but you couldn’t possibly ignore how your heart was racing—almost growing paranoid he could feel it from being pressed so intimately against you.
“Arthur, you can’t just–” you started, but the words faltered when his thumb brushed across your bottom lip, not failing in making your thoughts that had been so carefully planned scatter away like dust being swept away by the wind.
“Can’t just what?” he said, the faintest tone of teasing in his voice yet molded with a certain huskiness, a low hum of desire bleeding through the soft murmurs. Rough, of course, as it always was, but there was a certain gentleness you’d never been able to get used to that only peeked out when he spoke to you.
“You know exactly what.”
You could almost roll your eyes at the cockiness that shone through him, but the warmth that spread through your body betrayed any attempts you made in resistance. It’s simply not fair, yet there was only so much stubbornness left in your body that you could keep up, knowing very well this was where you longed to be the most—encased in his arms
Arthur only chuckled softly, shifting his weight as his other hand slid carefully down to rest on your hip, fingers brushing just below the hem of your skirt. His eyes caught your attention; the blue shades of his eyes almost seemed to darken as his chest moved steadily, almost daring you to protest when he slowly felt the skin underneath the pads of his fingers—just about to speak before a brash voice cut through the air.
“So this is where you hide, with clothes to be washed and dishes to clean!”
The sudden outburst made you feel like your heart jumped through your skin—jolting up in surprise so you almost hit your face against Arthur’s shoulder when he didn’t move a single muscle at the intrusion.
“Miss Grimshaw!” you gasped, pushing against Arthur’s chest when you found that he didn’t attempt to move, instead only raising his eyebrows as he gazed at the scandalized woman who glared at you from a few feet away.
“So do ‘em,” Arthur mumbled in annoyance, seemingly not caring if the woman had heard him or not. He directed his gaze towards your red cheeks before glancing at your frantic hands, which hit slightly against him, causing a small smile to take over his lips before the previous irritation filled his mind once more at having his time with you interrupted.
“I just-” you started, cut off by an unamused Grimshaw.
“I don’t care to hear it,” she said, hand placed firmly on her hip as she beckoned you over, turning around to walk towards camp with determined steps, muttering angrily to herself as if you’d committed a cardinal sin—or a few. “Behaving like teenagers.”
Crawling away from Arthur’s arms surrounding your sides, you quickly stood up, running a hand through your hair that had tangled something terribly at the back of your head. How embarrassing, you thought, closing your eyes momentarily before gazing at her fading figure, feet setting into motion the second she turned her head towards you.
The coercion that man harbored was all too ridiculous, yet you had to applaud his tactics, for they sure did the trick in rendering you willing every time. Curse him, and curse you for falling for it. Yet, as you glanced back at Arthur, you found your eyes growing smaller as you saw him once more leaning comfortably against the tree—like he’d never moved from his earlier position at all.
“Your skirt,” he said, making you stop in your tracks to throw him a confused look.
“What?”
Opening one eye, he glanced at your legs, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk you could only explain as insufferably irritating, before closing it to place his hat over his eyes. Following his gaze, you found your skirt now twisted and wrinkled, having gotten caught, so it now showed a large portion of your one leg.
A terrible heat crept up your neck as you tugged at the fabric, hastily straightening it as you damned Arthur’s smugness while berating yourself over this mortifying moment that he didn’t seem to bat an eye at.
“Real helpful,” you muttered under your breath, shooting him a chilling look that was meant to wound his ego—yet you doubted anything could pierce that thick skull of his.
Turning your back on him, you tried to walk with a sense of purpose, as if you weren’t still reeling from your racing heart and tangled hair. But that woman—terribly unimpressed—already stood waiting for you in the distance as if she could sense your hesitation. The look she threw you stung, and you couldn’t help but feel like a scolded child under her gaze despite your age.
“Best hurry up before she rips into us both,” Arthur’s voice came for behind, teasing but low. You didn’t dignify it with a response, only picking up your pace as his laughter—soft and lazy—followed you all the way back to camp. You were sure there’d be words exchanged soon, ones you weren’t sure you wanted to deal with today. Though, despite this, you felt a small smile take over your frown, damning yourself for falling for his coercion time and time again.
part one. restraint is a virtue — until it isn’t ✴︎ maekar targaryen x fem!reader
[ part one ] [ part two: coming soon! ]
context. seventeen days have passed since your wedding and the marriage still remained unconsummated. one night, your frustration boils over and you almost push him towards what you so desperately want.
tags. stubborn/bratty!reader, virgin!reader, age gap, teasing touches, dirty talk, misunderstandings
3.9k words
taglist. @pinkeybleuy @moonmaiden1996
Ugh.
A sharp breath left your nose in annoyance, the sound cutting through the quiet of the chamber.
You would’ve never thought that this would become reality — You, married to a prince of the realm, bound by sacred vows before the eyes of gods and men, and yet the marriage still remained unconsummated after over a fortnight. Seventeen nights you had shared this bed, seventeen mornings you had woken beside him, and still he maintained that maddening distance.
As a girl, the mere idea of a stranger trying to climb you after your wedding ceremony had sickened you to your stomach. You had laid awake countless nights before the betrothal was finalized, imagining the worst. You had feared being claimed with lustful aggression or indifference, used for duty’s sake and left hollow and disgusted in the aftermath. The stories whispered among the ladies of court had done nothing to ease those fears.
But no. It was nothing like that for you. Quite the opposite, in truth.
Of course, Prince Maekar already had plenty of heirs — four sons and two daughters. The succession was secured. The realm had no need of further princes from his loins. Perhaps that was reason enough for him to feel no urgency. Perhaps he thought you simply another burden to bear.
But that reasoning did nothing to ease the sting of disappointment that coiled tighter in your chest with each passing night. And that disappointment had quickly turned into frustration.
You had not expected passion, for this had been no wedding for love. You hadn’t even known each other, before your hands had been entwined in front of the realm to see. But you felt like simple attention was not too much to ask, as you were forced to spend the rest of your lives together. Even simple interest would suffice.
Instead, you had gotten distance and mostly silence. A husband who treated the marriage bed like a sanctuary he dared not defile.
It wasn’t indifference, you had come to realize. Indifference would have been easier. This was something else. A deliberate withdrawal that felt almost like punishment.
Except you could catch him sometimes, in unguarded moments. The way his jaw would tighten when you moved closer, the subtle hitch in his breathing when your nightgown shifted, the white-knuckled grip on the sheets when you said his name.
He hid something. You were certain of it. But whatever he was trying to hide beneath that stern exterior, he guarded it like a dragon guarded its eggs.
Maekar Targaryen was a fine man. A fine husband. He was yours now, by oath, and you would lie if you claimed to be content with the lack of your and your husband’s physical closeness.
You wanted him. You realized, you wanted him badly.
His resolve to withdraw any types of attention from you, only seemed to increase your longing. Your desire to finally have him.
As a lady of your standing, you had been raised with certain standards. You knew comfort, consideration for your wishes. You had never been denied much, truth be told. You had never learned to bear rejection gracefully — because you had never needed to.
So this was utterly foreign to you. To want something so plainly, to ask for it in every way save begging, and still be met with unwavering refusal. It did not sit well. In fact, it sat so poorly that it had begun to fester into something sharper.
Irritation. No, more than that. Offense.
How dare he deny you? You were his wife, and yet he treated you as though you were so easy to ignore, as though you were an inconvenience.
It stung more than you cared to admit. Back home, you had been wanted. There had been no shortage of suitors. And you had chosen none of them. Or rather, the choice had been made for you. So you had wed Prince Maekar Targaryen, imagining that a prince — a dragon — would surely want you as fiercely as those other men had. Perhaps even more.
But instead, you got this. A husband who treated your presence like an affliction he must endure with stoic grace.
Your shared chambers were cloaked in darkness, save for the low burn of the hearth and the soft glow cast by a handful of candles scattered throughout the room.
It was late. The quiet of the night engulfed the two of you, the kind of silence that pressed close.
You were already in bed when he finished removing his outer layers, though not asleep. The thin nightgown you wore was indecently soft and airy, the silken fabric catching firelight every time you shifted. You had to admit, you had chosen this particularly revealing dress on purpose. Perhaps this would finally persuade him.
Maekar noticed quicker than he wanted to, yet he didn’t let it show.
He moved to his side of the bed with the same controlled precision he brought wherever he went. He settled onto his back, hands folded carefully atop the blankets while he stared at the canopy as if it had offended him.
The same distance he always kept from you, also applied to your sleeping arrangement. He positioned himself as far from the center of the bed as physically possible. Far enough that you might as well have been sleeping in separate chambers altogether.
You turned onto your side, watching his profile in the dim glow. He was so handsome it almost stole the breath from your lungs. The silver hair that framed his face was just as silky and smooth as it always was. His beard was groomed and clean, providing a light contrast against the warmth of his skin. His brows were drawn together in brooding contemplation, creating deep furrows and lines between them that spoke of years of displeased frowning. Your gaze lingered on those lines for a moment before drifting downward, stopping at his straight nose for a few heartbeats. But then your eyes settled on his mouth, watching the curve of his lips, noticing how his beard grew close enough to slightly touch and frame the upper lip.
Your shameless stare felt strangely intimate, your mind not being quite able to comprehend that this man was your husband now. Yours alone. And as you ogled his lips, you could not stop your mind from conjuring up images and thoughts of how his beard would feel on your—
You blinked, hard, scolding yourself silently as embarassment cursed through you — No matter how much you wanted, how much you asked and pushed him, he would not even glance in your direction, it seemed to you. Your frustration built and built the more you pondered about the situation and it finally boiled over.
“Must you always look as though sharing the bed is a punishment?” you snapped.
His jaw tightened faintly, his eyes avoiding yours. “Sleep.”
Sleep, he said, and you almost scoffed. It took you a moment to really absorb his word — and the audacity of it. Anger rose up in your chest and spread as quickly as wildfire.
You abruptly rose into a sitting position, eyes burning with the pent-up anger you have tried to swallow for too long now.
“Do not tell me to sleep,” you hissed so suddenly, his head snapped in your direction. At least he was looking at you now, his lilac eyes burning into yours. “Do you intend to ignore me until the day I die?”
Your question was not one born of desperation, yet you hated how you sounded — like a fool begging to be noticed.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t ignore you—”
“You do,” you shot back. “We have been married for over a fortnight and you barely even glance at me.”
“I glance at you plenty,” he argued.
“No.”
He rolled his eyes “It matters not.”
“It clearly does,” you pressed, sitting up straighter. “If you find me so repulsive, then say it plainly.”
He now rose as well, his eyes ablaze with furious confusion.
You were young, so achingly young, and he could not shake the feeling that he was somehow stealing something precious from you simply by being your husband. He simply felt too old for this. Too old for you. Too weathered, too hardened by years of war and anger and sorrow.
He refused to be the kind of man who would force himself upon you, who would take what he wanted simply because the law and custom said he could. You may be his wife in name, bound to him by vows spoken before gods and witnesses, but that did not mean you truly understood what you were asking for when you looked at him with those eyes full of want and determination.
“Repulsive,” he repeated slowly, his voice dropping to a near-growl. “You think that is the bloody issue?”
You met his gaze unflinchingly. “What else am I to think? You avoid me as though I carry the plague.”
He leaned closer then, just slightly, and you felt your breath catch. The distance between you suddenly felt charged. Tense.
You were young, he told himself again, as if repetition might make it easier to bear. Young and perhaps foolish enough to mistake curiosity for genuine desire. How could you possibly know what you wanted when you had known so little of the world, of men, of the weight of such intimacy?
His restraint, he convinced himself, was not cruelty but protection. He was saving you from something you might regret come morning light. He was giving you time to understand, to be certain beyond doubt. This distance he maintained was a kindness, even if you could not see it as such. Even if it made you angry.
“You have no fucking idea,” he said quietly, “how much restraint it requires to share this bed with you night after night.”
Your heart stuttered. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Then why—”
"You are young,” he cut you off, his voice rough.
“I am no child,” you said firmly. “And I do not wish to be treated as one.”
“The time will come,” he said, his words sounding final.
You let out a dramatic huff of frustration, flopping back against the pillows with perhaps more force than necessary. “You are infuriating.”
“I have been told worse.”
Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched. “I am certain you have.”
A beat of silence, leaving you to each of your own thoughts. You, sulking, and him, trying not to lose his temper.
“You should not have worn that.”
Your heart skipped. You turned your head to look at him. “What?”
“That nightgown.” His jaw was tight again. “I know exactly what you’re doing.”
This time you could not help the small, satisfied smile that crept across your face. “And is it working?”
“Stop grinning like a bloody fool,” he sighed, though it was obvious he avoided the question deliberately.
“You did not answer my question.”
“You,” he retorted, “are relentless.”
You stretched out your arms above your head, deliberating letting your nightgown shift just slightly. “Then we are well-matched.”
His eyes flicked down for the briefest moment before snapping away again, and you caught the faintest hint of color rising along his neck.
Victory, small as it was, tasted sweet.
His jaw worked. You could see the war waging behind his eyes, the careful control he maintained so rigidly beginning to fracture.
“You don’t know what you are asking for.”
You wanted to contradict him, even if he spoke truth. Because you didn’t know what you were asking for. You were a virgin, and have never laid with a man before.
This didn’t stop you from wanting him to be the first, though.
“Show me,” you murmured, voice suddenly softer. “Please.”
“You should be grateful I have not taken what you speak of.”
“Grateful?” you repeated. “I told you what I want and you simply dismiss me.”
A breath of irritation left his nose. “This marriage was not your choice. And I will not be the man who takes what he wants simply because he fucking can.”
He stared down at you with this stern look he always wore like armor. And with his admission you had come to realize, he had been hiding his desire beneath that armor all along.
I will not be the man who takes what he wants simply because he fucking can, echoed in your mind.
A girlish flutter of hope and excitement bloomed in your chest, making you bite down a smirk. “So you do want me?”
A sigh and your name left his lips, spoken like a warning.
That didn’t repel you in the slightest. Instead, you inched closer. Just enough that your knee brushed his thigh beneath the blankets.
“Maekar.”
He exhaled slowly, tilting his head in your direction ever so slightly.
“Yes.” It almost sounded annoyed, though you were sure this was only a pretense. You bit your bottom lip and swallowed once, as you continued looking into his face.
“I want you,” you spoke plainly. “Tonight.”
Silence followed. Charged silence, the eye contact not once broken by either of you.
“You are tired,” he said at last.
Your expression changed into a stubborn pout. “I am not.”
“You are restless.”
Your lips faintly twitched upwards. “Is that what we are calling it?”
After a beat, he turned his head away, breaking the silent sparring.
“Not tonight.”
Your heart sank and a wave of disappointment rolled over you.
He turned away from you, his jaw clenched tight as he stared up at the shadowed canopy above. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken tension and unfulfilled longing.
His mind raced with thoughts he has tried so desperately to suppress, night after night, as he laid beside you in this cursed bed. Because the undeniable truth was that he wanted you so badly it felt like a physical ache.
I want you. Your sweet, hushed words echoed in his mind like a song.
Every night you laid beside him, soft and warm and utterly unaware of the war raging within him. That sweet innocence you carried like a cloak, even beneath all that fire and stubborn spirit, called to something primal in him. You were a contradiction that intrigued him. Fierce yet inexperienced, bold yet untouched, demanding yet so dangerously unaware of just how much power you held over him.
He wanted to touch you. To taste you. To feel you beneath him, yielding and gasping his name into the darkness. He wanted to claim you in every way a husband claimed his wife, to make you his in truth and not just in title. The desire burned hot and relentless beneath his skin, a constant torment that no amount of discipline seemed able to fully extinguish.
Any fool and their mother knew a virgin needed patience. Gentleness. And it terrified him, because if he let that carefully maintained control slip for even a heartbeat, he was not certain he could be the gentle hand you needed.
He feared losing control, because Prince Maekar may not be kind, but neither was he cruel.
“Why not tonight?” you asked stubbornly, shuffling further into his space again. “You shall have me eventually.”
“Eventually,” he said, “doesn’t mean now.”
Silence settled over you again — until you broke it once more.
“You are a coward.”
His head snapped toward you, and if you were unaware that he would never punish you, his intense stare might have frightened you.
“You deny us both and hide behind courtesy and chivalry!” you explained exasperated.
“Mind your tongue.”
Your lips formed into a pout. “… No.”
A long, ragged breath followed, that sounded like exasperation and surrender.
The bed shifted — And before you could process what was happening, his weight was suddenly above you. You gasped, finding him braced on his elbows and hovering over your body. Not crushing, but present. His eyes carried a dangerous glint.
His head was level with your stomach, his silver hair falling forward as he looked up at you with an expression caught somewhere between fury and desperation.
“You don’t know when to stop pushing,” he growled, voice rough and strained.
Your heart hammered wildly in your chest. You had wanted this — wanted him — but now that he was here, so close and so intense, you found yourself frozen beneath his gaze.
“Maekar—“
“Quiet,” he said, though there was no real anger in it. “You wanted my attention. Now you have it.”
You were breathless now. Quieter, with him so close. The space between you had shrunk to nothing, yet somehow it still felt charged. Your voice, which moments ago had been sharp with challenge and defiance, had softened to barely a whisper. More uncertain, though not from fear. It was the closeness of him that stole your words. The weight of him hovering over you, the heat radiating from his body, the intensity in his eyes that seemed to see straight through you.
“Nothing else to complain about?” he mocked, though his face remained serious. Dumbstruck, you could only give the slightest head shake as an answer, your mouth open in a silent breath.
Your chest rose and fell rapidly, caught between the thrill of finally having what you wanted and the overwhelming presence of him, with his entire focus on you.
You could feel the heat of his body seep into your skin, where his chest touched your stomach.
Propped up by his elbows, his hands came up slowly and found the fabric of your gown where it draped over your stomach. A shuddering breath escaped you as you finally felt those fingers on you. Yet even in this moment of victory, your gown proved itself to be quite annoying, a barrier that stood between his touch and your bare skin, when all you wanted was to feel him without anything in the way.
He kept his touch featherlight, his eyes not once leaving yours. Fingertips traced slow patterns over your abdomen. His touch was reverent, as he explored the curves of your body through the thin silk. The fabric shifted and gathered beneath his palm, and you found yourself aching for him to push it aside, to feel his skin against yours without any barrier between you.
Impatience overcame your sense, your body shifting restlessly against the sheets, your hair spilling across the pillow in waves as you arched ever so slightly toward his touch.
“More,” you whispered.
“Tsk,” he scolded, shaking his head in disapproval. Then, he moved his fingers to your bare arms, his calloused palms sliding over your skin. Goosebumps erupted in the wake of his touch, spreading across your flesh as a pleasant shiver rolled through you.
A breathy sigh escaped your lips. His touch stirred something within you that he was unaware of. Or perhaps that was what he wanted you to believe. Perhaps he knew exactly what this did to you, unraveling you with that maddening restraint you already knew too well by now.
If truth was told, the wetness between your thighs had been aching with need since the very moment this charged conversation began, a persistent throbbing warmth that refused to be ignored.
“Is this meant to be a lesson in patience?” you muttered, your voice edged with frustration. “Because I assure you, I’ve had quite enough of those.”
A humorless sound escaped him, something between a scoff and a chuckle.
“Multiple lessons would not even begin to cure your impatience,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp.
His thumb traced another slow, deliberate circle against your skin, maddeningly light.
“You demand and test every boundary I set.” His head tilted slightly, silver hair falling across his brow. “And still you want more.”
A whimper escaped your lips and his jaw tightened.
“See?” he mused. “Even now, you cannot simply enjoy what I give you.”
His other hand came up to cup your face, for the very first time, save for the one time in the Great Sept.
“I could spend a hundred nights teaching you patience,” he said quietly, “and you would still look at me like this. Like I am the one being unreasonable for not giving you everything you want the moment you ask for it.”
A displeased grumble formed in your throat, at which his mouth quirked upwards so faintly you almost missed it.
He moved even further down the bed, his body shifting with deliberate slowness as he settled himself between your naked legs. His head was now level with your lady parts, and it took all the remaining strength in you not to clench your thighs together.
The weight of his presence made your heartbeat pick up considerably, thundering so loudly in your chest that you were certain he could hear it echoing through the quiet chamber.
With agonizing carefulness, he lifted his hand and began to stroke the lightest caresses along the sensitive skin of your legs, each one eliciting a tingle deep in your gut that spread outward like ripples on water. He kept caressing you with that same maddening tenderness, teasing you with touches that promised more but never quite delivered.
“Do you have any idea what I wish to do to you?” he murmured now, eyes seemingly darker. Dark with something primal, something he never allowed you to see until now.
Your breath caught in your throat. The question hung in the air between you, heavy with both promise and restraint.
“Tell me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Please.”
At last she remembered her manners, he thought approvingly.
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, darkened with barely restrained hunger. “I wish to touch every inch of you,” he murmured, voice rough and low. “To learn what makes you tremble and sigh beneath my hands.”
Your breath hitched, and he continued, his thumb tracing maddening circles on your thigh. “I wish to taste you,” he said, the words sending heat flooding through your veins. “To feel you mewl and gasp for more until you forget every word but my name.”
He paused, his jaw clenching as if the confession itself cost him something. “And then, when you are ready, when you beg me for it, I wish to claim you. To make you my wife in truth.”
Your hips bucked upward ever so slightly, your clothed core grazing the rough texture of his beard. You stilled and awaited his reaction with big eyes. When he simply raised one of his eyebrows in silent amusement, you bit your bottom lip to suppress a grin.
“But not tonight.”
next part -> (not yet published)
likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! support content creators <3
Ohhhh 26 Protection for LS/Maekar. I love Baelor but these two always destroy me.
26. — protection.
♱ maekar targaryen x f!stark!reader.
“The stores from Last Hearth came in light again,” Lord Manderly is saying. “Third moon in a row.”
“The harvest was poor in the northern hills,” you say, keeping your voice level. “Lord Umber sent word.”
“Weather,” Dustin mutters, “or priorities.”
“The yield matches what they claimed.” Maekar’s voice is quiet and rough from your left, where he stands with his hands clasped behind his back. “I reviewed the reports myself.”
Manderly shifts in his seat. “With respect, Prince Maekar, reviewing reports isn’t the same as knowing a House’s character.”
The solar goes just a fraction quieter. You can feel the distance in Maekar even as he speaks, the space he keeps between himself and this place that is meant to be his home. He came North out of duty and a king’s command and a woman who loved his brother first. The whole court knew it. But Maekar came anyway, because that’s what iron does: it bends, or it breaks.
He just goes cold instead, the prickly dragon temper dampened by something deeper inside.
“Lord Cerwyn,” you say before the silence can curdle. “Your concerns about the Gift?”
Cerwyn pulls out a parchment. “The wildlings have been bolder, my lady. The mountain clans won’t ride north without incentive, and they don’t trust southerners. They’ll want to negotiate with someone who knows how things are done.” He glances at Maekar from the corner of his eye, clearing his throats. “No offence meant, my prince, but this is northern business.”
“My lord husband spent a fortnight in the clan camps this autumn,” you cut in coolly.
“Aye, well.” Cerwyn shifts his weight at the look on your face. “Understanding and commanding are different things. Winter is coming, Lady Stark, and we need lords who know winter in their bones.” A deliberate pause, so heavy you don’t think anyone in the room is breathing. “Not some southern prince who’s never seen snow stick.”
The room falls deadly quiet. You can hear the fire crackling somewhere behind you, wood snapping in the fire, the wind hammering at the shutters. The other lords are watching, waiting to see what you’ll do.
Maekar doesn’t move. His jaw tightens, but he says nothing, the tendons in his hand ripple with restrain as he slowly clenches his fist. He’s learned that silence in the North is sometimes the only armour worth wearing, but you also see the rigid line of his shoulders, the careful blankness of his expression.
He thinks they’re right, you realise with a sharp pang.
“Lord Cerwyn,” you begin, and your voice cuts clean and cool through the room. “My husband was on the Wall with the Night’s Watch this autumn. Were you?”
Cerwyn’s mouth opens, then closes.
“He rode with the mountain clans through the first storm to settle a border dispute you said was too dangerous. He’s overseen every roof repair in Winter Town, inspected every granary from here to the Gift.” Your fingers curl around the armrests, claws sinking into wood, your brows rising slightly. “He knows winter. He’s learning it by living it. What have you done besides complain?”
The lords stare openly—some with approval, others with surprise. Cerwyn’s face goes red, but he doesn’t argue back. Perhaps the wisest thing he’s done all day.
“My lady,” Maekar says carefully, “Lord Cerwyn speaks from concern. It’s not misplaced.”
He’s giving Cerwyn an out, letting the man retreat with dignity, because Maekar understands the politics of pride as a man who grew up in court even if he’s never been particularly good at navigating it. This is what Baelor would have done, you think dismayed, smooth, measured, strategically smart.
But it’s not Baelor beside you.
“Concern does not excuse discourtesy,” you say flatly. “And I will not have my lord husband questioned in his own hall.” You sweep your gaze across them. “Winter is coming. I want lords who will stand with us, not against us because they don’t like where a man was born.”
You rise. “This council is dismissed.”
The lords file out at once, stubborn or not the north is loyal and you imagine the look on your face is stormy enough for them not to test their luck. Cerwyn moves among them with his head hung low. You don’t watch them go. You’re watching Maekar instead, the blankness gone from his face and something guarded taking its place.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says when the door closes.
“Yes, I did.” You cross to him before he can retreat into that cold distance he wears like armour. “They don’t get to dismiss you. Not in my hall.”
“Your hall,” he repeats, and there’s something bitter in it. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s yours. Winterfell, the North, all of it. I’m just—”
“Mine.” The word comes out fierce, almost possessive. Your hand fists in the front of his tunic, pulling him closer in a gesture that startles you both. “You’re mine, Maekar. My husband. My lord. And I don’t let anyone disrespect what’s mine.”
His breath catches, just a touch, tiniest of hitches. You can see his throat work as he swallows, the muscle there jumping. “Seven hells, woman. You can’t just—”
“I can.” You’re close enough now to feel the heat of him, to see the way his pupils dilate. “You came North for duty. You stayed because you’re too stubborn to quit, but you’re here now, and that makes you mine to protect.”
“Protect,” he echoes, and something in his voice cracks just slightly, a scowl pinching his expression even as his hands come up to grip your waist, fingers digging in just shy of bruising. “Is that what you’re calling it?”
“What would you call it?”
“Claiming.” The word is rough, almost accusing, but his hands tighten on you. “You claimed me in front of them. Made it clear I’m yours.”
“You are.”
He makes a sound low in his throat, hard-edged and mean. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
“Then tell me, husband.”
Maekar just stares at you, jaw working, that iron control warring with something hungrier. Then he yanks you against him properly, one hand sliding into your hair to angle your head back. “You stood there and defended me like I’m something worth keeping. Like you’d gut anyone who tried to take me from you.”
You watch him from under your lashes. “I would.”
“Gods.” His forehead drops to yours, breath coming hard. “You mean that.”
“Every word.” Your fingers curl tighter in his tunic. “You’re mine, Maekar. I don’t care who I loved before or what anyone thinks. You’re what I have now, and I’m not giving you up.”
Something shifts in his expression, the last of that careful distance crumbling . “Say it again.”
“You’re mine.”
“Again.”
“Mine.” You pull him down and press your lips lightly to the uneven texture of his cheek. “My husband. My lord. My problem to deal with.”
He laughs, low and rough, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. “Your problem.”
“My responsibility.” Your hand slides up to cup his jaw, feeling the scratch of stubble. “And if Cerwyn or anyone else wants to question that, they can answer to me.”
“Fierce little wolf,” he murmurs, but there’s heat in his eyes now, something possessive matching your own. His thumb traces your bottom lip. “Didn’t know you had claws like that, wife.”
“I’m a Stark. We always have claws.” You bite gently at his thumb, making his eyes darken. “And you’re pack now. That means I protect you.”
“Pack,” he repeats, testing the word. Then, quieter: “Yours.”
“Mine.”
He kisses you properly this time, harder and claiming, no room for doubts, backing you against the table until the edge digs into your spine. His hands map your waist, your hips, claiming in turn, and you let him, give as good as you get, until you’re both burning with it.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark and his voice is gravel. “If this is what northern marriages look like, I’ve been underestimating the North.”
“You’ve been underestimating me.” You straighten his tunic where you wrinkled it. “Don’t make that mistake again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, my lady.” But there’s something raw in his face, something grateful and hungry and almost soft, as much as a hard man could get. “Your hall. Your husband. Your dragon to protect.”
“Good.” You press one more kiss to his mouth, quick and fierce. “Now let’s go show those fools we’re a united front.”
His hand catches yours as you turn, lacing your fingers together. The grip is solid, sure, no hesitation. “Together, then.”
Summery: You had made it very clear already. You had absolutely no intentions of marrying Luca Changretta for a business deal.... So your brothers really should have been suspicious when you eagerly requested for them to set up a meeting for you and your fiancé one neutral ground.... And they should have been scared when you choose Alfie's shipyard as that neutral ground....
A/N: Hi Y'all! No trigger warnings besides peaky language and threats I think! There are talks about an arranged marriage, but once again we'll see how that goes over.... This is the first time I've like written Luca besides just mentions so I hope I did alright! Also I write this like two weeks ago but forgot to edit it until today oops! Enjoy!❤️
WC-5.0k
Part 1- The Proposal Main Masterlist
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"Remind me again why the fuck we're we're here Tom?"
"Ask her. She was the one who choose the meeting place."
"Keep in mind that she can also hear you perfectly well brother darling, and if you ask that question one more time you won't be so lucky."
Arthur raised his hands in surrender as he took a seat by John as you all sat waiting for your company to arrive. Well, Tommy didn't sit. He just stood with a cigarette hanging from his mouth watching the entrance gate of the loading dock.
"All I don't understand is why you wanted to meet him here. After all, we're Romani blood right?"
"Yes Arthur."
"And Luca's Italian blood?"
"Correct"
"So why the fuck are we meeting at the fucking Jew's shipyard?"
"I actually agree with that. Why are we here? Isn't it suppose to be neutral ground or what not?" John chimed in and even Tommy tilted his head in concession. Even he wasn't sure why you choose to meet Luca in Alfie's territory. He would have rather met in Charlie's yard, but you'd insisted on being here, in the small boat yard on the edge of Alfie's territory.
"Simple. If he hates both of you he can't favor either of you. Thus neutral land is formed."
"That's some wise fucking words if I've ever heard them, poppet."
Turning around you smiled at the approaching gangster, his loyal dog strolling a few steps ahead. Reaching out you began to coo at the large dog who was eager to receive his belly rubs. Playing with Cyril always improved your mood. You ignored the groans of your brothers and John grabbing on to Arthur's coat to he decided to lunge.
"Hello Arthur!"
"Fuck off!"
"Oi! No fighting," you interrupted getting between the two men, "Now he may hate you all, but he can still hate one more than the other so let's not push it."
Alfie nodded his head mockingly behind you as you gently shoved your eldest brother away. Sending him back to his seat, you gave Tommy a short glare for not stepping in, to which he just shrugged, and then turned towards Alfie again.
"But really why are you here?"
"Can't a man walk his own property?"
"Sure, but you said everything would be ready for when Mr. Changretta arrived. You're not suppose to be here. It's to be a private affair."
"And it is. Just making one last check to see if you lot are all ready and make one last proposal of my own. Also I wanna remind ya not to get any blood on my dock. Just had it redone all nice and such. I wouldn't want your ugly guts staining the finish. I saw their ugly fucking cars pulling up down the street on my way in. Should be here any minute. It's a shame thou init? Pretty thing like you is too good for any of these cunts. If you'd like I can kill them all now and you can run with me, eh poppet? You can play with my dog any day you want."
You laughed as both Arthur and John stood up this time with indignant protests. Even Tommy tensed up and turned to glare at the man who had spoken.
"Alright then Mr. Solomons," you drawled, patting the man's chest, "While that is just a lovelyoffer, unfortunately I am already taken for," a quick glare at Tommy, "though you're welcome to leave the dog anytime. He's such a lovely boy." Cyril wagged his tail at the attention shoving his head into your leg like an over grown cat looking for head scratches. Ones you were more than happy to oblige.
"Well then, I best be off now haven't I mates? Unlike you lot I know to appease a pretty woman with her desires. Y/N." Alfie nodded his head as he stared to head off, Cyril waiting until his master had called thrice before leaving your side. It wasn't until they'd both rounded the corner when the company you'd finally be waiting for arrived. Three black cars pulled up smoothly before coming to a halt. From your place in the shipping yard you watched nine men exit the cars. A few more than you had expected but still not any issue.
Your brothers walked up first, and you saw Tommy moving to shake someone's hand. The man was tall with dark slicked back hair and he wore his hat slightly tilted on his head. He looked stupid. In his mouth sat a toothpick that he seemed to enjoy munching on as he listened to your brother speak. He looked like a cow when he did that you'd stubborn decided. A stupid cow. A handsome cow. But a handsome stupid cow. Stupid. handsome. cow man. asshole.....ok so obviously still you weren't happy to be there. After all, this was the man who threatened to kill your entire family. Even the children, and you made a habit of disliking anyone willing to harm children. They didn't have to want any of their own or even like them in general, but to be willing to harm something so innocent to the crimes being punished seemed wrong to you. So even without meeting the man you knew you despised him. What kinda lowlife monster would be willing to hurt innocent kids to get his revenge? ....Evidently one you're brothers we're willing to marry you too. But was there really no other deal he'd make for peace? Well....If things went to plan you were about to find out.
"I'm glad you were able to consider my proposal Mr.Shelby, I think it's much nicer this way isn't it?"
You didn't even try to hide your disbelieving laugh as the New York Gangster's words reached your ears. Immediately the attention went you, and since he was closer now, you could see the faint outline of a permanent stubble outlining his lower face. Stupid veryhandsome cow man. As he looked towards you for the first time Luca raised and eyebrow.
"Do you find something amusing?"
Tilting your head slightly, you smiled with a false sweetness. Out of the side of your eye, you noticed your brothers tensing up slightly. Be it from the fact Luca was so close or that you interrupted their conversion. Either way, they began to notice the glint in your eye. And slowly they were regretting allowing you to meet Luca before the wedding. As if an introduction at the alter would have been any better.
"Yes. Very amusing in fact. See, I came here thinking it was ME being proposed to," clasping a hand mockingly to your chest you continued, "But here we are and the only one being romanced is my beloved brother. ...Well, romanced isn't the word, that's got to be the shittiest proposal I've ever heard. 'I'm glad you've considered my proposal'.... poppycock! Aren't you Italians suppose to be good at this romance shit?"
Arthur choked on his tongue besides you as Tommy spoke your name in warning, which you ignored. Luca moved his toothpick around his mouth and he gave you a once over. If you hadn't already been set on hating this man, his stare would have sent a pleasant shiver down your back in a way few could these days. Finally, letting out a small but still amused hum, Luca reached out to shake your hand.
"Y/N, I presume?"
"Shelby. Y/N Shelby....Miss Y/N Shelby is my name. And you are too close, back up," you stated firmly. The special emphasis on both 'Shelby' and 'Miss' was more than enough to let anyone know your feelings on the current situation. Luca only raised his eyebrow again and rescinded his unaccepted hand.
"I'm Lu...."
"I know who you are," you interrupted.
"Really," Luca queried. Surely you didn't know enough about him then if you were treating him so flippantly, he thought. He was the man determined to end you entire bloodline only a few weeks ago. You should be terrified of what would happen if he decided he didn't want to marry you!! But no, he thought, instead you were....
"You're the man who thinks finger paintings are scary."
Luca's toothpick fell from his mouth, while John could be heard covering his laugh. Then his eyes narrowed and his voice became slightly darker.
"What did you say?"
Tommy put a hand on your shoulder as he stepped forward to put himself between you two. But before he could open his mouth to take control of the situation again, yours opened first. You waved your hands around in sarcastic excitement as you spoke, imitating the man's voice.
"What were you helping 'mama' with her lesson plan one day, making hand turkeys and decide, 'ohhh THUMBS! Terrifying?! That'll be a great way to show people not to mess with me!'"
Luca's eye twitched and if he hadn't already lost it, you were sure he would have snapped the toothpick between his teeth, his jaw was clenched so tightly.
"Watch your tone with me woma..."
"OR WHAT? You'll send me a finger painting?"
Arthur wrapped an arm around your waist and began to pull your back. No, he didn't like how Luca was speaking to you, but he also didn't want you to start a war of your own today. Even if he had a good idea you'd win. And yet still you weren't deterred.
"Can it be pink and have confetti? OOHH or maybe it can be red like the blood that's gonna run down your throat when imaamuahhh," Arthur hissed as you bit the hand covering your mouth, but it was enough time for Tommy to finally step in again. Briefly...
"She doesn't mean that. It's the fa..."
"He's right! I don't!" You interjected again, freeing yourself of your eldest brother, "I'm not actually a fan of blood, so I won't slit your throat, but I'd be carefully of the champagne at the after party. Never know what slips in the cups these days..."
This time it was John who grabbed you, though not as roughly as Arthur, but luckily for everyone you had finished.... for now. The entire yard was silent and even Tommy was at a small loss for what to say. Truth be told he didn't know if there was anything to say. It was a long enough shot to convince Luca that marriage would be a way to end the vendetta and now here you were, possibly ruining that chance within half an hour. While he could understand your anger, there was still a part of him that was annoyed at the fact you could be so tactless. Another part though, the part that was still your big brother, was incredibly proud and resisting the urge to laugh at your comments. Luca however, remained unimpressed.
"My apologies, Miss Shelby," Luca restated, started to become more than annoyed with your antics. Surely, you knew that he was the one holding the power here? If your family had it, there was no way they'd have even considered the marriage. He was the one holding all the cards and you were instead choosing to act as though this entire plan was your idea. In a quieter, and deceitfully threatening voice, Luca ignored your demand for space and leaned closer to your ear. "Though, one would think for a woman in your situation, you'd be a little more welcoming to your fiancé. After all, I've been so generous to reconsider my previous message of vendetta, haven't I Bella?"
John could be heard whispering to Tommy, probably demanding to be allowed to hit the taller man, but he was held back. Again, you ignored your brothers instead focusing on the man before you, who's just said one of the worst things he could have.
"Generous? You think you're generous to try and force a woman into marriage and take her away from her family? Is it generous to not to kill children in exchange for someone else's freedom? Do you expect me to be happy, fucking happy, to have to spend the rest of my life with you when I don't even know you? I don't who you are or what you might do to me. You expect me to just follow your every whim and play housewife, knowing that one day you may kill me to go after my brothers? Is that what you define fucking generosity as," you fumed, just as angry as you were when you first learned about the new deal. "Well, if that's generous then damn all of the generosity in the world to hell! I agreed to come here today to meet you for my family. I am agreeing to consider giving up some of my freedom for their safety, when I'm not even the one who started this whole mess. I could have said no. I could have left them to fend for themselves and likely die over a needless feud, but I didn't. Because I was the one who decided to be generous. I am the one willing to give up something good that I have, to keep spending bad from happening to someone else. That is generous. My drawback for their benefit. I didn't have to do it but I did. Because I love them. So unless you're more incompetent than you've come off so far, I'd try thinking of a better word than generous for that little statement if I was you," speaking tersely you dared Luca to question your speech. Then taking a deep breath you closed your eyes off a moment.
His last comment had thrown you off, setting you off in a way you hadn't meant to go. And while your words were true, this isn't where you wanted the conversation to go. Not if your plan was going to work. It couldn't work if you'd pushed Luca too far too fast. He needed to be in just the right spot for the biggest blow to make the most efficient impact. Sighing, you straightened your shirt and looked down at your shoes. Your glare dropped and an almost desperate look appeared in your eyes briefly.
"Besides.... is it too much to ask for a proper proposal? Like the one from a story that makes you dream of true love," Tilting your head in an almost wistfully sad way, you'd met Luca's gaze again, noticing that by some miracle he's eyes had softened just slightly. "Even if it's not true it would be nice to pretend wouldn't it? To actually be asked to be one's forever even if it seems there's only one answer? Can't I at least be granted that?"
Luca thought for a moment, taking the time to pull a new toothpick from his pocket. Shooting a brief glance over your shoulder, he saw your brothers staring at him intensely from a few steps behind. It crossed his mind that if he truly did want to, he could kill you here and now. Because he really did have the power in this fight. You stood within half an arms reach and the eight men he'd brought with him far outnumbered your three brothers. It could be an easy fight, over in mere seconds, damned how neutral this ground was suppose to be. He could kill you all now and the vendetta would be settled, AND he wouldn't ever have to deal with your infuriating brothers or your even more infuriating comments ever again. You had showed him no respect up to this point and if it were anyone else they'd have been dead after the first interruption. But you weren't dead, and for some reason, some unknown feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach, Luca wanted do keep it that way. So he unwittingly did exactly what you wanted him to do.
"You want a proper proposal," Luca drawled, his eyes falling to your lips once and his voice was calmer now, almost softly curious, like he sympathized with your plea, "Is that it? Me asking you, and that's all it'll take for this to be done? You'll be good and stop fighting?"
Smiling sweetly again, a more genuine smile this time you nodded, clasping you hands together and placing them behind you almost shyly as you rocked your feet. It was a complete change from your attitude moments ago. Like all it took was to believe someone was listening to you, for you to become this sweet little demure creature from the fairytales his mother taught in her class.
And somehow, naively Luca didn't realize the fairytale of your own act now. Giving a pleased smile, at what he assumed was your acceptance of the deal, he nodded, silently agreeing to your desires. Despite your beliefs Luca didn't think of himself as a monster, nor did he want an unhappy marriage either. He didn't necessarily care if you loved him, but it would be nice if he knew you wouldn't betray him. And if he could please his wife, he figured life would be so much easier for him in that matter. So he supposed he could give you this one thing you seemed to so closely desire. Besides, there was, again, this almost funny feeling that had settled in Luca's stomach. He couldn't say what it was but there was apart of him that was almost.... excited to be able to actually propose to you instead of just meeting you at the alter. It was something he couldn't explain and wouldn't admit yet but it was there. And so the next words from his mouth would seal both your fates.... or so he thought as he took the toothpick out of his mouth to fulfil your wish.
"Y/N Shelby? Would you like to..."
"Wait, not like that!"
Luca froze, his head tilting in confusion at the light frown that has formed on your face. Your brothers, as well as Luca's own men could be here whispering in the background. None of them were really sure what was going on now, but none of them moved, all equally curious to see where this was going.
"Not like that? Didn't you just say you wanted me to propose?"
"Yes, but I also said propose properly," you insisted, "if you don't do it the right way it may as well mean nothing."
"And what exactly does 'proper' mean by your standards? What do you want me to do?" There was a small amount of sarcasm in his words due to a voice in his mind that was starting to get annoyed again, but Luca ignored it. It didn't even take you a second of thought before your smile returned. As had the look that worried your brothers in the first place.
"It means get on your knees Mr. Changretta."
Silence echoed across the entire shipyard. Almost all the men present stood in shock, eyes wide, even Tommy at what you'd just said. Luca however just tilted his head to the side, his hat looked straight now, processing. The deceptively sweet smile still lingered on your face as you waited for a response.
"You said to get on my knees.... to propose to you?" he repeated slowly, wanting to confirm you'd actually just demanded that of him. He wanted to be sure you had the audacity to order such from him.
"I want you on your knees Luca....now."
....
Luca listened.
For some reason, one nobody would ever be able to explain, he did as you said. The toothpick was clenched tightly between his lips as he slowly lowered himself to one knee, eyes locked with yours the entire time. His men could be heard whispering to each other behind him, and Luca knew he'd have to have a talk with them later about what they saw. Luca took a deep breath in, contemplating if this was actually going to happen, if he was actually doing this....Evidently he was.
"Y/N Shelby..." he paused a moment as you stuck out your hand indicating he should take it... He did. You couldn't see it, but Tommy was looking up at sky, lips tightly together trying to hide his smirk. John and Arthur did have to turn around to hide their grins now too. Luca started again. The words were spoken with a slight hint of sarcasm as he repeated by the title you'd reminded him of earlier. Luca tilted his head in question, and if he did it any more his hat probably would have fallen off.
"Y/N Shelby, Miss Y/N Shelby.... would you do me the honor of marrying me, Luca Changretta, and become my wife?"
"No."
Luca almost choked on his toothpick, he inhaled so quickly, his cheeks darkening a slight tint of red. You hadn't even paused for a moment to think, bluntly rejecting the man on his knees before you. Squeezing his hand lightly, you smiled again, though now Luca could see the true meaning of the look and realised that you never had any intentions of accepting his proposal at al. You just wanted to make a fool out of him down on his knees. Quickly, that embarrassment turned to anger as Luca shot to his feet, pulling you closer by the hand and seething in your face. Behind you, your brothers shot into action as well, all tensing up and reaching for their guns. But they knew that even if necessary, they'd have no shot as you were practically shielding Luca with you body because if where they stood.
"That's is enough! Who the fuck do you think you are to fucking make me kneel..."
"Step back Luca," you interrupted, undetected by his ranting, but he ignored you.
"Don't tell me to fucking step back woman. If you think you can treat me...."
"Step back Luca," you repeated again calmly, but it only served to anger him more.
"STEP BACK! Step fucking back!! I will stand wherever I fucking want to stand," and with that he stepped even closer, to where the tip of his nose was touching yours. "You don't seem to understand anything going on."
"Actually I..."
"NO! Your precious brothers are going to have a bullet coming out of every fixing hole they have in ten seconds in you don't fucking listen," His hands were on your shoulders know gripping you roughly. The toothpick in his mouth almost stabbing you in the face as he spoke. "You are not the one in power here, I am. You do not make the calls, I do. I am the one who can tear apart everything you hold dear." Luca leaned his head back arrogantly, looking down at you over nose. He was still less than an arm's length part. "I have nine men and you have three. So who's to fucking stop me from killing your brothers and having my way with you right now?"
A shot rang though the air.
Luca's toothpick was still in his mouth, but now half of it had been blown to sawdust by the bullet passingly cleanly before his face.
You just smiled...
"I told you to step back Luca..."
Every man in the ship yard ignored you, reaching for their guns, trying to find the shooter. Even your brothers looked around, slightly panicked, not knowing who fired the gun.... Or whose side they were on. The surprise of the shot, had loosened Luca's grip on you as you freed yourself and took a few steps back. Two more shots rang out from somewhere, landing close to Luca's feet, creating more space between the pair of you as he stumbled back. Then the shipyard went quiet again. Not a single man moved, for fear the next shots wouldn't be so harmless. Still searching for the ambusher Luca turned towards Tommy.
"I thought you said this was neutral ground! It's suppose to be private," He demanded, completely ignoring the fact he, himself had just threatened you on the very same neutral ground.
"It is. Or it's fucking suppose to be. I have no clue what's going on," Tommy replied, just as concerned. He should have known Alfie would play dirty. He hadn't counted on you doing it either though.
"But it's just that Mr. Changretta," clasping your hands together, you started towards the Italian man again, having no fear of getting shot. "As I told my brothers earlier, 'If he hates both of you he can't favor either of you. Thus neutral land is formed.' And I promise, Alfred Solomons hates both of you."
Luca huffed and narrowed his eyes. "I suppose this was your doing too?"
"Of course. See that 'you' is spelled without an 'me'.....and me, well I, have a very good relationship with a certain man's dog. And it is just amazing what a man will do when his dog likes you."
No one spoke so you continued. Though your face remained composed in an accomplished grin, you were almost bouncing on the balls of your feet due to your excitement. Your plan was going very nicely. Laughing, you carelessly spun around once, observing the mass of boxes and boats and building around you.
"They're amazing are they? Snipers? Could shoot your hat off from half a mile away and you'd have never even heard the shot. Do you know how many snipers during the war were Jews? I don't, but I understand that Mr. Solomons employee a decent number of them. And when my dear friend heard of this whole marriage ploy?.....Well he righteously shared my outrage and offered to help me." Now you had taken to walking circles around your target. Now Luca realised that it was in fact you who had all the power, since the moment his tires hit the yard's ground. "And luckily for you, I did manage to curve his "help" from something a little bit less...murdery? Perhaps. After all, I do prefer to avoid violence if I can. There are so many more civilised methods than that...And finally we settled on this. The 'official engagement' taking place in this very yard, where I politely ask you to rethink your offer. And if you don't, we try to renegotiate.... and if you don't agree to that.... well. Luca you were wrong earlier..... I have far more than three men. All of who are very inclined to keep me safe. Now they've been instructed not to injury unless necessary, but that doesn't mean they can't give a warning shot. It doesn't mean they have to either. They were being very very nice just now. And you can't see them, but I promise they've had their sights on you for a while now. Why not give them a smile and then I'll tell you how this is gonna go." You opened your arms wide as if showing off everything. Luca just watched chewing on the half of his toothpick that remained.
"How what's gonna go?" It actually wasn't Luca who spoke up. Nor was it your brothers. One of Luca's men, had asked the question. You turned and smiled at the man nodding you head once as if pleased that someone was participating. Luca made a mental note to beat the man later for encouraging you.
"See I really don't want to marry you. I don't love you. I don't even know you. There's also the fact you threatened everyone I love. But I also understand you and my brothers' small minds are incapable of imagining deals involving anything other than fighting or fucking and I don't particularly want to do either of those things with it right now. So I've come up with a new plan and who knows, maybe it'll work out in everyone's favour. Are you ready to hear it?" You paused waiting for a response. When none came you raised and eyebrow and made a point of glancing towards a rooftop over Luca's shoulder. "Do you want to know how this will work Luca?"
"Fine."
"Perfect! So you WILL take back your little finger paintings, but I will NOT be marrying you anytime soon. However, for the good of our families I am presenting another option. Luca Changtetta, I will NOT marry you on a whim, but," You paused for a moment for dramatic effect, waiting until Luca tilted his head. "Should you agree... I will let you take my hand in courtship for one year. And I promise it will not be easy for you. If you manage to whoo me, the you can have your marriage. If not.... Well then I should hope by that day we are close enough friends to put the past behind us and everyone can go their separate ways."
Luca tilted his head in confusion, "What?"
Bloody hell, this man needed to pick up a romance novel. Huffing slightly your reworded your demands.
"Luca, you have a year to date me and make me fall in love with you. If you do I'll marry you. If not the you have a whole year to give up or come up with a better plan than killing everyone. Got it?"
"Why the fuck didn't you just say that in the first place? And what if I don't want to court you?"
"Because I didn't wanted to. And if you don't want to play then you can give up now or let the snipers play target practice."
Luca nodded his head and thought for a moment. The right choice was obvious as the fact that you were crazier than Alfred Solomons. After all, first you were threatening to kill him for trying to marry you, and now he had a year to change your mind. Luca's hand was still wrapped around his gun and he had half a mind to use it. The only thing keeping him from shooting you was the fact he knew, he'd have at least five bullets in him before he pulled the trigger. The obvious choice was to walk away now and give up the vendetta. You had just told him he could stop and you all could go your separate ways. No one else would have to die. All he had to do was give up, admitting you'd outsmarted him. He'd have to admit that you did hold all the power.
"Well, Mr. Changretta? What do you think of my proposal?"
Luca didn't like admitting anyone else had the power... Even if looked very good on you. And so his choice was made.
"I suppose I better learn your favorite type of flower amore."
Summary: Aemond fights well in a tourney and Laenyra is crowned a queen. Smut ensues.
Links: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV
Laenyra was already in his rooms by the time Aemond had left training, washed and had dinner with his mother. She was staring into the fireplace as he entered, the fire burning more fiercely than necessary but dragons loved the heat.
“Hello, my love.” He murmured, barring the door before going to her, standing at her side. “How was dinner with Helaena?”
“We had some enlightening conversations.” She muttered with an air of frustration and Aemond wondered what his sister could have said to ever displease Laenyra.
“Did you have a disagreement?”
“Of course not, I could never fight with Helaena.” Laenyra huffed and looked away from the flames. “I just wish sometimes she would be clearer in her meaning.”
Aemond chuckled.
“I daresay if Helaena were less cryptic we could rule the world.”
“Perhaps she could tell me who to place a wager on tomorrow.” Laenyra’s smile was cheekily endearing and Aemond chuckled.
“I feel upset, dear niece, that you would even think of doubting me.” His voice was light and he pressed a kiss to her cheek, his body dwarfing hers as he moved to hold her in his arms.
Laenyra smiled fondly, looking up at him.
“I could never doubt you.” She murmured with such sincerity that Aemond’s heart warmed and he found himself at a loss for words. “I love you, Aemond.”
Aemond resolved himself and slid his hand up to cup her cheek. His feelings were too strong for such a mundane description though there was nothing and everything else he wished to say.
“I love you too.” He murmured and pressed his lips to hers.
She let out a very pleasant gasp at his eagerness and Aemond grinned to himself, spurred on by her reactions to him. His hands were quick to tug at the clasps of her dress, he had become most knowledgeable about the removal of Laenyra’s clothes.
She pushed at his hands, attempting to step away from him. Aemond merely tugged her closer immediately, tucking his head in her neck.
“Aemond.” Her words were breathless as she once again nudged his hands.
“You are evil, temptress.” Aemond growled against her throat, his lips eager to maintain contact.
“I will happily accept your critiques.” Laenyra murmured, once again removing herself from his grasp. “After you win the tourney.”
Aemond scoffed but noted the sternness of her gaze.
“Alright, temptress.” He huffed, and kissed her hand before relinquishing his hold.
Laenyra smiled at him obeying her command so diligently.
“Bed.” She commanded with a smile, enjoying how quick Aemond was to follow her order again, the two dragons lying in each other’s hold.
Sleep found them soon after, the peace that came with each other’s company granting them a restful night.
Laenyra stretched across the bed, flopping onto Aemond’s chest and nuzzling into him with a happy grumble. Aemond in return, yawned loudly, tugged the sheet upwards to warm them both and pulled Laenyra ever closer, wrapping his arms around her.
There was a long beat of silence, the two dragons relishing in the perfection of their stolen moment.
But concern soon creased Laenyra’s brow.
“You’re thinking too hard, I can hear it.” Aemond murmured, not opening his eye to know Laenyra was deep in thought.
She huffed, turning to gaze up at him, resting her chin on his chest.
“You’re fighting today.” Laenyra said softly.
“An astute prediction.”
Laenyra swatted at him but Aemond caught her wrist easily, pressing a soft kiss to her palm.
“I’m serious.” She insisted and attempted a stern look, though a smile overcame her as he attempted to bite playfully at her fingers.
“So am I, perhaps you can earn money from making such predications for the court.” He jested.
“Aemond.” Laenyra said, her tone fiercer and she sat up, her hair cascading over her shoulders in dark waves. He was immediately distracted and made a move to tug at her tresses but she pushed his hand away.
Aemond huffed and reached for her again, but she deflected his touch with ease.
“What is wrong, my love?” He asked in mild exasperation, not understanding why she was distressed.
“You could get hurt, Aemond. You are making jests but what if you are injured?”
Her concern touched him, though Aemond was too arrogant to feel any fear about the afternoon’s tourney. But her fear for his safety cast a guilt over him.
“I will not be harmed, Laenyra.” He said softly and sat up properly, regarding her with worry. “No one fighting in this tourney is a worthy match, it will be a simple affair and I will be your champion.”
Laenyra failed to stop another grasp at her hair, though she was calmed by the confidence in his voice.
“You’re sure?” She asked quietly, she could not bear it if anything happened to her prince.
“Yes.” Aemond said firmly.
Laenyra allowed herself to be pacified for the time being. However the worry resurfaced hours later, the castle hosted drinks before the tourney as a chance for the contenders to be shown off by their patrons, and potentially find new supporters.
Helaena had not joined them for the event, choosing instead to rest before the tourney, though she would likely not enjoy that either.
Therefore Laenyra was left alone, Aemond was expected to stand by his mother and father, presenting formally to the court. Laenyra was under no such requirements as her mother was on Dragonstone, and could therefore enjoy the buffet.
She met the eye of Ser Adrian, who was guarding one of the entrance ways and attempting to keep his charge within sight. The two shared a smile and Laenyra was tempted to join her knight, though propriety demanded she mingled with the court.
“Princess Laenyra.” She spun on her heel at the new voice, her skirts twirling as she faced the stranger. He was a tall man, his tunic bearing an unfamiliar sigil so he was either from a lesser house or had crafted a new sigil for himself. “I am Ser Harten Mester.”
He bowed formally and everything about him seemed polite, though she couldn’t shake an unsettling feeling about the man.
“Nice to meet you, Ser.” Laenyra said curtly, wondering why he had approached her, especially unaccompanied by a mutual acquaintance, as was expected in the formal court setting.
“I must say, Princess and I hope you do not mind me in saying.” Ser Harten was no doubt about to say something Laenyra would mind him saying but she could not find a good enough reason to stop him. “That you are truly as beautiful as the people say, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Laenyra attempted a smile though it would no doubt come across as more of a frown.
“Thank you, Ser.” She said stiffly. “You are participating in today’s festivities?”
“Yes! Under the patronage of Lord Jason Lannister.” He boomed with a smug grin. “It is a joy to fight in tourneys, and an even bigger pleasure to fight for a woman as fine as yourself.”
Laenyra shifted on the spot, her dislike for the newcomer growing and her discomfort obvious. It only took a moment for Aemond to appear by her side, shoulders tense and eager to pounce. He had clearly been watching in case she needed him.
“Prince Aemond.” Even his voice was pompous and Laenyra fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I was just expressing to our princess how much of an honour it is to fight in her name.”
“‘Our’?” Aemond growled quietly, but Ser Harten missed the danger of his tone.
“Yes, I think we’re all looking forward to the tourney.” Laenyra said quickly, eager to avoid any unnecessary confrontation.
Ser Harten looked at her condescendingly and Laenyra felt an anger rise within her. He looked over her head to Aemond, chuckling as though she had said something hilariously foolish.
“I daresay it will be very exciting for the women to watch, though I do hope you don’t overexcite yourself.”
Aemond opened his mouth to shut down the blatant disrespect but Laenyra cut him off before he could begin.
“I suggest you reassess your mindset, Ser. I am perfectly capable of observing a tourney, though it will be interesting to see if you are capable of winning it.”
Ser Harten chuckled aggravatingly.
“You are most amusing, Princess, I will see you later on.” His smile was leering and Aemond made a move to step forward, only stopped by Laenyra tugging at his wrist.
The man swaggered away and she was relieved to have him gone.
“Who was that?” Aemond growled savagely and despite the multiple people surrounding them, slipped his hand into Laenyra’s, needing her touch to calm him.
“Ser Harten Mester, a knight in the service of Lord Jason.” Laenyra murmured disapprovingly, surprising herself with her own sudden distain. “He said he will be participating today.”
“Hmm.” Aemond hummed, falling into thought.
“He seems like a right old cunt.”
Laenyra dropped Aemond’s hand as Aegon’s voice rang out behind them. She turned to see her older uncle’s gaze set with a frown upon the knight, who was now pestering Lady Fell.
“I have to agree, uncle.” She said stiffly, though a trace of a smile was evident as she dared to condone such rude language.
Aegon chuckled and patted her on the back, his other hand grasping a goblet of Dornish wine.
“I am glad we can finally agree on something, niece.” He toasted her teasingly.
“Is he a proficient sword?” Laenyra asked, turning to face Aegon, who shrugged.
“Ser Erryk praised his skill on horseback and Jason Lannister keeps harping on about how skilled Ser Harten is, that he will win the jousting, but my sworn shield is a fool and lions boast so who is to say.” Aegon did not seem worried for his brother’s safety, or the threat of the freerider, but Laenyra knew Ser Erryk did not deliver praise freely.
“You will be careful, won’t you Aemond?” Laenyra asked quietly, her gaze flickering to her prince, concern rooting within her.
“Do not worry, dear niece, if anything is to happen to our dear Aemond, I will take his place by your side.”
“There will be no need for you, brother.” Aemond drawled, finally looking away from Harten to regard his brother sardonically. “I hope you have not forgotten my warnings from yesterday.”
Aegon shifted uncomfortably, he clearly remembered the sincerity of his brother’s promise.
He was saved however, by the arrival of Lord Tarly. Laenyra was pleased to see the lord again, wishing to enquire more as to wether or not he had more information on her dragon.
“Lord Tarly, how are you?” Laenyra asked with the graciousness of a princess.
“I am well, Princess, as excited as anyone for this afternoon’s proceedings. I hope you are well, as are Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond.”
“They’re fine, we are all well.” She said quickly, much to the dismay of Aemond at being looked over and the amusement of Aegon at his brother’s upset and not having to engage with court members. “Have you had any further news in regards to Horn Hill’s forestry?”
She was too eager for an update about her dragon to even attempt covertness.
“No, I have not, though there are a number of texts I can recommend on the subject if you would like me to.” He offered, disappointed to not be able to provide her with the information she wanted.
“Sounds fascinating.” Aemond muttered beside her, his upset at being overlooked by Lord Tarly’s arrival obvious.
“You are being rude, Aemond.” Laenyra remarked admonishingly.
“Am I?” Her prince asked with such convincing sincerity that Lord Tarly shook his head earnestly.
“Of course not, my prince.” He insisted.
“No, he is.” Laenyra stated, turning to look at Aemond disapprovingly. “You are.”
She saw the corner of his mouth quirk upwards in amusement.
“You have my deepest condolences if you have taken any offence to my words, Lord Tarly.” Aemond remarked, his gaze lingering on his princess before he finally turned to the lord in question.
Lord Tarly, not recognising the insincerity of the apology, shook his head once again with a friendly smile.
“No apology is required, Prince Aemond. I daresay you winning the tourney will be fit enough, I’ve placed a wager on you.”
“A wager on Aemond?” Laenyra asked with a grin, amused at the prospect of her prince fighting to win money for a man he didn’t like.
“Yes, a healthy bet indeed.” Lord Tarly said with a polite smile.
Aegon piped up.
“Who is the favourite to win?” He asked, no doubt trying to garner information before making his own bet.
“Prince Aemond, of course.” Lord Tarly and nodded respectfully to Aemond. “And the man you were talking to, Princess, Ser Harten is expected to do well.”
Laenyra felt her anxiety mount once again.
“He is very skilled?” She asked softly.
“Oh yes, Lord Jason certainly boasts about him and his reputation certainly speaks for itself.” He said with a polite smile, before looking to Aemond. “Though I have no doubt you will win, my prince.”
Laenyra looked to her prince with pleading eyes. Aemond shifted closer under the guise of engaging with Lord Tarly, though his hand moved to hold Laenyra’s.
“It will be alright, I will be fine, my love.” He spoke softly after Lord Tarly and Aegon had left them alone. “And besides, it will be a joy to kick that man into the ground.”
She could not argue that and the pair looked over to see Ser Harten boasting to the court.
“I hope he embarrasses himself in loss.” Laenyra muttered and Aemond snorted at the distain in her voice, his princess did not often dislike someone so quickly.
“I can assist in that.” He offered with a playful grin, though he hurried to rectify his statement as her brow frowned. “I will be so careful though, the most careful anyone has ever been in the history of Westeros.”
Laenyra giggled at his insistent and teasing tone.
“You had better.” She said with a smile, relishing in how happy he was.
The master of revels sounded the horn to announce the commencement of the event and Aemond had to leave in order to prepare himself for the tourney ahead. Laenyra let him go in order to escort Helaena to the tourney, the two princesses followed by Ser Adrian. Though her anxiety built again on the way over, seeing all the bets being laid in anticipation.
She left Helaena and Ser Adrian at the steps leading up to the royal pavilion.
The tent flaps billowed in the wind as Laenyra ducked through them, her heart stuttering at the sight of Aemond in full armour. It had been forged in blackness, the breastplate in the design of a dragon, with emerald embellishments and scaled beaten into the metal.
Laenyra did not give him a chance to speak, stepping forward and kissing him forcefully. Aemond took only a moment to recover from the suddenness of her affections before pulling her to him, his hands eager upon her body.
She pulled away as his hands moved downwards, knowing any further touch would make them both terribly late and at risk of discovery.
“Have you come to grant me your favour, niece?” Aemond asked with a grin, brushing his thumb over her swollen lips.
“Ser Harten favours his left side while walki-” Laenyra began, ignoring his attempt at flirting, she had to know he would be okay.
“Due to an injury that never healed.” Aemond interrupted with an amused look. “I will be perfectly fine, Laenyra.”
His words did calm her, the sincerity of them, but she was still nervous for her prince.
“I will see you after I claim a victory in your honour.” He said softly and kissed her once more. Aemond stroked her cheek and left the tent, readying for the competition.
Laenyra waited a long moment before exiting quietly and making her way over to the royal box. After seating herself, it was only a matter of waiting for the tourney to begin.
The sun was scorching and she was glad for the covering above them. Helaena was beside her, the two of them sat in front of Viserys and Alicent, Aegon slumped next to them with a disinterested manner.
Aemond had remained insistent on fighting in the tourney, telling his princess that no other man would have the opportunity to fight for her honour or in her name and that he would win for her. It had been a very romantic proclamation, though it did nothing to quell the nerves building up within her.
The royal pavilion was not as full as it would have been in the day of her mother, but Laenyra was still excited to see the new faces, many of them attendees of Aegon’s ball and still staying in the capital. The increase in population within King’s Landing made Laenyra feel more connected to the childhood Rhaenyra had told her about.
Otto made the formal announcements on the king’s behalf, VIserys’ voice no longer strong enough to address such a large crowd.
The competitors began their entry, all seated upon steeds of varying fierceness and impressiveness. Sigils, weapons and banners were presented before them, all of the participants trying their hardest to appear gallant and untouchable.
It was Aemond though, who presented as the true and perfect prince from the stories.
He held him helmet in one hand, a creation that matched fierce working of black armour and green detailing in the shape of a dragon head, the panache of his helmet a deep emerald green. Aemond carried a shield with the sigil of House Targaryen, the entirety of his appearance as formidable as a dragon.
A few yells of bets were made and Aegon perked up, laying a bet against his brother, much to the dismay of his mother. Only Jason Lannister accepted the bet, everyone else too wary of Aemond’s skill. Freeriders and knights and squires shied away from her prince, recognising the threat he presented and no one was eager to face him.
As a royal participant, Aemond was able to pick his own competitor and Laenyra groaned quietly as he immediately guided his horse to stand before Ser Harten.
The knight only nodded in response, an excited grin responding to Aemond’s savage smile.
“Prince Aemond challenges Ser Harten, a freerider in the service of Lord Jason Lannister.”
Laenyra glanced over to see Jason Lannister looking smug, hardly a new occurrence. Aemond appeared unperturbed though, simply eyeing the knight as though he were a simple obstacle.
The two men were automatically granted final positioning in the competition, the two of them only having to win one other fight in order to win the tourney. It was a slightly unfair rule but the royal challenge dominated the usual proceedings.
Ser Harten defeated his opponent with worrying ease, the joust only lasting one round before he defeated the opposing freerider.
Aemond’s challenger was more difficult, a monster of man having travelled in under the patronage of Lord Tyrell. Aemond defeated him gallantly and skilfully, holding steadfastly against the brute strength of the competitor. Helaena’s hand lost feeling at how tightly Laenyra had held it.
They had to wait then, until the end of the tourney for the challenge to be done. The sun was scorching and Laenyra had to leave twice to find refuge from the heat and thrice to help Helaena when the proceedings became too violent.
It was seemingly an age before the two men rode to present themselves before the king and the royal court. Laenyra peered forward to see her prince properly, noting how calm his demeanour appeared and the loveliness of his face.
The two bowed respectfully to Viserys, who waved weakly in acknowledgment, before Ser Harten urged his stallion a step closer.
“I would ask Princess Laenyra for the honour of her favour.” The knight’s voice rang clear across the crowd and a hush followed. Prince Aemond was fighting for the princess so how could this knight be so bold as to ask for her favour.
Aemond glowered through his visor, any previous amusement at the tourney had disappeared. His face was black with thunder. Laenyra’s anxiety soared as Ser Harten dared to look innocently at her prince, feigning ignorance.
“Go, Princess.” Queen Alicent’s tapping on her shoulder reminded Laenyra to function. With heavy hands she fumbled to pick up a favour, choosing one made by the maids instead of the garland she and Helaena had made the previous evening, meant for Aemond.
“Good luck, Ser Harten.” Laenyra said with undetectable distain, though Aemond was quick to pick up on how unhappy she was to grant the man her favour. The knight’s grin was leering as he looked up to the balcony, moving his lance in a way so she could slide the favour on easily.
“You are kind, Princess, though with your favour, I will not need luck.”
“I would not bet on that, Ser Harten. You would be a fool to underestimate a dragon.” Laenyra’s said the words with such a sweetness they could not be taken wrongly, though it was clear to everyone where her loyalties in the match lay.
Aemond stepped forward to ask for Helaena’s favour, who looked so beautiful as she laid the wreath they had made on her brother’s lance and wished him luck. Laenyra too, had approached the balcony with her aunt, murmuring her well-wishes to her prince.
“It will be an honour to win in your name.” Aemond said with a smile so charming her heart fluttered. His gaze was intense and an unspoken message passed between them.
I love you.
They smiled at one another for a long beat before the two men were called to position themselves at either side of the arena.
The energy was palpitating, both men sitting on either side of the run. Ser Harten’s brown steed was shifting, the stallion rearing with pent up energy and nerves that stirred within beast and rider. Aemond’s mare was still, demonstrating her rider’s full control, though he often rode her to visit Vhagar. If the horse could stand a dragon, a tourney would mean little to her.
Laenyra’s gaze stayed on Aemond as he tugged at the reins and charged forward. Dirt kicked up as the mare shot off like a whip. Ser Harten had barely a moment to react before calling his own horse to charge, fumbling slightly with his lance at the haste required of him.
The knight managed to steady himself and their lances met in an explosion of splinters.
Laenyra gripped Helaena’s hand tightly as the two men remained seated, both steering their horses back and around for another charge.
They were quick to receive fresh lances and charged once more. Ser Harten’s reaction was even slower in the second round, Aemond’s lance tearing through his defence and landing forcefully in the stomach, unseating the knight.
The dirt erupted around Ser Harten as he landed heavily on the ground, his stallion fleeing at the yell his rider let out. It was almost comical how he flailed about in order to stand and Laenyra shared an amused look with Helaena.
In a fury at losing so quickly, Harten unsheathed his sword and made a step towards Aemond.
It was no match at all when it came to swordplay. Skilfully, Aemond manoeuvred his horse around Ser Harten, deflecting a pitiful attack as he pulled his steed to a halt.
The knight attempted to parry with the prince, but he was clearly outmatched.
Aemond stopped his sword just short of Harten’s throat, a murderous gleam in his eye, his free hand holding the reins of his mare.
Ser Harten growled in annoyance, knowing his own defeat as he dropped his sword in the dirt below. The sweat poured off his brow as he skulked away, leaving his horse behind for a squire to collect.
Aemond sheathed his sword and removed his helm, immediately grinning up at Laenyra. He did not complete the customary victory lap of the arena, choosing instead to ride straight to his princess.
With swift but unsurprising agility, Aemond scaled the wall and climbed into the royal box. His armour was dirty and his face sweaty yet Laenyra swore he had never been more beautiful. He cast aside his helmet, and plucked the wreath of roses, the champion’s favour, from the velvet cushion it sat on. His breath came out in sharp bursts, the adrenaline still coursing through him as he held out a hand to Laenyra.
She took it, of course, standing with a certain shyness as the entire court and seemly whole population of King’s Landing stared at the two of them.
Aemond grinned and lifted the garland, crowning his princess as a queen.
“The princess is hearby given the champion’s favour.” The master of revels made the announcement though the two dragons only had eyes for each other, lost in the magic of the moment. “Princess Laenyra Velaryon is Prince Aemond Targaryen’s Queen of Love and Beauty.”
The laurel was of red roses with the vines painted black, a fine crown for a Targaryen queen and the warmth of Laenyra’s smile completed the picture. Maidens’ heart swooned as she pressed a kiss to Aemond’s cheek in thanks, accepting her champion’s favour.
A happiness usually unseen in the prince burnt brightly and a flush crossed his face as he stood proudly beside her, the two cutting a fine picture of a powerful couple.
King Viserys led the crowd in applause, the court and people cheering for Aemond’s victory and Laenyra’s beauty. The second son found a peculiar relish in the adoration he had not before received and it only excited him further as Laenyra looked up at him, he could see his whole future in her lilac eyes.
“I love you.” Laenyra murmured, the words were too soft for anyone to hear though there was daring to make such a proclamation in front of so many people.
Aemond felt as though he could breath fire.
The rest of the evening flew by, Aemond was called away by his mother in order to display his championship to the court and Laenyra was happy to watch him be the centre of attention for once, even if he did not know what to do with so much favour.
Laenyra met him as she usually did, in his chambers as the castle fell asleep.
“Aemond.” Her voice was overjoyed at his arrival and she stood from the settee to meet him.
“Did you enjoy the tourney, my love?” Aemond asked coyly as he approached his princess.
Laenyra’s smile warmed the room.
“You were magnificent, Aemond.” She whispered and his heart soared at her praise.
“I was glad to fight for you.” He said softly, not trusting himself to say anything more in that moment. “Any potential danger is worth the cause.”
“I only ask you make an effort to avoid such potential dangers and be more careful.” She stepped forward to stand before him.
“I am always careful.” Aemond boasted, stroking her cheek.
“You’re always careful? Is that why you were so quick to challenge the most dangerous man in the tourney?”
“I daresay I was the most dangerous man in the tourney, my love.” He corrected her with a smooth smile, taking no offence to her implications.
Laenyra huffed.
“You challenged Ser Harten over a minuscule matter.” Her voice was soft, her hands fiddling with the hem of his tunic, as she often did when concerned.
“Your honour is not a minuscule matter, Laenyra.” Aemond tugged at her chin, forcing her to look up and meet his gaze. “He insulted you and then dared to ask for your favour, knowing full well I would enact revenge. He was a fool to do so and an even bigger idiot to believe he could defeat me. I will not allow anyone to disrespect you.”
She felt her anger vanish at his speech, but the worry still simmered.
“You always fight for me and me for you, I just ask you be more careful.”
Aemond nodded his agreement, he did not wish to cause her upset even though the knight certainly deserved more savagery than he had been dealt.
“Alright, I vow to be more careful in regards to your defence. Though I cannot be blamed for being angry when someone wrongs you, I am without reason in those instances.” His voice was light and she smiled at his insistent protectiveness.
“And why is that?” She teased.
“I cherish you, Laenyra.” Aemond said it so simply, not at all phased by his own change in tone, the sudden sincerity daunting her.
Her breath caught in her throat, the warmth of his words almost paining her.
“Cherish?” She asked quietly, frozen in place as Aemond stepped closer to loom over her.
He reached to entangle his fingers in her warm locks, brushing his nose against hers.
“Yes.” His breath fanned across her face. “Cherish.”
Aemond moved in even closer, their lips only a breadth apart. He liked to let Laenyra close the gap between them, if only to be certain an impossibility such as her could desire someone like him.
“With every fibre of my soul.” He whispered and the space between them, however minute, was too painful to bear. Finally, finally, she pressed her lips to his.
The stress of the day had weighed heavily on the two of them. Aemond hated the fuss of tourneys but had to fight for this princess, while Laenyra enjoyed the fuss of tourneys but was spun into almost distraught by the idea of Aemond being hurt.
“I love you.” She whispered, threading her fingers through his silver tresses, pulling them undone to cascade down his back.
Aemond felt a growl build low in his throat as he pressed their bodies together, effectively steering his princess towards the bed. She landed softly but giggled as Aemond immediately reconnected their bodies, his hands already pushing her dress upwards, not having the patience to remove the garment.
“Will you allow me to show you how much I love you?” He asked breathlessly, kneeling above her with a savage hunger in his eyes. Laenyra frowned, confused at his request as practically everything Aemond did was an indication of his feelings towards her. He grinned at her innocence, his heart melting for her even more. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” She said it so quickly, so confidently that Aemond felt almost sick by how strongly he felt.
“Lie back and relax, if you become uncomfortable, you will tell me.” He was so stern she would have been amused had there not been such a passion in his gaze.
Laenyra complied with his command diligently, lying properly upon the bed as her prince pushed her skirts further up. Aemond kissed her and once again, her nerves were forgotten. She tugged at his tunic, the desire to feel more of him overcoming her and Aemond complied, slipping out of his shirt with ease.
Her hands were eager to touch him, gripping his arms as Aemond’s kisses grew more heated. He was eager against her, enjoying how keen she was for him, for everything we would give her.
Leaning over her, Aemond laid a fiery path down her jaw and neck, dipping his lips to tease the top of her bodice before delving entirely out of sight. His fingers were skilled with her undergarments as he moved lower down her body.
Laenyra jumped as she felt Aemond’s hot breath against her most private parts, her body shifting in anticipation. HIs fingers were kind but strong as he manoeuvred her, pushing her legs apart as he laid horribly soft kisses on her upper thighs.
She whimpered as his teeth made themselves known, laying gentle nips on her soft skin, his fingers daring to shadow across her heat.
Taking advantage of her positioning and eagerness, Aemond leant closer, the tip of his tongue caressing her folds, sliding upwards and over her pearl. Laenyra released a chocked moan, her hips lifting as he continued the soft ministrations.
Her eyes were screwed shut in pleasure, one hand tightened into a fist within the sheets and the other enveloped in Aemond’s hair as he tasted his princess.
A heated moan escaped her as Aemond brought his lips to her clit and sucked gently, his confidence building quickly at her reactions.
With an expert touch Aemond brought his free hand to stroke through Laenyra’s folds, his touch tender as he brought more stimulation to her.
“Such a good girl.” He murmured between her thighs, coaxing her easily to her first climax, the tension holding entirely in her body before releasing beautifully, a soft and breathless moan washing over the room.
Even as she shifted in pleasure Aemond held her firmly against his mouth, teasing her through her orgasm and determined to savour every drop of her pleasure.
“So perfect for me, Laenyra.” He breathed, his thumb pressing on her clit to seize her body in another fit of pleasure and she moaned loudly, her hands grasping for him.
Aemond allowed her to pull him upwards, his grin lecherous as his eye met hers. She was too dazed to notice it though, tugging him closer to crash their mouths together.
Aemond groaned into her mouth, letting Laenyra taste herself on his tongue. His hardness was almost unbearable and Aemond’s hips moved of their own accord against her, seeking relief. She whimpered at the feel of him and he growled low in response, tugging at the strings of his pants.
She released the sweetest sounds as he continued to bind them together in a bruising kiss, manoeuvring their bodies so he could rid himself of his pants.
His pleasure was obvious as Aemond shifted above her, holding himself in position.
Though when he did not move Laenyra pulled away to nod her consent, ever amused and exasperated by his care for her.
She bit back a loud groan as he slid in easily, her body welcoming him with a glorious tightness. Aemond ducked his head in her neck to quiet a moan, steeling himself as her hips bucked upwards to greet him.
“I will not last long.” He warned softly, the feel of her so perfect around him was almost too much.
“Just move.” Laenyra all but pleaded, one hand woven in his hair and the other at his lower back, clutching desperately.
Aemond did not have the capacity for a witty or teasing comment, instead beginning to thrust forcefully inside her. Her hips met his thrust for thrust and he had to grip the headboard in order to gain the speed he desired.
Bruises would no doubt adorn her hip at Aemond’s forceful clutch from his free hand as he slammed into her. The roughness of him only exciting her body that much quicker.
“You are perfection, my love.” He growled as she clenched around him, his previous gentleness gone and in replace a ravenous dragon.
Laenyra buried her face in his neck, lest she waken the whole castle with her moans. Aemond whispered more praise hotly in her ear, building the heat within to a boiling point. Wave upon wave of pleasure crashed over them, the tightening within her bringing Aemond to a crescendo at the same time. Ecstasy surged through them, the heat and pleasure and stimulation binding the two closer together as their bodies softened.
Aemond moved to lay on his back, pulling Laenyra easily to lay atop of him, the two silent in the moonlit room.
After a long while he reach across to his bedside, presenting a now-cold cup of moon tea for Laenyra to drink, which she accepted with a satiated smile.
They shifted to sit across from each other, Laenyra leaning against the headboard and Aemond sitting at the foot of the bed, the two covered by the bedsheets.
“What?” Laenyra asked with a grin, feeling coy at how desperate she had been for him just moments ago, and how put together he seemed despite it.
“What?” Aemond asked with complete innocence.
“You’re looking at me.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Am I not allowed to look at you?” Aemond asked and Laenyra threw a pillow at him, which he caught easily.
“No, actually. I’ve decided you can’t look at me.” She said petulantly and he laughed, raising his head to stare at the ceiling.
“Of course, my queen.” He complied with her antics happily.
Laenyra scoffed and climbed over the covers to join him at the foot of the bed, nudging his chin so his gaze was returned to hers.
“Hello.” Aemond murmured and grinned at her.
“Hello.” Laenyra pushed him to lie down, pulling a pillow to lie beside him.
“So we’re sleeping this way, are we?” Aemond asked, fighting a yawn as Laenyra tucked herself into his side.
“Yes.”
“As you wish, my queen.” He obeyed her of course.
It was hours later, in darkness that Laenyra removed herself from Aemond’s side. Her task had to be achieved quickly and only under the cover of night.
She slipped into the hidden passageway, determined to seek out Helaena and convince her to fly to Horn Hill.
Drunk reader: aemond would u still love me if i were a worm 🥺👉👈
Oh ffs
yes I had to guys, I had to. I had just settled in to write some smut and then this appeared in my inbox lmfao
Tag List: @darylandbethfanforever9@fuckinglittlekitten@bored-and-nerdy@echos-muses@moni-cah@mothertower@runningmunson@gabrieletargaryen
Word count: 588
Aemond x drunk!reader | drabble | I couldn't not
"Y/N, slow down." Aemond covered your goblet with his large hand as you eagerly hoisted the pitcher of wine to pour another glass for yourself.
You pouted at your husband; half tempted to spill some wine on him anyway. "I am not drunk, Aemond."
"You sound quite defensive." He slid the goblet along the table, out of your reach. "Also, that," He gestured to the wine jug you held, "is a vase of flowers."
"Ah."
"Indeed."
You carefully placed the bouquet back, misjudging your aim, and sending the vase tumbling over the edge of the table to the ground with a clatter. Aemond tsked at you as servants hurriedly gathered to clear the mess of petals and water.
You sent him what you hoped to be a withering glare, though it probably looked more like you were about to vomit. You grabbed the actual pitcher of wine, looked longingly at your glass so far out of reach, before taking several gulps directly from the large silver flagon.
Aemond cursed, reaching for you, but not before you had made your point of hardheaded independence. Several seats down, deep in his cups, Aegon cheered you on. Aemond shot his brother a murderous look before he successfully wrested the wine jug from your drunken grasp.
You placed your head upon you hand sulkily, eyeing your husband with deep sadness.
Aemond returned your morose look with a quirked eyebrow, the corners of his curved mouth twitching.
Several moments passed, the sound of Aegon refilling his own cup mocking you.
"Aemond, if I was a worm, would you still love me?"
A heavy sigh from your husband was your only answer.
"Your wife asked you an important question, brother." Aegon tittered from where he lounged with one foot upon the tabletop. "Worms are deserving of love just as we are." He raised a toast to his own wisdom and drank.
You watched him, envious, before turning back to Aemond, your lower lip jutting out.
Aemond, for his part, looked wearily from Aegon to you. Your eyes welled with emotion. "You wouldn't, would you?" A hot tear made it's sad way down your cheek. "You'd leave me, you wouldn't love me anymore."
"Now look what you've done."
"Oh do shut up, Aegon." Aemond hissed at his brother, rising from his seat to come to your side. You were crying in earnest now, raising both arms as Aemond lifted you into his.
Walking was out of the question, so Aemond carried you bridal style to your shared chambers. Aegon's call of "Worms are people too!" Echoing along the stone corridor as he moved away.
Entering your bedroom, Aemond tossed you onto the mattress of your bed, where you bounced several times before lying still, staring with wonder at the arched ceiling.
He undressed you, unlacing your corset, removing your shoes and stockings. Once finished, Aemond laid beside you, caressing your cheek, wiping away the tear stains with his long fingers.
"If you were a worm, I would love you all the same." He intoned, his voice bemused but soft.
"Truly?" You sat up, swaying slightly as you looked at him, joy written across your features.
"Truly."
He grunted as you threw your arms wildly about his neck, kissing every part of his face you could reach. "Oh Aemond, you are the most wonderful husband!"
"I have one condition, however, if I am to love you after you transform."
You pulled back slightly, apprehension hitching your breath. "What is it?"
"You must warn me beforehand."
"I promise." You said, with utmost sincerity.
Aemond smiled, shaking his head fondly at you, before giving you a swift kiss to your forehead.
Author's Note: Requests are open if y'all have any ideas for a one-shot. Also, Aemond loves poetry I am sure of it.
Warnings: A bit of kissing beneath a tree and Aegon being a creep
Word count: 3,313
Summary: Laenyra's departure date approaches soon so Viserys arranges a tourney. To everyone's shock Aemond insists on fighting for his princess' honour in the tourney. Also, Aemond loves reading poetry aloud.
Links: Part I, Part II, Part III
Helaena nodded in predetermined acceptance though her face echoed with sadness.
“Dark wings return to the island for bonds to be forged before the dance.” She said softly, her gaze piercing.
“I will visit soon though, and we can write and perhaps we can fly to each other.” Laenyra offered and took ahold of her aunt’s hands.
“A black wind will be claimed within the darkness.” Helaena whispered anxiously and Laenyra heard Aemond ‘hmm’ at his sister’s words from the fireplace.
“It is alright, sweet girl.” Alicent said with a remarkably sympathetic smile. “I am sure the Princess Rhaenyra will visit in the near future and bring Princess Laenyra with her.”
There was a grimace hidden in the queen’s words but her concern for her children outweighed any prejudice.
“You couldn’t say something to Rhaenyra could you, father?” Aemond asked very quietly, his tone soft and it was clear he was attempting not to convey too much emotion.
Laenyra’s look was pleading and she glanced between her prince and her grandfather.
Viserys gave a weak smile at his son’s words, he was tempted to write to Rhaenyra and insist on his granddaughter’s remaining at King’s Landing. But he missed his daughter terribly, and would not push that same separation of parent and child upon her.
“No, I think it is perhaps time that our Laenyra return home to her mother and brothers.” He waved Laenyra closer, grasping her hands in a frail grip and with a feeble smile. “But we shall have a tourney, to celebrate your time with us and forge more happy memories to keep us warm until your return.”
“A wonderful idea, You Grace.” Laenyra said with a hoarse voice, she enjoyed the big events but was not sure she could stomach such pageantry in the midst of being ripped from Aemond’s side. “Though I would much rather spend my remaining days without fuss, in the company of family.”
“Nonsense, my dear.” Viserys turned his head to look at Otto. “You will make the arrangements, Otto.”
The Hand nodded obediently, his eyes resting for a moment too long on Laenyra, who met his look with a steely determination.
“It cannot be too large an event, Your Grace, with such short notice. Tourneys usually take months to plan and we have such a limited time.” Otto said calmly.
“As grand as we can make it then, father. There are those still here from Aegon’s ball. It should be a splendid affair.” Queen Alicent’s voice was light, her worry for Helaena and Aemond clear at her children forlorn manners.
“Perhaps Aemond can participate.” Viserys murmured tiredly and released his granddaughter’s hand.
“Prince Aemond does not enjoy tourneys.” Laenyra said softly, her smile turning to her prince, who stepped forward to stand beside her by the settee.
“I will fight for you.” He offered almost shyly, as though afraid of rejection, like Laenyra had not been squirming beneath him that very morning. “If you would accept my championship.”
She flushed at his words, the intensity of them and the light touch of his fingers trailing down her arm. It was all Laenyra could do to only nod mutely and not swoon as he loomed over her.
“How charming!” King Viserys exclaimed, his energy returning at the sight of such a handsome couple. The two broke their gaze, shuffling slightly away from another to lessen the intensity of their emotions. “I am sure you will fight bravely for our princess.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Aemond muttered though he did not look away from his princess. He would not share her affections, not even for a tourney.
“You hate tourneys.” Laenyra murmured later as Aemond escorted her back to her chambers. They were being tailed by Ser Criston on orders of the queen, and Laenyra was trying her best to ignore the knight.
“I hate another man fighting for your favour more.” He said simply, with a shrug as though his life would not be in danger when he fought.
“Aemond.” She huffed.
“Laenyra.” He sang back and she regarded him with a petulant look. “I will fight for you no matter what.”
Laenyra softened at his honest words. She wished to pull him closer and kiss him, but Ser Criston lurked nearby, and she knew she would have to wait.
“I will see you tomorrow?” Laenyra asked with a slightly raised voice, allowing the knight to overhear.
Aemond grinned, highly amused, and nodded.
“Tomorrow, dear niece.” He agreed and bowed his head to her before turning swiftly and pacing away, forcing Ser Criston to hurry after him.
_______________________
“Read me another one.” Laenyra yawned and stretched across Aemond’s lap, her hair tumbling across the grass beneath the weirwood tree.
“I’ve read you too many to count.” He murmured, adoration at the forefront of his emotions as he allowed her to use him as a pillow. With his free hand, he toyed with a lock of her hair, enjoying the feel of the silken curls.
“Yes, and read me another one.” She mumbled, opening one eye to peer up at him.
Aemond never could deny her anything.
“Alright, do you promise to stay awake this time?” He teased.
“You say that like it is my fault we were awake all night.” Laenyra said with a huff.
“Is it not your fault, temptress?” Aemond grinned, leaning down to press a soft kiss upon her lips.
Laenyra pouted as he pulled away, reaching to tug him back down.
“Do you wish for me to read to you, or do you just want kisses?”
“Both, of course.” Laenyra giggled as Aemond huffed, rolling his eye in playful exasperation.
“Greedy.” He purred and she grinned devilishly, pulling him in for one final hard and fast kiss.
“Now you may read to me.”
“How kind of you, Princess.” Aemond tugged softly at a lock of her hair, his other hand picking up the book of poetry he had been reading to her. She swatted at him but otherwise remained silent, eager for him to recite the texts.
His voice immediately deepened as he began reading aloud. Aemond loved poetry and loved sharing his favourites with Laenyra even more.
“The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying of the sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one:
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.”
“It’s lovely.” Laenyra murmured and sat up, positioning herself to lean against his shoulder. “A bit sad though.”
“How so?” Aemond asked, discarding the book in order to hold her to him.
“That last bit, about life being over when love is gone.” She explained and gave him a smile.
“I think it speaks of a love so powerful nothing can compare.” Aemond said in a soft voice, flushing slightly as she turned to look at him with interest. “A flame that burnt so brightly it could never be reignited.”
“When you put it like that I think it’s my favourite poem.” She muttered, hot under the collar at his words. Aemond was a true romantic, though he didn’t allow anyone else to see that side of him.
Laenyra jolted up as she heard the tear of paper.
“Aemond!” She said in shock and he grinned at her wide eyes. “You cannot just destroy your own book!”
“Can’t I?” He asked loftily with a smirk, holding out the paper. “Now you may carry it with you forever.
Laenyra pushed his hand away, forcing him to return the page to its now torn place in the book.
“I don’t need it, we’ll always be together and you can recite it whenever I demand.”
“You know th-” Aemond’s words were cut off as Laenyra clapped her hand over his mouth with a deep scowl that he found absolutely adorable.
“Hush.” She said firmly. Laenyra had expressly forbidden mention of her leaving over the past days, refusing to allow it to tarnish their time together. She was leaving in just over a week, and the tourney was in two days time. His eyes softened at the blazing determination in her eyes, their faces only a hairs breadth apart.
Aemond removed her hand from his mouth.
“Sorry.” He whispered and pressed a kiss to her palm before closing the gap between them, murmuring another apology against her lips. Laenyra giggled as he peppered her with light kisses, murmuring an apology with each one. Aemond grinned and pulled her onto his lap, pressing a ticklish kiss to her neck, his hands squeezing at her sides.
“No!” She shrieked as he tickled her, gasping for breath and attempting to push his hands away. “Aemond!”
He chuckled as she grabbed at him, allowing her to overpower him and push him to the ground. Her hair fell down like rays of darkness and Aemond grinned up at her, his hands delving into her dark tresses.
Laenyra traced the bottom of his scar with her thumb, her curiosity overcoming her and he took a sharp breath in, but made no move to stop her.
“You’re so beautiful.” She whispered in adoration, her fingers trailing his jaw and gliding over the bridge of his nose. He was absolute perfection and he was all hers.
Aemond scoffed and went to swat her hands away.
“No.” Laenyra huffed and held his hands above his head, looking at him with such a fierceness that Aemond felt himself warm, a stirring in his stomach that saw him shift beneath her. He let her trap him, willing for her to lay waste upon him if that was her desire.
“You are so beautiful, Aemond.” She insisted and leant down to press a soft kiss over his eyepatch, then one on his nose and then along his jaw. Laenyra smirked as his breathing quickened and dared to scrap her teeth along his neck. Aemond’s moan escaped through clenched teeth and she grinned to herself.
“Let me touch you.” He whispered hoarsely and her grin was practically full of evil glee.
“Patience.” She purred, a cat having caught a canary between her paws.
Aemond chuckled at her obvious joy in holding the power.
“Fuck patience.” He groaned as Laenyra straddled him properly, lowering her hips in such a teasing way he almost broke free.
“This is much more difficult for me than for you, my love.” She teased, revelling in his frustration and daring to graze her hips against his once again.
“Laenyra.” Aemond growled warningly, his patience disappearing.
“Ae-mond.” She sung with a grin, enjoying the change in power.
Laenyra continued the slow movements and chuckled as his hips bucked upwards. She could feel his hardness through their clothes, her dress thin enough for it to be obvious.
“Well this certainly explains a lot.” A voice spoke clearly from the edge of the garden and Laenyra yelped in shock, scrambling off of Aemond in such a hurry she tumbled slightly, landing poorly. Aemond stood quickly, assisting her up and placing himself sentry in front of her, not bothering to conceal his arousal as an anger built within him.
“Brother.” Aegon said with a terrible grin. Laenyra peaked at her other uncle over Aemond’s shoulder, her hands gripping his tightly.
“Aegon.” Aemond said steadfastly, his manner one of casualness as he regarded his older brother. “Come to pray to the weirwood tree?”
“No.” Aegon’s grin was predatory. “Simply taking a stroll in the gardens when I heard the most peculiar sounds.”
Laenyra flushed deep red and ducked her head to hide her colouring.
“I must say, I feared that someone was under attack so I came over to ensure there was no danger.” Aegon continued with a snide chuckle, side stepping in order to catch a better glimpse of Laenyra, though Aemond moved in tandem with his brother, ensuring she was blocked from view.
“We appreciate your concern, brother.” Aemond’s voice was unwavering, giving no hint to the tension Laenyra could feel in his shoulders, the preparedness to pounce. “However, as you can see, there is no danger here, you may go.”
“On the contrary, Aemond. There is a terrible potential of danger here.” His gaze switched to Laenyra, who resolved her inner embarrassment and moved to stand beside Aemond, her hand gripped tightly in his.
“What danger would that be?” She asked with a strong voice, she would not be intimidated by Aegon.
“Well the danger of you being unsatisfied, of course.” He said with a lecherous grin.
“Brother, quiet your tongue before you lose it.” Aemond said it in such a steady tone that Laenyra shuddered.
Aegon clearly saw the danger too and stepped back, giving himself a head-start should he have to run. But he was clearly having too much fun antagonising them.
“My brother has failed in the past to know what to do.” He continued, trying to humiliate them both further.
Laenyra frowned slightly at the mention of Aemond being with anyone else, he surely would have told her. There were no secrets between them, or so she thought.
Aegon clocked in on her expression though and knew he had struck something.
“Oh, he hasn’t told you?” He asked and laughed at Aemond’s furious expression. “Yes, I took him out when he was younger, to get it wet, and he had no idea what to do, a bit tragic really. There’s no shor-”
“Shut up Aegon!” Laenyra snapped, moving to stand in front of her prince, her blood was boiling at the idea of Aemond being put in such a position at a young age. “I don’t want to hear it and I don’t care.”
Aegon huffed childishly.
“I was merely attempting to offer my assistance.” He said petulantly.
“It is not needed.” She growled, heat rising as he dared to grin at her anger. Aemond placed a hand around her waist, squeezing gently.
“Our niece has a fire within her brother, but all women are the same once tamed. Just put her on her back and she’ll be moa-”
Aemond flew across the yard, too quick for Aegon to establish any defence and he grasped his brother by the throat, his eye ablaze with fury. Jabs at himself, he would tolerate, but an insult cast at his princess would not stand, not even from his brother.
“Do not mistake my tolerance for weakness, Aegon. If you should ever speak to Laenyra like that again, I vow you will never return from one of your nightly escapades.” He said, his voice as sharp as steel. “Do you understand?”
Aegon growled in frustration, attempting to break Aemond’s grip but failing as he squirmed.
“Yes, I understand.” He huffed and practically fled as soon as Aemond released him.
“He is a fool, Aemond, do not let him spoil our day.” Laenyra murmured and laid a hand on his arm, willing him to return to her side.
His eye was set on the entryway to the garden, his body tense and he stood still for a long moment before finally accepting that his brother would not return.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Laenyra murmured and pulled him down to her eye level, kissing his cheek softly.
Aemond shifted uncomfortably.
“It was a horrible experience and not one I wished to burden you with.” He explained quietly, avoiding her gaze.
Laenyra lifted his chin gently, forcing his eye to meet hers.
“It is my privilege to share the weight of your burdens, Aemond.” She spoke with a gentle but fierce tone, looking up at him with a fire within her. “I am tempted to enact vengeance on Aegon, though it is not my place to do so.”
Aemond smiled softly at her protective nature, the way they stood for one another. He leant to press his forehead against hers, the connection grounding him to her.
They stood in silence for a moment.
“Are you alright?” She asked quietly.
“Yes, it was a long time ago now.” Aemond was calm and Laenyra knew he did not wish to speak of it further so she suggested a distracting activity.
“Don’t you need to train for tomorrow?” She asked, offering a supportive smile.
“Perhaps we could visit Vhagar together instead, I would rather have you by my side.” Aemond asked, tucking a stray hair away.
The talk of dragons reminded her of something.
“You need to train for the tourney.” Laenyra said suddenly, an idea dawning, though not one she could tell Aemond about. “And I need to see Helaena.”
“I will accompany you and postpone training.” He offered and usually such an idea would be splendid.
“No, do not do that, I will go by myself, it has been a while since I spoke to Helaena alone.” Laenyra attempted a light tone, though Aemond immediately saw her nervousness spike.
“Very well.” He said slowly, regarding her in concern. “I will see you this evening, for dinner?”
“I think perhaps I may eat with Helaena and the children, I will miss her terribly and we can discuss tomorrow’s tourney together.”
If she could speak to Helaena alone, perhaps she could convince her. Though their journey would have to wait until after the tourney.
Aemond frowned at her casual mention of leaving, Laenyra had steadfastly refused to allow him to bring it up the past weeks and her new manner worried him. But he would not force his presence upon them, if Laenyra wished for him to join, she would have asked. It hurt him slightly, to see such a sudden shift in her demeanour, but he could not claim insult during such an upsetting time. The tourney was doing little to distract their family.
“I will come to your room though, if you wish it.” Laenyra said quickly, noticing his manner shift.
Aemond’s smile returned at once.
“I will always desire your company, my love.” He purred, his worry vanishing as Laenyra tugged almost shyly at his sleeves.
“So tonight?” She asked quietly, concerned she had offended him.
Aemond towered over her, nudging his nose against Laenyra’s to make her smile.
“Tonight.” He agreed and Laenyra stretched upwards to kiss him, meaning for it to be just a peck but Aemond was far too greedy and still remembering Aegon’s insults. He pulled her closer by her hips and she whimpered as his thigh slotted between her legs, the pressure so sudden and so delicious.
He groaned as Laenyra tugged at his hair gently, her own hands eager to lay claim.
Aemond chuckled at her eagerness, raising his leg slightly to remind her of how situated he was between her thighs. His princess whimpered softly, the feeling of his leg and hands and mouth overwhelming her.
Laenyra pulled away, breathless and warm. Though Aemond merely ducked his head, continuing to lay kisses down her jaw and neck. He chuckled as Laenyra squirmed beneath his touch, letting him draw such lovely sounds.
“I um- I need to, uh.” She stuttered abysmally, attempted to reclaim her thoughts despite Aemond’s touch.
“Hmm.” It was more of a growl against Laenyra’s throat. She laughed breathlessly and finally managed to put distance between herself and Aemond.
“I will visit Helaena and you will train for the tourney.” Laenyra put up a finger and a stern expression and Aemond almost melted to the floor at the sight of her attempting such sternness.
“Of course, princess.” He said with an obedient bow.
“I will see you later tonight.” She grinned and skipped out of reach as Aemond attempted to seize her again.
“Until tonight then.” He huffed at her quickness but allowed her to sit, knowing he did need to practice.
Aemond would leave nothing to chance when it came to fighting for Laenyra, though what could she possibly have to say to Helaena that he couldn’t hear?
Author's Note: I fully believe Aemond is a consent!king, he's gonna make sure his lady is comfortable and is about communication.
Warnings: smut, first time for Laenyra, Crispin Cole, Aemond coping a feel beneath the table and a lot of consent.
Word count: 4,825
Summary: Laenyra and Aemond have finally confessed their feelings for one another. But they must put their desires temporarily aside in order to sit through dinner. Aemond, however, does not want to wait to lay claim to his princess.
“You seem happy, my son.” Alicent held Aemond’s hands. She was clearly glad of her son’s mood, especially as he was prone to states of lonesome forlornness. Aemond and Laenyra had arrived for dinner with secretive smiles and looks of longing clear on their faces. “Truly happy.”
She noted how her son’s eye flickered across the room.
“I am, mother.” He said the words with an almost shy smile, his mind wandering momentarily and Alicent’s heart clenched for a love she would never have.
“Good.” She forced a smile and squeezed his hand.
Alicent left him in order to greet a weak Viserys. Aemond, of course, immediately went to Laenyra’s side, standing too close to be proper and his hands itching towards her. Whatever note his princess received at breakfast, its contents had clearly shifted their relationship.
“A fine couple.” Viserys rasped, his weight sagging over his embellished cane. His gaze was set on Aemond and Laenyra with an unappealing smile though his joy was warming to see.
Alicent could not argue that fact no matter how much she wished to deny it.
“Let us eat.” She said instead, knowing any approval shown in front of her husband would be followed by talk of a betrothal.
The king sat first and let out a sigh that told his relief at finally taking the weight off his aching body. The group followed suit and Laenyra secured her usual spot between Aemond and Helaena, insisting that her aunt give a full debrief of the new insect that had been recently acquired.
Aemond shifted in his chair, the food in front of him untouched and his hands tapping upon the table. He was trying with all his might, and failing miserably, to not keep glancing over at Laenyra. She kept catching him staring, giving him only a knowing smile in response before returning her attention to Helaena.
His princess seemed to be the height of decorum, as though they had not been pawing at each other just moments before entering for dinner. Laenyra had tugged him into a hidden passage, bringing him to her desperately and they were late arriving because of it.
Laenyra grinned as she caught him looking again, she could feel his gaze and the heat it held.
“The wings are fragile but powerful.” Helaena explained eagerly, using her hands to provide a diagram of the new bug she had found. Aegon huffed in boredom from across the table, but otherwise said nothing. “It appears to be praying when it is still.”
Laenyra did not find the topic intensely interesting but her aunt’s excitement kept her attention and she smiled at how animated Helaena was.
There was a calmness in the room that was a welcome change from the usual despair that permeated the family meals. Viserys was in reasonable health and Queen Alicent in a somewhat good mood. Laenyra’s heart was soaring as she dared to think of the man next to her and what they have revealed to each other that day.
The calmness evaporated though, when Laenyra felt the brush of a touch on her leg.
“Are you alright?” Helaena asked as she jolted in her chair, dropping her fork with a clatter.
Laenyra nodded earnestly and smiled bashfully at the table.
“Apologies.” She said quietly at the look of concern on her grandfather’s face and the sudden interest in the rest of the table’s. “I simply startled myself when I dropped my fork.”
Everyone seemed to believe her and return to their own conversations or thoughts.
Helaena resumed her explanations though Laenyra froze as a touch feathered across her leg once again.
She glanced to see Aemond looking extremely pleased with himself, one hand on his goblet and the other beneath the table, stroking a deft pattern on her thigh.
“Are you quite sure you are well, Princess?” Aemond asked quietly with such a touching tone of concern that she glared at him.
“Yes.” Laenyra whispered curtly.
His responding grin was lecherous as she returned her attention to Helaena, attempting to ignore how his fingers trailed so dangerously across her leg. A previously undiscovered desire flooded through her and the room suddenly became hot. She pressed her legs together, seeking an unknown source of pleasure.
Laenyra attempted to remove his hand but could not do so without risk of discovery, he was unfairly stronger than her. Aemond made no further move as she squirmed at his touch, resting his hand sentry upon her thigh.
The meal passed by slowly, his hand a constant upon her body and Laenyra found time agonising until finally the servants cleared away the plates and she could leave without fear of scrutiny.
“I am tired, I shall retire.” She stood and breathed a sigh of relief as Aemond’s hand fell away, she desired his touch more than anything, but not at a dinner and not in full view of their family.
Her awkwardness was covered by Helaena announcing that she was also tired and wished to retire. It was unknown if her aunt did wish to rest or was simply covering for Laenyra and Aemond with her unlimited knowledge, but either way, Laenyra was most grateful.
Viserys nodded his consent at their departure from the table.
“Ser Arryk, would you please escort Princess Helaena to her rooms, and Ser Erryk, if you would escort Prince Aegon.” Queen Alicent commanded the twins by the door. Aegon looked extremely discontent at the idea of being escorted to bed like a child, but made no argument against it.
“Aemond can escort Laenyra.” Viserys said with a joyful smile. “I have no doubt he will see her safely to her rooms.”
“Of course, my love.” Queen Alicent said tersely, though sent a nod to Ser Criston which did not go unnoticed by Aemond.
Laenyra bid everyone a goodnight and led the way out into the darkened hallway.
They made it round the first few corners in a formal fashion before Laenyra glanced around and grabbed his hand.
Aemond couldn’t contain his grin as she tugged him forcefully through the halls, darting left and right and right again. She only stilled once they were far away from the dining hall and hidden within an alcove.
“I can’t believe you.” Laenyra whispered hotly, but there was no anger in her voice, only a barely contained desire.
“I am to blame for being tempted by such a siren?” Aemond asked with a lofty tone and clasped his hands behind his back with the poise of a prince.
Laenyra scoffed in order to conceal her amusement.
“You are silly.” She muttered and Aemond laughed loudly in the empty hallway.
She was quick to silence him, slapping her hand over his mouth and glanced around. No footsteps came to enquire about the noise but Laenyra waited a long moment, her heart thrumming, before she lifted her hand.
Aemond’s heart soared and he ducked his head in order to kiss her. Laenyra’s breath stuttered at the force of it, her hands gripping his arms to keep herself from drowning in the kiss.
“I’ll meet you in your room.” She said hurriedly, her gaze slightly hazed as she managed to pull herself away. Laenyra flushed scarlet at her prince’s responding smile, it told a thousand promises and desires that sung between them.
She darted away before he could say anything and Aemond was rather glad for it. Anything he wished to say would be highly inappropriate.
Aemond departed in the opposite direction, taking the long way through the castle in order to prevent any further gossip about his comings and goings. In some ways he was lucky that Aegon was such a disappointment, the focus on his brother’s activities meant that Aemond himself was not watched with anywhere near as much scrutiny.
He huffed in quiet annoyance though, as he rounded a corner to come face-to-face with Ser Criston Cole. Aemond usually enjoyed the knight’s presence, even if Laenyra despised him, but his appearance was an extreme inconvenience.
“Where is Princess Laenyra?” Ser Criston asked but there was no true concern in his voice.
“She wished to speak to Helaena about something and asked to walk alone.” The lie rolled easily off his tongue, Laenyra often visited her aunt before bed, the two could be found talking deep into the night.
Aemond made to step around the knight, but his path was blocked.
“Do you have a moment, my prince?” He posed his words as a request, though Aemond knew a refusal would result in further inconvenience.
“Of course, Ser Criston.” Aemond’s tone was monotonous, attempting to contain the frustration at being kept from his princess.
“Your mother is concerned for you.” The words were poised like they were coming from a place of care. But Aemond knew anything said by Ser Criston were truly the thoughts of his mother, who no doubt wished to know more of her second son’s recent activities.
“How so?” Aemond asked, feigning ignorance.
“She worries about how you have been spending your time, you departed upon Vhagar this morning with no warning, accompanied by Laeny-”
“Princess Laenyra.” Aemond interrupted sharply and his look was stern.
“Apologies, Prince Aemond.” The knight grimaced at the prince’s tone but made no comment. “You were accompanied by Princess Laenyra and I believe your mother is worried as to what rumours may arise from the two of you spending so much time together, unsupervised.”
He allowed the implications of his words to hang between them.
“I appreciate your concern for mine and Princess Laenyra’s safety and reputation, but I am unsure as to why this is being brought up now. Being alone with the princess is not a new occurrence and we often fly upon Vhagar together.” Aemond would not give him an inch, his tone deadpan and the knight squirmed.
“The reason your mother is concerned, I believe, is because of the danger of impropriety.”
“Impropriety?” Aemond drawled, raising an eyebrow and maintained a straight face, hiding his inner amusement at how far past ‘impropriety’ he and Laenyra had ventured. “I do not understand what you are attempting to imply, Ser Criston. Though I suggest that when you report to my mother, you ensure she is aware that there is no risk of wrongdoing and if she has any further concerns, she can ask me herself.”
Ser Criston was smart enough to recognise a dismissal and nodded curtly, undoubtedly knowing how displeased Queen Alicent would be at his lack of new information.
The prince left the knight, venturing once again through the halls, seeking out his one true desire.
Aemond breathed a sigh of relief when he finally came within view of his rooms, his steps quickening even more and he practically leapt through the entryway. He barred the door securely and confirmed its sturdiness twice. There would be no risk of disturbance.
His princess was standing before the fireplace, her gaze upon the flames.
Laenyra looked over her shoulder at him, the glow of the fire illuminating her like a true dragon.
I would follow her through the seven hells if she asked it of me.
Aemond clenched his fists, attempting to maintain his dignity and a distance between them.
She smiled gently at his stationary form, closing the gap herself and sliding her hands into his. Laenyra raised herself and kissed him, not at all embarrassed that she desired him, and the idea warmed Aemond’s heart.
“Hello.” She whispered and reached to stroke his jawline with a fire in her eyes.
“Hello.” Aemond murmured, his hands resolutely remaining by his sides.
“I was half-worried you wouldn’t come.” Laenyra said with a small smile and he knew he was forgiven for his lateness.
“I will always come when you call.” He breathed softly.
Laenyra glanced down at his hands, not on her body, and pulled him closer by the lapels of his jacket. Capturing his lips as hers, Laenyra dared to tease him with her tongue, a quick movement that was only a promise of things to come.
Aemond felt himself harden as she continued to take the lead for both of them, but as her hand weaved into his hair, tugging at him, Aemond's resolve broke. His hands moved quickly as he growled against her, tugging her body against his, his hardness flush against her belly.
Laenyra moaned softly and allowed him to dominate her, his mouth bruising against her own with the force, his teeth nipping at her, his longing as fierce and savage as a dragon.
“You are certain this is what you desire?” He growled after a long moment, attempting to restrain himself, for her sake.
“You keep asking, I will not change my mind.” Laenyra insisted, confused at to why he was so cautious of their joining.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He explained though it did nothing to diminish Laenyra’s confusion. Aemond smiled to himself and stroked her cheek, his thumb gliding over her swollen lips.
“You won’t.” She insisted, reaching for him, attempting to pull him closer.
“Not like that, my love.” Aemond murmured and tried to think on the best way to explain it to her. He pressed another kiss to her cheek before moving to brush his kips against her throat. Laenyra let out a small moan, a sound he wished to bind to his soul, as he dared to let his teeth nip at her pulse. “I need to make sure that it won’t hurt when we come together.”
He attempted to save her ears from crudeness, unsure as to how she would react.
“Oh.” Laenyra breathed, understanding dawning and Aemond glanced up to see her flushed but eager.
“Yes.” He said with a small smile. “Is that alright?”
Laenyra nodded, suddenly shy as she stood before him, all of it so real and her desire stirring so agonisingly.
“Yes, I trust you, Aemond.” She said and joined her lips to his again, more desperate with the heat building within her.
Laenyra sought to press herself closer to him and he could no longer deny himself of his most precious desire.
His hands weren’t gentle as he finally laid claim to her body, enveloping one in her hair and the other around her waist. Laenyra shivered as Aemond’s mouth enveloped her own, his kiss rough and desperate.
Laenyra gripped his arms, attempting to tether herself lest she float away on her desire.
“My Laenyra.” Aemond growled softly. She sighed prettily against his lips, his words fuelling the fire between them. His fingers were hurried with the tiresome strings of her dress. With a growl of frustration and yet another futile attempt to undo her dress, Aemond unsheathed his dagger and with startling precision he cut through the ribbons and frills.
“How am I supposed to explain that?” Laenyra laughed in shock at such a barbaric move though it thrilled her.
Aemond grinned roguishly, tearing the remaining seam and pulling it off her.
“Just say you were attacked by a dragon.” He offered and Laenyra snorted, kicking the now ruined dress under the bed.
“Attacked is certainly the right term.” She muttered and laughed as Aemond yanked her towards him once again.
“‘Attack,’ is it, dear niece?” He drawled, perusing her figure and taking note of how her perfect she looked beneath the satin slip, how desperate he was to rid her of it. Her nipples hardened as he dared trail his fingers along her sides, treading dangerously across her stomach. “You seem rather eager considering this brutal attack.”
Laenyra grinned at his words, her cheeks flushing and chest heaving as determination built inside her. The princess was not a patient person, she was the blood of the dragon and they were not known for patience.
Taking a deep breath Laenyra tugged at her slip, lifting it over her head. The thin dress pooled deliciously around her feet, Laenyra’s head held high as she bared herself to him. Aemond stilled and he felt a dragon rear its head and roar within him.
“Is something wrong?” Laenyra asked, a mild panic flashing through her eyes and he could see her starting to worry.
He shook his head earnestly.
“You are perfect.” He said hoarsely. His hand shook slightly as he raised it, his palm cupping her right breast gently. Laenyra shifted as he ran his thumb over her nipple. It hardened as Aemond stroked it and he dared to do the same to the left.
“Hmm.” Aemond hummed as Laenyra shivered, but he didn’t believe the cold had anything to do with it. His hands slid upwards, goosebumps following his touch. He slid his hands up her neck into her dark tresses, reviling in the softness of Laenyra.
With a startling boldness Laenyra tugged at his waistband, pulling him closer and joining them together.
“My love.” He whispered against her lips, his hands greedy as he gripped her naked body, leading Laenyra backwards to the bed. Aemond picked her up with ease, laying her gently down upon the covers.
Aemond stood tall, his breath rising heavily as he took Laenyra in, the way she looked so sublime on his bed, her body red with his marks and the apex of her thighs glistening, because of him. With a new found confidence Aemond steadied his nerves and knelt upon the bed.
Laenyra’s eyes were on Aemond as he moved to hover over her. She squirmed though as he leant to lay soft kisses up her stomach and Laenyra held her breath as he dared to press a kiss on both breasts.
“I love you.” He whispered into her collarbone, his tongue sucking and nipping at her skin, Aemond relished in the marks that were quick to form.
Laenyra whimpered her response as Aemond’s fingers trailed downwards and sat dangerously above her wet heat.
“You are alright?” Aemond breathed quietly and she huffed at him.
“If you do not touch me soon.” She threatened and he chuckled, her huff soon stuttered as he stroked her softly, his thumb applying such a pressure that a moan escaped her. Aemond couldn’t help his smug grin as he coaxed moans and whimpers out of Laenyra with slow, determined motions.
Laenyra relaxed into his touch, her back arching and her hips bucking upwards at Aemond’s skilful touch. He delighted in her body’s reaction to her, dipping his thumb between her folds to brush at her clit, her body jerking deliciously at he stroked her pearl.
Aemond moved to adjust himself, kneeling before her to utilise both hands to please his princess.
“Good girl.” Aemond murmured and he explored her body with his hand. Her wetness increased and he inserted a finger, shocked at how loudly Laenyra moaned as he pleased her. His thumb continued to stroke her and she fisted the sheets, a heat building that she did not entirely understand.
“It’s alright Laenyra.” He purred as she writhed. “Let me please you.”
Her thighs shook when Aemond changed the angle of his wrist, his movements speeding up and a second finger pressing inside her. He could tell she would soon reach her peak and he was eager to seek out all the ways to bring her pleasure.
Aemond curled his fingers slightly and Laenyra fell over the edge, her hips bucking upwards into his hand as she came. His fingers slowed and he worked her through her pleasure, her thighs glistening and Aemond grinned at his triumph, leaning down to press a firm kiss to his princess, swallowing the pretty sounds she made as he touched her.
“That’s it.” He praised when her body started shifting once again.
Calmness seemed to radiate from him though Aemond was a storm of desire inside, his arousal straining desperately against the confines of his pants and he shifted pitifully, attempting to alleviate some of the pressure and failing.
Laenyra whined while Aemond struggled internally as he stroked her, his palm providing delicious pressure and friction to her clit. Her eyes fluttered shut once again as her hips starting to rocking against his hand, seeking more pleasure.
Laenyra’s thighs began tensing once more and Aemond knew she was close again, her second peak coming quicker with her wetness, her eagerness to receive pleasure now she had had a taste.
A soft moan escaped her lips and Aemond was desperate to hear the sound again, crooking his fingers in just the right way-
“Oh gods.” She choked at the precision of his movements as they brought her over the edge once again, her whole body shivering against him and he grinned, his lips seeking hers once again.
“Such perfection.” He whispered and Laenyra fidgeted under him, suddenly bashful as he looked over her flushed body. “Don’t hide from me.”
Aemond leant down to kiss her with startling softness, with one hand he tugged softly at her hair and with the other he finally freed himself from the tight confines of his breeches.
“I love you.” They said it at the same time, in such tandem that they smiled at each other, hearts beating as one.
Aemond settled above her, taking his length in one hand and Laenyra shuddered with pleasure as he teased her folds, letting her know what he was about to do.
She nodded to him.
“I am yours, Aemond.” Laenyra murmured with fire in her eyes.
He thrust gently, slipping inside her with relative ease.
He worked himself in patiently, using her building wetness to soften his entry. She was greedy and eager to take him but Aemond was determined for her to feel no discomfort. Laenyra whined as he stroked her softly, just enough to work her up more, not enough to provide any real pleasure, she was already overstimulated.
“You must wait.” He purred in her ear, the tightness of her almost too much. He had to go slow for both their sakes and he grabbed at her reaching hands, trapping them above her head with one of his, not allowing her to distract him further.
“Let me touch you.” Laenyra pleaded, her voice was desperate but she was beyond caring. The feeling of him between her legs was too much, such perfection that she writhed beneath him, willing Aemond to move.
“Patience.” He said softly, his own resolve weakening as Laenyra whimpered. Aemond would never hurt her, and ensuring she could take him properly was his first priority.
“Fuck patience.” Laenyra growled, bucking her hips to have him further inside her.
Aemond let out a low curse at the feel of her body welcoming him, yearning for his touch.
“This is much more difficult for me than for you, my love.” He murmured, his thumb pressing into her clit, groaning as she fluttered around him. Aemond dared to thrust gently, just slow movements to see if she could take more of him. Laenyra whimpered at the action, her cunt clenching desperately.
“Aemond.” She moaned as he gave a sharper thrust forward, her body finally taking all of him, the two of them joined together perfectly.
“It’s as though the gods have made you for me.” He whispered, relishing in the feeling of fitting so well inside her. Aemond’s free hand reached up to slide over her breasts, his thumb brushing over her nipple with a grin at how willing her body was to take all of him. His look predatory as Laenyra moaned wantonly at his touch.
She gasped as he thrust gently, only drawing out a fraction before sliding back in, her wetness allowing for easy access, just as he had hoped.
“You’re perfect.” Aemond murmured, one hand still locked about her wrists as he leant down to kiss her. Laenyra whimpered against him, the feel of his chest against her sensitive nipples, the pressure of his body against hers.
“I need you to move, please.” It was desperate, she was desperate and Aemond couldn’t help the pride at it being his touch to make her feel such a way. His.
“We’ll go slow to start.” Aemond followed his words with a gentle thrust and Laenyra saw stars, her hands fighting at his. She needed to touch him, to feel all of him as he allowed her to settle into the feel of him making love to her.
“Oh gods.” She whimpered as he began to speed up, her body egging him to increase his force. It was so much, it was too much but it was perfect. “Fuck.”
Aemond was too far gone to find her cursing amusing and pulled out entirely, waiting long enough Laenyra’s eyes to open in confusion before slamming himself back in. Her eyes widened and he finally released her hands, allowing her to grip at him.
Laenyra’s felt fat tears of pleasure cascade down her cheeks as her body finally let go and Aemond continued to thrust with so much force she had to scream into her pillow.
“You’re taking me so well.” He growled, his speed and force causing the very bed to creak dangerously. Aemond gripped the headboard with one hand to assist his movements, his other hand reaching down to gently stroke her clit, the juxtaposition of his movements only overwhelming her further. “You’re perfect, Laenyra.”
She grabbed his shoulders, clinging to him desperately as he brought them closer to their climax.
“Look at me.” Aemond ordered softly, his fingers gripped her jaw to face him. Laenyra reached and took his hands in hers, their fingers entwined as she looked upon him, their gaze set upon each other as they took and gave pleasure.
They soared and fell together, like dragons taking flight and the pleasure was unspeakable between them. Aemond delved his head into the crook of her neck at the intensity, biting into his lip so fiercely he drew blood in order to not scream out his pleasure.
Laenyra was not so controlled and moaned loudly in his ear, her hands clutching at him, attempting to tether herself to reality. Her thighs shook as she came back to herself, the overstimulation bearable as Aemond settled himself beside her, one arm thrown possessively over her.
“I love you.” Aemond said breathlessly. He noted with a fierce pleasure the marks upon Laenyra’s body, how flushed she was and how she looked at him like he was the only person in the world.
“I love you.” She murmured in agreement and reached weakly to stroke his face, tugging at his hair to pull him closer for another kiss.
Aemond gave her a kiss freely before pulling away, sitting up and hurrying to dress.
“Where are you going?” Laenyra asked in a tired voice, curious as to his movements. Aemond tugged on a tunic and pressed a swift kiss to her cheek.
“I will be gone one moment, my love.” He said and grinned at the sight of her exposed and satiated in his bed. She stretched to pull a pillow closer, fatigue settling in.
Laenyra hummed her consent to his movements, her body relaxed completely for perhaps the first time in years. She only closed her eyes for a moment though Aemond had returned by the time she opened them again.
He was standing at his desk, a small pot set atop the table as he mixed a herbal brew.
“Aemond?” She yawned aloud and he turned, a cup in one hand and a wash cloth in the other.
“Moon tea.” He explained quietly, offering the mug to her with a kind smile. “Helaena keeps a store in her rooms.”
She drank it quickly, not relishing in the bitter taste. Aemond stood before her, his touch soft as he wiped away the mess from her body.
“I love you.” He whispered after a moment, his eye flickering to her face as he discarded the cloth. Laenyra’s heart clenched at how vulnerable he was, how much of himself he was exposing to her and the trust they had.
She stood and reached for him, baring her body unashamedly now that Aemond had seen all of her. His gaze was intense, their eyes set on one another and her touch was soft as she traced the exposed parts of his scar. Laenyra vowed to have him remove it for her soon, but that was a discussion that would come later.
“I love you, Aemond.” Laenyra said with a fierce look, insisting that he knew how fiercely she felt for him. “It is you and I, forever.”
He warmed at her words and smiled as she pressed her forehead against his and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his lips.
“I would ask you to return to bed.” Laenyra whispered. “If you desire it.”
Aemond chuckled and nodded, kissing her brow.
“There are many things I desire in this world, and I dare say you in my bed is at the forefront of them all.”
Author's Note: slow burn is out the window besties xo
Warnings: None? Unresolved sexual tension I guess, confession of feelings
Word count: 5,107
Summary: Laenyra receives a message at breakfast and has to give bad news to Aemond. They both confess mutual feelings.
The morning light was kind upon the two dragons. Aemond was splayed across the bed snoring lightly, his hand clutched in Laenyra’s. Her hair spilled over the bed, her long legs entangled in sheets that had been pushed away. Both of them sleeping deeply, something they could only do in each other’s company.
Aemond was plagued by memories of a dark night and a stolen eye, often waking in a fit of horror. He would seek out his princess to comfort him. Laenyra was still entranced by dragondreams, waking throughout the night with a thrilling fear of flying, unable to find rest unless she had her prince to confide in.
They were too old for such things to be proper, both of them adults in the eyes of the gods, but uncaring to the fact. Aemond and Laenyra moved in tandem with each other. It was an innocent relationship, they simply relished and relied on the company of one another. They had yet to address the true yearning they felt for each other.
“Prince Aemond?” There came a knocking at the door and the two jolted awake fearfully.
Laenyra grasped at Aemond, taking comfort in his presence. She had been deep in a dream of Dragonstone and a dragon as black as pitch.
“Did you bar the door?” Laenyra whispered hoarsely, tugging at her prince’s tunic in order to awaken him more quickly.
“Yes.” He rasped, his arm wrapping around her of its own accord. Laenyra ignored the warmth that spread through her from such a touch. Sleep beckoned at them both, but they knew it would entail further danger of discovery.
“Prince Aemond, Queen Alicent sent me.” The voice belonged to Ser Erryk, Aegon’s sworn shield. “She has requested your presence for a family meal.”
“Yes.” Aemond called, clearing his throat so as to sound more authoritative. “I will be there momentarily.”
“Do you wish for me to escort you, my prince?” Ser Erryk asked, as was his job as a Kingsguard.
“No.” He said sharply. “I am capable of finding my own way.”
“Of course, Prince Aemond, I will leave you.” The clunking of armour told the departure of the knight and Laenyra kicked away the sheets to free herself from Aemond’s bed, sitting up and looking for the slippers she had removed upon arrival.
“It is alright, Laenyra.” Aemond murmured and stood to assist in her search. “The passageway is short, we will find your slippers and you will be in your chambers in a moment.”
He knelt by the bed, finding one of her missing moccasins. The other was hidden underneath one of the bedclothes she had kicked off, the two of them ran far too warm for so many coverings during sleep.
Laenyra glanced at the door, as though afraid someone would break it down and find them together. Aemond couldn’t help his smile, she was the bravest person he knew, but the idea of being sent away terrified her. She was scared of being separated from him and while he would never wish for it to happen, it brought him indescribable joy to have her favour him so much.
Aemond knelt before her, looking like a prince from the stories and her heart swelled at the sight. He gripped her calf, sliding up her nightgown in a heinously improper way but Laenyra could not bring herself to care as deft fingers secured both her slippers. He squeezed her leg with a smile and stood, pressing a quick and completely innocent kiss to her temple.
They approached the hidden panel beside his bed. Laenyra pressed the misshapen stone and Aemond pushed at the unseen doorway, forcing it wide enough for his princess to slip through.
“Go, I will see you soon.” He murmured. She gave him a warm smile and squeezed his hand before hurrying down the passageway.
The hidden walkway was too dark to see, but Laenyra’s feet were certain as they treaded the familiar path.
She pulled at an iron handle porting and a small wooden door popped open into her rooms. Leaning down she hurried through, closing the door behind her and concealing it with a tapestry, and winced at the sound of heavy knocking.
“Princess?” It was Laenyra’s sworn shield, Ser Adrian.
“Yes?” She called, attempting to make her voice sound hoarse from sleep.
“The Queen has requested you to join her and your family for a morning meal.”
“I will be just a moment.” Laenyra hurried to disturb her bed, pulling the sheets about so they looked slept in and tugged at her nightgown, attempting to remove it. She yelped as her hand collided with the bed frame, a searing pain shooting through her knuckles all the while tugging on a silk shift and pulled on her favourite blue gown, it was beautiful but easy to move about in.
“Are you alright, Princess?” Ser Adrian’s voice was urgent. “Shall I summon your lady’s maid?”
“No!” Laenyra winced at the tone of her voice and readjusted it. “No, thank you Ser. I am quite alright.”
She pulled open the door, attempting to seem put together.
Ser Adrian had been chosen by Rhaenyra to guard her only daughter, so it was no surprise that the man was as smart as a whip and just as deadly. He regarded her messed hair and flushed face with a raised eyebrow, glancing into her chambers. Upon seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he hmm’d and followed her down the hall.
“How did you sleep, Princess?” The knight asked, moving out of the way of her flailing hands as Laenyra tamed her hair into a braid.
“Well.” She was still slightly breathless and desperately attempting to conceal it. “Thank you, Ser. How was your nightly patrol?”
“Uneventful.”
Ser Adrian did not enjoy the fact that his charge had memorised his schedule so quickly, but his fondness for the girl overcame any annoyance.
Her knight opened the door to the dining hall for her and she murmured a thanks.
“Laenyra!” Helaena’s voice was joyful as she rose to walk quickly to greet her niece.
“Princess.” Laenyra grinned and took the older woman’s hands in hers, squeezing them fondly. She looked to the end of the table and curtsied to Queen Alicent. “Your Grace.”
Alicent nodded politely to her granddaughter, though her face fell as Aemond stood hastily to greet Laenyra.
“Bonds of blood are sacred over all others. But love is the most powerful thing in the world.” Helaena stated with a nonplussed smile and sat at the table.
Laenyra attempted to think on her aunt’s cryptic words, but came up short as Aemond approached. Any coherent thought she had vanished at the sight of him. Hair strands pulled back off his face and a tight leather tunic that fitted him very well.
“Princess Laenyra.” He purred, taking her hand and pressing an unnecessarily formal kiss to it. She felt herself go red as he released her. “You slept well?”
“Yes.” Her voice was quiet and she attempted reclaim some propriety. “How did you sleep, my prince?”
Aemond led her to the table, looking so gallant and princely she was embarrassed by how her heart fluttered.
“I slept soundly, thank you for asking.” He murmured and sat beside her.
Aegon, who had only just looked up to acknowledge her presence, let out a groan at the sight of them.
“Must you two be so enamoured with each other?” He groaned and pulled a pitcher towards him before letting out another groan at its contents. “And why in the seven hells is there water in here?”
“Oh do shut up, Aegon.” Aemond order his brother, who simply raised his cup in acknowledgement with a smug grin. Laenyra blushed red at Aegon’s words and chose to chat to Helaena instead.
Helaena was relatively detached from the conversation, speaking on things that had no meaning in the present but would return in the future. Many people viewed the princess as odd, perhaps indifferent. She was adored by Laenyra and Aemond though. Most of the time she just wished for someone to listen to her.
“Hand turns loom; spool of green, spool of black A dragon of green, a dragon of black, side by side but needed together.” Helaena’s tone became one of distress and Laenyra rested her hand softly on her aunt’s shoulder.
“It’s aright, Helaena.” Laenyra murmured, trying to provide comfort but unsure as to how.
Aemond leant over Laenyra to check on his sister, his hand grasping hers.
“Helaena, come back to us.” He spoke softly and motioned for Laenyra to continue stroking her shoulder.
The princess returned to herself slowly but after a long moment she looked at them with a shaky smile.
“Sorry.” She mumbled but Laenyra shushed her apologies and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
Aemond, relieved at his sister’s recovery, glanced down and frowned.
“You hurt your hand?” He asked and took Laenyra’s reddened knuckles in his hands.
“I hit it on my bed frame.” She explained, embarrassed.
“What did your bed frame do to you to warrant such treatment?” Aemond teased and she pulled her hand back to shove at him playfully.
“It kept teasing me so I had to establish dominance.” Laenyra huffed.
“Your political tactics should be recorded by a Maester for future study.” He grinned and dodged a swat from her. Laenyra could not enact further revenge as the doors opened to reveal Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk, the latter melded into the wall to stand guard over them, but the former approached.
“Princess Laenyra.” Ser Arryk bowed his head as he addressed her.
“Ser Arryk.” She said in greeting, unsure as to why he had interrupted breakfast.
“Apologies for the interruption, Your Grace, Princes, Princess Helaena.” He nodded to them all in turn before presenting a small scroll to Laenyra. “Maester Orwyle requested I bring you this.”
She took it, immediately recognising the three-headed dragon stamped into a black wax seal.
Aemond leant over to look at the scroll.
“It’s from my mother.” She explained softly, thanking Ser Arryk with a smile.
Laenyra frowned as her thumb traced the design. She had just sent a long-winded letter to her mother not three days past, and it always look at least a week for her mother and brothers and cousins to all write their responses into one letter and send it back. Daemon would only sometimes contribute, drawing little sketches or writings on dragons.
“This came this morning?” Laenyra asked and Ser Arryk nodded.
“Yes, Princess. A raven bore it just before you awoke.” He explained and joined his brother in standing sentry.
“Dark wings bring dark words.” Helaena whispered to herself in a voice almost too low to hear.
Aemond frowned at the look of worry on his princess’ face.
“Are you alright?” He murmured, trying to ignore his mother’s invasive gaze.
She nodded but stood, walking out to the balcony without so much as a backwards glance. Aemond tapped his fingers against the table, his leg bouncing as he kept looking to the veranda, wishing to follow her.
Laenyra fumbled with the scroll, tearing the wax with shaky fingers. She knew what it contained and knew why she had dreamt of Dragonstone.
Lyra, mother has summoned you to return to Dragonstone by the turn of the next moon. She misses you, we all miss you. - Jace
She would have known the author even without his name; Jace always did have messy handwriting.
Her heart clenched at how much she missed them, her loving family. But a searing void overcame her at the prospect of leaving her Aemond and of leaving Helaena.
She took a deep breath, now was not the time to think on such things.
I can’t tell Aemond yet, he will be so upset, let me enjoy today with him first. I will tell him later.
Laenyra reentered the room, all too aware of how fake her smile felt as she rejoined the table. Helaena laid a soft hand on her arm, her face one of sad knowing as she squeezed Laenyra’s hand.
“Is everything alright?” Aemond’s voice was one of mild panic.
“Yes, what did your mother write to you?” Queen Alicent’s voice was one of eagerness, a thirst to know what had been so important it could not wait for later.
“Nothing of great import.” Laenyra said and pulled her plate towards her, the fruit turning to ash in her mouth as she thought again on the scroll.
The Greens allowed the topic to be dropped, despite the interest. Though Aemond kept his gaze firmly on Laenyra as they ate, he would know what had upset her.
“Come.” He said once they had finished eating, offering her his hand with the roguish smile she loved.
Laenyra took it without question.
“Where are we going?” She asked, standing to follow him from the room, after polite farewells to the rest of his family. Laenyra separated them as she tucked the scroll into her sleeve, attempting discretion.
Aemond noticed of course and gave her a look of concern.
“Do you wish to tell me what was in the scroll?” He asked in a soft voice.
She shook her head, not meeting his eye.
“I will tell you later.” Laenyra caught his apprehension. “I promise, Aemond.”
They never broke their promises to each other. Never.
“Alright.” He permitted her to change the subject.
“So, where are we going?” She had a peculiar forlornness as she walked beside him.
“Vhagar has been restless in past days, I thought we could assist her.” His heart lightened considerably at her responding smile. There were few things in the world Laenyra loved more than flying, while she had yet to claim her own dragon, Aemond ensured she did not feel the loss too much, he and his dragon were constantly at her beck and call.
Ser Adrian and Ser Harrold escorted the two dragonriders, riding on horseback to clear a path through the streets of King’s Landing. Aemond rode beside Laenyra on a white mare that matched his hair. Laenyra atop a stallion whose coat resembled the colour of her own locks.
The city’s people waved as they passed, in particular to Laenyra, who smiled back looking every bit the people’s princess as Aemond looked on intimidatingly and silently beside her.
Ser Harrold looked on her fondly, reminded of her mother who too, could not be kept away from the Dragonpit. Their knights waited to the entrance of the grand building, the scent of dragons permeating the air, a promise of blood and power and ruin.
Aemond claimed her hand as his as he led her into the Dragonpit and Laenyra flushed red.
“Aemond.” She huffed and tugged at her hand, though he would not relinquish his grip.
“Yes, dear niece?” He asked casually, his own hand dwarfing hers.
“This is improper.” Laenyra grumbled and glanced around in fear of scrutiny. The dragonkeepers saw Aemond and hurried to summon Vhagar.
“Is it?” He asked, not unkindly but still feigning ignorance.
“Yes! We are not in the privacy of the Keep. I do not wish people to think something of our relationship that is not true. You know such rumours will reach my mother, they most likely already have.”
“What rumours will your mother hear?” Aemond asked, feigning further innocence as Laenyra’s cheeks bloomed red.
“You know exactly what would be whispered if it became common knowledge that we slept in the same bed.”
“Hmm.” He looked upon the girl he loved, even if they could not admit it to each other. “You have my apologies for making you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Laenyra promised quickly and worried that he would take offence; Aemond was the only person she could ever imagine touching her in a non-familial way. “I just- I don’t want to go back to Dragonstone”
“Why are you so afraid to go back home?” He asked and couldn’t help his look of surprise as she smiled sadly.
“Because you would not be able to come with me.” Laenyra walked away like she had said nothing of significance and instead walked towards Vhagar, preferring to approach the largest dragon in the world instead of acknowledge her feelings.
Aemond’s smile was seen by no one but bright enough to burn a fire as fierce as his dragon and he hurried after Laenyra.
"Rytsas, dōna riña.” Hello, sweet girl. She murmured as she approached the behemoth monster that had assisted in conquering Westeros.
Vhagar crooned softly in recognition of her rider and his princess and allowed Laenyra to press her hand against the warmth of the dragon, the power of fire made flesh.
“She loves you.” Aemond said proudly as Laenyra stoked his dragon’s muzzle. Even the dragonkeepers had a healthy fear of Vhagar, but the princess did not fear what would not harm her, and she knew Aemond would never allow anything to happen to her.
“I love her.” The dragon grumbled as Aemond approached, placing his own body in a way that effectively trapped Laenyra against the beast, not that she minded in the coolness of the day. They were just far apart enough to not be considered inappropriate and she wondered if he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Shall we?” He asked, his voice warm against her neck and his tone low enough to send a shiver down her spine.
“Yes.” Laenyra said and tried desperately to not sound so flustered, Aemond certainly knew how to stir something within her.
He grinned at the weakness in her voice and climbed the ladder that allowed for an easier assent of Vhagar.
“Do you require assistance, Princess?” Aemond asked once sat atop his mighty stead, looking every bit the conqueror of old. His smile was teasing as Laenyra harrumphed and made her own climb. She had required Aemond’s help getting on Vhagar for years before she was finally able to do it herself, the dragon was just too big and moved too much, but he never allowed her to forget when she relied so heavily on him.
Her grin was one of satisfaction and Aemond’s own was one of pride as Laenyra climbed into the saddle in front of him.
“Shall we?” She asked impatiently, leaning forward to hold on to the handles of the saddle. Aemond chuckled and leant forward as well, his body covering hers as he secured them to the dragon.
“Hold on tight.” He murmured in her ear and noted, with a possessive pleasure, the shiver that went down her spine at his voice. “Sōvegon, Vhagar.”
The great dragon stood, the jostling of her body causing the two on her back to move ever closer. She shook her head with a mighty roar, almost seeming displeased at having been awoken.
Laenyra’s heart soared as Vhagar took flight, her whoop one of pure exhilaration at flying. Aemond’s own yelled matched hers, and the three dragons flew as one against the sun. Vhagar trumpeted a bellow as she gained speed and momentum, her leathery wings propelling them towards the sea.
He pulled for her to slow once they cleared the city and flew above the vast ocean.
Laenyra smiled as she looked down, Vhagar’s mighty body reflected in the water below, her mass and speed creating an indent in the sea.
“I love flying.” She whispered to herself, but the wind took them to Aemond’s ear.
“I am always at your service.” He murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder so she might hear him better.
“I know.” Laenyra said with a smile, her hand releasing the saddle handle in order to hold Aemond’s hand. He loved her like this, free from cast judgement of people, Laenyra was free to give the affection she desired to. “I just wish for my own dragon.”
Aemond fell silent, knowing where the conversation was going.
“I sometimes think about finding him.” She mumbled and glanced over her shoulder, already prepared for his response.
“You wish to go into the wild alone to find a wilder dragon, Laenyra, it is madness.” He stated. Aemond could not deny her the right to a dragon, he knew how difficult it was without one, but he would not assist her in a suicide mission. “If you would allow Vhagar and I to accompany you, then we could go now.”
“You are too protective and Vhagar would scare him off.” She said sternly, they had had the conversation too many times to count.
“Scare him off before what? He could devour you whole?” He asked in good humour, though she remained unamused.
“No. He will not harm me, I am certain of it. He wants to be found, I can feel it.” She insisted and turned to look at him. “I wish to fly, Aemond.”
“You can fly with me.” He said quickly. “Whenever you desire, I am yours forever.”
Laenyra’s face fell.
“I wish to stay with you.” She whispered. “I wish to fly with you on Vhagar, I wish for you to take me to find my dragon. I want to spend the mornings with Helaena in the garden and the days sword fighting and the evenings reading with you.”
“Why are you talking like this?” Aemond asked cautiously and with a dreaded inference as to what was in the scroll from breakfast.
“Can we land?” She asked softly, it was all too much. She had planned to tell him later but there could not be any lies between and Vhagar was made of good memories between them, aside from Driftmark, and she did not wish to disgrace the great dragon with tears and farewells.
He murmured an agreement and steered Vhagar around, leading her inland with a tense silence. The quiet held until they landed on the coast of Massey’s Hook, the beach difficult to land on because of the unstable land, but Vhagar managed.
Laenyra did not wait for the dragon to fully still before slipping off and propelling down with surprising speed. Aemond followed her of course, his breath shallow as he ordered Vhagar to remain sentry and met Laenyra under the shadow of a sentinel tree that loomed tall over the coastline.
“You wish to talk now?” His tone was soft, so as not to upset her.
“Yes.” She said, as though convincing herself, but instead of speaking she simply pulled the scroll from her sleeve and thrust it towards him.
Aemond regarded her for a long moment before taking the paper, slipping his hand into hers as he read it.
A searing anger rippled through him, something akin to fire as he processed the scroll.
“They wish for you to return.” He whispered and gave it back to her, his gaze hard and set on the horizon. He was tempted to take Laenyra and keep flying east, they could get to Essos easily before anyone realised they were gone.
Laenyra did not answer and pulled herself closer to him, wrapping her arms around his slender waist and tucked her face in his chest. Aemond enveloped her, pulling their bodies closer together as he buried his nose in her hair, relishing in her presence.
“Mother has not visited the capital in an age, so we will visit soon.” Laenyra finally broke the silence and with it both their hearts.
“You are so willing to accept this?” Aemond growled into her hair, his fingers burying themselves in her dress.
“I don’t have a choice.” She whispered, sounding like a child instead of a dragon.
“Fuck that.” He huffed, moving to pull her chin up to meet his gaze, there was fury in his eye and Laenyra felt a thrill go through her. “You are happy here, you are happy with me. Why would she wish for you to return now?”
Laenyra knees weakened at the possessiveness in his tone, the claiming of her as his.
“I do not know. Maybe rumours of us have reached her, and she wishes to dispel them.”
“Ridiculous, rumours have followed your mother all her life, she knows how to live with them.” Aemond was seized with the unfairness of it all, but Laenyra looked upon her prince and saw what she had denied herself for so long. “I will not allow it.”
“She is my mother and heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Viserys cannot deny her anything, especially the return of her own daughter, and your mother will be glad to be rid of me, perhaps she will marry you off.” Laenyra posed it as a joke but the idea made her feel ill.
“But it is unfair.” He growled, his hands still gripping her dress desperately. “There is so much I wish to do with you, so much I have not done because of the propriety we have been constrained by in order for you to not get sent back.”
Laenyra thrilled at his words, did Aemond truly desire her as she desired him?
“You have held yourself back from desire?” She whispered, her tone one of intense interest and Aemond flushed as he realised what he had just divulged.
“Surely you are not surprised.” He said it with a confidence he did not feel.
Laenyra saw through his bravado and gave him a smile that did not cast judgement, but instead saw desire bloom within the two.
“If they wish to send me back anyway, why should I not have what I want?” She murmured, her hands sliding up to grip at the lapels of his jacket.
“What do you want, my dear Laenyra?” Aemond breathed, reaching to cup her cheek as his other hand delved into the glorious thick brown locks atop her head.
Laenyra took a breath, daring for once to put all other ambitions aside.
“I want you, Aemond.” She breathed and closed the gap between them. Their lips moulded together perfectly and Laenyra found herself wondering why she had waited so long to fulfil such a desire. Unfamiliar heat pooled in her belly and Laenyra blushed deeply as a quiet moan escaped her.
Aemond chuckled, his own hands greedy as they pulled her closer. Like a man starved he consumed her, his teeth rough as he nipped at her lower lip, her gasp granting him further access. Laenyra’s grip on him tightened as he explored her mouth, touching her in a way she had only dared imagine in the darkest of night.
“Aemond.” She whimpered into the kiss, unsure as to what she asked for.
He allowed her a reprieve from him for only a moment as he pulled away to regard her swollen lips and dishevelled appearance with a possessive gaze before his lips laid a fiery path along her collarbone.
“I have wished to do this for years.” He practically growled the words against her throat, his hands settling on her hips, his fingers digging in possessively.
“Really?” Laenyra asked in surprise, her fingers delving into his ivory hair to tug him away from her neck.
“Of course.” Aemond’s smile was incredibly endearing as he regarded her with an affection reserved only for Laenyra. “Always.”
Her heart fluttered pitifully as she thought on all the moments they could have had together, had she not been too afraid to approach him as anything other than a friend.
“Oh, Aemond. I’ve been such a fool.” She whispered as tears pricked in her eyes.
“Why?” He challenged, taking her hands in his and attempting to ignore the building feeling of anxiety.
“I’ve left it all too late. I have wasted time, we could have spent so many years together already and even approached Viserys. But now my mother calls me home and I must go.” Her eyes widened with sorrow. “They will most likely wish to arrange a marriage, to someone who I do not want and may mistreat me and I will live the life so many women fall prey too.”
Aemond found a deep, unfamiliar sense of anger and protection brew in his heart.
“You truly believe I would allow that to happen, Laenyra?” He growled, pressing a fierce kiss to her once more. “I will burn the entire world to ruin, I will scorch the earth beneath us if it would see you safe.”
And mine. Aemond’s thoughts were possessive but true and he looked at her with fierce adoration.
Laenyra looked into his eye and knew he was speaking the truth. It provided her too much comfort to see any concern and she claimed his lips once again. Aemond’s surprise at her eagerness was short-lived as she tugged softly at his hair, teasing a groan from him with startling skill.
He felt his breath stutter as she pulled away, his lips chasing hers and she grinned at his eagerness.
“I love you.” She whispered like it was a secret, like Aemond did not wish to scream if from atop his dragon; that Laenyra Velaryon loved him.
His eye softened and he was putty in her hands.
“I love you with every part of me, Laenyra. You are an inferno and I wish to be burnt beneath you.”
“Aemond.” She breathed in adoration and pulled him in for another kiss, the desire of it brutal and passionate and Aemond had to reach and clutch the tree behind her, for fear of falling over in his happiness.
Laenyra’s hands were greedy and one strayed downwards to tug at the buckles of his tunic, his body gave a jolt at the realisation of her desire.
“Not here.” He muttered hoarsely against Laenyra’s swollen lips, his resolve god-like as he managed to pull himself away.
“Why not?” She murmured in confusion, still half-dazed.
“Laenyra.” Aemond said her name like a prayer, a curse, a promise as he looked down at her, his fingers biting into the tree bark behind her as he fought his desires. “The things I wish to do to you are not fit for a princess’ ears.”
She opened her mouth to protest but he silenced her with a fast, and hard, kiss.
“Nevertheless I do believe you will soon find out what they are.” He continued with her favourite roguish grin. “And if I am worship, I intend to do so in the right setting.”
Laenyra’s cheeks were as red as Caraxes and she nodded mutely, overcome with emotion.
“I say we head back now, and cherish what time we have left together.” Aemond offered and she nodded once more. She almost drove him to madness, swollen lips and flushed cheeks and a look of pure longing. He chuckled and pulled her towards Vhagar. “Come, temptress, let us journey home.”
Author's Note: First part! Keen to see what y'all think. There's a bit of mutual pining but won't be much slow burn. Keeping to the show, we're gonna have a few time jumps.
Warnings: Jealous!Aemond, time-jump six years from the prologue
Word Count:
Summary: Aemond and Laenyra have been in love for years, they just aren't willing to admit it yet. At Aegon's nameday celebrations, Laenyra looks for answers about her dragon and Aemond gets jealous.
Laenyra huffed, turning in the mirror, trying to see all angles of the dress.
“I don’t know.” She muttered, twirling back and forth.
Helaena giggled at her niece’s antics, the handmaidens standing against the wall giggled as the princess spun so quickly she almost fell over.
“Wasn’t there a red and black one?” Laenyra asked, looking to Helaena with a hopeful smile.
Her aunt nodded and looked to the maids.
“Bring us that gown.”
They rushed to fulfil the command and Helaena came forward, helping in undoing the strings binding the dress together.
“Thank you.” Laenyra murmured, stepping out of the dress and discarding it on the bed.
Helaena stroked the slight bags under Laenyra’s eyes with a frown.
“You haven’t been sleeping well?” Her aunt asked quietly.
“No, it’s the dragondreams.” Laenyra shifted on the spot. “We’ve been flying south the past few weeks. Lately, as soon as I fall asleep I’m there.”
Laenyra did not fear the strange dreams, but it was difficult to find rest when her mind was so far away and she often woke up exhausted.
“South?” Helaena asked and threw an arm around her niece’s shoulders, wishing to provide comfort.
“Yes, I recognised Horn Hill a few nights past.” She yawned, resting her head on Helaena.
“Well a Lord Tarly is visiting in honour of Aegon’s nameday, perhaps you can speak to him and ask about it, if your dragon has been there for a little while, he might of heard of it.”
Helaena’s idea was a good one and Laenyra felt hope bloom in her chest.
The servants presented the embellished gown of black and crimson and Laenyra’s heart soared and her smile lit the room. Helaena assisted her in getting it on, pulling the dress ti secure it properly before ushering her niece to the mirror once again.
The gown was tight. Though it was clearly made it be, to accentuate the proportions of her body.
“You look so beautiful, like the red lacewing butterfly.” Helaena said dreamily.
“Thank you, Helaena.” Laenyra had no idea what a red lacewing butterfly looked like, but any comparison to a bug was a big compliment when coming from her aunt. “Do you think everyone will like it?”
“You mean Aemond?” She asked with a small smile. “Yes, I think he will.”
“Shall we?” Laenyra did a playful bow, attempting to change the topic, and offered her arm as she stood. Helaena giggled and took it, slotting themselves together.
The two princesses laughed as they ran down the halls, Helena outstripping Laenyra and giggling at how difficult it was for her niece to run in such a dress. They were hurrying in order to not miss the official entrance of the royal family.
Laenyra grabbed at Helaena as she almost rounded the final corner and tugged her into an alcove.
“Wait.” She whispered and fixed her aunt’s dress that had ridden up from running.
“Thank you.” Helaena murmured and tucked Laenyra’s stray hair back into place.
They rounded the corner as one, arms linked and smiling in such an innocent way that surely no one could accuse them of anything.
“You’re late.” Ser Criston reprimanded as they came into view.
“Princesses are never late, Ser Criston.” Viserys corrected and his smile brightened as he reached for his granddaughter. “Everyone else is simply early.”
“You look so beautiful, my dear girl. Your mother must be so proud of you.” He manoeuvred with his cane and stepped forward, pressing a frail kiss to Laenyra’s cheek and a kind hand on Helena’s cheek.
“Happy name-day, Prince Aegon.” Helaena and Laenyra spoke in unison as Queen Alicent ushered Aegon forward. He muttered a greeting at them, stumbling slightly.
“You will escort your wife.” Alicent muttered sternly and the eldest son of Viserys huffed and begrudgingly offered Helaena his arm. The princess took it with a grimace and Laenyra smiled supportively as Helaena sent a sad look her way.
“And Aemond will escort Laenyra!” Viserys said happily. Alicent looked as though she would rather have Vhagar escort Aemond to the ball, but could say nothing as her husband stepped aside and ushered their second son forward.
Her heart beat fast as he stood before her, the top half of his hair pulled back but the rest cascading downwards in silken tresses. His tunic was fitted to perfection, an inky green that only enhanced the vividness of his eye. He had gotten a new eyepatch too, she noticed, a deep brown leather that he seemed to prefer to his old one. He smiled at her and her knees almost gave way.
His eye darkened as it roamed over her, his jaw clenched and unclenched twice before he managed to steady himself.
“Princess Laenyra.” Aemond said and bowed to her with a charming grin.
Laenyra blushed at his antics.
“Prince Aemond.” She teased and took his outstretched hand, her heart leaping in her chest as he pressed a kiss to it before tucking it in the crook of his elbow.
Viserys chuckled as he watched them, his love of their relationship one of the few things that granted him true happiness in recent years. He was eagerly waiting for the day in which they acknowledged their feelings to each other, so he might arrange a match between them, if he could convince Alicent.
“Right.” The queen said briskly, attempting to draw the attention off of the too familiar relationship. “Shall we?”
Viserys nodded and they all fell into line, Aegon and Helaena behind the king and queen. Laenyra and Aemond behind them, her fingers slotting between his as Ser Criston announced their entry.
“You are perfection, Laenyra.” Aemond whispered as the doors were pulled open.
“You exaggerate, uncle.” She said with a soft smile, half-tempted to flee from his intense gaze, but she could never run from her Aemond.
“On the contrary, niece.” He purred and led them forward into the hall. “Sometimes I look at you, and I can scarcely believe you are real.”
“You are silly.” Laenyra mumbled and Aemond chuckled, parading them through the hall and to the head table, the two of them sitting next to Helaena and Aegon.
The surrounding tables were lined with courtesans, those who lived at court, though that number had dwindled slowly with the king’s ailing health.
“Did Aemond like your dress?” Her aunt asked as soon as they sat down, not bothering to lower her voice and Laenyra groaned internally as Aemond’s look became one of intense interest and he leaned closer to them.
“Indeed, dear sister. I dare say our niece is a vision sent by the gods themselves.” He said with a grin, enjoying how Laenyra’s face flushed at his continued appraisal of her appearance
“I told you he would like it!” Her aunt beamed at the two of them, often finding refuge from her own marriage in the building relationship between her brother and niece.
“You were worried about my opinion?” Aemond asked, his voice lowering slightly as he frowned.
Laenyra huffed.
“I just wanted to look nice.” She muttered defensively.
“You have succeeded so severely I believe that ‘nice’ would be an insult.”
“You’re making her uncomfortable, Aemond.” Helaena said softly, noticing how Laenyra shifted and mistaking it for discomfort. In reality Laenyra wished to pull him closer and press their lips together, the audience before them be damned. His words stirred such a heat in her belly, a fire that only ignited in his presence.
Aemond took his sister’s words though and quieted himself, allowing Laenyra a slight reprieve from her yearning for him.
Viserys stood and the room silenced.
“It is wonderful to see you all.” He said in a soft voice, his health not allowing him to project across the banquet hall. “We are all here to celebrate my Aegon’s name day. He is a man grown, and I am rejoiced to be able to welcome you here.”
He let out a small cough and went to continue, though he had to sit in order to collect himself as a spasm of pain went through him. Viserys sat at Alicent’s urging and everyone clapped politely, sharing looks of concern at their king’s depleting health.
Aegon wasted no time in toasting the room before drinking very deeply from his cup.
Alicent grimaced at her son’s choice but said nothing, Otto simply regarded Aegon calmly before his gaze flicked over to Laenyra and Aemond. She stared back resolutely, she would not be intimidated by such a man.
Aemond caught her staring back at his grandsire and huffed, their feud something he could not prevent though it irritated him endlessly. He drew Laenyra’s attention back to him with a touch, glaring at Otto for disrupting her happiness.
“He enjoys upsetting you, I think.” He said softly, placing a large cut of prime rib on her plate before serving himself.
Laenyra growled under her breath, picking at the food while shooting daggers to Otto. Her anger was soon forgotten though as Helaena grimaced at Aegon’s loud belch. She attempted to ignore the rudeness of her uncle as she ate. Though soon she saw his gaze flicker over to a serving girl by the door and decided enough was enough. Laenyra leant over and rested her chin on Helaena’s shoulder with a comforting smile.
“Would you like to dance?” She asked softly, nodding towards the already twirling couples, those eager to forget the heaviness of the atmosphere.
Helaena adored dancing and she smiled eagerly, her anxieties momentarily forgotten.
“Yes, I would like to dance.”
Laenyra turned to Aemond.
“I going to dance with Helaena.” She said and squeezed his arm as she stood.
“Would you like me to accompany you?” He asked, standing quickly to pull her char out for her.
“I believe we will be okay.” Laenyra teased at his protective tone. “Though you are welcome to jump in if I need saving from a monster.”
“Hmm.” He hummed, smirking amusedly at her jests.
Aemond watched them step down from the table together, his eye keenly sweeping over the crowd, determining there were no threats to the two people he cared most about.
He saw nothing of import but kept a keen eye on them nonetheless.
“You lead.” Laenyra encouraged her aunt eagerly. Helaena nodded determinedly and lead Laenyra in a dance, their own movements matching those of the surrounding partners. The princesses giggled at the disapproving looks from some the crowd, the fact neither one of them was escorted seemed to be displeasing to a few Lords and Ladies.
They managed to dance three songs together before someone disrupted them, a lord from the Riverlands asking Helaena to dance, no doubt wanting the favour of the princess rumoured to be so kind.
Laenyra met Aemond’s high from the high table and grinned as he raised a teasing eyebrow. She began weaving through the crowd, seeking to go and pull him into a dance.
“Might I have this dance, Princess Laenyra?” She halted and saw Aemond frown as someone spoke from behind her.
Laenyra spun on her heel to face an unfamiliar man.
“Lord Alan Tarly of H-”
“Horn Hill!” Laenyra chirped, interrupting the lord in her excitement. “Apologies for interrupting you, my lord.”
“There is nothing to apologise for, Princess.” He said politely, clearly happy that she knew of him.
“So you are enjoying the capital?” Laenyra asked, eager to converse with him, trying to figure out a way to guide the conversation.
Lord Tarly hummed as though in thought.
“The trickery of the court is unfortunately lost on me, I have no patience for those who do not mean what they say. Or perhaps I am not quick enough to keep up.” He said it with a smile and Laenyra found herself warming to the Lord.
“You are an honest man to admit such a shortcoming, though I must admit the necessity of cunning in court is a tiresome one.” She said with a graceful twirl as the music built.
“And you, my princess, are the first to admit the extremity of cunning required in the capital. I do believe that means I can trust you.”
Laenyra gave the lord a smile, allowing him to lead her through the dance.
“I do believe only fools trust dragons.” She said with a teasing tone.
“Call me a fool then.” Lord Tarly stated with a grin and Laenyra laughed.
The dance came to an end and they clapped politely.
“Might I be inappropriate and ask you for another dance?”
“You may.” Laenyra grinned, she liked Alan Tarly and his honesty about the cruel games of the capital. She didn’t get many chances to meet new people any more, in the time of her mother living in the capital, visitors were common and easy to meet. But as Viserys’ state weakened, newcomers were far and few between.
The music resumed and the couple began dancing once again.
“So on Horn Hill, the surrounding forests are said to be full of game, is that true?” Laenyra asked, attempting an air of polite curiosity.
“Yes! Hunting is a popular pastime, the stags are magnificent to hunt. If you ever visit the Reach, Princess, it would be an honour to host you and a hunt.” He said eagerly, clearly fond of Laenyra and his family’s famed hobby.
“It is a lovely offer, My Lord.” She said with the politeness of a princess. “Are stags the only large animals in Horn Hill, do you have many predators?”
If Lord Tarly noticed her focus in their conversation, he made no mention of it.
“Yes.” He seemed keen to discuss his home and Laenyra was glad for it. “There are bears from the Crownlands and a few wolves even.”
“No number of predators to truly disrupt the balance of prey then?” She asked softly, feeling disappointed at his answer.
Alan Tarly frowned at her peculiar line of questioning but didn’t say anything.
“There has been a few reports of animal parts, carcasses being found as of late. Only in the past few weeks though, before I journeyed to the capital. Also an oddity of deer coming far too close to the keep’s walls, almost as though a predator, most likely a bear, has wandered into their habitat.” He spoke as a true hunter, the logistics of the it all laid out in preparation for a future hunt, but the specifics confirmed what Laenyra suspected.
She smiled gratefully at his answer, immediately falling deep in thought. Lord Tarly noticed her shift though and grinned sheepishly.
“Apologies, Princess Laenyra.” He said with an awkward chuckle. “My family takes hunting as serious as war sometimes. I did not mean to speak on things I’m sure you have no interest in.”
“No, it is no issue at all, I find it all quite interesting.” Laenyra insisted with a gracious smile. She couldn’t wait to tell Aemond, this was proof her dreams were true.
Lord Alan led her in the remainder of the dance graciously, his demeanour a friendly one and she was glad to talk to him.
The music swelled and the dance sped up, Laenyra and Lord Tarly breathless with joyful smiles as the song finally came to an end.
“Might I dare to lead you in a third dance?” His tone was teasing and she was eager to continue their conversation.
“Of co-”
“I do believe two dances is more than enough.” Aemond’s voice cut through the jovial mood with the sternness of his tone and immediately Lord Alan ducked his head respectfully. “You would not want anyone to believe something improper is going on.”
The clipped way he spoke told Laenyra he was jealous, and she turned to face him, her hand reaching to tuck into his elbow.
“Of course not, my prince.” The lord bowed once again and turned to Laenyra. “It was a pleasure, Princess Laenyra. I hope to see more of you during my visit.”
“Of course you do.” Aemond muttered with such hostility that she led him away and into a dance, the song slower now and perfect for conversing and not being overheard.
He gripped her waist firmly, his fingers grasping at her as his other hand slotted perfectly over her own. His eagerness to have her in his grasp was quite endearing.
“There was no need to interrupt.” She murmured calmly.
“You looked like you needed saving.”
Laenyra grinned at his protective nature, though jealousy certainly played its part in Aemond’s actions.
“I was asking Lord Tarly about his home, if you must know.” She said coolly and squeezed his hand to let Aemond know she was not upset.
“Horn Hill, why?” He asked, an eyebrow arching at the oddness of her interest. “You’ve never mentioned an interest in the Reach before.”
Laenyra took a brief, casual, glance around to ensure no one was focusing too much on the two of them.
“I had another dream last night.” She said softly.
Aemond frowned.
“Why did you not come and wake me?” He asked, his hand on her waist drawing her closer as his voice lowered. They had slept separately the past few nights, an odd occurrence as the two of them could only sleep peacefully in the other’s company.
Laenyra shrugged nonchalantly but Aemond saw through her immediately.
“They’ve been bad again?” He asked, his look one of deep concern.
“Not bad.” She insisted quickly. “Just intense. We’ve been hunting more and I think flying South. We flew over Bitterbridge in the night, I recognised the old stone bridge and the flat lands. Though we have been near Horn Hill for a little while.”
“Not ‘we’, Laenyra. I know you feel part of the beast but they are dreams, we have no proof the dragon even exists.” Aemond spoke kindly but she frowned at his words.
“You know they are more than dreams, and no one would be able to spot such a dark dragon if he only flew at night. I saw the damage to the Stony Sept before we received word of it.”
Aemond nodded to himself, he knew her dreams were more than imagination, especially when she faded away from him during the day, though those fits had become less common as they had gotten older.
“Alright, what did your Lord Tarly say?” He asked, attempting to keep out the jealous tone and failing.
“He said that there has been less game as of late, or the prey had taken to hiding from something. His maester had theorised that there must be an increase of predators or something has migrated south and disrupted the normal balance. Only a dragon could do such a thing, and the forests are so dense and unpopulated by people that no one would be able to see it.”
Aemond could not argue with her sound logic, but the idea of his princess running off to Horn Hill in search of a wild dragon was unimaginably dangerous, and he would never allow her to go into such danger.
“Allow me to take you if you must go.” He blurted it out desperately though they had discussed it multiple times.
“Aemond, you know that you cannot. You are too protective and Vhagar will scare off any dragon, wild or eitherawise, and you will not allow me to get too close and you would be putting yourself in danger, there are countless reasons for you not to come.”
“None of them important enough to dismantle the one reason I should go.”
Laenyra huffed, her exasperation at his stubborn defence of her beyond irritating.
“Oh yes, what reason is that?”
“We are always meant to be together.” He said calmly but his eye was ablaze with passion.
Aemond’s gaze was intense and she ducked her head, attempting to conceal how flustered she was. He twirled her once more as the music swelled and then led her off the dance floor, his arm firm around her waist.
“You will come to my room tonight.” He said softly, pressing a kiss full of care to her hand as he finally released her. “Then perhaps we can both sleep soundly.”
Laenyra smiled softly and nodded, wishing to hug him tightly but people were glancing at their abrupt departure from the dance.
“Alright.” She consented and pressed a daring kiss to his cheek before disappearing into the crowd, embarrassed at her own brazenness.
Aemond stared after her. The fire inside him roaring as he withheld from chasing after the woman he loved.
Author's Note: Hey y'all, I've posted a couple snippets and I'm so happy with the response. This is gonna be a solid series, featuring Aemond x OC, but also a dabble of Cregan Stark x OC for the Stark fans.
Warnings: None x
Word Count: 807 (Short and sweet before the monster chapters)
Summary: Aemond and Laenyra are children that only feel safe with each other. (This is going to be the only kid!Aemond chapter, there's gonna be a time jump into the first chapters)
The door creaked within the darkness and immediately Aemond was awake, fear singing through his heart. He cursed himself for such a cowardly feeling, he was the blood of the dragon, and dragons have nothing to fear.
“Hello? Who’s there?” His voice was quiet as he spoke into the darkness. He hoped it was a servant come to refresh the fire, not his brother who would come with cruel words. “I demand that you reveal yourself.”
Aemond’s words were strong in theory but the voice of scared boy spoke them.
“Aemond?” A voice carried in the night and he felt the tension leave his body.
“Laenyra.” He said relievedly, no longer fearing the unknown, not if she was with him. “Are you okay?”
The girl came into view. A girl with the hair of a commoner but the name of a dragonrider.
His mother, Alicent, always frowned upon how close they were and how different they looked. Though his father, Viserys, couldn’t be happier with their bond, it was one of the few times he paid Aemond attention, when he and Laenyra were together.
“Are you alright?” The young prince asked and swept off the bedclothes to approach his best and sometimes only friend.
Laenyra nodded though he could see the nervousness about her, they couldn’t hide anything from each other, not really. Though too young to understand it, it just seemed normal for them to always know how the other was thinking. The bond between them easily overcame the prejudices of their parents and the differences between them virtually non-existent compared to the love they held.
“Yes.” She breathed slowly, attempting to calm the exhilaration pumping through her, but Aemond saw the wildness in her eyes.
“You had another one of your dreams, didn’t you? The dragondreams.”
His sister, Helaena, had dreams and visions. But Laenyra’s were different.
Dreams that would strike her at any moment, full body domination that would see her sent miles and miles away from herself. They had been terrifying to witness when they first occurred, Aemond had wanted to run and scream for a Maester, but Helaena had been there too. She had been so calm, like she knew it was going to happen and had simply knelt beside Laenyra and waited for her to return to herself.
“Yes. I was hunting this time.” She only told him about the dreams. The flying ones were the best, she said, true freedom as her body soared over treetops and mountains. The hunting ones were not so kind. Laenyra explained that while she was in the dream it was fine, she was a dragon and a dragon had to hunt to eat. But when she awoke, with the taste of blood in her mouth and the adrenaline of a fresh kill, it was hard to calm down.
“What did you catch?” Aemond asked and offered her his hand. She took it with a smile and instantly the prince was protected from the chill in the air.
“A stag.” Laenyra whispered and followed him to the bed. Lying down beside each other the two children found themselves in one of their rare moments of true comfort and safety. “I chased it through the Crownlands, I think.”
“How do you know?” Aemond would never judge her, not her Aemond. Whenever she awoke from her dragondreams he would always receive her with kindness and curiosity as to the what she dreamt of.
“There were soldier pines on sloping hills. Maidenpool is said to be home to such things.” Laenyra yawned widely, the adrenaline of the dream leaving her to feel the lateness of the hour.
“Why do you have such dreams?” He asked, wishing he would know what it was like to fly. Neither of them had a dragon, their eggs unhatched in the crib, but at least Laenyra knew what it was like to soar through the open air, even if it was a dream. “Do you think I will ever have them?”
She smiled at him with kindness.
“You’ll fly one day, Aemond. We both will.”
“Do you think so?” He asked with wonder, speaking his truest hope to life.
“I know we will.”
“How?” Aemond queried her with a fierceness in his voice for he had suffered too much taunting on the subject to regard it with humour
“I don’t know how, I just know that green and black will fly as one or fall together.”
He allowed her cryptic statement to go unquestioned, she often said such things when she first awoke from her dragondreams and he tried not too linger too much on them.
But as sleep claimed him he saw it, an enormous beast of a conquerer and a winged shadow beside it. Their riders one of silver hair and one of brown hair, theirs hands outstretched towards each other.
__________________________
Next chapter will be posted soon xx
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