• Aemond is very strict. You often have to remind him that he doesn’t know more than the maesters.
• He isn’t particularly verbal with affection. Instead, he shows it through his actions. Your chair is always waiting, your bath is already prepared.
• He hates the idea of anyone touching your stomach except him. Not even your mother or Helaena.
• He takes it upon himself to personally oversee all of your meals.
• He doesn’t tell you, but he worries constantly about childbirth. Knowing your family history, he knows many women never survive it. He rarely sleeps well during the final weeks.
AEGON TARGARYEN
• Has absolutely no idea how pregnancy works or what to expect, but does his best to make you feel happy/comfortable. He uses humor to hide how scared he is.
• After a few goblets of wine he’ll snuggle up to you and rest his palm on your stomach and occasionally even talk to the baby.
• The first and only time in his life he is hesitant about being intimate with you. He’s worried he’ll hurt you and also feels a bit strange about it.
• The baby moving/kicking weirds him out but also fascinates/amazes him.
• No one actually notices, but as your labors approach, he drinks less.
JACAERYS VELARYON
• He is over the moon. He is so proud and wants to tell everyone straight away.
• Starts imagining what kind of parent he’ll be and quietly worries he won’t measure up to the examples he admired
• Over time his anxiety creeps in. He watches your every move and is immediately concerned. Asking, “are you alright? Does it hurt? Should I send for the maester?” You’re fine… but minutes later, he’s asking again.
• If it’s a girl? Forget it. He is absolutely ecstatic. Two perfect princesses. He wakes you up each morning with “how are my favorite ladies doing?”
• Deep down he worries that the child will suffer the same way he did as a child. Made to feel less than, their worthiness questioned.
CREGAN STARK
• He’s always wanted a large family, a bunch of his own little pups. The second he finds out you’re pregnant he is filled with pride.
• He has a massive breeding kink, so he’s even more handsy with you once you’re carrying his child, his praise during sex is on another level.
• He builds the baby’s cradle himself. And carves little wooden wolves, horses, and bears during the evenings. He brushes it off as “just something to pass the time.”
• if you mention craving something once, it’s yours. Whether it’s delivered to your chambers or waiting for you at dinner.
• He’s by your side the entire labor, whether the masters want it or not.
DAEMON TARGARYEN
• Loves taking you flying early in the pregnancy, but becomes increasingly reluctant as your belly grows.
• Becomes more attentive than usual, offering to rub your shoulders/back/feet.
• He’s unexpectedly patient with your changing moods. If you’re angry, he lets you be angry. If you’re afraid, he doesn’t dismiss it.
• Sings/Speaks in High Valaryian every night until you fall asleep, hoping the baby hears his voice.
• He is terrified of losing you, though he’d rather die than admit it aloud. He breaks down in relief once both you and the baby are safe.
Tags: canon divergence, dad Aemond, angst & fluff, bullying, fatherly love, domestic fluff, pregnant reader, naked cuddling, no smut
Wordcount: 3,125
Upon discovering that his youngest son is bullied by his cousin Jaehaerys, Aemond realizes he has been neglecting his family and endeavors to protect his boy, and atone for his perceived failings.
Aemond Masterlist
Since being named Hand of the King following the passing of his grandsire Ser Otto, Prince Aemond had scarcely had time to roam the castle idly and allow his thoughts to wander, yet today it seemed he would be allowed a minute of respite between Council meetings and correspondence.
The last fortnight had particularly been brutal, with requests and outright demands from all corners of the realm, but now that all decisions had been made, and the rest of his tasks had been dispatched to other members of the Council or serving lords, he decided he could spare an hour in his afternoon to see to his family.
Aemond’s greatest pride, aside from his position serving his brother King Aegon, was his wife and children, and the harmonious household he was at the head of. His marriage to you had been arranged according to political interests and yet, love had been at the center of it since the very start. You matched him in every way that mattered, and with you at his side, he had risen to the highest step possible in the realm, and had forged a solid reputation for himself.
At this hour, you would no doubt be in your solar, tending to your and Aemond’s daughter while your sons were training in the courtyard. Unwilling to visit you without a reason, or at least a pretext you would no doubt see through, Aemond decided to make a detour to the library and select a book to bring to you.
With any luck, you would read your favorite passages to him in bed that night, and such moments of closeness were what kept the steel in his back, and made him the man he was. However, as he entered the large, dusty room, Aemond was surprised to find one of his sons bent over a large tome, his small finger going over the runes diligently.
The boy was his second son, the third child, suffering from the same shy and intellectual personality Aemond had as a child. His eldest, Rhaegar, was forward and confident, with a streak of arrogance Aemond had to admit he nurtured sometimes—his heir had everything to be proud of, after all—and his second, a daughter, was much the same.
His younger son, Aenys, was more tender-hearted but no less intelligent. He had a softness to him and his looks favored you, his mother, in his eyes and in the curl of his mouth when he smiled—those details never ceased to make Aemond’s heart swell. Rhaegar is my pride, but Aenys is my joy, he had said to you often enough, in the secret cove of your chambers.
“Why are you not in the courtyard?” Aemond asked, running a hand on his child’s shoulder. The white-haired boy lifted his head to peer up at his father.
“I thought I would read some histories, today,” he said, then went back to deciphering the runes.
“Are your lessons with the Maester insufficient?” Aemond frowned. Peering over his shoulder, he saw the chapter he was currently reading was more advanced than what the Maester was currently teaching him. “Perhaps I shall have a word with him.”
“Oh no, they are perfectly adequate. The Maester is a wise and patient teacher,” came the quick answer, sounding too rehearsed to be the truth.
Aemond put his palm flat on the open page, hindering Aenys’s reading. “Tell me, son,” Aemond insisted.
“There is nothing to tell, father,” he hurriedly replied, dipping his chin.
“Did he reprimand you, give you an additional assignment?” Aemond insisted, and the child shook his head vehemently, but refused to meet his eye.
“No he did not. I did not misbehave,” Aenys protested rather unnecessarily, almost as if he’d stricken a nerve without meaning to.
Aemond sighed and closed the book, pushing it back on the table. “Then you shall attend to your lessons as prescribed. Afternoons are for sword training. Join your cousins in the yard at once, I am sure the swordsmaster is waiting on you,” he instructed, stepping aside so Aenys could push his chair back.
The child did as he was told, shoulders held stiff and eyes lowered. “Yes, father.”
Aemond could not get his growing suspicions to settle, and after a short visit to his daughter’s lessons, he made his way down to the courtyard where he knew the young princes were training. He had walked this way many times as a boy himself, and later as a growing man, finding true purpose in training his body as well as he honed his mind.
However when he stepped outside, it was not such noble feelings that awaited him. Instead his stomach went cold and heavy at the scene he came upon.
Lying down in the gravel, Aenys was looking up at his cousin, his practice sword discarded, and an air of despair on his face. “Leave him alone, Jaehaerys!” Rhaegar admonished.
“Need your brother to come to your rescue?” Jaehaerys taunted. “Then perhaps your place is upstairs with your sister and mi—”
Jaehaerys stopped his rant, his voice breaking in the middle of a word, and he swallowed nervously, stepping back. Aenys rose hurriedly, pushing Rhaegar’s helping hand away, eager to see what had quieted his cousin’s vitriol. When he turned, he saw his father was standing on the edge of the training yard, arms crossed behind his back severely.
“Is this the values you are taught in this yard, boy?” Aemond called to Jaehaerys, his voice piercing the air like the crack of a whip, and yet, he had barely raised his voice. He scarcely needed to, his tone was sharp enough.
“No, uncle,” came the quiet reply—the boy knew better than to disagree.
Aemond approached slowly, menacing, his height towering over his nephew. “Is this the way a future king behaves?” he asked, calm and cold, and Jaehaerys flushed in shame, shaking his head. “Answer me, boy.”
“No, my Lord Hand,” Jaehaerys replied, his lower lip wobbling slightly, and the deference of the title made satisfaction curl in Aemond’s stomach—it did not matter to him that he was humiliating a child, and the heir to the throne, as long as he would insure that his own son was safe from harm.
“You shall do well to think on it,” he continued, all the while refraining from touching his son, letting him stand on his own. Instead, he turned to Rhaegar. “Take your brother to his studies. Your training here is done today.”
“Gladly, father,” Rhaegar said, curling a protective hand around Aenys’s arm and leading him back into the castle.
“I shall be with you shortly,” Aemond called after them, then turned to his nephew once more. “You are dismissed as well. I believe a time of reflection in your chambers is advised, while I have a word with the king.”
Heart thundering in his chest, his blood rushing in his ears, Aemond climbed up the stairs leading the king’s chambers with one precise goal in mind—ensuring that his son would never be subjected to such treatment by his own blood. The heat he felt behind his breastbone was reminiscent of the one he had felt as a child, berated by his own brother and mocked by his nephews, and he could not control his rage.
Aemond burst into the royal chambers, uncaring that he had not knocked, or in what situation he would find the king.
Thankfully, Aegon was simply seated in front of the hearth, a slice of fruit in his hand and a book across his lap. He gave him a bewildered look and a pinched smile, but Aemond spoke before he could. “Would it be too much to ask you to rein your child in?” he spat out.
The king raised a brow at him, surprised at the sudden outburst. “Whatever it is you mean.”
Aemond walked up to him until he was looming over Aegon. “I mean your son and heir ruling terror over the training yard, pushing mine own boy into the dirt,” Aemond explained.
“It’s nothing, Aemond,” his brother snorted, setting the fruit aside and wiping his hand on his thigh. “The lot of boys!”
“Discipline your child, or I will do it myself,” he warned. “I am warning you Aegon, I do not care that he is heir to the throne, if I find him putting his hands on my son again, in a manner unbefitting a prince, there will be consequences.”
“Is that a threat?” Aegon asked, caught between amusement and incredulity. He rose to find himself face to face with his younger brother, but Aemond did not back down, even when facing his king.
“It very much is, Aegon,” he vowed. “You might not care to raise a hand to your son, but I do not share your reserve on that matter.”
Aegon did seem taken aback at such a direct confrontation, but in his usual fashion, waved Aemond off like it was a trivial issue. “Fine, fine,” he conceded, but Aemond feared it would not be the end of it.
Aemond took his leave with one last scalding glare, and allowed himself a moment to quiet his rage before he sought his sons again, finding them in their shared quarters. Aenys was reading with Rhaegar watching over him. The sight the two boys made, sitting close to one another on a sofa, speaking in conniving whispers, made his heart clench.
As soon as he saw him, Rhaegar rose and came to him with a contrite look. “I am sorry, father, I have failed my role as older brother,” he announced.
“In no way whatsoever have you failed,” Aemond answered firmly, but his boy shook his head.
“It is my role as eldest to protect and defend him, and I was unsuccessful,” he sighed, visibly frustrated with himself. “I should have come to you.”
Aemond put his hands on his son’s shoulders, looking back and forth between his two boys. “Yes, you should have, because it is my role as father to protect you.”
Aenys closed the book with a sharp snap, and Aemond loathed to see tears rising in his eyes. “I am sorry, father,” he moaned. “I fear I have disappointed you.”
Aemond sighed and reached for his son. “In no way have you disappointed me. I have disappointed myself, as I have failed you,” he said again, glad when the boy came to him, dipping his head and leaning into his arm when Aemond curled it around him.
“What would have me do?” the boy whispered behind his curtain of white hair.
“Jaehaerys is a little fool, much like his father was at this age. You are better than this,” he said, resting his other hand on Rhaegar’s shoulder. “Both of you.”
“Isn’t this blasphemous of you to say, father?” Rhaegar asked.
“I am the king’s brother, it comes with privileges,” he hummed. “I shall train you as well, from now on. In addition to the swordmaster.”
“You have duties, father, surely you can’t—” Aenys protested, looking up at him.
“My greatest duty is to you,” he replied, bringing his child close by the back of his head, and kissing his forehead. The boy leaned into it, and for a second, the fury in Aemond’s chest was abated.
The day was heavy on Aemond’s mind as he crossed the threshold to his chambers that night. He shared those rooms with you, even though you had your own, but you used those as a place to receive your ladies and oversee your daughter’s lessons, and every night you came to sleep in his bed. There was a comfort to knowing that no matter how terrible the day had been, he had a safe haven with you.
However, as soon as he had closed the doors and started to unbuckle his doublet, he noticed your agitated mood. “Have you lost your mind, husband?” you asked, not unkindly, but the remark was enough to reignite his anger.
“Quite the contrary, I have come to notice things I was blind to,” he said, shrugging his doublet off, and despite your unwelcoming words, you came to assist him. You pulled the heavy garment from his arms and draped it neatly over a chair, smoothing over the shoulders with the palms of your hands.
“I was told you threatened the king, and spoke to your nephew in a harsher way than I have ever heard from you, even towards your own children,” you recounted, rather unnerved by your husband’s sudden erratic behavior.
“I do not need you to give me lessons on how to handle this situation,” Aemond admonished, pushing his discarded boots under his chair and untucking his shirt from his trousers. “Where were you, when our son was being abused by his cousin?”
You scoffed, his evening robe in hand—your other hand had settled over your swollen stomach. “Where was I? I was right here, at your side, being a mother to your children and raising them. I could ask you the same thing. Where were you?”
At that Aemond looked furious, but he said nothing. Instead he turned his back on you, his fists tight at his sides. Setting the robe aside, you came to him, wrapping your arms around his waist, burrowing as close as your growing belly allowed. “This is unlike you, Aemond,” you commented.
One of his hands came to your wrist, holding you in place, your arms tight around his belly, anchoring him and soothing his anger. “My sons kept it a secret from me,” he finally confessed.
With a sigh, you buried your face between his shoulder blades. “They respect and admire you. Aenys wanted you to think he’s strong, that he can hold his own.”
“I have neglected him, his happiness,” Aemond admitted, what he had previously thought was anger revealing itself as shame. “He has been wretched and I have been blind to it.”
Bringing your hands flat on his stomach, you felt his ribcage expand and retract, and you said not a word, allowing him to ground his breathing under your touch. “I can only hope I have not neglected yours,” he said after a minute, turning around in your hold.
“I am perfectly content,” you were quick to reassure him while his hands trailed across your belly, the back of his knuckles tracing the growing curve of it, up to your waist.
“How is my son?” he asked, and you knew the topic of today’s affair was closed—it would be a while, perhaps, before he could speak of it again, and you did not begrudge him his privacy.
Aemond was a man of careful planning and rehearsed conversations, and you knew that there would be nothing to gain from questioning him when he needed to collect his thoughts on a matter. “Your son?” you replied, amused. “How might you know it is a son? I do not know, myself.”
A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “I see the signs in your mood, in your body,” he murmured, and the reverence in his tone flustered you.
After all these years at his side, all he needed to undo you was a few carefully-chosen words, showing how observant he truly was. In a few months, when the babe would be born, you would not be surprised to see him be proven right.
“Do you, now?” you asked, breathless, and his answer came in the form of a kiss, firm and chaste.
Aemond always took his time when kissing you—he never delved in with passion right away, instead coaxing you into it with slow, purposeful presses of his lips. He lingered after a breath, grazing your mouth with the sharp curve of his upper lip, kissing you softly as though to say farewell, only to come back to you before you could open your eyes.
Only when he had teased you with the softness of his mouth would he grant you the passion of his tongue, and you knew he savored it as much as you did, and such a careful dance was done for his sake as much as yours. His passion was always measured, ever so cautious, and to feel his fire simmer under his skin brought you a pleasure greater than any other.
Tonight was no exception, even though there was an edge to his passion that you did not feel often. It spoke of a need for softness and stillness, and you were glad to give it to him.
“Despite what you say, I have neglected you,” he hummed, dipping his head into your neck, nearly groaning aloud when you carded your fingers through his loose hair. “I have been absent.”
“Our full nursery would suggest you have not,” you smiled, and it was with a gentle hand to your belly that he guided you to bed. On the way his eye patch was left on the bedside table and the rest of your linens were discarded—his shirt and trousers, along with your nightgown.
Some nights bare skin was the only thing that would soothe the both of you, your bodies growing warm and sated at the mere touch of the other.
Aemond’s body molded into yours with the practice of a thousand nights, your back arching into his chest, your legs tangling under the sheets. He hooked his chin over your shoulder, his hand tracing the slope between your hip and your knee, occasionally coming to your belly.
“Aemond,” you breathed, your fingers curling with his on the pillow where his other arm had slithered under your neck.
It was not long before you could feel the length of him pressing at your lower back, a line of heat and hardness, but there was no burning desire to seek this sort of pleasure. It would have been easy to lose himself in you, taking you this way, tucked against his tall frame, his hands roaming your skin to his heart’s content. However this was not what he truly wanted, despite his body’s reaction to yours.
The softness of your skin and the pleasure of your touch could be enjoyed without bringing baser urges into it. Holding you in his arms was more than enough to settle and satisfy him on this night, and there would come other occasions to let passion consume him.
Aemond kissed the crook of your shoulder, lingering, savoring your shiver under his lips, and this was true the true wealth of a man, he thought. Children he found pride in, and a wife upholding him, soothing his sharp edges and blessing him with nights of true respite.
This was his kingdom, more than the realm he served as Hand, and what defined him as a man.
Dividers by @zaldritzosrose. Not beta read. Requests for Aemond are currently open.
