Showing - House Of The Dragon
Staring - Aemond Targaryen X Targaryen Reader (Wife)
Rating - 15 (Mentions of Injuries / Scars / Mentions of Traumatic Injuries / Mentions of Attacks)
Reading Time - 7 min 5 sec (919)
The suite was silent, so silent that the intense wind of the storm currently attacking King’s Landing could be heard loud and clear as it echoed in the vast halls of the Red Keep. Most occupants of the castle had hunkered down in their suites, with tables full of food, fire roaring and all they would need until the storm passed. Every so often, thunder rumbled through the castle, along with the constantly pattering of raindrops on stone.
Aemond was no different in this regard; his suite deep in the castle was dimly lit, with no windows to the outside chaos, and only very few candles lighting the utter essentials. The round bed sat in the centre, ghosted with the deep green curtains of fine silk. There were a few other furnishings, two chairs by the fire and a table littered with maps and markers; anything else was used only to display the endless weapons that would make the armoury feel lacking. But there was a small dining table in the corner, set only with two chairs, a large roasted bird sitting there half-picked at, along with wine and smaller side dishes. The fire was kept low, without the need to roar and roast, but with a stockpile of logs beside it. Not a single servant was within the chamber, since he had banished them all from his one-eyed sight.
He himself sat in his favoured chair beside the fire. His long silver hair proudly flowed down, with only the front twisted into small braids and pulled back. His eye patch sat on the table, bearing his glimmering sapphire left in his socket. He wore his usual leather attire of deep forest green, but it was unlaced and unbuckled enough to reveal the tunic shirt below. In his hand, he held his goblet, occasionally sipping on the warm spiced wine.
But he was not alone; the other chair was too occupied. By his bride, Rhayella. She was barefoot, dressed in a soft green gown with golden trim, her own silver hair flowing down in a long braid. She also wore a thick golden necklace that covered much of her neck and throat. In her hands, she held her Valyrian books on history and ancient magic. She caught his eye, noticing him looking at her, so she faintly and silently smiled.
A smile crawled across his lips. He set down his wine and tapped his thigh.
She stood, keeping her book open as she crossed the room and sat happily on his thigh and went back to her book.
He smirked softly, his hand sliding up her back and over her shoulder, brushing a strand of hair from her eye and tucking it behind her ear.
She smiled, turning her head to give his cheek a small peck before she returned to her book,
“Skoro syt gaomagon ao ruaragon? (Why do you hide?)” He whispered, brushing the tip of his nose against the curve of her ear,
She raised a brow and met his eyes, “Humm?”
“Skoro syt gaomagon ao ruaragon ziry hen nyke? (Why do you hide it from me?)” He asked, pressing tender little kisses to her ear and jaw,
She did not answer,
“Nyke ȳdra daor hae ziry skori ao ruaragon ziry hen nyke. (I don't like it when you hide it from me)” He cooed as he pressed a trail down her jaw, “Iksan hae iksan lēda ao. Jaelan naejot ūndegon ao hae iksā, skori iksā lēda nyke (I am as I am with you… I want to see you as you are, when you are with me).” He told her, “Kessa? (Yes?)”
She nodded, with a gentle shiver.
But Aemond smiled, his lips moving down to brush over the thick golden necklace that concealed her neck and throat. As he kissed along the edge, he moved his hand up and unclasped the back of it, slowly peeling the thick and heavy gold from around her, baring her skin.
It was paler, of course, since it never saw the sun, much like how the space around his sapphire was always paler than the rest of his face. Across her neck were the long healed scars of dragon’s flame, causing her skin to be slightly strange in texture, and then right across her throat, the scar, it was jagged and asymmetrical from the sharp bites of dragon teeth that had left shreds of flesh, and then the maesters' sewing needle had sealed it, but never left it the same.
He knew she hated having other people see it, the scar of her horrific incident. “Sīr gevie (So Beautiful).” he cooed, gently kissing her scar,
“Ugly,” she wheezed, her voice weak and broken where it never really healed right, “Broken-”
“Perfect,” he told her, “You and I are scared and stronger for it.”
“No stronger,” she whimpered,
“Much stronger. You survived a dragon attack while still in the cradle. You are the strongest I have ever met.”
“You survive. Stronger,” she said, her hand cradling his cheek,
He scoffed, “I survived an attack from a foolish, jealous child. You defeated a violent dragon. You are far stronger than I.” He explained, taking her hand and kissing it, “With me, you don’t need to hide it.”
She faintly smiled and kissed his lips softly and tenderly,
He kissed back and cradled her on his lap, putting her book on the table beside them, “We are perfect, never for a moment doubt it.” He whispered,
“Imperfectly Perfect.”
“Imperfectly Perfect,” he agreed, before leaning in for another kiss.
The Great Hall of the Red Keep had never felt so cold, not even when the winter winds howled down from the Neck.
I. The Lady of Winter: [Reader’s] POV
The silk of my gown felt like sandpaper against my skin. I rested a hand over the heavy swell of my stomach, feeling the rhythmic kick of our second child. Beside me, our three-year-old son, Rickon, clutched my skirts, his silver-gold hair the only reminder of the man who had abandoned us for the damp stones of Harrenhal.
"My sister is not a political pawn to be discarded," my brother, Cregan Stark, boomed. His voice was the North personified—hard, unrelenting, and freezing. "Word has reached Winterfell. Aemond has taken a bed-warmer. A witch of Rivers. He has defiled the marriage bed and broken the pact."
I looked at the Iron Throne, where Aegon sat looking bored, and then at Queen Alicent, whose face was a mask of pale horror.
"The Prince is at war, Lord Cregan," Alicent managed, her voice trembling. "Rumors are the first casualty of conflict. Aemond remains a devoted husband."
"He lies!" I whispered, the words catching in my throat. I looked at my brother, my eyes pleading. "Cregan, please. I want to go home. I cannot breathe in this city of vipers and lies."
"You shall have your annulment," Cregan promised, his hand moving to the hilt of Ice. "And my nephew comes with us."
"The marriage stands!" Aegon shouted from the throne, finally finding his voice. "We do not annul royal unions based on Northern gossip."
I felt the babe kick again—a sharp, painful reminder of the blood I carried. A blood that felt more like a curse than a blessing.
II. The Prince of Shadows: Aemond’s POV
The war was a blur of dragonfire and blood, but Harrenhal was a fever dream. Alys was the balm to the burn of my responsibilities. She didn’t demand I be a King, or a husband, or a hero. She simply was.
When the tide turned—when Rhaenyra’s dragons circled the capital and the green banners fell—I expected the headsman's axe. Instead, the "Mercy of the Realm" prevailed. We were spared, confined to the Red Keep as prisoners of state.
I walked into the council chamber, my heart hammering against my ribs. I saw [Reader] standing by the window. She looked thinner, her Northern beauty sharpened by grief, her belly heavy with my child.
"You're back," she said, not looking at me.
"I am," I replied, my voice raspy. "I heard your brother's demands. He is a fool to think I would ever let you go. There was no one else, [Reader]. Harrenhal was a den of ghosts. Nothing more."
I reached for her, wanting to feel the life in her womb, but she flinched away as if my touch were dragonfire.
"You swear it?" she asked, her voice a hollow reed. "On your eye? On your dragon?"
"I swear it," I lied. The lie tasted like copper. I needed her. I needed the North. I needed the stability she represented even as I sought the chaos of the woods.
III. The Bastard of Harrenhal: Alys’s POV
The Red Keep was a grotesque place, all sharp edges and sour smells. I pushed through the guards, my hand resting protectively over my middle. The silk dress I wore was travel-stained, but it could not hide the truth.
I entered the throne room just as the Black Queen, Rhaenyra, was presiding over the "reconciliation" of her cousin and her brother.
"Aemond!" I called out.
The room went silent. I saw him turn, his one eye widening, the sapphire gleaming with a sudden, sharp terror. I saw the woman beside him—the Stark girl. She was beautiful in a way that reminded me of moonlight on snow.
"I told you I would come," I said, stepping into the light. I let my cloak fall open. My belly was high and rounded, four months of growth clear for all to see. "The child misses his father’s fire."
IV. The Breaking: [Reader’s] POV
The silence was louder than a scream.
I looked at the woman—Alys. She looked at me not with malice, but with a terrifying sort of pity. Then I looked at Aemond. The great Prince Aemond. The rider of Vhagar. He looked small. He looked like a coward caught in a snare.
"Four months," Rhaenyra said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low octave. She stood from the throne, her eyes flashing toward Daemon, who looked like he was about to burst into dark laughter. "Aemond... you swore to this council, to your mother, and to your wife that the rumors were false."
"Aemond?" Queen Alicent whispered, her face crumbling. "Tell me she is lying."
He couldn't. He just stared at Alys, then at me.
"I am leaving," I said. My voice didn't shake this time. It was as cold as the Wall. "Cregan!"
My brother stepped forward, his boots echoing on the stone. "The annulment, Your Grace. Now. Or the North marches again, and this time, we won't be coming to talk."
"Granted," Rhaenyra snapped, looking at Aemond with pure disgust. "By the Seven and the Old Gods, the marriage is dissolved. Aemond, you have dishonored your blood and your word. [Reader], you are free. Your children are yours. They are Starks in all but name if you wish it."
Aemond finally moved. He lunged toward me, grabbing my wrist. "[Reader], wait! It was the war, it was—"
"It was a choice," I spat, ripping my arm away. I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw nothing but a stranger. "You chose a witch’s bed over your son and your unborn child. You chose lies over the North."
I turned to my brother. "Take me home, Cregan. I want to see the snow. I want to forget the smell of dragons."
As I walked out of the hall, I didn't look back. Not at the Queen, not at the crying Alys, and certainly not at the Prince who had traded a kingdom for a secret in the woods. The North remembers, and I would never let myself forget.
V. The Long Road Home
The carriage jolted over the rutted tracks of the Kingsroad, every bump sent a sharp ache through my lower back. Outside the window, the lush greens of the Riverlands were slowly bleeding into the muted browns and greys of the Neck.
"We are past the Twins, sister," Cregan said softly, sitting across from me. He was cleaning a dagger, the steel catching the dim light. "The air is already changing. Can you feel it?"
I leaned my head against the velvet padding. "I can feel the silence. It’s the first time in years I haven't had to listen for the sound of wings."
Rickon was asleep, his head pillowed on my lap. He was young enough that he would forget the golden cages of King’s Landing, but old enough to ask why "Papa" wasn't coming with us. I had told him Papa had to stay with the dragons. It wasn't a lie. Aemond was more dragon than man now—hollowed out by fire and obsession.
"He tried to follow," Cregan remarked, his eyes narrowing. "His dragon circled the caravan near Lord Harroway’s Town. My archers were ready to pin his wings to the earth."
My heart gave a traitorous thud. "And?"
"He didn't descend. He watched us for an hour, a shadow in the clouds, and then he turned back toward the south. He knows, [Reader]. He knows that if he crosses the threshold of the North, he dies. Dragon or no."
I looked down at my hands. The gold wedding band was gone, thrown into the Blackwater before we crossed the city gates. I felt lighter, yet tethered by the weight of the new life beneath my heart. A child of summer heading into a world of ice.
VI. The Prince of Ruin: Aemond’s POV
The Red Keep was a tomb.
Rhaenyra had stripped me of my titles, leaving me only my dragon and my shame. I stood on the battlements of the White Sword Tower, staring North until my eye ached.
"She won't come back," a voice rasped behind me.
I didn't turn. I knew the scent of damp earth and hemlock. "You should be in your chambers, Alys. The Maesters say you need rest."
"The Maesters know nothing of the blood I carry," she said, stepping up beside me. She looked at the horizon with a vacant, knowing smile. "You look for a wolf in a snowstorm, My Prince. You will only find frostbite."
"I loved her," I whispered, the admission feeling like a confession at an altar.
"You loved the idea of her purity," Alys countered, her dark eyes reflecting the setting sun. "You loved that she was the only thing in this world you couldn't burn. So you tried to find a different fire in me. But you cannot have the hearth and the wildfire at once."
I turned on her, my hand twitching toward my sword. "I lied for you. I lost the North for you. I lost my son."
"You lost them for yourself," she said simply. She reached out, her cool fingers brushing my scarred cheek. "But you have me now. And the child. Is that not what you wanted? To be free of the Stark’s cold chains?"
I looked at her hand and felt a sudden, visceral revulsion. It wasn't Alys I hated—it was the reflection of my own weakness in her eyes. I had traded a mountain of solid stone for a handful of shifting sand.
VII. The Gates of Winter: [Reader’s] POV
The wind didn't just blow; it sang. It was a low, mournful howl that welcomed us as the massive, ancient walls of Winterfell rose out of the mist.
"We’re home, Rickon," I whispered, shaking my son awake.
He rubbed his eyes and peered out. "It’s white, Mother. Like the salt on the table."
"No, darling. That’s snow."
As the gates groaned open, the smell of woodsmoke and pine hit me, washing away the stench of King’s Landing—the rot, the incense, and the dragon-fire. My father’s bannermen stood in the courtyard, their fur cloaks heavy with rime. They didn't cheer; they simply bowed their heads in a silent, grim salute.
I stepped down from the carriage, my boots crunching on the frozen earth. For the first time in a year, the tightness in my chest vanished.
"Lady [Reader]," the Master-at-Arms called out.
"No," I corrected, looking back at the southern horizon one last time. I felt the babe kick—a strong, Northern kick. "Just [Reader] Stark. The Prince is dead. The North remains."
I walked toward the Great Hall, leaving the ghost of Aemond Targaryen in the South, where the sun was too bright and the promises were made of glass. Here, in the cold, things didn't break. They just hardened.
VIII. The Ghost in the Glass: Aemond’s POV
The moon over King’s Landing was a pale, sickly thing compared to the sapphire tucked into my socket. I sat in the darkened library of the Red Keep, a flagon of wine sat untouched beside a map of the North.
I tracked the line of the Kingsroad with a trembling finger. By now, she would be behind the walls of Winterfell. She would be sitting by a hearth that smelled of peat and cedar, surrounded by men who looked like her and shared her blood—men who would gladly put an arrow through my throat if I ever dared to fly Vhagar over their battlements.
"You are haunting yourself, Aemond."
I looked up. My mother, Alicent, stood in the doorway. She looked older, the green of her gown faded, her hands raw from picking at her cuticles.
"I am the Prince of the Realm," I said, my voice hollow. "I do not haunt. I command."
"You command nothing but a bastard’s cradle and a room full of ghosts," she snapped, walking toward me. She slapped a hand down on the map, covering the North. "I defended you. I called her brother a liar to his face because I believed my son had some shred of honor left. And you let me be humiliated before the Black Queen."
"I never asked for your defense, Mother."
"No, you asked for a Stark! You pleaded for that alliance!" she cried, her voice breaking. "And the moment you had her, you threw her away for a wood-witch. Rhaenyra looks at me with pity now. Pity, Aemond. Because my son is a perjurer and a fool."
I stood abruptly, knocking the chair back. "I am the blood of the dragon!"
"Then fly!" she challenged, leaning in. "Fly to Winterfell and see what happens. See if your dragonfire can melt the ice in her heart. She didn't even cry when she left, Aemond. That is what should haunt you. She didn't even think you were worth a single tear."
I watched her leave, the silence she left behind heavier than any shout. I looked back at the map. My mother was wrong. I didn't want to burn the North. I just wanted to go back to the moment I first saw [Reader] in the godswood, before the war, when I thought I could be a man worthy of a wolf.
IX. The Labor of Winter: [Reader’s] POV
The pains started at midnight, during a blizzard that rattled the shutters of my bedchamber.
Winterfell was hushed, save for the crackle of the fire and the low murmurs of the midwives. Cregan sat outside my door, the heavy thud of his boots a constant, comforting reminder of my protection.
"Focus, My Lady," the midwife urged. "Think of the moors. Think of the cold."
I didn't think of the cold. I thought of the warmth of Rickon’s hand in mine. I thought of the way the sun looked on the White Knife river. I refused to think of silver hair or violet eyes. I pushed every memory of the South into a dark corner of my mind and locked the door.
Hours bled into one another. When the final, agonizing surge came, I didn't scream for a husband who wasn't there. I screamed for my ancestors.
The cry that followed was high and piercing.
"A girl," the midwife whispered, wrapping the babe in thick grey wool. "A healthy, strong daughter."
She placed the child in my arms. I pulled back the blanket, my breath hitching. For a moment, terror gripped me. I expected the silver hair of the dragonlords. I expected a reminder of my shame.
But the babe had a tuft of hair as dark as a raven’s wing. She opened her eyes, and they were not violet, nor sapphire. They were the deep, stormy grey of a Stark winter.
"She has nothing of him," I whispered, tears finally blurring my vision. These were not tears of grief, but of profound, bone-deep relief. "She is all mine."
"What is her name?" Cregan asked, stepping into the room, his face softening as he looked at his niece.
"Lyanna," I said firmly. "Lyanna Stark."
X. The Bitter Harvest: Alys’s POV
I watched the flames in the hearth of the Queen’s chambers, though I was no longer a guest of honor. I was a curiosity. A prisoner with a gilded belly.
I saw it in the embers. A wall of ice. A dark-haired babe. A woman standing on a balcony of stone, looking out over a kingdom that would never belong to the Targaryens.
I felt a sharp cramp in my womb and gasped, clutching the table.
"Is it time?" a handmaiden asked, hurrying over.
"No," I hissed, the vision fading into ash. "It is the shift in the wind."
I looked out the window toward the North. I had Aemond's body. I had his bed. I had the promise of his child. But I had seen the truth in the fire. He was a man divided, his soul anchored in a place he could never return to.
Every time he looked at me, he was looking for her. Every time he touched my stomach, he was wondering about the child who would never know his face.
I had won the Prince, but I had lost the war.
XI. The Long Memory: [Reader’s] POV
A year had passed since I fled the Red Keep.
I stood on the battlements of Winterfell, wrapped in a cloak of heavy sable. Below, in the courtyard, Rickon was "fighting" a straw dummy with a wooden sword, cheered on by my brother’s men. Lyanna was tucked into a sling against my chest, her small heart beating against mine.
A raven had arrived that morning from King’s Landing. Cregan had read it and then tossed it into the fire, but he told me the contents anyway. Alys Rivers had given birth to a son. Aemond had named him a Prince, but Rhaenyra had refused to legitimize him. The Greens and the Blacks were still bickering over the scraps of a broken dynasty.
"Do you regret it?" Cregan asked, appearing at my side. "You could have been a Queen, eventually. You could have had the Iron Throne."
I looked at the vast, white expanse of my home. I looked at my children—safe, loved, and far from the reach of sapphire eyes and dragonfire.
"The Iron Throne is a chair made of dead men’s swords, Cregan," I said, leaning my head against his shoulder. "I would rather have a seat by a Northern fire than a thousand thrones in the South."
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of coming snow. I closed my eyes and breathed it in. For the first time in my life, I was not a pawn, a wife, or a victim.
I was a Stark of Winterfell. And the winter had finally come to set me free.
XII. The Sapphire’s Edge: Aemond’s POV
The Red Keep felt like a cage of warm, stagnant air. Every corridor echoed with the ghosts of the family I had helped dismantle. Aegon sat in his cups, a shadow of the king he was meant to be, and Rhaenyra ruled with a cold, distant efficiency that made the halls feel like a funeral pyre.
I spent my days at the Dragonpit, the only place where the air felt honest. Vhagar sensed my restlessness; she would roar at the clouds, her massive wings kicking up dust that choked the keepers.
"You're thinking of the Wall again," Alys said, appearing at the mouth of the pit. She held our son—a boy with the Targaryen silver hair, but eyes that held the unsettling depth of the woods.
"I am thinking of a debt unpaid," I replied, not looking at her.
"You have a son here, Aemond. A legacy."
"I have a son in the North who has forgotten my name," I snapped, finally turning to her. "And a daughter I have never seen. A daughter who, the ravens say, carries no mark of me at all."
The news of Lyanna’s birth had been a blow I hadn't expected. I had prayed for a dragon, something to tether her to me, but the reports said the girl was a "True Stark." Dark of hair, grey of eye. It was as if [Reader]’s body had purged every trace of my influence.
"She has erased you," Alys whispered, her voice a cruel caress. "In the North, you are not a Prince. You are a bad dream they had during a long winter."
I pushed past her, my boots ringing on the stone. I needed the sky. I needed to see the world from a height where the borders of the North looked like something I could still cross. But even as I mounted Vhagar, I knew the truth: some distances cannot be closed by wings.
XIII. The Wolf’s Shadow: [Reader’s] POV
Two years of peace had hardened me. My hands, once soft from King's Landing silks, were now calloused from riding and the cold. Rickon was five now, a miniature of Cregan, though he had his father’s height. Lyanna was a toddler of two, fierce and silent, a true wolf pup.
We were in the Godswood, the red leaves of the Weirwood tree reflecting in the black water of the pool.
"Mother, why does that tree have a face?" Lyanna asked, her voice small but steady.
"To watch over us," I said, smoothing her dark curls. "To remember the things we might forget."
"Does it remember Papa?" Rickon asked. He asked less often now, but the question still carried a sting.
"The trees remember everything, Rickon. But they also know when something is gone for good."
A sudden shadow passed over the sun. The birds in the trees went silent. It wasn't the shadow of a cloud—it was too fast, too jagged. My heart climbed into my throat. The last time I had felt that shift in the air, I was watching a city burn.
"Into the tunnels," I whispered, my voice sharp. "Rickon, take your sister’s hand. Run to the Great Hall. Find your uncle. Now!"
I didn't wait to see them move. I stood my ground as a low, guttural vibration shook the very earth of the Godswood. From behind the treeline, a massive, leathery shape descended. Vhagar.
She didn't land in the courtyard; she was too large. She perched on the outer walls, her weight causing the ancient stone to groan. And there, atop the saddle, was the silhouette of the man I had once called husband.
XIV. The Parley of Ice
I stood at the edge of the pool, my hand resting on the hilt of a small dagger at my waist. I felt no fear—only a cold, crystalline fury.
Aemond descended from the wall, using the jagged stones like a ladder. He walked into the Godswood, his blue cloak fluttering in the wind. He looked out of place here. His silver hair was too bright against the grey bark; his sapphire eye too artificial against the natural world.
"You shouldn't be here," I said, my voice carrying through the stillness. "My brother’s archers have their sights on your heart."
"Let them shoot," Aemond said. He stopped ten paces away. He looked haggard, his face thinner than I remembered. "I didn't come to burn, [Reader]."
"Then why? To see the damage you did?"
"To see my children."
"They aren't yours," I said, the words like falling ice. "You gave up your right to them when you lied to the Gods and your King. You gave it up when you chose Harrenhal."
Aemond’s eye twitched. "I am their father. No decree from a Black Queen can change the blood in their veins."
"Blood is just a liquid, Aemond. Loyalty is what makes a father. Rickon calls Cregan 'Lord' and the Master-at-Arms 'Teacher.' He has no word for you."
He took a step forward, his hand reaching out as if to touch the air between us. "I see her. On the battlements. The girl. She looks like you."
"She is a Stark," I said. "And she will grow up knowing that the men of the South are as fickle as the weather. Go home, Aemond. Go back to your witch and your bastard. There is nothing for you here but the cold."
"I am a Prince of the Realm!" he suddenly roared, the sound echoing off the walls. Vhagar let out a sympathetic growl from the ramparts. "I could take them! I could take you all and fly back to the Capital!"
"You could," I agreed, stepping closer to him, my eyes fixed on his. "You could burn this home to ash. You could drag us back in chains. But you would be ruling over a grave. You would look into my eyes every night and see only your own failure. Is that the life you want, Aemond? To be a jailer to those you claim to love?"
He froze. The fire in his eye flickered and died, leaving only a hollow, aching loneliness. He looked at the Weirwood tree, at the bleeding red eyes of the carved face.
"I was happy once," he whispered, so low I almost didn't hear him. "In the beginning. Before the war. Before I became... this."
"That man died at Harrenhal," I said softly. "The man I married is gone. Please. Just let us be."
He stood there for a long time, the wind whipping his hair into a silver frenzy. Finally, he gave a single, stiff nod. He didn't say goodbye. He turned and walked back toward the wall, his movements slow, like an old man carrying a heavy burden.
I watched as Vhagar took to the skies, her massive wings creating a localized storm of snow and dirt. I watched until she was nothing more than a speck against the grey sky, heading South.
I stayed in the Godswood until the sun went down. I knelt by the pool and washed my face in the freezing water. I felt the last lingering tether to the Targaryens snap.
The South was a land of fire and fever, but the North was a land of silence and survival. As the first stars began to twinkle over the towers of Winterfell, I knew I had made the right choice.
Aemond Targaryen had his dragon. He had his throne. But I had the winter. And the winter always lasts longer than the flame.
XV. The Final Ember: Aemond’s POV
The flight back to King’s Landing was a descent into a different kind of hell. The air grew thicker, heavier, and smelled of the salt and rot of the Blackwater. Vhagar flew low, her ancient heart beating a slow, weary rhythm against the saddle.
When I landed at the Dragonpit, I didn't wait for the keepers. I didn't wait for Alys. I walked straight to the Red Keep, my spurs echoing like a death knell on the stones.
I found my brother, Aegon, sitting in the gardens. He was watching his own children play—the ones he had left, at least. He looked up at me, his eyes clouded with wine.
"You look like you've seen a ghost, brother," Aegon muttered, offering a half-filled cup.
"I have," I said, looking at the sky. "I went to the North."
Aegon let out a sharp, dry laugh. "And? Did she fall at your feet? Did the wolves howl for their Prince?"
"She looked at me as if I were a stain on the snow," I replied. I felt the weight of the sapphire in my eye, a heavy, useless jewel. "She has a daughter, Aegon. Dark hair. Grey eyes. She looks like a Stark. She looks like peace."
I looked at my brother, really looked at him. We were the remnants of a dying fire, clinging to a throne that had cost us everything we actually wanted.
"I'm going to Harrenhal," I said suddenly.
"To the witch?"
"No," I said, thinking of the cold, clear eyes of my wife—my former wife. "To the ruins. To be among the things that are already broken. It's the only place I belong."
XVI. The Hearth of the Wolf: [Reader’s] POV
The Great Hall of Winterfell was filled with the sound of laughter and the smell of roasted venison. Cregan was at the head of the table, presiding over his lords with the effortless authority of a man who knew exactly who he was.
I sat beside him, Rickon on my left and Lyanna in a small high-chair on my right.
"He's gone, isn't he?" Cregan asked quietly, leaning toward me. "The dragon in the sky."
"He's gone," I confirmed. I reached out and took a piece of bread, my hand steady. "He won't be back. He finally understood that you cannot force the North to bloom in the summer if it's meant for the winter."
Cregan smiled—a rare, genuine thing. "You've grown hard, little sister."
"I've grown wise, brother. There is a difference."
I looked down at Lyanna. She was reaching for a silver spoon, her tiny fingers grasping it firmly. She looked so much like the statues in the crypts—the ancient queens of winter who had survived famines, wars, and kings.
I felt a strange sense of gratitude. Aemond had given me two things before he destroyed our life: he had given me my children, and he had given me the strength to realize I didn't need him to protect them.
XVII. The Silence of the Godswood
Later that night, after the children were tucked under thick furs, I returned to the Godswood alone. The blizzard had passed, leaving the world encased in a shimmering layer of frost.
I walked to the heart tree and placed my hand on the cold, white bark.
"Thank you," I whispered to the Old Gods.
I thought of Alys Rivers, trapped in a palace of secrets with a man who would never truly love her. I thought of Rhaenyra, sitting on a throne of swords that would eventually cut her. And I thought of Aemond, a prince of nothing, chasing shadows in the ruins of a cursed castle.
I was the daughter of the North. I was the mother of wolves.
As I turned to walk back to the warmth of the castle, a single snowflake fell onto my cheek. It didn't melt right away. It stayed there, a tiny, perfect crystal.
I was no longer the girl who was forced to marry a prince for an alliance. I was the woman who had survived him.
The Dance of Dragons was over. The songs would tell of the fire and the blood, the betrayals and the kings. But they wouldn't tell the story of the wolf who walked away from the flame and found her soul in the ice.
And that was exactly how I wanted it. Some truths were not meant for songs; they were meant to be kept in the silence of the snow.
Summary: Promised to him to bridge what was broken by blood, the years honed Aemond’s perception of his niece into something twisted and unrecognisable, a symbol of everything he was owed, and everything he was denied. | word count: 9.5k~ | warnings: incest, canon divergence, smut, betrayal, dubious consent, character death, loss of virginity
A/N: for @hotd-bigbang prompt fest 2025! My prompts were "I offered peace. You asked for war." & "I never could stay away. We always seem to find one another." Heavily inspired by Tempest by Ethel Cain. Thank you to @emilykaldwen and @ewanmitchellcrumbs for organising the event as always!
When the news of her birth hit Kings Landing, the music lasted for days.
Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Realm's Delight, daughter of Viserys the Peaceful, had given birth to a baby girl after much speculation she was only able to produce boys. Not that Laenor Velaryon would have minded either way, he was much used to girlish behaviour from a childhood with his dear sister.
Her parents were more relieved than elated with her birth. At a mere few moons, the Princess had panicked, feeling the familiar sensation of thick blood between her thighs, one she usually associated with her monthly courses. But when with child, the Princess raged with anxiety and panic, and the maesters confirmed to her that the child was indeed not harmed. But she dare not believe it until her child was alive and well in her arms.
She was a babe of small weight, hands curled into fists as if she inherited her mother's deep fight against this world, and everyone within it. Cherub-cheeked and kicking like a goat, she was a bright, clear-eyed child with a coo that would melt hearts beyond Winterfell.
She was dubbed, the Realm's Grace.
And from the moment she was bought into this world, Aemond had been taught to instinctively hate her.
The chasm of personalities that had formed only grew with time. Where Aemond was perceived as stubborn and difficult, if she displayed the same difficulties, she bore a punishment that he thought significantly lighter than his. Or in some cases, no punishment at all.
It wasn't at all fair. These brown haired bastards swan about the place as if the Realm does not see their deceit upon their faces. Their features ghosting those of Ser Harwin Strong.
She did not bully as harshly as her brothers did. In light pushes and harmful jeers. Her role in Aemond's utter misery was much more passive. She did not interrupt when her brothers called him names. She did not interfere when they pushed him. And when they presented him with a pig they dubbed The Pink Dread as his mighty dragon, she stayed silent.
As intelligent as Aemond had been as a child, he could not identify this behaviour as any different than what Jace and Luke were already doing. Her silence was perceived rather as an insistence that this behaviour was not incorrect.
He did not see the furrow of her sad brunette brows, nor the clenched fists from the sidelines. As a mere girl in this life, she felt her influence was small, but with the knowledge of what she truly was, even lesser still.
It was no secret her father was the Commander of the City Watch. Had he a sister, she would have bore striking resemblance. She loved Laenor Velaryon as if he were her own blood father, but every time she saw Ser Strong with Jace and Luke in the training yard, she felt her heart waver slightly. There was no occasion where their paths would truly cross in her daily life, and yet, whenever the Commander had a spare moment, he would visit.
It was sparse, their meetings short, but it was enough.
It was like a secret both knew but could not say aloud. She wanted to say, I wish I could call you Father. And, the truth is plain and clear for all to see, why must I hide our meetings that mean so much to me?
All that, and he had still been sent away. She remembers standing beside her mother as he said his goodbyes, how he had termed her affectionately 'my little light'. And how he had met her mother's eyes, praying to be able to hold her, but could not.
Aemond could not find it in his heart to care. From his perspective, where she had the luxury of two fathers, he barely had one who had the decency to remember him. And where he found such a figure in Criston Cole, he was also strict, and took no mistake twice.
In time, the hatred Aemond bore for his brunette cousins was no longer something taught, it was something earned. Each of them boasted a dragon, as if the gods themselves had overlooked the insult of their existence. Bastards, plain in face and blood, parading about with the birthright he had been denied. It shamed him. How could it be fair that they, the stain upon the Valyrian line, were gifted what should have been his by right?
Sneaking into the dragonpit to glimpse upon the great, beautiful beast his own sister possessed, was not enough. Dreamfyre had more often than not grumbled with displeasure at his arrival and disturbing her peace. On more than one occasion, Aemond's hair had singed at the ends, his cheeks soot-streaked, from prodding the poor thing too ceaselessly.
Her dragon was much more forgiving. Smaller, one that had nested in her cradle when she was a babe. It didn't boast the same great wings and thunderous roar as the other fully grown dragons, but that was not to say it was not simply beautiful. It was tender in the way her brother’s own dragons were not, purring like a cat and nuzzling its snout against her cheek as if it were one half of her.
Aemond had approached cautiously one afternoon, noting the glinting pale green scales that adorned its body and tail, glimmering against the light of the torch he carried in one hand. He stopped dead as the beast raised its head, a surprised and curious squeak when it saw a small person that was not the one it was bonded to. He expected its eyes to blaze, its teeth to bare and that great mouth to open wide for the threat of flames to pour forth. But there was nothing. It sniffed like a dog, its tail whipping in excitement. And it was the only moment Aemond felt his lips twitch, and his heart flourish.
She must have known of their secret meetings, but if she did, she or her family did not say a thing.
He thought perhaps one day, he could have a dragon of his own, claim one, for this one that was hers had showed an uncanny kindness and willingness. It stoked the fire of courage and bravery in the young boy’s soul. He would have one. One day.
But then, she left. No warning, no notice. Her mother had whisked her away to Dragonstone as quickly as writing a letter. Their dragons took to the skies like living stars, and Aemond watched from a high window of the Red Keep, jaw clenched, heart tight, as her green-scaled beast disappeared into the clouds.
She didn’t say goodbye.
He would’ve pretended he didn’t care.
Ser Harwin Strong and his father perished not long after, at Harrenhal. He pictured her at Dragonstone, the way she might have sobbed, not for Ser Laenor, but for him. The man who had been her true father. He imagined her face red with tears, her voice broken, her hands shaking. And for reasons he couldn’t quite name, he hoped she was upset, purely so it could be proven that the Realm’s Grace could be bested sometimes too. By something as mortal as sheer emotion.
It was only at the funeral of Laena Velaryon that he saw her once again. Driftmark. A place he and his family had visited somewhat rarely, even more so given the poor health of his father. It had the aura of a realm where children had no place. It was not the occasion to quibble, quarrel, play nor grieve openly. Only Laenor, displayed such grief.
She had been stuck at Helaena’s side all afternoon, watching with disinterest as his wayward sister scooped a spider into her palm, lips moving with barely a whisper ushered out. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face, hands clasped, cheeks pinkened as if she had been crying before but her mother had instructed her to stop. This was not Harwin Strong’s funeral after all.
Aemond does not remember that night as a child. But a man. Or the occasion he became one. That first flight on the back of Vhagar sings in his dreams for years to come. The searing wind through his clothes, the salt in his hair, the rumble of his own great beast beneath the saddle that easily swallowed his small frame. He would have liked to see the shocked expression on each one of those bastard’s faces as he glided through the night sky on the back of his mighty she-dragon. The epitome of war herself.
Instead he was greeted with the disgust of his other cousins, flanked then by the bastards themselves. The young girls’ faces were stricken by grief at their mother’s death, and anger that Aemond had the gall to claim what Rhaena thought her right so soon after. His eyes flickered to his niece in the shadows, holding Lucerys by the shoulders back against her, as if she had been placed in charge of looking after him tonight. She shook her head, sensing a standoff, or at the very most, violence. One she did not wish to see but soon would.
The voices were shrill. Furious.
“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon! She was mine to claim!”
And Aemond was unsure who was the first to strike. Claiming that great beast was the pride of his life, and in his mind, he deserved a little gloating. But his smugness had instead earned him a small fist against his cheek. Kicks. Pushing. Rhaena followed, and then Jace. His niece held Luke back, though he thrashed against her, wanting desperately to be involved. She held him tight, as one would a wild animal on a lead.
“Stay back,” she hissed. “You’re too young, you’ll make it worse–”
He struggled in her hold, frustrated, eager to defend his brother.
“Let me go!”
“No, Lucerys. Just listen to me.”
One of her cousins cried out, Baela or Rhaena first she was not sure. It was a sharp, startled cry of pain. And her head snapped towards the sound. Without thinking, she let go of Luke and dropped to her knees beside Baela, inspecting her quickly for real harm, as if she in fact were the eldest child and not the hot-headed Jace.
“Are you alright? Let me see–”
That was when it happened. A flash of silver. A cry. A spray of red. Aemond’s scream split the night.
She turned just in time to see him stagger back, blood pouring from his face, hand clutching at the ruin where his eye had once been. Lucerys stood frozen, knife trembling in his small hands, face pale with the horror of what he’d done.
“What did you do?!” she shouted, rushing forward, grabbing Luke by the shoulders and shaking him. “You stupid child! What have you done?!”
Luke was panicked now, stammering something about being scared, about Aemond lunging, calling them bastards. But she wasn’t listening. She was looking at Aemond. Blood streamed through his fingers. It was Ser Westerling that came to the young boy’s side to assist him. Not her. And the only thing Aemond could think at the time was, a bastard’s loyalty is and always will be with her savage kin.
It was the only word he knew to describe them. The dark haired brood of his whore sister. It was all he was fed, in small pieces of poison. Aemond had forgotten over his formative years tainted by the loss of his eye what she had in fact looked like. Every spar of his sword against his teacher marked another memory of her lost to time. What colour her eyes gleamed when she was saddened. What hue her cheeks warmed to when she was embarrassed and ashamed. How her inky curls tangled when she was not yet pestered by the ones who looked after her to make herself presentable.
Rhaenyra had refused. Then faltered. But it was Laenor who steadfastly opposed the match. He would not see his daughter shackled to the boy who now bore the scar of her brother’s blade. Weary of war before it began, her mother saw only one path forward. The union was a threadbare attempt to mend what had been torn.
And so a betrothal was struck like a bargain. Not in joy or love. But in the grim hope that hatred might be less of a fire if fed with familiar flesh.
Each small moment, Aemond swiftly forgot her. He favoured the lightness and sure aim of a blade, how it made him feel empowered. For some reason, a feeling that claiming the largest dragon in the world did not give him. Power after all meant being able to best enemies, even if they possessed long, sweeping eyelashes and the soft, lilting voice of a woman who thought herself above her true station.
His body became his weapon, one he honed with as much discipline and stubbornness as he held his views, rightly or wrongly. Chest strong, arms able and feet swift, he would meet no man who could outsmart, outrun or even outskill him.
Aemond first spotted his brunet nephews, slack jawed in awe, watching him train. They were not difficult whatsoever to spot, save for the whisperings of mild slander that seemed to warp around them. Jace was ever over-sure of himself, attempting to stand as tall as he could without reaching those lofty heights. He seemed caught between manhood and boyhood, hair long but unkempt, too straight. Still trying to dodge his true heritage.
Luke could not be so lucky.
And neither could she.
At first he admits, he did not spot her amongst the onlookers, she looked as plain as the rest of them stood there, if not for her fine dress and the jewels sat at her collarbone and braided through her dark hair. She must have felt as much hate in one eye of his as he could have mustered in two, because the second her clear eyes clocked on to her estranged uncle, she straightened, her throat bobbed and she lifted her chin as if to show him she was as ruthless as her whore mother. Aemond's first instinct was to laugh, but only managed a smirk. The next instinct was stronger ever still, one he had felt scarcely between the fucking of whores on the Street of Silk. A stirring that no doubt would have frightened the poor thing.
She was betrothed to him, was she not? Promised to him to bridge what chasm her silly brother had created in the loss of his eye. She was his. By right. By law. When it came to it, would she play the maiden, blush and writhe and clutch at his back? Or would she fight him, her stark eyes blaring back in warning, kicking to retain whatever nobility she clings to?
Aemond remained unsure which he yearned for the most. There was pleasure in both.
Nothing had been said about a wedding. Perhaps this farce to prove Luke's legitimacy to be the damned Lord of the Tides was the perfect opportunity.
Would he be cruel to her? Perhaps not at first. Perhaps he would be cold, distant. He would not beg for what he was owed. He would wait. Watch. Let her feel the absence before she ever felt the heat. And when she came to him, because she would, eventually, he would not be gentle. He would not kiss away old wounds like some dream-like knight. He would mark new ones.
Perhaps soon would be the moment. Let them bicker about the young bastard lordling's claim to the tides. He would claim something far more valuable.
Vaemond Velaryon’s voice rang through the hall like a blade unsheathed. "Her children are bastards. And she is a whore."
The sword came down in one clean arc. Vaemond’s head hit the floor with a wet, ugly sound, mouth twisted where steel had sliced through his jaw. Blood sprayed across the stone like spilled ink. Aemond stepped back once, one hand hovering beside Helaena as his sweet sister covered her ears and averted her eyes at the horror laid bare before them all. It was not a flinch, but he did glance up.
There she stood, the Realm's Grace. He had expected shock. A trembling hand, a gasp, even a step back. Some sign of revulsion. But she stood utterly still. Her face, pale and composed, betrayed nothing. Not fear. Not pity. Not even disgust. She stared at the headless body of Vaemond Velaryon as if it were simply the consequence of his own arrogance.
He had thought, for a long time, that she was soft. Tolerant. All grace and no fire. A loyal daughter, a dutiful betrothal, a quiet political olive branch meant to calm his mother’s fury. But now? Now he wondered.Perhaps she is as ruthless as I.
Though as much as he would like to deny she was in fact half fire, now he could see it for himself. A stoicism spawned not from Hightower pragmatism and perhaps over-ambition, but instead from the hunger of a dragon's heir. She did not look at him, as if he were not worth the effort of it all now.
Vaemond uttering that famous word would not be the only time they would all hear it either. It was heard twice in as many days, although Aemond had the decency to merely imply it over a cup of wine, this time, but the sweetness of it did not round her sharp edges.
He enjoyed watching her leave. Lips sealed shit to forbid what ought to come out. Every soul at the table watched her. As was he. A shame, he thought, he'd rather hoped to see her use the fork she'd had sealed in her grip for the last hour finally used.
The moment her door opened to plant her eyes upon his face she had attempted to close it hastily, but Aemond's hand was already pushing it back, and thus her further into the room. She had unravelled her braids, dark, wavy hair spilling over her shoulders and down her back, all finery stripped. All that remained of her was an ivory shift that allowed him to peer ever so slightly into the silhouette of her body beneath. She stepped back, her face stoic, but her lips parted in brief panic as he pushed the door shut once he'd crossed the threshold. Her breasts pressed against the strained fabric at her chest, betraying how fearful she truly felt.
"Have you not shamed this family enough with your behaviour."
Her voice. He hadn't heard it until this moment. It was not the shrill, flat tone she had in childhood, one deepened with age. And equally one that drove stake pressed in his chest even deeper, his exterior cracking with every moment he stared at his niece.
"You fled," he replied, low. Like a deer in sight of a wolf.
She clenched her fist, "you did as you always do. Took. Because you think you are owed."
Aemond smirked, but there was little humour in it, "I am owed."
The expression on his face made her heart stop in her chest, the colour drained from her cheeks, and her otherwise firmly planted feet broke free of their roots to step back, away from the looming darkness that surrounded her estranged uncle and his obsessive gaze.
"This is delusion," it came out a whisper between her lips. She had not meant to.
He followed her step, careful, "you fear me now?"
"I pity you," she shot back, "you mistake this for power? This?"
"No," his voice was calm, that unnerved her much further. He was perfectly serious, not even blurred from sinking into cups. "This is a debt to finally be paid."
"You are not owed me."
He lunged for her and she wrenched back, turning to flee around the bed frame. For a moment he took pleasure in the chase, watching her wide and careful eyes glance at the door as if he could not see her. Such a small room as this, he was faster, always faster. And when she finally made a run for the door, he caught her by the arm, spun her and slammed her back against the cold stone wall. Her breath escaped in a gasp, and he pressed in close, the back of her head aching where he had pushed too hard.
He leaned in close, his breath a whisper against her face as she tried to turn away, "you are mine. By pact. By promise. By right."
Her hands pushed at his chest, struggling. But his body was flush to hers, a wall of fury and fire. Aemond could not ignore the invite of her flesh to him, breasts pressed against his leather doublet so close he could touch.
"You are nothing to me," she countered, her voice wavering with the struggle.
"Liar."
"I hate you."
He adored the way her eyes flashed with hatred like that. "You have made that perfectly clear."
"As have you. And I mean it."
“Do you?” he asked. “Or do you just wish you could?”
Her nails dug into the leather of his doublet, but she didn’t pull away. Her body was tense, burning, pressed so tightly to his she could feel the uneven rise of his chest, the hard line of his muscles beneath the fabric, the heat of his skin. He saw the flicker in her eyes, the confusion, the fury, the ache.
He hated it. Hated her. No, he didn't.
"A bastard," he spat, voice turning venomous, words clinging to spite just to steady himself. “Born of lies. An insult to everything Valyrian—”
“—as you so often kindly remind me."
"And I have every right," he interrupts, "every right to hate everything that you are. Your blood, your name, you…"
For one breath, one blistering second, he nearly said what neither of them had dared speak aloud. He did not. Thought better of it. She was to be his wife one day. A match forged to bridge the chasm her brother carved into his face all those years ago. A living apology. One Aemond was unsure he entirely wanted to forgive.
Aemond’s hand shot to the back of her neck, pulling her in, his mouth crashing against hers. It wasn’t a kiss. Not at first. It was a punishment.
She hit his chest. Struggled. Then grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, their mouths parting with a violent breath.
“I hate you,” she said again, voice wrecked. And then she kissed him. No more words. If Aemond would not stop until he took what he wanted now, something that would be his when the union came around, then so be it. Let this be a consummation of hatred rather than a marriage. Let him believe he has taken the valuable parts of her, the only ones that matter. Let him be tortured by her image.
Hands fumbled. Garments were half-ripped, half-torn, as they collided like storm and flame, mouths bruising, bodies grappling for dominance. She bit his lip. He grabbed her hips. She shoved him, and he dragged her down with him to the bed.
Every movement was clashing steel, every breath a battle. This was not love. This was not peace. This was war, the one they'd been circling their entire lives. With the rain pounding the stone and the heat of their loathing searing through their skin, they burned, unforgiven.
He pressed her down into the sheet, the cotton forming around her body with the weight of him. His hand clamped around one breast too tightly and she whined out, back arching into the painful grasp of him. His touch was greedy, as though he were performing to prove himself a man. And she in turn gave him no softness, so surrender, just that firm, halting look as she parted her legs around him, fingernails rooting into his bare arms.
It hurt. Of course it would. She was a maiden, and Aemond had no patience for gentleness. He watched her face as he took her, waiting for weakness, for regret. But there was none. Only fury and the sting of betrayal, the bitter acceptance that this had always been coming.
She bit down on a curse as he pushed into her, the sharp edge of pain tempered only by the heat flooding through her limbs. He didn’t pause. He didn’t ask. But when the pain slowly ebbed away and a womb-like embrace enveloped her body with the union of their bodies, hips bruising against hers, she met him halfway each time, refusing to allow him to think this was a conquering.
She hated him, she repeated the mantra in her head as best she could despite the dizzying sensation of Aemond's piercing thrusts.
She hated him. Or had said she did. And when he gripped her wrists and pinned them above her head, whispering her name like a sin, she stared back at him through her teeth and swore she’d never forgive this. But she didn’t stop him. Not once.
Not when he buried himself deeper. Not when her body betrayed her and burned for him. Not even when her body convulsed beneath him at the weight of her hatred and lust flaming as one, and Aemond spilled inside her, branding the sin into her body.
A flash of lightning stole her attention as Aemond curled around her, his face buried in her neck as his cock softened inside her. She watched for a moment, the sting of pain slipping away as she parted her lips in a small smile at the crack of thunder that shook the very walls of the Keep, not unlike the fierce lovemaking borne of their mutual loathing of one another. The dark sky flickered before her, and she found herself thinking of what Blackwater Bay would look like, here. What Dragonstone would look like.
The storm had not passed. Even now, with her body thrumming, her blood still angry, her skin still warm from the heat of him, the storm calmed her. It always had. At Dragonstone, when the weather turned black and wild, Laenor had taken them to the balconies, bundled in thick cloaks, their cheeks red from wind, their eyes wide with wonder.
“Look how the sea dances,” he used to say, laughing as the waves leapt like beasts below them. “The sky is envious. Wants to touch the sea again.”
She remembered clutching the railing with small hands, the storm whipping her hair back, her heart thundering in joy rather than fear.
Now she was changed, or felt so. Claimed, but not comforted. Possessed, but not protected. She looked back above her as Aemond righted himself, his chest slick with the effort of their battle. The hair that was tucked beneath his eyepatch had become tangled, and the lengths of it had come together from the heat of his body. He looked like a Valyrian god, like a villain, and she was unsure if it was something she should fear. For a moment, neither said a thing.
He turned first, hurried in the manner he dressed once again. As if he could outrun what had just occurred against what he felt in his chest. The worst was that he had wanted her, a bastard, his niece he had resorted to hate for the rest of his life. A torturing presence forever to exist in his marriage to her. He would have been happy to fuck her every now and then, to go out and fuck whores to take the ache of not desiring her away from him.
But this, this made him sick. And when he turned his head to glance at her, she sat up, her waved, dark hair tousled from his touch. And he shook his head. How could he have wanted her. His lips pursed into a scowl, mirroring the torment on her face at the sheer shamelessness on his face to loathe her when he had taken what he had.
He looked down at her, dishevelled, bare, still curled in the sheets, eyes like cold flame. Something in him whispered, beautiful.
"I abhor you," she whispered.
Good.
“No need,” he said. “I have enough in me for both of us.”
He meant it. For wanting to reach out and smooth the hair from her face, just to feel something close to mercy. Something vaguely close to what a man should feel for someone he held so dear.
But he didn’t. Aemond turned. The door slammed behind him, and the storm kept raging.
By morning, she was gone, whisked away in the middle of the night. Aemond was not informed. It flitted by as information as he broke his fast.
A servant mentioned the departure like it was nothing. “Princess Rhaenyra’s party returned to Dragonstone before dawn,” they said. “The Lady—”
His cup shattered in his hand. He didn’t hear the rest. He didn’t ask questions. He simply stood, blood dripping from his palm, face carved in stone.
The whore Rhaenyra stole her away. Again.
Of course she did. Of course the usurper, the lying traitor, the mother of bastards, had known. Somehow, she knew. Knew they had lain together. That he had claimed what had been promised. That her precious daughter, her quiet little pawn, had finally bent to the flame.
There was no crime in it, he thought bitterly. She was promised to him. His in all but name. What happened the night before was only a hastening of what was to come. A fulfilment of his duty, nothing more. Best to get it done and out of the way. And yet the chasm her presence had left behind felt somewhat haunted, not unlike the calm expression her face softened to when she looked out to the storm, as if she could feel the weight of the waters pressing against her body and lulling her to sleep.
There was a charged air to the Keep that morning. One that churned unease and unnerve straight into Aemond's chest. The servants were light on their feet between darkened doorways, panicked somewhat, though none of their whispers could be made out in any sense of truth or clarity. His body still thrummed with the memory of his niece the night before, how he had formed her body into the sheets with his weight, how it felt to plunge himself into sin herself.
It was only the summons that came from his mother that seemed to dull that sharp appetite he had for more. He passed his grandfather on the way there, but neither said a word, and when he glanced upon his pale sister and his weary mother sat on the chaise, an uncomfortable feeling between them, he knew it right away.
His mother need not have said anything. The inference was clear enough. Why else would his otherwise emotionally absent mother track all her children down into one room. She did not weep, at least not in their presence. Hightowers never had the luxury of open grief.
His father, the King, was dead. He knew as much.
And Aegon, was to be next. Even if the bastard was half-mad and wholly uninterested. Even if he could barely hold his wine. Even if he didn’t want it.
Aemond clenched his jaw at the thought. His brother, that fool, with no ambition but a cock, who had sired bastards in Flea Bottom and only now remembered he had heirs. Aemond had spent his life in shadow, in silence, in suffering, and yet it would be Aegon who sat the Iron Throne. Undeserving.
He did not realise his mother had such deceit in her. Rigid in her faith, and valuing truth and law before all else. But she was never dark. Not like Daemon or Rhaenyra, not even as scheming as her own father. Perhaps he had too much thought for the matter. Perhaps it was not darkness. Perhaps it was sheer, deliberate stupidity, the kind that wrapped itself in righteousness and called it duty. Right or wrong, she had done so, Aegon was crowned, and the gears began to turn without any sign of stopping. Only when the bones of all those who dared stand in their way might grind them to a halt.
Barely a matter of days had passed before the fist of Aegon's new reign had discovered the second son. Aemond would doubt his father's body was cold yet before he was summoned to the Small Council, but his brother was not present. Sat at the head, speaking for his King on his behalf, was his grandfather, the Hand, flanked by his mother and other Lords alike.
Otto's voice was like it was when he had heavy thoughts. “To secure the Stormlands’ support, a new match should be made. Lord Borros has four daughters. A Baratheon union would bring strength to Aegon’s reign.”
It did not take Aemond but a moment to understand that he did not mean Daeron. It was him who had been summoned, not his younger brother.
"I am already betrothed."
Silence followed. Then murmurs. Lord Jasper Wylde shifted, his heavy clothing rustling as he turned slightly towards him.
"I am afraid there has been some confusion, My Prince. The betrothal to the Princess was never lawfully confirmed. Rhaenyra offered her daughter as a gesture of goodwill. But no formal contract was drafted nor signed. It is worth mentioning there are…questions of course regarding her—”
Otto cleared his throat, sharply. The word bastard hung in the air like smoke, never spoken, never needed. Wylde inclined his head and said nothing more.
Tyland offered, "there are more suitable matches. The Baratheons are loyal, but cautious, an alliance there would strengthen the King’s forces."
Aemond's eye flicked to Alicent. His mother met his gaze, soft-voiced, reassuring.
"There is no need to cling to such duty, Aemond," she said, "a union offered in desperation, a balm, rather than an advantageous one."
It should have been a relief. But something twisted in his gut. Had he ever wanted the union? Truthfully, he thought not. Not even when he shared her bed that fateful evening, and their bodies joined in a way that could only be sanctified with a marriage before the Seven. But what his mother spoke of what duty, not desire. He desired his niece, yes, in a roaring, flaming manner. But did he wish to perjure himself for the rest of his living life and tell himself he was pleased to be tied to a woman who had such a tall and dark shadow cast over her since birth? One that could not be rid even if he had wed her.
It was here, before the Lords, his mother, grandfather, that he reconciled that what he felt for her did not outweight the truth of what he must do to cling to power. She is weakness. If he was to be as close to the throne, come what may. A match was needed that would secure his place. A queen, not a pawn. Her name, her blood, would only serve to tug him further away from his true purpose.
Whatever factions had formed in his father's death. Greens, Blacks, it meant nothing. The woman he had bedded was on the other side of this war now. And yet, he still wanted her, but not for love, not for peace. Because he simply wanted. And that was enough.
If he had to reach, he would reach higher. And farther. Even if it meant severing what little remained of the boy who once touched her dragon in the shadows and thought she might let him stay.
The Council were much pleased of the decision. He would fly for Storm's End that evening, meet the Baratheon daughters, secure the alliance once and for all. And if it came to sacking Dragonstone, putting that whore usurper to the sword, and coming face to face with the torturess with a bastard's eyes, then he would still have her at his side, just not as his Lady Wife.
Aemond had scarcely visited this wretched and dark part of the realm. Where the Keep towered and sprawled with wings and corridors of unique and incredible design, he saw this brutish, roaring monument as the Baratheons way of attempting to rise too high above their place. It was one where the thunder never ceased, and his cheeks hurt with the onslaught of rain upon his face. When Vhagar came to a stop outside the boundary of the castle, she roared and allowed her rider to dismount, her claws digging into the earth as she lowered her stomach, the dirt rumbling with the thunderous sound of her throat. Aemond pulled his leather coat around him tighter, the guards under stag sigils guiding him towards the Round Hall.
Inside, Lord Borros was already waiting for him, his four daughters having formed a line beside him, all dark haired with slender faces and drawn up eyes, each favouring a certain feature from their stone-faced father. And given all the talk of the illiterate Borros Baratheon, he was quite thrilled to entertain Aemond, and offered any one of his sweet girls for marriage to him, without a care of which he picked.
The draught caught his legs and the hem of his long coat as the doors pushed open once more, interrupting his long inspection of Lady Floris. He would have ignored the guards, had they not spoken a familiar Velaryon title.
He turned on his heel, and she was there, windswept, tangled, cheeks flushed with pink where her dragon had seemingly cut through the unforgiving storm. In her riding leathers, she was near-dripping wet, the droplets catching on her long, dark eyelashes. He could have mistaken them for tears when she clapped her eyes on him, lips parted in both surprise and heartache as she glanced between him and the lady ghosted to his right.
She closed her mouth and dragged her eyes from him, trying to soothe her rapid heart as she addressed the Lord sat upon his seat.
"My Lord," she uttered calmly, "I come—"
"To plead your case for your mother's claim," he interrupted, leaning forward, "did you not?"
She exhaled, her breath a ghost before her face.
"The House of the dragon does not seem to know who rules it," he spat, disinterested, "King Aegon at least came with an offer! My swords and banners for a marriage pact."
She felt it like a cold knife to her warm, mortal heart. Her eyes found him to be looking at the floor before him, without even the courage to look her in the face as he threw their betrothal to the wind. She wanted so much to laugh, shame crawling up her throat at the memory of what she'd allowed to happen mere days ago. Had this always been Aemond's plot? To take the only thing that made a woman important in this realm and leave her to rot. To find a more advantageous union, one better suited to his place in this world.
When he raised his cold gaze to her, she did not flounder beneath it. She stood a little straighter. Very well, then. If this is how it must be, after all that was said and conveyed between sweet sheets and murmured words.
"I shall take your answer to the Queen, my Lord."
Borros scoffed, but offered no reply. And she meant to give Aemond no response either as she turned to leave this wretched place. Ready to face her beloved storm, to glide that lightning as if she were born to it.
Aemond stepped forward, "you run so often, mandianna," he mused, "it is becoming habit."
She paused. Exhaling with fire burning in her chest. When she glanced at him once again, he had crossed half the space between them, as silent as a cat with a mouse in view.
"You broke it," she whispered, "after all that. You still broke it."
Aemond's smirk almost disappeared, something cold replaced what was confident there before. It stoked the flame that lived within her.
She wet her lips, "you would break what was meant to bridge tragedy, what was meant to mitigate the destruction of our family—"
"You are the one who left me," he gritted out, as if the word family had stirred that same feeling in him.
Her eyes narrowed, "and those are the words of Otto Hightower. Not you."
"I am quite capable of speaking for myself," he answered, voice low so that their voices did not echo, "and I chose this."
How could she be so foolish, she thought bitterly. The death of her dear grandfather she knew would hold taut the barely threaded line of peace between the two sides of this family, but never this. She had never envisioned loving the man she was betrothed to, such luxuries were never afforded to women of her nobility. And never in this realm had she imagined she would love Aemond, someone so keen to hate her traitorous face. And yet, they had shared fire, had shared a bed. Had bared their teeth and skin and history to each other in the dark.
She had felt known. Desired. Hated. All in one brutal, shuddering breath.
And none of it had mattered.
Her eyes glanced to Floris Baratheon. Very well, then. This would be his choice. A woman of her nobility and name to bear his children instead of her. A woman who would stand beside him as he climbed closer to the throne. He had reached too high, as he always had tried to do.
Her throat tightened as she stared at him, her voice barely above the whisper of the storm outside. “I offered peace,” she said. “And now you’ve chosen war.”
She hadn’t cried. She wouldn't. But her voice cracked on that last word, just enough for him to hear it. He did not let her step back as she turned, his hand gripped around her arm, tight, enough to bruise her like an overripe peach. She gasped in disbelief as he pulled her back.
She looked up at him, lips parted in fury, in something like grief. “Let me go.”
“I will have you,” he said, quiet, sure, with all the madness of a man who’d mistaken taking for deserving.
“You had me,” she spat. “You had me, as clean as it would have been in our marriage bed. And like any man before you, you have been blinded by a cunt with a cleaner name and the promise of purpose where you had none before.”
Aemond flinched. His brow twitched where his scar ended. She saw it like a lightning strike across his face.
"I am a great many things, Aemond, but I will not be a whore. No less, yours. Birth your bastards while you parade some plain-featured girl as if she will place the crown upon your brow herself."
His grip tightened. Not out of want. Out of wounded pride. “You forget yourself,” he hissed.
No. She wanted to say. I have just discovered what it is to mean to Aemond Targaryen.
She tore her arm from his grip. The skin already bloomed red where his fingers had held her. She took one step back, just enough to breathe, just enough to put air between them again. “I never wish to see your face again.”
And she had meant it.
The storm cracked outside, sealing her promise. But Aemond's eye never left her, and he did not flinch. He stood tall, every bit a man who had been wounded and was fighting the choice to let it tear every little bit inside him as if he were not a boy who waited by her dragon to feel closeness.
She was rarely frightened of him. But his voice, when it came, sent a chill through her body.
“I never could stay away,” he murmured. “We always seem to find each other, don’t we? Like rot in the walls. Like ghosts in old halls.
You haunt me. And I hunt you.”
Her heart skipped. Not out of longing. Dread clawed at her so hard, she had barely heard the voice of Lord Borros instructing his guards to escort her out to her dragon, sensing the danger in the stance of the young prince.
Her heart was so fast in its beating that she had not remembered to saddle herself correctly to her dragon. Her dragon purred at first, the familiar scent of her and Aemond alike, having known him since childhood, clouded by the musk of fear that now clung to its rider. Luckily, the kind beast had nestled her on its back easily, taking to the stormy skies with precision. Sometimes she found herself looking back at the Round Hall, disappearing into the clouds, wondering if she might see the small figure of her uncle stepping out to watch her whisk into the grey and cold.
The rain beat against her face, the low drone of thunder murmured around her like warning. Her dragon called out to steal her attention, and she stroked her palm against its side, "Lykiri…" she muttered softly, though she scarcely believed the calm herself. She felt it in her ribs, the old ache of something cracking, not a bone, it was not painful as such, but something older. Something she’d kept hidden since childhood. Something that still answered to his voice, no matter how cruel it became.
Above the storm, the sky was a wound. The clouds parted in flashes, and for a brief moment, she was alone, above it all. Weightless. The ache in her arm pulsed with every gust, her body bruised, but there was clarity here. She could do this forever, ride her dragon through the strong gusts and shifting rain. There was a strange calm to it, in being so utterly alone in the swirl of chaos.
She tilted her head back, letting the droplets fall over her face like feathers, her hair falling heavy down her back. The knot in her chest eased, though the ache in her heart remained from the consequences of what Aemond had done. She willed it so it had all meant nothing, willed it so desperately that of course the thought would not cease. All she could envision was her mother's staunch disappointment. The loss of the Baratheon banners would hit her mother's cause hard. Not only that, but the loss of an advantageous marriage, one that perhaps could have completely undercut this conflict entirely, was no doubt to earn her a disapproving glance or two.
Briefly, she cast her mind back to a mere few nights before, when she had taken Aemond inside her. In the soft glow of that consummation, she had wondered, if they were to be wed as per their arrangement, would she already be with child when the Septon pronounced them wed? The thought of Moon Tea, until this very moment, had not occurred to her.
Thunder. She counted how many times it swelled. But this one did not.
She righted herself on her dragon, eyes wide in the dark shroud that surrounded her. The clouds had blackened.
And again. That one, uncanny swell.
She peered up, her heart jumping to her throat at the shadow of the great Vhagar above her. The dragon was impossibly large. More mountain than beast. A god made of scale and smoke and blood.
And on her back, Aemond.
She could see the gleam of his silver hair whipping in the wind, the faint glint of a blade at his side, his one good eye locked to her like a hawk to its kill.
She shouted over the wind, panic finally scraping its way to the surface of her voice. Her dragon twisted beneath her, sensing the dread, the shift, the predator in the sky above, but also, confusion, for on her back was a dear friend to both of them once. “Sōvēs” she whispered to her dragon rumbling under her touch. Then louder. “Sōvēs! Aderī!” Fly! Quickly!
Vhagar answered with a roar that cracked the heavens open, diving after her.
Her dragon dove, down, down, down. The air split around her face, stinging her cheeks. And Aemond dove after her, though she dared not look back. She screamed her dragon's name, her hands aching around the reins as she held them, banking left and wheeling right out of Vhagar's direct line of sight, diving between the clouds, trying to outpace death and war herself.
Her braid hit wet against her face as she looked back, a flash of white perched upon Vhagar's back, leant forward, the weight of his pride hunting her, as it always would.
No. Surely. Surely, he did not mean to kill her. His kin. Not after everything. Not after that night, after her bruises, her blood, her breathless voice gasping his name into the dark.
"Ilībõños!"
The word sent a stake through her heart. It was not her name, not the he had grunted between her sheets, trembling between her thighs. It was hateful, the very one he had uttered that drove the wedge between their two families, that instigated her brother to defend their title with a knife through his eye.
She saw murderous intent in his hard gaze, a smirk on his face.
She pressed her palm to her dragon, "Vēzot!" Up.
At first, her dragon writhed, sensing her fear and danger. It let out a strangled roar, that seemed so squeaky and pitiful in comparison to the great beast chasing at her tail, and its throat warmed in warning.
"Daor!" she ordered immediately, "Vēzot!"
She near-fell off her saddle when it banked hard, roaring out something in protest before diving to dip under Vhagar's belly. No, no, no. She thought with dread. "Daor! Dohaerās!"No! Obey!
Though she tried, the beast who had shared her cradle, grown beside her, ignored her plea in fear of its own life and hers into the bargain. A slow stream of dragonfire lit amber against Vhagar's scaled side, the fire catching against her face, purposefully missing her rider, before her dragon retreated, up, finally into the great sky above, desperate to flee.
Vhagar shook her massive head, grunted lowly, throwing Aemond around on her back as he scrambled for her reins, "No! Serve me, Vhagar. No!" She had heard the threat. She had smelled the fear. And now she wanted blood.
She dare not look back, the voices and roars alike had faded into the storm as she left it behind, breaking into the stark white nothingness of the sky above. The dark lingered underneath her gliding dragon, now calm. Her hand brushed against it's side, fingers trembling, brushing her dragon’s side, just to feel it. The warmth. The strength. The soul she had loved her whole life.
It was shaking. So was she.
Her dragon stretched its wings, trembling but at ease now as they made for the horizon, for home. She held tight, or tried to. Her hand slipped once on the reins, and she re-gripped harder.
She blinked hard as the air broke around her, a thunderous shift, like the sky itself cracked apart. She knew before she had a chance to look, that Vhagar had surged upwards from beneath the cloud cover, faster than anything that massive should be able to move. The sound of her great wings beating was like drums of war. Before she could scream, claws curled up from below, one sliced through her shoulder. She cried out, mouth open, air stolen. The pain hit hot and clean. She held her shoulder as if her mere touch could keep the flesh together as blood rippled beneath her riding leathers.
She felt her dragon jolt beneath her, a sickening lurch. The beast beneath her whined, a high, helpless sound she had never heard from it before. She twisted in her saddle, desperately trying to hold on as Vhagar tore into dragon flesh as if playing with her kill. Her brows drew together with mourning at the sight, a pitiful whine of pleading from her lifelong friend drawn out shakily. Her face of anguish was so wide and vivid, it hurt her storm-pelted features. And she could not longer tell which was rain or tears.
Her eyes locked on her dragon's for one moment, and she had never been more sorry for anything in her life than seeing it disappear in the gaze of such a gentle soul. Its neck went limp in Vhagar's jaws, the creature who knew her breath before she knew sight, went slack between jaws like a hanging ribbon. Vhagar growled and pulled at flesh, splitting it open to spill blood onto the dark clouds below, and she groaned as her body pulled, blood slick in her palms as she was hauled off her saddle with the power of it, her good arm holding steadfastly onto the reigns of her dying dragon, held only by the flight of the predator who had killed it.
Vhagar growled and pulled, bone pulling against flesh, sinew split. She felt her chest tighten at the sight of its head pulling from its spine with several sickening cracks, and it was wrenched with force, sending her dragon's body adrift into the air, and thus her hand slipped, as she would have anyway. Blood made her grip slick, useless. Her already broken shoulder screamed with fresh agony as her good arm tried, tried, to hold fast, to not let go of the only thing in her life that had never betrayed her.
Her scream never left her throat. Her eyes searched for Aemond but did not see the expression, only his figure, leant forward in his saddle. Had he been reaching out for her, she never would have seen. Just as much as she would have had he not moved an inch. A mere moment later, he was but a speck of dust amongst the sky.
For one weightless moment, the sky held her there. Suspended. And then.
She fell.
Wind screamed past her ears so fast it dissolved into a whisper. Small pieces of hair whipped around her face, braid blood-slick, the ties of it unravelling in the storm like her own tether to this realm. Through the cloudbreak above where she had lost her grip, she could just about make out the two halves of her dragon, and the gush of blood that followed, slinging down and lost in the rain around her.
They were both falling, together.
Above her, Vhagar let out a guttural roar, but it was distant. Muffled. Like thunder from behind a door. She did not hear Aemond's voice, she was so impossibly far the wind stole it.
She was grateful.
In this vast expanse of nothingness as she fell, she could not feel her shoulder. Her weather-worn fingertips, cold to the touch. The icy grip had wormed its way into her bones, humming against her ribs, and she felt the fight leave her as quickly as it had formed a fist. There was nothing left to do but fall through the storm that once soothed her.
Down, down, down.
She thought of Dragonstone. Her brothers. Her mother. Her many fathers, most she had lost. Of Harwin, strong hands against her face, terming her his little light. Of Laenor with her and her brothers, laughing in the salty wind. Of Daemon even, who was not adept in the art of raising daughters, but all the same took her under his wing alongside her brothers, and raised as his own. Despite the pain, despite the ache of leaving them behind, the regret she had buried deep within her, her dry, cracked lips quirked with a smile. A nostalgic, warm one. One that lived when she but a girl, with her head tilted back, standing in the eye of the tempest around her.
The sea rose to meet her, faster, now. It rushed up with arms wide, jagged and cruel, but the surface shimmered silver , like it meant to welcome her. Like it had always known she'd come home this way.
Salt touched her lips. The sky turned to white.
Her body hit the water like a wet beating heart meets stone. Something cracked, perhaps her shoulder, her spine. Her lungs seized, the cold swallowing her whole. Blood bloomed around her like silk, threads of red spinning out into the rapidly disappearing surface. Her fingers unfurled.
Aemond sat upon his saddle, one side of his face dotted with the blood that had sprayed forth when Vhagar tore her dragon's throat open, cracking, now dry, at the corner of his mouth. Vhagar heaved beneath him, her wings slowing as she circled, as though nothing had happened. Even with gloves on, he felt the cold chill of his betrayal, now uncovered, rattle through his tender, weather-beaten body. He watched the tides swallow around her, pulling her body to its depths, dark, wine red blooming around where the water churned into white from the impact. Despite it all, it was quiet, graceful like her namesake, beautiful in its brutality. Peaceful if not for the burning in his chest, wind softening around him, as if the tempest bowed its head in mourning.
The waves took her gently, with grace.
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Media - House Of The Dragon
Character - Aemond Targaryen (Regent Post Rooks Rest)
Couple - Aemond X Reader
Reader - Y/n Rivers
Rating - 18 (Hair pulling/ threatening/ spoils of war)
Word Count - 750
Aemond Targaryen was biting back his seething rage, his jaw clenched so tightly that it ached. He had perched atop Vhagar as they soared over the expansive fields, the whole length to Harrenhal. Yet, the moment Aemond set foot in the castle’s vast courtyard, a sense of unease washed over him. The grounds were hauntingly quiet, devoid of the sounds that typically accompanied a gathering of soldiers preparing for war. No banners fluttered in the breeze, no clattering of armour or the low murmur of men sharpened by the thrill of impending conflict. Instead, there stood only the weathered stones of the castle, echoing his frustration.
Pacing with purpose along the cobblestone path, Aemond’s mind raced with possibilities. Where had Daemon and his forces vanished? Had they retreated into the shadows, crafting a cunning strategy of their own? His men, diligent and anxious, scoured the surrounding terrain for any trace of the elusive army, murmuring among themselves as they combed the underbrush and peered into the depths of Harrenhal’s dark corners. Aemond’s fury bubbled just beneath the surface, threatening to erupt.
“Prince Regent!” A man spoke up, “We found someone!”
“Let me go!” The girl screamed, her voice piercing through the cold air as the man forcefully pulled her from the castle, the heavy wooden doors creaking ominously behind them. The rain fell in relentless sheets, drenching her tattered, half-broken brown dress and turning the cobblestones beneath her to slick, darkened patches. He tossed her to her knees in the muddy courtyard, the chill seeping through her skin as she struggled to catch her breath.
As she looked up, her heart pounding in her chest, she met the unsettling gaze of Aemond. His sapphire eye glinted with a piercing vigour, contrasting starkly against the shadows cast by the stormy sky. She fought to suppress a shiver of fear that threatened to overwhelm her, forcing herself to stay steady in front of the imposing figure, the weight of his presence making the air feel thick and charged.
“What is your name, girl?” Aemond snapped,
“Who’s asking?” she snapped back,
“Do not make me ask again,” he warned her, “Now, reveal to me your name or I will reveal to you the flame of my dragon.”
“Y/n,” she spat,
“Y/n.” he nodded, “And tell me, Y/n, where did Prince Daemon and his large army of rivermen go?”
“I do not know,”
“No?”
“No.”
“Do not lie to me, girl.”
“I am not lying!” she protested, “I do not know, they were here a day ago and now they are gone.”
“Do you think I am a fool?”
“No, I-”
“My scouts confirmed Daemon was gathering an army,” He growled, grabbing her by the neck,
“Huu-” she gasped, her hands grabbing at his wrist,
“Tell me, Y/n.” He barked, “How did Prince Daemon Targaryen, his dragon Caraxes, all the lords of the Riverlands, and all the levies of the Riverlords just disappear into thin air?” He asked,
“I. Don’t. Know,” she choked out,
He released her neck, sending her tumbling to the ground once again. “Don’t you? Perhaps the feel of a Valyrian blade might bring your memory to the surface.”
“I swear… I don’t know.” She sighed,
“Very well,” he sighed, “send men in every direction, there must be a sign somewhere of where this army vanished to.” He commanded, “And you.” He gripped her by her hair,
“Yes?” she spat,
“Go and find the nicest chamber, build a warm fire, a soft bed, and a hot bath. And be waiting for me there, naked,” he commanded, going to turn back to his men.
“And if I refuse?” she threatened,
He stopped and turned back to her, “If you refuse, I will come find you and drag you there myself. Understand Y/n?”
“Yes…” she sighed,
“Understand!” he asked, holding his knife to her neck,
“Yes, Prince Aemond,” she answered,
“Good girl,” he nodded, “Go on now war toy, do not keep me waiting.” he threatened slapping her on the ass as she ran inside the castle.
Media - House Of The Dragon
Character - Aemond Targaryen
Couple - Aemond X Reader
Reader - Y/n (Maid)
Rating - 17 (Fantasies / kissing / feeling up)
Word Count - 1265
Y/n walked the halls of the Red Keep, humming softly to herself as she dusted the fine artworks and items. The rain pattering against the windows creates a soothing noise. Most lords and ladies in their chambers were far from the possibility of being affected by the rains.
Aemond watched her from the shadows, following her as she worked. He was… intrigued by the new maid. She did her work carefully and precisely. She also carried herself more confidently than the other maids, never even a hint of fear, which was almost unheard of.
Y/n turned to continue with her cleaning, dusting around the grand Targaryen portraits and tapestries, just then she spotted Aemond as he looked around the doorframe.
"Oh! Greetings, Prince Aemond," she curtsied.
"Y/n," he nodded back. His voice was almost cold, harsh.
"Yes, my prince." She nodded, holding her duster in her hand.
His eyes roamed over her, taking in every detail of her uniform, the same faded dress all the maids wore, and the appearance the way she had braided her hair up and out of her way. It took every fibre of his being not to look at her, as much as he wanted to. "Your work is satisfactory."
"Thank you, My Prince, that's very kind of you to say." She smiled.
He found himself staring, his eyes locked on her face. "You handle yourself differently from the other maids."
"Oh? How so?" She asked innocently, tilting her head slightly to the side like a confused kitten.
Aemond was barely keeping his composure, chewing on his tongue to keep his words controlled. "You're… not intimidated by me. None of the other maids ever act so… comfortable around me."
"Why would I? You're very kind. You have only ever been polite to me, my prince."
Aemond nearly scoffed. "Kind". That was the last word he'd use to describe himself. Especially as the things he wanted to do to her were absolutely obscene. He frowned slightly, suddenly unable to look her in the eye. "The other maids don't exactly… agree with that statement."
"Well, I can form my own opinions."
"I… can see that."
"Is there anything else you wanted, my prince?" She asked. "I have much cleaning to attend to."
He let out a shaky breath, "No, that will be all for now.. You are dismissed."
"Thank you, Prince Aemond." Y/n nodded, picking up her skirt to do another little bow before heading out of the room to continue her cleaning.
Aemond watched her leave. He didn't realise he was holding his breath. Once she was gone, he exhaled heavily, sagging with relief. He'd never had such vivid, perverse fantasies before… about a maid, no less. He began to feel sick to his stomach… starting to feel like his perverse older brother. He'd never felt this desperate to have someone. And he both loved and hated it.
He found himself wandering the castle in the dark rain, in hopes of seeing her again. He found himself down in the kitchens, where he found Y/n, still humming softly to herself as she cleaned the dishes from his mother’s afternoon tea. He watched her for a moment, silently taking in the sight of her.
She was so engrossed in her work, completely oblivious to him standing in the doorway.
He found himself drawn to her, unable to stay away any longer. He merely glared at the one other maid in the kitchens at the time, who nodded and scampered away, too afraid to even speak. Once the door was shut, he locked it. He walked up behind her, making no effort to conceal his presence.
"Oh!" She gasped softly.
He let out a soft chuckle at her fright, slightly enjoying her jumpy reaction. He leaned down, his lips right next to her ear, his breath warm on her neck as he spoke. "You're quite the busy girl, aren't you…?"
"I suppose so, Prince Aemond." She nodded, continuing with her washing.
He found his gaze roaming over her once again, taking in her form. Every curve was so… sensual, so soft. He had to hold himself back from touching her. Instead, he just stood there, breathing in the scent of her hair. He was so close he could feel her body heat, and god did it make his blood rush.
Y/n didn't complain or protest, simply going about her business, not minding that the prince was standing behind her, looming like a vampire over her dishes.
Aemond couldn't help but let out a low chuckle. He leaned in slightly, his lips almost brushing her neck as he spoke in an intentionally low, seductive tone. "You know… the other maids would've run away screaming if I got as close to them as I am to you now…"
"Well, that seems rude, my prince." She said, "Whyever would they want to do that?"
“Perhaps, they are smarter than you.” He kept talking softly, his lips grazing her neck.
Y/n shrugged. "Perhaps, my prince."
His hand came to rest on her waist, right above her hip, slowly moving to her stomach. He felt her shiver at his touch, but she still did nothing to stop him, just kept her focus on the dishes. "You… aren't afraid of me…?"
"No, my prince." She said, glancing at him over her shoulder. "Should I be?'
His fingers were slowly moving along her stomach. He was just barely holding himself back from taking her right then and there on the kitchen counter. He pulled back after a moment, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from her. He had to get control of himself. "I…" He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure again. "… I have a question for you, Y/n."
"Yes my prince?" She asked washing a dish.
He moved so his head was right beside hers again, his mouth next to her ear, close enough that all he'd have to do is turn his head to kiss her neck. He spoke in a hushed, low tone, his words almost a seductive purr in his lustful state. "You… understand the difference between men and women, don't you?"
She giggled. "I suppose I do, biologically."
"And you… know what men and women do together, don't you?" He said, leaning in even closer.
She giggled again. "Men and women do lots of things together"
"That's true." He mused, his fingers starting to move along her hip, touching her with almost feather-like lightness. He could've sworn he felt her shiver at his touch. His lips grazed the skin of her neck, just barely touching. His breath warm against her. "But… I'm referring to one specific thing, in particular…."
"oh? And what's that my prince?" Y/n asked.
"Intimacy."
Y/n giggled. "Oh?"
He couldn't suppress his smirk, leaving a trail of feather-like kisses up towards her ear. "Yes, my sweet maid…" He started to slowly move his hand down her hip, tracing the curve of her thigh with his fingertips.
"If that is what you ask of me, my prince."
He let out a soft groan, feeling his already thin control slipping even more. He continued to kiss her neck, letting his hands continue tracing her body, rubbing up and down her curves, the soft and plump flesh under his fingers. He started to nibble on her ear, his voice low and wanting as he spoke again. "You'd do as I ask…?"
She shivered slightly and blushed hard, but nodded. “Yes, my prince.”
He bit down softly on the tender flesh of her neck, holding back a long moan. “My chambers. At midnight. Not a second later.”
“Yes, my prince,” she nodded,
Aemond pressed a soft kiss to her neck before he pulled back from her and returned to his chambers to prepare for tonight.
Media - House Of The Dragon
Character - Aemond Targaryen (Regent Post Rooks Rest)
Couple - Aemond X Reader
Reader - Y/n Baratheon
Rating - 18+ (Fingering / nudity / bjs/ orgasms/ eating out)
Word Count - 2349
Aemond wrapped his arms around Y/n’s waist, holding his body close to hers. He gently nuzzled his face into her neck, pressing a trail of possessive kisses to her skin as his arms tightened around her waist. His hands gently slid down to grip her ass, and a quiet groan escaped his lips as he held his wife in his arms.
Y/n pushed Aemond away from her, but only for a moment, to lay herself on the bed, her eyes on the stone ceiling, almost avoiding him.
He gently made his way over to the edge of the bed, staring down at her. He gently gripped her leg, running his hand over the skin of her thigh, his fingers gently stroking her. His touch traced up along the inside of her thigh, softly rubbing the bare flesh. He felt the heat and warmth of her skin, and his fingers brushed teasingly closer to her cunt.
She didn't react, avoiding his eyes, remaining hardened. Her eyes were only on the ceiling, keeping herself from trembling.
Aemond smirked at her stone cold reaction, he let out a low chuckle as he gently ran his fingers over her mound, feeling the soft skin, and he watched her face again, but she didn't give any reaction, so his fingers moved closer, gently pressing against her lips, he felt her heat, and he felt his own throb with desire. His fingers began to gently circle her lips, his eyes never leaving her. He gently began to apply pressure, pushing softly against her lips, feeling the slickness. He leaned over her then, his hand still teasing against her lips, and he let out a low chuckle. "Come on, my little Doe, you needn’t be stubborn."
"… I… I have never been touched by a man. Tis unfamiliar is all." She answered clearly a lie,
He withdrew his hand, "I see. Well, I think that has to change. My little Doe needs to be touched. By her husband." he said the words with a low chuckle. "You are a maiden, a very pretty one, a rare thing, and I've been given the honor to change that."
She continued to hold herself, Her expression remained carefully controlled, lips pressed into a thin line as she fought against the urge to break down. Each heartbeat echoed in her ears,
"Come now, my little Doe, don't be scared. I won't do anything that hurts."
She sighed, relaxing her face,
Aemond watched her face and almost grinned when she relaxed her face. It was a start, at least. He began to run his hand over her thigh again, gently drawing it towards her cunt. "There we go, you're supposed to enjoy this," he said, almost mockingly. His finger slipping between her lips,
Y/n softly gasped,
His eyes widened, and he heard her gasp. He gently pressed another finger between them,
She softly choked back a small moan,
Aemond's eyes went wide, and a dark smile appeared at his lips. He gently let his fingers run over her lips, then, suddenly he pushed a finger into her.
She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes tight,
His fingers began to move gently, "Come on, little Doe, you are allowed to make noise."
She gasped again, fighting a moan back.
He pushed a second finger into her, he felt her quiver at the addition. "Come on, little Doe, I want you to moan," he said,
She choked and let loose a moan, her fingers gripping the sheets.
Aemond grinned, a dark smile at his lips as he heard her moan, and it was like music to his ears. "There you go, such a pretty sound…" he continued to move his fingers in her, and he felt her quiver around his fingers.
"Ugh!" She moaned, throwing her head back,
He leaned over her, getting close to her face. "Let the noise loose, little Doe, your husband wants to hear you," he almost growled. His fingers continued to move within her, now thrusting gently. He gently licked at her ear as he moved. he was enjoying this sound, and he wanted more.
"uughhhh!" She screamed, her eyes rolling back as she moaned.
"That's more like it." his movement slowed, his fingers slowed, going from quick hard thrusts to long, slow and purposeful thrusts. His fingers gently curled inside her, as he felt the wetness around the. He was curious as to how much longer he could keep this up, to keep her on the edge of pleasure.
Y/n whined and whimpers in frustration at his slowness, her teeth clenching in frustration.
"I know you want to finish, my little Doe, but I want to play with you some more. I want to hear you beg for it."
"No." She barked.
He stopped completely then, and he let a dark grin spread across his face. "No? You deny your husband?"
"I will not beg." She growled,
"Hmm, so you'd rather be denied than ask for it? Such stubbornness," he said. He pulled his hand away, his fingers leaving her completely, and he let her lay there, denied the orgasm he had brought her to the edge of.
She groaned in frustration, throwing her head back, her face of utter rage baring her teeth.
"Such a pretty face, but still, so stubborn. I could leave you denied; you'd have to please me while denied your own release," Aemond growled,
"I will not beg. You will snap before I will."
"Ah, you underestimate how long I could tease you, how long I could keep you away from the climax you deserve."
"You underestimate how long I have been forced to withdraw my own hand." She smirked. "How many times my hands have been slapped away from myself, told to be a lady and stop touching."
"Oh? So you are familiar with this pain, then. But tell me, has anyone ever brought you to this edge? Have you only been at your own hand?"
"My own."
Aemond's hand moved to the lips of her cunt, and gently traced over them, not giving her the pressure she so desired. "So, you've never had a man bring you to this very edge? So close to the cliff? You've only ever felt yourself?"
She whined, her hips mindlessly squirming,
Aemond took a moment to enjoy the sight, watching his wife squirm and hearing her whine from the lack of pressure. "And yet, you will deny yourself the completion, the climax that you've denied yourself. Instead, you lay here, unable to ask for what you want."
"I will not beg you."
"Then you will be denied, and I shall enjoy it." he withdrew his hand,
She groaned again. "I will last. You will want to fuck your wife at some point"
"That I do, I will want to. But will I beg? Never."
"And nor will I."
"I think I can keep this going until you cave."
"Can you?" She smirked, moving her foot to his leather britches, purposely rubbing his cock,
He felt a jolt at her touch,
She smirked and stroked her bare foot against the leather bulge, rubbing and stroking on as much of him as she could. "Struggling husband?" She smirked,
He smirked at her words, but his eyes were glued to her foot that teased at him, "Not at all, I love a challenge." his words were almost a tease, as she felt his cock grow under the pressure of her foot. He grunted at the continued pressure, the movement of her foot over his clothed and growing cock. He felt her foot tease him, and it was difficult to resist, to focus on her and not his pleasure.
"Beg." She snapped her teeth at him,
"Never," he said simply.
She pulled her foot away and sat up her fingers, slowly unlacing his britches, she purposely looked up at him with big innocent eyes,
He watched her closely, his body tensed up in anticipation,
She pulled out his cock and rubbed her hand over him softly, "Beg."
He let out a low grunt, his words coming out almost as a plea, "Please."
An evil smile crosses her lips. "Oh?"
"Please," he repeated the word, his voice low and pleading, the pleasure of her rubbing him slowly, it made him forget about his need for power, about his need for authority, in that moment, all he could focus on was the feeling of her hand on him.
She chuckled evily and took him into her mouth, wrapping her lips around the hilt of his cock and softly sucking,
He let out a low growl, but he was losing any control he thought he had, his mind going blank with desire for her and for the feeling she gave him. The soft noises he had been making gave way to a more strangled sound; he was lost in her touch, completely at her mercy. His hand went down, gently reaching for her, wanting to touch her. His hand brushed over her face, needing to feel her, to touch her in some way. His breathing was ragged, his mind was completely blank and lost in the overwhelming feeling of her soft mouth and her tongue.
She moved his hands to her hair, allowing him to on her locks.
He pulled slightly, not hard, not to make it painful for her, but enough so that she moved closer to him. His hold on her hair was tight, but still, he did not hurt her; his fingers were tangled in her waves, pulling her closer to him, his breathing ragged. “Fu-fuck.” he cursed,
She sped up her sucking, and moved her head faster, kitten licking his tip of any precum that came flooding out, she knew he was close so kept going no matter how he groaned, moaned or cursed above her.
“Y/n- My doe -” He groaned, his hips bucking and jerking out of his own control,
She kept going, keeping at her pace just a little longer,
And that was enough to take Aemond over the edge, his seed spilling into her mouth. His hips jerked forward, and he moaned loudly.
She pulled back and licked her lips as she looked up at him with a wicked smirk. "Beg. Beg to make love to your wife." She snapped,
"Please…Please…." he said the words breathless and full of need.
"Please what?" She smirked, laying on the bed, braced by her elbows with her legs shut tightly,
"Please…Please, let's make love. I….I need you. Please, let me love you. I want you, I need you." He was practically pleading now,
Y/n smirked. "… On one condition." She smiled, slowly widening her legs.
"Yes, My Doe?"
She hooked her index finger towards him, beckoning him closer..
He tossed off the rest of his clothes before he began to crawl slowly to her, his body moving towards hers,
She grabbed his hair and forced him down to her thigh. "Kiss."
He smirked and moved down to her thigh, his lips pressed against her soft skin. He kissed her thigh, softly, lovingly, his lips moving along her thigh, in a series of tender kisses. His lips moved up her thigh, his eyes looked up at her.
She softly gasped, tugging his hair higher.
His face moving higher, he planted more kisses, working his way up her thigh, moving higher and higher, the kisses becoming more eager as he got closer and closer, moving from her thigh to the top of her cunt, so close, still just out of reach, but so close, his lips parting his tongue, lightly grazing over her skin, his tongue lightly traced the top of her lips, and he felt her body writhe below him,
She softly moaned,
His lips slightly brushed over hers, teasing, testing. His fingers gripped her thighs as he kissed her more His tongue gently licked at her clit, parting her lips, and then gently running over them. He heard a low moan escape her lips, and he felt his name slip from her lips as he continued to pleasure her with his tongue. His lips were soft and wet, moving over her, his tongue finding a rhythm, and he slowly began to increase it, his hands still gripping her thighs.
She moaned his name, throwing her head back the more he worked her leg,s trembling and her hands gripping the sheets, "fingers. Now." She demanded,
He gorlwed at her command, and his fingers began to move over her, gently and slowly running along her wet skin. He listened to the way her breath hitched as he went over her; he watched the way she moved and shifted underneath him. His fingers pressed into her, slowly thrusting in and out as he licked and sucked on her clit getting faster and faster drawing her closer and closer to the peak he denied earlier.
She screamed, her hips bucking against him. Suddenly, it hit her, and she screamed animalisticly, throwing her head back, her hands clawing the covers, as she trembled, squeezing on his fingers, and squirting down his chin. Before she went limp lying on the bed.
He felt her scream and her body trembling as she orgasmed, and he could taste her on his fingers, on his chin. He watched her for a moment as she lay there, panting, his fingers still gently pressing inside of her. He gently pulled away, his fingers leaving her, and he moved up the bed to lay close to her. His arm went around her, and he pulled her close. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in.
"What are you doing?" Y/n asked between rushed gasps,
"Holding you," he said simply, his voice sounding different, more honest, more vulnerable than he would normally allow.
"Why?" She asked.
"Does a man need a reason to hold his wife?" he said simply,
"Your wife assumed you'd wish to consummate your Marriage,"
"And I do wish to, but right now, I just want to hold you."
She nodded, slightly surprised, by laid her head on his warm chest.
His breathing slowed; he was enjoying this moment, just being close to her. His fingers slowly stroked through her hair, lightly running over her soft curls. He held her close, simply enjoying the moment, the sound of her soft breathing, the feel of her breathing. For a moment, he was content, and he felt almost at peace.
Media - House Of The Dragon
Character - Aemond Targaryen (Regent Post Rooks Rest)
Couple - Aemond X Reader
Reader - Y/n Baratheon
Rating - 17
Word Count - 1136
Plans and politics of the realm were always complicated, with alliances and allegiances taking precedence over all other matters, needs and desires. So when Aemond received the scroll from his mother, bidding him to take flight to Storms End and proclaim his brother Aegon king, and to ensure that house Baratheon aligned with the crown by offering up his own hand to one of the Lord’s daughters.
Regardless of his distaste for such an idea, he obeyed.
Once the babes were slain, and Aegon and Sunfyre fell from the sky, the throne sat without an obvious heir.
The wedding was needed to be a far quicker and less grand afair. Their wedding was fast and simple, in the sept below the grey rain. And the two were husband and wife.
Aemond was, of course, thrilled to have captured himself a little doe, to make her beg and obey. However, he was unaware he had, in fact, released a true daughter of a stag into his bed. Aemond turned down the bedding ceremony, wishing to have the sick joy himself. He brought Y/n to his chambers, slammed the door, and turned happily to his new wife, a wicked grin on his face.
Y/n stood in her long black wedding gown embroidered with gold thread. Her hair was in a long braid with yellow ribbons. She held her hands together at her waist as she looked around the chamber that was to be her home.
The fire crackling, the candles flickering and a soft gentle silence filled the rooms. The place was well prepared for their wedding night, even if a table of plans was still laid out but pushed aside for tonight.
"Finally, my little Doe, I have you all to myself." he slowly stalked towards her, his eyes raking over Y/n's body.
"Does such a concept being you joy my prince? To know we are alone?" She asked innocently, her face turned away from him, looking over the maps and tapestries,
"The idea of being alone with you in our chamber, my little Doe, yes. That does bring me a a great deal of joy." he licked his lips and stared at her as he would at a piece of succulent meat. “Mother says I am to do my duty to you. And I will.” He smirked, moving closer almost against her back, “And I will… seek to enjoy myself as much as possible.”
Y/n turned in a flash. The only sound was the fabric of her wedding gown shifting,
Aemond let out a quiet gasp as the cold steel touched his throat, the edge of her blade against his neck, and he froze immediately. His eyes glared at her, surprised anger burning in them. He stayed still, not making a sound. "My, my, what a clever girl," he said between gritted teeth.
"Always hide a weapon in your wedding dress." She nodded. "My mother taught me that."
Aemond laughed, his eyes still glaring at her. "I suppose I shouldn't have been shocked; such beauty often hides… such fury."
"If you hurt me. I will hurt you too." She warned him,
"Of course you would little Doe. I'm not foolish enough to think otherwise." he smirked and raised his empty hands up in surrender.
She slowly lowers her knife. Returning it to a holster sewn into her dress's cleavage,
Aemond watched, his hand coming to rest at his neck where her blade had touched him. Drawing his hand back, he noticed that there was a droplet of blood. "It seems my little Doe made me bleed." his eyes turned back to her, looking at Y/n, and he took a tentative step forward. Almost like a predator testing the limits of his trap. "Little Doe," he growled, "What does this marriage mean to you?"
"This marriage means, I understand, it keeps me alive."
“It makes you my queen.”
“I do not care to be queen,” She shook her head, “I care to survive. And as a woman in this world, that is all I can ask the gods for.”
Aemond grins, "You are a true Doe, my little wife, no doubt. Very smart." he brushes her hair from her face, gently running his fingers over her chin. "So my little Doe, tell me. Is your loyalty given, or will you continue to plan on stabbing me in the back while I sleep?" his fingers lightly traced her neck, almost teasing his fingers down her throat allowing her to feel the strength in his fingers.
"… I will give my loyalty." She nodded. "If you give yours."
Aemond's fingers continued to trace down her body, over her shoulders, moving across the material of her dress, "My loyalty is yours, little Doe." he said the words softly, as his fingers gently traced the line of her cleavage. “You and I are in this together.”
"Truly?" She asked. "If you wish me to be loyal, then be loyal to me. I will not harm you, so long as you don't harm me. Be my husband… And I'll be your wife."
"I shall give you what you want.” He said, “But understand, this will not be easy, nor will it be clean. There are things… You and I shall have to do things that may make you wish to weep, may make your stomach turn.”
“You underestimate me.”
“I’m sure I do,” He smirked. "You will have me as a husband, I shall be a husband, and you my wife. I will be loyal to you, and you will be by my side. Always. So long as you understand that I am your king. You are my queen. And the rest of the world is below us."
“Below us?”
“I will lay kings landing low for you. And I would expect no less from you.”
“But you are my king. You ask me then to lay myself before the flames for you when you would not do so for me.”
“My sweet Doe.” He growled. “I would let the world burn for you,” he whispered. “You and I are above all else, and I would walk into the flames to show my loyalty to you. Now? Are you my loyal Queen, or not?”
She nodded and slowly untied the lace of her gown, letting it hit the floor and leaving her naked. "Then I am loyal, pet the Doe as long as you desire. But don't be surprised if you invoke my rage and find antler spikes lodged in the dragon’s throat."
Aemond stared as her gown fell to the ground, drinking in her form, watching over her naked body. His lips curled into a wicked smile, and he felt his desire burn as he gazed upon his wife. He raised a hand, tracing it over her bare skin, feeling the warm flesh. One hand gently held her hip, pulling her into him. The other hand ran over her back. “Perfect.” He growled,
Summary: You visit King’s Landing with your family and after an unexpected reunion with Aemond everything changes. What happens when your family finally discovers you are bound to their enemy?
Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! Smuttt, LOTS of angst, fluff, enemies to lovers kinda, forbidden love, loss of virginity, p in v, oral (m&f), targcest, violence/abuse, abusive father, pregnancy, pregnant sx, child birth, birth complications, mentions of death, definite s1&2 spoilers, some script from the show, the negativity towards team black is purely for the story, happy ending.
Word count: 10.2k (i need therapy)
masterlist
You arrive with your family in Kings Landing after your journey from Dragonstone. You could tell your stepmother Rhaenerya was annoyed that the queen herself had not come to welcome you all.
You were the daughter of Daemon and Rhea, his first wife. Your father and mother despised eachother and you knew deep down he was somehow responsible for her death. A skilled rider like her does not just have accidents like that. Your father always felt extremely distant from you, he probably loathed the fact that you were even born from that loveless hateful marriage. On top of that, you felt cursed to have gotten his golden hair and not your mother’s brown hair. It made you look even more like your father and also stand out even more next to your dark haired stepbrothers. You had been forced to move around with your father between his marriages with Laena and now Rhaenyra. Although Rhaenyra has been fairly kind to you, you have always felt like the outsider of the family, an unwanted child, an ever lasting reminder of Daemon’s first wife.
Daemon and Rhaenyra part with you to visit the king in his chambers so you follow your stepbrothers to the training grounds where you find Aemond sparring with Ser Criston Cole. You watch as Jace and Luke exchanged worried glances. You may not have been around for most of it but you remember the rivalry that has always been there between your brothers and Aemond. Luke had been the one to take Aemond’s eye, accident or no, that is not something easily forgiven or forgotten. You would never say it in front of your family but you never thought badly of Aemond for hating your stepbrothers, it felt well deserved.
You watch the way Aemond moves, dancing around Ser Criston as he tries to strike him. Aemond pulls a final perfect move that ends with his sword against Cole’s throat.
“Well done, my prince.” Ser Criston says to Aemond. “You will be winning tourneys in no time.”
“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” Aemond responds. “Nephews, have you come to train?” His intense stare falls to Jace and Luke before landing on you. Your brothers just roll their eyes at him before leaving the grounds, earning a cocky smirk from Aemond. You follow behind them off the training pitch before parting ways and heading to the balcony overlooking the grounds.
You hang around as Aemond continues training, trying not to seem too obvious as you watch him. His movements were smooth and mesmerizing, he looked like a dancer with his golden hair swaying gracefully with each of his strikes. It was hard to take your eyes off him. Once you notice him putting his weapons away you decide to go and find your chambers.
“(Y/n)!” You hear Aemond call your name from down the hallway you were exiting.
You turn as he catches up to you. Once you’re standing in front of him you realize just how tall he has gotten. He smelled so good, how can he smell so good right after all that training and sweating? His natural scent was intoxicating. He smiles down at you so you smile back up at him. Gods, he has gotten so handsome.
“Yes, my prince?” You ask.
“Did you enjoy watching me train?” He smirks.
“I- I was watching everyone train.” Your cheeks turn red.
“Sure.” His smirk grows, making you blush more.
“You train well.” You say to break the brief silence.
“Thank you, princess. May I just say… you have really grown up.” He looks you up and down, taking in your womanly curves and full breasts.
Your heart suddenly races and you feel an unfamiliar feeling in your stomach, but lower.
“Thank you, my prince. As have you.” You say as you try not to stare at his sharp jawline or strong looking arms. Wondering what those arms would feel like around you.
You felt increasingly shy by the minute talking to Aemond, which was very odd for you because you were much like your mother, who was bold and headstrong. But Aemond made your strong head feel like a million butterflies were fluttering around up there as well as inside your stomach.
“I have to go and rejoin my family but I will see you later?” You say as you begin to turn to leave.
“I look forward to it, princess.” Aemond bows to you with a smile.
Truthfully, you had all the free time in the world at the moment. Your father and stepmother busy visiting the king and the gods only know where Jace and Luke wandered off to. But you needed to leave Aemond’s presence right away because the overwhelming sexual tension between you was becoming very dangerous.
Your head is completely in the clouds thinking of Aemond, causing you to nearly crash right into your stepbrother.
“Jace! Sorry, please forgive me.”
“What was that all about?” He asks.
“What are you talking about?” You raise a brow at him.
“I saw you speaking with Aemond.” He says firmly.
“So?” You scowl.
“So? It looked like a pretty friendly conversation, I have never seen Aemond smile at anyone like that.” He rambles in an angry tone. “And I have never seen you look at anyone like that, sister. So, as I said… what was that all about?”
“We were just talking Jace, calm down. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.” Annoyed, you shrug him off and continue down the hallway.
**********
With your family busy with their own things you become increasingly bored in your room. You decide to find a book from the small bookshelf in your chambers and make your way to the gardens. You curl up to the large tree and become deeply invested in your book, so much so that you don’t notice someone walking towards you until you look up to see Aemond towering over you.
“Aemond!” You startle as you make your way to stand.
“Forgive me for interrupting you, princess.” He gestures his eye to your book.
“Not at all.” You smile. “It was either find something to read or die of boredom before supper.”
He chuckles at your joke and you smile shyly in response.
“What are you reading?” He asks.
“Oh, um, nothing really.” You blush.
You tuck the book behind you and he arches his brow in question.
“Ugh, alright... It’s just a silly romance story.” You sigh as you pull the book out from behind your back.
“A romance, hmm?” He smirks. “So you enjoy that sort of thing?”
“Yes, I suppose… like most woman do.” Your blush deepens.
“And have you…” He hesitates. “…had any of your own romance stories?”
Your loud laugh catches him off guard and you quickly change to a serious expression.
“Forgive me, my prince. Um, no. I have not had anything of the sort.” You admit.
“Why not? It seems like something you clearly want. And I am almost certain there must have been plenty of suitors who have thrown themselves at you…” He says as he looks you up and down seductively.
“Of course it is something I want. And I have had a few interested suitors in the past. I just… have not found a man worthy enough of me.” You shrug.
“I see.” He says, his smirk remaining.
Aemond walks you back to your chambers and the conversation between you was surprisingly comfortable the entire walk. You bond over both being the family outcast or the “black sheep”, you both had much harder childhoods than your siblings. The sparks between you were undeniable. You realized your stepbrother was right, you have never looked at anyone like this, or felt like this towards anyone. But Aemond was off limits, not only was he family but you knew your parents, especially your stepmother, greatly disliked Aemond because of the history with him and her own sons. Even just thinking of him that way feels forbidden.
**********
The entire royal family all join together for supper, the tension in the room high. King Viserys joins the room and gives you all a heartfelt speech about your family rivalries.
“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 eachother, in the years past.” Viserys begins.
He removes the gold plated mask on his face that had been covering the horrible effects of his illness.
“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 cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. 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.” He says passionately, choking back tears.
His speech triggers heart warming and emotional toasts from Rhaenyra to Alicent, and Alicent to Rhaenyra, stating she will make a fine queen. The tension between them begins to fade and the mood of the entire room begins to lift as everyone drinks to the toasts.
Until there is some added tension when Aegon gets up and walks over to pour more wine into his glass, muttering something to Baela, Jace’s newly betrothed. Knowing Aegon you assume it was something vulgar. Especially when your stepbrother Jacaerys slams his fist on the table and stands. He composes himself and suddenly Aemond also stands. The room stills for a long moment as they eye eachother down. Jace proceeds to make a polite yet cocky toast to your uncles, Aegon and Aemond.
“Well done, my boy.” King Viserys says to Jace.
Aemond sighs and sits back down, you could feel the anger radiating from him. Your brothers always seem to enjoy getting him riled up. You had to resist the strong urge to place your hand on his. Instead, you offer him a sweet smile and his lips curl up for only a brief moment before his hard exterior was painted on his face again.
Music plays and you all enjoy the beginning of supper, everyone happy and laughing with eachother. You chatted mostly to Aemond who didn’t speak much but seemed content to listen to you. It did not go unnoticed by your brother Jace but he chose to ignore it. The air in the room feels lighter as all of the tension fades away. After a short time, King Viserys is brought back to bed due to his pain flaring up.
The music continues and more food is brought to the table. You watch as a roast pig is placed directly in front of Aemond, your eyes shoot to your brother Luke who is already smirking and chuckling at Aemond. Before you even have a second to think, Aemond’s fist slams onto the table and startles you.
“Final tribute.” Aemond says as he stands holding up his cup, the music stopping and the tension suddenly filing the air again. “To the health of my nephews… Jace… Luke… and Joffrey.”
He looks to your stepbrothers who are glaring at him in return.
“Each of them handsome, wise…” Aemond pauses.
You try to meet his eye with your desperate pleading ones, knowing exactly what he was about to say.
“…Strong.” Aemond states.
“Aemond-“ Alicent tries.
“Come!” Aemond talks over her. “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”
“I dare you to say that again.” Jacaerys challenges.
“Why? Twas only a compliment.” Aemond walks up to Jace. “Do you not think yourself strong?”
It all happens in a flash, Jacaerys throwing his fist at Aemond, Aemond taking the punch to the face with a smirk before shoving Jace to the floor. Aegon starts his own fight with Luke. Now everyone is standing, including yourself, as the guards pull back your brothers.
“Why would you say such a thing before these people?” Alicent demands to Aemond.
“I was merely expressing how proud of my family mother.” He says, yanking his arm out of her grasp. “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”
Jacaerys tries to charge at Aemond again before Daemon intervenes and Jace steps back.
“Go to your quarters.” Rhaenyra orders the younger people, including yourself. “All of you go, now.”
You are last to leave as you watch your father and Aemond stare eachother down.
**********
With everything going on no one even notices you leave the group as you rush to Aemond’s chambers. Once you reach his door you knock loudly.
“Leave me be!” You hear Aemond call on the other side of the door.
“Aemond, it’s me. (Y/n).” You call through the door.
You hear nothing but silence for a long moment and get a sinking feeling thinking he is just as mad at you as everyone else. Until the door opens and he slowly peers out from behind it.
“What do you want?” He says dryly, causing a strange ache in your chest.
“I wanted to check you were alright.”
“Why?”
“I- uh, because Aemond… my brothers were horrible and I am so sorry for the way they behave sometimes. They can be so bloody… arrogant.”
You see a faint smile cross his face at that and it brings you a heavy sense of relief.
“Do you want to come in? I don’t think we should discuss such things out here.” He says as he opens the door more for you.
“Sure, yes. You are probably right.” You say nervously as you make your way into his bedroom.
The air feels instantly tense when the door shuts behind you both, suddenly completely alone.
“They have ruined the entire visit.” You vent to Aemond. “I know everyone is looking at you for tonight, because of what you said, but I saw Luke too… They have always loved to antagonize you, and then you get blamed when you react!”
Aemond simply stares at you, feeling truly seen for the first time in his entire life. You were unlike anyone he had ever met, the only person he did not feel as if you saw him as a monster or a burden.
“Yes, well. Your brothers are bastards.” Aemond says with a mix of anger and humour.
“I disagree…” You say with a serious face before smirking. “They are not my brothers.”
Aemond smirks in response when he catches onto what you meant. It was so rare to find someone who agreed with him, who truly understood him. He suddenly realized he did not want to lose you.
“Will you have to return to Dragonstone with them?” Aemond asks.
“I expect I will, yes.” You say sadly.
“Do you want to go?”
“No, certainly not.” Your eyes meet his. “But it never matters what I want.” You advert your gaze to the floor.
“What do you want (y/n)?” He asks as he steps closer to you until he is nearly a breath away.
“It does not matter…” You say in a whisper.
“It matters to me…” He says lowly, glancing to your lips. “What is it that you really want (y/n)?”
“You…” The whisper of the word escapes your lips before you can think, your brain panics for a moment when you realize what you said out loud.
The panic is quickly replaced by surprise when Aemond cups your cheeks and brings your lips to his. You hesitate for a moment, thinking of your family, before your restraint snaps and you throw all caution to the wind and kiss him back passionately. You blindly follow along in the dance your tongues begin to do before you pull away briefly.
“I want you, Aemond.” You breathe. “All of you.”
“You know your family would not like this…” He whispers as his lips move down to your neck.
“I do not care.” You moan.
“This would ruin you for any man to come.” He mumbles as he continues kissing and nipping along your neck, his other hand coming up to grasp your breast. The feeling sending sparks throughout your body.
“Good.” You breathe. “I do not want anyone else, Aemond. Only you.”
“Good.” He says, pulling back to gaze into your eyes. “Because I do not wish to ever share you with anyone else. I do not care of our family rivalry… you are mine now.”
You simply nod eagerly and bring your lips back to his. You both make your way towards Aemond’s bed, lips never parting.
“Are you sure this is what you want, (y/n)?” He asks in a breathy voice as his fingers play with the strings on the back your dress.
“I am certain you are what I want, Aemond.” You say to him with heat in your eyes.
A small smirk forms on his lips as you turn around and he finishes pulling the laces of your gown. After a few moments the dress falls to the floor, leaving you in your thin shift. You turn back to face him and begin removing his shirt, eyes staying intensely connected to his as you do. His shirt falls to the floor and your eyes greedily take in his perfectly toned chest.
He helps as you pull your shift over your head, leaving you completely bare before him. Aemond quietly gulps as he takes in your naked form. He had seen naked women before at the brothel his brother had dragged him to, but you were something else entirely. A heavenly sight that the gods guarded from the world, a sight he had been blessed enough to see.
You reach to pull at the laces of his pants and he helps quickly get them off as they join the pile of discarded clothes. You reach to Aemond’s eye patch, he flinches hesitantly, causing you to abruptly stop. He gently grabs your wrist to lift your hand again, encouraging you. You reach up and slowly pull off his eye patch, revealing a beautiful blue sapphire. You lightly brush your thumb along his scar and he lets out a heavy breath. You both stand there for a moment, drinking in the sight of eachother in all your glory. You look down taking in the sight of his length and worry about how that would possibly fit inside you. Aemond moves towards you slowly, this time bringing your lips to his for a gentle, slow kiss. So many feelings spoken in this short kiss.
“Shall we get into bed then?” You say lowly.
He nods with a smirk as you both crawl into bed, Aemond hovering overtop of you as your lips connect once again, his hardness pressing against your stomach and your breasts pressed tightly against his chest. He takes his time kissing you like this before he kisses along your jaw, down your neck, moving lower until his mouth finds your nipple and sucks hard, causing you to gasp.
Aemond would have loved to continue his journey lower and provide you with even more pleasure, but he knew he was pressed for time because any moment your family could come searching for you to leave, they were likely looking for you right now. Besides, his patience began to run thin when you reach down and wrap your soft fingers around his aching member. The groan that escapes him sends a jolt right to your core.
He lines himself up to your entrance and his eye meets yours for permission. You nod quickly and he pushes into you slowly, both your mouths dropping open and panting at the feeling. Aemond stops when he feels the barrier. You try and control your heavy breathing.
“This is going to hurt for a moment.” He whispers and you nod again.
He pushes through your maidenhead and you cry out in pain, your fingers digging hard into his strong biceps. Aemond stills inside you and kisses you hungrily, the feeling of you squeezing tightly around him made his head completely spin. You whimper into his mouth as he slowly slides out of you before pushing back in. The pain slowly begins to fade as he tries to keep you distracted with his lips.
“More, Aemond… please…” You breathe after a few moments, wrapping your legs around him to pull him closer.
Aemond does not hesitate to quicken his speed, causing you to throw your head back as moans poured from your mouth. Neither of you cared if someone heard even knowing you would be in deep trouble. You almost hoped to be caught so you would have to be bound to each other.
Every sweet sound he dragged from you quickly pushes Aemond closer to the edge. He reaches down to rub on your pleasure point, hoping to push you over the edge before he loses control.
“Oh gods! Aemond!” You cry out as you come undone around him.
Intense shocks of pleasure shoot through your entire body and you see stars. Aemond watches the beautiful sight below him as you ride out your orgasm. He thrusts into you hard as his own peak crashes into him, groaning out in pleasure as he comes deep inside of you.
He remains inside you for a minute as you both pant, trying to catch your breath and your thoughts. He smiles and kisses your cheek before rolling off of you. You cuddle up to him and he hugs you tighter. You let out a content sigh before your smile turns into a frown, reality coming back to you.
“I do not wish to leave… to leave you…” You say quietly.
“I do not wish for you to leave either… so don’t.” Aemond says as you turn your head to meet his gaze.
You sigh and lay your head back on his chest, soaking up every minute you have with him.
**********
“What on earth are you talking about?” Daemon demands.
“I just do not understand why I have to leave too. We have only just arrived. I also was not even remotely involved in the fight at dinner, and Rhaenyra will be returning here anyway.” You try to reason with your father.
“What reason could you possibly have to want to remain here alone?” He asks.
“I- I suppose I do not have one…”
You could not tell your father the true reason you wanted to stay, he surely would drag you away if he knew. No other excuses come to mind.
“Good. You will leave tonight with all of us.” He says firmly.
**********
The ship ride back to Dragonstone was absolutely nauseating. You had never been so sea sick, throwing up every morning. The anxiety of leaving Aemond without being able to say goodbye just made you feel even worse. You had no idea how he was feeling, if he was upset, angry, or hardly cared at all. You prayed that some day you would have a chance to return to King’s Landing, to return to Aemond.
**********
So much had happened since your return to Dragonstone. King Viserys had died the same night of your departure and the throne usurped by Aegon. Your morning sea sickness did not go away and the most random smells would make you sick. Certain foods made you throw up just from the scent, while others smelt like heaven, even some of your favourite flowers had you reeling with nausea. The maester eventually confirmed your greatest fear… you were with child. Thank the gods for the maester’s discretion.
It was utterly impossible to tell your family the news with every horrible thing that was happening. The worst of it all… the death of your stepbrother Luke at the hands of none other than Aemond Targaryen, the father of your child. You knew there had to be more to the story, but your family in Dragonstone obviously found the greens completely unforgivable now. You truly did feel heartbroken for Rhaenyra, it also made you feel more protective of your own child growing inside your belly. But your dream to reunite with Aemond seemed to fade farther and farther out of your reach.
You had your dresses fitted looser as your belly began to swell, blaming it on over eating, which you were doing a lot of anyway as you now dealt with an appetite for two. You were not sure how much longer you could hide this, but each time you attempt to tell your father you cannot get the words out. The more chaos that ensued and the more your father cursed the greens and the harder it became to admit.
**********
Your father and stepmother had called for you and you quickly made your way to them. Your heart was racing and palms sweating as you join them.
“You wished to see me, father?” You say once you enter the room.
“Yes, (y/n). I have great news.” Daemon says. “We have found you a worthy husband.”
“W-what?” Your jaw drops, you were not expecting this at all.
“You are to marry Cregan Stark. The Starks have already pledged their fealty but this is the best way to solidify that relationship.” Your father explains.
“Father… I cannot marry Cregan Stark…” You say.
Daemon scoffs at you.
“You can, and you will. It is not up for discussion.” He says firmly.
“There is something I must tell you both…” You say quietly, worried.
You were officially out of time, you had to tell them and you had to do it now. Daemon and Rhaenyra give you their full attention as you refuse to meet their eyes.
“I am with child.” You state quietly, your fists clenched at your sides in nervousness.
“That’s not possible.” Your father scoffs with a chuckle, as if trying to convince himself.
“The maester has already confirmed it…” You continue to speak quietly. “I am quite far along…”
“Who is the father?” Rhaenyra asks.
You meet her gaze but remain silent.
“Dammit young lady! Who on earth did you sleep with?” Daemon yells at you, making you jump.
He stomps towards you and grabs you by the throat briefly before letting go. Although it was only for a second you stumble backward with your hand on your sore throat as your eyes meet his in fear.
“If you are already this angry… I am far too afraid to tell you who the father is.” You say with a shaky voice, holding back tears.
“We are not going to harm him, child.” Rhaenyra reassures you but your father rolls his eyes as if to disagree.
“That is not my greatest concern… My concern is more to do with who it is...”
“Who in seven hells is it?!” Your father snaps and steps towards you again, you step back as he does until your back hits the wall.
“He…” You try to get the words out, your father stops and they both stare at you impatiently. “The father is… Aemond Targaryen.”
You feel as if you are going to puke or possibly faint as you watch the absolute horror spread across their faces.
“I’m sorry…” Your father chuckles in disbelief. “I must have misheard you. Did you say… Aemond fucking Targaryen?”
You look to your feet and nod.
“You’re fucking with me… Please tell me you are fucking with me.” Daemon says, your silence in response answers his question.
Rhaenyra is still standing there speechless in shock.
“This was before…” You look directly to Rhaenyra. “…everything.” Your eyes shift back to your feet.
“Do you have any idea what you have done?” Daemon says angrily, rubbing his temples in frustration. “What in seven hells are we supposed to do now?!”
“I… I do not know…” You say in nearly a whisper. “I am truly sorry father… it just… happened.”
“Have you even asked the maester if your condition is treatable at this stage?” Daemon asks.
“Treatable? What do you mean?”
“Is there no way they can rid you of that thing?”
“Is that really what you are considering be done, father?” You scoff in offence.
“Dear daughter, I am considering throwing you down a flight of stairs or stabbing you in the stomach to rid you of that thing if necessary.” He snarls.
Even Rhaenyra shoots him daggers at that statement, having recently lost their own babe during childbirth.
“Stop calling it that! It is a child, my child, and I will not let you harm me nor my baby.”
“I refuse to let you birth the spawn of that monster. Go to your chambers while I go speak to the maesters about what can be done.”
“Father-“
“I said get out of my sight!” His voice booms, causing the room to go still.
You stare at him as if you were to say something else but then turn to run out of the room crying. As soon as you reach your chambers you slam the door and lock it. You desperately reach for your chamber pot before vomiting into it. After, you try and steady your heavy panting as you think of what to do.
Your mind races as you stand up and throw a travel bag onto your bed before quickly packing your things, whatever you could fit. The hour was already late, you thought, so there was no need to wait until nightfall to escape. Surely you could sneak off to the stables unnoticed and flee on your horse, find a ship somewhere on Dragonstone before you were caught. You take a deep breath and look around your bedroom, the life you would be leaving behind, the family. But screw them! You have never felt a true part of either of your father’s families. You rubbed your stomach tenderly, thinking about the future of a true family, your family. With that in mind you throw open your bedroom door only to stop suddenly as you see your father standing on the other side. He looks to the bag in your hand.
“Going somewhere, daughter?” He asks slyly.
“I- I cannot stay here…” Your voice trembles.
“I forbid you to leave this castle until we have decided what to do with you.” He says sternly. “You will not leave your room, we will have breakfast brought to you in the morning.”
Before you can argue he slams the door in your face and locks you inside. You shake and pound at the door. Beating your fists on it as hard as you can.
“You cannot do this to me! Please father! Please!” You cry and beg from the other side.
You fall to the ground staring at your trembling red hands, aching from banging on the door. Anger boils within you until you are back on your feet throwing things around the room, the sound of screaming and breaking glass echoing into the hallways. Eventually you tire yourself out and collapse onto your bed, crying yourself to sleep.
**********
The next morning you hear a knock at the door.
“Come!” You call.
One of your chamber maids opens the door with a tray of breakfast food.
“Good morrow, princess.” She says politely, concern crossing her face as she notices the state of the room. “Shall I send in someone to clean?”
You shake your head before peering behind her and seeing no one else around.
“I need something else from you.” You say quietly to her.
“Of course, princess. What can I do for you?” She says.
“I need you to deliver a note to my guardsman. You know the one I speak of, he is the only one I can trust.” You say as you move to grab parchment and ink, throwing them down on the small dining table which your breakfast now sat.
“I- Forgive me, princess. I do not think can… Your father-“ She says timidly.
“Please! Please, I am with child and I do not know what he is going to do to me. He is trying to kill my baby, he may even kill me to do so if he must. Please, I am begging you.” You grab her hands as you plead with tears in your eyes.
She peers behind her shoulder to the hallway before looking back to you and nodding, making you sigh in relief. You had no idea if you could fully trust her, for all you know she will take this note straight to your father, but you had no other option right now.
“But quickly, princess.” She whispers, continuing to peak into the hallway for anyone coming this way.
You quickly scribble a letter to your only fully trusted person in this land. The only guardsman that had followed you from Runestone to each place you moved. He was loyal to your mother and you knew he always had distaste for your father. It was still extremely risky but he was your one chance at getting out of here. You hand her the folded up letter which she tucks into her dress and you whisper endless thank yous.
“Princess.” She says with a curtsy before departing.
All you could do now was wait…
**********
There is another knock at your door not long after the maid leaves. You open it eagerly and are surprised to see your stepbrother Jacaerys standing on the other side.
“What do you want?” You ask.
“I wanted to know if it was true…” He says flatly.
“That depends on what my father has told you… That I am a deceitful traitor? That I am a whore? That I am growing a demon spawn inside me?” Your say as your blood begins to boil.
“He said you were with child. With Aemond’s child.” He says, pure anger in his tone. “So same thing really…” He shrugs.
“Fuck you, Jacaerys.” You snap.
You are nearly as shocked as he is at the bold statement, but you had no care left in the world about how your family thought of you now. They have already decided in their minds to hate you for being with the child of their greatest enemy. Nevermind the fact that the act of it happened before all of that. If things had not turned out in the horribly tragic ways they did, and the whole of the royal family had remained civil with eachother, you knew your family would still have been displeased but they would have ultimately accepted your bond to Aemond.
“Wow, (y/n)… I knew there was something between you two when we visited King’s Landing. But I thought after everything he has done, everything the rest of them have done to our family…” His voice raises. “I have no more words for what you have done…” He says in almost a whisper, shaking his head in disappointment.
“Well, if you have no more words then I bid you a good day, brother.” You say sharply before closing the door in his face.
You feel like you could spit fire with how angry and hurt you were. You wish Jace’s words did not phase you but they pierced into you like daggers.
**********
Your lunch and supper had been brought to your chambers. You could not help but worry when you saw it was a different maid than this morning. You prayed to the gods nothing happened to the other one due to your actions.
It was the hour of the owl when someone knocked at your door again. Despite the late hour you were wide awake, unable to sleep at all. You cautiously open the door and nearly cry of relief when you see your guardsman standing outside the door.
“We must hurry, princess.” He whispers to you. “Pack what belongings you need.”
You throw on your cloak before grabbing the travel bag you previously packed and threw it over your shoulder before giving him a nod. He holds his hand out to you and you grab it as he leads you out of your chambers and through the dark hallways. He was careful to avoid other guards, occasionally ducking you both behind another wall as one passed by. He leads you down another hallway you had never seen, leading you right out of the castle through a hidden door.
“This way princess.” The guard says.
You follow him to the shore where there lies a small boat. You give him a questioning look, there was no way you could make it all the way to Kings Landing in that.
“There is a ship waiting for us princess with a handful of men I trust. It had to remain out of sight.” He explains.
You nod and get into the boat before he paddles away into the darkness. The small light of Dragonstone begins to fade into the distance just before the dim lighting of a small ship comes into view. He assists you up the rope ladder and onto the ship. You could see no more than five other men on the ship along with your guardsman. They quickly begin working the sails and get the ship moving.
“I cannot thank you enough, Ser. You have truly saved our lives.” You say to the guard as you rub your stomach.
“I was sworn to protect you and your mother. I may have failed your mother but I will not fail you, princess.” He says.
You give him a sympathetic smile of gratitude before looking out into the dark waters of the sea. Thinking of all that is yet to come.
**********
A few days later, you watch as King’s Landing comes into view. Your heart begins to race and your stomach twists into knots. You were the daughter of their enemies, you had no idea how they would react to your arrival. If they would even listen to what you have to say.
You arrive to the gates with your guardsman, the rest of the crew having begun to sail the ship back.
“Who goes there?” A kingsguard asks.
“Princess (y/n) Targaryen. We are here as allies and bring important news.” Your guard speaks for you.
The kingsguard is silent for a moment, contemplating. Your heart pounds in your chest with worry they will simply refuse you and you will have nowhere else to go.
“Very well.” They open the gate and lead you in.
“The king is available to see you right now.” The kingsguard says.
“Oh. I was actually hoping to speak with Prince Aemond first.” You say timidly.
“The prince is with the king, you may see them both now.” He explains.
You nod and take a deep shakey breath before slightly lifting your dress to walk up the stairs. You are led into throne room, following behind the kingsguard and your guardsman.
Your eyes find Aemond first, standing diligently next to his mother. His eye meet yours instantly quickly flickering to your large stomach and you see his eye widen as the rest of his face remains expressionless. You take another deep breath as you continue walking, focusing hard on putting one foot in front of the other until you reach where Aegon sat on the iron throne.
“Princess (y/n)! To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit? Has your traitor family finally decided to bend the knee?” Aegon speaks to you arrogantly.
“No, your grace. I am not here on their behalf, I am here on mine. They had no knowledge of my travels here… I would bend the knee to you now if I were able, my king.” You say, rubbing your stomach. “I am with child…”
Your gaze darts to Aemond for a short second who has not taken his eye off you since you entered the room.
“I can see that.” Aegon chuckles. “I am glad to hear you are pledging your fealty to me, but I do not understand what your being with child has to do with me?”
“It… It does not have to do with you, your grace.”
You look to Aemond again, this time Aegon follows your gaze.
“Well then!” Aegon laughs loudly. “It seems my brother had been very busy during your last visit to King’s Landing.”
Yours and Aemond’s silence was answer and confirmation enough. Alicent stands beside Aemond in a silent shock as she stares at your round stomach.
“You must be exhausted. My guards will escort you to your chambers.” Aegon says. “We shall see you at supper. I believe you two have much to discuss.” He grins, looking to Aemond who glares back at him.
“Thank you, your grace.” You give a small curtsy, unable to bend too low.
You and Aemond watch eachother as you are led out of the room and to your new chambers, your own guardsman following until you are left alone in the room. As soon as the door is shut tears quickly fall from your face, Aemond looked so angry. What if this entire thing was a huge mistake? You had not fully considered Aemond may not even want to have anything to do with you or this child. Who knows what they might do with you now, what if it’s worse than what your father would have done?
You don’t have long to dwell on the thoughts swirling in your mind before there is a firm knock at the door. You quickly wipe your tears from your face.
“Come!” You call.
The door opens and your heart stops when you see Aemond enter, closing the door behind him.
“Aemond!” You say in surprise.
“Is it my child?” He asks forwardly.
“I- yes… I am so sorry…” Your voice breaks as you fight back tears and look to the floor.
“Sorry?” He says softly as he steps closer to you and gently lifts your chin to meet his gaze. “You have no reason to be sorry, (y/n).”
“But I thought…” You start to say.
“If anything, I am sorry this happened without my being there afterward, without being there to protect you.”
“You could not have known…” You say in a whisper.
“Well, I know now.” He says as he takes both of your hands in his. “I will care for you both, you have my word.”
You smile up at him and the tears you held back fall down your face, Aemond takes his thumb and wipes some away.
“I am bound to you, all of me.” He says intensely, as he cups your cheek and stares into your eyes.
“But… are you not only bound to me because I happen to be with child?” You frown.
“I have been bound to you the moment our lips first touched, (y/n).” He gives you the warmest smile you have ever seen on him.
With that said, he touches his lips to yours in a soft tender kiss. The kiss ever so slowly builds and builds until you’re a whimpering mess and chasing eachothers tongues. Aemond pulls away to look at you, pure fire behind his eyes.
“Does being with child stop you from wanting… from being able to…” Aemond couldn’t get the words out but you knew what he was referring to.
“No, no, not at all.” You say with a smile. “Quite the opposite actually…”
Aemond gives you a questioning look.
“If anything, I need you even more now.” You explain before pressing your lips back to his.
He begins pulling the strings of your dress as the kiss continues. You reach your hands in between you and remove his shirt before pulling at the ties of his trousers. Once your dress falls to the ground you feel instantly self conscious, your body having changed a considerable amount since he last saw you. But the way Aemond looks at you was like a wild animal about to pounce on its prey. The sight of your naked body, swollen his child, was the most heavenly sight he could ever see.
You get into bed, kissing in between every movement, like your lips could not stand to be apart for longer than a few seconds. Aemond’s lips soon move to your neck before kissing his way down your chest. His warm mouth wraps around your nipple before sucking hard, causing you to gasp, your nipples being even more sensitive from the pregnancy. He kisses all over your stomach lovingly as one hand rubs across it gently. He looks up and smiles at you as you smile back at him, pure happiness on his face.
“I have been dreaming about this…” He says lowly before licking a strip up your core.
You whimper and squirm as his tongue teases you with gentle licks before he wraps his strong arms around your legs to hold you still as he begins to eat you out ravenously. Your hand shoots to your mouth to cover the loud moans pouring from you as your other hand finds its way down to his head and your fingers bury into his silky white hair. You tug his hair lightly as you’re overcome with pleasure and he groans in response, the feeling of it against your core bringing you closer to the edge.
Your entire body feels like it’s on fire as he works you with his tongue, the intensity only increasing as he slips two of his long slender fingers inside you. It’s not long after that until you come undone, clenching around his fingers and bucking against his face as you cry out. Aemond doesn’t relent until your legs are shaking and you’re pulling away from the overstimulation.
He moves back up the bed, wiping his face, and you pull him into a hungry kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.
“I need you inside me right now.” You beg, the need for him only increased by your release.
He practically growls at your words as he pulls his loose pants fully off and tosses them to the ground. He wastes no time plunging himself into you, causing you both to moan out in tandem. You bask in the full feeling of him inside you again, you felt so empty without him all these months and now you were finally reconnected.
The angle is awkward due to your protruding belly in between you, your eyes meet as unspoken thoughts pass through you. Without a word you reposition so Aemond is laying on the bed and you’re climbing on top of him. After straddling him you shove him back inside you, watching as his jaw drops open at the feeling. With your limited mobility Aemond still takes the lead and begins pounding into you from below. You cling to his shoulders to keep yourself upright as your tits bounce in his face with each thrust and your moans now fall shamelessly from your mouth. You don’t see him observing every facial expression and sound you make while you ride him. The sight and feel of you had him barreling towards release.
“Me too.” You pant as your second orgasm creeps up on you, the sound of your name on Aemond lips only increasing it.
“Gods!” Aemond groans out as the last of his restraint snaps and he spills into you.
His release brings you to your own, the feeling of him pulsing inside you has you seeing stars as you moan loudly, no longer caring if someone heard you.
You fall onto the bed beside him, both panting heavily. After a minute Aemond turns to his side to look down at you, your eyes meet his and you both smile warmly at eachother, nothing but love passing between you.
“I love you, (y/n).” Aemond says as he brushes your cheek with his thumb.
“I love you, Aemond.” You say back, your hand gently covering his still on your cheek.
He leans down and places a firm kiss to your lips before pulling back to admire you again.
“So what now?” You ask.
“Now?” He raises a brow before smiling again. “Now, we marry. Have our child, and live happily ever after.”
“I like the sound of that.” You smile.
**********
The wedding was very small and private, only the main royal family of King’s Landing in attendance. You would have loved to have a large wedding and a grand feast but with your, condition, it had to remain quiet to the people. You still enjoyed every minute of the day, saying your vows with the love of your life and enjoying a lovely dinner with music.
Every minute spent in your wedding chamber was also well enjoyed. You had obviously already consummated the marriage but you could not keep your hands off eachother. The night was passionate and intense.
“I want to taste you husband…” You say lowly.
“Who am I to deny you, little wife.” He smirks.
‘Little wife’, gods, the need for Aemond quickly pooled between your legs at the sound of that.
He leads you over to sit at the edge of the bed and stands in between your thighs. Seeing the way you stare up at him, your face only inches away from where he needed you most, it made his aching member press harder against his trousers.
“Take it out, little wife.” He says.
That name lit a fire inside you. You pull at the laces of his trousers and Aemond hisses when your soft hand wraps around his hardness to pull it out. Your eyes meet his and he watches you with heavy eyes as you begin slow sensual licks around his tip, he shudders when your tongue brushes over the hole. Just as Aemond is about to beg you for more, you shove him as far as you can into your mouth and he groans loudly. You continue to work him with your hands and mouth, testing and finding out what he likes.
“Fuck, I’m-“ Aemond barely chokes out the words before he’s spilling into your mouth with another loud groan.
After that Aemond took his sweet time with you. Kissing, licking, stroking, and worshipping every single inch of your body. You moaned as your hands buried into his hair, his face between your legs eating you like a man starved. One of his hands reaching up, interlocking with yours as he uses his other hand to slide his slender fingers inside you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.
“Come for me, little wife.” Those words had you instantly soaking his face and moaning so loud you knew that the guards in the hallway were likely feeling awkward, but you could not care less.
You lost count of the amount of orgasms he coaxed from you that night. If you were not already with child, you definitely would have been after your eventful wedding night. You both felt like you could never get enough of this intimacy, this love.
The months following were extremely stressful, with the inevitable war being planned out, and Aemond being highly involved. He did his best to give you as much of his time as possible. The smile on Aemond’s face when he first felt the baby kick, was the happiest you have ever seen him. He also made sure you were well taken care of by the maids and maesters throughout the entire pregnancy.
**********
Aemond returns to bed well past the hour of the owl after a long dreadful meeting with the small council. To his surprise you were wide awake reading a book in bed with a candle lit beside you. You smile warmly when you notice him.
“What are you doing awake, little wife?”
“Sleep has been difficult lately.” You say as you rub your round belly. “The babe is going to come any day now.”
The tension releases from Aemond, thinking how grateful and lucky he was to have such a beautiful wife and a child on the way.
“What are you doing up so late, husband?” You ask.
Some of the tension returns to him as he sits down on the bed beside you with a heavy sigh.
“The small council meeting dragged on and on… my brother’s ignorance is going to lose us this war.” He sighed in annoyance.
“You should be king.” You say, a hand coming to rest on top of his.
“What?” He agreed with you of course, but it was a bold statement coming from someone else.
“You should be king, my love.” You look deeply into his eye. “Tis you who studies history and philosophy, it is you who trains with the sword, who rides the largest dragon in the world, it is you who should be king.”
His heart raced at your words, his deepest darkest thoughts he would never say aloud you were saying directly to him. He leans in and places a firm kiss to your lips to show his agreement.
“You are so perfect.” He says to you in a whisper, the words making your heart swell.
He kisses you again, this time with more intent, his tongue dancing against yours. His eye meets yours for permission to continue and you nod, biting your lip. He continues kissing you as you pull up the skirts of your night dress and he undoes his trousers and throws them to the floor. He lays behind you, reaching his arm around to lightly rub your stomach as he kisses down your arm. You both sigh in pleasure as he so very slowly enters you. The sex is slow, intentional, gentle, loving. Savouring every little moment and feeling of one another.
“Stop stop, something is wrong.” You suddenly say as a strange feeling passes through your body.
Aemond immediately stops and pulls away from you and you noticed the bed sheets are soaked.
“I think my water just broke…” You look to him.
Your panicked faces quickly turn excited and he quickly throws his pants back on before calling on the maester and servants. The babe was finally coming!
**********
Aemond paced back and forth outside the birthing chamber for hours, freezing in horror every time he heard a painful scream or cry coming from inside. You had been in there for so long, and none of it sounded good. He knew childbirth was hard and there would be a lot of pain, and he did not know how a normal birth is supposed to sound, or how long it’s supposed to take… but when Alicent came to checkup on him he could see the extreme worry on her face when he told her you were still in there and they both heard another scream of pain from the other side of the door.
More time passes, far too much time, before the chamber door finally opens and the maester came outside, shutting the door behind him.
“Well?” Aemond demands.
“My prince… I am afraid the babe refuses to come.” He explains hesitantly. “We are left now with the difficult choice to attempt saving the child… but at the cost of the mother’s life.” He explains.
Aemond freezes, his heart suddenly racing and palms sweating, his worst fear being brought to life right before him.
“Absolutely not.” He says, his voice shakey. “There must be another way.”
“I’m afraid if she cannot birth the babe naturally… there are no other options, my prince. Otherwise we may very well lose them both”
“Let me see her.” Aemond demands.
“Of course, my prince.” The maester timidly agrees and leads Aemond into the room.
Aemond enters the room to see you on the birthing bed which was drenched in blood, your face covered in sweat and exhaustion. He felt a wave of terror wash over his body at the sight. A grateful smile crosses your tired face when you see your husband.
“My love…” You sigh with a soft smile.
“Everyone out.” Aemond demands the room full of midwives and the maester.
“But my prince…” The maester says, hesitant about leaving you at this stage of the birth.
“I need a moment alone with my wife, I will call you all back in a minute. Wait outside. Now.” Aemond demands, leaving no room for argument.
The maester bows his head and everyone scrambles out of the room. The second the door shuts Aemond is on you, grabbing onto your hand as his other brushes the damp hair from your forehead.
“My love…” He looks at you with pure sadness and worry in his eyes.
“What did the maester tell you?” You mumble, barely having the strength to speak.
“They said if the babe will not come they will have to…” He tries to explain, voice trembling.
“Please... Please, do not let them cut me open. I am not ready to die Aemond…” You pant the words in a panic, tears falling down your face.
“No, you will not die my love. You cannot die…” He says, kissing your forehead and hugging you close as he fights off his own tears. “But in order to live, to remain here with me, to remain here with our child…” Aemond takes your face in his hands. “You have to push.”
“I can’t…” You burst into tears. “I have tried Aemond I really am trying. I can’t… I can’t…”
“Yes you can.” He says reassuringly as he still holds your face. “I am here now, I am not going anywhere. You can do this, (y/n). You must…” His voice breaks at the last words and a tear falls down his face.
You sniffle and nod your head in agreement.
“Alright, come!” Aemond calls to the door.
The maester and midwives quickly file back into the room, finding their positions again. The maester looks to Aemond for an answer to his earlier suggestion.
“We are going to try pushing once more.” Aemond states.
The maester looks concerned and hesitant in the idea, but does not try to argue any further with Aemond. With your husband by your side, your hand in his, you attempt on pushing again. You scream in pain as you push and push and push, the babe refusing to move an inch.
“I can’t do it… I can’t do it…” You sob.
“You must…” Aemond whispers the gentle reminder in your ear. “Please…”
You must do it, you must live... Aemond could not even consider what he would do if you did not.
You begin to push again, putting every ounce of strength you have into it, you scream as your body feels like it’s being torn open, squeezing Aemond’s hand so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if you broke the bones. You take one quick breath before continuing to push and push, fighting through the blinding pain. Finally, you feel a huge wave of relief wash over your body and the sound of crying assures you that it’s all over. Your heavy eyes refuse to open and your body begins to feel even weaker.
“What is happening?” You hear Aemond ask in a panic.
“She has lost far too much blood.” The maester responds.
That is the last thing you hear before you completely lose consciousness. You don’t see or hear them basically shoving Aemond out of the room despite his protests, or the tears in his terrified eye as he stares at your limp body laying still in the bed.
**********
When you come to, you are still laying in bed but the sheets are now clean and your night dress had been changed. You see Aemond standing on the other side of the room, facing the window.
“Aemond?” You call out weakly.
His head quickly shoots to your direction before he walks over, holding a bundle in his arms.
“My love, how are you feeling?”
“Fine.” You give a soft weak smile. “Is this our child?”
“Our son…” You repeat lovingly as he places the babe in your arms.
You look at your beautiful baby boy with his silver gold hair and your heart soars, even more so when you glance back to your husband who’s now sitting beside you on the bed. Your heart felt so full in this moment. Everything you had been through to get to this very moment, was all worth it.
