[sena-seastar]

Masterlist

Welcome to my masterlist! All my writing is created with an adult audience in mind (18+). I do not consent to my work being translated, copied, or posted on this platform or any others.

You can also find all my work on Ao3 @Sena_keres if you prefer to read there.

With that in mind, I hope you enjoy it! Any form of feedback is greatly appreciated!

Originally posted by straywords

House of the Dragon

Series

The Dragon's Gold (Aegon II Targaryen x Male!OC )

Summary: Aerys Reyne, son of Naerys Targaryen, the second-born daughter of King Viserys and Queen Aemma, has been best friends with Aegon since childhood. As boys, they had been inseparable. Wherever one boy was, it wasn't long before the other came running behind him. That was until forbidden desires of the heart forced a wedge between them. After the death of his grandsire, King Viserys, Aerys finds himself torn between two sides: stand by his oldest friend or stand by the only mother he has ever known.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

One Shots

Burning Desire (Aemond x Older!Sister Reader)

Heart to Heart (Dad!Aemond x Wife!Reader)

His Queen (Aegon II x Fem!Reader)

Let The Light In (Aemond x Fem!Reader)

Bad Sleeping Habits (Dad!Aemond x Wife!reader)

Blurbs

Mine all mine (Aemond x Wife Reader)

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms

Baelor Targaryen

The hour of ghosts (Father!Baelor Targaryen x gn!reader (Platonic)

a bit heavy (Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen x wife!reader)

Maekar Targaryen

Under the Moon (Maekar Targaryen x wife!reader)

the price to pay (Maekar Targaryen x Wife!reader, Maekar Targaryen x Child!Daeron Targaryen (Platonic!)

not meant for you (Maekar Targaryen x Wife!reader)

Daeron Targaryen

a momentary sense of life (Daeron the drunken x wife!reader)

[sena-seastar]

not meant for you

Pairings: Maekar Targaryen x Wife!reader

Summary: You try to comfort Maekar after the trial of seven.

Warning(s): Angst

Word count: 1,483

A/N: The reader is Maekar's second wife and a widow. I do not specify which house she is from. No beta, so I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes!

The maesters say it is still spring, yet tonight feels like the coldest winter night.

Baelor is dead.

A mortal blow to the back of his helm, struck by his own brother's mace. A terrible tragedy, you know, but that won't stop the whispers. Already, the rumors that Maekar had intentionally killed his brother were being whispered into one person's ear and the next. 

It's a lie.

An awful lie that half the realm would accept as a fact by the time the sun rises again. The people did not know your husband or the bond he shared with his brother. The two had grown up together in the halls of the red keep, played together, trained together, and even rode to war together.

The Hammer and the Anvil.

The names they had both earned after they crushed the Blackfyre rebel army during the Battle of the Redgrass Field, together. 

Now they are separated. Divided by a force that no man could crush or escape. 

The stranger comes for us all.

A phrase often spoken to keep mankind from dwelling on their inevitable fate. 

The book in your hands is heavy, heavier than it should be. It matches the pressure on your chest. You hadn't known Baelor for very long, but you mourned for him like you had known him your entire life. It has only been two years since you wed Maekar. A political marriage that neither of you had been very happy about. 

Maekar had been a cold, imposing figure the first time you had met him. Far different from your first husband, who had always been so kind and gentle. Until the stranger took him from you, leaving you widowed.

Maekar had been a widower himself, though unlike you, his first marriage had resulted in multiple children. You were fond of his four younger children, as they had welcomed you easily enough. Your relationships with his eldest two, however, were a bit more strained. Daeron was indifferent towards you, which you didn't mind. He was a man-grown, you didn't expect him to cling to your skirts and call you mother. Aerion, however, seemed to hold a particular disdain for you. Fortunately, he expressed that by simply pretending you didn't exist whenever his father wasn't around.

You lifted your eyes from the book, watching Maekar from afar. He was lying in a copper tub, his head tilted back, resting against the edge. A wet cloth was draped over his face. The water was still steaming. It had been so hot that you couldn't tell if it was meant to soothe or punish him. He has been lying like that for what felt like hours, utterly silent. Neither the scented oils nor the scalding water were strong enough to wash away the suffering and guilt.

Maekar himself had been quite distant at first, preferring to sleep in his own private quarters. The first few months of your marriage had been rather dull and lonely. The few awkward attempts at conversation between you and your husband only ever led to more silence. Just as you had begun to abandon all hope, Baelor had appeared, with all the charm and chivalry one would expect from a prince of the realm.

"Give him a chance," Baelor smiled, as the two of you watched Maekar try to stop Egg and Rhae from squabbling. "My brother can be a bit gauche at times, but he means well."

He means well.

It was those words that pushed you forward. You clung to them like a prayer every time you attempted to reach out to your husband. It had taken some time for the two of you to warm up to one another, but eventually you formed a friendship of sorts. Over time, that friendship also began to evolve into something more. Neither of you have ever professed your love for one another, but it was felt and understood between both of you.

That made your heart ache for Maekar all the more.

He had refused to believe Baelor was dead. Even with his eldest brother's body lying in front of him, in a pool of blood, unnaturally cold and still, he demanded the maesters attend to him. 

"Save him. You must save him." 

The words had slipped out of Maekar's mouth like a desperate, frightened child. 

He had leaned on you, as the two of you followed the silent sisters carrying Baelor' s body to a secluded room. You had tried to pull him away when the sisters had begun preparing Baelor's body. It is considered ill fortune to look on the faces of death, but Maekar refused to leave his brother alone.

Maekar did not cry, but there was a haunting look in his eyes as the chains of guilt and shame bound themselves to him. It was a look you did not think you would ever forget.

It wasn't until after Baelor's body had been wrapped in the cloth that Maekar finally allowed you to pull him away. You had hurried him back to your bedchamber, trying to shield him from the whispers and judgmental gazes of those you passed.

No man is so accursed as the kinslayer.

Accidental or not, it does not matter. Not to the realm or the gods.

The water swishes, capturing your attention. In a matter of seconds, the book takes your place on the chair, and you rush over to help him. 

Maekar's hands grip the sides of the tub with bruising force. He groans as he lifts himself out of the water — his body is in great pain, as is his mind. Your eyes trail down to the giant bruise forming on his stomach. It was from the hit he took when Baelor unhorsed him. His armour had taken most of the damage, but the impact of the hit still left him with a nasty bruise.

Maekar wobbles as he tries to lift a foot out of the tub, gritting his teeth in pain. You try to wrap an arm around him to assist, but he pushes you away.

"I don't want your fucking help," he barks.

No, but you need it.

You step back, not too far — just enough. Maekar manages to step one foot out of the tub with a pained grunt. You clench your hands into fists, trying to stop yourself from reaching out. As he tried to lift his second foot, the pain and exhaustion weighed him down. He stumbles, but you're quick to catch him – wrapping your arms around his waist. Unfortunately, for you, your husband is a much larger man – his dead weight is too heavy to carry on your own. The two of you end up on the ground, falling to your knees.

His arms are wrapped around you, and his face is tucked into the side of your neck. Your dress is getting soaked, but you don’t care.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," you sigh. "Are you alright?" 

You bump him with your shoulder a couple of times, trying to get him to look up at you. Instead, he buries his face deeper into your skin – his arms hold onto you tighter. So tight that it hurts. Maekar sobs as his bruised body shakes. His actions leave you a bit taken aback, never having seen him like this before, but your shock only lasts for a second. 

You gently kiss the bare skin of his shoulder, holding him tighter as the heartbreaking sobs wrack his body. You try not to cry, needing to stay strong for him, the way he is always so strong for everyone else. You don't say anything, partly because you have no idea what to say, and partly because you know he doesn't need you to say anything at all.

Maekar blames himself, and how could he not? It was he who struck the fatal blow to Baelor's helm.

He has to let it out before the rage, sorrow, and guilt carry him away. If it manages to take him, you're afraid he'll never be able to make his way back to you.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out.

You don't say anything. 

The apology is not meant for you.

"I didn't…I wasn't trying to…Aerion, my boy, he was going to…"  he broke off, throat closing painfully at the memory. 

The words that he manages to choke out sound broken, just as broken as he is. You shut your eyes as you sat there, quiet, suspended by your grief. Your throat tightens as the sorrow of watching your husband lost in his own grief threatens to consume you. Your hold on him tightens – not too much, just enough to let him know that he can depend on you. There was no need for him to hide from you. 

“Usōven, lēkia…” 

You don't understand what it means, but you don't question him. 

The words are not meant for you. 

Translation: Usōven, lēkia - I am sorry, big brother (This may be incorrect; if so, I apologize.)

Thank you for reading!

[sena-seastar]

the price to pay

Pairings: Maekar Targaryen x Wife!reader, Maekar Targaryen x Child!Daeron Targaryen (Platonic!)

Summary: Maekar comforts Daeron after he has a nightmare.

Warning(s): Angst/comfort, nightmares (slight mention), Daemon Blackfyre (mention), pregnancy (mention)

Word count: 984

A/N: I have a weird obsession with making the Targaryen men, actual, loving fathers. This is set before the tourney at ashford meadow and the first Blackfyre rebellion. Technically an x reader, though it's mostly focused on Maekar and Daeron. For the purpose of this story, Daeron is a child. No beta, so I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes!

Summerhall is quiet.

At night, the only thing that could be heard was the wind howling outside the castle walls and crackling wood in the fireplace. The quiet was something Maekar had come to greatly appreciate. Though it had taken him some time to warm up to it.

Growing up in the red keep, it was never quiet. Even deep into the night, when everyone had gone to sleep, it still wasn't quiet. The incessant squawking of the Lord and Ladies at court was traded for that of rats. The little pests always seemed to be about. No matter how many cats or rat catchers the crown employed, the rats remained.

Summerhall was not completely free of them, but their numbers were significantly lower. The cats he had set loose in the castle had more than earned their keep.

Maekar sits before the fireplace, basking in the heat wafting through the air. He's not an old man, yet he feels like one. There is a stubborn aching in his bones that won't go away. A quiet unrest plagues his mind, refusing to let him sleep. There's a storm brewing. One that he believes has the power to destroy the dynasty his family has worked hard to build.

Baelor agreed as much.

He had written so in the last letter he had sent.

His eldest brother had also mentioned the whispers of their half-uncle, Daemon Blackfyre, drawing supporters to proclaim his claim to the throne, were growing increasingly louder amongst the members of their father's court. Loud enough that even their father had begun to voice his concerns. Though only to Baelor, of course.

A war is coming.

Maekar could feel it.

It frightens him.

Had he been born some naive little twat, he may have been elated with the prospect of achieving glory on the battlefield. Thrilled at the prospect of having the singers celebrate him in song, and mothers tell tales of his bravery to their children for years to come. 

But he was no naive little twat.

The all-consuming need to be immortalized through song and legends that seemed to possess most men had no hold over the prince of Summerhall.

If he must ride into battle, he will do it.

If that was the price of protecting those most dear to his heart, his family, the one he had been born into, and the one he created for himself, he would pay it.

His eyes flicker over to the bed, the one you shared. He admires your sleeping form hidden beneath the blanket. A small smile comes to his lips as he watches you. You had been so exhausted from chasing little Daeron around the castle all day that you had fallen asleep as soon as your head hit your pillow. 

Tomorrow, he'd deal with the boy. Take him out for a ride on his horse. That would give you some time to rest. Gods know you need it, with the babe growing in your belly. The newest addition to your little family.

Your bedchamber door quietly creaks open, alerting your husband, who quickly grabs the dagger sitting on the small table next to him. His grip on the handle of his blade loosens as he sees a messy head of sandy-colored curls peek around the door. Little Daeron carefully closes the door behind him before beginning to make his way to your side of the bed.

"Psst," Maekar whispered from his seat.

Little Daeron froze — his head snapped over to where his father sat, with wide eyes. A twinge of guilt fills Maekar's chest. He hadn't meant to frighten the boy; he just didn't want him to wake you. He quickly placed the dagger to the side before beckoning the boy to come close.

Little Daeron ran to his father's side, and the sound of quick pitter-patters echoed through the air. As the boy gets closer, his father can make out the wet trail of tears that falls down his reddened face. Maekar swiftly lifts the boy onto his lap — cradling him in his arms.

Daeron's little body trembles, wracked with fear. His tiny hands cling to his father's tunic.

Another nightmare, Maekar thinks bitterly.

He can feel his frustration rising, wishing the nightmare had some monster or foe hidden in the shadows. Something real — that he could take his mace to. 

How could he protect his son from his own dreams?

Maekar pressed his lips against Daeron's head and lightly rocked him, in an attempt to calm him. This was difficult for your husband — comforting someone. Usually, when Daeron had a nightmare, you were the one to quell his fears, but Maekar did not wish to disturb your peaceful slumber.

He raised a hand to wipe away the boy's tears.

"Don't cry, my son," he whispers.

Little Daeron rests his head against his father's chest, his grip on his father's tunic loosens, but he doesn't let go — not yet. Maekar brings a hand to his son's head, carefully running his fingers through his hair, trying to avoid tugging on any tangles that may have formed in his sleep. That always seemed to soothe him. 

"Sleep now," Maekar whispers. "No harm shall befall you, so long as I am here."

It's true. No harm would come to you or Daeron, so long as he had air in his lungs. He had sworn it, the moment you exchanged vows, and again the first time he held his son in his hands. His first son.

He keeps up his ministrations until his little boy's breath calms down and evens out. He waits until little Daeron's soft snores fill his ears before he carefully lifts himself from his seat, walking over to your shared bed. He places Daeron down first, before finally climbing into bed himself. Your husband lies on his side, draping his arm over the three of you. 

Yes, he would gladly pay that price.

Thank you for reading!

[sena-seastar]

a bit heavy

Pairing: Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: You and Baelor share a sweet moment with your son, Valarr.

Warnings: fluff, Maekar is kinda mean to Valarr, so is Baelor

Word count: 754

A/N: This short story is set long before the Tourney at Ashford Meadow. Prince Baelor Breakspear and the reader are young and happily married. Valarr is present, though for the purpose of this story, he is a baby.

No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes.

"Is he supposed to be this fat?" 

You gasped, swatting at your good-brother's arm. "Do not pick on my son. He's just a baby."

"A rather fat one," Maekar muttered, ignoring your glare.

You glance down at Valarr, who sits in your arms, drooling on the embroidered flowers on the neckline of your dress. Sure, he was a bit bigger than most babies you've seen, but you weren't worried about it. The maester assured you that it was a good sign, that it meant he was healthy. That he would grow big and strong, like his father.

"You weren't exactly a small baby yourself, brother." Baelor's voice filled the room. 

You looked up, watching as your husband moved to your side. His strong hand carefully cradled Valarr's little head for a moment, as he placed a kiss on the boy's brown curls, before he pressed one on your lips. You leaned your back against his chest, as he wrapped his arms around you.

"I seem to recall our mother's numerous complaints about your giant head."

You struggled to stifle your laughter, quickly leaning down to rest your lips upon Valarr's brow. The baby cooed, seemingly happy with your affection.

Maekar muttered something under his breath before he walked off, leaving your little family alone.

"I think you've wounded him, husband."

"I think he'll live, him and his giant head," Baelor quipped, backing away. "May I?" He asked, gesturing towards your son.

You nod, passing the squirming boy over to his father. Your back silently thanked you as he lifted Valarr out of your arms. 

Chubby little hands grabbed at Baelor's clothes, trying to reach the king's hand pin that sits on the breast of his black doublet. Your husband didn't let him reach it, managing to divert the baby's attention elsewhere as he walked over to the balcony. You admired them from a distance, watching as Baelor spoke to your son softly, pointing out certain areas of the city below.

You walk closer, taking your place by your husband's side. Your hand is absentmindedly rubbing his back, as you listen to him continue speaking to your son.

"It will all be yours one day," he says.

You don't miss the way he holds Valarr a little tighter. As if hoping to protect him from the future. Being the future heir to the iron throne was not an easy thing. Your husband knew that better than anyone, being the firstborn son of the king himself.

"The people will look to you for strength and guidance. It will be hard. It will undoubtedly overwhelm you at times, but your mother and I shall do our best to prepare you."

You remain quiet, simply watching the two of them interact. Little Valarr's chubby fingers were wrapped around his father's much larger ones. Baelor laughs, looking delighted as Valarr begins to babble, as if he understood his father's words. 

Your husband drew the child closer to his chest. Valarr, in turn, begins to gnaw at his father's hand. Baelor lets him, pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek. It doesn't take long before the baby loses interest, instead choosing to chew on his own fist, humming softly.

Your eyes look up to your husband's face. 

It's a handsome one. 

You can see the wheels turning in his head. His eyes seem to be far away, as if his mind was somewhere else, instead of here in the moment.

"What are you thinking? Is something wrong?" You ask, running your hand along your husband's shoulder blades.

Baelor shook his head, chuckling softly to himself. His eyes still admire your son.

"No, nothing is wrong," he answers, his voice gentle. "I was simply thinking that my brother may not have been entirely wrong."

Your brows scrunched together, puzzled by his words, "About what?"

Baelor looked up at you with a guilty, amused expression. Like a child who's been caught sneaking sweets before bedtime.

"He is a bit heavy."

It takes you a moment to understand. 

You scoffed, taking your baby back into your arms. Valarr made no protest, tucking his face into the side of your neck.

"Unbelievable," you chided. "Come on, my sweet boy. Let us escape these merciless needlers and their cruel japes."

You spin around, dress swooshing behind you, as you abandon your husband on the balcony. You're unsure of where you're going, but you won't subject your child to any more unnecessary comments about his size. Baelor quickly follows after you, trying to make his apologies.

Thank you for reading!

[sena-seastar]

A momentary sense of life

Pairing: Daeron the drunken x wife!reader

Summary: Daeron seeks comfort after arguing with his father.

Warnings: Angst, Maekar (mention) is kinda mean, mention of alcoholism, slight mention of cheating, smut, oral (m receiving), Targcest, Daeron needs a hug

A/N: I've never been much of a Daeron the drunken girlie, but Henry Ashton and his beautiful, sad eyes have convinced me. Daeron and the reader are married in this story. The reader is the daughter of Baelor Breakspear, making the two of them cousins (Targs are gonna Targ). Smut is not exactly my specialty, but I wanted to take another crack at it.

No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes.

Daeron pushed the heavy oak-and-iron door of your shared bedchamber open. The amount of force he had used caused the door to swing open, hitting the stone castle wall with a loud bang. You winced at the loud noise, glancing over your shoulder, throwing an apologetic glance at the knights who stood at their posts not far away. You hurried into the room, carefully closing the door behind you.

You found Daeron slumped in a chair, sitting before the fireplace, staring into the flames. A large brown leather wineskin sat clenched in his fist. He raised it to his lips, taking his fill. His sand-colored hair, which you had combed and pushed back before dinner, was now messy and falling into his face. He sat barefoot, in nothing more than a light black undertunic and black woolskin trousers.

Daeron and his father had gotten into another heated argument over supper about Daeron's heedlessness. At one point, it got so tense that your uncle had hauled your husband up to his feet by his collar. 

For a moment, you thought your uncle would strike him. They had stood there, glaring at each other for some time before Prince Maekar released his son from his grasp. No other words were spoken before Daeron had stormed off. You had quickly excused yourself and followed after him. 

You bent down, picking up his boots, belt, and everything else he had left scattered about the floor. You put everything where it was supposed to go before you began undressing yourself. You stripped down and slipped into your nightdress. Dinner was over, and the day was done. You left your stockings on to help protect your feet from the cold floor.

Looking over your shoulder, you can see that Daeron hadn't moved from his seat. If anything, he sank deeper into it. With another sigh, you walk over to his chair. Daeron turned his head, glossy blue eyes peaking through messy, loose strands of hair, as he watched you move closer. He moved his arm, allowing you to sit on the arm of his chair. He tilts his head, resting it against your body.

You can feel him tense up as you reach for his head, but he settles down once he realizes you mean no harm. Your fingers carefully thread through his hair, untangling and pushing it away from his eyes. The two of you sit like that for a while, just watching the flames twirl around each other. Your back starts to ache from the lack of support, but you do your best to ignore it. He needs you right now, to keep him from sinking into the shadow of despair that always walked one step behind him wherever he went, waiting to consume him.

Daeron pressed himself closer to you, burying his face into your nightdress. Your hand rests on his head, feeling his body begin to shake, and your nightdress starts to dampen. Your husband crying was not a foreign sight for either of you. Though it had been a while since the last time he had done it. He found that wine and whores served as much better vices. It was easier to keep himself numb than accept his own vulnerability. 

You scoot closer, your free hand moves to gently rub his back. Daeron let the wineskin go, letting it fall to the ground. He pulled you onto his lap, wrapped his arms around you, and rested his head on your shoulder. You let him cry on your shoulder, hug his head close, and whisper that he'll be okay. You don't know if it's true, but you figure it's what he needs to hear.

"I can't be what he wants me to be," Daeron sniffled. "I can't. I tried, but I can't. Without the wine, it's all too much. I couldn't handle it on my own. And no one… no one would listen."

His words echo in your mind. 

The dragon dreams. 

He had told you about them before. You had once asked your father, Prince Baelor, about these dreams. There wasn't much he could tell you. He couldn't recall ever experiencing such a dream, so he could not confirm the validity of their existence. Nor could you. Your dreams had always been just that, dreams.

You didn't understand Daeron's affliction. You've tried, but how could you truly understand something you've never seen or experienced yourself? All you could do was offer him comfort whenever he sought it out from you. As he did now.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. 

You're not sure what he's apologizing for, but it doesn't matter. You held him closer and kissed his head. The action makes him whimper and press his face into your neck. 

"It's alright. I'm here." You don't know if it's what he wants to hear, but you say it anyway. "I'm here." You repeat, pressing another kiss to his head. 

He raised his head, his bleary eyes, looking into yours. Daeron leans forward to kiss you. His warm hand cups your cheek, holding you close. For a moment, you reciprocate, hand holding the back of his head as your tongues begin moving in tandem. It's not until you feel his fingers slip between your thighs that you pull back with a short gasp. Your thighs squeeze together, stopping him from moving any higher. 

This can't happen. At least not now. Daeron was clearly upset; it didn't feel right to let this turn into something perverse. 

Your husband didn't share your sentiment. 

His lips move back to your neck, his kisses warm and wet while he moves his hand from your thighs to your breasts. 

"Daeron…" you gasp, as he toys with your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress.

He lifts up from your neck, kissing your lips again. You grab his jaw, his stubble tickling your palm. You pushed him away, just enough to rest your forehead against his own.

"Daeron, we shouldn't."

"Please," he whimpers. "I need this."

His blue eyes well up again, and the saddest frown you've ever seen tugs at his lips. You raised your hand, brushing back his messy strands from his face. 

What a lovely face it is, you think. So very lovely, yet so sad. Daeron has always been so beautiful to you. Especially his eyes. Those beautiful, torment-filled eyes.

"Fine," you agreed. "But, you'll let me do this my way. Alright?"

He nods, "Of course."

He watches you with bated breath, waiting for your next move. Your eyes dropped down to his soft pink lips, before flickering back up to his. Daeron nods his head, giving you the go-ahead. You kiss him, again and again. He responds in kind, and you pull each other impossibly close, basking in each other's warmth and taste.

You pull away from his lips, trailing kisses along his stubbled jaw. Daeron whines as you lift yourself off his lap. You shush him as you slide between his legs, kneeling before him. Your hands slip under his tunic, pushing it up, exposing his chest to the night air. The feeling of your nails tracing along his sides makes him shiver. Daeron watches you as your hands slide down to the laces of his trousers.

"You don't have to," Daeron argues. 

You shook your head. "I want to take care of you. Will you let me?"

Daeron paused for a moment, haunting blue eyes trailing over every inch of your face, before he nodded his head. His hands rest at his sides. You feel his body tense underneath your touch. He was fond of you being on your knees, serving him, though he rarely asked for it. 

"Don't think," you whisper. "Just let yourself feel."

His hips buck slightly as your lips touch his chest. Your eyes close as you indulge yourself, leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses down his stomach. You can feel his muscles clench under your lips as you work your way down. You don't stop until you run out of exposed skin. 

You look up to find him staring down at you. Your fingers deftly untie the laces of his trousers. He lifts his hips, allowing you to pull them down just enough to free his cock. Your cunt aches with need as you watch his cock twitch, settling against his stomach. It's heavy, long, and thick, with a couple of prominent veins running down his shaft. The tip is red, weeping, and begging to be touched.

Your lips moved lower. Daeron watches you intently as your lips follow the trail of sand-colored hair that leads to his cock. 

"Touch it, please," he begs.

Your hand's already reaching out before he can finish his plea. His hips buck as you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, giving it a few pumps, feeling it harden under your grasp.

"Oh fuck me," he whines.

With a smile, you lean down and suck it into your mouth. You look up in time to watch the way he squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back. The sound he makes is guttural. One of his hands moves to grab a fistful of your hair, not pulling, just gripping it. You moan around his cock, taking him deeper. His other hand grips the arm of his chair. His nails dig into the fabric.

"Seven hells," he groans.

The small whimpers and grunts that tumble past his lips as you continue your work, swirling your tongue around his sensitive tips and soaking him with your spit, leave your cunt wanting. You toy with his balls in one hand, while your other slips beneath your dress. The sensation of your fingers sliding against your wet slit makes you whine around him, jaw slack as you bob your head, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth. 

"Fuck! You take me so well. You're so good at this," Daeron hissed, tip sensitive as you swirl your tongue around it.

You whined, grinding against your hand, as you took him down your throat again.

Praise begins to spill from his lips, "You're so good, so good at this. Such a good wife, pleasing me like this. Taking my cock in that pretty mouth- oh fuck..."

You can feel your peak edging closer and closer. Your fingers are rubbing circles around that spot that leaves you crying out for more. It doesn't take long before you find yourself shaking and moaning around Daeron's cock, which brings him to the edge with you. 

"Fucking hell," he moans, loud and desperate. 

You can't breathe. 

You don't care. 

Not when he's so close. Not when you're so close to making him finish. Daeron gave a few sharp thrusts, making you choke around him. There's no rhythm to his thrusts, just a desperate need. 

"Look at me," Daeron groaned through gritted teeth. "Please, look at me. I need to see you."

You relent immediately, staring up at him with glassy eyes. That's all it takes.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he moans out, waves of pleasure rippling through him. Ropes of his seed shoot into your mouth, his body trembles as the last of it pours out.

You pull yourself off of him, as you swallow it. The back of your hand swipes away the mess around your mouth. You wipe your hand on his trousers before pushing yourself up to your feet. Your knees ache from kneeling for so long.

"C'mere," Daeron murmurs lazily from his spot on the chair.

You take his hand, letting him pull you back onto his lap. He rests his head on your shoulder, and you rest your cheek on his head.

"Just give me a moment," he yawned. "I'll do you next."

You let out a soft laugh, "I'll be fine, husband. Rest now."

Daeron hummed in agreement, too tired to argue. You turned back to the fireplace, staring into the dying flames. Daeron's grip around you loosens as his body slumps. He mumbles something against your skin.

You look down at him, "What?"

Daeron doesn't answer. Soft snores tumble out of his mouth. You decide to leave it at that. If he were fortunate, he might actually get more than two or three hours of sleep tonight. You press a kiss to his head before resting your head against his own, staring back into the fireplace. Your eyes grew heavier with each blink until you could no longer open them. 

Thank you for reading!

[sena-seastar]

Under the Moon

Pairing: Maekar Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: Unable to find his sons, Maekar struggles to sleep. You try your best to soothe his worries.

Warnings: Slight angst

A/N: Maekar and the reader are married in this story. I didn't specify whether the reader is a Targaryen or from a different house. I also didn't specify whether the reader is Maekar's first or second wife. So it's up to you to decide whether the children are the readers or Dyanna's.

No beta, so I apologize for any and all spelling/grammar mistakes.

Even while you were sleeping, you could feel your husband tossing and turning. It was not uncommon for him, as his mind often refused to let him rest. You move your hand to his chest, trying to quell his worries. In an instant, you feel his large hand cover yours. He doesn't push it away; he raises it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, before moving it back to his chest. You don't say anything, opting to return to your restful slumber. 

It doesn't take very long before you're awoken again. Though this time, it's from the cold. You scoot over, hoping to relish in your husband's natural warmth. Yet you find nothing but cold sheets. You push yourself onto your elbows and try to blink away the sleep from your eyes.

The room is still quite dark, indicating it is well into the night. From your side of the bed, you could see that the flames of the fire had gone out, leaving only glowing wood behind. You turned your head, seeking out the light from the moon that shone through the window. That was where you found him. The moon always gleamed so beautifully off his silver-white hair. Like pearls under the sun, you think as you push yourself off the bed.

You carefully move to his side, not wishing to startle him. It doesn't take long before he senses your presence. He glances over his shoulder, watching you approach.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said.

You didn't reply right away, instead choosing to wrap your arms around him. He turned to the side, allowing you to nuzzle into his chest. The string of his robe had been loosely tied around his waist, leaving his chest exposed to the night air. The silver hair on his chest tickled your nose.

"I don't like sleeping without you," you muttered.

His arms tightened around you, holding you close to him. The two of you stood there for a while, letting the moon shine down on you. Neither of you spoke a word, just simply enjoyed each other's presence. Finally, you raised your head, looking up at him. Maekar was staring out the window. There was an unease in his eyes, as if he was watching for some faraway enemy.

You reach a hand up to his face, pulling him back to you. His eyes move to look at you, his rough hand cups your face as he leans in to place a kiss on the top of your head.

"Have they still not arrived yet?" You asked, even though his restlessness already served as an answer.

"No."

You let out a long, weary sigh. "I'm sure they'll turn up soon enough."

"Yes, yes, so everyone keeps fucking telling me," he snapped. There was a short pause before he let out a quiet, "Sorry."

You nod, understanding his outburst came from a place of worry rather than spite. He may not have been very good at showing it, but he loved all his children dearly. You had no doubt he would give his life to protect all of them without a second thought. 

"You were right," he sighed. "It was foolish to let Aegon ride with Daeron."

You smile, debating whether to gloat over being right. You decided it could wait; your husband was upset enough as it is.

"We both know how Daeron is," your husband groused. "And Aegon… he's just a boy. He-"

"Aegon is a clever boy. More clever than anyone gives him credit for. I'm sure he's doing just fine." You smiled reassuringly.

Maekar nodded, though he didn't look very convinced. You pull back a little, taking his hands into yours. The pads of your thumbs rub his knuckles.

"The guards know to alert you the moment they reach the gates. There's no point in depriving your body of rest, my love," you say, raising a hand so that your fingers could toy with his silver beard. "Come back to bed with me."

"I will, soon."

That was not the answer you were hoping for, but you had expected it. Your husband was a very stubborn man at times.

You huff, "How about this? If they are not back by the morning, we'll go search for them ourselves."

"I'll search for them. I won't have my wife out there searching through shrubs and shit inns." Maekar grumbled.

"Oh, so I suppose you plan to leave me to deal with Lord Ashford's many unsubtle suggestions to marry Daella to his eldest son? I don't think so, my love."

Maekar turned his head back towards the window. You watched him try to bite back his laughter, and a small smile came to his lips. Though it was only for a second before it dropped, and his face went back to its usual serious expression.

"Do you truly think they're alright?" He asked, his voice unusually quiet.

"I do," you hummed. "Daeron is… well, he's Daeron. He may be a fool at times, but he cares for Aegon. I don't think he'd do anything to put him in any real danger."

"Them traveling alone is already putting them in danger. You know how tense things have been lately. That's why my father ordered us to come here. To show-"

"To show the people that the house of the dragon remains strong. Yes, I was there when he said it, my love."

Maekar nodded his head.

"I suppose there's no use in arguing about it," he sighed.

"Wouldn't do you any good," you shrugged.

You tugged at his hand, making him look at you again. You nodded your head towards the bed.

"Come on," you whisper.

Maekar doesn't object; he lets you guide him back to your shared bed. You lie down first, moving over to give him space. The mattress shifts as he climbs into bed with you. You grab his hand again, pulling him closer. He pressed a kiss in the space between your collarbones before he settled himself on top of you, resting his head on your chest. There was nothing sexual about it. It was just a form of intimacy he liked to do whenever the two of you were alone. You can feel the tension leave his body as he surrenders himself to you completely. Your hand moves to his head, fingers raking through his hair.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he grumbles. The words vibrating against your skin.

"Yes, your sleep schedule would suffer terribly," you jest.

"I'm being serious," he replied, arms squeezing your sides.

Your hand paused for a moment before you continued toying with his silver strings.

"I know, my love," you whisper softly, pressing a kiss to his head. "I know…"

Thank you for reading! Also, thank you for all the love on my last post (these Targaryen dilfs have me in a chokehold).

[sena-seastar]

The hour of ghosts

Pairings: Father!Baelor 'Breakspear' Targaryen x gn!reader (Platonic), Uncle!Maekar Targaryen x gn!reader

Summary: You, the child of Baelor Breakspear, try to come to terms with the aftermath of the trial of seven.

Warnings: Angst, major character death, grief/mourning

A/N: This short story will contain spoilers for The Knight of the Seven Kingdoms tv show. If you do not wish to be spoiled about future events in the tv show, this is not the fic for you. The reader is the child of Baelor Breakspear, though I do not specify their looks or gender.

This story came to me randomly at 3 a.m., and I wrote it all down before I forgot it. No beta, so I apologize for any and all spelling/grammar mistakes.

Maekar does appear in this story, though he does not speak. I did not specify the relationship between him and the reader, so whether it's platonic or romantic is up to you. (Targs are gonna Targ)

There was an immense bitterness in the air. With every breath, a pungent aftertaste lingered. The sun had long since retreated from the sky. The castle was so quiet and so dark that to any passerby it would appear abandoned. The hour of ghosts was at hand. In your mind, the name had never seemed so fitting, as it did now. Before you, on a cold, stone table, lies the body of Prince Baelor Targaryen, better known as Baelor Breakspear by the realm. Though to you, he went by the name Father.

The silent sisters had wrapped him in the cloth long ago. You could no longer see his face. Nor would you ever see it again. It hasn't truly sunk in yet. Even with the body lying right in front of you, your mind still tries to deny it.

This is just some terrible nightmare, a voice whispers in your head. 

You want to believe it. Truly, you want to. You try to believe it with all your might.

This is just a nightmare. A terrible, harrowing nightmare, and when you wake, your father will be there along with your mother and your brothers. The five of you will break your fast together, as you did almost every morning. You and your brothers would bicker over something trivial, and then your father would lecture you all on the importance of etiquette and decorum. Your mother would let out a soft huff, not quite a laugh, but close, and tell him to save his breath. 

The heavy, encroaching weight of grief is clawing its way up your back. Your knees buckle, and you feel as though you're about to collapse under the weight. With a shaky hand, you reach forward, trying to seek out your father's warmth, but you stop right before it can touch him. Perhaps because it would confirm what your mind refuses to believe. He is gone. The warmth that has always been there to chase away your fears and sorrow has been snuffed out.

A chill creeps up your spine, and your body shivers. You couldn't remember a time you had ever felt so cold. The cloak wrapped around your body did little to shield you. For a moment, you feel like a child again. Suddenly, a memory comes to mind. You're all alone in your bedchamber. It's so dark and so cold that you can't help but weep, terrified that the darkness would never go away. Then came the light. Strong arms wrapped themselves around you. It's him, your father. You can tell from his smell, his strong comforting voice, and the warmth of his skin. 

You let your hand continue, touching the cold, sterile cloth that covered his skin. This isn't right, you think. He's not supposed to be wrapped up like this. It's wrong, this is all wrong. How will he go back to your mother? He can't see; he can't ride his horse wrapped up like this.

Your hands are itching to tear it all off of him, to set him free, yet you somehow manage to refrain from doing so. You run your hand against the cloth, trying desperately to remember the way his skin felt against yours. You could tell that his fingers were bare. The silent sisters must have taken off his rings. You wondered if you would be able to have them. At least one. The one he'd fidget with anytime he felt his frustrations getting the best of him.

The creek of the oak door opening startles you. For a moment, your hand tightens around your father's, as if he would protect you from whoever decided to intrude. You look over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of him. 

The door closed behind your uncle with a slight thud. Maekar stood as rigid as the countless gargoyle statues on Dragonstone. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides. His armour was gone now. His hair and black velvet doublet were as neat as ever. To anyone else, he would appear as he always did. His usual prickly, impatient self. Though you knew better. You could see it in his eyes. The pain, the grief, the regret.

He was suffering, just as you were now. You should have felt some sort of sympathy for him. You were sure, deep down, that you did. But right now, you were angry. Angry with him, the world, the gods, and whoever else you could blame for this.

You rush towards him, pushing him back with as much force as you can muster. You shove him again and again until his back finally hits the wall, and there is nowhere else for him to go. You ball your hands into fists and begin pummeling him with all your might. Maekar makes no effort to stop you or shield himself. He simply takes it, all your anger, all your despair, your endless grief. He takes it all. You hit him over and over, anywhere you can reach. You ignore the pain in your hands. Your throat is raw. You're yelling something, but you don't know what. Your own words fall deaf on your ears.

You hit and screamed until your body was spent, and you finally collapsed, dropping to your knees. Even then, you still wanted to hurt him. To make him feel as you did. You sobbed like a child. Your head was pounding. You felt lightheaded, and you struggled to breathe. Not that you wanted to. How could you continue? How could you live without your father here to guide you? To protect you and the realm. He was supposed to be the king. He was supposed to keep you all safe.

Maekar kneels down in front of you. You want to hit him again, but you can't bring yourself to do it. Your body felt so heavy. You were tired. This was all too much. It was too much for your poor heart to handle. With the last of your strength, you threw yourself forward, arms wrapping around your uncle's sides. His body was still tense. Perhaps he had been bracing himself for another attack. It takes a few moments before he returns the embrace, wrapping his strong arms around you. His chin rested on your head, and he moved one hand to the back of your head, cradling you close to his chest.

Maekar didn't speak a word. Instead, he held you and let you cry. And cry you did, for what felt like hours. You couldn't see Maekar's face. You wondered what expression it held. What did his eyes look like now? You would have looked, but you couldn't. You didn't even have the energy to open your eyes. You pressed yourself deeper into his chest. His velvet doublet was wet from all the tears you had shed, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You just wanted everything to go away. To stop thinking- stop feeling.

You could feel the exhaustion consuming you. The world was going dark and quiet. But before it could completely take over, you wondered. Was your uncle crying too?

[sena-seastar]

Bad Sleeping Habits

Dad!Aemond x Wife!Reader

Summary: Aemond has trouble being firm with your daughter.

A/N: This is just a little drabble I wrote. No beta, so I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes!

Aemond had always been a light sleeper, even more so after the birth of your daughter. He had always been the first to wake up and rush to her side anytime she made the slightest noise. So when he heard her shuffling out of bed in the middle of the night, he woke up immediately. He didn’t get up, instead choosing to wait and see what she was up to.

The two of you had been trying to get Daenys into the habit of sleeping in her own bed. To say it was a struggle would be an understatement. The two of you had let her sleep between you a few times, and apparently, she took that to mean she had to sleep in your bed every night.

Aemond didn’t honestly mind it. He loved every minute of it. He knows that once she gets older, he won’t get those moments when he can hold her close and have her sleep in his arms anymore. So he wants to hold on to her as long as he can. 

Aemond kept perfectly still as he felt the blanket at the bottom of the bed being tugged down. He used one of his hands to hold onto it so that it would not completely slip off the bed, as Daenys used it as a ladder to climb onto the bed. He pretends to be asleep, though he cracks his eye open just enough to watch his little girl, in case she slips.

She let out a little grunt as she successfully reached the top. Aemond doesn’t move as she climbs over him, most likely trying to take her usual place between the two of you.

He does his best not to cry out when her knee accidentally digs into the flesh of his thigh. He doesn’t want to frighten his little girl or, even worse, wake you up. So, he does his best to bear the pain.

He waits until she reaches the top of the bed before rolling over to face her. She freezes, her eyes wide open, knowing she’s been caught. Though her shock quickly turns to amusement. Daenys gives him a cheeky smile.

“Why are you out of bed?” He whispers. “Go back to sleep,” he scolds her playfully.

“Nuh-uh,” she shakes her head, making her little silver curls shake side to side.

 Daenys sits back on her heels—a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Aemond lifts his hands, trying to brace himself. He makes it just in time before she throws herself on top of him. Her little arms wrap around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly as she buries her face into his neck. Messy, silver curls tickle his nose. Aemond shakes his head, trying to push her hair away.

“Fine, you can stay,” he sighs, “but your mother won’t be pleased with us in the morning.”

He grabbed the blanket, pulling it over the both of them.

She yawned, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder. “Night, night, kepa.” 

“Goodnight, my little dragon.” He hummed, gently running his hand over her back.

Aemond stared up at the canopy, and once again, he found himself wondering how he had gotten here. What had he done to deserve such happiness? The man had always known he would marry and eventually have children someday. He was a Targaryen prince, after all. Yet he had never imagined it would make him feel so... content. 

“You spoil her too much,” you mumble drowsily.

Aemond turned his head, finding you with your head still buried in your pillow.

“She’s a princess. It's practically in the job description.” He smirked. “Besides, you don't seem to mind when I spoil you.”

“Fine,” you sigh. “But she’s sleeping in her own bed tomorrow.”

Aemond reached over and grabbed your hand. He lifted it, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Goodnight, my love.”

[sena-seastar]

The Dragon's Gold

Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Aerys Reyne (male oc)

Summary: Aerys Reyne, son of Naerys Targaryen, the second-born daughter of King Viserys and Queen Aemma, has been best friends with Aegon since childhood. As boys, they had been inseparable. Wherever one boy was, it wasn't long before the other came running behind him. That was until forbidden desires of the heart forced a wedge between them. After the death of his grandsire, King Viserys, Aerys finds himself torn between two sides: stand by his oldest friend or stand by the only mother he has ever known.

Warning: descriptions of burns and other injuries

A/n: There may be medical inaccuracies, so I apologize in advance for that. As always, dialogue in italics means that the characters are speaking in high valyrian. I was just too lazy to attempt to translate it. No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes.

Aerys

Agana descended from the sky with a painful-sounding call. The noise pained Aerys more than the burns he had received at Rook’s Rest. He turned his head, observing the messy, hastily bandaged wounds. He had been offered milk of the poppy, but Aerys had declined—something he was sorely regretting now as the pain steadily crept up on him. It wasn’t the actual burns that hurt so much as it was the skin around it that was burned less severely. The more severe burns on his shoulder and arm still felt numb. He could feel a slight warmth, but that was it. 

Agana dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. Aerys groaned; the pain in his arm flared as his body jerked forward. He kept his right arm clutched tightly to his chest as he struggled to lift himself off his saddle. Painful whimpers escaped his throat with every move he made. Aerys had no choice but to slide off of the side of Agana’s body as he had done at Rook’s Rest. He did not believe he would be able to climb down with only one arm. He kept his knees bent, trying to ease the shock of his jump. He stumbled but was able to steady himself before he could fall.

Aerys looked around, watching as the dragon keepers made their way towards them. Their eyes widened as they observed the silver dragon’s wounds. The distress on their faces was evident. It made sense. The dragon keepers worship the dragons. They see them as gods. 

To see one of their gods return in such a broken state must have filled them with overwhelming despair. He shifted uncomfortably as their eyes shifted onto him. They looked at him with such loathing it made him feel ill. They must hate him. They must believe he is not worthy of being bonded to such a beautiful creature. In that, perhaps they were right. Agana was only injured because of him. The silver beauty deserved much better than him. 

Agana trilled, trying to get his attention. He turned to her, watching as she moved her head closer to him. Aerys lowered his head, resting it against the side of her face.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again.

No matter how many times he said it, it never felt like enough. How could words ever be enough to make up for the pain she had endured? Agana called to him. The sound gave him some comfort. She pulled away, growling at the dragon keepers who approached them. Aerys rubbed a hand over the scales on her neck, calming her down.

Aerys led her back to her cave, himself. He stayed with her, rubbing a comforting hand over her snout, lulling her to sleep. The searing pain in his arm was becoming even more challenging to endure, but he did it for her.

“Lord Reyne!” A shaky voice called out to him.

Areys turned his head, watching the unknown Hightower knight cautiously move towards the cave. The man stopped, standing a couple of feet away from the gate. Terror filled the man’s face as his eyes observed Agana.

“What is it?” Aerys asked impatiently, wishing for the man to go away.

The man stared at Agana for another moment before flinching. He quickly turned his head towards Aerys.

“The lord hand has ordered me to inform you that they have returned to the city.”

Aerys’ eyes widened. Aegon was here. He stood to his feet. Agana tried to raise her head, but Aerys pressed a hand against her snout. He leaned down, resting his head against hers.

“You must stay,” he replied sorrowfully. “I will return as soon as I can.”

Agana whined but remained still. Her body was too exhausted and in too much pain for her to move around. It broke Aerys’ heart to leave her in such a state. 

“Rest now, Agana.”

He rubbed his hand over her scales one last time before turning away. His eyes filled with tears as she let out distressed chirps, trying to call him back to her. Aerys clenched his fist, trying desperately to ignore every fiber of his being that was telling- screaming at him to go to her side.

-

Aerys returned to the red keep, escorted by the four Hightower knights Ser Criston had sent to retrieve him. The trip had not been nearly as quick as Aerys would have liked. As he made his way through the city, he quickly noticed the palpable uneasiness and fear among the smallfolk as they eyed him warily and whispered to each other. He could not blame them. He had heard of the horrid display Ser Criston had put on for them as he made his way through the city.

The dragons were the symbol of House Targaryen, his mother’s house. They were the true power and strength behind their family; they would have been lost without them. To present Melyes’ head as if it were nothing more than some hunting prize ... it was a terrible ignominy. Aerys was glad he had not been there to witness it. The thought of it made him ill and filled his heart with a great uneasiness. The people believed the dragons to be gods and the Targaryens, by extension. They believed them to be invincible. Ser Criston had just proved to them that they were not.

Aerys pushed past the small team of maesters who were awaiting his return in the outer courtyard.

“Lord Reyne, please!” They called out, running behind him.

The man paid them no mind. He had to get back to Aegon. He needed to know if he had survived the journey. Aerys had been unable to ride by Aegon’s side, as he had to fly with Agana back to the Dragonpit. The last time he had seen Aegon, they were placing his broken body into a wooden box. Ser Criston insisted that the king’s body had to remain hidden. The sight of it had made Aerys’ stomach lurch. 

Even the memory of it now made him feel like he was going to spill what little food sat in his stomach. Aegon appeared almost dead, his body lying so still in that awful wooden box that looked like a casket. Aerys shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the memory. He had to believe Aegon would be alright. Otherwise, Aerys did not know how he would be able to carry on. 

“Lord Reyne, please wait!” One of the maesters cried out, grasping onto his uninjured arm.

Though Aerys quickly slipped away before he could get a firm grip on him. He hurried around the corner, eager to reach Aegon. The doors of Aegon's room were wide open. His kingsguard stood post by the door. They turned their heads, watching him as he approached. Aerys did not give them enough time to shuffle out of the way, pushing his way through them. 

The first thing his eyes fell upon was the two silent sisters who lurked in the corner of the room. His breath quickened, and his body broke out into a cold sweat. Why were they here? Aerys wanted to scream at them- order them to leave. Aegon would not die. Their presence was not needed or wanted.

Aemond stood at the foot of the bed. Aerys rushed to his side, pushing the man out of the way. This was all his fault, Aerys thought. He acted hastily, and now Aegon was paying the price for it.

A much larger team of maesters crowded around Aegon's body, making it difficult to get a clear view of him. Then, one of them moved to retrieve something. Aerys let out a short gasp as his eyes observed the severity of Aegon’s injuries. They had stripped him of his armor, exposing his charred, mangled flesh. 

Aerys’ heart raced painfully in his chest, and his throat tightened. Blood pounded in his ears, leaving him deaf to the world around him. Was Aegon going to die? The maesters skills could only go so far. Were his injuries too severe to be treated? And what of injuries within, injuries that could not be seen with the naked eye? 

Aerys could feel the sweat rolling down his skin, making his hair stick to the back of his neck. His feet tingled, and his knees buckled slightly beneath his weight. His vision blurred, and it became almost impossible to focus on anything. Aerys wanted to flee. He couldn’t bear to look at Aegon like this. He couldn’t bear to watch him fade away from this world, away from him. But he could not leave him- he would not. Not this time.

Aerys feels someone grab onto his arm, though he cannot make out their face. He hears them speak, but he cannot make sense of their words. His breathing grew more ragged and heavy, making it almost impossible to catch a full breath. 

Perhaps he was more to blame for this than Aemond was. Aerys was no warrior. He had rushed into battle without any clear plan or strategy. In the end, Aegon and Sunfyre had fallen from the sky, and Agana was permanently maimed.

Agana. 

His beautiful dragon, whose silver scales glimmered like the moon. His silver maiden who has served him faithfully all these years, protecting him, giving him strength. Yet he could not do the same. He had failed her by sending her into a battle she was unprepared for. One that resulted in her losing an eye. Aerys thought back to how he had left her, broken and alone, as she cried out for him. He was not deserving of her. He believed that before, but he was more sure of it now.

“...Aerys,” a far-away voice calls to him.

Something- someone grabs onto his uninjured arm, trying to pull him away from the bed. But Aerys stands firm, refusing to move.

“Aerys,” the voice calls again, much louder this time.

His vision began to clear as the pain in his arm flared up again, this time worse than before. He bites his lip, trying to keep himself from crying out. Pathetic whimpers escaped his throat as he tried to breathe through his nose. Fingers grasped his chin, turning his head to the side. Aerys looked down, finding the queen dowager staring at him.

“You must let the maesters treat your wounds,” The Queen dowager urged as she tried to pull him away from the bed.

“No,” Aerys gritted his teeth, trying desperately to ignore the searing pain in his shoulder. “I will not leave him.”

“Your wounds will fester. You must be treated,” she insisted.

Aerys ignored her, turning his head back to Aegon. She calls out to him again, but he shakes his head. He would not leave Aegon. No matter how painful it was to see him in this state, Aerys would remain by his side.

“Will he live?” Aerys murmurs.

“The maesters are doing all they can,” the dowager queen replied mournfully.

Her words do little to quell his worries. 

“The maesters will treat your wounds here, but you must sit.”

Aerys turns to her, prepared to refuse her aid, but stops when she looks sternly at him. He relents, allowing her to guide him towards the cushioned benches near the window. As soon as she stepped aside, the maesters descended upon him. 

One hands him a small cup filled with a white liquid- milk of the poppy.

“No,” Aerys groaned, pushing the cup away.

“It will help with the pain, Lord Reyne.” The maester explained.

“I said no.” Aerys asserted.

Aerys let out a pained hiss as the maester peeled the bandages from his skin.

“Just a sip, my lord, to dull your senses,” the maester reasoned. “The process will be rather painful.”

Aerys groaned, his body jerked to the side as one of the master's hands grazed his wounds. He finally accepted the cup, albeit begrudgingly. The white liquid trickled down his throat. Aerys quickly swallowed, not wishing to have the taste of it stuck in his mouth. When he was through, he shoved the cup back into the maesters hand. 

Aerys closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as one of the maesters opened the blisters that had formed and cut away the damaged flesh. The maesters whispered their apologies but continued their work. Aerys ignored them, trying his best to stay quiet. Thankfully, the milk of the poppy seemed to work quickly. His mind was becoming hazy, and his body grew heavy. Even the simple act of clenching his fist seemed almost impossible. 

Aerys tried to fight the fatigue threatening to overtake him. But it was a hopeless battle. His eyelids were so heavy he couldn’t lift them even a little. Perhaps some rest wouldn’t hurt.

-

When Aerys shut his eyes, he dreamed of crows.

There seemed to be hundreds- maybe even thousands of them. His eyes searched the outer yard of the red keep. All around, there were heads mounted on spikes. The smell of blood and rotting flesh overwhelmed the air. Crows sat on the heads, pecking away at the faces of the dead.

It was a grim sight, but to Aerys' surprise, he felt nothing. Neither happiness nor fear. He made his way through the throng of crows. Yet they paid him no mind. 

A thousand deafening caws sounded in the air, making Aerys press his hands to his ears to try and drown out the noise. The man raised his head to find hundreds of crows circling above him in the sky. But there was something odd. The sky was not its common shades of blue or gray, but red—like a giant never-ending lake of blood.

“Aerys,” a honeyed voice calls out to him.

Aerys lowers his gaze to find a woman- no, Helaena staring at him. She stands just a few feet away amidst the bloodied spikes.

“What’s happening?” He asks.

“It is time for you to wake now,” she says.

Without another word, she turns around and walks away from him. Aerys calls out to her, but she’s too far away. He tried to run to her, but he found himself unable to move. Aerys looked down to find himself standing in a large pool of blood. It was rising to his knees, or rather, he was sinking into it. He tried to call for help. He tried to twist, turn, and fight his way out, but the faster he moved, the quicker he sank.

Yet if he stayed still, he sunk all the same. The blood sat right under his chin. He lifts his head, gasping for air, preparing himself to be swallowed whole. His body sinks lower. The taste of iron coats his lips. Aerys tried to kick his legs as the red liquid reached his nose. 

It was too late. His eyes stung as the blood submerged him completely. His vision clouded with a red mist. The world around him faded. His lungs burned from being deprived of air. It was like someone had stabbed him in the chest. His ears throbbed, and he could only hear his pounding heartbeat. This was it. This was the end.

Aerys awoke with a start. His heart was hammering away in his chest as he sat up. His eyes searched around, meeting the familiar sight of Aegon’s bedchamber. Aerys was unsure of how long he had been asleep. It was still daylight outside. Was it the same day, or was it the next? He looked at his arm, which was wrapped in fresh bandages. Aerys found himself still resting on the cushioned benches near the window.

“Are you feeling alright, Lord Reyne?”

Aerys looked up, finding Maester Orwyle staring at him.

“I’m fine,” he nodded. “How is he?”

The maester looked nervous as he clasped his hands in front of his stomach. “I’m afraid it is too early to tell. We’ve done all we can. His fate rests with the gods now.”

Aerys wanted to laugh—the gods , of course.  

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Maester Orwyle asked.

“Yes, I just had a ... strange dream, that’s all.” Aerys brushed off the man’s concern.

“Ahh, yes,” the maester hummed. “Poppy dreams, they call them. It happens. I would not pay too much attention to it.”

Aerys nods his head. He had heard of the poppy dreams before. His father had been quite prone to them, or so he heard. They say these dreams caused his father to become oversuspicious of their liege lords, the Lannisters. The man was convinced that they were out to get him and intent on destroying his house.

“The small council is having a meeting,” the maester said. “The queen dowager insisted you be present.”

Aerys sighed and nodded his head. “As she wishes.”

Maester Orwyle helped Aerys get dressed in fresh clothes, before the two of them walked to the small council chamber. The rest of the council members were already present and seated. An extra chair was placed beside Ser Jasper Wylde for Aerys, now that Ser Criston had returned. Aerys quickly took his seat, trying his best not to react when his arm brushed against the chair as he sat down.

“Shall we begin?” Ser Criston announced.

Maester Orwyle was the first to speak. Giving the council a detailed account of the king’s injuries.

“Has he woken?” The Queen dowager asked.

Aerys wondered how she was handling all of this. Aegon was her son, her first son. He couldn’t imagine it was easy on her to see him return in such a state.

“No.” The maester answered solemnly. “I must admit, I’m not sure he will ever wake.”

Aerys let out a quiet scoff, dropping his gaze to the table. He refused to listen to the man. Aegon will live, I know he will. He’s stronger than they think he is, Aerys thought to himself. A thick tension grew in the air, as the maester finished saying his piece. They all believed Aegon would die. Doubters, he called them in his mind.

The Queen dowager is the first to act. She stands to her feet, resting her hands against the wooden table. 

“A king cannot rule in his sleep,” she says. “The realm will have noticed his absence. Let them hear of his great deeds at Rook’s Rest.”

Aerys turns his head, looking towards the end of the table where that one-eyed coward sat. Though the man kept his single eye lowered to the table. Aerys glared at him. This is all his fault, he thought again.

“But now we must name a regent to take his place. Until he recovers ... or does not.”

Aerys turned his head towards the king's seat- Aegon’s seat. He didn’t want to be here. He should have remained by Aegon’s side. 

“A wise strategy, your grace.” Lord Strong replied. “A regency will assure the people of the stability of the crown.”

“Did you have a candidate in mind, your grace?” Lord Tyland asked.

Aerys wanted to laugh. The answer was obvious. These lords were simply letting her down easy, like a mother does her child when they want something they cannot have.

“I myself served in this role for my husband. I am well-prepared to do it again,” she asserted.

Her eyes glanced at all the men around the table. It reminded him of when Aegon had done the same at the last council meeting when they had shut down his ideas in favor of Aemond, just as they were about to do to her now.

“You played your part admirably in a time of peace, your grace. But circumstances have changed.” Lord Jasper spoke up.

“And here I had forgotten,” she quipped.

Lord Jasper ignored her, continuing on. “The king does not lack for heirs. The obvious choice is his immediate successor, Prince Aemond.”

“Agreed,” Lord Tyland affirmed.

“Aemond is young,” she argued. “And his lack of restraint has already cost us dearly.”

She looks around the table again, looking for support. Aerys decides to answer her call.

“The queen dowager is right,” he says. “Aemond’s skill is best employed on the battlefield. The person best suited for the task is someone who already has experience ruling the realm. Don’t you think?”

“It is experience that offers the surest path to security,” Maester Orwyle chimes in. “Queen Alicent ably shouldered the duties of the realm when her husband’s health failed him.”

“Experience is valuable, yes, but the dowager queen is a woman.”

Aerys snickered at the master of laws statement. “I assure you, Ironrod, not all women are as faint-hearted as one so simple-minded might think.”

Aerys looks to the master of laws, who is glaring daggers at him. A smirk crosses his lips as he watches the mad turn red with anger and embarrassment.

“I am no stranger to rule or to sitting at this council. Aemond is a fearsome dragon rider; as Lord Reyne said, his skill is best employed in the field, but my experience is needed here, at this table.”

“No offense was meant, your grace, but at a time where we must show strength-”

The woman did not wait for Ser Tyland to finish speaking before calling out to Lord Larys Strong. Though the man proved to be of little help to her.

“I agree, your grace. It must be Prince Aemond. What would it say if, in response to Rhaenyra’s crowning, we raised up a woman of our own?”

“Then it should be Lord Reyne!” She countered.

Aerys snapped his head towards her, his eyes widened, “What?”

“Your grace,” Lord Tyland sighed.

“It is inconceivable,” Lord Jasper interjected. “The man doesn’t even have a proper seat on this council. Are we so willing to put the stability of the crown in the hands of a man who has spent years by the princesses’ side?”

“What are you implying, Lord Jasper?” Aerys snarled.

Before Lord Jasper could answer, the queen dowager called out to Aerys. He turned his head towards her, catching a glimpse of the stern look on her face. Aerys huffed and sat back in his chair. He looked to the master of laws, glaring at him one last time. His eyes flickered over to Aemond. The prince had his gaze fixated on him. Aerys shot him a glare before turning his eyes back toward the table in front of him. The queen dowager continued, arguing on his behalf.

“Aerys has proved himself to be a loyal member of our cause. He fought against Princess Rhaenys in defense of our king and was wounded in the process. The king trusts him. If he were here, I'm sure he would vote in favor of Lord Reyne himself.”

“Lord Reyne is too far down the line in terms of succession, your grace. Prince Aemond is the king’s heir.” Lord Strong replied. “But umm, the hand speaks with the king’s voice Ser Criston, what say you?”

All eyes turned towards the king’s hand. Ser Criston had been unusually silent since they had started the meeting. The man kept his head low but glanced his eyes up for a second before quickly dropping them back to his hands, which were clasped together tightly on the table.

“Aemond is the next in line. It must be him.”

The woman’s eyes were full of betrayal. Ser Criston had been her sworn protector and a dear friend for years. His words must have stung. 

“It’s agreed then,” Aemond speaks for the first time since they had entered the room.

Aerys leans back, dropping his gaze to the ground. He stared at the dirt and grime that stuck to his boots as Aemond walked around the table. He refuses to look at the man as he sits in the king’s chair- Aegon’s chair . 

“What is our standing in the riverlands?” Aemond asks.

Aerys chews on his lip, trying desperately to remain calm. He stays silent as Lord Tyland drones on about the Riverlands, as maester Orwyle talks about the smallfolk's unease, and as Aemond starts barking orders. He remains seated when all the others stand.

“We shall meet again at first light,” Aemond declared. “Oh, and someone cut down the fucking ratcatchers.”

Aerys finally stood, prepared to return to Aegon, when Aemond called for him to stay. The dowager queen tried to stay behind, but Aemond quickly dismissed her. Aerys sat back in his seat, fixating his eyes on the table. Aemond waits until everyone is out of the room, and the door slams shut before he speaks.

“I understand my brother ordered you to attend these meetings. I am now relieving you of your obligation.”

Aerys gave no reply, instead choosing to continue staring at the table. This did not seem to sit well with Aemond, who continued speaking at him. Though Aerys paid no mind to what he was saying. His words became muffled in his ears.

“Were you trying to kill him?” Aerys asked, interrupting the prince’s spiel.

He can see Aemond stiffen from the corner of his eye. Aerys turns his head, finally looking at the newly instated prince regent. The fury behind Aemond’s eye was palpable; a vein pulsed through the skin of his forehead.

“I’d choose my words more carefully if I were you, nephew ,” his words are laced with venom.

“Or what?” Aerys challenged.

Aerys was unsure where this newfound confidence had come from. He had never been very contentious, but something about Aemond drew it out of him. Aemond’s jaw clenched as he stared at Aerys, trying to intimidate him. 

“I was there, Aemond. You burned him.”

“Aegon wasn’t supposed to be there. It was he who put himself in harm's way,” Aemond replied nonchalantly.

“Only because you did not let him in on your ploy,” Aerys argued.

“Am I supposed to hold his hand and explain everything to him like a child?”

“No, but as his brother, you should stand by his side. Instead, you’ve done everything you can to undermine him. And now this?!”

“He wasn’t supposed to be there,” Aemond hissed. “Do not act like you are completely blameless in this.”

Aerys looked at him confused, “What are you-”

“I was there, Aerys,” Aemond snickered, mocking him. “Agana could have killed Rhaenys, but you turned her away. Perhaps if you had let her do it, I would not have had to act.”

“Well, I apologize, but not all of us are so keen on becoming kinslayers,” Aerys retorted, furious that Aemond would try to pin this on him.

Aemond growled and lunged forward. For a moment, Aerys believed he would strike him. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for the blow, but it never came. He opened his eyes, watching as Aemond pulled back, lowering his arm back to his side. The man’s breath is ragged, his single eye blazing with rage. Aerys can see how hard he is trying to restrain himself.

“It seems the milk of the poppy has left you delirious, nephew ,” Aemond jibed, his tone filled with malice. “Perhaps some more rest is needed.”

“I don’t need-”

Before Aerys could refute the man’s assertion, Aemond called out to the guards outside the room. Immediately, two members of the Kingsguard entered the room.

“Yes, your grace?”

“Lord Reyne is tired, see him to his chambers.”

“I am not tired,” Aerys rebuffed. “I must return to the king’s side.”

“Have the maesters prepare some essence of nightshade to help him sleep,” Aemond continued as if Aerys wasn’t even present.

“Yes, your grace.” The guards nodded, moving to Aerys’ side.

The man sent Aemond one last vitriolic glare before begrudgingly standing on his feet. The one-eyed man stared back at him with a vexing smirk upon his face. With his fists clenched and arms pinned to his sides, Aerys stormed out of the room. The guard’s armor rattled as they trailed closely behind him.

Aemond was demonstrating his authority, reminding Aerys that he had no allies here now that Aegon was abed. 

Tags: @saicherry, @sadpuffpuff, @willow-red, @teamavatar13

[sena-seastar]

Let The Light In

Pairing: Aemond x fem!reader

Summary: You try to help Aemond relax when the world outside your shared bedroom becomes too much for him to handle.

Warnings: slight angst & fluff

A/N: This fic is incredibly self-indulgent, as I am deeply infatuated with Aemond's hair. No beta, so I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes!

The soothing, gentle sound of crackling wood from the fireplace echoed in the air. The shadows of the flames danced along the walls of your and Aemond’s shared bedchamber. Lately, though, it seems like it’s just yours. Your husband had decided to sleep in his own private quarters for the past week. Something that perturbed you deeply. 

This week has been filled with the most restless nights you've had in years, leaving you thoroughly exhausted. You had grown quite accustomed to sleeping in Aemond’s strong arms. The two of you had never spent a night apart since your wedding night two years ago. The marriage had been arranged, of course, but the two of you had quickly become besotted with each other. 

Has your spark faded so soon?

You took a deep breath, trying to keep yourself calm. Surely, you were just overthinking things. Aemond had his hands full with the threat of war looming on the horizon. It made sense that he would have little time for you. That was just something you would have to learn to accept.

You let your eyelids fall closed as you continue to run the brush through your hair. The day had quickly come and gone. The hour of ghosts was quickly approaching. You prayed that sleep would come easier tonight. Your poor mind and body craved a peaceful night's rest.

You jump on the small cushion bench you have been sitting on as your bedroom door slams open and closed—Aemond storms into the room. You watch quietly as he paces the room, mumbling angrily in high valyrian. You try to gauge what he is saying, but he is talking too quietly and far too quickly for you to understand. Even with the lessons Aemond and Maester Orwyle have given you over the past year and a half, it was nearly impossible to comprehend Aemond when he spoke so quickly.

You call him, but he ignores you. So you try again, this time much louder. His back is turned to you. You watch as he slowly turns, his eye wandering about the room as if it were some foreign place. You squirm in your seat when his gaze finally falls upon you.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I thought I had gone to my room.”

Your heart sinks at the thought that he no longer considers this his room.

“It is yours, just as much as it is mine,” you shrug.

“Of course,” he mutters sheepishly, shuffling his weight back and forth on his feet.

“Has something happened?” You ask, hoping to draw him into a conversation before he tries to flee.

With an exasperated sigh, Aemond moved to the bed, sitting at the edge. He clenched the blanket tightly in his hands. The two of you sit in silence. You have to bite your tongue to keep yourself from badgering him with questions. He’ll never talk if you do that. The minutes feel like hours, but soon, he speaks.

“My mother is angry with me,” he says quietly. 

I should have known, you thought. You were well aware of the strain growing between your husband and good-mother since he had returned from Storm’s End. Since the murd- the death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon. Your heart aches for your husband. You know how close Aemond was to his mother and how much she meant to him. No doubt, the distance between them was significantly affecting him.

“She blames me for starting this war. As if she and my father's council have not been plotting to usurp the throne for years,” he scoffed.

His voice was laced with anger and frustration. You want nothing more than to go to him. To reach out and soothe him, but you're afraid he will leave. This was the most time he had spent with you in a week. You were desperate for his attention.

“The realm is preparing for a war the likes of which Westeros has never seen. She is afraid.”

“Aren’t we all?” He snickered.

The two of you sat in silence. Aemond rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands. He seemed so small, almost like a child. Your heart grew heavy, weighed down by your worry and concern for your sweet husband. You wanted to help him, but you did not know how—or if he would even let you.

Your fingers twitch, curling around the brown wooden brush handle in your hand. You look down at it. A smile spreads across your lips as an idea finally comes to mind. You turn around, placing the brush down on the table before turning back towards him.

“Come here,” your soft voice cuts through the silence. You beckon Aemond closer with your hand.

Aemond lifts his head. The man looks at you apprehensively, his eye flickering towards the door. For a moment, you fear he will run, but he doesn’t. Instead, he gives you a slight nod and pushes himself up from the bed. You stand just as he’s about to reach you and quickly step aside. You gesture towards the cushioned bench, instructing him to sit. He hesitates but follows your instructions.

 Aemond sits up tall on the bench, his body tense and rigid. His violet eye watches you in the mirror as you step behind him.

“May I?” You ask, gesturing to his eyepatch.

His face goes pale, and for a moment, you regret asking. Perhaps you were overstepping. Though before you can apologize, he nods his head. Your heart skips a beat, overjoyed that he still trusted you enough to see him like this. You have to stop yourself from smiling like a fool.

You try to steady your trembling fingers as you loosen the eyepatch strap. Your eyes flicker towards the mirror. He isn’t looking at you anymore. Instead, his violet eye is closed. He flinched, and his brows knit together as you pulled the eyepatch off his head. You freeze, unsure if you hurt him or he is just uncomfortable. It had been years since he had lost his eye, but it still caused him some discomfort.

“Are you alright?” You asked. 

He blinks, eye flickering towards you. He watches you, no doubt waiting for some sign of disgust or repulsion. But you give him none; you never have. In your eyes, he was perfection. You do your best to look at him with all of the genuine concern and admiration that you can muster.

“I-,” his voice cracked. He blushed and quickly cleared his throat. 

“I’m fine.” He answered, more assuredly this time.

You nod, leaning over his shoulder to carefully place the eyepatch on the table. Your finger moved back to his hair, gently tugging on the tie that held his hair away from his face. Thankfully, it slips off with ease. His hair falls forward, curtaining around his face. 

You gather the hair off his neck, drawing it onto his back. A soft sigh escapes him as your fingers graze against the sensitive skin of his neck.

You reach over his shoulder again, picking up the brush you had been using moments ago. His single eye falls closed as the brush touches his head. You go slowly, trying to be careful of any knots and tangles, though there are none. The brush skims through his silver tresses with ease. You find yourself growing envious, thinking of all the times you and your handmaids have had to wrestle with your hair. 

His hair shines like beaten silver under the candlelight. The sight is almost hypnotic. You continue with your work, letting the brush run through his silver strands again and again. Little by little, his facade crumbles, and his body relaxes under your touch. After a while, you put the brush back on the table. 

You massage his scalp with your fingertips. Aemond’s head is tilted back just a bit, and a soft hum echoes from his throat. The sound reminds you of a cat purring. You smile, feeling rather pleased with yourself. Carefully, you remove your fingers from his hair before brushing through it one more time.

“Would you like me to braid it?” You ask.

“Yes, please,” he answers.

You nod and get to work. You don’t do anything too extravagant, just a simple three-strand braid. Once you are finished, you lean down and press a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

“All done,” you smile.

“Thank you,” he replies, sleepily.

You expect him to get you and leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he spins around on the bench. His large hands gently take hold of your hips, pulling you a bit closer.

“I’m sorry,” he says so quietly that you almost missed it.

“For what, my love?” You ask, gently caressing the side of his face with your fingertips.

“For this ... distance between us.”

“Oh,” you hum. “It’s fine. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

“That’s not an excuse,” he mumbles. “I have been-”

You shush him and place a gentle kiss on his scarred brow. “All is forgiven.”

His lips part as he prepares to argue, but he doesn’t. He closed them and nodded, silently thanking you for your forgiveness. Silence takes over the room again, but it’s more comfortable this time. Aemond rubs circles on your hips, through your thin nightdress, with his thumbs.

“Perhaps I shall rest here tonight?” He suggests, avoiding your gaze.

“I would like that,” you smile.

Aemond stands, and you help him undress before the two of you make your way back to your shared bed. Your husband climbs into the bed after you, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your back is pressed against his bare chest, and almost immediately, you can feel your mind at ease.

“I love you,” he whispers against your hair.

You try to say it back but cannot, as sleep pulls you away from the waking world. You squeeze his hand in yours and hope he understands.

[sena-seastar]

His Queen

Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Aegon are trapped in an arranged marriage, but you've both done your best to deal with it. Aegon admits to you that he has his doubts about being king. You do your best to offer him comfort despite having your reservations.

Warnings: Smut, Oral (fem receiving), Slight angst, mentions of arranged marriage, mentions of infidelity

A/n: No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes.

You groan, fluffing your pillow as you turn onto your side. Your eyes beg you to go back to sleep, but your mind seems intent on keeping you awake. You slide a hand over to the left side of the bed. The sheets where Aegon rested had grown cold. You frowned, longing for his warmth. He had been here when you went to sleep, just as he has been every night for the past week.

Since becoming king, Aegon has been different. He is taking a more active and involved role, not just as king but also as a husband and father. 

A great wave of weariness washes over you, taking your energy along with it. It leaves nothing but a sting of melancholy and humiliation in its wake. Perhaps you were a fool to think Aegon had changed. Had he slipped back into his old ways so soon? Where was he now, you wondered. In some brothel on the street of silk or in some filthy flea-bottom rat pit? You shake your head, trying to stop being so pessimistic.

Slowly, you got out of bed and pulled your robe over your nightgown. You pull your hair to the side as you slide on a pair of slippers. The castle was quiet and dark, though that was no surprise considering how late it was. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to fight off the chill in the air. Maester Orwyle believed the summer was finally coming to an end.

Your eyes wander around, lazily observing the same walls you have seen a thousand times before. Your mind turns back to your husband. The marriage had been arranged by your father and the late King Viserys. Your mother had wished you to marry the Lord of Seagard, Lord Jorah Mallister, but your father refused. What is a lord compared to a prince, he said.

Neither you nor Aegon had been happy about it. But somehow, you managed to coexist; you had little choice otherwise. Over the years, you had found yourself growing quite fond of him. He was charismatic and very easy on the eyes without even trying. Though you were unsure if he shared your feelings, it was so hard to tell. He was always off doing whatever he did with his spare time.

The sound of clinking metal echoed in the air. Your eyes land upon an alert Ser Arryk. Though the tense knight relaxed when he realized it was you. He removed his hand from the hilt of his sword and bowed his head.

“Your grace.”

“Ser Arryk,” you greet him courteously.

 “Is he alone?” You asked, gesturing towards the giant closed doors that concealed the throne room. 

You could see how the king guard tensed up again; a look of pity flickered in his eyes. It was a look you had grown accustomed to over the years. Your husband's indiscretions were well known throughout the city.

Ser Arryk nodded, “Yes, your grace.”

You take a step forward, and the knight quickly takes the hint. He pushed open one of the doors just enough for you to slip past it before pulling it closed again. The room was so quiet. Even the soft thuds your feet made against the stone floor echoed. The walk to the throne felt like it stretched on for hours. 

You could see Aegon in the distance. His silver-gold hair contrasted beautifully against the grim, gray walls of the throne room. The man stands at the foot of the steps, dressed down in his nightwear.

The iron throne was said to be made of the thousand swords of the conqueror’s enemies. Regardless of whether that was true, the throne was certainly a ghastly thing to look at.

The iron throne casts a large shadow that stops at the bottom of the steps, right at Aegon’s feet, threatening to engulf him.

“You disappeared. I was worried something had happened,” you said, breaking the silence in the room.

Aegon turned his head to look at you. He had a startled look on his face. Had he not heard you coming?

”I apologize, my queen. I did not wish to disturb you with my restlessness.” 

You fiddle with the sleeves of your robe. The title of queen was something you hadn’t entirely warmed up to yet. In truth, you weren’t sure what you thought of all of this. 

“I wouldn’t have minded. It’s better than waking up alone.”

A look of hurt and guilt washed over his face. You quickly came to regret your words.

“I'm sorry. Just forget I said anything,” you added nervously. “I shall leave you be.”

You quickly turn to leave, but before you can take a step, a voice calls out, “Don’t go!”

The urgency and desperation in his tone make you freeze. You crane your neck to look back at him. His dark eyes are wide and glossy.

“I mean,” he cleared his throat. “I would enjoy your company.”

You remain frozen, at a loss for words. He had never actively sought your company before. Aegon’s cheeks grow red, and he quickly adds, “Though you’re free to go if you wish.”

He quickly turns back around, facing the throne. You stare at the back of his head, your eyes following the waves of his hair. It had grown out quite a bit. That was also something you were not used to. He usually preferred to keep it short.

The soft thuds of your slippers hitting the ground echo in the air once more. You slowly move to stand by his side.

“Do you think I can do it?” He asked suddenly.

Aegon’s voice wavers as the question leaves his lips. You turn your head to look at him. His body is tense, and he keeps his eyes forward, not looking at you.

In a way, he reminds you of a child, your child, your sweet little Jaehaerys. He is your husband's heir now. One day, he will stand in this very spot. You wonder if he will have the same doubts.

Your eyes follow his gaze to the throne. You had wondered the same thing many times before. A deep, weary sigh escaped from your lips.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly.

From the corner of your eyes, you can see him wince at your words. 

“I do not wish to lie to you, husband. I cannot say for certain if you will be a good king. But I do believe,” you take his hand into yours. “that you have a kind heart. And if you try, really try , you may surprise us all.”

He offers your hand a little squeeze. “I want to try. I just- I don’t know how. My father never prepared me for this.”

“No one prepared him either, yet he found his path. In time, you will too.”

An uneasy smile stretched across his lips. He shook his head slightly before lowering it. His eyes trained on the ground. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Hey,” you coax as you move to stand before him. 

Your free hand gently cups his face, urging him to look up at you. His eyes are vast and glossier than you’ve ever seen them. You can see the slight tremble in his bottom lip. He leans into the warmth of your palm. You run your thumb up and down his cheekbone. 

“You are not alone in this, Aegon. You have your small council and your grandfather, who has advised two kings bef-”

“And you?” He queried.

Aegon’s violet eyes shift back and forth between your eyes as if he were searching for something. 

“Yes,” you nodded. “You have me.”

His hands rest on your hips, pulling you closer. Soon, your chest is pressed against his. You can feel his warm breath on your face. You catch a whiff of the sweet arbor red that lingers on his tongue. Aegon lowers his head, nudging his nose against yours. Your lips just barely graze each other. 

A heat climbed up your face, making it feel like your skin was on fire. Unable to handle the growing need in your stomach, you lift yourself onto your toes, pressing your lips to his. Aegon responds immediately, moving his soft lips against yours.

This kiss was different. Different from the chaste kiss you shared on your wedding day or the sloppy drunk kisses you shared during the few times he joined you in your marital bed. 

Aegon kissed you with a desperation and hunger that you had never experienced before. Your arms wound around his neck, needing him even closer to you if possible. You let him lead you through the kiss, primarily due to your lack of experience but also because you find yourself becoming lightheaded. 

You feel dizzy like the world is spinning. You're running out of breath, lungs burning from the lack of air, but no part of you wants to stop this.

Aegon takes the initiative to pull away first. A pathetic whine passes through your lips. You lean forward, eager to feel his lips on yours again, but he doesn’t let you. He grabs your arms, pulling them away from his neck.

“Come with me,” he said, taking one of your hands into his.

You struggled to keep up with him as he pulled you behind him. Your feet sluggishly climbed up the stairs to the iron throne.

“What are you doing?” You asked as you reached the top.

“Take a seat,” he replied, not answering your question.

You eyed him suspiciously, unsure of what he was planning to do. Your eyes scanned the empty throne room, ensuring no one was watching you. A devilish smile rested on his lips as he gestured towards the throne. You hold onto his hand as you lower yourself onto the throne made of swords. 

Your body is tense, and you struggle not to let the fear of being pricked overwhelm you.

“How does it feel?”

You struggle to come up with an answer. You were frightened, but you could not deny the sense of power and strength that filled your chest. Suddenly, you could understand why so many people lusted after the throne.

“It’s ... nice.”

Aegon lets out a hearty laugh, and you turn your head away, mortified.

“My sweet little wife,” he mused, leaning down to kiss your head.

You stay silent, reeling with embarrassment. You close your eyes, wishing this was all a dream and that you would soon be back in the comfort of your own bed.

Warm hands slipping under your nightgown make you gasp. Your head snaps forward to find your husband kneeling before you. Aegon’s warm hands rest on your calves. You squeeze your legs together as tightly as you can.

“What are you doing?!” You whispered harshly, taken aback by his audaciousness.

His eyes flickered up towards yours, staring at you. “I want to try something.”

The gleam in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine.

“What?” You asked, though you believe you have some understanding of what he means.

Some of the more... bolder ladies at court loved to gossip and share stories of their late-night trysts with their husbands and paramours. You have heard a few stories about men who enjoy... feasting on their lovers. It was something you had never heard of before, let alone experienced. A part of you wondered if it was even true.

You had thought of asking Aegon about it, as he was quite... familiar with the ways of lovemaking, but you could not bring yourself to repeat what you had heard.

“Trust me,” he said, a grin reaching his lips. “I believe you will enjoy it.”

You stare at him, taking a deep breath before nodding. His warm hands slid up high, caressing your knees as he pushed them apart. You gasped, knees immediately trying to clamp shut to preserve some of your dignity. But Aegon doesn’t let you. 

He keeps a firm grip on your knees, keeping you spread open for him. Your nightgown is hitched up above your knees. The cold night air makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. The heat that was climbing up your face earlier spreads throughout your entire body. You want to close your eyes and turn away, but you cannot bring yourself to look away from him.

His eyes no longer stare into yours. Instead, his violet eyes remained focused between your legs. He glides his hands up your thighs, inching your dress higher until, finally, your cunt is exposed. But he doesn’t touch it. Instead, he moves his palms down, rubbing circles on your outer thighs.

The way Aegon touches you now differs from his usual impatient and rough approach. His hands seem almost reverent as they fondle your soft, plush thighs.

“Aegon,” you gasped as he lowered his head, pressing his lips to your right inner thigh. 

His hair fell forward, covering his face, but you believed you could feel him smirking against your skin. Suddenly, you felt him nip at the sensitive skin of your thigh. A sharp cry leaves your lips.

“‘m sorry,” he murmured against your skin as he kissed the bite.

His lips move up higher to the crook of your thigh. Your mouth hung slightly open, and a shaky breath passed through your lips. Being naked and exposed to him was nothing new, but having him so close like this was. Having his eyes and lips so close to your most intimate area was very new.

“Can you open them a bit more?” He asked, looking up at you.

You swiped your tongue across your lips before nodding. You were finally able to shut your eyes as you spread your legs wider, hoping it was enough.

“You’re perfect,” he said in awe.

A hot wetness glides over your aching cunt, making your entire body jolt. You let out a noise that is somewhere between a gasp and a cry as you try to draw your legs closed, but you're unable to, not with Aegon nestled between your thighs. His shoulders keep you spread open for his view and pleasure.

Aegon’s tongue was delivering the most exquisite pleasure you had ever experienced. He lapped up and down your folds, savoring your taste, before caressing your clit, alternating movements from up and down and side to side.

You look down, finding him peering up at you. His violet eyes locked onto you, watching your every expression, listening to every sound as he unraveled you beneath him. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, from the top of your head all the way down to your toes. All the air that fills your lungs is gone in an instant.

“Aegon- mmm,” his name leaves you like a meager whine.

His tongue works ardently between your splayed thighs, feasting upon you like a man starved. You find yourself enamored by the soft, tantalizing, wet sound his mouth is producing. One of your hands reached down, entangling itself in his messy silver waves. He moans against you, and the feeling has you arching your back. 

Your eyes rolled back as the pleasure quickly began to overwhelm you. Your chest rose and fell repeatedly, your hard nipples rubbing against the fabric of your nightgown. You did not know how much more you would be able to take.

Sinful cries and whimpers echoed throughout the throne room, but you could not bring yourself to care. How could you possibly think of anything else when your husband was sending wave after wave of pleasure through your body? 

Then, he slips a finger inside of you. 

“Aegon!” You cried out, so close to reaching your peak, yet not wanting this to end.

He easily adds another. His fingers move at a torturous, methodical pace. The pads of his fingers rub against your spongy walls, favoring that spot that makes you gasp and squeal. He catches your clit between his lips, suckling on it as if it were a treat. You gripped his head, rocking into his mouth.

You could feel a familiar heat building up in your lower stomach. The tension was almost unbearable. The world around you seemed to blur; all your senses honed in on Aegon and the pleasure only he could give you. 

You panted out curses and his name, shuddering at the warm pleasure that filled your entire body.

A groan erupts from the back of his throat, so guttural, it makes you weak. You glanced down and found him still watching you. His dark eyes entranced you, not allowing you to look away. 

Your legs and back stiffened, your stomach tightened, and your breath halted. You clamped your eyes shut and moaned out his name as you finally reached your peak. 

You remove your hand from his hair and tap his shoulder. Thankfully he pulled away with little protest, allowing your senses to calm down as your peak reached its end. Your back is aching from sitting upright for so long. You lean back a little, hoping to find relief, but the iron throne offers none. 

You're unsure how much time passes before you can properly catch your breath again. Soft fingers interlace with yours, bringing you back to the present. You blink, trying to fight off the drowsiness that is steadily creeping up on you. Aegon is still kneeling before you, with a self-satisfying look on his face.

“I told you you’d like it.”

You let out a breathy laugh and tried to push him away. However, you lacked the strength to do so.

“Just... give me a moment. Then I shall help you.”

“Mmh,” he hummed. “That won’t be necessary, my queen.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

He smirked and glanced down at his lap before looking back at you. You sat up and looked down to find a dark wet spot that covered the front of his trousers. Your face heated up again, and a coy smile made its way onto your lips.

“That’s too bad,” you sigh. “I was hoping we could play some more.”

Aegon’s smirk is gone, replaced with a more serious look. “I just need a moment. Then I’ll take you right here.”

You laugh at his enthusiasm. “I’m more than willing to go again, but not here. I prefer the comfort of our bed.”

Aegon nods and quickly stands to his feet. He helps you stand and holds you close to his side as the two of you leave the throne room. 

“Your grace,” Ser Arryk bows as the two of you make it out of the room.

You gulped, mortified, realizing what the poor white cloak had just endured. 

“Ser Arryk,” Aegon smiled. “The Queen and I shall be returning to our bedchamber now.”

The knight’s eyes flickered toward you before quickly averting his gaze. It was not hard to tell that the man was flustered. You shot him an apologetic smile even though he would not look at you.

“Yes, your grace.” He replied, dutifully following behind the two of you as you returned to your bedchamber. You’ll have to convince Aegon to find some way to make it up to him.

[sena-seastar]

Heart to Heart

Aemond x Wife Reader

Summary: Aemond spends time with your child so that you can have a much-needed break.

A/N: I'm back with more, Dad!Aemond, because I adore him so much. Aemond deserves someone who will love him as deeply and unconditionally as he loves them, and his baby definitely would. (Also, any dialogue in italics means the characters are speaking in high valyrian. I was too lazy to attempt to translate it.) No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes.

“Daenys, please calm down,” you plead as you try to pacify the wailing girl.

Though your words seem to fall on deaf ears, she continues to scream and flail in your arms. You want nothing more than to join in as tears well in your eyes. You were at your wit's end. Nothing seemed to placate your child. Not even the sweets you had tried to bribe her with. 

The nursemaids had changed her nappy several times. They’ve tried feeding, bathing, offering toys, and even taking her for a walk in the gardens. Yet none of it worked. They brought her to you as a last resort, hoping she might be missing her mother. Unfortunately, their hopes went unfounded.

Daenys continued to thrash in your arms, and you struggled to keep a grip on her. She was surprisingly strong for someone so small. 

“Shh, it’s alright,” you coo, bouncing the fussy girl in your arms. “Are you tired? Shall we take a nap?”

Your questions only incite her fury. Daenys lets out an ear-splitting screech. You groaned, eyes closing in frustration at the situation. 

“How about we give your mother a break, hmm?”

You look up, finding your husband now standing before you. He takes your little girl into his arms, and for the first time in forever, she settles down. She doesn’t squirm and try to get away from him, and her wails turn into low whimpers and quiet hiccups. You watch as he handles her with such ease. Aemond pats her back and talks to her in a soothing voice, gently bouncing her in his arms. Daenys rested her head on his shoulder, her tiny fists held tightly onto his coat.

“I’m terrible at this,” you huffed, shame blooming in your chest. 

“No, you’re not.” Aemond leaned down, pressing a gentle, reassuring kiss to your head. “I’ll take her for a bit. Get some rest.”

You nod, grateful for his help. He waves Daenys’ hand towards you as they leave. You wave back until the pair disappear from your view. You sigh in relief as your body slumps onto the Grecian couch beneath you. You debate whether to continue with your book or take a quick nap.

-

Aemond holds Daenys close to his chest as he maneuvers himself off his saddle. Ser Rickard Thorne stands to the side, wearing his freshly polished armor and pristine white cloak. Aemond nods at him, and the white knight quickly takes Aemond’s horse by the reins, leading the horse away.

The dragon lord looked down, watching Daenys as she toyed with the wooden dragon in her hands. He smiled. The familiar warm fuzzy feeling that filled his entire body every time he laid his eyes on her returned. It was hard to believe that something so beautiful and innocent could come from him. But here she was. The two of you had created something- someone so precious. 

A loud grumble sounded in the air. Aemond lifted his head, observing Vhagar. The giant dragon was hard to miss, even from a great distance.

The overgrown grass and twigs squish and cackle beneath his boots as he walked into the open field where the ancient she-dragon resided. Vhagar had outgrown the dragonpit years before he had even claimed her. Vhagar turned her giant head to the side, watching them as they approached. She shut her eyes again when she realized it was just him.

Daenys let out a delighted squeal when her eyes finally landed on the giant dragon. Aemond struggled to hold her as she excitedly kicked her legs and waved her arms. Aemound cursed under his breath as the wooden dragon toy fell to the ground. Oh well, he would retrieve it later.

“What is it, my little dragon?” He asked enthusiastically. “What do you see?”

 Daenys clapped her little hands and babbled, “Vava!”

“Vhagar? Do you see Vhagar?”

She looks up to him and nods her head. Her violet eyes lock onto his, and the two smile at each other. Aemond planted a kiss on the girl’s temple, gaining sweet, girlish giggles in response.

“Very good, my little dragon. It is Vhagar.”

Daenys begins to squirm in his arms and tries to push him away.

“What is it? Do you want down?”

Aemond looks down at the grass, checking for any potential dangers. Your little girl grunts and continues to try to push him away.

Aemond huffs, “Alright, alright.”

His lips curve downward into a slight frown. The two of you had been very proud and excited when Daenys started walking. However, Aemond was a little saddened by the fact that his sweet little girl didn’t want to be in his arms all the time anymore.

His mother had told him that it’s normal for them to want to be more independent when they start walking. The man understood that, but he still did not like it one bit.

Aemond carefully lowers the little girl to her feet. Her chubby little fingers hold onto his hands as she tries to stabilize herself. When she finally stops wobbling, she lets go. Aemond’s heart races in his chest as he watches her take a small, shaky step forward. His hands immediately reach out to grab her, but he stops himself.

Daenys takes another step; this time, she’s a bit more stable. She holds her arms out, trying to balance her weight as she trots forward. Aemond follows closely behind. With each step, he felt a twinge of panic in his chest. The man struggled not to swoop her into his arms every time she stumbled.

Thankfully, they made it to Vhagar rather quickly. Vhagar gave a small huff as Daenys small hands smacked against her snout. 

“Gentle,” Aemond warned sternly, well aware of his dragon's short temper. 

The man kneeled next to her. He took one of Daenys little hands into his own, showing her how to pet Vhagar’s snout carefully. Daenys let out another excited squeal that made Aemond wince. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “It’s very exciting, but we must be quiet.”

Daenys pulled her hand away from his, wanting to try it alone. Vhagar remained still, resting lazily on her chin. Aemond stood back up. He rested his large palm against her warm green scales with a joyous smile. She truly is a sight to behold.

Vhagar was the largest and fiercest dragon in the world. Nothing could stand against her. And yet she decided that he, of all people, was worthy of her. That he deserved the privilege to call himself her rider. No one could question or deny his worth now.

“Vava, pay?”

Aemond looked down, watching as his little girl tried to get the dragon’s attention. Her silver curls fell onto her face. The man reached down, pushing the strands of hair behind her ears. He felt a bit sorry for her. Vhagar was nowhere near as active as Daenys' little hatchling, who resided in the dragon pit. She did not flap her wings or let out any shrieks of excitement like Daenys’ hatchling did when they saw each other.

Daenys tugged on his coat. She turned her head up to look at him. Her brows were drawn together, and her bottom lip protruded further than her top lip. The look on her face tugged at his heartstrings.

“Play? No, Vhagar does not want to play.”

Your little girl does not seem to accept his answer. She turns her attention back to the dragon, gently petting her scales a few more times. Daenys tries calling out to her again, but Vhagar still gives no response. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. Aemond initially planned to take her to the dragon pit, but he decided against it. Mostly because he wanted to come out and visit Vhagar. He could seldom go a day without coming to see his winged companion. 

Suddenly, a loud grumble echoed in Vhagar’s throat. The dragon, finally having enough of the child’s affection, raised her head. Daenys, who was balancing herself on Vhagar’s head, fell back, landing on her bottom with a loud oomph.

“Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī,” Aemond commanded as he swiftly took Daenys into his arms.

Vhagar did not move, nor did she make a sound. The ancient dragon merely eyed the two of them. When Aemond felt confident enough that she would not act, he turned his attention to Daenys.

The look on her face is heart-wrenching. Her wide eyes filled with tears, and her trembling lips stretched into a deep frown. Her breath hitched as she tried not to cry. It makes Aemond feel like he wants to cry as well. He pressed a kiss to the child’s temple.

“Don’t cry, my little love. You’ll be alright.” He tried to reassure her.

She blinks, and tears fall from her violet eyes. Sad, quiet whimpers escape from her lips. Tears started to well up in Aemond’s eye, his breath quivered, and a lump formed in his throat. He was never one to cry. It made him feel weak and small, something he despised more than anything. 

But when his little girl was upset like this, he wanted to cry. Sometimes, he still wanted to cry even when she wasn’t upset. There were many times when he would just watch her while she played or slept, and then suddenly, he would be hit with a massive wave of emotions. Aemond wondered if Viserys had ever felt that way when he looked at him or any of his siblings.

Vhagar let out a loud huff. A wave of hot air engulfs Aemond and Daenys. Aemond looks up, observing Vhagar carefully. The green dragon lowers her head, gently nudging her snout against the crying girl. Aemond raises his hand to wipe away Daenys’ tears.

“Look, she’s sorry for making you sad.”

Daenys sniffled and turned to look at Vhagar. The corners of her mouth turned upwards. She giggled as she rested her forehead against Vhagar’s snout. Her little arms did their best to hug the dragon’s giant head. 

Aemond chuckled lightly, raising his hand to give Vhagar a few rewarding pats. His chest was bursting with pride as he watched his favorite girls interact. The only one who was missing was you.

[sena-seastar]

Mine all mine

Aemond x Wife reader

Summary: Yours and Aemond's child refuses to let you sleep.

A/N: This is a short fluff piece I wrote two years ago after season one ended. I just thought I would post it now.

“Hush now, little one, I’ve-” you yawn, trying to blink the sleep away from your eyes.  “I’ve got you.” You tiredly cooed as you picked up the writhing baby from her cradle for the fourth time.

“She’s quite restless tonight,” your husband groaned from your shared bed.

You patted the baby on the back to soothe the sniffling girl, humming in agreement. Then, you placed the back of your hand against her clammy forehead.

“She’s quite warm; perhaps we should send for a maester?”

You watched as Aemond sat up. He instinctively reached for the black leather eyepatch to conceal his sapphire eye before stopping himself. It had taken him almost a year after the two of you wed before he felt comfortable enough to let you see him without it. But even now, a couple of years later, insecurity still managed to worm its way under his skin.

His long hair started falling out of the simple braid you had put it in before bed. The child gurgled and squirmed with excitement when he walked to your side. 

A wide grin stretched across his face as your daughter squealed with delight as he took her into his arms.

“How is my little one feeling? Mother thinks you're unwell,” he scrunched his face, making the baby giggle.

“I’m serious, Aemond. You know what the maester said. If she gets another fever, we should take her to him.”

“She’s a little warm, my love. Most likely from that thick blanket, you insisted on wrapping her in.” He chided, lazily gesturing towards the cradle.

“She was cold,” you mumble, realizing that perhaps the man was right. Not that you were willing to admit that to him.

Your little family made your way back to the large bed in the middle of the room. The sky was beginning to lighten, though the sun had yet to appear. The loud chirping of birds could be heard, along with the servants who had awoken to start their daily duties before the nobles awoke. You climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over your body to fight off the morning chill. Aemond rested his back against the pillows, sitting your child on his lap.

You watched with a smile as Daenys toyed with her father’s fingers. She quickly lowered her face and bit down. The man pulled it back with an exaggerated hiss. The little girl froze, her eyes widened, and her mouth hung open in shock. However, her mood swiftly changed as she giggled at her father’s pained expression. She grinned widely, exposing the two front teeth that had recently sprouted from her gums.

“Be careful husband, or you may lose a finger,” you tease.

The man shot you a playful glare before lecturing the child on biting. However, it only seemed to make the child giggle even more.

“Now, Daenys, what have we said about the biting? You do not bite kepa. Save that for your uncle.” 

You rolled your eyes at his childishness. 

“Do you want me to take her?” You asked. “There’s no use in both of us being exhausted.”

“No, you get some rest,” he replied absent-mindedly.

Aemond kept his gaze on your little girl. A giddy smile sat on his lips as Daenys crawled up his chest. He took hold of one of her chubby little hands, holding it to his mouth, pretending to eat it. She squealed, pulling it away before holding it out for him to take again.

You smiled and rested your head on the soft feather pillow beneath you, watching as the two people most dear to your heart played together. It was such a heartwarming sight. You fought to keep your eyes open, but sleep had won.

[sena-seastar]

Burning Desire

Aemond x Older!sister Reader

Summary: You rush off to confront your brother Aemond after discovering he hurt your sister, only to find him crying. You are angry at him for what he has done, but you cannot stand to see your little brother suffer.

Warnings:  Angst, Smut, Sibling incest

A/N: This was supposed to be an angsty comfort fic, but it very quickly got out of hand. All dialogue in italics means that the characters are speaking in High Valyrian. I was just too lazy to attempt to translate it. No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes. (Gif is not mine!)

You stormed through the castle halls, ignoring the maids and knights who quickly stepped out of your way. Usually, you would give them some sign of acknowledgment, but tonight, you couldn’t— not when your anger was boiling over. Your hands trembled with repressed rage, and your fingers curled into fists as you tried desperately to refrain from lashing out. There was only one person who was deserving of your wrath, and you were headed to find him now. 

When you arrived at his door, you entered the room, not bothering to knock. The loud sound of the wooden door slamming close behind you echoed in the air. The room was dark; only a few candles were lit, though they were burning dangerously low. You squint your eyes, searching until you find the silver-haired man hunched over in his chair. Your robe made a slight whooshing sound as you stormed over to his side. 

“How dare you!” Your voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade, every word dripping with venom and contempt.

Aemond says nothing. His head is lowered, and his long silver tresses conceal his face.

“You dare to lay a hand on our sister?! Has she not suffered enough?! And now you wish to send her into battle?!” Your chest is heaving wildly as you lose what little composure remains to you.

Once again, you are met with a deafening silence that angers you even more.

“Have you nothing to say?!” you yell, each word cracking like a whip. Your brows furrow and your lips curl into a snarl.

Yet once again, your words go unanswered. You open your lips, prepared to berate him even more until quiet sobs reach your ears. Your blood runs cold, and you freeze. Aemond’s body jerked with every gasp that escaped his throat. 

“I am alone,” he whispers . “As I always have been.”

His words move you to tears. 

“Aemond,” you whisper, stepping closer.

You reach out a hand to touch his shoulder but pull it away just before reaching him. Your mind is suddenly conflicted. Your rage is quickly converting into sadness with every second that passes. The two of you rarely saw eye to eye these past few weeks. His actions above Shipbreaker Bay had left you horrified. The abhorrent murder of your nephew, Jaehaerys, happened not long after. You blamed Aemond for that and did not bother trying to hide it from him.

Then, Aegon returned from Rook’s Rest, burned and broken beyond repair. Your mother came to you shortly after, sharing her thoughts about what had happened. She believed Aemond to be responsible, but you could not bring yourself to believe it at the time. But as the days passed, you found yourself becoming increasingly unsure. Especially after today, when the horrific details of his actions at Sharp Point reached you. Most days, you could hardly even recognize him—this strange man who shares the face of your sweet little brother.

You take a deep breath before reaching out. Your hand trembles as you place it on his shoulder, but he does not flinch from your touch. He leans into it. Aemond raises his head just enough to look you in the eyes. His face is stained with tears, and his eye is red and gleaming with tears, ready to fall. His silver hair is unusually messy and unkempt. The leather eyepatch is gone, exposing the beautiful sapphire embedded into his eyesocket. It is a sight he has entrusted very few to see.

“I am sorry,” he cried. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I know,” you whisper, pulling him close.

He buries his face into your stomach. His large hands gripped tightly at your sides, and you did your best not to wince. You lift a hand, brushing down his unkempt hair. You were angry at him. You had come here to yell at him, maybe even hit him, but you couldn’t. Not when it filled your heart with great sorrow to see your brother in so much pain. Your little brother. The boy you had always tried so hard to shield from the cruelty of this world. The boy who had always run to you for comfort after being humiliated by Aegon time and time again.

Aemond continued to sob. His tears made the thin fabric of your nightdress stick to your skin, and the cold wetness sent a chill down your spine. You gasp as you feel him pull you down, sitting you on his lap. He held you close, burying his face into the curve of your neck. Your hands rested against the warm, bare skin of his back as you held him. He must have been preparing for bed not long before you arrived as he was only dressed in a pair of black lambswool breeches.

“You are not alone,” you reassure him, gently kissing the scar that marred his brow. “I am here, as I always have been.”

There is a slight chill in the air, but the heat radiating from his skin keeps you warm. Aemond sniffles but says nothing. You can feel his tears sliding down your neck. You move a hand up to his head, toying with his hair. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, seemingly inhaling your scent. Aemond shifts in his seat, spreading his legs a little wider, making the position more comfortable for you. A quiet gasp escapes your throat as you feel the taut muscle of his thigh pressing into the most intimate part of your body.

The feeling sends a rush of heat through your veins. Your breath quickens as you try to push the sensation aside. Your face burns as shame begins to overwhelm you. He just wanted to be close to you, searching for comfort in your arms as he had done many times before. But your body is turning it into something perverse.

Aemond bounced his knee ever so slightly, almost like a tremble. You squirmed, trying to press your thighs closer together in hopes of stopping the heat growing in your stomach. One of Aemond’s large hands rests firmly against the small of your back. The other moves to grip the outside of your thigh.

“Aemond,” you gasp as you feel his lips grazing against our collarbones.

“What?” He asks, his voice so nonchalant.

“I think I should go,” you replied, trying to stand up.

But his hands hold onto you tight, refusing to let you go. 

“Please stay,” he begged, burying his face into the curve of your neck once more.

“Alright,” you whisper, trying to calm him.

His hair tickles your nose. You lift your head a bit, resting your chin on the top of his head. You trail the tips of your fingers against the muscles of his back. Aemond nuzzles his face against your neck. He bounces his knee a bit harder. You wonder if he is doing this on purpose.

“Aemond, stop it,” you mumble, trying to ignore the fire sparking in the pit of your stomach.

“Stop what?” He asked, ghosting his lips over your jaw. 

“You know what,” you whine.

He ignores you; his lips press soft kisses against your jaw. Aemond bunches the skirt of your dress into the hand that grips your thigh. He steadily inches it up higher. The cold air touching your now bare legs makes the hair on your body stand up. Suddenly coming to your senses, you gasp, slapping a hand over his as the skirt of your dress reaches just above your knees. He tries to continue, but you use all the strength you can muster to keep his hand still. 

“We must stop,” you command, trying to stop yourself from giving in to him completely.

This was wrong. You were both betrothed to other people—him to some Baratheon girl and you to the Lord of the Arbor. They were political matches, as most marriages are. You held no love for Lord Redwyne, but you would do your duty as was expected of you.

Aemond easily pushed past your hand, slipping his hand between your thighs. You gasped, trying to squeeze them together to keep him at bay. Your stomach flutters as his thumb rubs across the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your fingernails dig into his forearm. You pull back, and he lifts his head to look you in the eyes. 

He removes his hand from between your thighs, moving it up to your face. You find yourself melting into the warmth of his palm. The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips, but his eye never leaves yours.

“You were supposed to be mine,”   he says in the gentlest tone.

“Aemond,” you whine, trying to push him away.

But he refuses to let you go. The hand on your back kept you from standing. His fingertips trail down the side of your neck down to the neckline of your nightdress. His touch on your skin leaves you feeling almost delirious. The fire in your stomach is fully ablaze now. You squirm in his lap as his fingers graze over the tops of your breasts. You cursed yourself for this, as the feeling of his tense muscles sends waves of heat straight to your cunt. The hairs on the back of your neck raise. Your eyes close, and you bite your lip to stop crying out. 

“Look at me.”  

It is a command that you are unable to ignore. Aemond is the prince regent. In this moment, he speaks with the king’s voice. His absolute authority leaves you fearful and painfully aroused. Once again, your eyes meet his. He says nothing, simply watching you like a predator stalking its prey as his hand moves over your nightdress, cupping your breast. You gasp, slapping a hand over his. You know you should push him away, but you don’t. 

A chill runs down your spine. Under his gaze, you feel completely exposed, almost powerless—a feeling you usually dislike greatly. You were a princess of the realm and a dragon rider. You were anything but helpless. Yet you find yourself wanting nothing more than to surrender yourself to him, to escape from your worries and sorrows, to be free from all the tiring expectations that have been placed upon you since your birth.

“Am I so hard to love?” 

His voice trembled, as he struggled to hold back tears. The authority is gone, replaced with something much more vulnerable. The sight broke your heart in two. You had always worried about Aemond, your sweet, sensitive little brother. Since he had come of age, he had changed. He was colder and more distant, not just from you but from everyone, even your mother, whom you know he cared for greatly. It was like he believed he had to be this... pillar of strength, or all would crumble.

You remove your hand from his, moving it up to cup the scarred side of his face. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss on his brow. You have done this so many times over the years, yet it has never felt as intimate as it did now. Aemond closed his eye, leaning into your touch. A sharp pain stabs at your heart as you watch how desperate he is for your comfort.

The hand on your breast slid back down to your thigh. Aemond’s fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. Your thumb traced down the deep scar that marked his cheek. You lean down, peppering kisses from his cheek to his jaw, where the scar stops. He turns his head slightly, so that your lips hover above his, almost touching. You rest your head against his. His violet eye stared into your own.

“What of Floris? She is to be your wife.” You say, hoping he may come to his senses, as yours have fled from you completely.

“You will be my wife... for tonight.” A single tear drops from his eye as the words leave his lips.

It is such a beautiful, harrowing sight. One that leads you to shedding tears of your own. Aemond’s hands grip you by the waist, hoisting you up just enough for you to straddle him. Your knees rest on both sides of his legs, trapping him between your thighs. A wave of heat runs through your veins as your bare cunt presses against his clothed bulge. He leans forward, capturing your gasp with his mouth. One of your hands cups his face while the other pushes his hair away from his face. 

The two of you shared passionate, frantic kisses. You had not been prepared from when Aemond’s tongue slid into your mouth. You whine, caught off guard, but do your best to follow along with him. You had no experience with such things. The only kisses you had ever experienced came from tall, handsome knights in your dreams. But even then, those kisses were nothing like this. They were short and sweet. A quick peck on the cheek or lips, but this was much different. Aemond kissed you with such urgency, such deep burning desire.

Aemond lifts his hips, pressing himself against you. The feeling of his hard cock pressing against your aching cunt makes you cry out, though your noises are muffled against his lips. The feeling is so foreign, yet exciting, that you can’t stop yourself from reaching down to palm him through his trousers. His hardened cock is thick and throbbing beneath your touch. A newfound confidence blooms in your chest.

A sound rumbled in his chest; his large hands gripped your ample hips. Your hands moved to grip his shoulders as you rocked yourself back and forth, your bare cunt grinding against his clothed bulge. He hissed, knitting his brows together. You watch as his face contorts into one of pleasure. Your own burning desire is growing too much. Your desperate, heavy breaths fill the air as you grind yourself against him even faster, desperate to reach your peak. He looked up at you; his mouth hung open slightly as he watched you use him for your own selfish gratification.

It’s exhilarating- him watching you- seeing you in a way no other ever has, touching you in a way no other ever has.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises.

His praise sends another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. The room suddenly feels unbearably hot. You’re so close; you can feel it. The pressure building up in your stomach is eager to be released. You roll your hips even faster, harder. But it is not enough. The throbbing in your cunt is almost painful. You are nearly sobbing at this point.

“I want more,” you whine. “I need more. Please, brother.”

“I am at your mercy, sister,” he smirks. “Take what you want.”

You reach down, huffing as you struggle to untie the laces of his trousers. You can feel his chest vibrate against you as he chuckles.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you grumble.

“My apologizes-” he shudders as your hand wraps around his thick cock. Finally freeing him from the confines of his trousers.

A triumphant smile crosses your face. You give his cock a few strokes, admiring the way it stands so prettily for you, so thick and full. Suddenly, you begin to fear the thought of having to fit it inside of you. Aemond seems to sense your worry. His hand cups the back of your neck, making you look at him.

“Take it slow,” he warns.

You nod, lifting yourself on your knees a bit. Your wetness coats your fingers and his cock as you press the tip into your aching cunt. You whine as the head breaches your walls, and you clamp tightly around him. The stretch is a bit uncomfortable but not painful. You may be a maiden, but you still had desires. Many nights, you have had to satiate your hunger with your fingers.

You lower yourself on him slowly. Thankfully, your wetness makes it easier to take him. You take a deep breath as you take him to the hilt. It takes you a moment to adjust to his size. 

“Are you okay?” Aemond asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

“Yes, I just ... need a moment,” you breathlessly laugh as he lifts a hand to trail his fingers against your jaw.

He nods, raising his chin to kiss gently against the corner of your mouth. You turn your head, pressing your lips to his. A soft tongue gently licks at the swell of your bottom lip, and you grant him entry. The gentleness comes to an end. He licks into you with a fervor that steals your breath away. Your thoughts fade, and you melt into his arms. 

Aemond kisses you like he wants to devour you, and you want nothing more. You lift your hips before lowering yourself. Aemond finally breaks the kiss, and his hands move to your waist.

“Ah-h,” he whines against the corner of your lips.

You begin to move slowly, easing yourself into up and down on his cock. Your eyes never leave him, watching as he presses his head to the back of the chair. His chest moves with his deep breaths, his eye is closed, and his mouth is partially open. He shudders, and a desperate, eager moan emits from his throat. It is a sight to behold.

He lifts his hips, pressing deeper into you, making you cry out.

“Aemond!” You whimper, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

His eye fluttered open as he watched you struggle to find the right pace. He gripped your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your fleshy sides. He guided you, raising you up and down on him. The newfound pace made you mewl pathetically, but you were too desperate to reach your peak to care. He called out your name. It sounded almost sinful coming from his lips. 

You drop your head, resting it against his. Your mouth hangs open as you gasp and moan. The faint scent of pine and smoke fills your nose. It’s him, his scent. The smell is almost intoxicating. Your mind is swimming, dizzy from the pleasure of him bucking up into you.

You feel one of his palms cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He lifts his chin, closing the small distance between you pressing his lips to yours. You try your best to follow the frantic rhythm he sets. He swallows every sound you make as he holds the back of your neck, refusing to let you pull away—not that you want to. 

Aemond plants his feet on the ground for leverage as he pumps into you. His thrusts are more erratic now as he approaches his end. The air in your lungs is incinerated, and a shameful, high-pitched moan escapes from your lips. You move your hips, rocking against him, dangerously close to finally reaching your peak. 

He doesn’t stop, bucking into you with a force that would be strong enough to toss you off of him if not for the hand holding onto your waist. Your hot cunt clenched around him, the muscles in your legs burned from remaining in this position for so long. 

It’s not fair- how good he is at this- how good he is making you feel. It’s all too much. Your poor wet cunt is overwhelmed with pleasure. The hand on your neck moves down, and the pad of his thumb rubs circles around that sensitive button between your legs. 

“That's it,” he coaxed, his hot breath fans on your mouth. “Let go, give it to me.”

You don’t stand a chance. Not when his cock makes you feel so full, reaching that one spot that makes you throw your head back. One of your hands tangles in his hair, tugging. Your chests’ are flushed against each other as you both rock against each other. You clench around his cock as you finally reach your release, hard and blinding. The world around you seems to disappear. It’s only you and him who matter.

“Ha-ah ... ah,” he sputtered, becoming more desperate.

You cry out as you fill his hot mouth, which latches into one of your breasts. He suckles at your breast like a starving babe. His tongue lashes back and forth around your hardened nipple. The sensation is strange but has you clenching around him even tighter. 

His teeth graze against your nipple. Every grunt and moan that leaves him vibrates against your breast. You can feel his thrusts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated. His cock pulses inside of you, it feels too good. Aemond releases your nipple, resting his forehead on your breast. Choked gasps and grunts slip past his lips as he reaches his peak, releasing inside of you, filling you with his seed.

The two of you stay pressed against each other as you come down for your highs. Aemond’s hips relax, his body melting into the chair. Your body sinks into him, boneless and spent. You lay your head on his shoulder, resting your chin on his collarbone. His fingertips trail over the curve of your back. Your eyes feel heavy as you struggle to keep them open.

“I am sorry for what I’ve done,” he apologized.

“I know,” you reply weakly.

You can feel his warm breath against your ear. His scent, mixed with his sweat, fills your nose, bringing you comfort.

“Our sister has too much of our mother in her. I see that now.”

You frown but say nothing, letting him continue. His lips press against your ear. He nudges your face with his shoulder, making you pull away. He grasps your chin between his thumb and index fingers. Your eyes flicker between the sapphire and his violet iris. You lift a hand to trail your fingers along his sharp jaw.

“But you and I,” he says, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “We are two flames kindled from the same fire. We were always meant to burn as one.”

“Aemond,” you sigh.

“I am afraid,” he admits, rendering you speechless. “I cannot fight this war alone, sister.”

“You are not alone,” you argued. “You have Daeron.”

“Tsk,” he turns his head. “He is still young, as is his dragon.”

“Young or not, Tessarion is still a dragon.”

Aemond says nothing. His eye stared at the plain stone wall of his bedchamber. You watch him silently, trying to read him.

“Come with me,” he asked, turning his head back to you. 

“What?” You gasp.

“Mount your dragon and go with me to Harrenhal.”

“Mother would never allow it,” you shake your head.

“Our mother has made it clear that she does not hold our best interest at heart.”

“She means well,” you protested, trying to defend your mother, no matter how true his words seemed.

“If we do not fight, we will die. Rhaenyra may spare you and Helaena, but she will not be so merciful to the rest of us. She will have to take Aegon’s head, mine, and Daerons's as well. So long as our father has a living son, she will never be able to rule in peace.”

“You don’t know that-”

“I do,” he insisted. “Is that not what our mother has told us our entire lives?”

You blink, and memories of your childhood flood your mind. He was right. Over the years, your mother had repeatedly stressed the dangers that would follow should your sister ascend to the throne.

“Come with me,” he whispered.

Your eyes flickered from his trembling lips to his tear-filled eye. It was not an order but a plea. He was afraid and desperate for aid. You were afraid as well—you had been since Ser Criston placed that crown upon Aegon’s head. It has only been a few weeks, and already, your life has been turned completely upside down. 

You had no desire to fight this war. Many times, you have had to stop yourself from climbing on your dragon and leaving. But you could not abandon your family, just as you could not abandon Aemond now.

You nod your head. He smiled, a look of relief crossing his face. One of his hands finds yours, lacing your fingers together before bringing his lips to yours, giving you one last sweet and adoring kiss. Once he pulls away, you lay your head back down on his shoulder.

“Can I go to sleep now?” You mumble against his skin.

“Yes,” he lets out a breathy laugh. “You can sleep now.”

[sena-seastar]

The Dragon's Gold

Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Aerys Reyne (male oc)

Summary: Aerys Reyne, son of Naerys Targaryen, the second-born daughter of King Viserys and Queen Aemma, has been best friends with Aegon since childhood. As boys, they had been inseparable. Many said that it reminded them of the early days of King Jaehaerys reign. When the princes Aemon and Baelon were still children. Wherever one boy was, it wasn't long before the other came running behind him. That was until forbidden desires of the heart forced a wedge between them. After the death of his grandsire, King Viserys, Aerys finds himself torn between two sides: stand by his oldest friend or stand by the only mother he has ever known.

Warning: Ableism, violence (dragon's fighting), descriptions of burns and other injuries

A/n: I don't have much experience writing fight scenes, so I hope I did well enough here. There may also be slight medical inaccuracies, so I apologize in advance for that. As always, dialogue in italics means that the characters are speaking in high valyrian. I was just too lazy to attempt to translate it. No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes.

Aerys

“Fuck you. I told you we should’ve sent our dragons. And now look what’s happened.” Aegon rants, pointing his finger at the map.

Aerys shifts uncomfortably in his seat, or Ser Criston Cole's seat. Aegon had ordered him to sit in the hand’s chair during their meeting. Aerys could feel the eyes of Aegon’s council watching his every move. He did not like it. It made him feel like some sort of exotic animal on display. For them to point and gawk at.

“Daemon, of all people, has taken Harrenhal. I give you a job, and now you just sit there. It’s your fucking castle!” Aegon yelled, singling out the Lord of Harrenhal, Larys Strong.

Aerys threw the man a pitiful glance. It was not like the master of whisperers could do much. He was here in the capital, and Harrenhal is leagues away. The man was also a cripple. Men seldom follow those they believe to be weaker than themselves. And if Daemon was there, then so was Caraxes. Aerys could not necessarily fault the men of House Strong for bending the knee. Daemon was not known for his merciful nature. 

The master of whisperers kept his head down, enduring Aegon’s wrath. He peeked his eyes up once Aegon finished.

“Well, that castle is more crippled than I am, your grace.” He replied meekly.

His jest did nothing to soothe Aegon’s anger. The man was growing restless. Being deprived of his revenge for Jaehaerys's murder only fueled the fire within him. 

“It’s like to drive Daemon to madness as he attempts to make use of it. It is beyond his faculties. It is also penniless, as I happily control all of its gold.” Lord Larys added. “So, as Harrenhal saps Daemon’s resolve, the false queen remains trapped on her island, and Ser Criston continues felling castles in the Crownlands.” 

The mention of Rhaenyra made Aerys shift uncomfortably in his seat. He dropped his head, fingers reaching for his ring, until he remembered he was no longer wearing it. A lump rose in his throat, and he felt nauseous. Perhaps it was the guilt of his betrayal slowly consuming him. Aegon turned around, returning to his seat at the end of the table. He rested his hands on the back of his chair.

“Wh–” Aegon stammered, his eyes looking around at the men of his council. “I need to be informed of these things if I am to make informed rulings. I will not be made to look a fool in front of my allies and enemies.”

He turns his eyes to Aerys, looking for support. Aerys clears his throat, sitting upright.

“Regardless of who holds the coin, the king is right,” Aerys says. “Harrenhal and the Riverlands should be of the utmost concern. From what I understand, the blacks had not acted for nearly a fortnight after the death of Rhaenyra’s son. You should have used that time to seize Harrenhal for yourselves, but” Aerys sighed, exasperated. “I suppose there’s no point in mourning over a lost opportunity.”

“We have sent Ravens to Lord Tully, but he has yet to respond,” Maester Orwyle explains.

“And with Prince Daemon now occupying Harrenhal, there is not much we can do,” Lord Tyland added.

“We could force him out,” Aerys responds.

The table is filled with disbelieving scoffs and looks of confusion.

“And how do you suppose we do that, Lord Reyne?” Lord Jasper snickers.

“We send dragons,” Aerys answers.

“Prince Daemon has a dragon of his own-”

“He has one, Lord Tyland,” Aerys interrupted the master of coin.

The room goes quiet as they wait for Aerys to finish.

“Aemond and I will take our dragons and root him out.”

“You intend to challenge him? The blacks already outnumber us when it comes to dragons. If you or gods forbid Prince Aemond were to fall in battle, we may as well wave the white flag now.”

“Daemon will not fight us, Lord Jasper,” Aerys sighed. “If it were me or Aemond alone, he would certainly take up the challenge. But with the two of us together, he will flee. Daemon may be rash and impulsive, but he will not rush into a battle he does not think he could win.”

“And if you successfully chase him out, what will you do then?” Lord Jasper asked. “Ser Criston has already taken most of the fighting men here. Even if we take the castle, we do not have the men to hold it.”

“I will stay behind with Agana and treat with the rivermen myself,” Aerys explains. “Lord Tully has yet to declare for the blacks. Perhaps we could offer him something.”

“And what do you have in mind, Lord Reyne?” Lord Tyland asked. “As Maester Orwyle has already stated, the man refuses to respond.”

“A marriage pact.”

“He does have a daughter who has just come of martial age,” Maester Orwyle nods.

“And who do you suggest we betrothed the girl to, Lord Reyne? You?” Lord Jasper asked.

“No,” Aerys and Aegon say in unison.

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. Aerys cleared his throat.

“No, Lord Jasper. Not me.” Aerys shook his head. “The king has another brother in Oldtown. Daeron has just come of martial age as well. I propose we betroth them.”

“You think Lord Tully will marry his only daughter to a third son?”

“Third son or not, Daeron is a dragon rider. His children will be as well. Tell me, Lord Jasper, do you know many lords who would reject having a dragon on their side?”

Ironrod remains silent, lowering his head.

“Harrenhal must wait,” Aemond interjected.

Aerys closed his eyes, praying that the gods would smite the one-eyed coward where he sat. 

“Ser Criston is marching on Rook’s Rest.”

Aerys let out a quiet sigh. Once again, his prayers went unanswered. He kept his eyes on the table, refusing to even look at the man. Aerys knew he would have to face the man, but he was not prepared to do it so soon. 

“Rook’s Re- A pathetic prize. I gave no such command-”

“The castle is small,” Aemond interrupted once more. 

He stood for his seat, marching over to the board. 

“Weakly defended, and Lord Staunton sat on Rhaenyra’s council. After Cole smashes it, we’ll have Dragonstone effectively cut off by land. This war will not be won with dragons alone but with dragons flying behind armies of men.”

“No!” Aegon protested. “Have him turn about. I want Harrenhal back!”

Aegon marched to the board, his finger angrily tapping against Harrenhal on the map. Aemond ignored him, turning away.

“Cole is already preparing his attack,” he explained, returning to his seat.

Aegon turned his head to Aerys, and the two shared a look of confusion. 

“Uh, how-how do you know of this?” Aegon stammered, furrowing his brows. 

“He sent word to me,” Aemond answered as if it were obvious.

“To you? The two of you have been plotting... without my authority?” Aegon’s voice hardened.

Aemond sighed, “You had more pressing matters to attend to. Such as holding court, choosing your sobriquet, naming imbecilic lickspittles to our Kingsgaurd, and hosting private meetings with your... childhood companion.”

“Tread carefully,” Aerys warned with a scathing glower. “You may be his brother, but he is your king.”

Aerys balled his hands into tight fists. His nails dug painfully into his palms. He would not be surprised if they had pierced through his skin. Aemond stared at him. That vexing, never-fading smirk sat on his lips. But there was something in his gaze, something Aerys couldn’t quite place. Was it arrogance or shame? Aerys would spit on him if he could. He hoped the monster felt guilty. His actions above Shipbreaker Bay directly led to the murder of Jaehaerys. Aerys hoped that guilt would haunt him.

“Mm,” Aemond hummed, looking away.

Aerys continued to scowl at the man until he felt someone kick his foot. He turned his attention back to Aegon. The man shot him a warning look. Aerys gave him a slight nod, silently apologizing for his outburst.

“Do you have a wiser strategy, my king?” Aemond asked. “If so, you should voice it to your council. We all await your answer.”

There is a short pause as the council awaits the king's response. All eyes turn towards the monarch.

“I can have to...” Aegon's lip twitched as he gathered his thoughts. “War?”

He turned his head to Aerys, looking for validation. Aerys gave him a tight-lipped smile, not wanting to humiliate him further. An awkward tension enveloped the room.

“Harrenhal is a useful morass,” Aemond spoke to the council. “It will keep Daemon well-occupied while we strengthen our host and weaken Rhaenyra’s support on the mainland. We will deal with it in the Riverlands in time.”

Aegon sighed, sinking into his chair, defeated. 

“But right now. Rook’s Rest is an easy target and a worthy effort. Don’t you agree, my king?”

Aegon said nothing. His eyes flickered at the men sitting at the table. It was clear that he felt cast aside. And in that, he was right. They had disregarded everything he had said in favor of Aemond and Ser Criston’s plot. Aegon gave a begrudging nod, agreeing with Aemond. Not that he had much choice. 

Aerys looked at Aegon with concern, fighting the urge to reach out to him. Aegon gave him a slight nod before lowering his head. Aerys sighed, turning his head to stare at the wall behind Ser Jasper’s head, wishing for this meeting to be adjourned.

-

Aerys’ body was sore from sitting in the hand’s chair. The small council meeting had taken most of the day before Aegon abruptly left after declaring how bored he was. Aerys himself had left not long after. Ser Thorne escorted him back to his chambers. The queen dowager still did not trust him enough to have free reign of the castle.

“You must eat more than that,” Wylla protested. “You’re growing frail.”

“I ate the bread and half the soup,” Aerys said. “Now, where is it?”

Wylla froze, her eyes darting around the room as if checking to see if someone was watching them. She hurried towards him, handing him the quill, ink, and scroll she had stored in her pockets.

“Thank you, Wylla,” he smiled. “Here,” he said, tossing her a large black purse. “As a token of my gratitude.”

She frowned, peeking into the bag. Wylla gasped, trying to return it. “This is far more than we agreed on. I cannot take it.”

Aerys waved his hand, pushing her away. “You must. I have put you at great risk by involving you in my scheme. Keep the coin. It is the least I can do.”

Her lip wobbled as she nodded her head in agreement. “Who are you writing?” She asked.

“Rhaenyra,” Aerys answered truthfully.

She gasped, “They could have your head for this!”

“I need- I need to know the truth,” Aerys stammered. Dipping the quill in ink. “I need to know if she was behind the murder of Jaehaerys.”

“Oh gods,” Wylla sighed. “And if she denies it, then what? You’ve already aligned yourself with the king. You said you are his friend. He depends on you!”

Aerys ignored her.

“Will you betray him?” She asked suddenly.

The question startled him. His head snapped towards her.

“No,” Aery hissed.

“I just,” he sighed. “I need to know Wylla.”

“This is a mistake,” she reproached. “If they find out you’re sending messages to Rhaenyra without their permission, they will have your head!"

Aerys sighed, “I know.”

“You’re a fool,” She shook her head disapprovingly. 

“I know that too,” he said with a tight-lipped smile.

“Make it quick.” She replied. “My friend at the fishing port will not wait long. We must hurry if you wish for him to deliver it.”

He nodded, quickly putting quill to paper. 

Dear Rhaenyra, I hope this letter finds you well. I wish to express my sincerest condolences for Luke's passing. You have my deepest sympathies. I am sure by now you’ve heard that I have aligned myself with Aegon. It is true. I am sorry. I owe you a great debt for everything you have done for me all these years. I had hoped that one day I would be able to find a way to repay you, and yet it seems I have done the exact opposite. But that is not why I write this letter. Aegon has accused you of having a hand in the death of his son. I do not wish to believe you could be responsible for such savagery. I need to know-

Wylla cleared her throat loudly, nudging her hip against the table. 

“What are you-” Aerys gasped as the ink spilled across the table.

Wylla snatched the scroll, hiding it away in her bosom.

The doors of his chamber opened before he could react. Lady Alicent entered, her eyes searching every corner of the room. Her panicked expression made his stomach churn.

“What’s happened?” He asked.

She walked towards the table, resting her hands against the wood. She hung her head, releasing a shuddered sigh.

“Aegon is gone.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, “Gone where?”

“Rook’s Rest, no doubt.” 

“Rook’s rest? The fool is going to get himself killed!” Aerys fumed.

Alicent kept her head down, not saying anything.

“You must let me go after him,” he demanded.

Her head snapped towards him, her eyes wide. “No- no, absolutely not.”

“You must!” Aerys insisted.

“No, I cannot.” The queen dowager shook her head.

“I have to bring him back!” Aerys contested. “Dragonstone is just across the bay! Lord Staunton sits on Rhaenyra’s council! What if she sends one of her dragons to defend his land?”

“Aegon has Sunfyre with him.”

“Sunfyre is small, with no more battle experience than his rider!” Aerys cried out. 

“I do not trust you!” She hissed, gesturing to the quill and ink on the table. “How do I know you will not flee to Dragonstone the second I let you go?”

Aerys marched forward, taking her roughly by the arms.

“You have just lost your grandson. Are you so eager to lose a son as well?!”

His chest heaved wildly as his heart thumped in his chest. The woman’s eyes widened, filled with fear.

Aerys sighed, dropping his hands to his side. “I’m sorry,” he choked.

He lowered his head, his eyes burning with tears. His lips trembled, and his face contorted into anguish. Would Aegon die? Would he lose him so soon?

“Go,” she whispered.

Shocked, he lifted his head to face her. A small fire of hope kindled in his heart. He nodded his head. Aerys ran over to the chest at the bottom of his bed. He rummaged through his things, tossing everything onto the floor until he found a pair of riding gloves. He shoved them into his pocket as he sprinted out of the room. He did not slow down for a second, not paying any mind to the people he knocked out of the way. 

When Aerys reached the outer yard, he grabbed the nearest horse. Pushing some lord, he could not be bothered to remember out of the way. The man cursed at him as he rode away.

He made it to the dragon pit in record time. Aerys hopped off of the horse before it even had time to stop. He stumbled but carried on. 

Aerys pushed the doors of the dragon pit open. He ignored the dragon keepers, who shouted after him as he ran towards the man-made caves where the dragons were kept. The roars of a restless Agana soon drowned out their voices. He could hear the loud thuds as she rammed her head against the giant gate, trying to reach him.

“I am here, my dragon!”

Agana whined, trying to snake her head past the bars.

“Open the gate,” he ordered.

The dragon's keepers looked at one another, unsure what to do.

“Open the fucking gate!” He commanded.

Agana bared her teeth, letting out a low growl. The men did not waste another second. Aerys slipped under the gate, not waiting for it to rise fully. Agana cooed, pressing her head against his chest. 

“I’ve missed you too,”  he whispered.

Aerys leaned his head down to press it against hers. He could not fight the tears that escaped his eyes. He had missed her dearly. Being away from her was the worst pain imaginable. 

“We must go,”  he sniffled, pulling back to meet her eyes.

He ran his hand across her neck as he walked to her side. Agana lowered her body to the ground. Aerys pulled on his riding gloves. His fingers curled around the ropes attached to her saddle. He quickly made the climb, as he had done a thousand times before. Aerys hoisted his leg over the saddle, settling in. He rubbed a gloved hand over Agana’s silver scales. 

“Sōvēs, Agana!”

-

Aerys’ hands gripped tightly onto the handlebars of his saddle. The dread in his heart grew as his eyes found no trace of Sunfyre’s golden scales. The wind blew hard against his face as Agana soared through the sky. He was unsure of how long Aegon had been gone. Would he reach him in time? Was he already too late?

Agana called to Aerys, alerting him to some potential danger. Aerys stayed silent, listening. From the distance, he could make out the faint sound of a dragon’s roar.

“Follow it, Agana!”

She shrieked, obeying his command. Agana charged forward, moving even faster now that she had a clear grasp on her target. Aerys squinted his eyes. In the distance, he could make out brilliant flashes of red and gold. Icy fire coursed through his veins, igniting his skin in a rush of cold flames. His entire body was shaking as fear seeped into his bones. Rhaenys was here? Had they sent her alone? Was Baela or Jace here as well?

Agana hissed as a giant burst of dragon flame lit up the sky.

“Halt!” Aerys called.

Agana followed his command. Her wings flapped loudly as they hovered in the air, watching Meleys attack Sunfyre from below. 

Aerys’ heart hammered in his chest.

This would be his only chance for freedom. He could turn away and fly to Dragonstone, grovel at Rhaenyra’s feet, and beg for her forgiveness. He still held onto hope that she would take him back. Aerys was her nephew—the last living memory of her sister. Rhaenyra had opened her heart to him and raised him alongside her children. He owed her a debt that could never be repaid. Could he turn his back on her now when she needed him most?

Then Aegon’s voice echoed in his mind, his words repeating over and over again.

“You’ll never choose me. You never have.”

Aerys closed his eyes as the many shared memories of his and Aegon’s youth flooded his mind. He remembered the many nights Aegon stayed awake with him, distracting him from his misery. The many hours of boredom that Aegon endured so that Aerys would not have to sit in the library alone. Aerys thought of the many times he held Aegon as he cried. He had to comfort him often when the boy’s mother was too harsh on him. Or when his father’s lack of endearment became too much for him to bear.

Aegon was his friend, his very first friend. Time had driven them apart, but that love Aerys held for him had never faded. If anything, the distance had only made it grow stronger.

Sunfyre’s cries of pain echoed in the air, forcing Aerys back into the present. His eyes widened, and he watched in horror as the golden dragon fell from the sky. 

Sunfrye screeched in pain. He flapped his wings, desperately trying to regain flight. The dragon was able to spin around, catching himself before he crashed to the ground. Sunfyre shrieked as he flapped his wings, ascending higher in the sky, trying to reach them. Meleys circled, heading straight for him.

Now was the time. The choice Aerys made now would set him on a path he could never return from. If he turned away, he would be leaving Aegon to die. Sunfyre stood no chance against the fierce Red Queen. But if he stayed, he would have no choice but to face the Red Queen and her rider himself. His heart ached at the thought of sending Agana into battle. 

Princess Rhaenys was no great friend of his, but he was close to the woman’s granddaughters. In those years on Dragonstone, he had come to see the girls as his sisters. If Agana and Sunfyre fought together, there was a chance they could overpower Melyes and her rider. Yet the thought of doing so made him feel ill. There was no one more accursed than the kinslayer.

A deep grumble formed in Agana’s throat. Aerys reached a hand back, strapping himself into his saddle. His fingers curled tight around the handlebars as he gave the command.

“Angōs, Agana!”

The silver dragon turned her head to him, looking him in the eyes. The look of confused sadness she gave him filled his heart with great sorrow. He rubbed a gloved hand over the scales on her back.

Sunfyre let out a loud coo, calling to her. Agana turned her head, watching him struggle to reach them. She let out a doleful cry but obeyed.

Agana charged forward, ramming her head into Meleys’, using her horns to drive the red queen away from Sunfyre. The two dragons of silver and red danced in the air, biting and clawing at one another. Agana latched onto the side of Meleys’ neck, trying to bite down as hard as she could. The red queen shrieked; she rounded her neck as best as possible, trying to lunge at Aerys, who tried desperately to avoid her teeth. 

Agana lifted her wing, trying to shield him. Meleys wasted no time, digging her claws into the silver dragon’s underbelly, but Agana’s jaw only tightened. 

The red queen roared, snapping her jaws at Aerys once more. She managed to sink her teeth into the muscle of Agana’s arm. The silver dragon finally released her neck and pulled back with a hiss. Meleys used this time to dig her claws into the side of Agana’s face. The silver dragon shrieked in pain, and they began falling.

The red queen pulled away, chasing after Sunfrye once again. Aerys tried to command Agana to fly, but the silver dragon shrieked in agony. Aerys could see the blood spurting from her face, but he could not see the full extent of her injury. He turned his head, watching as they began plummeting down to the ground. The man pulled one of his gloves off, rubbing his bare palm over the scales of her back. Come on, he whispered in his mind. Fly. You have to fly. 

He repeated the words in his head over and over again. The world seemed to slow down to the point where he could feel his pulse thrumming in his veins. His hands shook, but not with fear. Aerys grabbed the reins, pulling them with all the strength he could muster.

Just as they were about to hit the ground, Agana pulled up and flapped her wings. They hovered just a few inches off the ground as Agana tried to overcome her pain.

Sunfyre’s screeches and Melyes' growls rang loudly above them. They both raised their heads, watching Melyes catch Sunfyre by the wing. Agana growled, giving chase. Sunfyre cried and clawed, trying to wriggle free from the red queen's grasp. Agana rushed forward. She tried to aim for the red queen’s rider, but Aerys pulled at the reins, steering her away.

He could not do it. He did not wish to bear the burden of being a kinslayer. The gods had cursed him enough as it is. They just needed to get Melyes’ attention on them and buy Sunfyre enough time to get away.

The two of them circled back around. Agana growled and sunk her teeth into one of the red queen’s legs, trying to pull her away, but to no avail. Sunfyre lunged at Meleys’ head, ripping off one of her many horns. The red queen screeched but refused to let go. She kicked her other leg at Agana, trying to fend her off while still holding Sunfyre. Agana’s teeth chomped down, and she shook her head wildly as if trying to tear Meley’s leg off her body. 

Suddenly, she stopped. Agana snapped her head to the side, and a low, guttural growl emitted from her throat. Aerys barely had time to turn his head before coming face to face with a giant ball of fire.

Agana pulled up, but not fast enough. Aerys howled in agony as the unbearable heat of the dragon flame bit into the right side of his body. The putrid smell of burning flesh overwhelmed his senses. His eyes burned from the smoke, and he struggled to breathe. He could feel them climbing higher as Agana tried to get him out of harm's way. 

The nightmarish screams of Sunfyre filled the air. Aerys wiped his eyes, trying to clear his vision. He watched, paralyzed by fear, as the golden dragon fell from the sky. Agana did not hesitate. She dived down, flapping her wings as hard as she could, trying to reach Sunfrye before he could plummet to the ground. But they were too late. Sunfyre crashed into the trees with a large burst of flames. 

Agana and Aerys both roared in anguish.

They stopped, hovering above the trees. Aerys stretched his neck as far as he could, trying desperately to find some sign- any sign of Aegon. There was none. 

No! He cannot be dead. He can't be. 

A terrible, sickening dread washed over him. Aerys heart was thudding in the back of his throat. Something inside him wrenched and soared. This could not be the end. Not now, not yet. It was too soon.

“No,” He whispered. “Land, Agana!” 

Agana flapped her wings, easing herself to the ground. Aerys hastily unstrapped himself from the saddle. He slid down the side of her body. The shock of his landing caused him to stumble, but he was able to keep from falling. 

Agana let out a whining, breathing-like noise. She turned her neck, pressing her head against his shoulder as if trying to nurse his wounds. Aerys winced as he looked upon his wounds. There were small patches of slightly charred flesh here and there. The red, black, and yellow burns covered his right shoulder and extended down to his elbow. But there was no pain. The entire area just felt numb, though he knew the pain would surely come later.

Agana pulled away. Aerys could see her face now. Giant, jagged claw marks ran across the left side of her face, and there was a gaping hole where her eye once sat. The damage done to her underbelly was not as severe as he thought it would be, thank the gods.

A lump had formed in his throat. The corner of his lips pulled down, shaking as he tried to stop the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume him.

“I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m so sorry.”

The silver dragon trilled, carefully nuzzling the tip of her snout against his stomach.

“You did well,” he praised, caressing her face. “Thank you.”

He pulled away, moving around her. Aerys found Sunfyre curled up on his side, grumbling in pain. He approached slowly, not wanting to frighten him. The golden dragon did not seem to care for his efforts.

Sunfrye growled, baring his teeth, but the dragon could not raise his head. Aerys held his left hand up in surrender.

“I’m here to help him.”

The golden dragon snarled at him.

“Please,” he pleaded.

Agana crawled behind the wounded dragon, resting her head against his own. She released a loud hum from her chest, almost like a pur. The sound seemed to calm him. His growling ceased, and he retracted his teeth. Aerys approached him, carefully climbing over the dragon's tail. Sunfyre had curled himself around Aegon, still trying his best to defend his rider. 

Aerys gasped when he saw the state of Aegon—his body, battered and burned. Aerys inched closer. His knees wobbled, and his terror mounted with every step. Aegon was lying still on his back. His violet eyes were hidden behind closed eyelids. 

Aerys fell to his knees, his eyes trailing over the man’s wounds. His stomach clenched, dread twisted in his gut.

“Aegon?” He called, his voice thick with fear.

But Aegon did not move, and he did not make a sound. The armor he wore seemed to have melted into his flesh. 

Agana growled, raising her head. Aerys snapped his head to the side, watching Aemond march towards them, wielding Blackfyre. There was something in the man’s gaze, something dark. He was uncertain as to what the man’s intentions were. Aerys did his best to shield Aegon’s body with his own despite his injured shoulder. He was not afraid of him. Aemond would be a fool if he tried to harm either one of them in the presence of their dragons.

As he approached, Agana snarled at the man. Aemond’s eye flickered up to Agana before looking back to Aerys. Just as he raised the blade, a voice called out.

It was Ser Criston. Aerys shot Aemond one last glare. He turned around, focusing his attention back on Aegon. 

“I choose you, Aegon,” Aerys whispered, his bottom lip trembling. “I choose you.”

Tags: @saicherry, @sadpuffpuff, @willow-red, @teamavatar13

[sena-seastar]

The Dragon's Gold

Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Aerys Reyne (male oc)

Summary: Aerys Reyne, son of Naerys Targaryen, the second-born daughter of King Viserys and Queen Aemma, has been best friends with Aegon since childhood. As boys, they had been inseparable. Many said that it reminded them of the early days of King Jaehaerys reign. When the princes Aemon and Baelon were still children. Wherever one boy was, it wasn't long before the other came running behind him. That was until forbidden desires of the heart forced a wedge between them. After the death of his grandsire, King Viserys, Aerys finds himself torn between two sides: stand by his oldest friend or stand by the only mother he has ever known.

Warning: angst, mentions of Jaehaerys, grief, alludes to smut at the end

a/n: No beta, so I apologize for grammar and spelling mistakes. Also, if anyone wishes to be tagged in future updates, just let me know!

Aerys

Aerys rested on the soft feather bed, facing Aegon. His fingers lightly pushed loose strands of hair away from the man’s face. Aerys had been able to wake the man up just long enough to take him to bed some time ago. Aegon had demanded Aerys stay by his side. Not wishing to argue with the half-lucid man, he agreed. However, Aerys had barely slept at all. He had spent most of the night awake, at war with his mind. The murder of Jaehaerys had only further complicated things for him. He did not want to believe Nyra could do something so terrible- so horrid. But what if she had? 

Grief has a way of making people behave out of character. The overwhelming pain and sorrow of losing a child could make someone act out in ways that they later wish they hadn’t. But even then, that was not an excuse. It does not justify the murder of an innocent child. And no later regrets would restore that which has been lost.

“Aerys?” Aegon called, freeing the man from his thoughts.

“I’m still here,” he replied, moving his hand to caress Aegon’s cheek.

The sun shines on his skin, and he’s warm. Aegon’s eyes peek open as if checking to see if it was indeed Aerys beside him. 

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?” Aerys asks.

“For staying.”

A sad smile spreads on Aerys’ lips. “Of course.”

Aegon groaned, pulling himself up. Aerys turned away, trying to give the man some privacy as he emptied his bladder into a chamberpot. There was a knock at the door. Aerys quickly stood up from the bed, his hands furiously dusting off his clothes, trying to make himself look presentable. 

The doors pushed open, and Aerys swallowed harshly, watching the queen dowager enter the room. The woman paused, her eyes looking him up and down. He clenched his fists at his sides, feeling exposed. 

“Mother,” Aegon greeted, moving over to the table in his room to pour himself a glass of wine. “To whom do we owe the pleasure?”

The woman turned her head, glaring at her eldest son, “Ser Criston Cole.”

Aegon’s jaw clenched, his eyes hardened. “Has Ser Arryk succeeded?”

The woman scoffed, “His scheme has failed. Rhaenrya still lives.”

Aerys shot Aegon a quizzical look and asked, “What scheme?”

The pair turned their heads towards him.

“He has not told you?” The woman asked patronizingly. “Ser Criston sent Ser Arryk to Dragonstone. So that he could disguise himself as his twin and slay Rhaenyra.”

“And you condoned this- this stunt?” Aerys frowned, his mind still processing the woman’s words.

Aegon turned his head, avoiding Aerys’ gaze. An uncomfortable tension arose in the air. The queen dowager glanced between the both of them.

With a loud, exasperated sigh, she said, “I shall leave you both to discuss this. Do try not to take too long. Your councilmen are waiting.”

The door closed loudly behind her, leaving the two men alone. It seemed their brief moment of respite had come to an end. Aegon leaned his head back, finishing the last of his wine, before moving to the table to refill his cup. Aerys watched him closely, waiting for him to speak. With each second that passed, he found himself growing increasingly irritated.

“Have you nothing to say?” Aerys asked, not bothering to hide the frustration in his tone.

“What would you have me say?” Aegon turned around.

Aerys found himself bewildered by the lack of interest in Aegon’s voice.

“I wish for you to speak the truth.”

“The truth?” Aegon repeated. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared as he breathed heavily through his nose. “The truth is that- that whore murdered my son!”

“No,” Aerys shook his head, turning away.

“Yes! Yes, Aerys!” Aegon growled as he marched closer. 

Aerys could feel the man standing behind him, glaring at the back of his head.

“She could not have done this.” Aerys tried to reason, more to himself than Aegon.

“Then who else?!” Aegon shouted. “Who Aerys? Tell me!”

“I-” Aerys sighed, “I do not know.”

“You do know. You just refuse to accept it.”

Aerys closed his head, dropping his head. Aegon’s words pained him greatly, but he spoke the truth, as Aerys had wanted.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Aegon sighed wearily. “You don’t believe me. You’ve already convinced yourself of her innocence. In your eyes, she is without flaw. So gracious and delicate and-”

“Aegon, please,” Aerys begged.

“No, it is true!” Aegon argued. “And in your eyes, I am what? A fool? The depraved wretch who has led poor Aerys astray.”

“No!” Aerys denied. He whirled around, trying to take Aegon by his arms.

“No,” Aegon grunted, pushing his hands away. “You’ve made it clear how little I matter to you. After all, how could I ever compare to your precious Rhaenyra?”

Aerys dropped his hands back to his sides, watching feebly as Aegon turned his back to him. Aegon walked over to the hearth, letting his body slump down in a chair. The same one that had held him as he wept over the loss of his son. 

“You’ll never choose me. You never have,” Aegon faltered.

“That is not true,” Aerys protested.

“Isn’t it?” Aegon gave a sad smile. “I have laid myself bare for you, repeatedly and every time you run from me.”

“Aegon I,” Aerys stops, lost for words.

It was like a pit had formed in his stomach- his intestines tied themselves into knots. 

“You abandoned me,” The hurt was evident in his voice. “I pleaded. I begged you to stay, but you wouldn’t. Instead, you ran off to play happy family with her on Dragonstone. For five years, you didn’t write. You never came back. You wrote me off as if I meant nothing to you.”

Aegon stared at him. His eyes held so much sadness, hurt, and betrayal. They sent a deep chill down Aerys’ spine. A powerful sadness fills his chest. It’s almost painful.

“It was not that simple, I assure you.” Aerys objected.

“I needed you,” Aegon whined. “I had no one. I just wanted my friend back.”

“I had to go,” Aerys trembled. “I had to.”

“Why?” Aegon asked.

“Because I could not be your friend,” Aerys admitted. “I tried, I did. But I always ended up in the same dark place, miserable. It was not an easy choice, but I had to make it. For myself, for you.”

Aegon’s face contorted into one of pain and suffering. He turned away, lowering his head. “For me,” he murmured.

For a while, neither of them spoke again. Both are too lost in their own wild emotions to think clearly. When Aerys returns to his senses, he decides to try to sway the conversation away from them.

“Aegon,” Aerys spoke softly as he approached the man. “You have both lost something that can never be replaced, but you both still have people who care for you and depend on you. If this war persists, how many more will die? How much more are you willing to lose?”

“I will not lose anything else! That is why I am doing this!” Aegon snapped, pounding his fist on the arm of the chair.

“That is why you must stop this!” Aerys pleaded, kneeling in front of the man. He took Aegon’s hands into his own.

Aegon stared at him, eyes welling with tears. His lower lip quivered, and Aerys could feel the slight tremble in his hands. Aegon pulled a hand away, raising it to cup the side of Aerys’ face. Aerys closed his eyes, nuzzling into his palm, losing himself in the man’s warmth.  

“Do you love me?” Aegon asked.

Without hesitation, Aerys opened his eyes and said, “My love for you is the only thing I can be sure of in these dark times.”

“Then choose me,” Aegon pleaded, his voice wavering. “Rule and fight by my side.”

“You’re asking me to make an impossible choice,” Aerys whined, shaking his head.

Aegon released a shuddering breath, sitting up straight. “You must choose Aerys. Either join me or die.”

“You would have me killed?”

The question made Aegon flinch. Aerys believed he could see the man’s heart and mind battling for control in his eyes. 

“I do not wish to,” he answered honestly. “But if you force my hand, I will have no choice. I have spared you all the time I can. I must know where your loyalty lies.”

Aerys started to snivel and dropped his head. Aegon placed a hand on his chin, lifting his head.

“You were there the day Jaehaerys was born. You even held him.”

The two men shared a sad smile as they remembered that day.

“But you did not have to see his- his body. You did not see what those beasts did to him. What she sent them to do.” Silent tears fell from Aegon’s violet eyes. “Join me,” he pleaded once more.

Aerys could not speak; he could not trust his voice. He balled his hands into first, trying desperately to stop the trembling.

“Please,” Aegon begged.

Aerys believed he was damned one way or the other. He must truly be cursed. Perhaps the all-knowing gods had seen his sins- his shame and wished to punish him. Perhaps they were never there; maybe they had abandoned him long ago. With a reluctant sigh, Aerys nodded his head.

–

The hour of the owl was quickly approaching. The full moon sat up high, resting in the dark abyss of the night sky.

“A seat on the council,” Wylla said, astonished.

“I’m merely a guest.” Aerys shrugged.

The day had come and gone. Aegon decided that Aerys would now be attending the small council meetings. Though only as a guest, Ser Criston Cole had been named Aegon’s new hand. Fortunately for Aerys, Aegon had allowed him to refrain from attending today’s meeting on account of his poor emotional state. He had been rather upset after their argument.

Aerys was exhausted, but his mind seemed incapable of slowing down.

“Still, you must feel special!” Wylla smiled, running the brush through his hair.

“Special,” Aerys hummed. “That’s certainly a word for it.”

The woman stilled. “Are you unhappy?”

Aerys sighed wearily, his eyes staring at her through the mirror. “How happy would you be if all you could do is sit back and watch as your family tears itself apart?”

She frowned, “Not too happy, I suppose.”

He nodded his head, “Precisely.”

There was a knock at the door, though the person behind it waited for no response before stumbling into the room. Wylla placed the brush on the table, quickly brushing off her apron. Aerys felt his stomach churn as he noticed a familiar face staring at him through the mirror.

“Cousin,” the man giggled as he swayed, struggling to keep his balance.

The fool was drunk.

“You may go, Wylla,” Aerys said, dismissing the woman.

She bowed before taking her leave. Aerys stood up from his chair, turning around to face the man dressed in expensive fabrics, with the red lion of their house embroidered on his collar. It was his cousin, Martyn Reyne. 

Martyn stumbled towards Aerys, clumsily throwing his arms around him. Aerys stiffened, uncomfortable with the man’s affection. He awkwardly patted the man’s back a couple of times before pushing him away.

“Cousin,” He nodded. “I hear you’ve been appointed to the Kingsguard?”

“By the king himself,” the man smirked, brandishing the new sword he had been given.

Aerys had to refrain from laughing as he looked the man up and down. He was hardly worthy of such a prestigious position. Aerys was unsure if the man knew how to use that sword, which he proudly displayed.

“Hmm,” Aerys hummed. “Why are you here?”

“His grace, the king, has summoned you.” 

“The hour is quite late,” Aerys sighed.

Martyn shrugged, sheathing his weapon. “He requires your... counsel.”

Martyn's eyes drifted to the bruises on Aerys’ neck before moving them back up to his face. Aerys did not miss the glint of amusement in the man’s eyes. He glared at the drunken fool.

“Why did he send you?” Aerys asked.

“He thought you would feel more comfortable seeing a familiar face.”

“Indeed,” Aerys nodded. “I had not expected to see you in the capital. You seemed quite... content in my brother’s hall the last time we met.”

Martyn pursed his lips, his face grew red, and his eyes flooded with anger. “Yes, well, it was your brother who sent me. To bend the knee to King Aegon in his stead.”

“Robb bent the knee to Aegon?”

Martyn nodded with a smug expression on his face. Aerys had never imagined Robb to be an oathbreaker. The news was like a knife to his heart. 

“As have you, I hear. Robb will be pleased. He always worried about your... attachment to the princess.”

Aerys flashed him a tight smile but stayed silent.

“Shall we?” Martyn asked, nodding towards the door.

Aerys took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. He nodded, letting the man lead the way. The castle halls were relatively empty. Aerys had found himself immensely grateful for that.

“You and the king are quite... close,” Martyn slurred, and his body swayed with every step.

“Is that a question?” Aerys grumbled.

“No, more of a keen observation.” Martyn laughed. “This is your second time entertaining him in his private quarters this late. Is it not?”

“The king requires my counsel, nothing more.” Aerys snapped. 

Martyn turned his head to look at Aerys. His eyes sparkled with merriment.

“Nothing more, indeed,” He smirked.

The implications behind the man's words were not lost on him. Aerys cursed under his breath, chastising himself for giving in to the man’s taunts.

They finished their walk in silence. The two came to a stop when they reached the door. Martyn attempted to open it, but the door was pulled open. Two men stumbled out of the doorway. They tried to stand up straighter when they saw him. They must have been the other two knights Aegon had appointed to the kingsguard. They seemed just about as impressive as his cousin. Aerys nodded his head, slipping past them. He could hear Martyn and the others snicker as they closed the door behind him. They were laughing at him. His face burned with embarrassment. Did they know of him and Aegon? How many others knew? He suddenly felt very naked, exposed.

Aerys shook his head, trying to bury these feelings. He was here for Aegon. He had summoned him here.

Aerys found the man sitting at the edge of his bed, fidgeting with his ring. It made Aerys think of his own ring. The one with his mother’s face enameled on it. He had hidden it away with the rest of his things. Aerys could no longer bear to wear it.

“They doubt me.” Aegon slurred, turning his head up to look at Aerys. “They all believe me to be weak.” 

“Who?” Aerys asked, taking a seat beside him.

“My mother, my council, all of them. They treat me like I am a child,” Aegon groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

“What happened?” Aerys asked, placing his hand over Aegons.

“They refuse every idea I have. They do not heed my thoughts. I am the king, and they expect me to sit around and do nothing.” Aegon scoffed. “You should have heard them quarreling like children today.”

“Share your ideas with me. I will listen.” Aerys pressed.

Aegon turned his head to Aerys, his eyes darting up and down the man’s face. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “We need Harrenhal. Ser Criston is leading a campaign through the Riverlands. I suggested he take Aemond and Vhagar, in case he stumbles upon one or more of Rhaenyra’s dragons, but he refused. So I decided Sunfyre and I would accompany them, but he refused again.”

“I cannot say that I blame him.”

Aegon frowned, “What do you mean?”

“It’s as you said, you are the king. The men who raise your banner fight for you and you alone. We cannot afford to lose you.”

“Gods,” Aegon scoffed, standing up from the bed. “Don’t do that.”

“Don't do what?”

“Patronize me!” He shouted, whirling around to face Aerys. “I can take it from them, but not you.”

“I’m sorry,” Aerys apologized. “That was not my intention.”

Aegon paced the room with his hands on his hips. Aerys waited patiently on the bed, not wanting to anger him further. After a few moments, Aegon finally stopped, standing just a few feet away from the bed.

“Will you-” Aegon paused, looking everywhere but Aerys’ face. “Will you hold me again?”

The quiver in his voice filled Aerys’ heart with sadness. He asked the question like a child, afraid of judgment or reprimand.

“Of course,” Aerys reassures him with a gentle smile.

Aegon inched towards the bed slowly. Aerys leaned his back against the many pillows that rested against the headboard. He could not help but think that Aegon looked a bit embarrassed. It amused him. 

Aegon settled his head on Aerys’ lap. His hands held onto one of Aerys, thumbs gently tracing the lines on his palm. Yes, he was flustered, Aerys thought, as his free hand began absent-mindedly drifting through his hair.

In the candlelight, Aerys could make out the redness in his ear and the faraway look in his eyes. He was curious about what ailed him, but he did not ask. If Aegon wanted to speak, he would. 

Aerys rested his head against the headboard, closing his eyes. His entire body felt heavy, as if some unforeseen force was sitting on his chest.

Half-delirious, Aegon mumbled, “It’s all my fault.”

“You mustn't blame yourself,” Aerys whispered.

“How can I not?” Aegon cried. “I- I should have been there! I could have-”

“There is nothing you could done, Aegon. You did not know what would happen. No one did.”

“I loved him,” he whined. “I did- I loved him. I was not the best father to him, but I tried. I wanted to do better. I tried to do better. To make up for my absence. To prove my love for him, and- and now he will never know,” Aegon burst into uncontrollable sobs.

His body convulsed and jerked with each sob and every gasp for air.

Aerys pulled the man into his arms, holding him close to his chest. “He knew Aegon. I’m sure he did.”

Aerys flinched when the top of Aegon’s head brushed against his neck. He adjusted them so Aegon could rest his head on his chest rather than his bruised neck. Aegon cried into Aerys’ chest, his fingers clinging to his sides. Aerys holds him tighter. He does not speak. He does not try to quiet him. He lets him cry himself out. It’s what he needs. This kind of grief is not one that should be contained.

Aegon pulls back, resting his weight on his hands. He looks like a wreck. His face is red, puffy, and stained with tears. He surges forward, capturing Aerys’ lips with his own. Aerys had been surprised but kissed him back. They kiss until they have no choice but to pull back for air, to soothe their burning lungs.

Aegon tried to kiss him again, but Aerys blocked it. Aegon pouted at him and tried again, but Aerys stopped him.

“Aegon,” Aerys sighs.

“Please,” Aegon begs. “I just- I need to feel something else.”

His fingers trail lightly across the side of Aerys’ face. With a beautifully tragic smile, he says, “Something good.”

Aerys is hesitant, but with that forlorn look in Aegon’s eyes, he's unable to deny him.

Tags: @saicherry, @sadpuffpuff, @willow-red, @teamavatar13

[sena-seastar]

The Dragon's Gold

Chapter Ten

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Aerys Reyne (male oc)

Summary: Aerys Reyne, son of Naerys Targaryen, the second-born daughter of King Viserys and Queen Aemma, has been best friends with Aegon since childhood. As boys, they had been inseparable. Many said that it reminded them of the early days of King Jaehaerys reign. When the princes Aemon and Baelon were still children. Wherever one boy was, it wasn't long before the other came running behind him. That was until forbidden desires of the heart forced a wedge between them. After the death of his grandsire, King Viserys, Aerys finds himself torn between two sides: stand by his oldest friend or stand by the only mother he has ever known.

Warning: angst, mentions of Jaehaerys, child loss, grief

a/n: Aerys kinda makes a new friend. Aegon isn't used to people being nice to him. No beta, so I apologize for grammar and spelling mistakes. Also, if anyone wishes to be tagged in future updates, just let me know!

Aerys

The sound of glass shattering on the stone floor woke Aerys, forcing him to sit upright. A thin layer of sweat covered his skin, and his heart hammered away in his chest. His eyes scanned the room for potential dangers. During his search, they fell upon a woman standing beside the bathtub in his chamber. It was the maid—the one in charge of delivering his food.

“I apologize, m’lord,” she bowed her head.

Aerys nodded, watching quietly as she bent down to pick up the shards of what he assumed had once been a flagon. She was a short, large woman with dark eyes, limp brown hair, and an ample bosom. 

“I’ve prepared you a bath,” she said, dropping the shards into a brown bucket, “Though you’ll have to wait for it to cool down a bit.”

Aerys said nothing. He looked down at his hands resting on the soft wool blanket covering his lap. So, he was not going mad. Someone had covered him up. He turned his head upward, looking to the window. It appeared to be late in the afternoon. The events of last night suddenly came back to him. Unconsciously, he reached a hand up to touch his throat. He flinched; the skin of his throat was tender and sore. 

Aerys stood up, letting the blanket fall to the floor. He moved over to the new mirror in the corner of his room. It had to be replaced, as he had shattered the first one after being told of Luke’s death. He lifted his hair out of the way, observing the red marks that covered his throat. The bruising was only in the beginning stages. But if he looked hard enough, he believed he could make out the shape of Aegon’s hands. 

“Should I fetch the maester?” The maid asked timidly.

“No,” he replied, his voice hoarse.

Aerys dropped his hair, letting it cover the red marks as best as it could. He turned around, eyes focusing on the steam rising from the bath. Aerys walked forward, shedding his clothes along the way. The maid released a short gasp and quickly averted her gaze. Aerys paid her no mind, tossing his clothes to the ground. He could smell the fragrant oils that had been placed in the water.

“It’s too hot, m’lord!” The woman warned.

Aerys ignored her words, lowering himself into the scalding hot water. He did not cry out or flinch. He enjoyed the heat against his skin. It made him feel clean, pure. Though he knew he was far from it. Aerys pulled his knees to his chest, watching the steam rise around him. Something had happened, something terrible. However, he did not know what. The look in Aegon’s eyes as he had his hands wrapped around Aerys’ throat haunted him. There was anger and fury, yes, but there was something else, something more. A deep, painful look of despair, of loss. Something that Aerys was not unfamiliar with.

“What has happened?” He asked the maid.

The woman approached slowly, sitting on a stool beside the tub.

“The prince Jaehaerys has been slain,” she answered woefully.

His eyes widened, and water splashed onto the floor as he quickly turned to look at her. He stared into her eyes, desperately searching for some indication of a lie, but there was none. The woman spoke the truth.

“And Jaehaera? Helaena?” Aerys asked hurriedly. Panic filled his chest, and he found it getting increasingly difficult for him to breathe.

“They live.”

A small wave of relief washed over him. Aerys nodded, turning back around. He dropped his head to stare at the water around him. 

“How did it happen?”

“Assassins snuck into the castle. The boy was...,” she paused, her voice cracking, “beheaded in his bed.”

Aerys closed his eyes, swallowing back the bile rising in his throat. Jaehaerys is dead. Aegon’s words rang loudly in his ears. Did you have something to do with this?! Did you know?! They were words spoken in anger- in grief, but they still felt like a knife stabbing at his heart. Surely, Aegon did not believe Aerys would take part in such an egregious act. To strike down an innocent child in their bed was cowardice. It was an act that only the basest of villains would commit. 

“They say it was the Princess Rhaenyra who sent them. In retribution for her son.”

Aerys shook his head. No, he could not—would not believe that Nyra was behind this or that she had even known of it. She was a mother herself, one who had just lost a son. He could not imagine the woman would want to inflict that same pain on anyone, especially Helaena. Nyra had never been close to her siblings, but she held no ill will against them, least of all Helaena. If this was indeed an act of retribution for Luke, why go after Jaehaerys? The boy played no part in what his uncle had done. Aerys doubted the boy even knew of Luke’s existence. It is a lie. It has to be. No, someone else was responsible for this treachery. To butcher a child in their bed like some kind of animal... that was a different kind of brutality. One that Aerys could not even begin to fathom.

Tears fell from his eyes, dripping into the water. The boy's death saddened him, yes, but he worried more for the boy's parents. He worried for the boy’s mother, who would never be able to see or hold her firstborn child again. He worried for the boy’s father, who would seek revenge for the son stolen from him. He worried for the boy’s twin sister, Jaehaera, who would be forced to grow up without her other half at her side. If she even made it to adulthood, that is. War was imminent. Luke and Jaehaerys were the first to die but would not be the last. Many innocents will meet their ends, both low and high-born. 

Aerys flinched as water poured down his back, droplets trickling from his long tendrils into the bath.

“I’m sorry m’lord. I thought you would want help washing your hair.” The woman apologized, her voice quivering slightly.

“It’s fine. Continue,” Aerys sniffled, wiping his eyes.

“Yes, m’lord.” The woman whispered, continuing her work.

Aerys leaned his head back, allowing her to pour water over the top of his head. She hummed absentmindedly as she threaded her fingers through his hair. Aerys sat quietly. He closed his eyes, trying to relax. His body ached all over. No doubt the results of sleeping on the bare stone floor. His stomach clenched almost painfully and released a rather loud growl. Aerys felt the heat rising on his face.

“Will you fetch me something to eat?” He asked timorously.

The woman stopped, a small smile spread across her round face.

“Of course, m’lord.”

Aerys nodded, listening as she left the room. He waited until the door locked behind her before laying back in the tub. He took a quick breath before sinking into the water, allowing it to submerge his head completely.

–

Aerys nibbled on the bread in his hands while the maid, whose name he discovered was Wylla, brushed his hair. He also found that the woman had a fondness for talking. Aerys had only asked which region of the realm she had come from, and now he knew that she had a brother who herds goats in the Riverlands, a sister whose husband owns an inn in the Reach, and apparently, they are descendants of some long-vanished king of the First Men.

He had stayed silent as she droned on and on, only letting out the occasional hum to let her know he was still listening. It was better than being trapped alone within the confines of his mind. The skin of his neck was sore; even the slightest touch made him cringe. Wylla had said the bruise was darkening already, with slight purple hues appearing with the red.

His mind drifted to Agana. The man missed her deeply. He missed the warmth of her scales on his skin, the wind blowing through his hair as they flew through the skies, and most of all, he missed the strength she gave him, the courage she made him feel. He needed that courage now more than ever.

“Your grace,” Wylla gasped.

Aerys turned his head, watching as Wylla bowed before the dowager queen. Alicent nodded, dismissing the maid. Wylla took the hint, quickly leaving the room. A white cloak that Aerys did not recognize closed the door behind her. Leaving him alone with the dowager queen. Alicent stood a few feet away, looking as regal as ever. She stared at him, toying with the skin around her fingernails. Aerys sighed before standing, turning around so they were face to face.

“I am sorry for your loss, Lady Alicent.”

“Thank you, Aerys,” she spoke quietly, a slight quiver in her voice.

He was being sincere. The woman had just lost a grandchild. He could not imagine that was an easy pain to bear. She cleared her throat, pushing her shoulders back to appear taller.

“But my grief is not the reason I am here.”

Aerys scrunched his brows, tilting his head slightly to the side. It took only a moment before the meaning of her words dawned on him.

“How is he?”

“Angry,” she sighed, “eager for vengeance.”

“And Helaena?” He asked.

The woman froze, her eyes staring at him. He watched as they welled with tears. Her bottom lip trembled as she let out a shaky breath. The woman cleared her throat, quickly hardening her face. It saddened him to see how quickly she internalized her pain. How quickly she buried it in her heart to put on the brave face that was expected of her. 

“She’s alive.” She answered. 

The mixture of relief and sorrow in her voice was not lost on him. Helaena was alive but would now have to live with the turmoil of losing a child, her first child. She would bear that pain- that loss for the rest of her life. Would that truly be a life worth living?

“What is it that you need from me?” Aerys asked.

The woman took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. She clasped her hands together and placed them in front of her—an array of conflicting emotions crossed over her glossy eyes. She averted her gaze, lowering her head slightly.

“He needs you,” she answered, with a slightly reluctant tone. “To offer him the solace I cannot.”

Aerys turned away from her. He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. His lips quivered, and his face contorted as he tried to fight back his tears. The skin of his neck grew hot as he remembered Aegon’s hands around his throat. He did not think Aegon truly meant to hurt him. It was an act done in haste while processing the death of his son. He could not blame him for it. Aerys took a deep breath, spinning back around to face the woman. She stared at him, her eyes trying to gauge his answer. He gave a simple nod.

“Ser Thorne shall escort you to the king,” she said before leaving the room.

The white cloak he did not recognize, Ser Thorne stood at the door. Aerys quickly put on his boots before walking to meet the man. He slowly stepped into the hall. His eyes searched the hall as if this were some sort of trap. Ser Thorne slammed the door shut and began walking. Aerys quickly followed. The castle was dark and quiet. Aerys noted that there were more guards than usual. Looking around in confusion, he realized Ser Thorne was leading him to his grandsire’s bedchamber. However, he quickly realized the reason for this. They crowned Aegon king. Where else would he be besides the king's apartments? Ser Thorne held up a hand, signaling Aerys to stop. 

Dread and worry crept into his mind as he realized only a wooden door kept him and Aegon separate. Ser Throne pushed open the door, standing to the side so that Aerys could pass him. Aerys nodded his head as he did so. He watched as the knight closed the door behind him. 

Heartwrenching cries pull Aerys away from his thoughts. Painful sobs and even more painful-sounding hiccups echo in the air. The sound broke his heart. He turns around, searching for Aegon. He finds the man hunched over in a chair, fiddling with his ring before the hearth. A tightness filled his chest like there was a hand squeezing his heart. Aerys was familiar with grief, but the grief of losing a child was another matter entirely. Something he had no experience with. It was something he never wanted to experience. He did not think he would be able to survive such a loss.

Lost in his grief, Aegon seemed utterly unaware of his presence. Aerys walked over to the man’s side. He raised his hand, hovering it over Aegon’s shoulder. Perhaps this was a mistake. Their last encounter was not a positive one. Would Aegon even want to see him? Would he want his comfort? Or would his presence merely anger him?

Aegon’s body jerked with each painful gasp that escaped his throat. His head hung low, concealing his face. Aerys took a deep breath, placing a firm hand on Aegon’s shoulder. He was willing to risk facing the man’s wrath. If Aegon wanted to scream at or hurt him, Aerys would let him. Whatever Aegon wanted from him, Aerys would provide it.

Alarmed, Aegon turns his head upwards to find the intruder. His eyes are red and puffy, but he still tries his best to look fierce. Perhaps he was afraid someone had come for his head next. When he realized it was none other than Aerys, his eyes softened. His face crumpled, and he burst into inconsolable tears. Aegon’s hands grabbed Aerys by the hips, pulling him closer. Aerys did not fight or cry out when Aegon’s fingers dug painfully into his skin. Aegon buried his face into Aerys’ clothed stomach, howling like a wounded animal. Aerys used one hand to thread his fingers through Aegon’s hair. The other, he used to rub the man’s back.

“My boy,” Aegon cried, “they killed my boy!”

Aerys dropped his head, closing his eyes. He bit his bottom lip to stop himself from crying. He needed to be strong for Aegon. The man needed someone to lean on now, more than ever. 

“I saw,” Aegon gasped. “I-I saw him. I h-held his little-little body,” he stammered between sobs. 

Aerys rubbed Aegon’s back, trying to soothe him. The man only cried harder. Aerys could feel his tunic clinging to his skin. The result of Aegon’s tears, though Aerys did not mind it. 

“I’m so sorry, Aegon...” Aerys whispered through tears.

Aegon shook his head. Aerys stumbled as the man suddenly pushed him away. He watched Aegon pace the room back and forth, shaking his head and muttering. 

“Aegon,” Aerys called, trying to catch his attention.

“They took his head,” Aegon whimpered. “They took his fucking head!” He shouted, grabbing a nearby goblet and throwing the glass with all his might.

Aerys flinched as the glass shattered against the wall. He watched helplessly as Aegon slumped to his knees, crying in his hands. Aerys kneeled beside him, pulling the man into his arms. Aegon buried his face in Aerys’ shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. Aerys pressed a soft kiss to Aegon’s hair. One hand held the back of Aegon’s neck while the other rested on his back. No words were spoken as they cried and clung to each other for dear life.

Aerys felt Aegon press wet kisses to the side of his neck. He winced; the bruises on his neck pained him. Aegon pulled away, his eyes observing the bruising on Aerys’ neck.

“I hurt you,” he whimpered, his face contorting in anguish.

“Shh,” Aerys shook his head, “I’ll be fine.”

Aerys pulled him closer, resting their heads together. Aegon leaned forward, pressing their lips together. Aerys did not stop him. The kisses are rough and desperate. Aerys feels a hand run down his body, cupping his clothed cock. He pulls back, grabs the hand, and pushes it away. Aegon whimpers, trying to capture Aerys’ lip again, but Aerys shakes his head.

“Just let me hold you,” he says softly.

Aegon stills; his violet eyes are unsure, and he looks almost afraid. Aerys sits on the floor, stretching out his legs. Hesitantly, Aegon lays down, resting his head on Aerys’ lap. He flinches when Aerys lifts his hand but relaxes when he feels Aerys run his fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. Aerys continues this even after Aegon falls asleep. His eyes trailed over every inch of Aegon’s face, listening to his friend's soft snores. His back ached from sitting like this, but he did not care. Whatever Aegon needed from him at that moment, he would provide it.

Tags: @saicherry, @willow-red, @sadpuffpuff, @teamavatar13,