cw ⋮⋮ mdni ⋮⋮ nipple play ⋮⋮ oral fixation ⋮⋮ emotional vulnerability ⋮⋮ comfort sex ⋮⋮ 0.4k
“aemond…” you moan softly, back arching off the bed as his mouth closes over your breast.
he came back late, still carrying the day on him. he didn’t say a word when he walked in. just pulled your nightgown down and pressed his face straight into your chest like he couldn’t wait another second. now he’s nuzzling in deep, nose and lips dragging over the soft skin between your breasts before he takes one nipple into his mouth and starts to suck.
it’s slow at first. careful. like he’s trying to calm himself down. a low, shaky moan leaves him against your skin as he sucks, tongue moving in slow circles before he pulls your nipple deeper. you feel the wet heat of his mouth, the steady pull that sends sparks down your spine.
you slide your fingers into his long silver hair, holding the back of his head gently, keeping him there. your body arches up into his mouth without thinking, offering yourself, letting him take what he needs.
he groans again, the sound vibrating right through your chest as he switches to the other breast. he sucks slower now, flicking his tongue softly. one of his hands comes up to hold your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple he just left, wet and sensitive under his touch.
his hips shift against the bed, grinding down in slow, restless movements. you can feel how hard he is, how badly he needs the friction, but he doesn’t stop sucking. he stays right there, face buried in your chest, breathing you in between every pull of his mouth. you feel the tension in his shoulders start to loosen the longer he stays latched on.
you stay quiet except for the soft, breathy sounds that slip out when he sucks a little harder. your fingers move slowly through his hair, stroking, holding him close. letting him feel how warm and soft you are.
eventually his hand drifts lower, fingers sliding between your legs where you’re already wet. he touches you gently, rubbing slow circles while his mouth never leaves your breast. he keeps sucking like he can’t bring himself to stop even as his fingers move against you.
when it gets to be too much, he lifts his head just enough to look at you. you know what he wants before he can even get the words out. you give a small nod as you gently card your fingers through his hair.
he shifts up your body and pushes into you slow, the thick stretch making your breath catch. the second he’s inside, he drops his head right back down and takes your breast into his mouth again. he sucks as he starts to move — deep, steady thrusts that keep his face pressed tight to your chest.
you hold him there, fingers tangled gently in his hair. your soft moans mix with the wet sounds of his mouth on you and the slow drag of him inside you.
aemond could feel the red hot pulse of anger deeply root itself inside of his bones. he was irritated. vexed. disgruntled at the thought of not having you by his side. this morning had been one of pure bliss, aemond finding no other peace than waking up with his beautiful wife tangled in the sheets beside him. he had plans to ravish you, make you come more times than you could count. yet a swirl of light silver hair came barging into your shared chambers, helaena and aegon’s little darling jaehaera begging for time to spend with her favourite aunt.
“how can i say no to such a beauty?” you had cooed, sitting up against the pillows and pulling jaehaera into your lap. aemond found himself frowning as you brushed at her cheeks, tickling her stomach until the little girl giggled with delight. he wanted to be the one getting attention from you. wanted to be the one who you caressed with such deep care and love in your touch.
you had left to go get dressed with the princess, leaving aemond alone and annoyed. he sat in bed for what felt like a millennium, scowling at the ceiling as he tried his best to not think of you on top of him, leaving delicate kisses on his skin and praising him in the way he loved. aemond would never admit to anyone that he was pathetic for his wife, but it was true, and he yearned for the time stolen away from him where he could have you exactly how he liked.
for the rest of the day, aemond tried his luck at getting you alone. he tried catching you when the two of you went to break your fast with his family, attempting to sit beside you and tease you a bit under the table. yet when he walked into the dining hall, both jaehaera and jaehaerys had book ended your seat, giggling along with you as you made smiley faces out of their meat and eggs.
after his training, he tried to find you in helaena’s chambers, for he knew that you liked spending your time with his sister to do your needlework and read. when he approached the heavy oak doors, a guard let aemond know that you had taken the twins on a walk through the godswood, leaving helaena to put her other child maelor down for a nap and have some much needed alone time.
it was then that tyland lannister found aemond in the hall, reminding him of the council meetings they had to attend to for the next couple of hours. feeling that simmering rage in his gut almost boil over, aemond stalked through the halls towards the council room, not even focusing on tyland’s quick steps behind him as he tried to catch up with the princes quick strides.
all aemond targaryen wanted was to be buried in between his wives thighs, lapping at her cunt until he couldn’t breathe. yet it seemed that the gods — or better yet his niece and nephew, had other plans, and aemond was starting to become restless.
even as aemond sat in the council room, his ire growing stronger as useless lords gave their two cents to his even more useless brother, he felt a need to be with you, to laugh in the face of the gods as he finally got you to himself. it was torturous and evil, and aemond could feel the very thin line of restraint in his chest ready to snap.
when aegon called for the meeting to be over, aemond had never stood up faster. he didn’t look twice at any of the lords or his vapid brother as he stalked out of the room, strides quick as he made his way back to his and yours shared chamber.
daylight was breaking out into dawn, the bright blues of the sky melting into pinks and oranges. he wished you to be in the chamber. wished you to be getting undressed and wished you to be ready for his affections. he begged and yearned for you all day, and if you weren’t there for him at the winding end of the road, he would surely loose his mind.
the hinges of the chamber doors let out a crackling moan as aemond pushes them open, your head turning away from the mirror you stand in front of, brush in hand and nightgown smoothed down on your frame as you get ready for nighttime. aemond nearly sighs out of relief when he sees your smiling face, all the anger and anxiety leaving his body as you softly place the hair brush on a table, looking at your husband with curious eyes.
“my love?” you question, seeing the anxiety radiating off of his body. “is everything alright-“
everything moves quicker than you imagined, for aemond strides across the room so languidly, you barley see him leave his post in the door frame and get to his spot standing before you. dropping to his knees in a pathetic fashion, aemond wraps his arms around your waist greedily, burying his face into your sternum as he breathes in your intoxicating scent. the smell of your freshly washed linens and the lavender emanating off of your skin is like a shot of dopamine towards aemond’s chest, leaving him pliant in your hold.
“i need you.” the words come out of aemond in a whine, and you find yourself raising your eyebrows with a slight smirk at his begging behaviour. “gods, i need you so bad. all day, i have yearned for you. all day, i have prayed to the gods that you would find me, so i may be able to feast upon your cunt and get me out of my misery.”
a coo leaves your lips at aemond’s words, similar to the one you gave jaehaera this morning. pressing your palms against the side of his head, you stroke aemond’s hair behind his ears, twirling some of the strands in between your fingers as he starts leaving kisses upon your clothed stomach.
“is that what you want?” you ask, a soft lilt to your voice that leaves aemond weak in the knees. “does my boy need attention? a cunt to feast on to forget his troubles?”
aemond could only nod against your stomach, his hands bunching up the fabric of your shift towards your waist. he was making his way to your centre. making his way to the place he’s been begging for all day.
you allowed him to get what he wanted, soaking in your own pleasure has aemond feasted upon your cunt. it was euphoric and blinding, leaving you a squirming mess at the knees, one who needed her husband to carry her to bed so he could fuck her senseless.
cw: sexual content, this is about boobs, knife kink, blood kink, lactation, drinking, etc
Your husband Aegon, was drunk, again. And you had to play savior, again. You found him in some hovel filled with drunks, his posse of yes men shouting in excitement seeing you come towards them. The pretty wife of the pretty prince. It helped that your figure was filled out with the curve of your chest and hips being visible in any dress you wore. Aegon adored the feel of your full thighs and breasts when he took you, happy to watch the fat move. He was telling one of the younger men at the table, probably newly acquired, about something when he noticed you. Aegon scooted his chair back, opening his arms wide, “wife! How glorious to see you! Come join us!” He patted his lap for you to take a seat which made you roll your eyes but oblige him. His hand rested on the curve of your waist with his other wrapped around a cup of ale. His head was resting on your shoulder, nodding along to some boy's story.
Aegon has never been good with keeping his hands to himself, even more so when drinking. His hand that was on your waist began exploring your body, feeling whatever he could grabbing anything he could get his hands on. You tried to tell him off but he gave you that dopey smile that you couldn’t stay made at. While he was distracting you with his smile, his hand came up grasping your bosom through the corset you wore. You gasped, slapping his chest but he refused to remove his hands, saying it was practically his as he was yours and you his.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
Aemond never considered himself selfish, that was until his wife gave birth. Watching your attention be dragged away from him to focus on the child made him unrationably angry, wanting your eyes and love focused on him instead. There were moments where your attention did belong to only him, which he revelled in. One of those moments was alone in bed together.
The two of you were resting after Aemond took his jealousy on you, leaving you both entirely bare including his eyepatch. Aemond rested with his head on your chest, having you run your fingers through his hair as he soaked in the feeling of the fat of your chest molding around him. His lips formed around your nipple, sucking in like he had never eaten before. One thing he was grateful to his child for was how your breasts seemed to have grown during pregnancy and the sweet milk that spilled from them afterwards.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
You were in Helaena’s quarters as you were the maid helping her care for the twins, after having a babe of your own. Having two babies was always harder than one making you sympathize for the sweet girl, you could tell she truly loved them. You were mainly there just to support her or give her some time to think without the kids crawling over her. On nights when her dreams got to her and the babies woke up at the same time that she was, taking their attention away from their mother to be on you instead. The twins treated you like a second mom a bunch of times, coming to show you toys after they showed them to Helaena. The way you treated her babies made Helaena love you as well.
Tonight you were holding Maelor, letting Helaena sleep in when he fussed over anything, the other two kids asleep happily. You were feeding Maelor, smiling at him in the dead of night. Helaena could see you from her bed as you cared for her child. She got out of bed to join where you two were resting. You smiled at her when she got closer to little Maelor unlatching from your breast. You didn’t see to realize as you kept your breast out to the air, Helaena’s eyes dropping to it. She motioned to you mumbling, “you-you are, um still exposed.” you gasped quickly, righting herself feeling Helaena’s eyes burning into you.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
You were in the sept in old town, praying to the seven around the candle covered altar when your husband came and joined you, kneeling beside you. He lit a candle before lowering his head in prayer, copying your pose. The sept was empty with just the two of you in the massive hall, making Ormund more bold with his actions and his words. He brought his face closer to yours, whispering in your ear, “you are tempting me wife, your breasts are calling to me even in this holy place.”
You gapped at him, open mouthed like a fish from the Riverlands. He smirked at you before his eyes shot down your neckline looking down your dress to take in more of your chest and the skin that was exposed to him then.
“We are in a sept!” You whisper to him trying to remind him to be on his best behavior. He looked forward again, bowing his head slightly saying “do not blame me for loving my wife and the blessings the Gods have given her.”
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
You could feel her eyes burning into you, of course during a dinner with the royal family you wear a revealing dress. Of course Alicent ever the pious woman noticed it instantly. She looked embarrassed almost as if it was her chest that was being exploded to the room of royals instead of you. You curtseyed in front of her, bowing low whispering a quiet, “your grace” she smiled a strained smile as she nodded giving you back, “my lady.”
You could feel her eyes on you throughout the dinner, some while politely asking you a question or your opinion, others where you could tell she was subtly staring at your chest. No, not staring. Admiring. The queen of the seven kingdoms, the daughter of the house that is the faith of the seven, was admiring your chest from across the table during dinner with her husband beside her. Her eyes met yours with a flustered embarrassed expression passing over her as she looked away. You would have to talk with her later about it, maybe she wants to borrow some dresses or…see what they look like off of you.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
You were her partner in crime, the only person she trusted with the truth of her plans and her schemes. Alys had been your protector for most of your friendship, making you feel like you owed her most of the time. Tonight was no different, she needed your help with some concoction she was making. All you know was that there was something in the mixture that gave off a sweet floral smell. You sat on top of the table in her room as she mixed the blend of ingredients together. You were both wearing simple dresses as you were the only ones awake at this hour.
Alys had said something about the mixture needing more, what the more was you weren’t sure. Well, you weren’t sure until she came over to stand before you holding a knife in her hand. You brought your hand up expecting her to need blood as it wasn’t the first time she did, but instead she smiled saying, “it needs to come from around the heart, lovie.” you undid the lacing at the front of your dress, pulling it down so that more skin was accessible to your lover. She pulled the fabric down to rest around your waist. She brought the knife up to right above your breast, moving the bowl beneath it to catch the fall off. You whimpered slightly at the pull of the blade, Alys smiling up at you, her hand cupped under your chest to direct where the flow went.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
The carriage ride was horrid, they seemed to catch every bump and hole in the road jostling you around inside the carriage. It doesn’t help that the corset you wore was starting to dig into your skin and the neckline of the dress showed off more of your chest then you usually would have liked. Your husband sat in front of you, wanting to spend some time together before you arrived at the castle. That was the excuse he gave but now that you were on the way there his eyes wouldn’t leave your chest and how it moved with each roll of the wheels. He stared wide eyed, almost like if he blinked he would miss an important moment.
The sight of his amazement made you laugh, your whole body shaking with joy. Gwayne finally tore his eyes away from your chest to your face smiling back at you. “I wish to admire my wife, is that so wrong?” You shook your head at him but kept the amused smile. Your husband was thoroughly whipped for you, and your chest.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
Criston wasn’t proud of himself, but he was a man who had needs. He found himself in the streets of silk looking for something, looking for you. He had met you during a low point, one of the older knights bringing him down here to ‘loosen him up,’ and you were so confident practically claiming Criston when he came in and Criston could do nothing to fight against you as you sucked him into your web. You had taken him into a private room, served him drinks and food while listening to his every worry and woe, your fingers working through any knots on his body while stripping him of his armor. It was the best he had ever felt since coming to Kings Landing and he found himself coming to visit you whenever he got too stressed with the life of the High Lords.
You were waiting for him, anytime there was a large event or visiting dignitary he found his way back to you and you welcomed him with open arms. Ready to hear all of his complaints and heal his ailments. Today was different though as he stormed into the room you were waiting in, quickly stripping himself of his armors while staying quiet. You watched from the bed smiling at him, you were usually dressed when he came in but today you weren’t, nude as you would be after your sessions. Criston turned towards you pausing, taking in your form, he quickly moved, placing his hands around your waist and burring his head in your chest, making you laugh loudly.
Synopsis: For years, Prince Aemond Targaryen wrestled with a question no maester, knight, nor king could answer for him: how does one court a lady like you?
Warnings: Miscommunication Trope, Fluff, Courtship, Soft Aemond, Down Bad Aemond
Word count: 4.5k
Part: I, II, III, IV
He met you on the last day of spring. You were a shy little thing, hiding behind your father's legs and clutching onto your mother’s skirts as they tried to introduce you to the queen. Aemond had stood beside his mother then, his eyebrow raised as you slowly stepped away behind your parents and curtsied low before them. Your eyes were steady on the ground, and Aemond almost laughed when you quickly hid yourself from their gazes.
You were an odd one, he thought for a while. He did not mean to spy on you, yet he often found himself hiding behind a pillar or bush just to observe the odd and overly quiet girl from Essos. You were born in YiTi. A land so distant and different from them, and Aemond had believed that your oddness was because of your land’s customs. However, as days and moons passed, he learned that you were truly just different from the other ladies of the court.
Aemond was no stranger to the peculiar. He had seen eccentricity before, his family being a prime example. His sister was overly interested in bugs and murmuring to herself. His eldest brother had a strange fascination with women twice his age. Even his father, the king, was hyperfixated on the miniature models, spending most of his time on them instead of caring for his children. Aemond was not in a state to question nor critique your demeanour, he was simply curious.
He was curious why you hid yourself in the desolate corners of the gardens, the shade of a weeping willow tree near a pond being your favourite. He was intrigued by why you barely spoke, and if you did, you spoke so softly, as if you were whispering a secret that was only meant for certain ears to hear. But most of all, he was eager to learn why he was so interested in you.
Perhaps it was your appearance. Admittedly, there were not many YiTish in court– there were only three, you and your kin. Perhaps it was that. Aemond was fascinated by your fox-like eyes, heart-shaped lips, and your silky onyx hair. And as you two grew older, your already striking appearance only furthered. It was a shame you hated attention, as you were always the center of it. Aemond could not recall a day when not a single knight, lord, or even prince did not look back at you as you passed them in the halls. He noted how their pupils would always dilate ever so slightly, and some would even let their mouths hang in astonishment.
Maybe it was because of your insistence on not being noticed– maybe that is what fueled his intrigue. An ironic turn of events, for even if you try to hide yourself behind crowds and shadowy corners, he still found you. Once, you were invited to play the hiding game with other ladies of the court. Where the other ladies hid themselves behind pillars and cramped broom closets, you opted to hide in the wine cellars in hopes they would not find you and simply leave you be. Aemond found that particular memory quite amusing. Especially as it was the first time he saw your fox-like eyes turn doe-like as he caught you by surprise.
“What are you doing here?” Aemond questioned as he saw you tilt your head to read the marking on the large, oak barrels. A surprise yelp left your lips, and it was the loudest sound Aemond had ever heard you make. He bit back his smile as you rested a hand on your chest, your other hand fisted your skirts as if to ground yourself.
You were twelve now. You had spent the last three years in the Red Keep, but only now did Aemond decide to speak with you. He must admit that he had gotten used to simply following you about the castle, that speaking to you barely crossed his mind. It was thought that only came in the dead, silence of the night. Where, instead of sleeping, he would think of an opening phrase to utter if and when he approached.
“My prince,” You curtised quickly, your eyes still planted on the ground, and did not even dare to look at his. “I was playing a game of hide and seek with the other ladies,”
Aemond hummed as he cautiously took a step forward. “You are quite competitive then. Not a single one of them has even ventured near your hiding place. I suppose you could be declared the winner.”
You gave a wry smile, eyes still planted on the ground, where you could see each cautious step the prince took to inch closer to you. Aemond observed you closely, as this was the closest he had been to you since the first day you two met.
“You are gifted in hiding.” The prince remarked, and he felt his heart skip a beat as a small yet true smile came to your lips. “And you are gifted at seeking.” You remarked, but the smile on your lips dissipated, and a questioning frown took its place.
“How did you even know I was here, my prince?” You asked in great confusion. Not even the ladies who invited you to their game found your hiding place. How then did the prince find you?
Aemond never answered your question. Even after moons passed, he never once explained how he would always find you; he would only appear by your side, and he was fortunate enough that once he discovered a concealed corner, you were kind enough not to leave or excuse yourself from his presence.
The following year, a decision was made: Prince Aemond made known his intention to court you.
You could still vividly remember the confusion that overcame you when your father informed you of his conversation with the prince.
“He was quite eager for my approval if I were to be honest. He would not leave my side the entire afternoon. Well, at least not until I gave him my blessing.” Your father hummed as he poured himself a cup of wine. The moon was high, and so was your bewilderment. You never thought that a prince would court you. A statement not at all brought forth by modesty, but genuine confusion. When he discovered you in your hiding places, you assumed he was merely searching for somewhere to conceal himself as well. It never crossed your mind that he had been searching for you all along. “But why would he wish to court me?”
“I believe that is a question we should be asking you, my child.” Your mother hummed, a small, almost teasing smile on her lips as she did her nightly embroidery. She hummed and exchanged glances with your father, who hid a smirk behind the cup of wine he raised to his lips. “I wouldn’t even know what to answer. I, too, am just as confused as you.”
“Well then, perhaps it is best that you ask the prince the question on all our minds.” Your mother suggested, as you mindlessly nodded, standing and kissing their cheeks as you returned to your chambers. However, as you neared the door to your room, you froze in shock as you saw the prince already waiting for you in the shadowy halls.
He had a small flower pot in his hands— a rather odd image of a royal prince holding a potted orchid in his hands when you had gotten used to seeing him holding his sword.
Aemond felt out of breath as he stared at you through the light of the moon. You looked radiant— ethereal— nymph-like.
“This is for you,” he nervously said. Aemond was a brave man. He was courageous when he claimed his dragon. He was courageous when his eye was taken. And he was courageous when he asked for your father’s blessing to court you. However, he felt the courage he always relied on falter when he came face to face with you.
He watched as your ever stoic gaze finally met his. In the years he had known you, he had gotten used to your overly composed state. You were reserved, like he, however, you were more consistent in your reservation. The only moments when he actually witnessed your reactions were moments when you were startled or confused.
“Why?” You asked plainly, and Aemond felt his heartbeat in his ears. “Why? Because I’ve noticed you are fond of flowers— and I do believe that your favoured ones are orchids.” He explained and held out the pot closer to you. A confused frown overcame your face.
“No… why had you decided to court me, your highness?” You asked, not wanting to be vexed by the question the entire night. Unfortunately, your question was left unanswered once more as the prince simply reached for your hand and placed the small bundle of flowers in it. A smile on his lips as he bid you good night and left the halls.
How do you court a lady? Aemond could not help but think. He had hoped that he would find the answer long before he asked for your father’s blessing, yet here he was, kept up at night trying of ways on how to court you.
In hindsight, courtship should have come naturally to him. However, he was a prince– a pawn for the crown. The custom was to bind him to a lady who came from a family that could be great allies to the crown; however, Aemond had taken it upon himself to find a match made by himself, not his grandsire or mother. He had seen the effects of marriages borne out of duty, and as dutiful as he was, he’d rather not subject himself to a loveless marriage filled with misery.
Do you win a lady through gifts? Aemond thought. Ladies of the court seemed to easily give their agreements to the lords who courted them when they were given gifts. Who was Aemond to question such traditions? Especially when he was entirely clueless about what to do.
It started with little gifts left by your door. Each morning, you would be stirred awake with a light knock on your door and a gift left unattended. The first morning, it was a jade pendant from your home, YiTi. The light green stone was remarkable and unmistakable under the early morning sun.
Aemond hid himself behind a pillar and watched your knitted brows as you held the necklace to your eye, a small smile on his lips as he could already foresee the image of you wearing his little gift. However, Aemond’s enthusiasm was left dim when he found you in the gardens, bare-necked, and mentioned naught about the necklace you found.
The prince was disheartened, but not so much to easily relent. It was the first days of your courtship. Of course, he could not be so vain and arrogant to think that you would lay yourself on his feet after offering you a simple pendant. He at least thought a small blush would come to your face when you met him that day; however, he supposed he asked for much for his little effort.
The second day, he sent a pair of pearl earrings. Pearls harvested from the mighty seas of the Orient. On the third, he sent a set of gold rings mined deep within Casterly Rock.
When the fourth day came, he sent various rolls of fabric for your dresses. Light blue silk from Lys. Delicate white laces from Myr. A serene cream velvet from Braavos. Crimson brocades from Volantis. Fine threads of various colors from the Reach.
Aemond almost revealed his hiding place in great concern when you opened the door, and the rolls of fabric that he set upright came toppling down. Almost crushing you if you were not agile enough to step to the side. You did not use a single fabric nor thread for any of your fine dresses.
By the fifth day, the prince already had the inkling to quit. It was clear that you were not easily impressed– he was foolish to think you otherwise, for if you were, he certainly would not be this eager in your courtship. Nevertheless, the prince was no quitter.
By the fifth day, he veered away from the usual gifts given to the court ladies. Instead of shiny things, the prince left a small wooden dragon that he had carved in childhood. It was imperfect– it was left dusted in some corner of his chambers for years until the moment the prince decided to offer it to you.
When you opened your chamber doors after hearing a soft knock, you almost expected a chest of gold left by your doorstep. However, a small, yet true smile came to your lips when you saw a simple carved dragon made from oak waiting for you. Aemond almost hollered in triumph as he saw the corners of your lips curl upwards ever so slightly. Inspecting the carving with more interest than the shiny jewels he had left days before.
He watched as your fingers delicately traced the carvings he made, a sense of giddiness at the thought that your fingers caressed the wood that bore his touch. A new sense of hope coursing in his bloodstream.
Aemond had foolishly hoped that it was enough for you to return his affections, or at least announce your favour towards him, so the other line of suitors who paid you tribute would dissipate. However, the prince would be a fool to think that simple carving would have you swooning.
Word got around about how you set the little carving on your bedside table, near you, even in sleep. That was enough to inspire your other suitors to send you tens of pieces of woodwork, turning your chambers into a woodcarver’s shop.
Aemond knew he must take a different approach, which led him to question once more: How do you court a lady?
Could Aemond win you through feats of strength?
As all know, Aemond had no care for tourneys. He found it pointless– superfluous– pathetic for a man of his station. Yet, he rode out into the grounds, adorned in his armour, hoping to seek the favour of the lady he courted.
Aemond struggled to find where you sat through the slats of his helm. His mount circled the grounds as he searched for you through the jeering crowds, when he spotted the familiar outline of your parents without you by your mother’s side. He frowned severely as he realized that you would not attend, and he could not seek your favour.
He felt foolish as he charged his horse, his lance unadorned by a flower garland but stained by blood. He knew you well. You hid from crowds. What then led him to believe that you would willingly attend a tourney? Aemond felt no satisfaction the entire day, even if he was named the victor. The only speck of satisfaction he found was when he spotted you by a bench in the quiet gardens as a celebratory feast commenced. You said not a word when the prince sat next to you. Yet, that was enough for Aemond.
However, not enough for him to learn how to capture your favour. Especially as Aemond heard cruel whispers of you leaving Westeros.
“You are leaving?” The prince asked in dread as he found you in your usual place, hidden inside the weeping branches of a willow tree. It had been a year after he announced his intent to court you, and it had been a year filled with gifts, flowers, and attention that you not once asked for, but Aemond was enthusiastic to give.
He stood behind you as you sat on the cool, soft grass. His body tense, his stomach pitted, and his heart aching even if he denied it as such.
You turned your head to glance at the prince, his eye steely– almost seething, and his hands clenched tightly by his side. Aemond swallowed thickly as the afternoon sun cast you aglow and formed an angelic halo. How could you look so beautiful even as you threatened to leave him?
“Only for a year, my prince.” You explained and watched as Prince Aemond fervently shook his head and took his place next to you. “You are to leave for a year.” He gritted out, his fists clenching tightly around the damp grass.
“Well, a year and two moons. It takes a month of sailing and traveling to reach YiTi.” You clarified as you set your eyes on the pond's calm waters, which reflected the afternoon light. Aemond breathed heavily at the thought of you leaving him for more than a year. What shall happen then? Would you garner new admirers in your homeland? Should you be forced to take a groom who resembles your own culture and customs? What should become Aemond then? Would he be a man who lost the only lady who consumed his thoughts for the past five years?
“What of our courtship then?” He could not help but ask, his hand that gripped the grass, loosening as it inched closer to yours. “What of it, your highness?”
Aemond pursed his lips. His eye was intently studying every possible expression that may come to your ever-composed face. He stayed silent, and he heard a sigh leave your lips before you turned your head to meet his gaze.
“Do you wish to cease courting me?” You asked quietly, heartbeat erratic, and you tried your best not to let it show.
“No.” The prince quickly answered, and you bit back a smile as you stood, watching as the prince followed each single one of your movements. “Then court me in YiTi, my prince.”
“Another letter, my lady,” a maid called as she approached with a rather thick scroll that was wrapped tightly and bore the Targaryen seal. It had been three moons since you had left Westeros, and it had been three moons filled with consistent letters from the prince.
You sat upright on your bed, your eyes glancing and admiring the simple wooden carving of a dragon that the prince gave you years before, placing a small smile on your lips as your maid exited your chambers and left you in your own company.
How long must I live in agony, my lady?
You breathed out a laugh as you read the first line of the prince’s letter. You sighed dreamily as a blush came to your cheeks, and your fingers caressed the bold letters of what he wrote.
Sometimes, at night, you feared the prince would leave you spurned. You feared that you were not enough for him to keep interested. That your overly composed and some would even say, stoic demeanor would run him off, and he’d find a lady who did not struggle in showing their affections.
In truth, the reason why you were completely perplexed when he decided to court you was because you had been completely infatuated with him ever since you arrived in the Red Keep. As children, many feared him and his lack of one eye, but if you were being honest, you quite liked him that way.
It was a tragedy, of course, but the silver lining was that even if he had only one eye, never once did the unique lilac orbs leave your thoughts.
You bit your lip as you drafted your letter of reply. The prince had sent a dozen letters, yet the one you wrote would only be your fifth letter sent. You stared long and hard at the blank parchment, torn as to what to write. Fear was a powerful emotion that often left their captives paralyzed. And so, you took a deep breath and simply wrote.
Wrote anything and everything you could think of. No direction. No aim. Simply a letter written in hopes the prince would be reminded of your existence and would wait until your return.
I believe your dragon would enjoy the East. There is a vast valley near my grandsire’s keep that your great Vhagar would find agreeable.
I also believe that you shall enjoy the East. I recall that you are fond of combat, and here, there are customs in which fighters do not rely on weapons but simply their bodies. Men fight with open palms, swift and fluid like water, while others strike with such force that one would think their fists forged from steel. I suspect that you shall excel in such a kind of combat, my prince.
Aemond bit his lip as he reread your letter for the tenth time in an hour. Gods, he wanted to feel foolish. There he was, in his grandsire’s study, being forced to listen to business dealings, all the while his only thought was of you. His heart that beat for no other than you, swelled at the thought that not only did you write to him, but you as well knew of his fondness for combat and were thinking of his dragon too.
Lord Otto eyed his grandson in curiosity and concern. For the past hour, Aemond read a letter repeatedly, would let out a yearning sigh, and stare at the wall with an odd softness in his eye that he could not believe was capable. “Are you listening, Aemond?”
Aemond breathed out another sigh. His mind recalling what you had written, imagining your voice that uttered what you wrote echoing in his head. Gods, he missed you. He did not even think he’d miss you as intensely as he did. You were a quiet little thing, you prefer to go unnoticed, and the prince foolishly thought that he could manipulate his mind to think that you were simply hiding away in your corner, but he felt your absence deeply, and he could not concentrate on his duties.
“This is pathetic, my prince.” He heard his grandsire sigh from his desk. The lord hand’s gaze steady on a parchment containing business while his grandson reread a letter over and over.
“I did not ask for your opinion.” Aemond gritted out. The elation he felt just moments earlier quickly disappeared at his grandsire’s words. Otto Hightower sighed.
“You are a prince of the realm. You have hundreds of ladies at your disposal, yet you obsess over a lady who cannot even name you as her favoured suitor. A lady who you had let distract you from your duties. Had you acting and sighing like a damsel as well.”
“She had made you weak. Turned you into a simpleton.”
Prince Aemond frowned deeply, his fists clenching around air. No word of reply nor defense on his tongue as his grandsire plainly said the doubts and thoughts he fought hard to repress. Aemond had grown distracted as to who he truly was. He acted like a love-sick pup when he was meant to be a dragon prince.
Aemond did not respond to your letter. Nor did he respond to the other two that followed. He simply let the year of your absence pass. His grandsire’s word aimed true to his heart. All his life, the only thing the prince knew was that he did not like being seen as weak. He had been weak as a child, as he let his brother and nephews constantly belittle him. He knew it could not happen once more, even if you were the reason.
For the following moons, the prince made no move to contact you. He sent no bi-weekly letters. He sent no greetings or regards. He even hindered himself in sending you a bundle of gifts on your name day. He exercised a great feat of restraint and control for an entire year, simply lying in wait until the dawn of your return came.
Prince Aemond stood by the docks, his veins fueled with adrenaline and his heart aching to see you once more. He did not know how he had been able to resist you for a year, yet it did not matter, for now his long suffering was to come to an end.
However, as he watched your parents disembarked the ship, it was painfully obvious that you were left in YiTi.
***
Prince Aemond broke your heart. Your great fears of being left spurned– of being forgotten turned true as the prince seemed to forget your existence. He ignored your letters, even if you sent three scrolls consecutively. You had spent your days staring longingly out the windows, hoping that the ravens that flew would come with a letter from a prince, but none did.
You tried your best to hide the grief you felt at the prince’s action. You tried to act your usual detached and unemotional self. But each time you would sit alone in either the great gardens of your home or at banquets and feasts, you feel your heart pit as you had gotten used to the prince finding his way to you and accompanying you even through silence.
The days that led to your return to Kingslanding, you made the decision to stay in YiTi. You could not subject yourself to return to Westeros with a broken heart. You could not fathom the thought of facing Prince Aemond once more. And so, you stayed. You did not return after a year and two moons. You stayed in YiTi under your grandsire’s care and hoped that the ache in your heart would dissipate soon enough.
“The Westerns are simple-minded– especially the Targaryens. They act as if they are gods among men when in truth, they’re mere ferrets who only rose to power because of their dragons.” You hear your grandfather remark as you join him for supper.
Your parents had sent word that they were already in Kingslanding, and they also mentioned that the courtiers had to ask why you did not return. They mentioned naught of the prince, and you did not know whether to feel grateful or not.
“They reside on stolen land. They trample over the cultures and customs of those before them and punish those who disagree with their views. They appear to be almost the same as us, but not quite, for they trample over others they believe beneath them.” Your grandsire continued as you picked on your food.
“They were kind hosts,” You defended quietly, but heard as your grandfather clicked his tongue and watched him shake his head.
“It’s a lure, my child. Kindness to those men is given for their amusement– once they tire, they discard what no longer entertains them.” Your fingers tightened around the porcelain cup in your hands, holding it tightly so that you feared the warm tea might spill the moment you cracked the delicate clay. “It’s a lesson you must learn soon enough.”
Across the narrow sea, a prince stewed in rage, anger, fear, and sadness, trying his best to figure out how to get his girl back.
Aemond has always been obsessed with you. following you around like a lost puppy in his youth. and when you cast him aside after loosing his eye, he spend years trying to win you back. And you welcome it, as long as he gets on his knees for you.
based of this request * Aegon's version, Jace's version *
Aemond Targaryen x Targ!reader
Word count: 3040
CW: MDI, 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, unrequited love? slight bullying?, pathetic Aemond, sub aemond , dom reader, brat reader, slow(ish) burn, angst, teasing, self deprecation?, degradation, targcest.
For as long as he could remember, Aemond Targaryen had pined after one person. You.
His entire childhood was filled with you. You, his only friend and only comfort. He worshipped the ground you walked on. And you loved it. Every second of it, of him following you around whenever your family visited Kings Landing, waiting for you to gift him your attention. And you gave it to him, you loved how he worshipped you. How he came to you after every insult his brother gave him, after every silly little prank his nephews pulled.
He saw you as his friend, his saviour, his everything. Until he didn't.
The day of your mother's funeral, everything changed. You had withdrawn from Aemond, stood with your sisters and avoided Aemond's longing gazes. And he, desperate to win your approval, sure that your recent claiming of Silverwing had caused you to move away from him, to not view him as worthy of your time, had decided to claim his own dragon. Vaghar, the very dragon your mother had taken you on countless times, and the dragon you had been trying to get your sister, Rhaena, to claim.
You were awoken in the middle of the night, your sister and cousins shaking you awake, “Someone's trying to steal Vaghar!”
“What?” you asked, rubbing your eyes as you tried to wake. “You can’t steal a dragon,”
“Someone has! Please!” Baela insisted, dragging you from your bed and through the halls of Driftmark. Vaghar landed before you, Aemonds form atop her and a proud smile on his face as he dismounted from her and was met with your face. “It's him!” Jace called out.
“Aemond?” you spoke softly, approaching him slowly. “You claimed my mother's dragon?”
“Your mother's dead”, he replied, the smile he had on his face fading and a frown replacing it. “ Vhagar has a new rider now.” You should be proud of him, happy that he has claimed the biggest dragon, and yet your frown only deepened at his words. He had expected praise, joy even. But instead, he was met with disappointment.
“She was mine to claim!” Rhaena called, her hand reaching for yours. The frown on Aemond's face deepened at the action, “Then you should've claimed her!” his eyes flickering between Rhanea and Jace, “ Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride…It would suit you.”
A scowl rose to your face at his words, your hand leaving Rhaenas, as Baela launched herself at him. After that, it was a blur of screams and hits, as your cousins launched themselves at Aemond.
You had stayed out of it, watching from the sidelines, begging for them to stop. It wasnt until a rock was held to Luke's face that you intervened. A knife dropped to the floor amid the chaos, “Aemond,” you called, the knife in your hand, as you approached him, drop the rock…" Please,” His eyes locked on yours, the rock faltering at your voice, but the throw of sand in your and Aemond’s eyes had you drop the knife into Luke’s hand, causing Aemond to lose an eye.
That night tore Aemond away from you, you were blamed, and Aemond decided to hate you. To push you aside and forget whatever friendship had been forged. He tried to hate you, to resent you entirely. But Aemond found it impossible. All he wanted was you, to have you by his side, helping him as his eye healed. To be a comfort and a friend. But no matter how hard he tried to hate you, it never happened.
You, however, had no issue hating him. He grew from a dear friend to a man you pitied. A man you didn't deem worthy of your time or attention. Years spent on Dragonstone, ignoring his letters begging for forgiveness. And the few visits you had throughout the years were spent ignoring him and detesting him entirely.
The words said during the incident hurt you, but the words he spoke after, in anger, hurt you. Blaming you for everything, his eye, the secrets you had told him, hurt you had told him in confidence, twisted against you. Calling you names. After that, you resented the years you spent as his friend, the years you spent fighting your father and his hatred for the hightowers, the years of’ telling him he wasnt the pitiful prince Aegon said he was. But after that day, he became the annoying, pitiful prince you always insisted he wasn’t.
Every visit to Kingslanding, where he couldn’t resist staying away, were he followed you through the halls, begging for the company he insisted he no longer craved, begging for you to acknowledge him. But you ignored his company, and any words from his lips were met with cold disdain, the roll of your eyes and the turn of your head, dismissing him entirely.
You spent years ignoring him, hating him and with him trying to hate you. But you, every time he tried to ignore him, chose to give him attention. A stare, not longing, just a simple stare in his direction, causing him to falter in his faux cold demeanour. You played a game with him, each time he thought he was making efforts toward hating you, to losing the love he held for you, you turned around and sat next to him at dinner. Your hand would brush his at the table. Sometimes you were cruel in your games, coming to his chambers and throwing the endless letters he had written you into the fire. Saying no word say you turned and left him stewing.
You hated him, deemed him unworthy of your time. Your friendship burned to ashes the day he insulted your sisters, cousins and you.
But Aemond, whose crush and love for you had started small, had grown into an obsession as the years passed. He relished every glance you gave him, every brush of your finger against his. Every time you acknowledged his presence through a scowl and a scoff of disapproval, he grew more and more pathetic and entirely obsessed with you.
But then you disappeared to Dragonstone, for three years straight, he didn’t see you not once. Yet his obsession still lingered, just now, he learnt how to hide it. Using the betrothal set with him and Floris Baratheon to hide.
Your family had been summoned back to court after years away, with Luke's legitimacy as the heir of Driftmark being called into question, and you were forced back to Kingslanding.
“Prince Aemond,” you greeted, seeing the man standing in the training yard, swinging his sword with his hand, a cocky smile on his face.
“Princess”, he greeted, his voice and face cocky, his eyes trailed up and down your body, taking in the sea green dress you wore, the neckline that dipped low enough to show the cleavage of your breasts, something that caused Aemond's eyes to snag on.
“How gracious of Ser Cole to allow you to win.” his smile faltered at your words, his back straightening at your words.
He clicked his tongue, prowling towards you, “and how gracious of you to attend my bethrothal feast,” he smirked, waiting for a reaction, some jealousy.
You scoffed, “Who would marry you?” You walked towards him, circling him, “Someone so entirely pathetic?” you spoke, stopping to whisper in his ear, your hand sliding to his shoulder. Aemond's eyes snapped to your hand, words forming on his tongue. Your hand gripped his bicep, nails digging into him, stopping him from speaking. Face to face with him now, you scowled, eyeing him closely, “I pity her,” you drawled, walking away to leave Aemond to stew. Aemond, who had been so ready to face you, to act nonchalant and ignore you, now wanted nothing more than to chase after you.
You found Aemond easily the next day. He sat in the gardens, outside the windows to your chambers, his eyes focused on anyone but his would-be betrothed, waiting to lock eyes with yours the second you noticed him.
“Floris, is it?” you asked, walking towards the table where she and Aemond sat. Aemond's eyes locked on yours, his hand moving to grip the table as you approached.
“Yes, princess,” she nodded, a nervous smile on her lips as she looked between you and Aemond, her lip twitching as she noticed Aemond's gaze, and how it never once left you. “I hadn’t expected to meet you, princess,” she smiled, her voice wavering as you moved to sit.
You laughed, your eyes following Floris, hand as she moved to grip Aemonds, kissing your teeth as a feeling of envy rushed through you. Aemond smirked, his eyes flickering between you and Floris, slowly pulling his hand away from her.
“Why's that?” you asked, ignoring Aemond's gaze.
“Do you not…” she faltered, gazing nervously at Aemond as she spoke, “ hate each other?”
Aemond chuckled, “I could never hate her,” you scoffed at his words, your hand reaching under the table to grab his hand.
“How sweet,” you cocked your head, waiting for Floris to speak.
“My betrothed and I had plans.” She stated, her eyes turning to Aemond, waiting for him to dismiss you, but his eyes were focused entirely on your hand and his.
“Oh,” you gasped, running your over hand up the length of Aemond’s arm. “betrothed? So it's official,”
“Not yet,” Aemond dismissed, his eyes drawn to your hand, “just discussed,”
You nodded, feigning understanding, “so not betrothed,”
“No, but we are-”
“You should leave,” you cut her off, your hand moving from the length of his arm to his thigh.
A sharp breath left him as you did, “leave us,” he snapped, slamming his hand on the table as your hand reached further up his thigh, towards his crotch.
She huffed, standing quickly and leaving, glaring at you and Aemond as she left.
Your hand moved from his crotch and pushed Aemond away from you. “You don’t hate me?”
“Aemond leaned forward, hoping you would touch him again, “no,”
You rolled your eyes, “You're pathetic,” you scoffed, “you do hate me, admit it,”
“I tried, I don't hate you,” he pushed his hair closer to yours, his hands reaching for yours, “I wanted to, but I can’t”
“As I said, pathetic”, you stood from the table, pushing his hands from you, “after everything you did, you have the gall to not hate me? Pathetic!” You turned towards your chambers, ignoring Aemonds as he followed you.
Reaching your doors, you turned to face him, “You're to be betrothed to another woman, and yet you still follow me around like a lost little puppy, as if nothing has changed.” You shook your head, pushing the door open behind you.
“You're jealous?” he asked, smiling in victory.
“Jealous?” you said, turning around quickly. “Oh, you pathetic little thing.” You laughed, “You think I’m jealous of her? That I desire you even after everything?” Aemond swallowed roughly, following you into your chambers.
“I could have anyone, I have men begging for my hand, and you think that I would want someone-eyed prince for a husband?” you scoffed, walking further into your room, settling on your bed. You laughed, your eyes moving down his body as he prowled towards you, “You do? Don’t you?” Your hands reached to play with the neckline of your dress “Why would I marry you? hmm? What could I possibly gain?”
“We were friends, I love you,” he pleaded, his hand going to the growing tent in his crotch.
“Friends?” you scoffed, “you blamed me for loosing you eye, pushed me away,” you stood from the bed, standing face to face with Aemond, your hand reaching you grab his jaw, moving his face down to yours. “You were cruel,”
“I'm sorry,” he breathed, his mouth itching closer to yours.
“Get on your knees and beg for forgiveness.”
He swallowed, stepping back and dropping to his knees.
“Please,” he begged, “forgive me, please…please, I'm sorry, please forgive me. I've only ever wanted to be worthy of you, to please you.”
“Good,” you whispered, moving behind him and pulling his head back, “now tell me how pathetic you are” Your hand moved to caress his neck, pulling his hair to the side as you joined him on the floor.
“I am so pathetic,” he near moan, “I am nothing without you,” he groaned, your mouth coming to his neck, placing a teasing kiss along the column of his neck.
“Keep going,”
“Without you, I am pathetic, nothing more than a one-eyed disgrace,” you nodded, sucking on his neck softly. “Kiss me,” you muttered, moving around to kneel in front of him.
The kiss was messy, desperate. Groans fell from him as your mouth met his. His hands reached to grip your face, only to fall away as your hands reached for his hair, yanking him back. “So eager”, you muttered, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.
“Please, he begged.
“Do you love me?” you asked, smirking as he looked at you, eye wide.
“More than anything, I want you to be my wife. ” His hands reached for you again, begging to touch you.
“Why would I want to marry you?”
“Because you love me,” Aemond stated, his breath heavy as he gaved up at you, desperate for you to admit it.
You faltered, your back straightening. Your hands came to grip his face, forcing his face closer to you,” You're not worthy of my love.”
“I am, please,” he breathed.
“Show me,” you placed a kiss on his lips, “show me your worthy of my love,”
“Yes, please, please,” he begged, his lips hovering over yours, begging for you to kiss him again. You huffed a laugh, your mouth taking his in a heated kiss. Your lips took his, your mouth dominating his in your heated kiss. Your tongue entered his mouth, your tongue dominating his, as your hands gripped his tunic, pulling him up with you and towards the bed.
You pulled back, breaking the kiss and pulling your dress and small clothes off with it, leaving you entirely bare before him as you crawled back onto your bed.
Aemond groaned at the sight, crawling towards you, placing desperate kisses from your ankles up to your thigh, waiting for your permission to place kisses on your inner thigh and towards your heat. His licks were slow at first, testing and tasting you and to see your reaction. A groan fell from him as moans began to spill from your lips. His mouth moved to your clit, his hands gripping your waist for leverage as he began to feast on your heat, his fingers teased at your entrance, his mouth focused on your clit as he began to finger you. A loud moan escaped you as he entered, your hand reaching to grip his hair, your legs wrapped around his head and pushing him further into you. His fingers began to fuck you, thrusting in and out of you at a testing pace, desperate to find a pace you liked.
Your back arching off the bed as his fingers began to curl into you, your hips bucking into his face, riding it as his fingers fucked you, his mouth sucking on your clit as you felt your high begin to wash over you. a loud moan escaping your mouth once again as you came. Your hand in his hair, tugging him away from you as you rode out your peak.
“Get on your back,” you commanded, pushing him onto the bed. Your hands reached for his breeches, practically ripping them from his body as his hands worked on his tunic.
Your eyes traced his body as you threw his clothes to the floor, your eyes gleaming with lust as you took in his naked form and his pulsing, hard cock.
Crawling over him, you took his mouth into a slow, deep kiss, your legs falling on either side of his head, one hand reaching for his cock and your other reaching behind you to steady yourself, as you slid it between your wet folds, before slowly easing down onto him, pushing his cock slowly into your heat. “Fuck,” you moaned, your head falling back as you eased down onto him.
His hands flew to your hips, steadying you as you took a deep breath, a moan falling from your lips as his cock stretched your walls, your hips rocking forward. Your head fell back as you began to bounce on his cock, setting a hard pace. Your peak was fast approaching, as you focused entirely on your pleasure, your moans filling the room as your peak began to wash over you.
You fell back breathless against the bed, your hands reaching for Aemond, pulling him over you and down for a bruising kiss. “Fuck me,” you commanded, your hand reaching to tug his hair.
His cock pushed into you slowly, his hips stuttering, pathetic moans falling from his lips as he thrusted in you, his eyes boring into yours as his own peak washed over you. He collapsed onto you, breathless and limp, his hands desperately clinging to you.
“Tell me you love me, please,” he pleaded, pressing desperate kisses to your face.
You sighed, playing with his hair, “No,”
A whimper fell from his lips, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer to him, whispering pleas into your skin.
You turned to face him, studying him closely, “I-” The door swung open, your father's loud steps echoing, and he brisked into the room.
“The fuck is this?” Daemon mumled, scowling at the sight of you and Aemond. A chuckle fell from him, his hands reaching for the pile of clothes on the floor and tossing them at you both, as he turned around “Fetch Rhaneyra,” he called, his eyes flickering to Aemond, his scowl deepening, “and the fucking queen,”
“Do you think they'll marry us?” Aemond whispered, a smile on his face as he pulled you back into him as you tried to move away, kissing every inch of you he could reach.
Your only response was a sigh and a smile; you tried desperately to fight the idea of wedding Aemond.
Summary - There was no greater joy that Aemond could think of than having a babe with the niece he had always adored. From watching your belly swell to pushing the very child out, he worshipped you; his queen, his love.
Warnings - Smut. Targcest (uncle and niece), P in V, oral (f receiving), fingering, riding, pregnancy sex, lactation kink, breeding kink, mummy kink, blood, childbirth, fear of medieval birthing practices, crying, Aemond loves his wife and new little one. Reader is described as having silver hair and violet eyes but no mention of skin colour. Translations: ‘ñuha jorrāeliarzy’ = my beloved, 'gevie' = beautiful, 'avy jorrāelan' = i love you, 'jorrāelagon valzȳrys' = my dear husband, ābrazȳrys = wife. "Dōna valītsos" = sweet boy. “Issa taoba” = my boy.
WC: 10.1K
Part 1 & Part 2 - Can be read as stand alone
Swiftly, you found that your favourite thing about married life was lazing in bed. Not for the passions that were shared or the secrets that whispered like crisp sheets, but for the leisure of not having to rise.
Aemond was the king, he was charged to serve from dawn to dusk.
While you were the queen, you had little to do bar attend a council meeting once a week, and see that your marital duties were happening regularly. That was of course, no issue.
The issue was your uncle leaving you at the first cock's crow to tilt with Criston.
"Stay." You begged, eyes still fluttering with sleep as you sat up, watching him brush his hair.
"I cannot."
"You do not want me."
He sighed, and sat himself at the edge of the bed. "That is not it, you well know."
You folded your arms over your chest petulantly. "Well, it is how you make me feel."
Your husband rolled his eye. "My love-"
The covers dropped from your chest, leaving your breasts exposed to the gathering morning light. "Please?"
The sight was a captivating one that could arouse even those with the strongest resolve, long silver hair waved and messy, violet eyes begging, sweet lips jutting out in a pout, nipples perky with the morrow's fresh air.
His grace shut his eye and stood up, regretting indulging you by dressing at the bedside.
"You never did play fair. Not in childhood, and most certainly not now."
He strode across the chamber, grabbing his eye patch and placing it on quickly. His large hand then reached for his belt and scabbard, buckling them around his waist.
The queen remained sat up, exposed, undesired. You rolled your eyes and collapsed back into the bed, pulling the covers over yourself.
That show along with a few choice words had worked to pull him into the comfort of your sheets many a time in the past two moons of your marriage, but now your uncle had gotten stricter. Said his training would turn "lacklustre" should he continue to forgo it.
It was a petty excuse that annoyed you to no end.
"Aemond." You groaned, without much point to it.
The sound of his boots clicking against the stone floor got louder, and he stopped at the edge of the large oak bed, reaching out a hand to scratch at your scalp.
"I will see you when we break fast."
You grumbled and turned away from him.
"Really? Come, your king demands a kiss."
The covers rustled when you bunched your legs up beneath them. "Will he take my head if I refuse?"
Aemond scoffed and braced his hands on the edge of the bed, leaning over to kiss your cheek.
The corners of his lips were upturned in victory. He strode through the ghostly halls to the yard, and began his bouts with Ser Criston.
By the time he had finished, the hot summer sun was high in the sky, and his forehead was damp with sweat.
He had barely begun his walk up the keep's step when the Grand Maester's assistant blocked his path.
"Her grace has fainted."
The king's gaze darkened. "Where is she?"
"Your chambers, my king. Her maids found her laid on the ground, dazed."
Aemond all but sprinted to the holdfast. He stormed through the open door of the king's rooms, eye locking on your figure laid in bed, smiling like sunshine as if you had not scared your husband to the edge of death.
"What has happened?" He asked as he came to the bedside, hand reaching out to cup your face. His question was mildly for Orwyle but mainly aimed towards you and your odd grin.
You took his hand and placed it on your belly, looking up at him with joy all over your face.
It took him an embarrassing amount of time to catch your meaning.
His eyebrows raised and his mouth opened just slightly, before he shared your wide grin. "Truly?"
There was a quick nod like your head was a spring, and immediately, he embraced you, completely uncaring to the fact that Orwyle was right next to him.
You were going to have a babe… he was going to be a father.
"You have made me the happiest man in the realm." He murmured into your hair, pressing kisses against your crown.
A soft giggle left your mouth, arms raising to wrap his shoulders.
The king was smiling brightly — a rather unsettling sight — when he pulled back, smoothing down your silken silver hair.
"You are alright after fainting?" He asked softly, turning his head to the Grand Maester for confirmation, expression growing serious
Orwyle nodded his head pensively. "The queen is uninjured. Fainting is common in the beginnings of pregnancy."
Aemond hummed and looked back at you his smile finding footing once again. His lips pecked yours.
That evening you laid in bed. Naked, after being worshipped so attentively that moving sent thrums of pleasure through your very body.
Your husband was laid on his side, eye level with your belly, gently tracing around your navel, pressing kisses in its vicinity.
His hair was tangled in your hand as you scratched at his scalp.
"I cannot wait for you to be round…" He murmured with a tone you would call wistful, pressing his forehead against your stomach.
"You wish me fat?"
"I wish the babe to have a spacious place to grow." He quipped back, and you chuckled.
That made him grin again, pressing his ear to your middle as if listening for a heartbeat, the arm tight around you rubbed slow circles on your back.
After you had lost consciousness, Orwyle felt your stomach a bit longer than you assumed necessary, tapped it with a sheepskin instrument, and decided that your womb was strong.
While that was happening, the other maesters began pouring over moon charts, and decided that you had gotten with child within two weeks of marriage, leaving you two moons along.
They said that you should be due at the dawn of spring.
Aemond pressed a long, wet kiss to your navel.
"Shall we have a prince?" He nuzzled his nose against your belly, eye shut. "Or a little princess?"
The sound of rustling covers followed by a soft yawn, and then you finally spoke. "I know not. You wish for a son, I assume?"
"No." He murmured quietly, climbing back up to be eye to eye with you, cupping your cheek. "I wish for a daughter."
An incredulous huff left you, lazily tilting your head into his hand. "You have want for a daughter?"
"Why would I ever choose a son with my face over a daughter with yours?"
You rolled your violet eyes to the heavens, making a show of it as you leaned your forehead against his.
A hand raised to his face, fingers stroking his scar. "I would not mind a son with your handsome face."
He huffed softly, smiling with a tired and vulnerable aura only ever yours to witness. "Well, I would prefer one with yours, if my queen would indulge me this once."
Soon after — a month to be exact — your nausea set in.
Many things caused it; the scent of the city, of eggs, of wine, and of your husband.
Early one night, while the sun still bled along the horizon, he had returned to your chambers and held you from behind. It was a few seconds between smelling the rosemary in his hair and having bile rise in your throat. The king swiftly stopped oiling his tresses.
As of recent, the queen was most commonly found on the hard stone floor, with a book in her lap and a chamberpot at her side.
The sight saddened your husband greatly.
"What do you think, my darling?" He asked with raised eyebrows, thumb gently stroking over the large rubies along your collarbone.
"They are nice." You replied hoarsely, leaning your head against his shoulder.
It was unlike you to not perk up at the sight of jewels. He had been showering you with them nearly daily, and you seemed careless to it. The nausea was dimming your light.
"Nice?" He repeated dully as he gently rubbed your stomach.
You nodded. He sighed.
"Then I shall continue my quest to find better than just 'nice'. And to search high and low for a cure to this sickness you so suffer from."
Thankfully, your vomiting subsided rather quickly after that morning.
And as the illness left, the evidence grew.
The babe was four months by the time your belly began to show.
It was only a slight bump, but a bump all the same. The king was utterly delighted by it.
"Look at you." Hot lips kissed behind your ear, the sound of clicking heels deserting your rooms in the background because your maids ran at the sight of your husband.
"The image of the mother." He smirked as he cupped your belly over the thin chemise, pressing kisses to your shoulder with great pride.
His compliments seemed to have grown even more creative as the proof of his seed inside of you got larger and larger.
The unending protection around you doubled as your belly endeavoured to do the same.
Your uncle had become more obsessed and possessive of you since the bump had appeared. The proof of your coupling and his ownership was there for all to see, and he would be damned if anyone would dare to attempt to take what was rightly his.
At five moons, your nameday came.
Each and every year, your uncle went out of his way to spoil you. Allowance spent on jewels, chasing his mother around, begging her to throw something in celebration of you.
Now that he was the king, the realm and its coffers were at his disposal. No expense was spared.
He threw a large tourney in your honour, sat in the royal box and held your hand as if you were going to disappear, and made a pointed effort to dismiss every man who claimed that pregnant women should not look upon such violence.
As the crowd roared for another tilt, he looked over and smiled — just slightly, careful as ever — reaching his free hand to cup your cheek. "Happy?"
You nodded. He always made you feel like the centre of the world.
By the sixth moon of your pregnancy, the king was ravenous.
Day and night, atop and below, anytime he could have you, he would.
Such great hips and thighs, and such amazing swollen breasts so tender to the touch were not to be wasted.
His cheek was carefully nuzzled in the valley between your tits as he caressed one with gentle fingers.
Fucking was becoming a careful business now, yet it left him more breathless than ever.
"Do you think the babe presses against your cunt? I swear it has gotten even tighter."
You chuckled with an indolent breath, hand on his back, still and calm.
"No… I think them sat on my bladder. I cannot go ten minutes without needing to piss."
The king hummed and untucked his head from your bosom, pressing a kiss to your cheek as his hand splayed out over your bump. "Naughty princess, bothering her mummy so soon."
A soft huff left you, far more amused than exasperated. "We do not know if she is a princess-"
The words were cut off with a kick to your belly that felt more like a punch beneath your husband's hand. Before you had felt flutters and slight movement… but never a proper kick.
Aemond's mouth was slightly opened, then he grinned, tapping the spot to urge another jab — like a boy finding a funny new toy. "Regardless of whether or not the child has a cock… we know that it is a dragon."
The following moon came and went swiftly. Now, you had a babe of seven moons thrashing inside of you.
They did so especially whenever you took to the skies on Vermithor — whom you were desperately struggling to climb onto by now — as if they could feel their ancestry through the flesh of their mother.
They also enjoyed kicking when you were in council.
It was nice, like having a friend with a secret language that was shared only between the two of you.
It was often, these days to see the queen smiling down at her belly, ignoring the lords at the table happily. The king joined in her joy, and would stop his usual pacing to feel the kicks of the child.
"My little dragon." He whispered in the dead of night, not wanting to spoil your sleep. "Kepa loves you."
He had begun talking to your stomach the moment he had found out about your pregnancy, but the conversations had been growing lengthier of late.
"You shall be born into warmest embrace."
He kissed your navel, eye shut, completely absorbed in the moment.
"There is no woman more quintessential to be your mother." His long fingers traced the slight, silver stretch marks that had latterly appeared.
"You…" His forehead pressed against your swollen belly. "Are my heir. My realm."
That was taken with a prompt thump to his temple. He breathed out in amusement.
"I shall allow you to sleep in peace. My apologies."
As the child expanded, so too did the extent of your exhaustion. Most especially during court. An uncomfortably padded chair combined with the weight of a dragon pressing on your pelvis had your hips sore and your eyelids drooping.
Oftentimes the king would return from whatever midday task he had to change clothes or freshen himself, and you would be asleep so deeply that you resembled a dead body.
He liked to place a hand to your belly and a finger to your upper lip, to ensure you were breathing, and to let his heir know that muña was alright, just a bit weary. He would peck your lips, order food for your due waking, and continue with his day.
Perhaps his grace's favourite part of your pregnancy was how insatiable you were.
Morn, noon, and night, you would have him on his knees, working you with his fingers, or his cock. Whatever he would give, you would take.
Your uncle gave it all. He never could deny you… but now, as you whined in want, belly swollen with his seed and love, he took your pleasure more seriously than his duties as the king.
Laying on your back during the act had become painful. Being bent over a piece of furniture was no longer possible, and taking him on your hands and knees always had you more focused on not losing your balance than the actual sensations.
To say the least, you were at your wit's end of trying to get your fill and being too frustrated to finish.
You all but smacked your husband when he pulled you on top of him.
"I know, I know!" He replied quickly when he saw the look on your face, adjusting you to spread your legs widely as he slipped a practiced finger between your thighs to rub at your pearl.
Riding was far too tiring. You had no intention of doing so.
"I will accommodate you. Move as you like, sweet wife. I shall bear your weight."
Those words were met with a swift scoff. You looked down at him with boredom in your eyes.
The king sighed. "If you do not want to, you do not have to."
Your eyes rolled, and you planted your palms firmly on his chest. "I did not say that."
That made your husband sigh in victory, and he helped you lower over his hardened cock slowly, the pair of you making relieved sounds of pleasure.
By the end of the minutes, there were reddened marks on your hips, but they were completely worth it.
That night, you fell asleep spent with a smile on your face.
The next few evenings and mornings you spent coupling in that way.
During such intimacy, feelings your husband had thought he would be able to keep buried had bubbled to the surface.
They disgusted him as much as they filled him with arousal.
It happened first when you were sat on his face, your glorious cunt on his lips, and your full thighs in his hands.
Your fist was tugging at his hair as you moaned his name beautifully.
"Mummy." He had groaned against your core.
Immediately, he realised and stilled. You had not heard, thanks be to the gods.
A loud, angry whine left your throat as you pulled his hair, losing the ecstasy you were so close to. Though sense quickly came over you, assuming he needed air, you gripped the headboard to help you stand on your knees.
The king was beneath you, breath heaving. He swore he had ascended to the seventh heaven.
The queen above him, swollen breasts and belly, a wanton blush across her face as she brushed her thumb over his forehead.
"Aemond? My darling?"
He nodded, mouth parted as he licked your arousal from the corners of his lips.
"Sit down."
You obeyed.
After, you laid naked on the bed, on your side, uncovered and in lazy conversation with your husband.
"The Baratheons have passed their days of glory."
You murmured lazily, playing with a strand of silver hair with one hand as your other rested on your belly, brushing the barely-there dimple that used to be your bellybutton. "Lord Borros is a fat idiot… he cannot even read."
Your husband hummed, placing his hairbrush down and joining you on the bed.
His hands found your breasts and bump as if they were magnetic.
"Aemond. Are you even listening to me?"
The king blinked slowly. The scolding tone was making this worse.
Every part of him burned with embarrassment, but he needed to expose this part of himself when he was in control, lest he ruin an intimate moment.
"Wife… I feel I must discuss something with you."
Covers rustled as he intertwined your legs, eyes focused on your nipples, then back at your face.
A knit formed between your eyebrows as you lazily brushed his upper abs.
The king did not want you to think him perverted, even though that is what he truly was.
Thoughts of you with child — with his child —, praising him, had run through his mind since that first day your pleasures had been discovered in the library when you were four and ten. When that raunchy book lay forgotten on the windowsill as your uncle learned to rub your pearl the way that made you gasp.
"Mm, what?" You replied with a yawn, laying your head onto the fluffed red pillows.
His hand was still on your belly — resting over your own — while his other gently caressed your tender breast, circling the hardened, enlarged nipple.
"You have the body of a mother now… you have for some months."
"Is that a problem?" You teased dryly, knowing it was not. He loved your bigger breasts, wider hips, rounder arse, and thicker thighs.
"Not in the least." A soft sigh escaped him as he moved both his gaze and hand from your tit to your face. The king cupped your cheek and laid his head on the pillow as well.
"On the contrary, in fact. It- I suppose I enjoy being beneath you, while you are in this state."
"Really?" You murmured sarcastically, too tired to catch his drift, tracing circles over his bicep lazily.
Aemond nodded, about to speak again in riddles but being cut off by your lips assailing his scar and sapphire.
"Handsome." You were always pleased with yourself when you saw his face bare.
He huffed softly. The action reminded him that he did not have to fear judgment, for it was you, his miracle, his wife, his queen who was in possession of every secret he held.
His eye was shut, and his hand drifted along your round belly slowly. "Your figure enlivens me. I am aroused by the thought of it. And the title the babe has given you."
Your brows scrunched together in confusion. "The title?"
A quick nod was his response.
"Ñuha jorrāeliarzy..would it be too depraved if I were to call you by it when we make love?" He whispered.
Oh.
An amused huff left your mouth, as your thumb traced his scar. A soft challenge was spoken in the safe bubble of your bedchamber. "Say it right now."
Aemond breathed out through his nose. This reaction was unsurprising, but he still had to brace himself for the cringe he was sure to feel, baring this part of himself to you.
His fingers splayed out along your belly, and he tucked his head into your neck.
"Mummy." The warrior king mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss below your ear.
Your nails gentle scratched at his nape. The tone you used was soft and sweet, only for him. "Yes, my love?"
Gods, he melted. His legs curled up just slightly, and his head moved to rest against your breasts.
"Did you have a difficult day?" You murmured against his hair, kissing his crown and cupping the back of his head to keep him there.
The warmth of your tits was felt against his cheek as he nodded.
"It is over now, valzȳrys." Your hand found his lower back, and you began rubbing it gently.
The king made a quiet sound of true pleasure, listening to the beat of your heart. One large hand held your breast, feeling its heaviness.
He could not wait for them to swell with milk.
Soft lips kissed his scalp again.
Tonight was sweetness, tomorrow would be frustration.
By now, you were more than eight moons pregnant. No longer could you ride your dragon, or go up a flight of stairs without needing a few minutes to regain your breath. The stride you used to have has been replaced by a waddle, and everything is getting a bit too real.
It came to a head in the gardens.
A group of ladies and their queen having a small luncheon. Then wine began to flow around, and those proper ladies devolved into dim gossips who thought it their place to terrify the queen.
"When I had my second, he was flipped about. The maesters pushed my abdomen so hard that they cracked a rib! I could even hear it!"
Leave was taken rapidly after that declaration.
There was no way to describe the feeling in your gut besides utter terror. Labour seemed so far away for so long, but day by day, it crept closer. Now you were little more than two weeks away from giving birth.
The pout on your lips as you walked towards the holdfast was clear.
Large, heavy doors opened to your chambers, and you called out.
"Aemond?"
There was no reply. But the scent of lemons and incense was wafting through the air. You waddled into the bath in chamber.
The king was slouched in the marble tub, relaxation on his face turning to a grin as he looked you over.
"Gevie."
His hand reached for yours when you got to the edge, kissing the back of it, then slowly rubbing your knuckles. "Did you enjoy your time with the ladies?"
"Do you think I had fun with those prattling cows?" You snapped.
The look on your husband's face morphed into a surprised one. "I would take that as a no." He kissed the back of your hand once again, undeterred. "What is it that ails you, my queen?"
"Lady Webber, she-" Without your leave, tears had gathered and fallen in a matter of seconds.
Soft lips quivered as you let out a weak sob. "Aemond, I am terrified."
Most would assume that you were not afraid of anything. You claimed Vermithor at the age of eight, for the gods' sake. For you to be even startled was a great feat, and this outburst worried your husband to no end.
Water sloshed around the edge of the large tub when he climbed out. The puddle surrounding it was none of his concern.
He embraced you immediately, dripping naked body wetting your deep blue dress. A large hand rubbed your back as the other cupped your head, holding it against his bare chest.
Comforting you with words was not his strong suit. His vocabulary seemed to vanish when it was needed most.
"I know that birth is an intimidating business… but you are strong, ābrazȳrys." He kissed the top of your head with cold lips. "Nothing could take you from me. Let alone our own babe."
Such words were murmured against the top of your head in attempt to relax you, but he still heard muted gasps coming from your choked throat.
The king lifted you without warning, like a bride, held carefully as he strode into the main bedchamber, and set you on the bed like a sheet of crystallised sugar at risk of breaking with a mere glance.
His large hands cupped your face, smiling at you tenderly — trying to make you take it on yourself — while wiping away your tears with his thumbs.
"How may I temper your anxieties?"
The bridge of your nose twitched as you sniffled. You raised your hands to grip his forearm desperately.
The idea had recently plagued you, whenever you thought of labouring. The man you married would never do such a thing to you, would never allow it. Still, it was a nightmare that had haunted you.
"Do not let them cut me open." You begged shakily, teary-eyed.
Aemond's brows furrowed as he looked down at you. "My sweet, I would never. You know that, I would stand between any blade seeking you."
He lowered himself to look closely into your violet eyes.
"Avy jorrāelan, niece." He leaned his forehead against yours. "It is not because I can breed you. I would love you still were you barren. You may carry my heir, but never would I allow you to think that your very life would be forfeit for the mere continuation of my legacy. I swear this to you."
Slowly, you nodded your head.
The king gave you a gentle kiss, and laid with you for a few long moments, before sitting up and helping you out of your bothersome dress. He took you to bathe with him, as you often do. And even though he is awful at it, washed your hair.
You sat between his legs, all your weight against him, sniffling still.
Your husband had thoughts of the past on his mind, as he caressed your belly slowly.
"Do you remember that day on the battlements?" The sound of sloshing water backed his soft words, his chin resting atop your head.
"We always used to go on the battlements." You replied dryly, arms crossed over your chest, not in the best of moods after earlier.
"When we were two and ten. I had just gotten my sapphire in, and I was whining about the pain." He kissed your scalp.
A thoughtful expression grew on your face. "That was in your chambers."
He nodded. "Part of it, I know."
"We were hiding from Alicent." You chuckled lazily, relaxing a bit more, slouching delicately.
Aemond's mother was enraged around that time of your lives. She never liked how affectionate her son was with you, and when she heard about your recent flowering, she decided you should not be alone together.
"Mm, but I mean our conversation. About children." Your husband said softly, dipping his head to the crook of his neck.
That day, only four years ago, you had made a promise. That you would never be like your parents. Aemond vowed to love his children, not matter how unremarkable. He would not be Viserys. He would be calm and collected, unlike Alicent. You vowed never to make your children feel replaced, as Rhaenyra had done to you.
Those promises seemed more important than ever as the days went by.
After the bath, you sat on your husbands lap by the cracking hearth — to dry your hair —, a book abandoned on the oak side table. Sugar covered your tongue as your uncle fed you pastries.
Aemond had occupied his spare hand by rubbing your stomach. He was convinced he would never get tired of it. The idea that there was truly a miniature version of you and he merged inside of your belly still befuddled him.
"I cannot wait to meet our little dragon." He murmured quietly, the corners of his lips upturned in fondness.
"Mm." You hummed through a cake-stuffed mouth, swallowing and sitting up straighter, cupping your bump with adoration.
The king's sapphire glinted from fire-light, his face calm and fond.
"I am so proud of you."
A smile formed on your face, and you looked into his lone eye fondly. He kissed your shoulder.
That made a sound of contentment come from deep in your chest, covering his hand on your belly, feeling the weighty kicks the babe was so insistent on today.
One could hear the grin on the king's face without looking at it. "The little one is active."
You nodded, then leaned your head against his.
"They can feel your presence."
"Whenever you say they, you make me want for twins."
"They is neutral to sex."
"So? I already know that we have a princess."
A chuckle left you, he's been so insistent on that fact your entire pregnancy. "It is a prince."
Your uncle rolled his eye. "Did the babe tell you that?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. I can sense it."
Aemond chuckled but did not fight you. He simply continued to caress your belly and back.
"You will be the best of fathers." You murmured happily against the top of his head, soothing his insecurities with your mere presence.
At nine moons exactly, one would have liked to spend every waking moment attempting to sleep, but the tireless work of holding the realm together continued.
Many ambassadors of different lands passed through the Red Keep, but rarely a representative as important as this one. The Prince of Pentos' eldest son, and his wife had come to sample the hospitality of your home and negotiate trade.
You really did not care. In a plush seat at the side of the throne's foot, you sat, hands clasped over your belly, as the large doors opened.
"Myrion Mopatis, the eldest son of the Prince of Pentos, and his lady wife."
The greeting was brief, the luncheon after it long. But you found that you did not mind. Aemond seemed to find the son sensible, and you thought his wife funny.
Her name was Serenei. She had long black hair and deep brown eyes, she looked almost Dornish. You decided you would keep her.
"I have never seen a woman to hate her husband more." You chuckled, sprawled onto a chaise. Your uncle sat at the end of it, massaging your swollen feet.
He shared your amusement with a quiet huff. "I suppose he is rather dull."
A quick counter came from your lips before a yawn. "You prefer dull people to bright ones."
"I do not." He muttered calmly as he focused down at his task, stroking his strong thumbs over the balls of your feet.
The fabric of your thin nightgown fell from your bump when you untied it, laying your hand there carefully, murmuring conspiratorially down to the child inside. "Kepa knows that I am right."
"Stop turning the babe against me." He murmured in concealed amusement, reaching a hand out to cover yours on your large belly.
"Why would the babe be on your side? He does not know you as well as he does I."
Aemond hummed, feeling around to try and get a reaction, but gaining none.
"The heir is sleepy, I think." He murmured quietly. "It's a tiresome thing, growing."
His musings made you huff in amusement, firelight dancing in your eyes. "As someone with a middle the size of a barrel, I agree."
The king shook his head plainly; he disliked when you talked of your body that way.
"My beloved, do not be ridiculous. You are the perfect size."
A yawn left you.
"Is that sarcasm or exhaustion?"
"Both."
He hummed lowly and scooped you up, walked across the chamber with you cradled against his chest, then set you into bed gently, tucking the covers around your body. Then he began unclasping his tunic.
"I went on a search for eggs again this morn. I cannot choose one out of Dreamfyre's clutch." He murmured quietly, knowing your opinion on the topic already.
Slow, affectionate hands rubbed your belly as you tilted your head to give him the look.
"Aemond, I do not want the babe to have an egg."
"And I think that is stupid."
A scoff left you. "My egg never hatched. Your egg never hatched. Look at the dragons we ride now. They may choose a grown dragon when they are age enough for it, and it shall be far more powerful and worthy than some hatchling."
Aemond's eyes were set down, presumably to unlace his breeches, mostly because he didn't want to face your words.
"The heir to the Iron Throne deserves a dragon at birth."
A sigh left you, struggling not to roll your eyes. "My darling, our child will not think themself unloved if they do not have a hatchling at the grand age of one."
Your husband clearly disliked that, his face twitching as he pushed down his breeches.
A hand left your belly, reaching out in want for his. "Aemond, will you heed me?" You asked softly, like he was a troublesome child only tamed by affection.
The king looked up to meet your eyes at the soft tone, and took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.
"You are not Viserys." You began carefully, gripping his fingers tightly. "The child already knows that he or she is loved." A gentle hand moved your intertwined ones to your belly, holding them there as you looked into your husband's lone eye. "They do not need a dragon as proof of that."
The man before you swallowed, his throat bobbing as he understood you. In childhood, his father had thought him a disappointment for not having a dragon. He disregarded him even more so than his siblings, for something the gods only controlled.
His face crumpled when he sniffled, blue eye suddenly full with salty tears. Leather in the form of his eye patch was swiftly forgotten and fell to the floor, as he took a seat on the edge of the bed and looked at you with a shaky resolve.
How handsome he was when he cried. His sapphire gleamed, wet from the malfunctioning duct on his left side.
The soft sound of breath from his lips was when you knew you had won. The king laid down, burying his face against your breasts as he sobbed silently.
"It's alright, sweetling." You murmured against his scalp, pressing a soft kiss there.
The tone of his voice was gasping and desperate, so unlike the straight warrior he was known as. "I.."
"I have you."
The next day, you ventured out of the keep as you did each morn. Well, it had turned to afternoon more recently.
Your last ride upon your dragon had been at seven moons. Since your belly had grown, climbing onto the beast had become near-impossible, and when your husband watched you nearly fall dismounting, he forbade any more flights.
As much as it saddened you, it was for the best. You still visited Vermithor, each and every aforementioned day.
He grew restless and aggressive whenever apart from you, having gotten even more protective since you became with a babe.
The ride in the wheelhouse was uncomfortable, but you endured it to see him.
Since he became king, Aemond proclaimed that the bays belonged to the dragons, that keepers were unnecessary, and that the pit would constantly be alight with fire, heat growing them as it did in Old Valyria.
When Vermithor spotted you — his waddling rider approaching him with a smile — he scurried over so quickly that the ground shook. He stopped just soon enough that he did not knock you, and touched your chest with his nose.
A soft laugh left you, rubbing his nostrils gently. "Dōna valītsos." You murmured.
The biting sea air lifted your hair, sweeping it about, the scent of salt filling you with melancholy.
"My son missed you." You said happily, standing before the large dragon, like an ant with a man. He nudged your belly carefully, knowing of the child inside.
It warmed you.
A week and a half later, at exactly nine moons, and — according to the maesters — eleven days, you were impatient and insufferable.
In the past few days, the babe had manoeuvred themself into place for the south, their head and body pressing on every organ and bone you had in your middle. Sleep was a struggle, even if you felt like you were always sleeping.
It was the middle of the night, maybe the early hours of the morning — how were you to know? The child had its entire body on your bladder, and you desperately needed to use the privy.
Slowly, you attempted to sit up. Alas, no. Your husband's grip was too tight, and you were too weak.
"Aemond." You murmured aimlessly into the night, his chest pressed against your back. A loud huff of annoyance left you.
"Husband!"
The man behind you made a quiet sound in waking, kissing your neck as if thinking it were him who had woken for no reason, then relaxed.
"Aemond."
The king's eye opened, his head untucking from your neck. He hummed in acknowledgment.
"I need to piss. Help me up."
The covers rustled as he loosened his grip around you, cursing the cold that came right before spring. He stood at the edge of the bed — pushing the awaiting cradle to the side — and gripped your hips; he disliked you doing any type of physical activity that he could do for you.
Your hands clutched his biceps, and you let out a loud sigh, laying your head against his chest for a moment of respite; on the edge of heaving breath just from standing.
Your uncle cupped your nape and scratched slowly at your scalp.
"Jorrāelagon ābrazȳrys." Was murmured softly in High Valyrian, practiced words soothing you as his free arm embraced you.
Then, before you could register the feeling, liquid was splashing out of you into a large, dark puddle on the ground.
The king's grip around you tightened. "Was that..?"
Once you had looked down at the puddle, and the droplets clinging to your legs, you nodded. Your waters.
He joined you in your nod, clearly out of his depth already as he held you tighter, worried. "Alright…"
Twelve hours later, the castle was beginning to bustle. But Maegor's Holdfast had never stopped.
The loud sobs coming from the king's chambers would unsettle those with the strongest of dispositions.
Slow, heavy feet paced around the ostentatious rooms. "Where is my husband?" You sniffled, eyes red and voice hoarse.
A white sweat-damp chemise that was basically see-through by now was draped over your figure, bulging at the belly just like you.
"The king is just in the corridor, your grace." A midwife said carefully, reaching out to touch your forearm to hopefully calm you.
Quickly, you shrugged her off, letting out a loud cry and leaning your temple against one of the tall pillars.
The sound of the massive doors opening reverberated throughout the chamber, along with your husband's quick stride over to you. He had left only for a moment, and was barely outside of the door as he conversed with Tyland.
The king met you near immediately. He was silent as he placed his hands on your hips from behind, squeezing and rubbing in hopes of giving you some form of relief. The touch was careful not to get in the way of your hair, that he had half braided to get it out of your way.
Comforting nothings left him with an empty mouth. Words wouldn't be helpful, he figured; you never liked to deal with communication when angry or in pain, so he stayed quiet, and kissed your shoulder as you let out cries of differing intensities.
It felt like your insides were parting ways. Oh gods, you were pushing without even realising. A hopeless wail left you, your knees buckling. "Aemond-" You babbled, voice shaken an useless with tears.
The midwives recognised the action and rushed over, all but pushing your husband out of the way.
The cords in the back of your throat almost ripped with the screech you let out, on your knees. Aemond rushed to kneel with you, taking your weight as his, laying your arms over his shoulders as if you were a rag doll.
A loud sob left you, face scrunched up in both agony and fear.
"You are almost there, sweetling." The king murmured, leaning his forehead against yours to keep you present. "Focus on me."
A minute later, with a dragging scream from you, soft, innocent cries filled the chamber. A babe was born.
Immediately, you slumped against your husband, relieved and exhausted. The afterbirth slipped out with one lazy push.
His gaze was set on you incandescently, and he could not resist kissing your lips just briefly. "Well done, my love. You were so perfect." He almost whispered, holding the back of your head tightly as he eyed the child just a step away, watching a midwife cut the pulsing cord.
Another woman slid a number of pillows under you, and helped you manoeuvre onto your bottom. Then you were handed the babe.
It was screeching its little heart out, fighting the swaddle of white linen. So weighty yet so delicate. Silver hair and its mother's violet eyes. Its father's nose.
A tear tan down your cheek. "Hello…"
Your husband's arm was still tightly around you, and he was sat beside you now. His own eye was teary. A careful finger brushed the child's cheek.
"A boy." A midwife said quietly, then backed away to give space.
A soft cry left you, bottom lip trembling as the babe began to calm in your arms. "Issa taoba.." You sniffled, looking at your husband. "I told you."
A soft, exasperated breath of pure joy left him.
Once in bed, comforted and tucked in, you named your son.
"Vaemon." You murmured as you looked down at him latched onto your breast, suckling as if his first day was his last.
The king had a gentle grin on his face, "A strong name." sat on a chair beside the bed, looking at his wife and child with nothing but adoration and reverence.
"He is the image of you." Your husband said warmly, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. His heart swelled by the picture of you nourishing the babe with your own body.
He felt emotional, to think that your love created this sweet, sinless little being. His temple pressed against your bicep. The sapphire was uncovered, glinting with the daylight. He had wanted no barriers.
The prince's mouth had stopped sucking when you looked down, a sleepy milk-drunk expression across his little face. You stroked his cheek gently. Then murmured into your husband's hair. "Would you like to hold him?"
Aemond was incredibly worried of dropping him, making him cry, anything along those lines, but there was nothing he wanted more the to feel the babe's weight in his arms. He nodded avidly.
You handed Vaemon over slowly, careful not to jostle his weak head.
The king looked down at his son in his arms with a growing lump in his throat, watching the child squirm for a moment and then relax. His wide violet eyes staring up at his father with the same gaze of his mother.
"I cannot believe that you made him." He murmured with quiet awe, gaze set downwards as he gripped the swaddle for dear life, terrified of letting him slip from his grip.
"He has your nose." You murmured with a lazy lilt of fondness, head tilted into the pillow.
Aemond, thumb brushed across the bridge of their son's nose, staring into his massive violet eyes. "Everything else is of yours."
Vaemon began to squirm, letting out quiet coos that sounded like discomfort to his inexperienced father.
Your husband's eye snapped up to meet yours. "What is wrong with him?"
A soft breath of amusement left you. "Nothing at all."
When Aemond later went to inform the court of the heir's birth, he was coined 'The Spring Prince', for the break of winter had been confirmed, a raven carrying the news from the Citadel when you were in your labours.
The succession was at rest. A healthy babe was in your arms. The realm rejoiced.
The king showered you with affections beyond comprehension, you had not ceased smiling since marriage, with the birth of this child, your face was like to freeze that was.
Love was the oddest of things, ever-growing and changing, always soft. Like the gentle wisps of silver on your son's head.
"The prince has much hair." Orwyle said with almost amusement as he held the babe wrapped in pink gossamer, the small council gathered in your bedchamber, lined up in a half circle shape around the bed you laid in.
There was a lazy grin on your face, head leaned against your husband's bicep — Aemond stood at the edge of the large piece of furniture, an arm draped over your shoulders possessively, eye trained on his son to ensure his safety.
"Doesn't he? I had no notion that it could be so long." You murmured, looking at Vaemon with such googly eyes one would wonder if you were the first woman ever to have a child.
It had been time enough, your husband decided silently. He promptly snatched his son from the Grand Maester, taking him carefully, with precision — still petrified of hurting him.
"My wife must rest." He said plainly, looking away from them, uncaring, his words polite code for 'fuck off', though that phrase awaited in case.
The council obeyed, and scurried out.
Heavy eyelids blinked around your engorged pupils, looking up at your husband with a dreamy expression.
How attractive he was. The aura of protectiveness emanated from him, mixed with fatherly nurture as he stared down at your child, trying to gauge by the babe's facial expressions if he was holding him correctly.
"Comfortable, little one?" He asked in a low whisper, eyebrows raised like he was looking for an eloquent answer. But it was clearly a tease, the corners of his mouth upturned.
The prince began to whimper. The king began to rock him. He was so good with him, it made you wish to cry.
"Gevie." He said with a growing grin, staring down at his wailing son with pure pride. "You get that from your mother."
The babe's cries began to relax after a few moments, and the father smiled even wider, cradling him tightly.
"My love?" You murmured tiredly, head melting into the pillow even more with the movement of your jaw.
Your uncle looked at you with tenderness, his sapphire glinting under the candlelight of the chamber, black leather hugging his body as he did the same to your son, cradling him carefully. "What can I do?"
"Nothing." A soft whisper came from you.
Aemond took his seat at the edge of the bed again, holding Vaemon against his chest.
"Sleep, sweet wife. I have you both."
A weak pop came from your neck, barely managing a single nod before drifting off.
What happy dreams they were. Of your future, of your beautiful babe and his wonderful father.
It was three hours later when you woke to the sound of pained little cries, eyes fluttering open to see your husband shushing his son and rocking him desperately.
He caught your eye accidentally, and looked guilty as he strode to the edge of the bed. "I know not his issue." The king said with a self-deprecating frown.
"He is hungry." You murmured with a yawn, untying the chest tie of your fresh nightgown.
"So soon?" Your uncle asked — genuinely surprised, taking a seat at the edge of the bed and carefully placing the screeching babe onto your chest.
A nod was your answer, as you adjusted the little prince against your breast, helping him gather your nipple and suck deeply. Once he got it, you smiled, and cupped his body.
Aemond was unsurprised when you vowed early in pregnancy not to let another woman feed them. It was unheard of for a child of a noble to be fed around the clock by their mother, let alone by a queen. But your love knew no bounds, and your possessiveness would never allow another to nourish your own son.
He braced his elbow at the edge of the bed, free hand coming up the cup your cheek. You leaned your head into his hand and smiled.
"You must be starving, my darling." He said seriously, tucking the covers securely around you. "Supper is coming."
A yawn left you, resting your chin against your collarbone, looking down at your son with a indolent grin.
The sounds of nursing, the smacking of his lips and his desperate breathing filled the room.
Aemond grinned in amusement, stroking his long fingers over the babe's head. "Who is going to tell him that he will not be ripped from your breast?" He joked.
It was four days after you gave birth that you escaped the very attentive eye of your husband, and in true Targaryen fashion, climbed your dragon with a child strapped to your chest, and flew above the clouds.
The king was livid.
He sat the Iron Throne and gripped the arm rests so tightly it was a wonder he was not cut. At the base of the steps was the hand, being less than helpful. Its not like his sire was listening, anyway.
The king rolled his eye. "Go."
Tyland slipped out, and almost simultaneously, the heavy throne room doors opened, revealing the most beautiful of sights.
The hall was dark and dull in the spring evening, but the light of the queen brightened it. She, with loose windswept hair, wearing black, contouring riding leathers, and a babe tied to her with a crimson wrap.
Gods, it was so impossible to stay angry at you…
"I hear you went for a flight." He said dryly, keeping his voice neutral as you practically skipped across the large hall.
"He adored it!" You grinned, cupping Vaemon's head and bottom as he cooed, holding him tightly despite how securely he was wrapped to you.
Aemond raised a hand to his temple and rubbed it. You take years off of his life.
He began carefully, standing from the throne and slowly descending. "My love, you should not be out of bed. Let alone climbing a dragon. That cannot be beneficial for healing."
"Nonsense." You muttered back without even glancing at him, eyes set down on your son's silver hair.
The king sighed. There was one person in the realm who could defy him and not be threatened; his queen.
After a moment, he was off of the iron steps and reached for your cheek, his other hand touching the wrap to feel his son's safety for himself.
A smile was on your face when you looked up into his eye.
"Wife."
"Yes?"
"You left without informing me. I feared for you." He murmured quietly, a genuine concern washed over his face.
You leaned your head into his palm, still smiling because you were the victor.
"I did not mean to frighten you…"
He sighed and caressed your cheek. "You gave birth four days ago. Whenever you shift it bed, it scares me."
The look on his face made you reconsider just slightly. "I should have informed you. But you would not have let me out of our chambers if I had."
"That is for your own good."
The whites of your eyes made an appearance as you rolled them.
The king sighed again. "Go to bed, niece."
A week after birth, you had settled into a routine with the babe.
Vaemon slept between you and your husband at night, and suckled whenever he wished. He was proving to be a lusty boy who didn't like anything as much as eating.
Unfortunately, it seemed your breasts were swollen no matter how much he drank.
This past night, you had gained no rest whatsoever. The pain in your chest was too large.
When the sun began to rise, and dark circles had settled beneath your eyes, you broke, and sobbed uncontrollably.
This woke your husband, who was worried to no end within a moment of consciousness.
He tightened his arm around you on instinct, and noted that his son was in the cradle at your side of the bed. You never placed him there.
"My love, please. What is it?" He pleaded, gruffly, sitting up like a horse's ear would prick, looking down at you, trying to see the issue.
Your lip was quivering, tears rolling down your face as you met his eye. "My breasts, they-" Another loud, unattractive sob left you.
Ah. His eye flickered down to your chest, noting your swollen flesh and aggressively peaked nipples. Poor thing, he thought.
Your husband raised a hand to one of your exposed tits, and held it carefully. Gods, it was like a rock.
Simultaneously, you winced and buried your face against his shoulder, voice whiny and hoarse. "They are so full."
Aemond nodded, brows furrowed as he thought of what to do. The king looked into your eyes once again, a question in his lone blue one.
Immediately, you nodded through tear-blurred sight — anything to stop this ache.
Your uncle made eye contact with your nipple, and leaned his head down to latch onto it, sucking greedily.
The milk was so sweet, gods it aroused him. It would be a lie to say that this was not a fantasy of his, to drink from your breasts while you praised him.
It was a feckless thing to try and shake himself out of that mindset, for the liquid tasted so saccharine; the deepest form of a mother's nurture in his mouth, filling him with warmth and acceptance.
What a strange, perverted man he was — and he knew it.
Fortunately, his desire did not rob him of his sense of duty, and he switched sides, keen on giving you relief.
Still, you cried, overwhelmed from pain and the overactive emotions that came after giving birth. Fingers dug and scraped at his back as they did whenever you fucked.
The king held both breasts in his gentle hands, and redoubled his efforts, pulling hungry mouthful after hungry mouthful of honeyed milk from your tits until they were practically empty.
Then — only when your cries halted — he lifted his head, dribbles of milk on his chin. He eyed your poor reddened face.
"Better, ābrazyrys?" He whispered softly, raising a hand to cup your face just as he straightened up.
A swift nod was your answer, sniffling and curling into him limply.
Aemond gladly scooped you into his lap, and pulled the covers over the pair of you.
You nuzzled your cheek against his pec, seeking closeness, and receiving it as he stroked your hair.
"The gods curse women." You murmured, voice watery and in no way kind, petulantly cowering into his embrace.
The king nodded against your scalp, his chin rested there. The loose curtain of his hair around your face was comforting, as was the sound of his hum.
You felt something poking your thigh. Then you thought of his depravity. "You are hard."
A sound of surprise left him — as if he was unaware — and he spoke quietly, shifting you in his hold. "My apologies."
You snivelled and laid back, pulling him by the bicep to join you. He obeyed and followed, drawing you to him by the waist, pressing a few reverent kisses to your head.
Careful fingers brushed the edge of your breast. "The pain is gone?" He murmured into your hair.
"Almost." You whispered back, voice weak and defeated. He sighed at your tone and pressed his lips to your temple.
The king continued to massage your chest, trying to relieve the lingering discomfort."I left some… just in case he wakes."
On cue, the babe's heavy breathing and whimpers began to fill the large rooms.
Aemond huffed softly, leaning over you to look. The babe laid in the cradle, his legs tucked up, his little face scrunched in sadness.
The king lifted him swiftly, cupping his bottom and head as he laid him on his hard chest.
"What is it, hmm?" He murmured against the child's silver hair, leaning his head against yours as your son began to cry.
"The cold world." You said against his shoulder, words muffled. "He misses my womb."
Aemond hummed in agreement.
It was after two weeks when your uncle finally felt like he was getting the hang of fatherhood.
You loved it, for he looked so handsome holding Vaemon. So nurturing. You would climb atop him if you could.
The lithe man paced around your bed, tapping his son on the back with such little force that it didn't make a sound.
"He will not burp."
You were laughing to yourself lazily, sat up against the pillows — he refuses to let you out of bed — enjoying the sight.
"You must actually pat his back."
The king scoffed and paced to the side of the bed, bare feet silent against stone. "That is what I am doing." He replied dryly, still tapping the babe's back.
Your poor soon had a look of discomfort on his little face.
"You are doing it wrong."
Aemond huffed, but relented. Vaemon was squirming at this point, head rested haphazardly on his father's strong forearm. With one firm pat against the child's back, he spat up half of his feed onto the floor.
A soft sigh left you, still utterly amused. Your husband looked up like a deer in headlights, readjusted the babe, then reached for a cloth to wipe his mouth.
The spill was cleaned swiftly by a nameless maid, and your son was placed in your arms, his father having far too much to process to be in possession of him.
"He is so happy." Your uncle murmured thoughtfully to the babe while he sipped water, brushing his little back as he laid flat on your chest, cooing happily.
A happy hum was your response as you laid your head on his shoulder. He set down his cup, wrapped an arm around you, and kissed the side of your head.
"You are such a wonderful mother."He said quietly, chin nuzzling the top of your head.
A soft sigh left you, as you shut your eyes and caressed your son's head. "He adores you."
Aemond kissed your cheek, and then eyed Vaemon, who seemed to have drifted off. "I did not grow him inside for nine moons. Nor nourish him, as you do."
"So is my duty." A yawn left you, nuzzling your husband's collarbone. "I am a mother now."
The king let out a breath of almost disbelief. "And I thought that you could not be any more perfect."
The corners of your mouth tugged upwards into a lazy smile, eyes shutting, and sheets rustling.
"Sleep, my sweet." He rubbed your side slowly.
With that, you drifted off. Aemond murmured of his love for you, and for his beautiful son.
You were the queen, a Targaryen of Old Valyrian heritage, and the mother to the next king. But none of that mattered.
You were a wife to a man who loved you, and mummy to the most adorable son the gods had ever graced a woman with.
This little family was sure to grow, and you could not wait. Soon, high laughter would be wracking the walls, and the patter of wet, tiny feet would fill the holdfast.
This very keep would be bursting at the seams to accommodate the brood you wished for, and your husband would be the happiest to order and extension.
Anything to see you contented, beautiful, and swollen with his children to the point that no man or woman could ever question whose you were.
Aemond Targaryen m.list 🗡
hello my apologies for the length lol... hence the wait
pls forgive any typos and random bs, like i said this ho is long and i cannot proofread a fourth time
i actually really do like this tho <3 had it lying around for weeks and decided now was the perfect time in honour of the end of akotsk (still sobbing) and the hotd teaser
i am taking requests so hit my inbox!! also if u js wanna thirst i love those asks too <3
In celebration of HOTD S3 finally airing, here's a piece I've been cooking up for a couple of weeks. Yes this episode pissed me off, but yes I will be watching next week. Please leave a like/comment/reblog if you enjoy! <3
CW- 18+, non-con/dub-con, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, loss of virginity, fingering, PIV, rough sex, High Valyrian translator used, blood, references to death/murder
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word count- 2,362
It was the hour of the owl when you heard Vhagar’s roar. You recognized the vocalization of the dragon, so unlike that of Sunfyre or Dreamfyre’s. Aemond had been gone for a fortnight now, and the thought of his return made your stomach drop. But the deep grumble of the formidable beast flying past the Keep was a welcome warning, giving you time to prepare yourself for what was to come.
You rose from the bed quickly, pacing about the room and searching for a garment to cover yourself. You did not wish to face your husband in only a thin nightgown, yet nothing in your wardrobe would allow for you to dress without the help of a maid. Sheets of rain smacked against your window as lightning danced in the sky, a wicked storm that chilled your bones.
After a considerable struggle, you were able to shimmy your way into a red gown that had needed to be taken in. Unable to lace the back of it on your own, you resorted to tucking in the strands and wishing that it would go unnoticed. You sat down in front of the fireplace, grabbed a book from the shelf, and pretended to read as you waited.
It felt like an hour passed before you heard the knock against the door. Your spine stiffened immediately and your breath caught in your throat.
“Enter,” you spoke as sternly as you could manage. You kept your gaze on the book in your lap as the door creaked open. The smell of dragon filled the room, strong and sulfuric with a hint of fresh blood. Your husband stood in the doorway, soaked from the storm.
“Wife. What possible reason do you have for being awake at such an hour?” His tone was immediately accusatory, his voice scratchy. Aemond was dressed in his flying leathers, a deep grey with dragonscales woven into the breastplate. His left boot was partially unlaced, the hilt of a long dagger peaking out from where it was nestled against his shin.
“I was feeling restless and could not sleep,” you tell him plainly. “What reason do you possibly have for returning at such an hour? We were not expecting you for another three days.” This was partially true, as he had given that date upon his departure to the Riverlands. But everyone in the Red Keep knew that the Prince Regent was wildly unpredictable, and the wedding had proved that.
No one had expected him to truly marry you, especially not after the Dowager Queen had advised him against it. Your father, Lord Staunton served on Rhaenyra’s council, which branded you a traitor in the eyes of the Greens. Captured during the Battle of Rook’s Rest, you had been imprisoned in King’s Landing for several months. They would not behead a lady of your station, and many had expected that you would simply be wed to a lesser lord that had sworn allegiance to Aegon.
But upon being named Prince Regent, Aemond decided that he would wed you himself. After all, he had been the victor of Rook’s Rest, and it was only fair that he kept you as a prize. The wedding was arranged hastily, and the two of you stood together in the sept mere hours after he had declared his intentions.
But he was swept away later that evening, after a message had been delivered during the wedding feast. To your great relief, Aemond mounted Vhagar that night rather than you. If the marriage remained unconsummated, then there was a glimmer of hope that perhaps your father would still send men to rescue you. But that glimmer began to fade now that your husband was in front of you once again.
“You should mind your tongue when you speak to me, wife. I am not in a patient mood at present,” he warns you as he finally enters the room, allowing the door to slam behind him. He peels the gloves off of his hands as he approaches, and you notice a splattering of blood has stained the leather.
Aemond circles the room, examining every little that could have possibly changed since his departure. He had insisted that the two of you share chambers, and you had been moved on the night of the wedding. You had almost no belongings, save for a few dresses that had been allowed to be sent to you by your sisters and mother.
Your eyes trace his every movement, until he turns his head and catches you staring. Embarrassed, you engross yourself in the book once again and try your very best to keep your head down. His footsteps approach slowly, until his boots are at your feet.
“I see you have kept yourself rather busy in my absence,” he declares. You look up to face his gaze, swallowing hard as his violet eye stares you down.
“What do you refer to, my prince?” Your voice is softer than it had been before, not wanting to provoke him to the anger that he had grown a reputation for.
“Reading the histories of Valyria, in High Valyrian,” Aemond reaches down and taps the cover of the book, which you now realize is not written in the Common Tongue. “Nyke gaomagon daor māzigon ao syt zaldrīzes āeksio” I did not take you for a dragon lord.
Heat rises to your face, angry at yourself for making such a careless error. Aemond’s lips have curled smugly, relishing in your shame. More than anything, you wish you could reach out and strike him.
Instead, you slam the book shut and rise from your chair. The sudden movement causes the unlaced dress to snag against the furnishing, and you hear a rip as the fabric splits further down your back. Aemond’s eye widens, apparent that he has also heard the noise.
“Turn around,” he commands you, peering over your shoulder. You make no effort to do so, but keep your eyes fixed on his face. “That wasn’t a suggestion, wife,” he says as he reaches for your waist. You plant your feet firmly to the ground, but he still spins you around with ease.
“Let go of me,” you yelp, the sudden feeling of Aemond’s cold hands against your bare back startling you. But his grip on your waist remains firm.
“Your gown has ripped. A rather flimsy garment, to be so easily torn,” he tuts, fingers tugging at the fraying edges of the fabric. He shifts his posture forward, closing the gap between your bodies. He is still wet from the rain, water dripping from his body and spilling onto the rug beneath your feet. Likely, the whole room will stink of wet dragon come morning time.
“You should be thanking me, you know.” His voice softens as he reaches for the strap of the dress, threading his fingers through it and sliding it off and down your shoulders. “You ought to be grateful that I have returned. Traitor’s daughter and then a widow would be quite the sorrowful fate.” The fabric slides off your back and pools at your waist, causing your heart to beat faster than you thought was possible.
“Why must you torment me so?” Your voice holds steady, although your legs have begun to shake. Aemond leans down, bringing his lips close to your ear as he tugs the dress off of you.
“Torment? I have simply come to do my duty to you. How can we be truly married if my wife remains a maiden?” His lips brush against the divet of your neck, the smell of smoke swirling through your nostrils.
And any hope you had of escaping from this place leaves you with a long breath, as his hands begin to trace up your thighs. The possibility of fleeing in the night is abandoned as he bites on your neck and slips two fingers in between your most intimate area.
Instinctively, you jerk away from his touch. But his other hand is flat against your stomach, keeping your body pressed against his. Shame fills you as his fingers caress your folds, rubbing against your bundle of nerves and eliciting jolts of pleasure. You let out a croaking noise, a mix between a whine and a moan.
“Shhh, don’t resist me now. I only wish to make it easier for you,” he whispers against your skin. You wish to speak something, a phrase both crass and hostile to this man that holds you hostage. But what good would come out of that?
The pads of his fingers prod against your entrance, giving you a moment of anticipation before he presses them inside of you. His sudden intrusion is certainly overwhelming, but not as painful as you had imagined such a thing would be. His thumb strokes your most sensitive area as two fingers begin to thrust in and out of you. You remain silent, but allow your shoulders to finally relax against the support of his broad chest.
“That’s a good girl,” Aemond tells you, tracing his lips down your neck with soft kisses. “I knew you would be an obedient little wife, despite what everyone had warned me.” He laughs suddenly, surely recollecting a conversation in which you had not been present. His fingers inside of you curl upwards, causing you to clench as a new sensation takes hold of your lower half.
“Aemond,” you plead as you attempt to shift your hips away from him. He wraps one of his legs around yours, threading you to him with his heavy boot.
“Keep still,” he warns, and you feel his teeth graze your neck. Your mind has become a puddle of emotions, your body sending you mixed signals just as well.
“I can’t,” you whimper as his prodding fingers cause you to jolt once again. To your surprise, he laughs coldly rather than chastising you again. His fingers pull away from your center, and you immediately regret the loss of pressure.
Aemond steps to your left, and then circles in front of you. His expression is hardened, but there is a glimmer of sympathy etched into his face.
“Get on the bed,” he commands, as he begins to unbutton his tunic. You remain still for a moment, watching as he undresses himself and reveals his bare skin to you. His chest is broad and toned, but littered with burns and scars that you could never have imagined.
When you finally oblige and lay down on the bed, Aemond is quick to follow you. He is naked, his bare form pushing through the green canopy and towering over you. His manhood is swollen and stiff, and you cannot help but to stare as he climbs on top of you.
‘You will learn to love me, wife. I will be your only escape from this cold and cruel place,” he murmurs as his hands pry open your legs, leaving you exposed and bare to him. Aemond grasps at your forearms, pinning them down to the bed as he lines his cock up to your entrance. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for what is to come.
When he enters you, the stretch causes you to gasp. The pain is the least of your worries. Aemond lowers his face to yours, meeting your lips in the first kiss since the night of your wedding. His lips swallow your cries and his tongue traces along the inside of your mouth as he bottoms out inside of you.
He sets a steady pace, his cock driving in and out of you repeatedly as he kisses you roughly. Your body has become enveloped by his heat, and you have no response other than to meet his kiss with equal fervor. The rain continues to splatter against the window, and Vhagar’s roar can be heard from the Dragonpit.
“You take me so well,” Aemond groans, as the head of his cock slams against a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. When you let out a moan, he shifts his hips so as to place more pressure against yours.
He has released your arms, choosing instead to place one hand around your neck as the other grips your left thigh tightly. The sound of his heavy breathing combined with the building pleasure within your gut elicits a rash decision.
You reach forward and tug against the strap of his leather eyepatch, pulling it over his head in one fluid movement. A sapphire rests in the socket of his eye, a contrast to the violet one that remains fixed on you. Aemond is taken aback, but he makes no retaliation.
“You are mine, gevie. No one will ever take you from me,” he mumbles, his pace quickening as his fingers thread between your legs and begin to stroke you once again. This sensation, combined with the feeling of his cock deep inside of you, causes your thighs to quiver as your stomach swirls.
The build-up of pleasure becomes overwhelming, and you bury your face in Aemond’s neck, unable to meet his gaze. When a wave of sensation crashes through you, you cry out and grip down on his shoulders.
Aemond continues fucking you, his pace growing quicker and his breath heavier. His fingers still work against your bundle of nerves, and you try to pull his hand away as your core clenches desperately around him.
“Take it all, my good little wife.” His thrusts become sloppy as one of his hands weave through his hair, and a roar of thunder crashes through the night as he spills his seed inside of you.
Aemond pulls out of you slowly, his spend leaking as he does so. The blood of your maidenhead is apparent, mixing with the sticky white substance. Even more apparent, is the blood streaked across his forearm and down the side of his neck, gone unnoticed by you prior to this moment.
“Pray to the Mother that you will be blessed with a child,” he tells you as he retreats. With his head turned to the side, shadows dance across the duvet. “It is only just that new Targaryen life should follow the death of a dragon.”
