summer

[summerkoya]

hi! I was just wondering, would you guys like me to continue with the next right thing? I have quite a few drafts but I'm not sure about keep on posting it ahah

[summerkoya]

the next right thing

Chapter 3

aemond targaryen x original female character , aemond targaryen x wife!oc

summary: Aemond and Myria need each other just as much, but one of them is bound to make the first move

warnings: smut , aemond is a tease, a TEASE , fluff.

****

Myria opened her eyes, as she felt a warm beam of sunshine glimmering on her face. She stretched an arm to her right, and found the space empty, as always. She had a dim recollection of Aemond kissing her good morning, but she must’ve been asleep at the time. More often than not he started his day hours earlier than Myria, but he always made sure to kiss her before leaving the bed. 

She rolled over, sighting in loneliness. It had been three moons since Max was born, and they still hadn’t spent a night together. Sure, they slept in the same bed every night, but they had yet to endeavour in an activity Myria had been particularly yearning for quite some time. She knew Aemond was just trying to be respectful of her, and she knew how lucky she was for that, most husbands weren’t that thoughtful; but she was growing relentless, and wished he did something. 

Myria shook her head, deciding she would not let her day be ruined by such bothersome thoughts, then looked towards the window, and smiled. The weather was clear, the sun was shining and only a few clouds covered the sky. It was warm, and she was already feeling like her old self. No pain whatsoever, no excessive tiredness, not feeling utterly bloated anymore, and she wanted to take advantage of that and spend time playing with the boys once again. 

So she hopped out of the bed, and put on a nice, rose dress that she had brought back from Dorne. It was made out of silk, and was tight on her waist, where a small knot tied the dress closed over her chest. It elegantly fell to just below her knees, and only covered her up to her shoulders, showing her bare arms. She guessed it could be seen as a slightly indecorous gown by the people in Westeros, but the day was unusually warm, and the dress made her feel like home. She was a Martell, first and foremost, which meant she thrived in the heat.

After leaving Max with a Septa, Myria strolled towards her children’s room and gently shoved the door open, smiling with fondness at the sight of the two boys sleeping. “Good morning, my sunshines!” She whispered with love, as she kissed each of them awake. Trystan started to sit up on his own, while Griffin remained in bed, snoring deeply. She bent down once again, and started tickling him, which managed to make him open his eyes in a smile. “Do you want to go with me to visit Rhaexar and Maelar?” 

The boys sheepishly agreed with happiness, and jumped out of bed. Myria was fast to dress them, and then bolted across the castle’s hallways, as she pretended to chase after them. As much as they loved their little brother, the boys had missed being able to play with their mother, and she had missed doing so just as much. Myria complained sometimes about the wild souls the boys were, failing to admit both of them had certainly inherited such a trait because of her.  

They reached the entrance to the castle, which also happened to be the training patio, and Myria helped the boys into a carriage, so they could all be taken into the dragonpit. She was more than happy to simply hop a horse and take them herself, but Aemond insisted on such precautions. 

“Alright darlings, stay here,” she instructed them, after settling them down, “I am going to look for Yago, I’ll be back in a second.” 

The few times the man wasn’t outside her door, he spent training, as she very well knew, so she figured he had to be somewhere around the patio. There was only one problem: the place was so cramped, Myria was having a hard time spotting him. 

There was a big crowd near a corner, gasping in awe and cheering about something that was happening within the circle of people. Myria recalled Yago liked to get into practice fights, so she approached the multitude, hoping to find him. She gently pushed some people around, and stood behind two women, who were very openly blushing and rallying. 

Myria then realised the crowd was franticing about two people duelling, and she was surprised to see her husband as one of them. Aemond was sparring against Ser Criston Cole, and quite dangerously as well. They were striking at each other with all of their strength, and she couldn’t help but feel her heart leap each time Aemond narrowly ducked one of the Commander’s attacks. 

Myria knew she was supposed to look for Yago, but she couldn’t draw her eyes away from Aemond. She was aware of her husband’s impressive skills with the sword— his reputation preceded them everywhere they went, but she never knew how good indeed he was at it. She rarely saw her husband fighting, given that Aemond didn’t like to participate in tourneys and she wasn’t one to usually have incentive to go down and watch him, since she thought watching men sparring wasn’t that thrilling a diversion. But that day she stood corrected. 

The way Aemond swirled the sword with his fingers, the hostile scowl that tightened his jaw, the grunts that left his lips each time he bolted towards Cole, and how easily he dodged all of his strikes, had Myria feeling a certain type of way, and her brain started to rush through a torrent of thoughts no honourable lady should have in public. She thought about his muscles, all very well known to her, flexing under his shirt; about him shoving her into bed with the same strength he pushed Cole, and him muffling his groans on her bare shoulders—

Before she could realise what she was doing, Myria found herself on the edge of the circle, watching with a much too improper gaze at her husband, if not openly ogling him. 

The fight seemed to be reaching an end, since Aemond clearly had the upper hand. On a clever move, he aggressively hit Cole’s shield with his sword, making it snap in two, one of the parts landing just before Myria’s feet. With a kick, Aemond knocked Criston over, who fell to the floor with a thud, poked his neck with the tip of the sword, and smirked. Victory. People all around her cheered, the two women at her side maybe much too enthusiastically, but Myria was awfully entranced by him to notice. 

“Well done, my Prince.” Cole smiled, as Aemond extended his arm to help him on his feet. That’s when the Prince turned around to search for the broken shield, and spotted her, his wife, gaping at him, eyes sparkling and cheeks faintly blushed. His eyes travelled to the hand she was pressing against her breasts, covered only by a thin, impossibly tight fabric, and heat ignited in his core, as his heart fluttered at the sight. He had to bite an arrogant smile away from his lips, proud about the fact that he could stir up such an improper reaction from her, away from the intimacy of their shared room. 

“Be careful, my lady,” Aemond said out loud, pointing at the shield next to her feet, while strolling towards her. As he reached her, Aemond looked around, to make sure everyone was distracted, and drew his lips close to her ear. “I could see you drooling from six feet away, princess,” he whispered, subtly smirking at her. 

“Mmm.” She dopily hummed, eyes fixed on the heartbeat on his neck, still much too entranced by her husband to understand the words coming at her. “Oh!” She gasped in embarrassment, once her brain catched up with her hearing. Myria looked down at her feet, as shame flushed her cheeks a bright, rose tinge. He was rather fond of that colour. 

Aemond gently grabbed her chin, and lifted her gaze up, forcing her to meet his. “You don’t need to hide your arousal from me, dear wife.” He murmured against her ear. Myria felt the burning feeling of desire travelling down her stomach, and couldn’t help but to exhale a little whine as her husband dropped her face, and backed a step away from her, bending down to pick the broken shield. 

“What is it, then?”

“I— I’m sorry?” She asked, face scrunched up in confusion. 

“I assume you didn’t come here to indecently stare at your husband, or has lust simply made you bolder, dearest?” He sniggered, with a mischievous grin. 

“O—oh,” she stuttered, “I was looking for Yago, so he could escort me and the boys to the dragonpit.”

“I’ll come with you.” He instructed, throwing the sword and broken shield on a table by their side. He then placed his hand on Myria’s lower back, and guided her towards the carriage. 

The trip towards the dragonpit was loud, Myria thanked the Gods, as she spent most of the time struggling with keeping the boys away from jumping from one side to another, which distracted her from the butterflies her husband’s teasing had left fluttering on the depths of her core. 

“Come on, boys!” She pulled them apart, as the carriage came to a halt. “Let Yago help you get down, that’s it.” Myria called, as she made sure the little boys jumped into the man’s arms safely. She was about to hop from the carriage herself, when a hand grabbed her waist and pulled her back inside. Aemond then pushed the door close, and gently shoved her against it. He placed a hand against the wall, right next to her face, and drew his face near hers, his hot breath making her tremble under his touch.  

“W— what…”

“Do you want something from me, my lady?” He whispered, letting his lips brush against her cheek. “Is that why you put on that gown…” he added, trailing the edge of the dress with his fingers, around her shoulders, collarbone, cleavage… “and why you stared at me with such an insolent blush on your cheeks?”

…breasts. Myria slightly whined at his touch, at the delicacy with which his fingers rubbed against her chest, wishing he was rougher. She knew he was playing with her, but Myria wasn’t strong enough to resist. She was a pawn on a game he had already set the rules to.

Her body and soul became entirely his the moment he looked at her; her clever, witty and bold character surrendered before Aemond’s touch, like sand melts under fire. Myria fixed her gaze on his lips, with an almost famished expression on her eyes. 

He placed a hand on her nape, gently pulling her towards him. “All you need to do is ask, my sweet wife.” His lips were so close, he might as well be already kissing her, and so she closed her eyes, and slightly opened her mouth, waiting for him to just take everything from her and then—

Agony. 

Before she could realise what had happened, Aemond had stepped away from her, opened the carriage door, and was forcing her impossibly clumsy feet into the floor, as his steady hand rested on her lower back. Her heart kept on racing as they followed Yago and the boys towards the massive doors of the dragon pit, trying to pull herself together quickly.  

She jogged towards her sons, as the sound of steps coming at them from a lower platform reached their ears, and soon enough two dragonkeepers were approaching them. Rhaexar, Trystan’s dragon, was four years of age, so he had to be brought in chains to avoid any problems, whereas Maelar was so small still, he was perfectly happy to cling on the man’s shoulder. Griffin wasn’t yet being fully trained to master him, since he was far too young still. 

Maelar was the first to spot them, opening his wings and flying towards them. He landed on Myria’s arm, and started to softly screech, red scales fluttering with content. 

“He missed you Mama!” Griff giggled. 

“Rytsa, Maelar,” she chuckled, “I missed you too.” She gently patted his head, and then kneeled down to place the dragon in Griff’s arms. 

While the two of them were playing with the small, harmless dragon, Aemond took Trystan by his hand and guided him towards Rhaexar. He motioned to the dragonkeeper to step away, since he wished to be the one to teach his son how to bond with his dragon. 

“Alright, byka raqiros,” he sighed, bending down so he could match the toddler’s height, and very gently held his chin with his hand “as always, don’t make sudden or harsh moves, and don’t try to approach him unless you know he is in the mood for that.” 

“Yes, papa.” Trystan nodded, squeezing his arm, and then started walking towards the dragon, nervous of letting his dad’s hand go, but Aemond wasn’t worried. Rhaexar was still a pretty small dragon, and he was one of the gentlest he had ever encountered. He had never even roared at the boy, much less tried something dangerous. He could be a bit of a rough player, sure, but he was simply matching Trystan’s character.

“Come on, ask him to serve you.” Aemond whispered, following close the steps of the boy. Although the dragon still kept a friendly demeanour, he was thrilled about seeing his soon to be rider, and couldn’t help but to move around, happily pumping his pale blue scales up, golden eyes shimmering with excitement. 

“Dohaeragon, Rhaexar.” His little voice commanded. The dragon stood still in his place, with a pleasant semblance. 

“Sȳrī,” Aemond smiled, “now go on, get closer.” 

The toddler confidently closed the gap between him and the dragon, and placed a small hand on its back. Rhaexar amiably grumbled at the gesture, and started gurgling nonsense. 

“Sȳz valītsos, Rhaexar, sȳz valītsos,” Trystan giggled, confidently petting the dragon. With a chuckle, Aemond took a step forward, and stroked the dragon’s neck.  

“Papa,” the boy said, lifting his gaze, “can I say it?”

“Say what, ñuha zaldrītsos?” He asked, with a fond, loving expression on his face. 

“You know what.” The toddler mischievously grinned. 

Aemond looked around, to ensure his wife and son were far enough, and returned his gaze to the boy. “Go ahead.” 

“Dracarys, Rhaexar!” Trystan instructed. 

The dragon stared at the boy, and Aemond could swear he saw the toddler’s grin reflected on its face. Rhaexar lifted his neck, loudly screeched, and then spat the biggest flare his young body allowed him to. 

Trystan returned to his father's side, jumping from excitement, and clutched on his leg, while laughing. Aemond instinctively lowered his hand and rubbed the toddler’s back, with a proud smile on his lips. Trystan might match his father in looks, but his laughter was all Myria’s. The wide smile, the way his eyes turned into half moons, the hiccups, and how effective it was in spreading joy for everyone else around. Aemond adored seeing his wife reflected on his children. 

“Well done, ñuha valītsos.” He chuckled, sharing his laughter. “Soon enough you’ll be riding him, Trystan.” 

“And will we go on rides together with Vaghar?” The boy asked, eyes sparkling with hope. 

“Everyday,” Aemond nodded, “you’ll see.” 

The whole show catched Myria and Griffin’s attention, and they started walking towards them. Excited, Griffin let go of Myria’s hand, and bolted towards Rhaexar, but Aemond catched him in his arms because he could reach him. 

“Never run towards a dragon that is not yours, Griffin.” He scolded him, with a soothing voice. Not even if the situation demanded it was he able to yell at his children. “It could hurt you.” 

“Yes, papa.” 

Myria reached their side, and ruffled Trystan’s hair. “Mama, did you see that?!” He asked, bouncing with happiness, and a sweet, so heart—wrenchingly adorable smile on his lips. 

“It was amazing, sweetheart!” She cheered, bending down so she could hug the boy. She caught his face with her hands and left, one, two, three kisses on his cheek. 

“Mama, why do you always kiss us so much?” The boy complained, with a little giggle nonetheless.

“Because I just love you both so, so much!” 

“How much?” Trystan teased her. 

“Like this much!,” Myria took the toddler by the armpits and threw him into the air. 

Trys giggled in delight as his mother caught him back, and hugged her head with his little arms. He suddenly turned his smile into a scowl, and stared at her with seriousness. 

“Can we bring Max next time?” He asked. 

“He’s far too young to be here, sweety.” She explained. “Maybe when he is older.” 

“But his egg will hatch in no time, I know it!” 

“We’ll see about that.” She smiled. She lifted her gaze towards Aemond, and catched him staring at her, lovingly. He wasn’t one to show affection like that so openly, so Myria guessed he must’ve been too distracted indeed. And then her mind, already wired to participate in Aemond’s game, realised his distraction provided her with a chance at coming back at him. 

Myria noticed Trystan had dropped one of Rhaexar’s chains, and slowly bent down more to grab it, knowing the dress would hug her in all the right places. She placed the chain on Trystan’s hand, and instructed the boys to guide their dragon towards the dragonkeepers. 

Myria turned around, and looked at Aemond with a smirk on her lips. Her husband simply stared at her, lips drawing into a fine line, “Hm,” and then raised his voice. “Boys!” He yelled. “Go with Yago, he’ll take you back to the castle.” He then placed a hand on Myria’s back, and softly pushed her towards the exit. “Your mother seems to be the one in need of a few lessons on how to behave in front of a dragon.” He added, with a whisper. 

Myria couldn’t help but giggle, as she placed a hand over her mouth, heart fluttering like a teenager’s who is about to flee away with the boy she likes to give him a kiss. Little did she know Aemond had much more than a kiss in mind. 

“Where are we going?” She laughed, as Aemond attentively guided her through a rough path in the mountain. 

“You’ll see.” He replied, tightening his grip on her abdomen, making sure she wouldn’t do as much as tripping under his hold. 

A few minutes later, they were reaching a cliff near Rhaenys’ Hill, where Vaghar liked to nest, since she was much too big for the dragonpit. A gasp escaped her lips as they approached her, feet coming to a halt, and Aemond turned around with a cocky smile on his face. 

“Are you scared?”

“I—It’s just been so long since I last went for a ride with you.” 

“She won’t hurt you.” He reassured her, holding her hand. “Now come on, it’ll be fine.” 

Vaghar lifted her head in curiosity as they got close to her, but there were no aggressive gestures in her whatsoever. 

“Gīda, Vaghar.” Aemond called, placing a hand close to the dragon’s mouth. He then turned towards Myria, who had remained a few, safe steps away, and extended a hand towards her. 

Myria took a hold of it, and cautiously walked towards the dragon. The beast let out a timid growl as she laid a hand on her. 

“Told you,” Aemond grinned, “she still likes you.” 

“Nyke hae ao tolī, Vaghar.” She smiled, confidently stroking the dragon’s scales. No matter how many times she saw the beast, Myria would never grow past the feeling of utter astonishment. Vaghar was magnificent. 

Aemond let them bond for a bit, before grabbing Myria’s waist to help her mount her. She climbed her with a strong hold, with Aemond following closely from behind, resting a hand on her back just in case. They reached the top, and he positioned himself behind Myria, and helped her get settled. He grabbed her hips, and pulled her as close to him as their bodies allowed them to, pressing her back against his chest. He let his fingers linger around her body for much more time than he needed to, which made Myria’s cheeks flush in arousal, a gesture that thankfully went unnoticed by him. 

Aemond rested his chin on her shoulders, and brought his lips to her ear. “You say it.” He whispered, lusciously licking his lips. 

Myria slightly tilted her head towards him, confused. She caught a glance of his gaze, eye laced with lust, before he stretched his arm to grab her chin, forcing her to face forward. “Hm. As you heard.” 

Myria cleared her throat, and spoke with a small voice. “S—sōvegon, Vaghar.” But the dragon didn’t move. 

“Louder, ñuha ābrazȳrys.” He whispered, as his hot breath on her nape sent a rill of heat between her thighs. “I want to hear you screaming.” 

“Sōvegon, Vaghar!” She commanded, this time with strength on her cords. The dragon shifted below them, like an island coming out of the sea, and after a few large leaps, she jumped into the void, as her gigantic wings stretched across the sky. With a holt, Vaghar faced above, and started flying into the clouds. 

Myria was sure she would’ve fallen straight into the ocean, if it weren’t for Aemond’s strong grip around her chest. She closed her eyes in fear, as Vaghar roared towards the sun. Once the initial shock passed, Myria dared to open her eyes, and turned around to find Aemond chuckling against her shoulder. By the Gods, he just loved riding on Vaghar with her. 

She joined him in his laughter, as the wind and droplets of water against her face reminded her once again how much she enjoyed flying, few things in the world could compare to the feeling of freedom she found up there. Myria sighed in content as Vaghar finally stretched across the clouds, and lowered her pace, as she started hovering under the sun. She fixed her gaze nowhere in particular, enjoying the feeling of nothingness around her. No noises, no heaviness, no sights beyond the endless sky, just her husband behind her. 

Myria shifted on her place, to get closer to him, and had to swallow down a moan when she felt his very obvious arousal against her ass. She unclenched one of her hands from the dragon’s mount, and placed it on Aemond’s leg. She then lifted her other arm, and caressed Aemond’s cheek with her fingers. She shifted her face so she would leave a peck on his lips, but that wasn’t enough for him. No. Dragonriding always gave him an appetite. 

He hungrily took on her lips, biting on them, occasionally kissing her neck as well. On a bold move, he unclasped the one hand he was using to hold the reins, to rub against her bare arms. His touch went higher, and then lower, as he snuck a hand through the opening on her chest, and softly started trailing her collarbone, down to her breasts. 

“Aemond…” she whined, closing her eyes at his touch, and placed her hand above her dress, just on top of Aemond’s, forcing him to tighten his grasp on her body. 

“What is it?” he implored, letting go of her mouth, leaving wet kisses all around her nape and shoulders, “Show me what you want, my love.” 

Myria snatched his hand from her chest, and guided below the fabric of her dress, towards her thighs, against the wetness in between. That was all Aemond needed to decide they should cut their flight short. 

• • •

Aemond kicked the door to their shared room open, as he carried Myria in his arms. He dropped her gently on the bed, and leaned above her. He greedily kissed on her neck, leaving red marks all around it, until he found her lips again. Her smell was intoxicating for him, and she was warm, so damn warm. Myria brought her hands to the back of his head and hastily removed his eyepatch, throwing it into oblivion. 

“There,” she nodded, out of breath. Aemond muffled a roar with her lips, pressing down on them, feeling as though he simply couldn’t have enough of her. 

Invigorated by her gesture, Aemond grabbed one of her legs and started raising until it harshly pressed against his back, urging her to pull him closer. He didn’t remove his hand from it, instead, he started trailing it down her leg back to the hem of her dress.

With one hand, he tore the frail fabric of her dress, as she worked on removing his shirt. She whined in sheer deprivation as his hand finally reached her cunt, and she dug her nails into the skin on his back. His muscles tightened at her touch, as the sweet, electrifying pain brought a smirk to his lips. 

“Do you want me, my sweet wife?” He grinned, as a malicious smile claimed his lips. 

“Mmm.” She whimpered, biting down on her swollen, flushed lips.

“How much so?” He teased her. 

“Please, Aemond…” She whined. In any other time, he would’ve enjoyed teasing her more, tormenting her until she pleaded, praying to the Gods for him, but that would’ve tormented him just the same. 

To say that he had been yearning for this moment would be an understatement. He had been a gentleman, thoughtful of his wife and what her body went through for their child, but he would’ve been lying if he said he hadn’t thought about having her for moons now.

“As you wish.” He kissed her, eager to feel her moans on his lips, as he introduced two fingers between her tight, wet walls. 

“Oh, Gods…” Myria cried. 

“Not a God,” he smirked, “just your adoring husband.” 

As always, Aemond made sure his wife’s pleasure was attended to, before he even started to think about his. After a loud sob left her lips as she reached her orgasm, he started to undo his belt, while taking her lips with his once more. 

Myria noticed her husband undressing, and hummed in pleasure as she caught a glimpse of the enlarged shape under his clothes. She stretched her hands to help him get rid of his pants, and he couldn't help but to groan, as his jaw clenched in desire.

He hastily started to tear the rest of her dress, and at first she was helping him do so, until she changed her mind.

“Wait, Aemond,” she said out of breath, “you shouldn’t…”

“What is it?”

“I—I just don’t…”

“Are you in pain?” He asked, concerned, resting both his hands on the mattress, as he stared deeply into her.

“No, no, not at all it’s just…” she lowered her gaze in embarrassment, “my body has changed since the baby, Aemond. I’ve got… scars around my belly…”

Aemond lowered himself to leave a sweet kiss on her lips, and delicately kept on opening her dress, as a shameful blush covered her cheeks. He threw the dress away, and stared into her eyes with a loving expression, before reaching down to kiss the marks on her stomach. 

“You always tell me I should wear my scar with pride,” he hummed, “you should do the same. They’re marks of courage, marks that you’ve carried my dragons. I cherish them with awe, Myr.” 

She sighed in adoration as he bent to kiss her lips, low enough that she felt his hard cock press against her thigh. She whined at the feeling, and pushed his hips even closer to her. 

“Please, Aemond…” Myria whined, and her voice was like honey to his ears. So warm and sweet, he had to bite down on his lips to avoid a loud groan from escaping them. 

“What do you want, my love?” He cocked his head, voice raspy. 

“You,” she whined, as her lips turned into a pleading pout, “I need you, Aemond, now.”

He simply groaned in response, too aroused to mumble any words but a grunt. Aemond grinned at her, and gently opened her legs, so he could slide into her. 

The moan that left her lips as he entered her, sent shivers of embarrassment to her face, and a shameful, burgundy blush covered her cheeks, as she was sure no honourable lady should ever make such a sound. Myria opened her eyes to stare at him, foolishly expecting to find a grim on his face. Quite the contrary. If only, her obvious, almost irrational yearning for him had but managed to make him even more aroused, were that even possible. 

“Had I known you were this needy for me…” He grinned at her, as another loud sob escaped her lips. “Your unsatisfaction falls on me like as veil of shame, my lady. Don’t ever let me leave you this unattended.”

Myria pressed her leg even harder against his back, forcing his hips closer to her, which managed to snatch that oh so provoking smirk away from his lips, his usually vexed expression softening in utter bliss, as he muffled a moan against her neck. 

“D— did you miss me?” She somehow managed to ask, deciding it was her turn to taunt him. 

“I couldn’t possibly find the words to express how much.” He hummed, letting a groan escape his lips each time he thrusted into her. 

“Then show me.” 

Aemond's pace came to a halt, and a cry escaped her lips. Gods, she shouldn’t have gotten so cocky. 

“My sweet wife…” he teased her, out of breath, pushing himself inside her in an agonisingly slow motion, “I couldn’t possibly show you how much so and remain a gentleman by the end of it.” 

“T— thank the Gods I didn’t marry a gentleman, then” she grinned with difficulty. 

Aemond tilted his head, overcome with devotion at the sight of his wife’s mien. Her cheeks, covered in the sweetest, most shameful blush; her brown eyes, wrinkled in pleading under her frowned eyebrows; lips, pressed in an insolent pout. 

Had Aemond truly been the root of such a display of imploring, then by all means declare the game over, for she was the winner. He was forever hers. 

• • •

How long he had spent claiming her dignity, Myria couldn’t possibly tell. The only thing clear on her mind, as she felt her husband’s heartbeat against her lips, was how much indeed she loved him. 

She loved what a great father he was, despite how neglected he had been by his own as a child; she loved his sapphire eye and the butterflies such sight brought to her gut every time she got a glimpse of it; she loved how mean and taunting he was towards everyone except for her; she loved how sharp his features were, and how soft they became when he looked at her; she loved how much he couldn’t say he loved her, so he always made sure to express such feeling with actions. She so deeply loved him, she felt as if she could burst out of it. If feeling so flamingly were a sin, then she prayed to the Gods they took mercy on her soul. 

And so Myria turned around, and sat on his lap, pressing her breasts against his bare chest, her lips against his own. 

“I love you,” she whispered, in a serious voice, staring deep into his eye, “I love you so much, thinking about what might have happened if your father hadn’t suggested we get married always manages to bring me to tears. I can’t live without you, Aemond.” 

Aemond couldn’t but stare back at her, knowing his gaze matched his wife’s, loving and full of adoration. He felt as though his body was being torn open. His whole life he had succeeded in keeping such a thing locked, key thrown into the ocean, to where no soul could reach. But Myria had somehow managed to make her way through it; and he felt entirely defenceless to her. Every smile, every laughter, every touch, every word that came from her pierced through his chest, leaving his heart in the open, all for her to take if she desired so. 

She didn’t want a world without him, but the inverse cut his ability to breathe. He couldn’t live without her. 

“We will always burn together.” He promised her, kissing her knuckles. “Avy jorrāelan, my Myr.” 

That wasn’t the first time Myria had heard him dedicate her such words in Valyrian, but that was the first time she could tell, without a single doubt, what they meant. She grabbed his head with both her hands, and left a kiss on his lips, sealing their promise.

****

a/n: okay so smut is not my fort at all so i hope this wasn't too bad ahah. i didn't really do a proof read so it might get slightly edited within some days. as always, thank you so much for reading!

@cherryaemond

[summerkoya]

I just finished writing chapter 3, I don't know when will I be able to proof read (probably not tonight) but within this day I should update. also, there's finally some aemond x myria shut ahaha

[summerkoya]

the next right thing

Chapter 2

aemond targaryen x original female character , aemond targaryen x wife!oc

summary: Aemond takes care of his wife through the audience; Myria and Aemond attend a volatile family dinner.

warnings: little fluff, lots of angst, vulnerable aemond, aemond discusses his trauma

****

Myria had been instructed by the Maester to remain in bedrest for as long she could, to avoid any stitches from opening up and help them heal faster. That meant she hadn’t been able to greet the Velaryon upon their arrival, despite how much she desired to. She had met Rhaenyra before, since she had attended her and Aemond’s wedding, but they hadn't spoken that much.

She glanced down, towards the baby feeding on her chest, and smiled. She started stroking his little legs with her fingers, occasionally tickling his little feet, just to earn a heartwarming coo from the baby. But for every smile, she got an angry frown as well, as her teasing prevented him from eating. Sure, Max had her looks— but he had inherited his father’s temper. Aemond’s.

She turned her head, to stare at the painfully empty place beside her. He wasn’t around as much. He was either sparring in the patio, or teaching the boys how to care for their baby dragons, or reading them stories and teaching them High Valyrian, all for which Myria was grateful. But she missed him. And she couldn’t help but to think her endless foul mood, complaints and her always picking on fights had something to do with her husband’s absence. Maybe he had finally grown tired of her. 

The baby coughed against her chest, forcing her attention back to him and thankfully preventing her from diving into even sadder thoughts. At any other time, she would’ve been happy to stay all day in bed, with no other responsibilities but to take care of him, while the boys are under the safe care of their father, but with so many things happening at the castle, she dreaded the idea of being confined in her room, ignorant of everything outside the doors. 

So she dragged herself out of bed, grateful that Aemond wasn’t around to scold her, and left the room, with little Max on her arms. 

“Princess? Where are you going?” Yago, the bodyguard assigned to watch her door, asked, concerned. “Prince Aemond gave me strict instructions to not let you out of this room, you know?” He insisted, while grabbing her arm so he could ease her pain. Myria looked over at the man and grinned. Yago had been her sworn guard since she was a young girl in Dorne, and was specifically chosen by her father to protect her. When he agreed to accompany her to Westeros, to keep on looking after her, she was thrilled. He was a good friend, and an even kinder man. 

“Since when do you answer to my husband, instead of me?” She joked, letting a grunt of pain escape her lips. The man chuckled, and kept on strongly holding her frame, making sure she wasn’t putting too much pressure on her feet. Each step claimed a groan from her lips, but she didn't mind. She wouldn’t die out of exhaustion, boredom on the other hand… 

“I’m only loyal to you, Myria. Always.” He declared, switching his grin to a serious frown. “The moment things inevitably take a dangerous turn here… you simply say the word, and I’ll take care of everything. You, and the children.” 

“Yago… what have you heard?” She asked, looking at him with disbelief. 

“Whispers, my lady.” He explained. “Bad ones— corrupt ones. And your father is just as concerned as I am.” 

“You’ve talked to my father, how—” Myria mouth was shut, by him placing a gentle finger on her lips. 

Yago restrained himself by lending her a knowing look, and cleared his throat. Myria had failed to realise they had already arrived at the King’s door, and talking about such matters in front of the realm’s bodyguards wasn’t a very clever idea. 

“I’ll be here when you leave, Princess.” He said. 

“Thank you, Yago.” She smiled, putting on a nice smile. She then turned around, and looked at the guard outside the room. “I wish to pay a visit to the King.” She asked. 

“It’s been requested that the King receives no visitors.” The man grunted. 

“I only wish for him to be introduced to his new gransire.” She said, holding the baby closer to her chest. “I think the King will very much enjoy it.” 

The guard gave it another brief thought, before nodding and motioning for her to come inside. She thanked him, and walked across the room towards the bed, where a very ill Viserys laid. Judging from the bandages he had around his face, Myria could only assume the disease had progressed from the day before, and finally claimed his eye. And yet— as sickly and feebly as his body was, his mind remained unharmed in a way Maesters couldn’t quite explain. And Myria intended to enjoy what it could possibly be the last few weeks he had left of such awareness. 

“Is— is that who I think it is?” Viserys asked with a smile, doing his best to sit himself up, after spotting the young woman walking towards his bed. 

She sat herself next to him, and shifted the baby in her arms so he could get a better sight of him. 

“Hello, father.” She smiled. Upon meeting him, Viserys had been very adamant on her calling him father. He said he would have no daughter of his refer to him under formalities such as your grace, or my king, and for that, Myria was very grateful. She liked Viserys, and he had always made her feel very welcomed. “Meet your new grandson.” 

“Another boy?” He wheezed, showing a smile so big part of it disappeared behind the bandages. 

“His name is Max.” She chuckled. “Trystan named him.” 

“Oh,” he simpered, caressing the baby’s head. Visery’s face light up as Max grabbed one of his fingers, and strongly got a hold of it. “Max. He looks like you, dear.” 

“He really does.” She giggled. 

“He’s one precious little boy. Well done, Myria.” Viserys muttered, and squeezed her hand, looking at her with pride in his eye. 

Maybe it was at that moment she realised there were only a handful of stares like that one she would ever get from him, or maybe because receiving such affection from him made her realise she missed her own father so dearly, but Myria didn’t find the strength in herself to avoid tears from filling her eyes. 

“You’re a kind King, father, and an even kinder man.” She bubblered. “And all of your children and grandchildren love you very, very much. Your own daughter, Rhaenyra arrived here this morning, and I’m sure she will be visiting your chambers any time now.” 

Just as she said so, she heard a grunt behind them. Myria turned around and saw a scary looking man standing still, holding his hands behind his back. He had an eerie feeling to him, sinister enough that Myria felt shivers down her spine. Daemon. She had crossed paths once with him, and that was all she needed to realise he was not a man one could afford to be on his bad side.

Besides him, Princess Rhaenyra stood, listening with a gloomy smile to Myria’s words. Myria took their entrance as her cue to leave, assuming Rhaenyra probably wanted to spend time with her father alone. So she squeezed Viserys’ hand, and got up from the bed. She fought a flush of lightheadedness away, not having realised how much of a toll the walk towards the room had taken on her. 

“Princess, Rhaenyra” she bowed her head as she reached her side, “Prince Daemon. I’ll leave you to it.” She smiled, before starting to walk away. 

“Sister,” the Princess called her, before Myria could leave. She turned around, to find her grinning at her. “Congratulations,” she said, motioning towards the baby in her arms, “I hear it is a boy. Please extend my congrats to my brother.” 

“Yes,” she chuckled, “his name is Max. And I will.” 

“He’s lovely,” she said, tickling the baby’s feet, “you have three boys, just like Ser Laenor and I did.” 

“We do indeed.” She agreed. “I can only hope to be able to raise such nice and kind men as you did, Princess.” 

“Please call me sister, Myria, I insist.”  

“Sister,” she smiled, “I was told you became parents yourselves to two little boys recently. Aegon and Viserys, is that correct?” Of course she knew she was correct. The very night they got the news, their Aegon got drunk as ever, and joked about Rhaenyra finally ‘breeding Targaryen looking’ children. “Congratulations.” 

“Thank you, Myria.” Rhaenyra answered, with a genuine smile. As much as Myria wanted to understand Aemond’s family feud with them— she couldn’t. The woman seemed kind and sweet, and a loving mother as well. 

“Well I better leave, I’m sure you’re eager to see your father. I hope we run into each other again, Rhaenyra.” 

“I hope so too.” 

After one last bow of her head, Myria finally left the room. Yago was waiting outside, as he said he would. 

“Are you ready to go back to bed?” He asked, worried at the sight of her pale face, and the weak grip on his arm. 

“Yes please,” she whispered, handing him the baby, “could you please carry him, too? I’m afraid I don’t think I have that much strength left.” 

“Of course, princess.” He said, holding the baby with gentleness. He was great with children, and Myria felt very lucky indeed her sons got to regard him as not only a protector, but as family. 

They were walking with leisure and in silence throughout the castle’s hallways, when an angry voice called her from behind. 

“Myria?” 

Myria stopped in her tracks, recognising that voice as her husband’s and dreading the upcoming discussion. She slowly turned around with a grimace, only to find a very irritated Aemond striding towards her. 

He stood before her, and fixed his gaze on hers, without saying a word, as if she were being silently scolded. “I will carry my son and escort my wife from now on, thank you very much Yago.” He hissed, and then turned around to grab the baby into his arms. 

The man handed the child to him, and then glanced at Myria. She vaguely nodded her head, and Yago carried on with his way. Only after he had disappeared from their sight, did Aemond deign to look at her again. 

“What were you thinking?” He taunted her, still offering one of his arms for her to hold on. “The Maester gave you strict orders to remain in bedrest.” 

“I wished to introduce Max to your father.” She explained, naively following his steps. 

“You could’ve asked me to do so.” He said, with a strained voice.

“You weren’t around.” She argued, in a repproaching manner she didn’t actually mean. 

“I took the boys for a ride in Vaghar, so you and Max could rest, is that so bad of me?” He sneered, turning on a hallway Myria knew didn’t lead to their chambers. 

“W— where are we going?” She asked. 

“I’m going to leave you with Helaena and my mother’s company, as you can’t seem to be trusted enough to look after your own well being.” He grunted. “If I can’t keep an eye on you, I want them to do so.” 

“Then do keep an eye on me, Aemond.” She exhaled, pulling on his arm so he would turn towards her. “Stay with me, and the baby.” 

“The boys—

“The boys are perfectly content to play with the twins, under the care of your sister and the Septa.” She snapped, putting an end to her husband’s excuses. “I know you think I’m angry at you, for it seems as of late we can not help but to get into an argument every time we speak, but I’m not.” 

Myria delicately placed her hand on his face, and the other one on his chest. 

“And I know it’s my fault, as I’m the one always picking fights,” she continued, “and for that I have no explanation. Maybe it’s due to the lack of sleep, maybe it’s simply because being with child gets me into a foul mood, but one thing I know is that it’s not because of you.”

“For every feeling of annoyance I might have towards you, I promise there’s twice as many loving ones. And I apologise if that has made my presence dreadful to you. But I don’t want you to drift away from me, Aemond.” She pleaded, resting her face on his neck. 

He gruffed, letting the rest of his exasperation leave in that exhale, and lowered his gaze towards her.

“Don’t ever worry about that again,” he muttered, leaving a kiss on her forehead.

• • •

The following morning, when she woke up, Aemond was by her side, holding her hand against his chest, as he always did. She turned around to make sure Max was still sleeping, and was relieved to find the baby soundly snoozing on his cradle. 

She then swirled to face her husband once again, and placed a gentle hand on his face. Even in his sleep he didn’t look peaceful, or vulnerable. 

Myria delicately trailed her finger throughout his scar, wishing he would open up more often about the story behind it. She so deeply wanted to be understanding of her husband’s ever lasting quarrel with his nephew, but she couldn’t think of it as any more than that— a childish fight, if he didn’t tell her what had truly happened that night. Sure, he had explained to her how he lost his eye, but the way he narrated it led her to believe it had been more of an unfortunate incident rather than an intentional offence. Aegon had also comedically filled her in about the pig incident, over a few too many cups they had shared, but she thought there was more to it. There had to be more to it. Among the many things Aemond was— childish wasn’t one of them. He wouldn’t be so resentful of the boy unless something more meaningful than what he told her had happened. 

As gentle as she ensured her caresses remained, perhaps she had been thinking too loud, because next thing she knew, Aemond was sleepily opening his eye.

He reached for her hand on his chest, and drew it towards his lips, so he could leave a kiss on it. “Good morning.” He said, in a raspy voice. He then noticed her fingers trailing his scar, and chuckled. “What are you doing?” 

“Good morning, dear.” She whispered, bringing her face closer to his. “I was just fawning over my handsome husband.” 

“Hm.” He hummed, as a flustered smile stretched on his lips. Even when a tiresome frown covered her face, skin pale and frail product of a hard childbirth, he still thought she was the prettiest woman he had ever seen. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, than to have her, but above all he was a gentleman, and his wife’s comfort would always be a priority to him. He knew it would take time before she could endeavour in such activities, and was fine with that. He was perfectly happy with simply admiring her. Admiring the way her swollen breasts pressed against his body, the way her nightgown enhanced the soft curves of her hips, or the way she bit down on her lips, leaving a faint shade of burgundy in them. 

But Myria must have noticed his gaze fixing on her lips, or maybe she just felt the very obvious arousal in his pants, because she then brought her face to his, pressing their foreheads, and hummed. 

“You can kiss me, if you want.” 

“I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” 

“A kiss won’t hurt me.” She whispered, closing the gap between them, and left a peck on his lips. 

He didn’t reciprocate at first, still unsure about it; he didn’t want to make her feel as if she owed him that. But he was convinced by the way his wife didn’t seem to care about that, and kept on passionately deepening the kiss. 

He then grabbed her waist and moved her body above his, to both avoid crushing her and letting her be the one in control, and hungrily took on her mouth. His soft, gentle kisses turned into greedy ones, agonising as he couldn’t get enough of her. 

It was when Myria realised how much she had missed having her husband. She yearned for his touch, for his kisses, for his love. But it was a bittersweet feeling— she desired her husband, although she didn’t desire intimacy. She still felt sore, uncomfortable and weak because of the baby. But Aemond knew that, hence his lack of any sort of following advances. He felt entirely content with being able to just hold her, and kiss her. 

They were interrupted by the soft cooing of a baby who had just awakened. Myria laughed into the kiss, and then turned around, to pick the baby into her arms. “Someone wants some attention too.” She chuckled. 

“Greedy.” Aemond joked, straightening up. He reached towards her, so he could take the baby into his arms. He placed his head on both his hands, as to let his little legs kick against his chest. 

Myria sweetly smiled at the sight, since it wasn’t common for Aemond to take that sort of initiative. He was never one to refuse holding his children, whether it was because Myria needed some help, or because the boys demanded him to, but he didn’t usually ask for it. It warmed her heart seeing him get more comfortable in that role— he wouldn’t have dared to carry Trystan with such confidence when he was born, and yet there he was, picking up Max from her own arms, not even asking before. 

She bent towards the baby, so she could leave a kiss on his temple, and with a groan got up from bed, and started to get ready for the day. 

“What are you doing?” Aemond asked, when he saw her change into a lavish, lavender dress. 

“I’m getting ready, we have an important audience to attend today.” She explained, struggling to do the buttons on the back. “Could you come help me button this up?” 

Aemond remained still. “Yesterday you said you didn’t wish to pick on fights, and yet it seems you do everything in your power to make me start an argument.” He hissed. 

“Don’t use that voice, I don’t want the baby to get upset.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you should go, dearest.” Aemond faked a smile.

“Well, I’m going anyway, so I don’t see the point in—

“The Maester said you should rest, an audience where something is bound to go wrong is hardly the place you should drag yourself to.” 

“Then thank the Gods I have a caring, loving husband who will keep me company at all times, ensuring I’m alright.” 

He simply huffed at her, and returned his attention to the baby. “You will never be as troublesome as your mother, right Max?” He asked, tickling the boy’s feet. “She’s certainly proficient at keeping me on my toes.” 

“Otherwise you’d be bored.” She smiled, sitting besides the both. “It’s important that I go, Aemond.” She added, in a serious voice. “My father is the ruling Prince of Dorne, and my sister will inherit that title after him. I’m the only person here at court that can keep them updated on such politics. I don’t wish to be ignorant of them. Please understand.” 

Aemond stared at her for several moments, before answering. “I do.” 

“Thank you.” Myria smiled. “Now, help me get this dress buttoned up, or else I will make a spectacle of myself at court.” 

Aemond placed the baby on his crib, and stood behind his wife. Seeing her bare shoulders brought lustful feelings to the depths of his stomach, but he ignored them. 

“For some reason it doesn’t seem to close.” She complained, as he put his hands on her back, struggling to pin the buttons together.

“Yes, because it doesn’t fit.” He said, innocently. 

Myria turned around, and glared at him with so much fury, he wished he could confront a dragon instead. 

• • •

“What do you know of Velaryon blood, princess?” Vaemond asked, with a smug expression on his face. “I could cut my veins and show it to you, and you still wouldn’t recognise it.” 

Myria discreetly clenched her fist against the blue fabric of her dress, her other hand tightly around Aemond’s arm. She couldn’t believe the nerve of Corlys’ younger brother. 

Although she could understand where he came from, and his desire to protect his house, Myria would never condone the way he so obscenely disrespected a Princess of the realm, especially in front of her children, who most certainly weren’t at fault for their lineage. 

“This is about the future and survival of my house,” the man continued, “not yours. My queen, my lord hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation and survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor. The Lord of Driftmark, and Lord of the Tides.” 

“Thank you, sir Vaemond.” Otto said, from his seat in the Iron Throne. Myria glanced around her, entirely surrounded by people who most certainly rooted for Rhaenyra’s downfall, and thought it was not fair for her. “Princess Rhaenyra,” he then called, “you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.” 

The Princess retracted her hands from her swollen stomach, and trudged towards the centre of the room. “If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding that nearly twenty years ago, in this very—

The Princess' speech was interrupted by the loud noise of the throne room’s door being opened. Myria looked up towards her husband, to see if he was aware of what was happening, but she found him to be as ignorant as she was. 

But her obliviousness was accounted for by the voice of one of the guards. “King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” 

Myria let go of Aemond’s arm in order to get a glimpse of the King. She positioned herself between Aegon and Helaena, and got a better view of the hall. Her heart clenched at the sight of him, ill beyond any cure, dragging himself across the room, with nothing but a cane to support him. His walking was erratic, and sickly, he seemed as if he were about to collapse at any second. She reverently bowed her head as he lumbered past them, worried Viserys would not be able to walk up the stairs. 

“I will sit the Throne today.” He told Otto, stopping before him. 

“Your Grace.” 

A few guards bolted towards the man, in order to aid him, but he refused the help. He then slowly tumbled towards the throne, losing his crown in the process. The piercing noise with which the symbol clattered against the floor was one Myria would never forget. It would forever remind her of the lengths the man would go to protect his first born daughter. 

Daemon was the one to approach him, and placed a steady hand on his lower back, to help him to the seat. With a groan, the King sank into the throne, and Daemon was quick to place the crown on his head. He directed one last nod towards his brother, and returned to Rhaenyra’s side. 

“I must… admit… my confusion.” Viserys said, between heavy breaths. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’ wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.”

“Indeed, your Grace.” The woman, who had remained silent and still for most of the audience, confidently walked towards Rhaenyra’s side. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son… Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, and nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.” 

Myria looked at Vaemond, and could almost see the smoke coming from his nostrils. He was shivering in fury.

“Well…” Viserys sighed, “the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.” 

And then it was turmoil. Such words from the King were enough to make Vaemond forget about any kind of protocol, and started accusing the King for breaking centuries long laws and traditions, and condemned Rhaenyra for adultery. 

“Her children are… bastards!” He yelled. “And she is… a whore.” 

The whole crowd, Myria included, gasped in shock that Vaemond would dare say such a thing. Predicting the inevitable, Aemond worriedly reached for Myria’s hand, bringing her closer to him. She clumsily stepped back, until she was by his side, and clutched on his arm. 

In an agonising gesture, The King got to his feet, with all the fury his sickly body allowed him to. “I…” he breathed, reaching for a dagger within his clothes “will have your tongue for that.” 

But Viserys didn’t need to claim any more threats, because quicker than a heartbeat and stealthily than a whisper, Daemon grabbed his sword, and swiftly cut Vaemond’s head in half. 

Myria choked in horror, as Aemond stepped right in front of her, to avoid such unpleasant sights from reaching her eyes. She clenched on his shoulders, starting to feel dizzy. 

Everything following that happened in a blur, and next thing she knew, she was being led by her husband outside the room, towards the gardens. Only when they were both leaning against the terrace, looking at the sea, did he open his mouth. 

“I thought you could use some fresh air, my lady.” 

“Indeed,” she inhaled, trying her best to forever remove the images of Vaemond’s head flying through the air from her brain, “I can’t believe that happened.”

“I do.” He scoffed, rubbing her back with a reassuring pace. “That’s why I didn’t want you to go. Vaemond was bound to lose something for daring to speak in such a way. You” he added, pointing a reproaching finger towards her, “have too reckless a mouth sometimes as well.”

“I would never go as far as calling Rhaenyra’s children illegitimate outside of our bedroom.” She complained. 

“But you would take the risk of yelling in this very garden, for everyone to hear, that you think a deposition against her is being planned.” He said, grabbing a strand of hair the wind had blown against her face and putting it behind her ear. 

Myria closed her eyes at his touch, and inhaled. “You’re right.” She admitted, dropping her shoulders. “It was foolish of me.”

“The yelling was foolish, the speculation not so much.” He said, lowering his voice, eye fixed on the ocean. “I apologise for dismissing your worries that day, truth be told I share them too. But there’s nothing we can do about it, Myria. And there’s nothing we should do about it, especially since we are clearly on opposing fronts.” 

Myria hummed, the feeling of apprehension tightening her chest. “I am never in an opposite front to you, Aemond.” She whispered, forcing him to meet her gaze. “I am by your side, always. I might not agree with… some of your family's doings, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t stand by you, in every possible scenario.” 

“Even if my brother were to be crowned?”

“I am loyal to you.” 

“What if your father took Rhaenyra’s side? If it came to a war, and you were to choose between us or your family?”

“That’s unfair.” She muttered. He simply shrugged. “You are my family, Aemond.” She said, holding his hand, more than anything hoping the time to make such a choice would never come. He nodded, and pressed a kiss on her forehead. 

“Let me escort you to our chambers, you should rest before dinner with our family tonight.” 

“As you wish, my love.” 

• • •

Myria watched as her husband got ready, while gently rocking the baby in her arms. She had already put the boys to bed, after getting on a nice dress and doing a simple hairstyle. Max had finally fallen asleep, when she heard a soft knock on the door. She glanced at Aemond, who left his buttons undone, and pulled the door open. 

“Hi,” Myria greeted the Septa with a whisper, “I just fed Max, and I’ve rocked him to sleep, so I think he should be down for the night. The boys are also in their beds, they shouldn’t be that much trouble. Prince Aemond made sure to tire them out by sparring with them, so they should be snoring already.” She explained, as she placed the baby in the woman’s arms. “Although, Griffin has been having some night terrors, so he might wake up at some point.” 

“Don’t worry, Princess, I know a lot of stories.” The older woman spoke softly, with a soothing smile. 

“Great, he’ll love that.” Myria said, escorting her to the boys’ room. “I’ll fetch the baby when we’re back, thank you.” 

She returned back to her chambers, and promptly helped Aemond get ready. After that, the two of them bolted towards dinner, with Myria walking as fast as his sore body allowed her. 

“We would get there earlier if you carried me.” She asserted, with a condescending pout. 

“I’m not doing that.” 

By the time they reached the room, everyone except for the King had already arrived, and they were either talking or already sitting down. Aemond guided her towards the left side of the table, where his family was, opposite to Rhaenyra’s. Two steps into the room, she could already feel the tension between the two families, especially between the Queen and the Princess.

“Oh, Myria!” Alicent said with delight, when she spotted her. “It’s so nice of you to join us, we weren’t sure if you were coming.” She then turned towards Rhaenyra’s side of the table. “Princess Myria gave birth to a healthy baby boy two nights ago.” She explained. 

“I know,” Rhaenyra smiled, “we crossed paths this morning. The baby is darling. Congratulations, Prince Aemond.” She added, staring at the man. 

He hummed in response, and looked down. “Thank you.”

Alicent stared at her son for a moment, before returning her gaze to Myria. “I hope you’re not overburdening yourself. You shouldn’t have come, darling, given your condition.” 

“Dear mother, my sister is much too nosy to do such a thing.” Aegon cackled. Myria not so discreetly nudged him in his ribs, earning a groan from the man. 

“I would never miss out on such an opportunity to be with family, my Queen.” She said, with a pleasant smile. She then turned towards Aegon, and stared at him with anger. 

Truth be told— she got along with the man, and she thrived on their quarrels. “That hit was pathetic, dear sister.” He whispered to her ear. 

“My apologies, I’ll make sure to carry a dagger next time. Is being stabbed enough for you?” 

“You could stab me in the face and I still wouldn’t look as wretched as you do as of now.” 

Myria stared at him in disbelief. She knew childbirth had taken a toll on her, and that she no longer looked the vivacious, charming woman she had been before. “Too far.” 

“Too far.” Aegon agreed. 

Their bickering was interrupted by the King’s entrance; four bodyguards carrying him in his chair only to place him between his wife and daughter. 

“How good it is… to see you all tonight… together.” He said, once everyone had taken their seats. 

“A prayer before we begin?” Alicent suggested. 

“Yes.” 

Myria glanced towards Aemond, and saw him close his eye and press his hands together, respecting his mother’s wishes, so she did the same. 

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love.” Alicent started. “May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the Gods give him rest.” Myria had her eyes shut, and was on the opposite side of him, and yet she could still sense Daemon’s smug expression. The cackle that came afterwards was embraced with quietude.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems.” The King broke the silence. “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further straightening the bond between our houses.” Myria was happy to see both couples smiling fondly at each other. Happy marriages should always be celebrated, she thought. “A toast to the young Princes, and their betrothed.” 

“Hear, hear!” Daemon chanted, as everyone raised their cups. 

“Lets toast as well Prince Lucerys…” Myria noticed Aemond tensing up by her side, so she searched for his hand under the table, and squeezed it, “the future Lord of the Tides.”

“Hear, hear.” 

Viserys then pushed on his cane, to give him strength to stand up, and continued his speech. 

“It both gladdens my heart, and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world… yet grown so distant from each other… in the years past.” He then used his one hand to take the golden mask off, which fell with a thud on the table. Myria chugged down at the sight. “My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me… as I am. Not just a King, but your father. Your brother. Your husband… and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems… walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown can not stand strong if the house of the dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown… then for the sake of this old man who loves you all… so dearly.” As if talking had drained his remaining energy, the King plopped down on his seat, with Alicent’s aid to put back his mask. 

To everyone’s surprise, Rhaenyra then stood up, and raised her cup. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen.” Alicent turned her gaze towards her, with a sorrowful expression on her face. “I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with… unfailing devotion, love and honour. And for that she has my gratitude… and my apology.” 

The room waited unusually quiet, as whispers of truce wandered around the table. Neither Myria nor the rest had any way of knowing, but it was more than truce. Friendship, once forgotten, ruined by the vile strings of destiny. 

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess.” Alicent muttered. “We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common that we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you… and to your house. You will make a fine Queen.” 

Myria reached once again for Aemond’s hand below the table, as Alicent’s words filled her body with warmth, and peace. She wouldn’t have to pick. The future she so dreaded, the one she and her husband had discussed that very morning, slipping away, leaving nothing but sour feelings, the kind a bad dream left. Frightening, but comforting by the fact that they would never become true. She brushed his hand, but her gesture wasn’t reciprocated. 

She glanced towards Aemond, who looked as calm as the next person, but Myria knew him better. He was angry, trying his best to prevent his emotions from breaking out. She couldn’t help but to think one last apology was overdue. How different things would’ve ended up otherwise. 

Everyone then sipped on their cups, and the feast began. Myria saw Aegon get up from her side, towards Jace, but didn’t think much of it. Only after getting startled by Jacaerys’ strong fist against the table did she look towards them. 

“To Prince Aegon and… Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may be friends and allies. To you and your families’ good health, dear uncles.” 

Myria raised her cup to that, and gave it a sip. She didn’t catch the look of betrayal her husband sent at her. 

Helaena was then the one to stand up, and raised her cup. “I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad, mostly he just ignores you… except sometimes when he’s drunk.” Myria looked up towards her, and lovingly grabbed her hand. Above everyone in Aemond’s family, Helaena was the one Myria loved the most. The girl had become a sister to her, and she regarded her as one. She resented the way Aegon treated her. 

Myria didn’t realise, but both she and Helaena became targets of pitiful stares from the other side of the table. If only they knew what a wonderful husband Aemond was to her. Truth be told— she was prepared for someone not even half as great as he was to her. 

“Let’s us have some music.” The King asked, and instruments started playing. Both Jace and Luke rose from their seats, and walked towards the two girls at the other end of the table. 

Luke offered his hand to Myria, in an invitation to dance, and she couldn’t help but to take it. She knew her husband would feel betrayed by her doing so, but not accepting it would’ve been taken as a gesture of hostility… and she really loved to dance, an activity which Aemond rarely granted his company for. 

She accepted the boy’s hand with a shy smile on her face, and joined the other two on their dance. Her movements were sluggish and erratic, given that she still felt pretty sore, but Luke seemed to catch up on that, and corresponded with her pace. Helaena and Myria beamed and laughed at each other each time their paths crossed, excited for being able to endeavour in such a diversion. 

Only when the room went still as the King being taken away by guards, did she notice how carried on she had gotten. She looked towards Aemond, and found him staring at her, with a fervid glare tracing her frame as she danced. 

Guilt set on the depths of her stomach, and so she thanked Luke for the dance, and returned to her husband’s side. She tried grabbing his hand, not daring to look at him, but her advances were, rather painfully, rejected by him. She then raised her gaze, only to see him intensely staring at Luke across the table, as a pig was placed in front of them. She saw the boy’s grin, and knew that would be the last straw. 

She tried stopping Aemond from getting up, after he smashed an angry fist against the table, but he cruelly pushed her hands down. “Final tribute.” He announced. “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… strong.” 

“Aemond.” She whispered, scared of the outcome his reckless words were doomed to have. 

“Come,” he continued, “let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again.” Jace threatened him, threateningly walking towards him. 

“Why?” Aemond cackled, approaching him as well. ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?” 

Jace slapped him in the face, and Myria gasped in terror. Aemond stood still, rather amused at the boy’s effort. She tried grabbing one of his arms, but he gently shoved her backwards. 

Chaos broke in the room as Aegon pushed Luke against the table, and Rhaenyra and Alicent yelled for everyone to stop. Aemond knocked Jace to the floor, and turned around chuckling. Myria was petrified at the sight of her husband apparently enjoying all of it. 

She froze in panic, as her gaze reached his, and showed no remorse whatsoever in his semblance. She looked at him, unintentionally staring at him appalled, which she then regretted upon seeing his hurtful expression. She had done the one thing she had promised him she would never do: not being on his side. And for that, Myria could not forgive herself. 

Alicent ran past her, to approach him. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?” She whispered, with anger. 

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” He replied, rather loudly, not reciprocating his mother’s attempt to keep their discussion away from everyone’s ears. “Hm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs!” 

Jace bolted towards him, as to start a fight again, and he would’ve done so, if it weren’t for Daemon stepping in between the two. 

“Wait, wait.” He said, calmly. He stared at the man he believed to be the root of the chaos, and Aemond held his gaze for a couple of seconds, until he awkwardly looked away, and left the room. 

“Wait, Aemond!” Myria called him, but he didn’t turn back. He wasn’t running, but he was walking at a pace fast enough she couldn’t keep up with him, hard as she tried. “Aemond, wait for me.” She whined, earning no response from him. She kept following him across the hallway, until she couldn’t. 

The Maester had been right, she was in no condition to handle all of that. She should’ve stayed in her room. That way, she wouldn’t have caused that mess. Most importantly, she wouldn’t have caused her husband such pain. She leaned against a wall, heavily breathing, and closed her eyes. She was busy trying to calm her racing heart, when she felt a hand lay on her lower back. 

“Come on.” He said, grabbing her by the waist, and effortlessly raising her in his arms— yet refusing to meet her eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” She whimpered, a lump full of unspoken emotions choked her throat, as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. “Gods, Aemond, I am so, so sorry.” She threw her arms around him, burying him in a hug. He instinctively embraced her back, resting his cheek against her head. Her face was laying on top of his shoulders, and he could feel her relentless sobs on his neck. She didn’t deserve such kindness from him. 

He always savoured seeing those who he felt had wronged him in pain, but his wife could never possibly do wrong enough for him to enjoy her anguish. He felt as if he were the one being tortured instead, which wasn’t fair at all given the situation.

“Shh.” He calmed her, tenderly rubbing her back. “I am not angry at you.” 

“I—I know.” She hiccuped. “But I am m—mad at myself.” 

Aemond figured there was nothing he could do about that, so he simply kissed her forehead, and kept on carrying her towards their shared room. Once they reached it, he decided to drop on the plush chair by the bookshelves, with Myria still on top of him. 

She kept on quietly tearing up on the crook on his neck, while he reached towards the chair arm, from which her legs were dangling. He took each of her shoes away, letting them fall with a thud against the floor. 

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” She cried, finally lifting her gaze towards his. 

“I am upset with you.” He had no trouble confessing that. “But not as upset as you seem to be with yourself. Why?” 

“I danced with Luke. Wasn’t that the reason you got so furious?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t enjoy that, but I’d say I’m more angry at Lucerys because of it than you.” 

“That’s exactly what upsets me!” She sobbed. He stared at her in confusion, and disbelief. His wife’s erratic emotions weren’t that much of a thrill to him. “That I don’t know how you feel, or how you might feel. That I fail to understand why a childish quarrel that’s over ten years old enrages you so much! And I’ve come to realise it’s my fault. That I’ve never tried enough to force it out of you!” 

He drew his lips into a line, and stared out the window. 

“Did you get angry because of the pig, then?” She asked. He abruptly looked at her again, visibly bewildered. He had never told her that story. He was about to ask her where she had heard such a tale, when— Aegon. Of course. Myria wasn’t one to drink that much, but she did rather indulge in a few too many more cups than what she could handle when enjoying dinner with his brother. Most of those times Aemond didn’t pay attention to their blabbers.   

“Of course it wasn’t about the stupid pig.” He snapped, angry, and certainly not desiring to discuss such a topic. He tried to move her aside so he could get up, but she placed a hand on his chest and softly pushed him back. 

“Aemond… what really happened that night?” 

He looked at her, and grunted. He didn’t want to talk about it, not then, not ever. He didn’t owe anyone the reasoning behind his grudges. They were there. They stood there, as the angry, newly red scar crossed his face, and blamed him for it. Rhaenyra herself asked for him to be tormented for simply stating the truth. What everybody already knew. 

As she reached for the buckle behind his head, lovingly undoing it to then leave a kiss above the sapphire in his eye, he realised his poor wife didn’t deserve his cold temper. She hadn’t been there, she had no way of knowing. She didn’t understand it was more than a childish grudge, because he had never let her believe otherwise. Perhaps he was too afraid of being vulnerable. He looked up towards her, and found that if ever there was a moment to be such a thing, it was with her. His adoring wife. The woman who kissed his scar each time she caught a glimpse of it. The woman who put up with his temper with a loving smile on her face. The woman who had never, not even once, rejected any part of him, and instead embraced the whole of him, bad and worse. The woman who had honoured him with being the mother of his children. And then the words came flooding. 

He told her how the rest of the kids had ganged up against him, for claiming Vaghar as his own. He explained how he had never been serious about hurting them, and yet he still lost his eye. He told her how his mother had been the only one who had actually cared about him getting irreparably hurt, and the embarrassment everyone put her through that night. 

“I got angry because my father dragged himself from deathbed today to defend what my sister brought on herself and yet he couldn’t care less when I lost an eye.” He explained. “I am mad that my mother, the only person who stood by me, was put to shame that night, being treated like a crazy woman. I am mad that my nephews seem to thrive on it. And I am mad that no one seems to understand that.” 

“I understand, now.” She said, tearing up. “You deserve an apology, Aemond. Both you, and your mother. It’s not childish to want one, it's what you’re due.”

He very simply stared at her, softening his sharpened features as the sight of her tears, and kissed her hand. 

“I am sorry I didn’t understand before.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“Yes it is.” She said. “I am your wife. And I promised you I would always be by your side, but tonight I wasn’t. And I apologise for that.” She inhaled, bracing up in courage to say her next words. “I love you, Aemond. And I want my actions, all of them, to be a testament of that.”

He wasn’t crying, and he wouldn’t cry, such a gesture didn’t even cross his mind. Crying was a reaction long lost in him, it took too much of an effort. But he was moved— he wouldn’t deny so. He very subtly nodded, and buried his head against her chest, gripping on her back. They remained like that until Myria fell asleep, and Aemond carried her to bed. He laid down next to her, holding tight onto her body, and for the first time in a very long time found sleep with his mind at peace.

****

a/n: i hope you enjoy this! and i hope it's not too long lol. just a few notes on the chapter: Aegon is not as shitty as he is in the show, and also Viserys' illness doesn't progress as quickly. Thank you so much for reading!

@cherryaemond

[summerkoya]

the next right thing

She became the blessing he never wished for, his damnation. She became the living, breathing proof that Aemond Targaryen carried his heart outside his body. 

But when has any of that ever been powerful enough to endure a conflict of principles? 

Chapter 1

aemond targaryen x original female character , aemond targaryen x wife!oc

summary: Myria and Aemond welcome their new little dragon into the world

warnings: fluff, angst, childbirth (not explicit though)

(all characters portrayed are aged up from original ages in the book/show)

****

Myria sighed in relief as she sank in the comfort of the tub full of lukewarm water. She dismissed all the maids in the room, wishing to enjoy what she felt would be the last few days just between her and the baby, before they were born. Eyes closed, she placed a hand on her heavily swollen stomach, and delicately started caressing it. 

“Ah, you can’t join us fast enough, my little dragon.” She whispered, with a smile on her lips. It was a bittersweet feeling, given that she did desire to cherish the end of her pregnancy, yet she was rather eager to gain once again freedom of her own body, instead of being bound by, not only Maesters’ orders, but her own scarce mobility due to her enlarged frame.

She was enjoying herself for the first time in a while, as she had been feeling nothing but extreme discomfort all day, everyday, when she heard the soft thud of the door being opened. The silence that followed afterwards was all she needed to figure out who it was. 

“Hello there.” Myria muttered, as Aemond settled a stool right next to the tub so he could sit beside it. “Where are the boys?” 

“They’re with the Septa.” He answered, gently resting his hand on her belly. “They were covered in dirt from head to toe after our ‘quest’, as they called it, to the dragonpit.” 

“Thank you, Aemond.” She opened her eyes, and stared at him with a loving expression on her face. “You know how important it is to me that the boys spend time with us and are taught by us; raised by us, and these past moons the entirety of that responsibility has fallen upon you.” She placed her hand over his, skin hot as he had been training right before, and immediately felt the baby kicking against her abdomen. 

“‘Tis the least I can do,” he murmured, in a heavy voice. It was weird, that not even feeling the baby’s kicks, something that usually guaranteed would put a smile on his face, managed to tear down the aura of unsettlement that surrounded him. She raised his hands, and held them against her chest.  

“What is it, dear husband?” She asked, with a chuckle. “Have the two little monsters we have for sons terrorised you enough for the day?” 

He bit down on his lips, as if he didn’t want to speak the words he was thinking, dreading they would become true because of it. 

“The Velaryon are coming,” he finally muttered, dryly, “Vaemond has requested an audience to discuss Driftmark’s succession.” 

Myria knew about the animosity there was between the two families. Although Aemond and Rhaenyra’s children were raised together in the Red Keep, he didn’t have many fond memories of their shared youth. The further the Velaryon kept away from both their lives and conversation, the better it was for his already short tempered and resentful persona.

“Oh,” she breathed, “I believed that matter was already settled. That both your father, and most importantly Lord Corlys had proclaimed Luke as his heir.” 

“They did, yes. But I suspect that the King’s growing inability to sit the throne has built some courage on Vaemond, and now he’s pushing for the Driftmark seat again.” 

“Under which pretexts?” 

Aemond looked at her with an incredulous look on his face. As smart as he thought his wife to be, she did have plenty of painfully naive moments, on account of her foolishly trusting and kind nature. 

“What?” She snapped, her tone got defensive. “Is it only because they don’t look like their father that their titles are being questioned?” 

“Vaemond is just trying to protect his house’s lineage, dearest.” 

“By calling Rhaenyra’s children illegitimate!” She complained, harshly pushing his hands away from her. That was precisely the reason why she hated whenever the subject of Rhaenyra and her children worked its way into their conversations, she knew it was an issue upon which they would never reach any sort of mutual agreement. 

“You can’t deny… they do have a very strong resemblance to a certain late commander of the City Watch.” He sniggered, letting an all too familiar malicious grin claim his features. “She should’ve given more thought before bearing Strong looking children.” 

Myria’s eyes started to swell with tears, and she protectively covered her stomach in a hug. “That’s a despicable thing to say, Aemond. Especially when she’s your sister.” 

“‘Tis only the truth.” He continued to argue, and although he was usually the kind of person to savour a victory with no remorse and a smug expression on his face, he couldn’t help but to feel his gaze soften at the sight of such an upset Myria. He’d like to know which part of his words had caused that profound of a reaction on her, but he was never one good with emotions. 

“I don’t like it when you make such comments, Aemond.” She explained in a weak voice, roughly cleaning up the tears streaming down her cheek. “This whole… obsession you Targaryens have with looking a certain way”. 

Aemond felt his heart shrink in his chest, as a veil of shame started looming around him. What kind of man allowed himself to be the reason behind his beloved wife’s tears? The wife that had already gifted him two healthy, beautiful children and was enduring the hardships of having another in the way? No honourable one for sure.   

“I apologise dearest, I didn’t know this matter distressed you this much.” 

“So far I’ve been lucky, Aemond,” she whimpered, knowingly looking at her stomach, “for both Trystan and Griffin look like you, but what if this baby takes after me? What if the baby is born with my dornish looks, instead of a dragon’s? What kind of comments will I have to get used to hearing?” 

Aemond felt a twinge of guilt on the depths of his stomach, given that he could recall a few instances when both him and his family had gloated on how much of a Targaryen both his sons took after. On how the dragon blood was a strong one indeed. 

“None.” Aemond answered, almost shivering with fury at the thought of someone making such insinuations towards his wife. “If anyone dared making such remarks, I’d have their tongues.” 

Myria, who had failed to realise their talk had reached such an intensity her husband had a murderous look on his face, decided to back down and let her lips curl into a soft smile. Besides, she had another difficult topic of conversation she needed to bring up, eventually. She had to preserve some of her husband’s patience for that. 

“I apologise, my love, for speaking such dreadful words,” she mumbled, placing a reassuring hand on his cheek. “We shouldn’t let words born out of anger rot what it would have otherwise been a joyous moment, should we?” 

Aemond took a second before nodding, and deemed the discussion over by once again laying his hand over her swollen stomach. 

“Who do you think the baby will look like, this time?” 

“I wish for the baby to look like you.” Aemond smiled subtly. “Girls always take after their mothers.” 

“We don’t know if it is a girl yet.” Myria chuckled. “It could very much be another boy, you know. Will you be happy if that’s the case?” 

“Of course I’ll be, I only pray to the Gods for a healthy child.” He explained. “I just have a feeling it will be a daughter.” 

“But if it’s not?” She insisted, with a wary leer on her lips. 

Aemond stared at her in confusion, failing to understand Myria’s persistence on the matter. He believed himself to be a good, present father to their sons. He cherished them deeply and, because words of love didn’t come easy to him, he made sure his actions were a testament of such affections. He wished for a daughter, sure, but he found it hard to believe Myria would ever think he wouldn’t adore another boy just as much. Besides, they could always try again. 

And, as if she had read his mind, Myria turned her face towards him, letting a gloomy semblance cover her usually cheeky demeanour. “I too wish for a daughter, but I hope for you, my love, that indeed it’s one. Because this is the last time, Aemond. I do not wish to do this again. I’ve already given you two sons, and we have another babe in the way, I think I’ve already performed my duty. Even if this one is another son, I do not wish to get pregnant again only for the yearning of a daughter.” 

The princess remained in silence, assessing her dear husband’s reaction, but there wasn’t any. He simply stared back at her, with a frivolous mien on his face. 

“Are you mad at me, dear?” She asked, holding tight on his hands.

Aemond took a deep breath in, and then spoke: “If it’s indeed anger what you make out my feelings to be, rest assured they’re not because of you, dearest, for they’re directed at me.” He sighed, refusing to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry that you’ve felt as if having my children were a duty to you, rather than a choice. And I’m even more ashamed that you believed I would ever force that on you.” 

“No, Aemond, please.” Myria said, straightening up. She stretched out towards him, placing her palm on his cheek, and softly pushed his face towards her, pressing him to look at her. “Our kids, all three of them, are a blessing to me. And they were born out of love, not duty, believe me. I am not telling you this because I fear you will force children on me, I am letting you know this will be our last baby so you can get used to that idea. I know you wanted lots of children, and I wouldn’t want you to feel as if our family was incomplete.” 

Aemond reached for her hands, and held them against his lips, so he could leave a mellow kiss on them. He then placed them over his chest. 

“I’ve considered our family to be complete the moment I married you, Myr.” He said, gently.  “Don’t ever worry about that.” 

And she knew he meant that, for he rarely called her by such a name. Maybe it was because of how flustered she felt, or how strongly she felt about her husband, or maybe it was just a coincidence, but right at that moment the baby started to kick again. 

“Feel that,” she said, beaming, putting his hands over her stomach, “I think the baby is eager to come out. They’ve been kicking so much lately, and with such strength, I wouldn’t be surprised if I genuinely gave birth to a dragon.” 

Aemond promptly looked at her, his face turning into a grin one could find in a child when they’re being asked about a subject they’re very interested in. “As a matter of fact,” he rushed to explain, not being able to conceal his excitement, “there’s a myth that Targaryens are first conceived as dragons when they’re in the womb, and eventually develop into humans, right before birth.” 

“The matter is settled, then,” she chuckled, “neither a baby boy nor a baby girl, a baby dragon.” 

“Īlva rūs zaldrīzes.” He affirmed proudly, to which the baby started kicking again. 

“I think they like that.” She giggled. “But you better not say that word again, it hurts when they get this excited.” Myria groaned. 

Aemond let a little smile cover his face, and drew his face closer to her stomach. 

“Sagon sȳz naejot aōha muña, ñuha zaldrītsos.” (Be kind to your mother, my little dragon). 

• • •

Aemond stayed with her until the sun set, and helped her back to their chambers, where their two boys were expecting them, jumping up and down all around the room in excitement. 

Myria loved her children. More than anything in the world, more than anything she had ever loved before. But she couldn’t deny they were a handful. They were nice and kind boys, but very vigorous ones indeed. She didn’t have enough fingers in her hands to count the times she’d had to catch them mind air before jumping into something dangerous or forbidding them from waking up a very much asleep Vaghar. So when she saw their mischievous little faces smiling at them with a grin so big it went from ear to ear, she knew better than to ignore that. 

“What have you been up to, little dragons?” She asked, awkwardly bending down and opening her arms so they could hug her. 

“We have a surprise, mama!” Their eldest, Trystan, cheered. He was four years of age, and was very much Aemond’s twin. He had silvery blonde hair, and big, crystal clear blue eyes. Yet he had rather inherited her mother’s cheerful and loving character, much to Aemond’s liking. 

“You do?” She asked, with panic in her eyes. Her boys’ surprises usually consisted of messes, mostly. “What is it?” 

“Come see!” Griffin, aged two, grabbed her hand and started rushing her towards the fireplace. He too resembled his father, pale blue eyes and silver hair, except the latter one had a few hints of red, much like Myria’s. 

She looked over at her husband with an inquiring look on her face, wondering if he knew which surprise the children were talking about. Did she need to brace herself for absolute chaos?

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled, placing a hand on her lower back to help her heavily pregnant body follow the rushing steps of the toddlers. “‘Tis indeed a nice, harmless surprise.” 

And it surely was. She glanced over the fireplace, and found a golden, shimmering dragon egg laying over the flaming firewood. 

“Dreamfire brought a fresh clutch!” Trys squealed in happiness. “Aunt Helaena let us pick one for the new baby! Now Rhaexar and Maelar will have a little brother!” 

Myria smiled at the boys, and squeezed her husband’s hand. She knew seeing his children get dragons from the moment they were newborns must’ve been a bittersweet feeling for him. Both Trystan and Griffin’s eggs hatched within their cradles, and had grown into strong, healthy young dragons already. She knew he hadn’t been as lucky as a child. She knew how much pain it had caused him not having a dragon as early as his brother and nephews, and how much it had cost him to finally claim one. An eye for a dragon. 

“That’s incredible, sweethearts.” She smiled, ruffling Trys’ hair. “Now, will you be taking care of it? Making sure there’s always fire burning under it?” 

“I thought you didn’t let us play with fire.” The boy objected, with a playful grin on his face. He was a master in finding loopholes to help him get away with his shenanigans. 

“And you’re still very much not allowed, but you’ll be the ones in charge of calling an adult to rekindle it if it's needed, alright?”

“Alright, mama.” The boys agreed, and then kept on loudly marvelling about the beautiful egg. 

Aemond then proceeded to sit by the window, after intentionally pulling out a big book from the shelf, which catched the kids’ attention. Both of them ran towards him, and hopped onto his lap. 

“Could you read it to us, father?” Trystan requested. 

“All of it is in High Valyrian.” Aemond warned them. 

“That’s alright.” 

“Sure then, we’ll see how much you’ve been practising.” He teased them, with a devilish grin on his face. 

Myria chuckled, grateful her husband was entertaining them, and seized the opportunity to prepare herself for bed. She leisurely changed into her nightgown, and undid her hair. She brushed her teeth and applied a few drops of perfume on her wrists. 

After taking care of herself, she came back into the room, not surprised to find it in chaos once again. The boys were running all around the room, recreating scenes of the book as their father read them outloud. 

Myria hated being the one to burst their bubble of fun, but she was eager to get a very much needed rest, and the boys would behave like demons the following day if they didn’t get any sleep.

“Okay boys, let me get you to bed now.” She called, but was unsuccessful in getting them to listen. “Trys, Griff, come on!” She asked again, with a tiresome frown. 

“Boys!” Aemond was the one to notice her protests, and called them out sternly, which made them stop jumping all around the room. “Rȳbagon naejot aōha muña, and do as she tells you.” 

Myria mouthed her gratitude and walked the boys towards their room, just across the hall. She set them in their beds , and slowly started to put out the candles inside the lamps around the room.

“Mama, will the baby be born tomorrow?” Trys asked her. 

“I don’t know, bee.” She said, sitting by him. “Maybe, maybe not. Are you excited to have a new baby brother or sister?” 

“Yes!” Both kids nodded enthusiastically. “Mom, can I name the new baby when it comes?” 

“We’ll see about that, love.” She exhaled, too exhausted to argue with a four year old on why they couldn’t name the new baby ‘Balerion’. “Now, go to sleep. You need your rest to go spar with your father tomorrow, alright?”

“Alright mama.” 

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” 

Myria kissed the boys goodnight, and returned to her chambers, where she found Aemond undressing for the night. She walked towards him, and gently started to help him get his clothes down. 

“So, that was what you were doing with the boys all afternoon, fetching the dragon egg?” 

He simply hummed in response, but Myria was used to it. Her husband was a man of few words, after all. 

“Sometimes I’m jealous of you three.” She admitted, as Aemond turned around. She placed her hands on his cheeks. “For having dragons. For being dragon riders. For having dragon blood.” 

Aemond stared at her with apprehension, and put both his hands on her swollen stomach. “You are more dragon than any of us, my lady.” He replied, enjoying his wife’s caresses. 

Myria’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“You’ve given birth to two dragon children. You have yet another one in your belly. You’ve been tending to Rhaexar and Maelar ever since they hatched, I would be surprised if they didn’t trust in you enough to let you ride them, once they’re older. And you already know, whenever you wish to go for a ride on Vaghar, all you need to do is ask. She likes you.” 

“Hm, I know my darling.” She dreamily smiled, thinking about the times she had ridden the ancient dragon with her husband, and his strong grip on her waist and thighs as he sat behind her. “But I’m afraid that in this condition, the only place where I find some comfort is in a tub full of warm water.” 

“I can call for another one if you wish, dearest.” 

“No need for that, just come to bed with me.” 

“As you wish.” 

Both of them laid in bed, and as they were putting the candles on their nightstands out, she noticed something. 

“Aemond.” She breathed, and reached out towards him. “You’re still wearing your eye patch. Here.” She gently undid the tie behind his head, and let the patch fall onto the bed, revealing a blue sapphire where her husband’s left eye should’ve been. 

She stretched out and left a kiss right over his scar, as she always did after taking its cover away. And because words, especially those born out of sincere, loving feelings, didn’t come easy to him, he resorted to grabbing her by her back, pulling her close to him, so he could kiss her on the lips. 

“Goodnight, my love.” She called, and after one last kiss, both of them fell into their pillows, closing their eyes, hoping it wouldn’t take long to find some sleep. 

But that wasn’t the case for Myria. She was uncomfortable. If it wasn’t the position that bothered her, it was the fact that she felt too hot with the covers on, but too cold without them, or then it was the weight the baby made on her belly, which made her want to pee at all times. To make matters worse, every time she felt herself drifting away, into the blissful abyss of slumberness, the baby felt it necessary to kick, as hard as they could. Maybe she did truly bore a dragon inside. 

She turned around to look at her husband, and felt a pinch of unjustifiable annoyance at the sight of him peacefully sleeping, with no uncomfort whatsoever depriving him of rest. 

“Aemond,” she whispered into the man’s ear. She saw his lips press together into a line, and his eyebrows furrow into a frown. “Aemond, I can’t sleep.” 

Judging from the way her husband’s breathing paced up and how his position shifted, she assumed she had awoken him, but he still refused to open his eye. 

“Aemond,” she repeated, in a louder voice, “Aemond, I’m afraid your baby is very much awake and won’t let me find some sleep. Can you do me a favour?”

“Hm.” 

“Talk to them in High Valyrian. That always manages to calm the baby down.” 

Aemond grunted, and immediately afterwards straightened up, and placed his lips against her belly. 

“Ivestragī aōha muña rhaenagon mirri ēdrugon, zaldrītsos.” (Let your mother find some sleep, little dragon).

• • •

Morning came, and Myria felt as if a miracle had happened. She had been able to sleep all night long, and for the first time in months, she hadn’t woken up completely exhausted. She didn’t know how much time Aemond had spent talking to the baby in High Valyrian, for sleep found her as he kept on telling stories about grand cities and immense dragons. By the time she opened her eyes, Aemond had already left towards the training area, most probably with both their boys following from behind. 

She got up, and with the help of her maid got dressed for the day. She and Helaena would visit the King in his chambers, hoping to break her fast with him as they did every other morning, and then spend the rest of the day relaxing in the bath. 

But by the time her meeting with Viserys was put to an end, she knew she had some issues to discuss with her husband. Pressing ones. Myria knew the wise thing to do would be to remain silent, to avoid putting herself in danger, but the blood of the dragon growing inside of her ruled over her, making her fiery, volatile, and determined. Hence her hurrying towards the training yard, against her wisdom. 

She spotted Ser Criston Cole right away, sparring with some nobleman’s son, but she couldn’t find Aemond and the boys at first. That is, until she glanced towards an isolated corner of the patio, where she saw three silvery heads, side by side. Aemond was kneeling down, explaining something to the two little boys. 

They were each holding small swords, ones most probably Aemond had requested were made for them. Their father was teaching them how to properly hold the handles, and they were fairly focused on him, until they spotted their mother walking towards them. 

“Mama!” The boys’ faces lit up with delight. 

“Hello darlings!” She tried to bend down in order to pick Griff up, but felt a strong throb on her stomach as she was doing so. She let out a faint “Ouch!”, and bolted back up with a smile, to avoid worrying Aemond.

“Is everything alright?” Her husband asked, not being fooled by Myria’s cover up. 

“It is. I just hadn’t realised I am already at that stage where I can’t bend down comfortably, don’t worry.” She lent him a reassuring smile. “Am I interrupting something?” 

“We were just having some fun, right taobi?” 

“Mama, kepa said that we could sōvegon isse Vaghar later if we behaved!” 

“You’re more than welcome to join us, if you wish.” Aemond’s smirk reached her eyes. 

“Actually, my prince, I was wondering if you wished to go for a walk in the gardens with me, if that’s alright.” She hurried to ask, with a knowing look on her face. 

“Of course, my lady. Cole!” He screamed, looking for the knight. 

“Yes, my prince?”

“Could you keep on training with the children? I’ll escort my wife to the gardens.” 

“Certainly, my prince. Princess.” He added, bowing his head towards her. “Come here, you little monsters.” The man addressed the boys with an affectionate expression on his face. Although Myria felt as if there was something off about Ser Criston, she couldn’t pretend he didn’t absolutely adore her children. And he had always been not only a friend, but a father figure to her husband, and she respected him for that.

The couple left the yard, and walked towards the beautiful, blooming gardens. If Myria weren’t in her condition, she would spend most of her day there, gardening, with the kids. She had always adored being surrounded by flowers and trees and insects, and there were few activities she enjoyed better than taking care of them. But the swollen belly made such a task an impossible one. 

As a matter of fact, if it wasn’t for her husband's strong grip on her waist, she wouldn’t be able to walk down the stairs that led to the grounds. Aemond rather enjoyed that outcome of her being with child, if truth be told. He would never admit it, but he liked having excuses to touch his wife like that, and always seized the opportunity to let his fingers linger around her for far longer than it would be considered appropriate to do in public. 

They walked on silence for a few minutes, admiring the beautiful flowers and the stunning views of the ocean, until Myria raised her voice: 

“I visited your father today, I broke my fast with him.” 

“That’s nice.” Aemond lied, forcing his lips into a smile. Over the years, he had grown resentful of his father and he wasn’t fond of the apparently great relationship his wife had with him. 

“He didn’t know Rhaenyra is coming tomorrow.” She said, dryly. 

“Hm.” He nodded, glancing towards her. 

“Apparently no one in this family thought it necessary to tell the King his daughter and grandchildren are coming.” She added, in a condescending tone, feeling fury starting to boil in her blood. 

Aemond abruptly stopped on his tracks, and Myria would’ve tripped forwards if he hadn’t grabbed her by the waist, rather harshly. She felt another pinch on her stomach, but because of the adrenaline she was feeling, she didn’t find it hard to ignore it. 

“And what exactly do you want me to do about that?” 

“And I didn’t even get to explain to him the reason they’re coming, because the moment he seemed to start understanding what I was talking about, a maid came rushing and drowned him in milk of the poppy.” She added, through gritted teeth. 

“I don’t think it’s your place to be informing the King on such matters, my lady.” He answered, eyebrows furrowing into an angry frown.

“And I couldn’t help but wonder,” she ignored him, “who would try and hide this away from the King? Who indeed would want to avoid having your father speak on such matters?” She continued, raising her voice. 

“Careful.” Aemond whispered, discreetly looking around, worrying for his wife, for not even their titles would be able to protect her if such words were heard by the wrong ears. 

“And then I realised: why would they not want your father ending once and for all these treacherous claims? What’s in it for them, if Rhaenyra’s son is declared unworthy of the Driftmark throne? And what consequences would that bring to other claims, by extension?” 

Aemond shortened the space between them, and gently placed his hand over Myria’s mouth. 

“What are you implying, my lady?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m implying, Aemond.” Myria hurled back, firmly hitting his hand down. “I know your whole family, yourself included, like to think of me an idiot, but I am not. And I listen to the whispers, we all have. Everyone knows it’s been moons since the King last attended a council meeting, let alone sat the throne, and who’s been ruling in his name. And if one is to believe in whispers, then very corrupt conversations are being held right now, as we speak, in that very same room.”  

“You could get your tongue cut off for making such allegations, did you know?” 

“I don’t blame your mother, I don’t think she’s taking any part in it. But I think you know very well about the Hand’s intentions, for when the inevitable happens.” She sneered. Myria spoke words of truth yet her lips were laced with poison. “And I believe you condone them.” 

Hearing those words, spoken in such a reproaching manner by his wife, was the final straw for Aemond. He felt his nostrils flare up with fury, and decided she was no longer worth the kindness of being reasonable. She chose to anger the dragon— then she could face the consequences. 

“And would it really be that bad, huh?” He roared. “That a trueborn Targaryen sat the Throne?”

“Rhaenyra is a trueborn Targaryen.” She argued back. 

“Her children are not.”

“Even if Laenor weren’t their father, they’re not Targaryens because of him, they carry the dragon blood because of her. And Jacaerys won’t inherit the throne because of Laenor, he will inherit the throne because of his mother, the legitimate heir.” 

“There is not one place in the whole realm where bastards aren’t stripped of all their titles. Explain to me why this is any different.” 

Myria was about to answer with rage, when she felt a scream get caught up on her throat. She felt as if water were running down her legs, and she lifted the skirt of her dress to find a pink, gooey liquid covering her thighs. She looked up towards Aemond with dismay in her eyes, which managed to make him forget about any sort of anger he might have had towards her at the moment. He ran towards her, just in time to prevent her from falling as another cry left her lips. 

“Wh—what’s wrong, dearest?” He asked, worried. 

“Nothing is wrong I— I just think the baby is coming.” She answered, with a smile caused by both joy and pain.

“Are you sure?” 

“I’ve done this two times already, Aemond, I’d know if something were wrong.” She clinged on his arm, as another sharp ache invaded her body. “This simply means we’re going to meet our baby soon.” 

“That is good news, my lady.” He grinned. 

But not everything went as smoothly as they believed. 

• • •

It had been hours since Aemond called the Maester, and some more since night had already fallen upon the castle, and the baby had yet to arrive. The prince could hear his wife’s screams from the hallway, and each one of them felt like he was being pierced through the heart. 

“What is wrong, Maestre?” He asked the old man, concerned. 

“Nothing, young prince.” He replied, with a shrug. “It’s just a long labour, that’s all. So far, Princess Myria has been blessed with rather quick, smooth labours. This one will simply be more challenging, my prince.” 

Another bawl broke the silence, and Aemond felt his heart sink on his chest. 

“Isn’t there anything you can give to her?” 

“When the time comes, we’ll provide her with the milk of the poppy. But I’m afraid it’ll be a long time before it comes to that. I trust you will be in the chambers with her, as you were the last two times?” The old man asked, with a bitter look on his face. For some reason, he had always been disapproving about Aemond’s decision on being with his wife during her labours. 

He straightened his posture, and put on a threatening mien. He didn’t like it when being questioned. 

“I think that’s your cue, my prince.” The Maester backed down, as Myria’s screams reached them once more. 

Aemond rushed towards the door, and he opened it to find his wife holding onto the bed frame for dear life. 

“Here,” he said, offering his arm, “lean on me.” 

“What is wrong, Aemond?” She grunted, pressing her nails against his flesh as another contraction hit her. “And why is it that you two find it righteous to speak behind my back when I’m the one agonising? When I’m the one bearing the pain of being in labours?”

Aemond hid a smile, for he would be lying if he said he wasn’t fond of the fire that seized over his wife whenever she carried one of his children. Ever too kind and gentle of a woman, it was rather amusing seeing her snap like that. Aemond liked it when she was fiery. He found it alluring. 

“The Maester says nothing is wrong, we are simply unlucky it’s a long labour. We can only endure it.” 

“Easier said than done.” She grunted with a muffled voice, given that she was harshly pressing her face against his chest to avoid screaming her lungs out. “And why is it exactly that you aren’t groaning in pain with me?” 

“My lady?” He asked, confused. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she scoffed, with an insolent look on her face, “I just heard you said that ‘we’ have to endure it, so I seem to have made the mistake to assume that ‘we’ were indeed suffering the same torture.” 

Myria felt a contraction so agonising, she couldn't help but to cry out tears of pain while leaning towards her husband. She pressed her forehead against his chest, bending down, while he caressed her arms. 

“If I could take any of the pain away, I would, dearest.” 

Hours kept passing by, and it wasn’t until sunrise that the midwives declared the baby would arrive briefly. She was sat on the bed, Aemond holding tight on her hand, and so it started, the moment Myria dreaded the most. 

It was known that pushing was the most dangerous part in any birth. Myria thought about the baby she wouldn’t get to know, her boys, and everything they would be losing if something happened to her. She felt her chest hastily pounding with panic, and her skin breaking out in sweat. Her vision became blurry, and she had trouble hearing what was being said to her. 

Aemond seemed to be the only one to detect her panic, and so he softly grabbed her chin, and forced her gaze into his. He gave her a nod, one filled with encouragement and love, and the barriers of reality became solid once more, as her senses came back to her. Nothing could happen to her as long as Aemond was there, we would never let any harm come her way. 

Two excruciatingly long hours later, Myria sobbed in relief as she heard a baby’s cry. Her face was covered in sweat, and she felt as if she were about to pass out. But the babe was fine, she was relieved to hear. 

“It’s a healthy, strong boy, Princess.” The midwives chanted, as she was handed the newborn. She cried tears of joy as he was placed in her arms. The baby had a very fine layer of golden, copper blonde hair and beautiful brown, honey eyes; a spitting image of her. 

She looked up towards Aemond, beaming. He pulled himself closer, so he could leave a kiss on her forehead, an action which everyone took as a signal to leave, and let the new parents enjoy some privacy. 

Myria urged him to sit by her side, and she handed the baby to him. He delicately took him in his arms, despite how many times he had already carried his newborn children, he never got past the feeling of them being the dearest, most fragile thing in the world, and started rocking him gently. 

“Don’t you wish he was a girl?” 

“No.” He said, with a very subtle smile on his lips. “He looks like you.” 

“Does that upset you?” 

“It is a blessing he is as beautiful as his mother.” He said, smiling broadly at her. The kind of smile she was rarely granted, the one he reserved for special occasions such as their children’s births, when he felt each of their first kicks, or when their dragon eggs hatched. So she tried to soak up as much of it as she could, and decided to seal the moment with a kiss on his lips. She wouldn’t dare to say it— for she knew her husband felt uneasy about showing affection, but she hoped he could understand the words hidden behind that kiss. Avy jorrāelan. I love you. 

She could feel a smile on his lips, and, even if she needed any further proof that he had understood what laid underneath it, she got that as he mumbled his next words:

“Thank you, Myr.” 

She bit on her lips, to avoid any sort of doting words coming out of them, and left one final kiss on his cheek, before returning her attention towards the cooing baby. Whether it was normal for newborns to do so, she didn’t know, but the baby boy wouldn’t stop energetically kicking his legs.  

“You’re a strong one, huh, ñuha zaldrītsos?” Myria commented lovingly. “No wonder I felt my insides bruised!” She giggled, laughter laced with overwhelming affection. 

“He’s very much welcome to bruise me, now, for a change.” Aemond chuckled, as the baby hit his chest with his legs. “‘Tis only fair, my lady.” 

“I quite agree.” She smiled. “He’s precious, isn’t he?” 

“Hm.” 

• • •

They enjoyed a few hours of privacy, doting on their newborn, before they decided it was time to bring the children so they could meet their baby brother. Aemond entered the room, with the two boys bouncing up and down with excitement. As soon as they spotted the little baby in their mother's arms, they began rushing towards the bed. Aemond bolted towards them just in time to pick them up before they could hop onto their mother. 

“Boys, what did I say on the way here?” He scolded them. “You’ll have to be gentle towards your mother these days. No crushing her.” 

“It’s alright, bees, you can come, but carefully.” She said, staring lovingly at them. “Come meet your baby brother!”

“Is it a boy?” Trys squealed in excitement, sitting by her side, while Aemond laid Griffin down on her other side. 

“He is.” Myria ruffled the boy’s hair. “Do you want to hold him?” 

“Yes, yes mama, please!” Trystan perked up with enthusiasm. 

“Be careful with his head, alright?” She said, settling the baby in the boy’s arms. For such a wild child— he remained unusually still, which was a testament on how much he cherished his new baby brother already.

“Alright, mama.” Trystan answered, delicately holding his head, and Myria could feel her heart expanding at the sight of them together. 

“I want too!” Griffin complained, climbing onto his mother’s lap. 

Myria grunted in pain, still pretty sore from the birth, pretty sure the Maester would advise her against such gestures, to help the stitches cure quicker. She noticed Aemond was about to pull Griff away, but she motioned him it was not needed. She could handle it. 

“You’ll get to hold him too, after your brother, my love.” She soothed him, leaving a kiss on his temple. 

“Mama, can we name him Max?” Trystan blurted, out of the blue. 

“Where did you get that from?” Myria chuckled, with her eyebrows furrowed. 

“It’s from one of the books father reads to us before bed.” The little boy explained. 

Myria looked over at Aemond, since they hadn’t discussed names yet. She was planning on letting him choose, especially since he had very kindly allowed her to pick the first two in traditionally dornish names. 

“Ser Maxen Uller of Hellholt.” Aemond nodded, smiling softly at the toddler, proud of the little boy’s attention to his teachings. “Esquire of Princess Nymeria during the war. Grand name fitting of a grand warrior.” 

“Does that mean we can name him Max?” Trys asked, eyes filled with hope. 

Myria looked at Aemond, and shrugged. She quite liked Max. And, truth to be told, as the high from meeting the baby started to wear off, she began to feel tired and sickly, and not at all fitted to endure an hour worth of name discussion. So she looked at Aemond, and nodded. 

“Prince Maxen of House Targaryen it is, then” He announced, cheerfully.

****

a/n: please forgive any mistakes, english is not my first language! i had this idea for a fic ever since i first watched the show, about aemond marrying a dornish heiress, and finallt got around writing it. i hope you enjoyed this! thinking about turning it into a series