possessive protective big brother aemond x his vulnerable and precious little sister helaena. he keeps his sweet little princess locked in her tower, away from harm, from dangerous and deceptive men—like him.
Disclaimer: All characters are property of G.R.R.Martin and the trademarks mentioned do not belong to me and are not used for commercial purposes nor in a mocking way but just for fun.
Summary: In a modern King's Landing, Prince Aemond Targaryen finds himself reluctantly dragged along by Helaena and Aegon into what he considers a form of torture: a trip to IKEA.
Find it on AO3 too!
Characters: Helaena, Aegon II, Aemond and my beloved kids Jaehaera, Jaehaerys (Maelor is not mentioned but is implied).
Warnings: it's a PARODY MODERN!AU! with comedy and a hint of fluff here and there.
Word count: 3,6k, more or less
Beta: the beta is the awesome @lyssaelisa, who not only suggested the prompt and waited a biblical amount of time to read it, but also corrected huge typos and offered me excellent hints and suggestions. Thank you so much for your patience, I know it takes a lot with me!
Divider: @zaldritzosrose and @thecutestgrotto
It would have ended the same way as every single time.
He knew it right from the start, ever since Helaena had proposed the outing with that particular way she had of tilting her head slightly, her sweet, pleading eyes shining with that smile of hers, a smile that could melt even his last resistance. It was all it took for him to fall into the trap and be dragged into it. No matter how many times he swore to himself that this would be the last time, he always ended up giving in.
Aegon, carried away by Helaena's excitement, would have pushed the shopping cart –undoubtedly the one with an annoyingly squeaky wheel– through the maze of aisles and layouts of rooms, kitchens and living rooms, Helaena would have trotted contentedly beside him for a while, like a child in a candy store, intrigued by the latest arrivals. Then, inevitably, she would get lost. She would have spent an indefinite amount of time in the candle and home fragrance section, and Aemond was almost certain they would grant her honorary residency among the neat rows of “Bear Island red berry” and “Dornish patchouli”-scented diffusers. They would probably even offer her a part-time job in the home decoration department, given her almost mystical dedication.
And him? Well, he would end up trudging behind them with the same energy and vitality of a death-sentenced prisoner ascending the steps to the gallows. Every step a torment, every artificial scent –the synthetic "sea breeze" one was his worst nightmare— an assault on his sensitive nostrils, every decorative object a useless and kitschy distraction. He sincerely wondered how Aegon and Helaena could find pleasure in what, to his eye, was a refined form of self–inflicted torture. A low groan escaped him: in the distance, at the end of the long, tree–lined avenue they were driving down, the characteristic grey building adorned with the Ikea - Kings' Landing sign and the combined sigils of the owners, was awaiting them.
Helaena braked gently as soon as the traffic light turned yellow, and the car stopped with a gentle jolt. Once still, she stretched her thin, bracelet-adorned arm towards the back seats of her Aston Martyn, patting his knee lovingly as she looked at him through the rear-view mirror.
Her smile was radiant.
"Hey Aem, is everything all right back there?" she asked cheerfully, her voice as sweet as ever.
Aemond shifted his gaze away from Aegon's back, who was sprawled out in the front passenger seat, legs wide, carefree and completely unaware of the danger sitting behind him –that is him and his growing bad mood– humming along the croaky voice of a Dothraki rapper track playing on Meraxes Radio, with a certain unjustified level of confidence. The melody was off–key, the words incomprehensible (a mix of Low Valyrian and some Dothraki slang), but Aegon seemed blissfully happy, bobbing his head and drumming his fingers on the cream coloured dashboard in a rhythm almost synchronized with the song.
He wasn't hitting a single note right though, but it didn't seem to faze him in the slightest.
"Do you have a spare question?" Aemond asked Helaena in return, barely softening his gaze as he met his sister's. If sitting almost hunched over, with his knees pressed against the front seat and his head bumping against the painfully low cockpit roof at every speed bump or pothole could fall into the all right category, then yes, everything was all right.
At least for her.
For him, well, it was a different story, but he would never tell her that. Not with that smile on her lips.
*
I want to go home.
In the food court, the North Food Market, the air was thick with a strange smell, a nauseating combination of the ubiquitous sweet, artificial perfume that permeated the entire building and something vaguely unctuous and indefinite that he had no intention of delving into. He gulped down the last sip of that sort of dirty and over–sweetened tasting water that in Winterfell –with a great sense of humour –they had the audacity to define coffee. The hot, tasteless drink left a sticky sensation in his mouth and a vaguely burned aftertaste. He turned to Helaena with a tired look in his eyes, hoping that his sister, usually so sensitive to his moods, would notice.
But Helaena was a peaceful island of concentration amidst the chaos. The iconic, roomy grey bags were arranged in the shopping cart with the precision of an accomplished bricklayer player. Each purchase –multi-picture frames, small containers for the kitchen, and especially candles, a dozen at least– had found its perfect fit. Her attention was now all on the candles: she was sniffing a cinnamon one with a dreamy smile, completely oblivious to his discomfort. He was very glad that she found joy in those little things, in the scent of a cinnamon candle or the promise of a soft, warming light on a cold winter evening, but in that moment he longed for her empathy to tune into him, to sense his almost physical need to escape that buzzing hive of consumerism and return to the muffled silence of their quarters.
The constant noise of the mall pounded in his temples following the dull rhythm of his migraine, an insistent throbbing behind his good eye.
He tried desperately to ignore the deafening chatter of the rush hour –it really seemed that half King's Landing had decided to flock there on this particular cursed day, perhaps drawn by some special offer– and the metallic clatter of the shopping carts whizzing everywhere, pushed by glassy–eyed people intent on filling them with objects of questionable utility that would probably end up gathering dust in the basement or forgotten in the top cupboards of their kitchens after their first enthusiastic uses. He peered at a couple who, beyond the checkouts, were arguing heatedly over a set of pastel–coloured tea towels, wondering what hidden need could drive someone to such passion for rags.
"Hel, promise me that you and Aegon won't turn out like those two, please." he told her, pointing discreetly at the couple.
"Oh gods, I really hope not, Aem. You are as argumentative as that man over there and that's enough for me."
"...fair point."
"But I love you anyway." she smiled, poking him on one cheek before turning her attention back to her brand new candles. Soon after, she was drawing out an owl shaped candle from the bags. "You know there's one for you too, right? For your room."
"And you know I hardly ever use them..." Aemond reminded her, with a barely audible sigh. "The smoke bothers Vhagar."
His thoughts ran to his precious Braavos Coon - a majestic cat that despite bearing the fierce and notable name of an ancient god of war, had turned out to be surprisingly delicate - and to the expensive vet bill for the diagnosis of a breathing allergy.
At that moment, Aegon emerged from the crowd at the counter, staggering slightly under the weight of a loaded tray. He precariously balanced a plate with something vaguely resembling stuffed vegetables and a bowl of spoon dessert for Helaena. The smell coming off his plate was an indistinguishable mixture of strong spices, garlic and something slightly sour.
"How is it possible that you are still hungry? By the Seven Gods, Aegon, you devoured half of my meatballs just a little while ago, you're going to end up puking your guts out, I tell you." sighed Aemond, looking disapprovingly at the amount of food his brother managed to ingest in such a short space of time. "What is that thing?"
"In his defense," intervened Helaena with her usual gentle peacemaking "his portions were microscopic, more like a taste–test."
"Thank you, honey." Aegon smiled, casting a grateful glance at her before answering his brother. "It's the... uh...House Bolton's Special. I think they're meat–stuffed tomatoes. Hmmm, delicious.” he swallowed, noticing Aemond’s gaze. “Ughh... what now?"
Aemond clenched his jaw, choosing not to make any further comment, especially with Helaena present. But the dish's name hadn't certainly not gone unnoticed.
House Bolton.
A name that, in his world – the world of high finance, high risk investments and carefully constructed reputations– was associated with a rebranding operation as cunning as it was cynical. He was well aware that the Bolton's partnership with the Starks in the IKEA Westeros empire served not only to share the immense profits of low–cost furniture, but also about cleaning up a name tainted by rather... unorthodox practices of their past. An open secret in the circles that mattered, whispered in the corridors of investment banks and during exclusive dinners, a reality far away from the small carpenter's workshop of Ian Karstark, who had laid the foundations of an empire founded from scratch on the family farm in Everwinter, picturesquely named Ashwoodhal. And now, half of Ian’s empire was in the hands of the Boltons.
"...nothing. Enjoy your meal." Aemond replied, with a grin.
"Oh, Aegon, this is way too much for me." sighed Helaena, distracting him from his gloomy financial thoughts. She looked at the berries and cream layered bowl –the Red Woman's Trifle, as the coloured label stated– with an uncertain air. "Aemond, sweetheart, you've hardly touched any food. Share it with me, please." she handed him the cup with a sweet smile.
I. Want. To. Go. Home. The thought returned, more pressing than ever, like a tired mantra, a silent prayer he fervently hoped would be answered soon. He closed his eyelid for an instant, inhaling the stale air surrounding them and wishing with all his being for silence and fresh air. Every minute spent in that hellish place seemed like an eternity.
"Next time, Hel, I beg you... let's use my car." Aemond groaned, trying to stretch his back: his whole frame was aching, his lower back sending jolts of pain because of the tiny backseat of her Vanquish, more suitable for a bag than for an adult.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Helaena replied, from the kitchen, where she was putting away some of the smaller items: her voice came slightly muffled. "But yours is too huge for me! I always wonder how you manage to drive such a beast: it's not a car, it's a transoceanic ship!"
From the sofa, where he had already stretched out, came Aegon's tired but unmistakably malicious voice.
"Try to understand him, Hel. He needs room for his jawline."
"Have you ever considered an alternative career? I don't know, court jester, for example?" replied Aemond. He pushed himself up from the armchair with effort. "Speak less and try to make yourself useful, since it was your brilliant idea to refuse the assembly service."
In the twins' bedroom – which they had repainted together in the preceding days – for a moment he relived the vivid images of Aegon running around the room with a paint roller, dressed only in a canvas salopette smeared with lilac paint, and especially his romantic, slightly clumsy skirmishes with Helaena amidst paint cans and brushes.
Ser Criston, impeccable in his dark suit, stood by the door, while two of his security guards, after moving the heavy boxes from the rented van, stood with a professional air beside the boxes containing two loft beds with their integrated desks and two large dressers, awaiting further orders or dismissal.
Aemond tied his hair in a low bun and nodded to Ser Criston, silently dismissing him before grabbing a box cutter.
"... oh, let's just hope the instructions are clear." Aegon remarked, popping up behind him just as Aemond knelt to open the first box. He tried to peek at the pages Aemond was looking at. "You know how it is, right? They're usually translated in every language you can think of, even in Dothraki, but never in the bloody common tongue."
Aemond didn't even bother to look at him, diligently scrolling through the instructions searching for the correct sequence of steps.
"Of course they are! You just never noticed, cause you don’t pay attention as usual, AND there are explicatory drawings, Aegon." he retorted, his tone laced with an already strained patience. "I assume you can at least decipher the figures... or is that too much to ask?"
"Please, don't start." sighed Helaena from the doorway, where she had stopped to observe the scene with an already exhausted expression. "We haven't even gotten the first screw out of the bag."
She soon discovered, at the expense of her sanity, that the two brothers' approach were completely opposites and that even the slightest nonsense was enough to trigger an endless back-and-forth banter.
"Not to be argumentative, Aeg," Aemond began after perhaps ten minutes of growing chaos, his voice tight as he tried to untangle a mess of metal struts that Aegon had dumped out of a box opened with too much force "but maybe, just maybe, you should have waited before opening all the packages, one after the other: there's a reason they're numbered. And... " he broke off, pointing with an exasperated gesture at the myriad of small transparent plastic bags, now scattered across the floor and mixed up. "You've mixed up all the screw bags; how are we supposed to figure out which belongs to what? Care to explain?"
As the tension between the two rose, Helaena decided it was time to act. She opened the multi–purpose drill case with two metallic clicks, carefully taking the drill and assembling the various parts with a calmness and confidence put to a very hard test by the argument continuing relentlessly behind her.
Why did I ask them? she wondered as she drove the first screw into the side panel of one of the dressers. She should have ignored them from the beginning.
Just one click: add to cart, delivery and assembly option and everything would have ended there. Smoothly, stress-free without having to deal with two brothers that seemed to act like two children.
But no, she had foolishly listened to them.
"We'll take care of it, Hel. What could possibly happen? It'll be fun, you'll see!"
"Who, you? You can't tell a pincer from a clamp, Aegon, what are you going to do? Be quiet, come on!"
"At least I can do something harder than playing Risk with Ser Criston, Aem."
"...what a great idea you had Helaena, well done." she reprimanded herself under her breath, sighing as the drill hummed softly. She could have asked Daeron for help or maybe Uncle Gwayne, who had patience to spare and a certain capability with handywork.
Instead she was stuck between Aegon's chaos and Aemond's irritability.
"What's going on, mummy?"
Helaena sighed: Jaehaera stood in the doorway of the room, her hair ruffled from sleep and her big eyes trying to decipher the frantic scene behind her mother's back. The screams had probably woken her up. She looked at her with a tired but affectionate expression, while the argument reached a new peak behind her back.
"…. oh please, can you shut up for a second? Please Aemond, just a little bit!"
"The thing that pisses me off, Aegon, it's the mathematical certainty that I will have to dismantle this whole mess because you screwed the wrong screw in the wrong place!!!"
"Can I help you?"
"Yes, love. Promise me that whatever the problem is, you won't let those two troublemakers help you in case you need manual help. You won't get it anyway." she paused a little, watching the two lifting a rather heavy piece of the loft bed. "Not because they're not good at it, but because you'd end up doing everything by yourself after wasting hours listening to them argue. Or even better, learn to use this." she added, lifting the drill slightly with her other hand and winking at her. "It's more reliable."
*
Jaehaera observed her mother inserting the last drawer of the dresser into the metal guides, sighing with satisfaction as she felt it close smoothly, perfectly fitted.
How long had it been since they had - or rather, she had - started assembling that furniture? Judging by the evening lights of King's Landing in the distance over the windows, several hours.
"In my opinion those beds are too high," she heard Aemond shortly afterward, noting how the bed frame, which miraculously lacked only the side ladder and a couple more slats, was as tall as he was. His voice, now veiled with concern, Helaena noted, was a little husky from the endless exchange of reprimands and jokes that had taken place during the afternoon. "I'd add a safety rail to both the long and short sides, because you know, if one of the kids ever fall from up here... Aeg, at least pretend you're listening to me." he stopped for a moment to set up the bed's slats and, he barely bent down following his brother's gaze, goggling as his reproach died in his throat.
Lined up neatly against the wall where only moments before (or hours?) there were only flat boxes, the two dressers made a fine show of themselves, perfectly symmetrical and fully assembled: two little puppets hanging from the knobs indicated which one belonged to Jaehaerys (whom in the confusion they had not even heard coming), and Jaehaera.
Still sitting cross-legged, on a protective cloth that neither of them could remember having purchased, the two children were diligently arranging the leftover screws and dowels in a small bag while Helaena wiped the remaining dust off the dressers with a damp cloth. Not only had they assembled the drawer units, but they had also assembled the desk drawers.
Aegon stared at them for a moment, before letting out a short, surprised laugh filled with admiration.
"Well, look at that! Good job baby! Tell me, do you possess some magical talents I'm not aware of?"
"No, it's called teamwork: Hel has two apprentice helpers, I have to assemble the bed while paying attention to the trouble you make. It's not the same thing," Aemond observed. The stark contrast between the finished drawers and the mess surrounding him and Aegon was striking. He saw the efficiency, the quiet teamwork, the progress made while they screamed and fumbled. "If you had followed my orders, we would have finished assembling both beds by now," Aemond pointed out. Aegon rolled his eyes.
"It will mean that tomorrow the children and I will help you," Helaena conceded, preventing another quarrel from being sparked. "For tonight, you will have to sleep with Uncle Aemond again," she added, triggering cheerful shouts from the children: the idea of spending some more time with him made them jump for joy, leading Aegon to smile in response to his children's enthusiasm.
"As long as you keep your hands to yourselves, you two," Aemond mumbled in overthinking, as he reflexively brought a hand to his side, remembering how the two children had held him captive in his own bed for several minutes by tickling him. He made the mistake of turning his back on them, with the penultimate plank in his hands. "These are the last for today, you guys, because I'm exhausted and hungry."
Helaena got the attention of Aegon and the two sons, pointing at Aemond with a nod of her chin and mimicking the tickling gesture on those spots that she, over the years, had discovered to be his most sensitive: the ribs, but especially the hips and his neck. She hadn't done this for a while, by now Aemond was so used to predicting her movements that he intercepted and blocked them in advance, but with his nephews he was different. Aegon grinned, while the children let out giggles, evidently excited at the idea.
The assault was immediate, drawn with no further encouragement. Aegon aimed straight at his hips, and Aemond reacted instantly, a surprised gasp escaping him as his body jerked involuntarily: the hex spanner slipped from his fingers, and he turned abruptly, ready to retort in sharp response.
"Aegon...?!"
"Kids, I think your father may need a few more hands," Helaena commented, earning a side glare from Aemond.
"You traitor!" he managed to exclaim, having realised that it had all started with her. Jaehaerys aimed his hips, imitating his father's gestures, and Jaehaera, laughing delightedly, aimed straight for the ribs under her uncle's arms the moment Aemond instinctively raised them to defend himself against Aegon's attack.
A muffled cry escaped him as he instinctively tried to protect himself, but it was useless. He was under attack on multiple fronts, and protecting all of them was impossible. He tried to stifle a laughter, but Jaehaera in particular seemed to put all the effort in the world into breaking him down.
"Hel!" he pleaded, searching for Helaena with his gaze, but she watched impassively, amused.
"Do you give up, Uncle?" asked Jaehaerys, interrupting his torture for a moment.
"Never," he muttered. With an effort, ignoring Aegon's fingers raging on one hip and Jaehaerys's on the other, he managed to free one arm and wrap it around Jaehaera's waist, pulling her to him with a hoarse laugh and immediately finding her weak points. "Ah! Gotcha!"
Helaena shook her head, a warm, gentle smile on her lips as the tension of the afternoon had thankfully turned into that endearing moment. Aemond, though panting and still trying to dodge the residual attacks of his brother and nephew, did not let go of Jaehaera, continuing to tickle her until both were almost out of breath from laughter.
Eventually, perhaps out of mutual exhaustion, the general assault subsided. Aemond stopped tickling Jaehaera but continued to hold her close, and then she snuggled into his arms for a moment, still panting. He pulled himself up to sit, running a hand through his now loose, dishevelled hair. He was breathless and slightly sweaty, but on his face there was no trace of irritation, only a deep tiredness mixed with an amusement he couldn't hide.
