— TAME THE STORM
PAIRING — Prince Aerion Targaryen x fem!Reader // Baratheon!OC
SUMMARY — Prince Aerion and Lyonel's wild daughter are in a love-hate relationship for a long while now. Seeing her dance with Ser Duncan at the party finally forces Aerion to admit that he cares about the carefree Baratheon Lady.
REQUEST — (1)
AUTHOR’S NOTE — Oh, how I missed writing for Baratheon Readers! It is the House I identify the most with myself and it gives me opportunity to write very stubborn and wild women. 🤭 Reader's looks are not described but Lyonel is her father. I really enjoyed writing Aerion in a toxic relationship with a woman who is not afraid of him and challenges him.
WORD COUNT — 3,000
ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.
TAME THE STORM
Everyone knew Prince Aerion had an eye on you. And everyone knew you were flattered, enjoying his attention, even though you would pretend you were not. He was a dragon you hoped to tame and you were a doe he wished to hunt like a prize. Perhaps that was the reason why his father, Prince Maekar, had never approached your father to ask about a possible marriage between you two – he knew of his son’s wicked nature and he wished to honourably spare you from it.
But your father wouldn’t be keen on that union either way. Lyonel Baratheon couldn’t imagine his daughter with a Targaryen. He saw them as conquerors, colonisers and the symbols of abused power.
Lyonel believed in many things. One of them was that his daughter was no worse than any man. Ever since you had been a little girl, your father had been taking you to his tournaments. He would sit you on his knee back then so you could clap your hands and watch the parties and the jousts.
Now you were too old to sit on his knee but you were there to cheer on him. Lyonel never paid attention to what you were doing in your free time, though. He knew you would be partying and meeting other men. Maybe he trusted you enough, maybe he didn’t feel the need to guard your purity like so many other fathers would. He was a free spirit and he suspected his daughter would be one, too. There was no point of trying to control her wildness. And no man would refuse to marry his daughter even if she was spoiled. No one would dare.
Even when you were giving your favour to Prince Aerion during every tournament since the one you had met him at. Even then your father would roll his eyes but say nothing. Even when Prince Aerion would approach you on his horse, his fingers lingering for far too long when you were handing him your handkerchief. Even when Lyonel’s eye was able to catch that you had embroidered a dragon on it before. He knew your eye rolls and sighs were all fake. You would never give your favour to someone if you didn’t want to. A true daughter of Storm’s End could not be forced. And Aerion knew that, too, smirking as he would ride away with your token.
Tournaments were the only occasions during which you were seeing Prince Aerion but that was more than enough. Both him and your father were taking part in many. You were seeing him a few times a year. More often than your mother’s side of the family.
At this point, many men were too intimidated to court you. They knew Prince Aerion would get mad if they tried. Some attempted, which you encouraged teasingly, but they never dared to take it far.
It would have to take a complete ignorant person to get too close to you. Someone who had no idea what Prince Aerion was capable of.
You were leaving the puppet show in the evening when you heard a whistle behind you. At first you ignored it but someone whistled again and then again. You turned around, irritated. Who dared to whistle at a Lady?
And there he was, with his arms crossed, leaning on the wooden pillar of one of the pavilions. Aerion Targaryen. Self-proclaimed dragon, whose smirk you would recognise from miles away.
“My Prince,” you greeted him with a huff. “Am I a dog that you whistle at me?”
“Am I one that you walk past me?” He replied.
“I didn’t notice you,” you admitted. “You can get easily lost in the big crowds,” you teased about his height, which brought heat to his cheeks.
He licked his lips and approached you with his arms still crossed.
“Bold of you,” he snorted.
“Well, I am,” you chuckled, trying very hard not to smile at him. You didn’t want to reveal how much you actually liked him. “Either way, what did you want from me that you… whistled?”
“Will you grant me your favour tomorrow?” Aerion inquired.
“I don’t know, will I?” You bit your lower lip, looking him up and down. He became visibly irritated now, his eyes sparkling with anger. Aerion Targaryen hated being treated like he was inferior to someone. And he hated to hear the word no.
“It is not like I need or want your favour anyway,” he changed his approach, which you found extremely funny. You laughed loudly.
“Do forgive me, my Prince, if bothering me is all you seek for, I shall excuse you. My father has thrown a party and I do not wish to be late,” you informed him with a smile, walking away and not giving him a chance to answer.
You walked fast between the tents until you reached the Baratheon pavilion. The sound of music coming from the inside could be heard in the whole camp. You sneaked inside and sat by the table next to your father.
“Where were you?” He only asked.
“At the puppet show!” You leaned in to kiss his cheek and grabbed a few grapes to munch on as you waved at the servant to pour you a goblet of wine. “How is the party?”
“I’ve made a new friend,” Lyonel grinned at you and you raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, yeah, hey, you!” He pointed at the tallest man in the room and beckoned him over. “Come here, Hedge Knight.”
You were intrigued. The man – apparently a hedge knight – was not somebody your father would usually befriend. He was wearing some rags and looked like a commoner. And he surely did not present himself like a knight. Yet, his blue eyes were incredibly kind and he bowed his head in front of you humbly.
“This is my daughter I have told you about, (Y/N),” Lyonel introduced you.
“Nice to meet you, Ser…?” You nodded.
“Ser Duncan… Duncan The Tall,” he mumbled out.
“How original,” you snorted and he blushed. “But it suits you,” you admitted and drank the whole goblet of wine in one go before putting it down loudly. “Do you dance, Ser Duncan?” You asked him with a grin.
Your father laughed at that. Yes, you were definitely his. He often wished he could make you his heir. And perhaps he should apply to the King to ask for the permission to do so.
“I…” Ser Duncan swallowed thickly. “I don’t know how to dance with Ladies,” he explained.
“Nonsense,” you laughed and stood on your chair, extending your hands towards him. He was shocked but he grabbed your wrists to ensure you wouldn't fall down. “Besides, what can you know about how I dance?” You teased him further and stood on the table, making sure your shoes weren’t in the plates of food.
As you walked ahead, however, you accidentally kicked a tray with cheese slices.
“Oops!” You laughed and jumped down right in front of terrified Ser Duncan. “Dance with me, Ser!” You demanded.
Ser Duncan’s eyes widened as he glanced at your father. Lyonel chuckled and nodded. He knew that you wouldn’t listen even if he said no.
You grabbed the big man by his wrists and brought him to the middle of the dancefloor. He was stiff at first but the way you danced freely and funnily caused him to relax. He realised you did not wish to mock him and his lack of skills but you genuinely wanted to have fun.
“You are different than any Lady I have met,” Ser Duncan admitted in the middle of a very vigorous dance.
“I am a furious daughter of Storm’s End. No man shall tame me,” you winked at him as you spun around, laughing loudly.
Ser Duncan did not say anything to that. Unlike many other men, he did not start to argue with you about purity, virtues and maidenhood. In fact, it looked like he admired you in a way.
“You’re adorable, Ser Duncan,” you booped him on the nose and giggled. “I shall give you my favour,” you grinned.
“I… I am honoured, my Lady…”
“Stop it!” You scolded him and his cheeks turned red, fearing he had offended you. However, you burst into laughter. “I give my favour however I wish and to whomever I want. No need to thank me and no point of begging me,” you smirked, remembering your conversation with Prince Aerion from earlier.
“Lady (Y/N),” one of your father’s servants approached you, “your Lord Father wishes to speak with you.”
You nodded and smiled at Ser Duncan. He bowed his head at you and watched you walk away.
Lyonel was sitting by the table, pretty drunk and tired after dancing himself out. His stag crown was resting on his head and it nearly poked you when you were sitting down next to him, sighing and grabbing a bottle of wine standing nearby.
“What is it, Father?” You asked, taking a sip of the wine straight from the bottle.
“What do you think of him?” He asked. He trusted you more than himself when it came to people. He knew you could read them much faster and much more easily.
“His heart seems to be pure. A bit naive and idealistic but true. He is a true knight this Realm needs,” you admitted, taking a look at Ser Duncan who was now dancing with another woman awkwardly. “The idea of knights must have started with the ones like him. Surely it was not about whimsy armours and tournaments,” you chuckled and finished the wine from the bottle.
Your father nodded.
If only your heart was as wise as your mind. You wouldn’t be thinking of Aerion Targaryen constantly. Of his arrogant smile, of his predatory eyes following you everywhere, of his silver hair and his obscene self-confidence.
Women could not joust. Yet, he was your rival in this game. And your unusual courting was your duel.
Ser Duncan wasn’t fighting on the next day because he was not a noble or famous knight, of which you had forgotten on the night before. Therefore, you could give Prince Aerion your favour on that day. You decided perhaps you should since he had seemed so eager to receive it on the night before.
“My Prince!” You called for him as you stood up at the stands when he entered the grounds on his horse. “Please, receive my favour,” you dropped a ribbon from your hair.
It was a usual scene between you two. But what happened after caused everyone to gasp.
Prince Aerion allowed the ribbon to fall past him and land in the mud. He looked at it with contempt before laying his cold eyes on you.
Without a word, he rode away and you sat down awkwardly, feeling utterly humiliated. You had never been so ashamed of yourself.
You nervously played with your fingers for the whole duel, looking down and refusing to follow his actions on the grounds.
After the rather bloody joust, you hurried out of the stands and went straight to the tents where knights resided and waited for their turn. One of the servants responsible for taking care of the grounds handed you the ribbon he had picked up. It was dirty from the mud but you thanked him for it and squeezed it in your hand. The sight of it did nothing but fuel your fire.
You walked past the guards trying to stop you from entering the tent of Prince Aerion. At the sight of you, he rolled his eyes.
“A Lady should not be here unless she’s a whore,” he commented but the arrogance was wiped out of his face the moment you threw the muddy ribbon at him.
His squire was terrified, taking a step back.
Aerion allowed the ribbon to slide down and fall onto the ground, leaving the trail of mud on his perfectly clean face.
“Cheater!” You accused him. “I am glad you did not take my favour for it would have been far more embarrassing to see you win in my name like this!”
“Surely, your Hedge Knight is far more honourable,” he snapped back. “Go to him and offer him your fucking ribbon.”
You clenched your fists at those words. How in the Seven Hells did he know about Ser Duncan?
“What are you even talking about?!” You asked.
“I saw you last night. Followed you to your father’s tent and watched you dance with that commoner. You promised him your favour,” Aerion approached you, his face now inches away from yours. “If your favours are so easy to receive, I do not want them.”
“You would beg for them even if I was a whore,” you smirked, making him lose his temper now.
“I am your Prince!” He yelled, moving away from you. “And you will address me with respect.”
You wanted to yell and remind him of your own nobility but you chose to do something else instead. Unleashing your fury would be on brand but it was exactly what he expected.
Instead, you took a deep breath, relaxed your muscles and crouched down to pick up the ribbon.
“Forgive me, my Prince… I have forgotten myself,” you whispered and bowed your head down before turning away to walk out of the tent.
The coldness. The distance. It was something Aerion could not bear.
He wanted you to roll your eyes, to sigh, to tease, to scream and even hit him. But seeing your back walking out on him was not something he was prepared for. Especially after last night and watching you dance with another man.
On top of that, it had not been a proper dance. It had been wild and raw. You had been full of wine and youthful energy. For the first time, Aerion had realised you were not his birthright to take and claim. You were not a Lady that would spend her days waiting to see him again as she embroidered handkerchiefs to give him at the tournaments. No, you had your own life, your own desires. You were a storm yourself.
And perhaps he should feel disappointed or outraged but it had only made him realise even further how much he wished to have you.
“No,” he said. “Don’t go,” he added and you froze in place.
“I must find Ser Duncan. I am sure he will gladly receive my favour even though it is muddy now,” you looked down at the pathetic ribbon in your hands.
“No, it is mine,” Aerion insisted as he walked over to face you. He wiped the mud off of his cheek with the back of his hand before tearing the ribbon out of your grasp. “All your favours are always mine.”
A hint of possessiveness glimpsed in his eyes… Obsession even.
“What do you do with them?” You asked, curiously. His eyes met yours. “All those ribbons and handkerchiefs I give you? You surely throw them away.”
“I keep them all,” Aerion confessed. “And no Hedge Knight will take any from me.”
You chuckled at that.
“I promised him my favour for tomorrow. I cannot retreat now,” you explained. “Perhaps you will have to share this one time.”
“You only promised him that out of spite. Do you think I do not know?” Aerion smirked and lifted your chin with his fingers, forcing you to look into his eyes. “The fury truly is yours.”
“And yet you think you can handle me… I shall forever be free and no favours of mine are guaranteed. Even to you, Brightflame,” you said intensely.
“Perhaps that is the thrill about you,” he smirked and let go of your chin.
“I am something you will never own,” you emphasised. “You can collect the trophies of my favours but I am not one of them.”
“I know,” Aerion nodded although there was no hint of giving up in his voice. There was a challenge, instead. He even offered you a ribbon back.
“No, keep it. It is all muddy now. I shall give Ser Duncan a new, pretty ribbon for tomorrow,” you teased. “You were a very bad boy, therefore you will keep this one.”
Aerion rolled his eyes and you walked past him to leave the tent for real this time. However, he grasped the hem of your sleeve and caught you, so you could look at him again.
“One day you will be mine,” he threatened. “You will be mine even if it takes kidnapping you from Storm’s End against your father’s will.”
You kept looking at him intensely in silence for a moment. Oh, he had no idea… No idea how much you longed for it. And your father probably wouldn’t even look for you. As much as he hated the Targaryens, he would let you make this mistake on your own. He wouldn’t change your nature because it was matching his. And the Baratheons wouldn’t survive without it.
“I know,” you whispered, feeling Aerion letting go of your sleeve.
He was confused at first but then he smirked at you, realising the real confession behind your words.
This time he allowed you to walk away without feeling uneasy as if he was losing you. The daughter of Storm’s End would never do something she did not wish to do.
And he was something she wanted. What she had always wanted all that time despite teasing him, rolling her eyes, mocking and sighing. Yet, the triumph of knowing that her heart was his did not satisfy him. He was greedy for more. Much more.
“Tell Lord Baratheon that I will challenge him,” Aerion glanced at his terrified squire as he played with the dirty ribbon in his hands. How good it would feel to fight your father while wearing your favour... “I will challenge him for his daughter’s hand in marriage. Today.”
MASTERLIST
