The Fruit Of Our Love
Pairing - King! Aemond x Niece! Reader
Summary - There was no greater joy that Aemond could think of than having a babe with the niece he had always adored. From watching your belly swell to pushing the very child out, he worshipped you; his queen, his love.
Warnings - Smut. Targcest (uncle and niece), P in V, oral (f receiving), fingering, riding, pregnancy sex, lactation kink, breeding kink, mummy kink, blood, childbirth, fear of medieval birthing practices, crying, Aemond loves his wife and new little one. Reader is described as having silver hair and violet eyes but no mention of skin colour. Translations: ‘ñuha jorrāeliarzy’ = my beloved, 'gevie' = beautiful, 'avy jorrāelan' = i love you, 'jorrāelagon valzȳrys' = my dear husband, ābrazȳrys = wife. "Dōna valītsos" = sweet boy. “Issa taoba” = my boy.
WC: 10.1K
Part 1 & Part 2 - Can be read as stand alone
Swiftly, you found that your favourite thing about married life was lazing in bed. Not for the passions that were shared or the secrets that whispered like crisp sheets, but for the leisure of not having to rise.
Aemond was the king, he was charged to serve from dawn to dusk.
While you were the queen, you had little to do bar attend a council meeting once a week, and see that your marital duties were happening regularly. That was of course, no issue.
The issue was your uncle leaving you at the first cock's crow to tilt with Criston.
"Stay." You begged, eyes still fluttering with sleep as you sat up, watching him brush his hair.
"I cannot."
"You do not want me."
He sighed, and sat himself at the edge of the bed. "That is not it, you well know."
You folded your arms over your chest petulantly. "Well, it is how you make me feel."
Your husband rolled his eye. "My love-"
The covers dropped from your chest, leaving your breasts exposed to the gathering morning light. "Please?"
The sight was a captivating one that could arouse even those with the strongest resolve, long silver hair waved and messy, violet eyes begging, sweet lips jutting out in a pout, nipples perky with the morrow's fresh air.
His grace shut his eye and stood up, regretting indulging you by dressing at the bedside.
"You never did play fair. Not in childhood, and most certainly not now."
He strode across the chamber, grabbing his eye patch and placing it on quickly. His large hand then reached for his belt and scabbard, buckling them around his waist.
The queen remained sat up, exposed, undesired. You rolled your eyes and collapsed back into the bed, pulling the covers over yourself.
That show along with a few choice words had worked to pull him into the comfort of your sheets many a time in the past two moons of your marriage, but now your uncle had gotten stricter. Said his training would turn "lacklustre" should he continue to forgo it.
It was a petty excuse that annoyed you to no end.
"Aemond." You groaned, without much point to it.
The sound of his boots clicking against the stone floor got louder, and he stopped at the edge of the large oak bed, reaching out a hand to scratch at your scalp.
"I will see you when we break fast."
You grumbled and turned away from him.
"Really? Come, your king demands a kiss."
The covers rustled when you bunched your legs up beneath them. "Will he take my head if I refuse?"
Aemond scoffed and braced his hands on the edge of the bed, leaning over to kiss your cheek.
The corners of his lips were upturned in victory. He strode through the ghostly halls to the yard, and began his bouts with Ser Criston.
By the time he had finished, the hot summer sun was high in the sky, and his forehead was damp with sweat.
He had barely begun his walk up the keep's step when the Grand Maester's assistant blocked his path.
"Her grace has fainted."
The king's gaze darkened. "Where is she?"
"Your chambers, my king. Her maids found her laid on the ground, dazed."
Aemond all but sprinted to the holdfast. He stormed through the open door of the king's rooms, eye locking on your figure laid in bed, smiling like sunshine as if you had not scared your husband to the edge of death.
"What has happened?" He asked as he came to the bedside, hand reaching out to cup your face. His question was mildly for Orwyle but mainly aimed towards you and your odd grin.
You took his hand and placed it on your belly, looking up at him with joy all over your face.
It took him an embarrassing amount of time to catch your meaning.
His eyebrows raised and his mouth opened just slightly, before he shared your wide grin. "Truly?"
There was a quick nod like your head was a spring, and immediately, he embraced you, completely uncaring to the fact that Orwyle was right next to him.
You were going to have a babe… he was going to be a father.
"You have made me the happiest man in the realm." He murmured into your hair, pressing kisses against your crown.
A soft giggle left your mouth, arms raising to wrap his shoulders.
The king was smiling brightly — a rather unsettling sight — when he pulled back, smoothing down your silken silver hair.
"You are alright after fainting?" He asked softly, turning his head to the Grand Maester for confirmation, expression growing serious
Orwyle nodded his head pensively. "The queen is uninjured. Fainting is common in the beginnings of pregnancy."
Aemond hummed and looked back at you his smile finding footing once again. His lips pecked yours.
That evening you laid in bed. Naked, after being worshipped so attentively that moving sent thrums of pleasure through your very body.
Your husband was laid on his side, eye level with your belly, gently tracing around your navel, pressing kisses in its vicinity.
His hair was tangled in your hand as you scratched at his scalp.
"I cannot wait for you to be round…" He murmured with a tone you would call wistful, pressing his forehead against your stomach.
"You wish me fat?"
"I wish the babe to have a spacious place to grow." He quipped back, and you chuckled.
That made him grin again, pressing his ear to your middle as if listening for a heartbeat, the arm tight around you rubbed slow circles on your back.
After you had lost consciousness, Orwyle felt your stomach a bit longer than you assumed necessary, tapped it with a sheepskin instrument, and decided that your womb was strong.
While that was happening, the other maesters began pouring over moon charts, and decided that you had gotten with child within two weeks of marriage, leaving you two moons along.
They said that you should be due at the dawn of spring.
Aemond pressed a long, wet kiss to your navel.
"Shall we have a prince?" He nuzzled his nose against your belly, eye shut. "Or a little princess?"
The sound of rustling covers followed by a soft yawn, and then you finally spoke. "I know not. You wish for a son, I assume?"
"No." He murmured quietly, climbing back up to be eye to eye with you, cupping your cheek. "I wish for a daughter."
An incredulous huff left you, lazily tilting your head into his hand. "You have want for a daughter?"
"Why would I ever choose a son with my face over a daughter with yours?"
You rolled your violet eyes to the heavens, making a show of it as you leaned your forehead against his.
A hand raised to his face, fingers stroking his scar. "I would not mind a son with your handsome face."
He huffed softly, smiling with a tired and vulnerable aura only ever yours to witness. "Well, I would prefer one with yours, if my queen would indulge me this once."
Soon after — a month to be exact — your nausea set in.
Many things caused it; the scent of the city, of eggs, of wine, and of your husband.
Early one night, while the sun still bled along the horizon, he had returned to your chambers and held you from behind. It was a few seconds between smelling the rosemary in his hair and having bile rise in your throat. The king swiftly stopped oiling his tresses.
As of recent, the queen was most commonly found on the hard stone floor, with a book in her lap and a chamberpot at her side.
The sight saddened your husband greatly.
"What do you think, my darling?" He asked with raised eyebrows, thumb gently stroking over the large rubies along your collarbone.
"They are nice." You replied hoarsely, leaning your head against his shoulder.
It was unlike you to not perk up at the sight of jewels. He had been showering you with them nearly daily, and you seemed careless to it. The nausea was dimming your light.
"Nice?" He repeated dully as he gently rubbed your stomach.
You nodded. He sighed.
"Then I shall continue my quest to find better than just 'nice'. And to search high and low for a cure to this sickness you so suffer from."
Thankfully, your vomiting subsided rather quickly after that morning.
And as the illness left, the evidence grew.
The babe was four months by the time your belly began to show.
It was only a slight bump, but a bump all the same. The king was utterly delighted by it.
"Look at you." Hot lips kissed behind your ear, the sound of clicking heels deserting your rooms in the background because your maids ran at the sight of your husband.
"The image of the mother." He smirked as he cupped your belly over the thin chemise, pressing kisses to your shoulder with great pride.
His compliments seemed to have grown even more creative as the proof of his seed inside of you got larger and larger.
The unending protection around you doubled as your belly endeavoured to do the same.
Your uncle had become more obsessed and possessive of you since the bump had appeared. The proof of your coupling and his ownership was there for all to see, and he would be damned if anyone would dare to attempt to take what was rightly his.
At five moons, your nameday came.
Each and every year, your uncle went out of his way to spoil you. Allowance spent on jewels, chasing his mother around, begging her to throw something in celebration of you.
Now that he was the king, the realm and its coffers were at his disposal. No expense was spared.
He threw a large tourney in your honour, sat in the royal box and held your hand as if you were going to disappear, and made a pointed effort to dismiss every man who claimed that pregnant women should not look upon such violence.
As the crowd roared for another tilt, he looked over and smiled — just slightly, careful as ever — reaching his free hand to cup your cheek. "Happy?"
You nodded. He always made you feel like the centre of the world.
By the sixth moon of your pregnancy, the king was ravenous.
Day and night, atop and below, anytime he could have you, he would.
Such great hips and thighs, and such amazing swollen breasts so tender to the touch were not to be wasted.
His cheek was carefully nuzzled in the valley between your tits as he caressed one with gentle fingers.
Fucking was becoming a careful business now, yet it left him more breathless than ever.
"Do you think the babe presses against your cunt? I swear it has gotten even tighter."
You chuckled with an indolent breath, hand on his back, still and calm.
"No… I think them sat on my bladder. I cannot go ten minutes without needing to piss."
The king hummed and untucked his head from your bosom, pressing a kiss to your cheek as his hand splayed out over your bump. "Naughty princess, bothering her mummy so soon."
A soft huff left you, far more amused than exasperated. "We do not know if she is a princess-"
The words were cut off with a kick to your belly that felt more like a punch beneath your husband's hand. Before you had felt flutters and slight movement… but never a proper kick.
Aemond's mouth was slightly opened, then he grinned, tapping the spot to urge another jab — like a boy finding a funny new toy. "Regardless of whether or not the child has a cock… we know that it is a dragon."
The following moon came and went swiftly. Now, you had a babe of seven moons thrashing inside of you.
They did so especially whenever you took to the skies on Vermithor — whom you were desperately struggling to climb onto by now — as if they could feel their ancestry through the flesh of their mother.
They also enjoyed kicking when you were in council.
It was nice, like having a friend with a secret language that was shared only between the two of you.
It was often, these days to see the queen smiling down at her belly, ignoring the lords at the table happily. The king joined in her joy, and would stop his usual pacing to feel the kicks of the child.
"My little dragon." He whispered in the dead of night, not wanting to spoil your sleep. "Kepa loves you."
He had begun talking to your stomach the moment he had found out about your pregnancy, but the conversations had been growing lengthier of late.
"You shall be born into warmest embrace."
He kissed your navel, eye shut, completely absorbed in the moment.
"There is no woman more quintessential to be your mother." His long fingers traced the slight, silver stretch marks that had latterly appeared.
"You…" His forehead pressed against your swollen belly. "Are my heir. My realm."
That was taken with a prompt thump to his temple. He breathed out in amusement.
"I shall allow you to sleep in peace. My apologies."
As the child expanded, so too did the extent of your exhaustion. Most especially during court. An uncomfortably padded chair combined with the weight of a dragon pressing on your pelvis had your hips sore and your eyelids drooping.
Oftentimes the king would return from whatever midday task he had to change clothes or freshen himself, and you would be asleep so deeply that you resembled a dead body.
He liked to place a hand to your belly and a finger to your upper lip, to ensure you were breathing, and to let his heir know that muña was alright, just a bit weary. He would peck your lips, order food for your due waking, and continue with his day.
Perhaps his grace's favourite part of your pregnancy was how insatiable you were.
Morn, noon, and night, you would have him on his knees, working you with his fingers, or his cock. Whatever he would give, you would take.
Your uncle gave it all. He never could deny you… but now, as you whined in want, belly swollen with his seed and love, he took your pleasure more seriously than his duties as the king.
Laying on your back during the act had become painful. Being bent over a piece of furniture was no longer possible, and taking him on your hands and knees always had you more focused on not losing your balance than the actual sensations.
To say the least, you were at your wit's end of trying to get your fill and being too frustrated to finish.
You all but smacked your husband when he pulled you on top of him.
"I know, I know!" He replied quickly when he saw the look on your face, adjusting you to spread your legs widely as he slipped a practiced finger between your thighs to rub at your pearl.
Riding was far too tiring. You had no intention of doing so.
"I will accommodate you. Move as you like, sweet wife. I shall bear your weight."
Those words were met with a swift scoff. You looked down at him with boredom in your eyes.
The king sighed. "If you do not want to, you do not have to."
Your eyes rolled, and you planted your palms firmly on his chest. "I did not say that."
That made your husband sigh in victory, and he helped you lower over his hardened cock slowly, the pair of you making relieved sounds of pleasure.
By the end of the minutes, there were reddened marks on your hips, but they were completely worth it.
That night, you fell asleep spent with a smile on your face.
The next few evenings and mornings you spent coupling in that way.
During such intimacy, feelings your husband had thought he would be able to keep buried had bubbled to the surface.
They disgusted him as much as they filled him with arousal.
It happened first when you were sat on his face, your glorious cunt on his lips, and your full thighs in his hands.
Your fist was tugging at his hair as you moaned his name beautifully.
"Mummy." He had groaned against your core.
Immediately, he realised and stilled. You had not heard, thanks be to the gods.
A loud, angry whine left your throat as you pulled his hair, losing the ecstasy you were so close to. Though sense quickly came over you, assuming he needed air, you gripped the headboard to help you stand on your knees.
The king was beneath you, breath heaving. He swore he had ascended to the seventh heaven.
The queen above him, swollen breasts and belly, a wanton blush across her face as she brushed her thumb over his forehead.
"Aemond? My darling?"
He nodded, mouth parted as he licked your arousal from the corners of his lips.
"Sit down."
You obeyed.
After, you laid naked on the bed, on your side, uncovered and in lazy conversation with your husband.
"The Baratheons have passed their days of glory."
You murmured lazily, playing with a strand of silver hair with one hand as your other rested on your belly, brushing the barely-there dimple that used to be your bellybutton. "Lord Borros is a fat idiot… he cannot even read."
Your husband hummed, placing his hairbrush down and joining you on the bed.
His hands found your breasts and bump as if they were magnetic.
"Aemond. Are you even listening to me?"
The king blinked slowly. The scolding tone was making this worse.
Every part of him burned with embarrassment, but he needed to expose this part of himself when he was in control, lest he ruin an intimate moment.
"Wife… I feel I must discuss something with you."
Covers rustled as he intertwined your legs, eyes focused on your nipples, then back at your face.
A knit formed between your eyebrows as you lazily brushed his upper abs.
The king did not want you to think him perverted, even though that is what he truly was.
Thoughts of you with child — with his child —, praising him, had run through his mind since that first day your pleasures had been discovered in the library when you were four and ten. When that raunchy book lay forgotten on the windowsill as your uncle learned to rub your pearl the way that made you gasp.
"Mm, what?" You replied with a yawn, laying your head onto the fluffed red pillows.
His hand was still on your belly — resting over your own — while his other gently caressed your tender breast, circling the hardened, enlarged nipple.
"You have the body of a mother now… you have for some months."
"Is that a problem?" You teased dryly, knowing it was not. He loved your bigger breasts, wider hips, rounder arse, and thicker thighs.
"Not in the least." A soft sigh escaped him as he moved both his gaze and hand from your tit to your face. The king cupped your cheek and laid his head on the pillow as well.
"On the contrary, in fact. It- I suppose I enjoy being beneath you, while you are in this state."
"Really?" You murmured sarcastically, too tired to catch his drift, tracing circles over his bicep lazily.
Aemond nodded, about to speak again in riddles but being cut off by your lips assailing his scar and sapphire.
"Handsome." You were always pleased with yourself when you saw his face bare.
He huffed softly. The action reminded him that he did not have to fear judgment, for it was you, his miracle, his wife, his queen who was in possession of every secret he held.
His eye was shut, and his hand drifted along your round belly slowly. "Your figure enlivens me. I am aroused by the thought of it. And the title the babe has given you."
Your brows scrunched together in confusion. "The title?"
A quick nod was his response.
"Ñuha jorrāeliarzy..would it be too depraved if I were to call you by it when we make love?" He whispered.
Oh.
An amused huff left your mouth, as your thumb traced his scar. A soft challenge was spoken in the safe bubble of your bedchamber. "Say it right now."
Aemond breathed out through his nose. This reaction was unsurprising, but he still had to brace himself for the cringe he was sure to feel, baring this part of himself to you.
His fingers splayed out along your belly, and he tucked his head into your neck.
"Mummy." The warrior king mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss below your ear.
Your nails gentle scratched at his nape. The tone you used was soft and sweet, only for him. "Yes, my love?"
Gods, he melted. His legs curled up just slightly, and his head moved to rest against your breasts.
"Did you have a difficult day?" You murmured against his hair, kissing his crown and cupping the back of his head to keep him there.
The warmth of your tits was felt against his cheek as he nodded.
"It is over now, valzȳrys." Your hand found his lower back, and you began rubbing it gently.
The king made a quiet sound of true pleasure, listening to the beat of your heart. One large hand held your breast, feeling its heaviness.
He could not wait for them to swell with milk.
Soft lips kissed his scalp again.
Tonight was sweetness, tomorrow would be frustration.
By now, you were more than eight moons pregnant. No longer could you ride your dragon, or go up a flight of stairs without needing a few minutes to regain your breath. The stride you used to have has been replaced by a waddle, and everything is getting a bit too real.
It came to a head in the gardens.
A group of ladies and their queen having a small luncheon. Then wine began to flow around, and those proper ladies devolved into dim gossips who thought it their place to terrify the queen.
"When I had my second, he was flipped about. The maesters pushed my abdomen so hard that they cracked a rib! I could even hear it!"
Leave was taken rapidly after that declaration.
There was no way to describe the feeling in your gut besides utter terror. Labour seemed so far away for so long, but day by day, it crept closer. Now you were little more than two weeks away from giving birth.
The pout on your lips as you walked towards the holdfast was clear.
Large, heavy doors opened to your chambers, and you called out.
"Aemond?"
There was no reply. But the scent of lemons and incense was wafting through the air. You waddled into the bath in chamber.
The king was slouched in the marble tub, relaxation on his face turning to a grin as he looked you over.
"Gevie."
His hand reached for yours when you got to the edge, kissing the back of it, then slowly rubbing your knuckles. "Did you enjoy your time with the ladies?"
"Do you think I had fun with those prattling cows?" You snapped.
The look on your husband's face morphed into a surprised one. "I would take that as a no." He kissed the back of your hand once again, undeterred. "What is it that ails you, my queen?"
"Lady Webber, she-" Without your leave, tears had gathered and fallen in a matter of seconds.
Soft lips quivered as you let out a weak sob. "Aemond, I am terrified."
Most would assume that you were not afraid of anything. You claimed Vermithor at the age of eight, for the gods' sake. For you to be even startled was a great feat, and this outburst worried your husband to no end.
Water sloshed around the edge of the large tub when he climbed out. The puddle surrounding it was none of his concern.
He embraced you immediately, dripping naked body wetting your deep blue dress. A large hand rubbed your back as the other cupped your head, holding it against his bare chest.
Comforting you with words was not his strong suit. His vocabulary seemed to vanish when it was needed most.
"I know that birth is an intimidating business… but you are strong, ābrazȳrys." He kissed the top of your head with cold lips. "Nothing could take you from me. Let alone our own babe."
Such words were murmured against the top of your head in attempt to relax you, but he still heard muted gasps coming from your choked throat.
The king lifted you without warning, like a bride, held carefully as he strode into the main bedchamber, and set you on the bed like a sheet of crystallised sugar at risk of breaking with a mere glance.
His large hands cupped your face, smiling at you tenderly — trying to make you take it on yourself — while wiping away your tears with his thumbs.
"How may I temper your anxieties?"
The bridge of your nose twitched as you sniffled. You raised your hands to grip his forearm desperately.
The idea had recently plagued you, whenever you thought of labouring. The man you married would never do such a thing to you, would never allow it. Still, it was a nightmare that had haunted you.
"Do not let them cut me open." You begged shakily, teary-eyed.
Aemond's brows furrowed as he looked down at you. "My sweet, I would never. You know that, I would stand between any blade seeking you."
He lowered himself to look closely into your violet eyes.
"Avy jorrāelan, niece." He leaned his forehead against yours. "It is not because I can breed you. I would love you still were you barren. You may carry my heir, but never would I allow you to think that your very life would be forfeit for the mere continuation of my legacy. I swear this to you."
Slowly, you nodded your head.
The king gave you a gentle kiss, and laid with you for a few long moments, before sitting up and helping you out of your bothersome dress. He took you to bathe with him, as you often do. And even though he is awful at it, washed your hair.
You sat between his legs, all your weight against him, sniffling still.
Your husband had thoughts of the past on his mind, as he caressed your belly slowly.
"Do you remember that day on the battlements?" The sound of sloshing water backed his soft words, his chin resting atop your head.
"We always used to go on the battlements." You replied dryly, arms crossed over your chest, not in the best of moods after earlier.
"When we were two and ten. I had just gotten my sapphire in, and I was whining about the pain." He kissed your scalp.
A thoughtful expression grew on your face. "That was in your chambers."
He nodded. "Part of it, I know."
"We were hiding from Alicent." You chuckled lazily, relaxing a bit more, slouching delicately.
Aemond's mother was enraged around that time of your lives. She never liked how affectionate her son was with you, and when she heard about your recent flowering, she decided you should not be alone together.
"Mm, but I mean our conversation. About children." Your husband said softly, dipping his head to the crook of his neck.
That day, only four years ago, you had made a promise. That you would never be like your parents. Aemond vowed to love his children, not matter how unremarkable. He would not be Viserys. He would be calm and collected, unlike Alicent. You vowed never to make your children feel replaced, as Rhaenyra had done to you.
Those promises seemed more important than ever as the days went by.
After the bath, you sat on your husbands lap by the cracking hearth — to dry your hair —, a book abandoned on the oak side table. Sugar covered your tongue as your uncle fed you pastries.
Aemond had occupied his spare hand by rubbing your stomach. He was convinced he would never get tired of it. The idea that there was truly a miniature version of you and he merged inside of your belly still befuddled him.
"I cannot wait to meet our little dragon." He murmured quietly, the corners of his lips upturned in fondness.
"Mm." You hummed through a cake-stuffed mouth, swallowing and sitting up straighter, cupping your bump with adoration.
The king's sapphire glinted from fire-light, his face calm and fond.
"I am so proud of you."
A smile formed on your face, and you looked into his lone eye fondly. He kissed your shoulder.
That made a sound of contentment come from deep in your chest, covering his hand on your belly, feeling the weighty kicks the babe was so insistent on today.
One could hear the grin on the king's face without looking at it. "The little one is active."
You nodded, then leaned your head against his.
"They can feel your presence."
"Whenever you say they, you make me want for twins."
"They is neutral to sex."
"So? I already know that we have a princess."
A chuckle left you, he's been so insistent on that fact your entire pregnancy. "It is a prince."
Your uncle rolled his eye. "Did the babe tell you that?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. I can sense it."
Aemond chuckled but did not fight you. He simply continued to caress your belly and back.
"You will be the best of fathers." You murmured happily against the top of his head, soothing his insecurities with your mere presence.
At nine moons exactly, one would have liked to spend every waking moment attempting to sleep, but the tireless work of holding the realm together continued.
Many ambassadors of different lands passed through the Red Keep, but rarely a representative as important as this one. The Prince of Pentos' eldest son, and his wife had come to sample the hospitality of your home and negotiate trade.
You really did not care. In a plush seat at the side of the throne's foot, you sat, hands clasped over your belly, as the large doors opened.
"Myrion Mopatis, the eldest son of the Prince of Pentos, and his lady wife."
The greeting was brief, the luncheon after it long. But you found that you did not mind. Aemond seemed to find the son sensible, and you thought his wife funny.
Her name was Serenei. She had long black hair and deep brown eyes, she looked almost Dornish. You decided you would keep her.
"I have never seen a woman to hate her husband more." You chuckled, sprawled onto a chaise. Your uncle sat at the end of it, massaging your swollen feet.
He shared your amusement with a quiet huff. "I suppose he is rather dull."
A quick counter came from your lips before a yawn. "You prefer dull people to bright ones."
"I do not." He muttered calmly as he focused down at his task, stroking his strong thumbs over the balls of your feet.
The fabric of your thin nightgown fell from your bump when you untied it, laying your hand there carefully, murmuring conspiratorially down to the child inside. "Kepa knows that I am right."
"Stop turning the babe against me." He murmured in concealed amusement, reaching a hand out to cover yours on your large belly.
"Why would the babe be on your side? He does not know you as well as he does I."
Aemond hummed, feeling around to try and get a reaction, but gaining none.
"The heir is sleepy, I think." He murmured quietly. "It's a tiresome thing, growing."
His musings made you huff in amusement, firelight dancing in your eyes. "As someone with a middle the size of a barrel, I agree."
The king shook his head plainly; he disliked when you talked of your body that way.
"My beloved, do not be ridiculous. You are the perfect size."
A yawn left you.
"Is that sarcasm or exhaustion?"
"Both."
He hummed lowly and scooped you up, walked across the chamber with you cradled against his chest, then set you into bed gently, tucking the covers around your body. Then he began unclasping his tunic.
"I went on a search for eggs again this morn. I cannot choose one out of Dreamfyre's clutch." He murmured quietly, knowing your opinion on the topic already.
Slow, affectionate hands rubbed your belly as you tilted your head to give him the look.
"Aemond, I do not want the babe to have an egg."
"And I think that is stupid."
A scoff left you. "My egg never hatched. Your egg never hatched. Look at the dragons we ride now. They may choose a grown dragon when they are age enough for it, and it shall be far more powerful and worthy than some hatchling."
Aemond's eyes were set down, presumably to unlace his breeches, mostly because he didn't want to face your words.
"The heir to the Iron Throne deserves a dragon at birth."
A sigh left you, struggling not to roll your eyes. "My darling, our child will not think themself unloved if they do not have a hatchling at the grand age of one."
Your husband clearly disliked that, his face twitching as he pushed down his breeches.
A hand left your belly, reaching out in want for his. "Aemond, will you heed me?" You asked softly, like he was a troublesome child only tamed by affection.
The king looked up to meet your eyes at the soft tone, and took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.
"You are not Viserys." You began carefully, gripping his fingers tightly. "The child already knows that he or she is loved." A gentle hand moved your intertwined ones to your belly, holding them there as you looked into your husband's lone eye. "They do not need a dragon as proof of that."
The man before you swallowed, his throat bobbing as he understood you. In childhood, his father had thought him a disappointment for not having a dragon. He disregarded him even more so than his siblings, for something the gods only controlled.
His face crumpled when he sniffled, blue eye suddenly full with salty tears. Leather in the form of his eye patch was swiftly forgotten and fell to the floor, as he took a seat on the edge of the bed and looked at you with a shaky resolve.
How handsome he was when he cried. His sapphire gleamed, wet from the malfunctioning duct on his left side.
The soft sound of breath from his lips was when you knew you had won. The king laid down, burying his face against your breasts as he sobbed silently.
"It's alright, sweetling." You murmured against his scalp, pressing a soft kiss there.
The tone of his voice was gasping and desperate, so unlike the straight warrior he was known as. "I.."
"I have you."
The next day, you ventured out of the keep as you did each morn. Well, it had turned to afternoon more recently.
Your last ride upon your dragon had been at seven moons. Since your belly had grown, climbing onto the beast had become near-impossible, and when your husband watched you nearly fall dismounting, he forbade any more flights.
As much as it saddened you, it was for the best. You still visited Vermithor, each and every aforementioned day.
He grew restless and aggressive whenever apart from you, having gotten even more protective since you became with a babe.
The ride in the wheelhouse was uncomfortable, but you endured it to see him.
Since he became king, Aemond proclaimed that the bays belonged to the dragons, that keepers were unnecessary, and that the pit would constantly be alight with fire, heat growing them as it did in Old Valyria.
When Vermithor spotted you — his waddling rider approaching him with a smile — he scurried over so quickly that the ground shook. He stopped just soon enough that he did not knock you, and touched your chest with his nose.
A soft laugh left you, rubbing his nostrils gently. "Dōna valītsos." You murmured.
The biting sea air lifted your hair, sweeping it about, the scent of salt filling you with melancholy.
"My son missed you." You said happily, standing before the large dragon, like an ant with a man. He nudged your belly carefully, knowing of the child inside.
It warmed you.
A week and a half later, at exactly nine moons, and — according to the maesters — eleven days, you were impatient and insufferable.
In the past few days, the babe had manoeuvred themself into place for the south, their head and body pressing on every organ and bone you had in your middle. Sleep was a struggle, even if you felt like you were always sleeping.
It was the middle of the night, maybe the early hours of the morning — how were you to know? The child had its entire body on your bladder, and you desperately needed to use the privy.
Slowly, you attempted to sit up. Alas, no. Your husband's grip was too tight, and you were too weak.
"Aemond." You murmured aimlessly into the night, his chest pressed against your back. A loud huff of annoyance left you.
"Husband!"
The man behind you made a quiet sound in waking, kissing your neck as if thinking it were him who had woken for no reason, then relaxed.
"Aemond."
The king's eye opened, his head untucking from your neck. He hummed in acknowledgment.
"I need to piss. Help me up."
The covers rustled as he loosened his grip around you, cursing the cold that came right before spring. He stood at the edge of the bed — pushing the awaiting cradle to the side — and gripped your hips; he disliked you doing any type of physical activity that he could do for you.
Your hands clutched his biceps, and you let out a loud sigh, laying your head against his chest for a moment of respite; on the edge of heaving breath just from standing.
Your uncle cupped your nape and scratched slowly at your scalp.
"Jorrāelagon ābrazȳrys." Was murmured softly in High Valyrian, practiced words soothing you as his free arm embraced you.
Then, before you could register the feeling, liquid was splashing out of you into a large, dark puddle on the ground.
The king's grip around you tightened. "Was that..?"
Once you had looked down at the puddle, and the droplets clinging to your legs, you nodded. Your waters.
He joined you in your nod, clearly out of his depth already as he held you tighter, worried. "Alright…"
Twelve hours later, the castle was beginning to bustle. But Maegor's Holdfast had never stopped.
The loud sobs coming from the king's chambers would unsettle those with the strongest of dispositions.
Slow, heavy feet paced around the ostentatious rooms. "Where is my husband?" You sniffled, eyes red and voice hoarse.
A white sweat-damp chemise that was basically see-through by now was draped over your figure, bulging at the belly just like you.
"The king is just in the corridor, your grace." A midwife said carefully, reaching out to touch your forearm to hopefully calm you.
Quickly, you shrugged her off, letting out a loud cry and leaning your temple against one of the tall pillars.
The sound of the massive doors opening reverberated throughout the chamber, along with your husband's quick stride over to you. He had left only for a moment, and was barely outside of the door as he conversed with Tyland.
The king met you near immediately. He was silent as he placed his hands on your hips from behind, squeezing and rubbing in hopes of giving you some form of relief. The touch was careful not to get in the way of your hair, that he had half braided to get it out of your way.
Comforting nothings left him with an empty mouth. Words wouldn't be helpful, he figured; you never liked to deal with communication when angry or in pain, so he stayed quiet, and kissed your shoulder as you let out cries of differing intensities.
It felt like your insides were parting ways. Oh gods, you were pushing without even realising. A hopeless wail left you, your knees buckling. "Aemond-" You babbled, voice shaken an useless with tears.
The midwives recognised the action and rushed over, all but pushing your husband out of the way.
The cords in the back of your throat almost ripped with the screech you let out, on your knees. Aemond rushed to kneel with you, taking your weight as his, laying your arms over his shoulders as if you were a rag doll.
A loud sob left you, face scrunched up in both agony and fear.
"You are almost there, sweetling." The king murmured, leaning his forehead against yours to keep you present. "Focus on me."
A minute later, with a dragging scream from you, soft, innocent cries filled the chamber. A babe was born.
Immediately, you slumped against your husband, relieved and exhausted. The afterbirth slipped out with one lazy push.
His gaze was set on you incandescently, and he could not resist kissing your lips just briefly. "Well done, my love. You were so perfect." He almost whispered, holding the back of your head tightly as he eyed the child just a step away, watching a midwife cut the pulsing cord.
Another woman slid a number of pillows under you, and helped you manoeuvre onto your bottom. Then you were handed the babe.
It was screeching its little heart out, fighting the swaddle of white linen. So weighty yet so delicate. Silver hair and its mother's violet eyes. Its father's nose.
A tear tan down your cheek. "Hello…"
Your husband's arm was still tightly around you, and he was sat beside you now. His own eye was teary. A careful finger brushed the child's cheek.
"A boy." A midwife said quietly, then backed away to give space.
A soft cry left you, bottom lip trembling as the babe began to calm in your arms. "Issa taoba.." You sniffled, looking at your husband. "I told you."
A soft, exasperated breath of pure joy left him.
Once in bed, comforted and tucked in, you named your son.
"Vaemon." You murmured as you looked down at him latched onto your breast, suckling as if his first day was his last.
The king had a gentle grin on his face, "A strong name." sat on a chair beside the bed, looking at his wife and child with nothing but adoration and reverence.
"He is the image of you." Your husband said warmly, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. His heart swelled by the picture of you nourishing the babe with your own body.
He felt emotional, to think that your love created this sweet, sinless little being. His temple pressed against your bicep. The sapphire was uncovered, glinting with the daylight. He had wanted no barriers.
The prince's mouth had stopped sucking when you looked down, a sleepy milk-drunk expression across his little face. You stroked his cheek gently. Then murmured into your husband's hair. "Would you like to hold him?"
Aemond was incredibly worried of dropping him, making him cry, anything along those lines, but there was nothing he wanted more the to feel the babe's weight in his arms. He nodded avidly.
You handed Vaemon over slowly, careful not to jostle his weak head.
The king looked down at his son in his arms with a growing lump in his throat, watching the child squirm for a moment and then relax. His wide violet eyes staring up at his father with the same gaze of his mother.
"I cannot believe that you made him." He murmured with quiet awe, gaze set downwards as he gripped the swaddle for dear life, terrified of letting him slip from his grip.
"He has your nose." You murmured with a lazy lilt of fondness, head tilted into the pillow.
Aemond, thumb brushed across the bridge of their son's nose, staring into his massive violet eyes. "Everything else is of yours."
Vaemon began to squirm, letting out quiet coos that sounded like discomfort to his inexperienced father.
Your husband's eye snapped up to meet yours. "What is wrong with him?"
A soft breath of amusement left you. "Nothing at all."
When Aemond later went to inform the court of the heir's birth, he was coined 'The Spring Prince', for the break of winter had been confirmed, a raven carrying the news from the Citadel when you were in your labours.
The succession was at rest. A healthy babe was in your arms. The realm rejoiced.
The king showered you with affections beyond comprehension, you had not ceased smiling since marriage, with the birth of this child, your face was like to freeze that was.
Love was the oddest of things, ever-growing and changing, always soft. Like the gentle wisps of silver on your son's head.
"The prince has much hair." Orwyle said with almost amusement as he held the babe wrapped in pink gossamer, the small council gathered in your bedchamber, lined up in a half circle shape around the bed you laid in.
There was a lazy grin on your face, head leaned against your husband's bicep — Aemond stood at the edge of the large piece of furniture, an arm draped over your shoulders possessively, eye trained on his son to ensure his safety.
"Doesn't he? I had no notion that it could be so long." You murmured, looking at Vaemon with such googly eyes one would wonder if you were the first woman ever to have a child.
It had been time enough, your husband decided silently. He promptly snatched his son from the Grand Maester, taking him carefully, with precision — still petrified of hurting him.
"My wife must rest." He said plainly, looking away from them, uncaring, his words polite code for 'fuck off', though that phrase awaited in case.
The council obeyed, and scurried out.
Heavy eyelids blinked around your engorged pupils, looking up at your husband with a dreamy expression.
How attractive he was. The aura of protectiveness emanated from him, mixed with fatherly nurture as he stared down at your child, trying to gauge by the babe's facial expressions if he was holding him correctly.
"Comfortable, little one?" He asked in a low whisper, eyebrows raised like he was looking for an eloquent answer. But it was clearly a tease, the corners of his mouth upturned.
The prince began to whimper. The king began to rock him. He was so good with him, it made you wish to cry.
"Gevie." He said with a growing grin, staring down at his wailing son with pure pride. "You get that from your mother."
The babe's cries began to relax after a few moments, and the father smiled even wider, cradling him tightly.
"My love?" You murmured tiredly, head melting into the pillow even more with the movement of your jaw.
Your uncle looked at you with tenderness, his sapphire glinting under the candlelight of the chamber, black leather hugging his body as he did the same to your son, cradling him carefully. "What can I do?"
"Nothing." A soft whisper came from you.
Aemond took his seat at the edge of the bed again, holding Vaemon against his chest.
"Sleep, sweet wife. I have you both."
A weak pop came from your neck, barely managing a single nod before drifting off.
What happy dreams they were. Of your future, of your beautiful babe and his wonderful father.
It was three hours later when you woke to the sound of pained little cries, eyes fluttering open to see your husband shushing his son and rocking him desperately.
He caught your eye accidentally, and looked guilty as he strode to the edge of the bed. "I know not his issue." The king said with a self-deprecating frown.
"He is hungry." You murmured with a yawn, untying the chest tie of your fresh nightgown.
"So soon?" Your uncle asked — genuinely surprised, taking a seat at the edge of the bed and carefully placing the screeching babe onto your chest.
A nod was your answer, as you adjusted the little prince against your breast, helping him gather your nipple and suck deeply. Once he got it, you smiled, and cupped his body.
Aemond was unsurprised when you vowed early in pregnancy not to let another woman feed them. It was unheard of for a child of a noble to be fed around the clock by their mother, let alone by a queen. But your love knew no bounds, and your possessiveness would never allow another to nourish your own son.
He braced his elbow at the edge of the bed, free hand coming up the cup your cheek. You leaned your head into his hand and smiled.
"You must be starving, my darling." He said seriously, tucking the covers securely around you. "Supper is coming."
A yawn left you, resting your chin against your collarbone, looking down at your son with a indolent grin.
The sounds of nursing, the smacking of his lips and his desperate breathing filled the room.
Aemond grinned in amusement, stroking his long fingers over the babe's head. "Who is going to tell him that he will not be ripped from your breast?" He joked.
It was four days after you gave birth that you escaped the very attentive eye of your husband, and in true Targaryen fashion, climbed your dragon with a child strapped to your chest, and flew above the clouds.
The king was livid.
He sat the Iron Throne and gripped the arm rests so tightly it was a wonder he was not cut. At the base of the steps was the hand, being less than helpful. Its not like his sire was listening, anyway.
The king rolled his eye. "Go."
Tyland slipped out, and almost simultaneously, the heavy throne room doors opened, revealing the most beautiful of sights.
The hall was dark and dull in the spring evening, but the light of the queen brightened it. She, with loose windswept hair, wearing black, contouring riding leathers, and a babe tied to her with a crimson wrap.
Gods, it was so impossible to stay angry at you…
"I hear you went for a flight." He said dryly, keeping his voice neutral as you practically skipped across the large hall.
"He adored it!" You grinned, cupping Vaemon's head and bottom as he cooed, holding him tightly despite how securely he was wrapped to you.
Aemond raised a hand to his temple and rubbed it. You take years off of his life.
He began carefully, standing from the throne and slowly descending. "My love, you should not be out of bed. Let alone climbing a dragon. That cannot be beneficial for healing."
"Nonsense." You muttered back without even glancing at him, eyes set down on your son's silver hair.
The king sighed. There was one person in the realm who could defy him and not be threatened; his queen.
After a moment, he was off of the iron steps and reached for your cheek, his other hand touching the wrap to feel his son's safety for himself.
A smile was on your face when you looked up into his eye.
"Wife."
"Yes?"
"You left without informing me. I feared for you." He murmured quietly, a genuine concern washed over his face.
You leaned your head into his palm, still smiling because you were the victor.
"I did not mean to frighten you…"
He sighed and caressed your cheek. "You gave birth four days ago. Whenever you shift it bed, it scares me."
The look on his face made you reconsider just slightly. "I should have informed you. But you would not have let me out of our chambers if I had."
"That is for your own good."
The whites of your eyes made an appearance as you rolled them.
The king sighed again. "Go to bed, niece."
A week after birth, you had settled into a routine with the babe.
Vaemon slept between you and your husband at night, and suckled whenever he wished. He was proving to be a lusty boy who didn't like anything as much as eating.
Unfortunately, it seemed your breasts were swollen no matter how much he drank.
This past night, you had gained no rest whatsoever. The pain in your chest was too large.
When the sun began to rise, and dark circles had settled beneath your eyes, you broke, and sobbed uncontrollably.
This woke your husband, who was worried to no end within a moment of consciousness.
He tightened his arm around you on instinct, and noted that his son was in the cradle at your side of the bed. You never placed him there.
"My love, please. What is it?" He pleaded, gruffly, sitting up like a horse's ear would prick, looking down at you, trying to see the issue.
Your lip was quivering, tears rolling down your face as you met his eye. "My breasts, they-" Another loud, unattractive sob left you.
Ah. His eye flickered down to your chest, noting your swollen flesh and aggressively peaked nipples. Poor thing, he thought.
Your husband raised a hand to one of your exposed tits, and held it carefully. Gods, it was like a rock.
Simultaneously, you winced and buried your face against his shoulder, voice whiny and hoarse. "They are so full."
Aemond nodded, brows furrowed as he thought of what to do. The king looked into your eyes once again, a question in his lone blue one.
Immediately, you nodded through tear-blurred sight — anything to stop this ache.
Your uncle made eye contact with your nipple, and leaned his head down to latch onto it, sucking greedily.
The milk was so sweet, gods it aroused him. It would be a lie to say that this was not a fantasy of his, to drink from your breasts while you praised him.
It was a feckless thing to try and shake himself out of that mindset, for the liquid tasted so saccharine; the deepest form of a mother's nurture in his mouth, filling him with warmth and acceptance.
What a strange, perverted man he was — and he knew it.
Fortunately, his desire did not rob him of his sense of duty, and he switched sides, keen on giving you relief.
Still, you cried, overwhelmed from pain and the overactive emotions that came after giving birth. Fingers dug and scraped at his back as they did whenever you fucked.
The king held both breasts in his gentle hands, and redoubled his efforts, pulling hungry mouthful after hungry mouthful of honeyed milk from your tits until they were practically empty.
Then — only when your cries halted — he lifted his head, dribbles of milk on his chin. He eyed your poor reddened face.
"Better, ābrazyrys?" He whispered softly, raising a hand to cup your face just as he straightened up.
A swift nod was your answer, sniffling and curling into him limply.
Aemond gladly scooped you into his lap, and pulled the covers over the pair of you.
You nuzzled your cheek against his pec, seeking closeness, and receiving it as he stroked your hair.
"The gods curse women." You murmured, voice watery and in no way kind, petulantly cowering into his embrace.
The king nodded against your scalp, his chin rested there. The loose curtain of his hair around your face was comforting, as was the sound of his hum.
You felt something poking your thigh. Then you thought of his depravity. "You are hard."
A sound of surprise left him — as if he was unaware — and he spoke quietly, shifting you in his hold. "My apologies."
You snivelled and laid back, pulling him by the bicep to join you. He obeyed and followed, drawing you to him by the waist, pressing a few reverent kisses to your head.
Careful fingers brushed the edge of your breast. "The pain is gone?" He murmured into your hair.
"Almost." You whispered back, voice weak and defeated. He sighed at your tone and pressed his lips to your temple.
The king continued to massage your chest, trying to relieve the lingering discomfort."I left some… just in case he wakes."
On cue, the babe's heavy breathing and whimpers began to fill the large rooms.
Aemond huffed softly, leaning over you to look. The babe laid in the cradle, his legs tucked up, his little face scrunched in sadness.
The king lifted him swiftly, cupping his bottom and head as he laid him on his hard chest.
"What is it, hmm?" He murmured against the child's silver hair, leaning his head against yours as your son began to cry.
"The cold world." You said against his shoulder, words muffled. "He misses my womb."
Aemond hummed in agreement.
It was after two weeks when your uncle finally felt like he was getting the hang of fatherhood.
You loved it, for he looked so handsome holding Vaemon. So nurturing. You would climb atop him if you could.
The lithe man paced around your bed, tapping his son on the back with such little force that it didn't make a sound.
"He will not burp."
You were laughing to yourself lazily, sat up against the pillows — he refuses to let you out of bed — enjoying the sight.
"You must actually pat his back."
The king scoffed and paced to the side of the bed, bare feet silent against stone. "That is what I am doing." He replied dryly, still tapping the babe's back.
Your poor soon had a look of discomfort on his little face.
"You are doing it wrong."
Aemond huffed, but relented. Vaemon was squirming at this point, head rested haphazardly on his father's strong forearm. With one firm pat against the child's back, he spat up half of his feed onto the floor.
A soft sigh left you, still utterly amused. Your husband looked up like a deer in headlights, readjusted the babe, then reached for a cloth to wipe his mouth.
The spill was cleaned swiftly by a nameless maid, and your son was placed in your arms, his father having far too much to process to be in possession of him.
"He is so happy." Your uncle murmured thoughtfully to the babe while he sipped water, brushing his little back as he laid flat on your chest, cooing happily.
A happy hum was your response as you laid your head on his shoulder. He set down his cup, wrapped an arm around you, and kissed the side of your head.
"You are such a wonderful mother."He said quietly, chin nuzzling the top of your head.
A soft sigh left you, as you shut your eyes and caressed your son's head. "He adores you."
Aemond kissed your cheek, and then eyed Vaemon, who seemed to have drifted off. "I did not grow him inside for nine moons. Nor nourish him, as you do."
"So is my duty." A yawn left you, nuzzling your husband's collarbone. "I am a mother now."
The king let out a breath of almost disbelief. "And I thought that you could not be any more perfect."
The corners of your mouth tugged upwards into a lazy smile, eyes shutting, and sheets rustling.
"Sleep, my sweet." He rubbed your side slowly.
With that, you drifted off. Aemond murmured of his love for you, and for his beautiful son.
You were the queen, a Targaryen of Old Valyrian heritage, and the mother to the next king. But none of that mattered.
You were a wife to a man who loved you, and mummy to the most adorable son the gods had ever graced a woman with.
This little family was sure to grow, and you could not wait. Soon, high laughter would be wracking the walls, and the patter of wet, tiny feet would fill the holdfast.
This very keep would be bursting at the seams to accommodate the brood you wished for, and your husband would be the happiest to order and extension.
Anything to see you contented, beautiful, and swollen with his children to the point that no man or woman could ever question whose you were.
Aemond Targaryen m.list 🗡
hello my apologies for the length lol... hence the wait
pls forgive any typos and random bs, like i said this ho is long and i cannot proofread a fourth time
i actually really do like this tho <3 had it lying around for weeks and decided now was the perfect time in honour of the end of akotsk (still sobbing) and the hotd teaser
i am taking requests so hit my inbox!! also if u js wanna thirst i love those asks too <3
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