Drop Dead
Inspired by the song "Drop Dead" by Olivia Rodrigo
Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader
Synopsis: A Tyrell and a Targaryen, but I do believe they go quite nice together.
Warnings: None, Fluff, Reader has a big fat crush on Aemond.
Word Count: 1,856
A/N: This is purely for shits and giggles.
Boredom can lead you down many roads. Often, the road less traveled by catches one’s attention– a good path for the one who has grown tired of the same monotonous trail. However, with you, boredom led you to a certain one-eyed prince.
You had exhausted yourself during a ball, your feet ached from dancing each and every song. In consequence, you were forced to retire to your seat earlier than you would like, desolate at your family’s table as your friends and kin enjoyed the merriment on the dance floor. You had been looking about the room, trying to find entertainment in the desolate seat you sat upon, when your eyes caught the form of Prince Aemond.
He was in a serious discussion with his grandsire, with his brows in a furrow suggesting so, but all you could focus on were his hands. He gripped his wine glass with little force, but you could clearly see how his veins crawled up the appendage. His hands were elegant, you thought. It was lithe as he moved his cup to meet his lips, and you could not help but hope that he would never finish his wine, for it meant that your entertainment for that dull night would be gone.
You knew that the prince was a rather closed-off individual– one who had been called aloof and cold. That fact did not deter you in the slightest. There was a calling that you could not ignore. Even if you had lived most of your life in the Red Keep, it was only recently that you saw Prince Aemond in a different light.
During your nightly rituals, a mundane routine you have done again and again, the thought of the prince crossed your mind once more. You were sitting in the middle of your plush feather bed, mindlessly brushing your hair, when the image of straight silver locks came to mind. Silver locks that shone under the sun and glimmered under the light of the moon. House Targaryen had always been known for such unique traits, but only now had you truly appreciated its beauty.
You felt an odd sensation when your mind tried to recall what the prince looked like when you encountered him in the tiltyard. His hair swaying with each strike of his sword, his agile footing scruffing against the earth, and quiet grunts leaving his thin lips. You felt a warm tingle that began from your back and ran all across your body, lingering on your chest. You did not know what such sensations meant; all you knew was that you retired to bed with an inkling to pass by the training grounds tomorrow morning.
Even before morning came, before you could peel your eyes open and greet a new day, the thought of the prince lingered. He was vivid in your dreams, from the way his quiet yet authoritative voice spoke to you and how realistic it felt to feel him standing by your side and letting your shoulders brush. You woke up with a blush as your imagination ran wildly even in your sleep.
Though you had planned to venture to the training grounds to catch a glimpse of the prince the night before, you disregarded such plans as you felt butterflies in your stomach and an inkling to heave with just the thought of him. It was an odd and dreadful sensation, yet it felt rather thrilling if you were being honest. From the way your heart would beat louder with just the mention of Prince Aemond’s name, to how you would blush and quicken your steps when you accidentally passed him by in the halls.
It was all too much. He affected you so greatly that you were starting to see visions of him in the tapestries in the castle or in the marble statues that decorated the corridors.
“He’s so… ethereal, that I’m starting to believe that I had simply made him up,” You whispered to your friend, your closest confidant. You could no longer keep your thoughts to yourself; the idea of Prince Aemond was all too consuming.
“I saw him leaving one of the knights bruised and bloody after their training– unfortunately, he is all too real, dearest.” Your friend laughed, and you blushed as a dreamy sigh left your lips when you recalled the look of focus on the prince’s face as he wielded his sword.
“I do not understand why I feel such things!” You dramatically exclaimed as your mind regained focus. “I feel a dagger is twisting my insides each time I remember his existence!” You sighed as your so-called friend laughed at your expense.
“You have the most peculiar case; most of the ladies of the court are scared to breathe the same air as the prince, yet you have us passing by the tiltyard each hour just in hopes of seeing Prince Aemond.”
Another sigh left your lips as you, too, could not explain your behavior. It was beyond your control now. You could not word nor voice it out; your attraction was simply brought forth by a delicate instinct that begged you not to question it.
You did not know much about the prince, but everyone knew that he was not fond of crowds, which is why it was a great surprise when you felt him take a seat beside you as the court waited for a bard’s performance. You held your breath as you saw him glance in your direction. You sat rigidly, your gaze ahead, as his cold, lilac eye lingered upon you for the briefest of seconds.
You felt the urge heave again, but even with your agitated nerves, it felt thrilling to be seated next to the prince. There were still plenty of seats unoccupied; there was even a section reserved for the royal house, yet he had chosen a seat next to yours. He chose to sit next to you.
To speak or not to speak was your dilemma. You wanted to seize the moment– to engage with the prince. There were still moments before the performance began, but with each second that passed, you fought an internal battle that had you distraught.
“Another admirer?” A silky, silent voice cut through your thoughts. You dared to turn to meet the prince’s eye, his lilac gaze already upon you. “Pardon, my prince?” You asked softly, trying your best to hide the nervousness in your voice.
“Are you another admirer of the bard’s work?” He questioned, and you clutched the fabric of your skirts tightly, your palms clammy with each moment the prince spoke to you. “No– I mean, yes, my prince– I… I particularly like only one of his sonnets.” You stuttered your explanation, your cheeks heating with embarrassment, but it rewarded you with a glimpse of a hindered grin twitching upon the prince’s lips.
“And pray tell what sonnet has you in raptures that you would purposefully settle yourself in this crowded hall for the afternoon?” You bit your lip as you could not believe that Prince Aemond conversed with you.
“’Tis heaven’s own likeness… I fear I have committed its words to memory.” You answered and heard a quiet hum leave his thin lips. “And what of you, my prince? What sonnet had you come for?” You boldly questioned, and you held your breath once more as the prince stared deeply into your orbs.
He never had the opportunity to answer your query, as other courtiers arrived and crowded the room, forcing those who were comfortably seated on benches to move closer to one another. You did not know if it was a blessing or a curse that Prince Aegon decided to sit and crowd his brother’s side, forcing Prince Aemond to settle closer to you.
You bit your lip each time you felt your shoulders brush; you had a vision of the two of you like this for a while now, together side by side, crowded by courtiers that were a nuisance to the prince but a blessing to you.
The prince did not speak once more, nor did he answer your question as the bard’s performance began, but when your favored piece was finally uttered, you saw from the corner of your eye that the prince mouthed along with the words. He knew all the words to ’Tis heaven’s own likeness, and that fact endeared him to you all the more.
When the performance ended, you let out a breath of either relief or disappointment as the prince quickly rose to his feet. You did not dare to steal another glance in his direction; you were all but ready to let him leave and have this instance become another moment to commit to memory, but as he held out his hand to you and offered to walk you back to your chambers, you swore you could have fainted.
“Tyrell and a Targaryen, not the most traditional of matches, but I do believe that we go quite nicely together.” You dreamily sighed to your friend. Ever since the prince walked you to your chambers, the heavens had humored you with more prolonged moments with him.
You would pass by him in the halls more frequently, a ghost of a smile on the prince’s lips each time your shoulders would brush. He had invited you to watch his morning training in the tiltyard, his eye searching yours in between each swing of his sword. You would even have tea in the gardens in the afternoons.
It was exhilarating. For him, the once notoriously aloof and reclusive prince to choose to be in your presence was an honor that no other could claim. Each time you spent in each other’s presence, your nervousness eased. You began to wonder why you were so hesitant to be in his presence before. In the past, you could not even speak a word if he were within earshot, but now each and every thought and question you could think of was said to him.
“Have you ever been to Essos? Or flown your dragon to Dorne?” You asked him, and you feel your heart stutter and your cheeks burn as you hear Prince Aemond let out a quiet laugh at your queries. You were sitting upon a swing, the two of you hidden away from others as the weeping branches of a willow tree covered the two of you.
You held your breath as you felt him place his hand over yours, your grip on the swing’s rope tightening as you felt him dip down, his lips drawing closer to your ear. “No, my lady.” He replied, “But I suppose we could if you wished.” He whispered, and you felt your heart skip a beat. You craned your neck to meet his eye, your lips agape as you felt lightheaded. Your mind muddled with the feel of his hand upon yours, and your gaze was entranced by his lips. His thin, pink, and punishing lips.
This was the most alive you have ever felt. But you were certain that if the prince kissed you now, you might as well drop dead.
