Summary: Born to Lyonel Strong and a Targaryen bastard, in this alternate universe, Sansa Strong is an important and instrumental character in the Dance of the Dragons. Her allegiance to Team Black, her cousin, Rhaenyra Targaryen, puts her in a moral dilemma as her marriage to Aemond Targaryen, an essential cog of the green faction, worsens.
THE FIRST PHASE
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4 ***
Part 5
Part 6 ***
Part 7 ***
THE SECOND PHASE
I am yet to know how many more parts there will be to this story. The story is being told in a non-linear fashion, which might be a bit frustrating but please, bear with me. There will be asterisks beside parts that have spoilers of the subsequent events in the original plotline. Any changes I bring to the actual story will also be marked if the change is supported by canon event/s.
Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.
Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.
Word count: 11.5 K
Warnings: Fluffy, Aemond finally makes a friend, characters will be aged up next chapter, reader is from a made-up house
AN: This is my first time writing for HOTD and I'm excited and terrified to share this story with you. I've had this idea in my head for so long and decided to finally get it out. Hope you enjoy xx
Part 2 Part 3
~~
He was used to playing for second best.
In his short life he became used to disinterested gazes, murmurs of his supposed cold heart and fits of rage, avoidant steps when he passed, the curse he possessed as the scarred second son.
But never from her.
She looked at him as though he put the stars in the sky. She looked at him as if he was the reason the sky bloomed with breathtaking colors in the early morning.
He felt himself unworthy of her attention and affection, something she was aware of, and she would hold him and tell him all the love she gave him was very much deserved.
It was a sentiment he always had trouble not disputing instantly.
She made his miserable heart full.
Aemond couldn’t believe his luck himself for the sun that entered his world and brightened his life.
He never believed he was worthy of her love.
And she spent her entire life trying to prove him wrong.
~~
It was a beautiful, sunny, cloudless day.
A day Aemond was dreading.
It wasn’t often their family made trips away from King’s Landing. His father was King and most visitors made the effort to come to the Capitol and spare them the effort of a visit, but a sudden trip had their entire family uproot their usual routine and he found himself hating every moment of it.
Being dragonless, he was left to endure the crashing waves of the sea that made his stomach turn.
“This place is disgusting.” Aegon said the moment they landed on solid ground.
“Aegon.” His mother admonished with a steady glare. “The Ixtal Islands are a beautiful place and they’re home to one of the most powerful houses in the seven kingdoms. You would do well to show them some respect.”
“Not like they’ll offer me anything of importance.” He muttered bitterly. Rumors had spread of his mother and father’s desire to wed him to his sister Heleana, his future already planned for him.
His mood was immediately soured at the realization that none of the beauties he saw on the Island shore were his intended, but that wouldn’t stop him from having his fun.
“Why are we even here?” Aegon whined immaturely, making his mother suppress yet another eye roll in response.
“The Lord of Ixtal is an old friend of your father.”
“I still don’t understand why that demands my presence here.” Aegon rolled his eyes.
“Our council is in need of a new Master of Coin and your father is considering his dear friend. We are here for negotiations and our family is nothing if not loyal. Your father, our King, needs us.” Alicent answered shortly.
Aemond was excited to finally see the Island he had read so much about. He knew their history, their riches and goods they traded with the entirety of the realm. The Ixtal Islands were the most plentiful and prosperous house in the realm and he was in awe to see his readings come to life before him.
It was the socialization he dreaded.
Nobles would look at Aegon with respect, respect he didn’t deserve even being the first born son of the King. Helaena would be regarded with reverence, a comparison to the Realm’s Delight.
But he was nothing more than a second son, easily brushed over.
Daeron was still just a babe, too young to understand the slight they possessed not having been born first, but Aemond understood all too well.
Their family was escorted into a grand throne room and Aemond was in awe of the intricate ornaments that decorated the hall and he briefly wondered why King’s Landing was where the most powerful man in the realm sat when this place existed.
His wide eyes eagerly took in every sight in front of him, admiring how the vast forest behind the castle casted a mystical green glow on the room from the giant window sitting behind the intricate gold throne.
“Viserys!” A cheerful voice called and for the first time in a long time, Aemond heard his father laugh, a genuinely delighted sound as he embraced his friend.
Aegon shared a brief look with him, his shock at hearing his father's laughter clear in the way he furrowed his brows in bitterness.
“It’s been too long, my friend.”
“Alicent, always a delight to see you, my dear.”
Aemond noted the blush on his mother’s cheeks as the charming lord embraced her. He shifted on his feet as his siblings were introduced. He knew what came next, the flippant dismissal was familiar yet it stung each time.
He looked up as the Lord shook hands with Aegon and gave Helaena a polite nod, her body language giving him the signal she wasn’t comfortable with anything else.
As he stepped in front of Aemond, he suddenly felt two feet tall under the man’s gaze. Until he smiled. It was a gesture filled with warmth he hadn’t been expecting.
“Aemond, a strong name for a strong lad.” The lord clapped his shoulder and Aemond felt his body straighten, his confidence reappearing the second he realized he wasn’t going to be passed over yet again.
He looked up at the Lord with a smile, feeling more respected by the stranger in front of him than he ever had from his own father.
“You remember my wife,” The Lord gestured to a finely dressed woman who smiled and bowed to them courteously.
“My son and-” The lord stopped abruptly, suddenly noticing the absence of the person who was supposed to be next in line and looked to his wife who was already wincing, having expected the abrupt drop in conversation due to their eldest daughter’s absence.
“My apologies, my daughter has lived here all her life yet still feels the need to explore.” The Lady of Ixtal explained, the lack of anger in her voice that gave way to begrudging acceptance made it obvious this was a common occurrence.
Viserys laughed and looked at his friend.
“You could not possibly think your children would give you any trouble, would you?” He chided sarcastically to the Lord who could only laugh in delight at his beloved daughter’s antics.
Aemond watched the interaction with wide eyes, intrigued by the sense of ease that surrounded everything.
If they were in King’s Landing and he was late to an event, his mother would have his hyde.
Suddenly, the great doors slammed open and an armored knight was seen running into the room, his hand latched onto someone small who was giggling in delight.
“My Lord, My Lady, I am so sorry, she wanted-”
“It’s quite alright, Ser Jerrod. I know my daughter could not have made it easy for you.” The Lord dismissed the unnecessary apology and smiled down at his daughter who smiled somewhat sheepishly as she passed by to take her place in line.
She smoothed her hands down the front of her silk dress and stood straighter, putting on the air of the perfect and primed daughter, as if they hadn’t all just seen her enter in a tizzy five minutes late.
Her mother looked down at her and leaned over her brother’s shoulder to pluck a leaf from her disheveled hair. Her eyes widened slightly, fearing retribution for her antics, but her mother only raised a teasing brow, silently admonishing her.
The girl brushed her messy hair off her shoulder and finally moved her gaze to their guests, a smile coming to her face as she met the eyes of the silver haired boy in front of her.
Aemond was rooted to his spot, his expression one of perplexed confusion. The smile she sent him, the gesture which was so simple - and usually faked by most at court - was blinding.
He was taken aback by the fact that she hadn’t looked at the powerful presence that was the King or the Queen faithfully at his side. She hadn’t looked at Aegon, Daeron or even Helaena, the only girl close to her age in the room.
She looked at him first.
She smiled at him first.
It was a gesture that wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, but to him, it meant everything, it lifted the veil of neglect he was so familiar with from his shoulders, leaving him to feel lighter than before.
He listened as the Lord introduced his daughter and he ran her name over and over in his head, feeling his cheeks heat, a blush easily coming to his face as she greeted everyone, but her stare came back to him, smiling shyly.
~~
“This place is beautiful.” Helaena spoke dreamily as she took in their surroundings.
They were granted leave to look around while the servants prepared to set up the welcome feast.
Aemond couldn't take his eyes off the white sand and the crystal blue water. He breathed deeply, relieved to smell nothing but fresh flowers and ocean water and not the filth that permeated King’s Landing.
“Father should take over this place.” Aegon mused, earning looks of disdain from his siblings, which he easily shrugged off. “What? It’s much better than our shithole of a home.”
Aemond rolled his eyes at his brother’s crass nature and kept walking, praying Aegon would somehow get lost or at least get bored of his company and leave.
The sound of a loud laugh caught all of their attention and they walked their way through the lavish gardens to find it. Aemond suddenly became nervous as he saw the children of the Lord and Lady of Ixtal.
The oldest son was playing some sort of ball game with his younger brother. The youngest sibling was reading quietly with her Septa. But the eldest daughter was nowhere to be found.
As they stepped forward, the youngest son straightened and nudged his brother to stop. Catching sight of the young Targaryen princes and princess they let the ball they were playing with drop to the ground as they bowed respectfully.
“Hello.” Helaena spoke brightly and the two young boys were helpless against her sweet nature and they both smiled and greeted her warmly.
“Where’s the other one?” Aegon asked rudely, looking around for the pretty girl from earlier who was missing.
Aemond grit his teeth, praying Aegon wouldn’t drive her away before he even had the chance to speak to her.
“She’s in her tree.”
“Her tree?”
The oldest brother pointed to the enormous willow tree behind them.
He called out to his sister, alerting her to the presence of the royal children and just seconds later, Aemond watched with a slowly growing smile as a lithe form began to descend the ancient tree.
She was slightly out of breath as she jumped the last few feet to the ground, brushing her already tangled hair out of her face as she practically skipped towards them.
As if her Septa’s teachings and her mother’s scolding from that morning had finally caught up to her, the smile on her face fell slightly, remembering she was in the presence of royalty. She slowed her pace and curtsied slightly clumsily as she came before them.
“It is lovely to see you all again. I hope you are enjoying Ixtal.”
Aemond felt his face heat with a deep blush at the sound of her voice, the slight accent he heard capturing him instantly and he wished nothing more than to take the book from her young sister’s hands and demand she read it to him just so he could continue to hear the beautiful sound of her voice.
“Your home is lovely. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Helaena spoke, breaking him from his thoughts. She moved towards the girl, the two of them engaging in easy conversation.
Aegon began speaking with the two brothers, learning the rules to the ball game they were playing, the young boys instantly getting along. Which left Aemond to stand by himself.
He shifted on his feet anxiously, contemplating if he should leave and find his mother. He’d at least have someone to talk to then. The pit in his stomach that grew as the familiar feeling of loneliness settled over him broke abruptly at the sound of the beautiful voice again.
“Would you like to sit?”
He looked up, his eyes meeting hers and for a moment, he wondered if she had actually been speaking to him. His gaze found Helaena who was now kneeling to talk to the youngest of the children who was mesmerized by her lavish dress.
Which left the oldest daughter alone and her gaze on him.
He swallowed against the lump in his throat and stepped forward slowly, his heart racing as he took a seat on the bench next to her.
“What are you writing?” He asked after clearing his throat, wincing to himself at the nerves that lingered in his words.
“Drawing actually.” She corrected. “And not very well by the looks of it.” She shifted closer to him to show him the sketches in her notebook, the scent of lavender invading every one of his senses as her shoulder brushed against his.
His eyes looked over the shaky drawings of flowers and the willow tree she had been sitting in just moments ago.
“They’re beautiful.”
She smiled and the sight was enough to leave Aemond thankful that he was sitting.
“Do you draw?”
“No, nowhere near as well as you.”
“You must be shit then because these are awful.”
Aemond choked on his breath at her words, his wide eyes looking over at her in shock. She had a carelessness to her that he thought he would’ve found arrogant, it was certainly how he felt about the other ladies at court who were so brazen before him.
But he found he could only feel enamored by the girl beside him.
A quiet laugh escaped him, his stomach flipping in ways he had never felt before.
“They’re not so bad.” He spoke quietly, his nerves reverting him to his bashful nature.
“You’re quite the flatterer, Aemond.”
No words came to him, he was left to stare back at her, completely taken aback by her easy nature and blinding smile.
She continued to show him her other sketches, the conversation between them flowing easily, something that Aemond had never experienced.
Later, as their guards escorted them away to prepare for the feast, Aemond’s ears rang with the sound of her laughter, leaving him to hope he would hear it again before he had to leave.
He spent the night with a smile on his face, behaving more animatedly than he had in all his life. Alicent had looked at her second son with barely contained emotion, delighted to see him so at ease.
She was so caught up in her emotions, she hadn’t even noticed how his eyes never strayed too far from the eldest daughter of Ixtal.
~~
The mischievous island girl was known to walk around the halls of the castle at all hours. It had happened so often for so long the guards didn’t bother to stop her anymore and no one batted an eye when they saw her wandering.
She made her way to her parents chamber hours after she had been put to bed.
She couldn’t stop the thought in her head and she had to see it through.
With a smile to the guard at her parent’s door, she strolled in as if it were her own chamber. Her parents looked startled for all of a second before they sighed in resignation.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Darling?”
“I was.”
Her father huffed out a laugh. “So what brings you here, Troublemaker?”
She let out a breath, her shoulders straightening, as if portraying herself as proper would help her cause.
“I want to go with you to King’s Landing.”
Her request did not go over as easily as she wished, she spent the next hour arguing with her parents, pleading her case. She may have overstated how much her decision to learn more about court, but her parents did not need to know her desire lay purely with her need to explore what the Capitol could offer.
Her parents knew she loved to explore and the chance to see a new part of the realm was too tempting to not indulge her in. Her parents loved her more than anything, they loved and doted on all their children in ways that left Lords and Ladies from other houses to scoff and roll their eyes in disdain.
They couldn’t say no to her.
By the next morning, she stood at her father’s side as their ship sailed to King’s Landing, her arm linked through his, her head filled with the wonders of what this new place would have to offer.
A smile grew on her lips as she pictured the shy boy who had complimented her drawings and her excitement began to grow.
~~
She was more reserved than she had ever been as she sat beside the table of royals. King Viserys had planned an extravagant welcome feast for the Lord of Ixtal, his new Master of Coin and his daughter to welcome them to King’s Landing.
She had never experienced so many Lords and Ladies approaching her before, giving her their hand to shake and curtsey before them in greeting. It felt as though she had never truly existed until she made it to the Capitol, where the matters of the court actually held weight and prospect.
Her father had regaled many a knight and Lord over the course of the night, leaving her by his side to sit quietly, the overlooked daughter. She knew the power her house held, she knew the reason most Lords gave their good fortune to her father was to ensure their trade routes would continue prosperously. She knew she was nothing more than fodder at her father’s side.
She picked at her food unhappily, contemplating her decision to venture so far from her home, so far from what was comfortable. Her eyes rose from her plate, surveying the large throne room before her, catching sight of her father in talks with a large group of Lords from around the realm.
With a heavy sigh, knowing she couldn’t interrupt her father, her eyes moved to the head table where the Targaryen family sat.
The head seat where the King sat was empty, he was busy at her father’s side. She let her eyes roam over the queen, taking in her quiet servitude and demure presence. Her gaze fell to the heir, Princess Rhaenyra sat with her husband Laenor Valaryon, her brows quickly rising at the sight of the brown haired children sat beside the silver-headed wedded pair.
Her eyes fell to Queen Alicent’s children, a small smile growing as she caught the gaze of Princess Helaena, the quiet girl sparing her a wave to which she eagerly reciprocated.
She was never one to fade into the background and she eagerly took the Princess’ gesture as a sign of goodwill, standing from her seat to make her way to the head table.
Helaena beamed at the girl as she approached, oblivious to her elder brother’s lustful intrigue and her younger brother who sat up straighter as the girl approached.
“Hello, my Lady, I hope King’s Landing is treating you well.” Helaena greeted the girl happily.
“It is lovely, Princess. I am sincerely grateful to your father for allowing myself and my father to reside in your home.”
“We are delighted to have you.” Helaena assured her. She fidgeted with her hands for a moment, her face turning bashful for a moment. “The ladies of the court will be gathering tomorrow, you should join.”
“I’d love to.” She responded eagerly, relieved to know her newfound solitude would not be long held.
“You should join us for breakfast as well. I can show you my collection.” Helaena added excitedly.
“By the Gods, Helaena.” Aegon groaned beside her.
“Collection?” She asked, staunchly ignoring the prince sitting next to the blushing princess.
“My insects. I’ve collected quite a beautiful group of them. I’d love to show you.”
Helaena had a lovely innocence to her she was powerless against.
“I’d be delighted to see them.” She told the princess sincerely, hoping she had found a friend in the eccentric girl. “I’ve also heard wonderful things about your library. I’m eager to read the works about Valryian history and the Targaryen dynasty. There are only rumors where I come from.”
Aemond sat forward in his seat, his eagerness to interject himself finally coming to a head.
“I can show you to the library.” Aemond offered, finally making his presence known.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to take you from your duties.”
“You won’t.” He insisted, positive his face was blooming with a pink blush as her attention now lay on him. “There are many books that have not been translated, I would be happy to read them to you.”
He seemed to melt under her gaze that watched him curiously.
“You would do that?”
“Of course.” He insisted.
“That would be wonderful.”
He was thankful he was sitting because her smile would have knocked him off his feet.
By the next morning, as soon as the sun rose, he was sitting in the library, anxiously anticipating her arrival. He didn’t have to wait long until the door creaked open and her eager eyes took in the vast shelves around her.
She greeted him with happiness as if they were long time friends, causing his stomach to flutter in ways he had never felt before.
“This is incredible.” She mused, eyeing the many books she had to indulge in.
They spent the afternoon together, her at his side as he read the Valryian texts of their history, stopping every few minutes to answer the many intrigued questions she had.
Aemond was sure his face was on fire, he had never blushed so hard. No one had ever taken such an interest in him, no one had ever paid so much attention to him, no one had ever bothered to listen to him.
But here she was, this girl at his side, eager to know more, asking question after question, trusting him to give her the answer. As soon as he began to fear he had spoken too much, taken too much of her time she’d drawl out ‘tell me more’ or ‘what happened next’ and he was rooted to his seat, turning to the next page as he explained the history of the Targaryen dynasty to her eager ears.
He had never felt so important.
~~
King’s Landing proved to be just as wondrous as she dreamed it. Granted, it didn’t have the luxurious beaches or sprawling forests her home did, but she was just thrilled to be exploring a new corner of the world.
Aemond had quickly become her closest ally. He had taken to showing her every inch of the place he thought she would enjoy, dragging her along to the mazes of gardens, the weirwood tree, the luxurious Sept, but her favorite had to be the library. She had spent many late nights with Aemond at her side, perusing through the many ancient works of Valyrian history.
It fascinated her, but she couldn’t deny she loved to hear Aemond’s voice as he read to her, enthralled with stories of Aegon the Conqueror and his two sister-wives, stories of ancient dragons and their riders, of wars long passed.
A week into their stay, as she broke her fast with her father, she was practically bouncing in her seat, shoveling her food into her mouth as quickly as she could, eager to get the meal over with so she could meet with Aemond and Helaena, the two of them quickly becoming her closest confidants.
“Slow down, my love, you’re going to choke.” Her father warned with a chuckle at her enthusiasm.
“Sorry.” She mumbled through the food in her mouth, causing her father to grimace at her very unlady-like behavior.
“Your eagerness wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Targaryen, would it?” He asked slowly, his knowing smile teasing her clear affection for the young boy she was growing closer to each day.
“Helaena and I are good friends.” She shrugged, effectively dodging her father’s prying. He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, watching her thoughtfully. He had no idea where she had gained such a witty mouth, it certainly wasn’t from him or his sweet, quiet wife.
She finished the rest of her breakfast at record speed and hopped out of her seat, pressing a quick kiss to her father’s cheek.
“I’ll see you at dinner!” She called out over her shoulder as she skipped to the door.
“Be safe!” He called out, but she was already racing down the halls. He looked to the guard at the door pointedly who nodded and trailed after the rambunctious girl.
She slowed her pace once she reached the courtyard, suddenly very aware of the many eyes that would be on her if she was caught sprinting through the halls. She spotted a head of silver hair by the gates and she beamed, throwing all care out the window as she began to jog towards him.
“Aemond!” She called out and watched as the boy turned to her, his own smile growing at the sight of her.
“Took you long enough.” He jested playfully and reveled in the dramatic scowl she sent him.
“I’m not late. You are just an insane man that voluntarily wakes with the sun.”
It was so small, something so miniscule, but it still managed to make his heart race. Knowing she remembered a small detail about him, no matter if it was something that was so inconsequential, was something he couldn’t wrap his head around.
He hadn’t expected it to affect him the way it did.
~~~
She found herself with Helaena in the gardens, finding any bugs she could for the enigmatic
princess. Digging a jittery bug out of the dirt, her nose scrunched in distaste as the many legged creature crawled over her hand.
“What is this thing?”
Helaena peered over curiously and a wide smile beamed on her face.
“That’s a beetle.”
“They’re not poisonous, are they?”
The princess laughed in amusement at the widened eyes that met her gaze and she shook her head. “No, you’re safe.”
The girl nodded and, though still on edge, was less stressed as she held the bug in her hands.
Helaena, preoccupied with her own bugs, stole frequent looks at the girl next to her, noting the unease in her eyes. She smiled lightly and leaned in close to her.
“You don’t have to do this with me. I know not everyone likes the things I like. I can do this by myself.”
The girl looked startled by her words, a frown growing on her usually bright features and she looked down at the bug in her hands again, her eyes shifting from a look of disgust to one of determination, as if she could force herself to not feel grossed out at their existence.
“I like being here with you.” She said softly. “I don’t really have anyone else here.”
Helaena frowned, the thought of her brother immediately coming to mind and the smile that would grace his usually sullen face every time he was with the Island girl. As if she had conjured him herself, she looked over her shoulder, noticing him coming their way.
“Hello, Brother.” She smiled, though it was futile as his attention was locked onto the beauty beside her.
“Hello.” He spoke, though his eyes never left his sister’s friend. “What are you doing?”
“Finding bugs. Would you like to join?”
Helaena, having expected a ‘no’, given it was always Aemond’s answer anytime she asked him for help digging through the gardens, was shocked as he took a seat among them and dug his hands in the dirt before them without question.
The Princess watched with barely contained delight as her brother and friend immediately started conversing as if she weren’t there, the comfortable ease between them thriving.
Usually she would feel slighted by such an occurrence, but rather than feeling ignored, she was happy to see her brother, who was usually so serious, look completely unburdened. She worried about him, about how tightly wound he was, but since the Lord of Ixtal and his daughter had come to King’s Landing, she had noticed his demeanor change, as if he could finally take a deep breath and release the things that so often held him down.
Aemond looked at the dirt beneath his fingernails and mourned at what his night routine would be subjected to, but he found he didn’t care all that much. The stolen glances to the girl beside him had all sense of propriety out the window.
“Do you do this every day, Princess?” She asked the Targaryen who shrugged shyly.
“Most days. I find I prefer the company of bugs over people.”
The bark of laughter that left her had both the siblings smiling, her joyful nature contagious.
Aemond was transfixed, until he heard his name and he was forced out of his daydreams. He looked up at Aegon who was standing before them, judgment painting his features.
“What are you doing here?”
“We’re digging for bugs, Brother.” Helaena answered innocently, her eyes thankfully locked onto the caterpillar on her finger so she didn’t see how her brother rolled his eyes in disdain.
Aemond glowered at his brother, his mood dampened, his protectiveness for his sister rising involuntarily whenever he was around. He hated seeing Helaena’s eyes dim with every one of his hurtful words.
The Island girl looked between the siblings, beginning to understand just how different they were to her and her own siblings. The more time she spent with Aegon, the more she disliked him. She looked back at Aemond and frowned, noticing the dower expression grow on her friend’s face, and she called his name.
“Hmm?”
“What are these?” She asked, her dirt covered fingers trailing over the petals of the flowers in front of them, diverting his attention from Aegon.
“Marigolds.” He answered quickly, as if he wanted her to be impressed by his knowledge. “You don’t have these in Ixtal?”
“No. It’s a shame, they’re beautiful.”
Aemond bit his lip, his heart racing as she moved back to digging for bugs. He ignored the nerves that coursed through him and reached out to pluck the flower.
“Here.”
She looked up and her eyes widened, her cheeks burning as he tucked the flower behind her ear, his shy smile mirroring hers, his hesitance clear, but his bravery clearer.
Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes at the pair.
The noise caused them both to glare at the older Targaryen, their eyes narrowed in annoyance.
“You two are pathetic.”
“It’s not our fault your pea sized brain cannot comprehend the idea of caring for someone other than yourself.” She snarked easily, making Aemond’s eyes widen as he nervously looked between her and his brother whose face twisted in anger.
Thankfully, his brother was smart enough to know not to start a fight with her and he stomped away, most likely in search of more wine.
“You shouldn’t do that.” Aemond mumbled, his worried eyes lingering on his brother’s figure as he stormed off.
“Do what?”
“Antagonize him.”
“Someone needs to knock him off his high horse. Why can’t it be me?” She shrugged, perfectly content to be the antagonist in Aegon Targaryen’s life.
“Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Why would anything happen to me?”
“Because… he’s… it’s Aegon.” He stressed, as if his brother’s existence was enough explanation.
“Yes, and he’s an absolute cock.”
Aemond’s eyes widened, not expecting the vulgar word to leave her lips. Helaena giggled and leaned into the girl at her side. His shoulders slumped and he allowed himself to laugh, amazed yet not surprised at her ability to evade him of his worries.
~~
A body crashed into her as she turned the corner, almost knocking her off balance, but arms that quickly wrapped around her waist stopped her from falling to the floor.
She recognized the boy immediately.
“Aemond.” She greeted breathlessly with a smile. He pulled away from her instantly, taking a step back to create space between them, his head bowed downwards, avoiding her gaze.
But she saw the tear streaks through the stains of ash on his cheeks. Her smile fell and she stepped towards him, her hands gently lifting his chin, though he vehemently refused and harshly pulled himself away from her.
“What happened?” She asked, trying to keep the hurt from her voice at his avoidance, something she had never experienced from him.
“Nothing.”
“Aemond.” She admonished gently. She hated when he acted like this, so unlike the kind boy she knew.
He kept his head down and she sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I won’t leave you alone until you tell me what happened.”
Aemond huffed and side stepped around her to continue on his way to lock himself in his chambers and wallow, but she was too quick. She grabbed his hand to stop him and pulled him back towards her.
He spoke her name, the groaned pronunciation indicating he wasn’t in the mood.
“I just want to go to my chambers.”
“Fine. We can go together.” She said simply and linked her arm through his as they began to walk.
Aemond let out a long breath, his annoyance flaring for a second, but the moment he looked over at her it faded away into nothing. He brought his arm that was linked with hers closer to his chest, as if needing her touch to soothe his nerves.
He thought he wanted to be alone. After his mother had brushed off his tears and scolded him yet again for venturing through the dragon pit, he just wanted to wallow by himself, but with her arm in his, her steady presence at his side, he found he wanted nothing but to be with her.
Once they made it to his chambers, he reluctantly let go of her and practically slumped his way to sit on his bed, his head bowed down to his feet, his brother and nephews' latest prank ruminating in his head, causing shame and anger to cascade over every inch of him.
“Are you going to tell me what happened now or am I going to have to force it out of you?”
Aemond huffed at her words and began to fidget with his fingers, focusing on the sand that lingered on his skin rather than meeting her inquisitive gaze.
She rolled her eyes and moved to sit next to him on the bed, brushing the sand from his hair.
“Were you in the dragon pit again?”
He nodded wordlessly and she felt something inside her clench. She would never understand the hole in Aemond’s heart, how his lack of a dragon made him feel so worthless.
“They said they found a dragon for me.” He mumbled, causing her to look over at him with concern, her stomach sinking at the hurt she heard in his voice, knowing his dreams hadn’t come true that afternoon.
She knew it could only be a cruel prank at his expense.
“They gave me a pig.”
Her shoulders slumped, her hand reaching out to grab his, intertwining their fingers with an ease as though she had done it a million times before. She had only held his hand a few times and it made Aemond blush bright red every time, even now as he wallowed.
“I’m sorry. They shouldn’t be so cruel to you.”
“They’re right. It’s pathetic, a Targaryen without a dragon.”
“Aemond-”
“Maybe I’m not worthy and I’ll never get a dragon, maybe that’s why my egg never hatched. I don’t deserve it.”
“Stop it.” She spoke sternly, gripping onto both his hands in an effort to calm him down from his ranting. “You are every bit as good as any one of them, dragon or no dragon.”
Aemond sighed shakily and moved his gaze back down to his shoes, feeling as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“What if I never find one?” He asked quietly, as if afraid to speak the possibility out into existence.
“You will. I know you will.” She assured him, though it did little to release him from his sadness. “There are plenty of Targaryens that didn’t claim dragons until later in life.”
Aemond gave her a plain look, to which she just smirked. Serves him right for teaching her about his family history.
“Aemond, we’re young, we still have so much life to live. It’s not over because you don’t have a dragon yet. You have so much time to find what you’ve always wanted.”
The breath that escaped his lips left him feeling lighter, his hand finally gripping hers back, sending a bashful smile her way, hoping it was enough to convey how grateful he was for her.
He didn’t think he could ever find the words to tell her.
“You’d be with me, won’t you? For my first ride?”
“You would want me there?”
“Of course I would.”
She smiled and he was powerless but to return his own. “Then I’ll be there.”
~~
Aemond’s glare was steady on his face, his eyes locked onto the Strong bastard that twirled her around.
How dare he ask her to dance, how dare he touch her, how dare he make her smile.
His disdain for his nephews was clear, they certainly didn’t give him much reason to be cordial, but this was the last straw. Seeing Jacaerys’ hands on her made his blood boil.
Those damned nephews of his had already stolen her away from his side that afternoon. He could only watch helplessly as she played around with the bastards and spoke politely to his half sister Rhaenyra.
He almost resented how sweet his friend was. He loved her kind heart, he just hated when it extended to his elder half sister and her sons who he despised.
He hated when Jacaerys and Lucerys stole her away from his side. It was happening more and more as they became closer. He felt like he was losing her, the more times she spent breaking her fast with his eldest sister and her brood, the more he dreaded every moment away from her.
She was his only friend, the only one he felt truly understood him, or at least made the effort to. Losing her would mean losing the only shred of happiness he’d managed to find for himself.
He averted his gaze from Jace and the Ixtal girl, the sight of both their bright smiles becoming too painful.
“They seem to get along well.” His father mused, prompting Aemond to torturously follow his gaze to the pair yet again.
His heart began to race at the insinuation, at the knowing look in his father’s twinkling eyes.
“Yes, he seems to be quite taken with her.” Rhaenyra noted with a loving smile.
“They’d make a fine match.” His mother added. Aemond looked to his mother, betrayal in his gaze. His mother knew how much his friend meant to him, she knew someone so precious shouldn’t be shackled to a bastard.
He refused to hear another word. His chair screeched loudly against the floor as he abruptly stood and made his way out of the room as if there were no air left for him to breathe. They couldn’t take her away from him, they couldn’t give her to that bastard.
He raced to his chambers, hoping he was quick enough that no passing guards could see the tears forming in his eyes.
By the next day, he found himself in the gardens, his eyes locked onto the open book in his lap as he read and re-read the same sentence over and over, his racing mind not allowing him to focus on the words in front of him.
The dread he had been feeling since the night before had not dissipated in the slightest.
“Aemond!”
His heart leapt within his chest at the sound of her voice. His hopeful eyes looked around the garden before landing on her and a feeling of lead settled within him, bringing him right back down to his dour mood as he noticed Jace and Lucerys beside her.
She motioned for him to join but he just shook his head softly and moved his gaze back down to his book.
He let out a long breath, trying his hardest to ignore the bitterness that grew in his heart, one that was all too familiar from before he met her. He startled slightly as a body slumped next to him. He looked up and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of her looking at him questioningly.
“Why are you sulking?”
“I’m not sulking.”
She breathed deeply, as if disappointed by his obvious lie. “Why didn’t you join us?”
He shrugged, he couldn’t very well tell her the truth about how he despised his nephews and seeing her with them was like a dagger to the heart, how he feared losing her, his greatest friend.
“I didn’t want to intrude.” He spoke softly.
Her eyes narrowed at his words, her gaze moving to the two Velaryon boys who were talking quietly amongst each other, their curious eyes occasionally drifting to her and Aemond.
She knew there was tension among them, the way they seemed to side with Aegon and play along in the cruel pranks he would play on Aemond always made her stomach twist. She suddenly felt guilty that she had never considered how it would make Aemond feel to be forced in their vicinity after how they treated him.
She turned to her friend and shuffled closer to him.
“You could never intrude.”
Aemond looked over at her, but quickly averted his gaze, finding it just too much to look in her eyes while she sat so close to him.
“You don’t have to stay with me. If you want to be with them, I won’t stop you.” He spoke quietly. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel smothered by him.
“I’d rather be with you.”
Her answer left him using all of his willpower to keep himself from marching directly to his father and demanding a betrothal this instant.
She chose him.
No one had ever chosen him.
~~
She was bored out of her mind. With Aemond and Helaena gone to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral, she was left without her closest confidants, leaving her little to do in their absence. She wished she’d been granted leave to attend the funeral with them, but her father had never met Laena and had been tasked with extra duties while the King was gone, leaving her to stew in her loneliness.
She was curled up on the settee by her bed, her sketchbook in her lap as she scrawled out an attempt at drawing Dreamfyre, to horrible failure.
A soft knock on her door made her lift her head and she sat up straighter when her father entered. The look on his face made her stomach twist, dread falling upon her like a crashing wave.
She got to her feet quickly, feeling unsteady on her now weak legs.
“Darling, there was an… incident on Driftmark.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, her heart racing. “What happened?”
“I wasn’t privy to all the details but all I know is that Aemond has been injured.”
The breath was knocked out of her and at the first sign of her face crumbling into despair, her father crossed the room and held her tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as the first sob broke free.
“Is he alright?”
Her father let out a long breath at her hiccuped words, holding her tightly. He knew his daughter had certain affections for the young boy, but hearing her now made him realize just how deeply she cared for him.
“The Maesters say he has lost an eye.”
A shuddering breath escaped her and she suddenly felt faint. She had no idea how, what could have unfolded, who would dare to do something so barbaric to him.
The next days were spent in agony. She barely left her chambers. Every time her father came to check in on her, he found her sitting by her window, her gaze locked onto the horizon, waiting eagerly for the Targaryen family’s arrival.
On the third day of her lonely torment, she finally spotted it. Dragons on the horizon. She was on her feet in a second and racing down to the courtyard. She was out of breath and disheveled by the time she made it, but her pace only quickened when she saw Helaena with her mother.
She called out to her friend and Helaena let out a breath of relief when she saw her, her arms opening for her as she approached.
Helaena didn’t let many touch her, but she was one of the lucky few she allowed.
“Are you alright? Where’s Aemond? Will he be ok?” She fired off questions, not even able to get a breath out through her frantic words.
“It’s alright, my Darling. Aemond will be fine.” Alicent consoled her, placing her arm around the shaking girl’s shoulders.
“Where is he?”
“He’s been taken to the Maester’s solar. He’ll have to spend some time there while he heals.”
“What happened?” She asked breathlessly.
“What I told him.” Helaena interjected calmly. “He gained a dragon, but he had to close an eye.”
She looked at Helaena with shock. “He… he claimed a dragon?”
She couldn’t make sense of the despair, relief and joy she had felt all at once. Knowing Aemond and his endless plight to gain a dragon, she knew he would see it a worthy trade, but the thought of him injured, permanently maimed, made her want to crumble to the ground below her.
After bidding goodbye to Alicent and Helaena, she made her way to the Maester’s wing of the Keep. She was denied entry, but she was determined to not let it stop her. Each day, at the crack of dawn, she’d drag herself out of bed and, before even breaking her fast, would make the trek to the Maester’s wing and ask to see Aemond.
She was refused each and every day, but it did little to deter her. She kept trying.
It had been weeks since she had seen Aemond. Her heart was aching without the presence of her best friend, without the boy that made her smile like no other could.
On the fifth day of the third week, as she made the familiar walk to his door, the guard stopped her, as usual, though his words were different.
“The Prince does not wish for any visitors.”
She frowned. It always used to be the order of the Maesters or Alicent, claiming her son needed his rest, but now it was Aemond himself refusing her.
She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but she knew she had felt her heart crack in a way she had never felt before.
She walked away from the door with her head bowed in defeat.
The hurt she felt mirrored Aemond’s own. Refusing her made him ache, but the thought of her seeing him as he was and looking at him with disgust was unfathomable and he would delay that inevitable despair as long as he could.
He sulked in his bed, the dour expression on his face one that had been constant for weeks.
His mother was by his bedside as she had been for weeks. He couldn’t stand to see her wince or her teary eyes everytime she looked at his ghastly scar.
She had been trying, in no subtle terms, to get him out of the room, even going as far to bring up his friend, the one he longed to see yet dreaded ever seeing the same look on his mother’s face on hers.
“It’s been a few weeks. She’s been worrying herself sick.” His mother told him, making his already weak heart more fragile.
He stayed silent, his frown deepening in despair.
“Aegon and Helaena will be heading out tomorrow to Ixtal. You should take Vhagar and join them.”
Aemond shifted uncomfortably. He knew his friend was leaving tomorrow, to visit home for her mother’s name day. They had all been invited, but with his father’s fading health and his mother’s refusal to ride on dragonback, it left just Aegon and Helaena to join the festivities.
“Aemond.” His mother prompted again, the disappointment in her voice clear.
“I don’t want to go.” He mumbled, one of the few sentences he’d managed over the past few weeks.
His mother sighed in defeat and didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night, leaving him to his solitude as he preferred.
The next morning, Aemond lay in bed, the wound over his eye itching gratingly. He longed to claw at the wicked scar, to scream in anger, to enact his vengeance on that Strong bastard. The fury festered in him like the open wound on his face, red and flaming.
The soft sound of his door opening and closing made him stir, assuming it was his mother yet again. As he lazily turned his head, dread settled in his stomach, his remaining eye widening in horror at the sight of her, the one he longed for yet resisted.
She froze in her place at the door, her jaw falling slack, a shaking hand covering her mouth as a hitched breath escaped her at the sight of him.
Aemond’s face twisted in agony. This was exactly what he wished to avoid.
“What are you doing here?” He asked angrily, tears forming in his remaining eye.
“I just wanted- I wanted… we’re leaving soon.”
It was faint but he heard it. Fear. The stuttering of her words, the quiet, almost docile way she spoke that was so unlike her was like a hatchet to his heart. The look on her face was even worse. She could barely make eye contact with him.
“Get out.” He spoke lowly through gritted teeth.
“Aemond, I-”
“Get out! I don’t want you here!” He screamed at her, tears steadily falling down his cheeks.
Her own tears began to fall, her face twisting with agony. He hated it. He didn’t want her pity, he didn’t want to see the disgust on her face that everyone would face him with for the rest of his life.
“Leave me alone! I never want to see you again!”
She let out a sob and turned on her heel, leaving the room with haste.
Aemond slumped back in bed, placing his hands over his face, ignoring the way it made his eye ache, and he cried for what he had lost.
Not just his eye, but his love, his happiness. His everything.
~~
She stood on the balcony of the banquet hall, breathing in the fresh ocean air. She missed home. She had thought of this moment for weeks, had been eager and excited to finally visit, yet now that she was there, it was bittersweet.
The sound of the waves weren’t as peaceful as she remembered. The food she ate wasn’t as delicious as she remembered. The music and the dancing wasn’t as exciting as she remembered.
“Darling?”
She turned to see her mother approaching, concern written across her face as she moved to stand next to her daughter, her arm crossing over her shoulders, bringing her in close to her side.
“Are you alright? I thought I’d see you dancing all night.”
“I’m fine.”
The Lady of Ixtal looked to her once vibrant daughter worriedly. She was far from the girl that had left all those months ago. From all the letters she had sent, it seemed her daughter was having the time of her life in King’s Landing. The girl she saw now wasn’t the one who had gleaned nothing but happiness.
“Was it not what you expected?”
She stiffened, the need to defend her friends and her new found home rising. “No, it’s- King’s Landing is lovely.”
Her mother sighed. She had gotten a short re-telling of the last few weeks in the Capitol from her husband and she was starting to put the pieces together.
“I couldn’t help but notice your friend isn’t here.”
She looked up at her mother, her wide doe-like eyes giving everything away.
“Aemond?”
She felt her cheeks heat and she turned her attention back to the view before her, focusing on the waves of the ocean, mirroring her breathing with each crashing wave.
“He’s not my friend anymore.” She spoke quietly through the lump that grew in her throat.
“From what I’ve heard, it sounds as though he is going through an awful time, something no one, especially someone so young, should ever have to endure. People don’t exactly act rationally when they are hurt. It is easy to speak things that are untrue in that state.”
She stayed silent, taking in her mother’s words thoughtfully. It was easy enough to explain, but it didn’t lessen the hurt she felt.
“You can stay here if you wish. The Gods know I would love to keep you in my arms, but I don’t think that is truly what you want.”
She let out a shaking breath, her mind a mess as she thought of her life in King’s Landing, of what she’d be leaving behind. But, if Aemond was being truthful and he didn’t want to see her or be her friend anymore, what would her life be like there?
“I don’t know what to do.”
“You’ll figure it out.” Her mother assured her. “Or else we’ll have a dragon landing on our shores demanding you come back.”
The smile on her mother’s face made the hurt inside her melt away slightly. Her conviction that Aemond would forgive her for her intrusion, that he would bring her back into his life and his arms made her hopeful.
Her mother was never wrong and she prayed she wouldn’t start now.
~~
She clutched onto Helaena’s waist as they flew on Dreamfyre back to King’s Landing. No matter how thrilling it was to ride a dragon, no matter that she felt as light as a feather, that she could touch the clouds and feel as though she was in a magical, untouchable realm, it felt wrong.
Her first ride shouldn’t have belonged to Helaena, it shouldn’t have been with Dreamfyre. It wasn’t what she promised.
As they dismounted, Helaena’s hand held hers and stayed, holding tightly as they made their way from the dragonpit to the Keep, as if knowing her friend needed the comfort.
As they parted, Helaena promised she’d spend the day with her tomorrow, knowing she needed the distraction from Aemond.
She smiled, though it wasn’t as bright as usual, and with a wave, they parted. She stepped into her chambers and sighed heavily, mourning what her time in King’s Landing would hold.
She moved to her bed, content to hide under the covers for the rest of the day, but she stopped, noticing a bundle of flowers on her desk. She frowned, she certainly hadn’t put them there before she left.
She stepped closer, her fingers gently tracing along the soft petals. They were perfectly bloomed and freshly plucked, most likely just placed on her desk mere minutes before she arrived.
It suddenly struck her.
They were marigolds.
She remembered the flower Aemond had tucked behind her ear, the ones he would bring her on occasion simply because he knew she was fond of them.
Her heart began to race, her stomach flipping at the merest notion that it could’ve been from her best friend. She picked up the bundle, inhaling their fresh scent with a small smile.
She noticed the slip of parchment below them, the simple words in familiar handwriting brought tears to her eyes.
I am deeply, truly sorry.
I didn’t mean a word of what I said
Please forgive me
- Your Aemond
Her breath hitched, her chest feeling tight with sorrow.
The words he had screamed at her that day hurt her deeply, yet the thought of not having Aemond by her side, not having him as her friend, was unfathomable.
She spent the remainder of the day in her chambers, picking sparsely at the food her father had sent to her, knowing she wanted her solitude. By the next morning, having thought of nothing but Aemond all night, she was determined to see the end of their rift.
She dressed quickly and stepped out of her chambers, determined to march her way straight to Aemond, but she was stopped by her guard.
“The Prince has requested your presence in the gardens.”
The crease in her brow that signaled her determination smoothed out, leaving nothing but hopeful nervousness as she quickly made her way through the halls of the Keep. She ignored the looks of disdain from the ladies of the court as she raced past them, ignoring the whispers of her undignified behavior.
They were the last things on her mind.
Her heart was racing within her chest as she approached the gardens. She walked the familiar path, one she had taken countless times, to get to their usual meeting spot. Her feet came to an abrupt stop as she turned the last corner and saw him sitting on their bench, the one they always congregated to over the months together.
Nervous butterflies fluttered within her as she approached him.
She called out to him softly, cursing herself for how her voice shook in hopeful anticipation.
Aemond turned to face her and she was shocked to see the eyepatch across his face, covering the angry looking wound she had seen that morning in his chambers.
Her heart ached at the sight of the red scar that peeked out from the patch. It looked painful and the reminder of what he had gone through, what his own nephew had inflicted on him made her want to cry.
He spoke her name in greeting, giving her a small, weak smile. He winced slightly, the pull of his cheeks causing his scar to flair with pain.
Her chest tightened at the sight of him. He seemed smaller, as if he sat hunched over, trying hard not to take up too much space in the world.
“I’m sorry.” She blurted out before he could speak. He looked up at her incredulously, his stomach twisting at the despair he saw on her face. “I shouldn’t have just barged into your chambers. I knew you wanted privacy and I ignored your wishes and I’m sorry. I never meant-”
Aemond spoke her name breathlessly, stopping her rambling apology. He had never seen her so frantic before, it was unnerving to him, nothing at all like the lively girl he was used to. And it was his fault.
“You don’t have to apologize.” He told her softly. He looked down at his hands that fidgeted in his lap, shame overcoming him as he thought back to that day, when he had yelled at her so callously. He had replayed that moment over and over again in his head for days and it was torturous each time.
He couldn’t get the sight of her tears out of his head. To know he was the cause was his greatest shame.
“I’m sorry.” He spoke earnestly, looking her in the eyes intently, hoping she would believe him. “I never should have spoken to you that way. I’m so sorry I made you cry. I never will again, I promise.”
She let out a long breath, his words stirring something inside her she couldn’t recognize.
He frowned deeply at her lack of reaction, shuffling over and patted the space next to him on the bench, motioning for her to take a seat beside him.
She moved slowly, hesitantly taking her seat next to him.
“I’ve never seen you that angry before.” She spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper as she recalled that dreadful day.
Aemond sighed and bowed his head.
“I…” He started but soon found he had no words, no excuses for how he had treated her. Nothing would ever make it ok, never to her. “I hated to see you look at me like that.” Was the only thing he could think to say.
“Like what?”
“Like you were horrified of me.”
“I was horrified.” She said and he felt his insides turn to stone, his throat tightening with emotion. “But not of you. Never of you.” She added quickly, causing him to look over at her, his eye wide and shining with unshed tears.
“But-”
“Aemond, the thought of what happened to you, the thought of you in pain… it hurts me.”
The vice around his heart lifted instantly. His mind was spinning with the insinuation of her words.
“You… you’re not-”
She reached out, taking his hand in hers, causing words to fail him.
“I could never be afraid of you. I could never feel disgusted by you, I could never think any less of you, or whatever other horrible thing you think I feel for you now. No scar will change how I care for you.”
The weight that had been suffocating him for weeks now seemed to lift just the slightest, allowing him to feel as though he could finally take a breath.
He let out a shaking breath and tightened his hand in hers. She smiled softly and leaned in closer to his side, letting her head fall to his shoulder, letting him revel in her closeness.
He hated the stares he got from the ladies at court, he hated the winces, the horrified gasps as he passed them. He hated the worried looks he received, as if he was seconds away from collapsing like a weak mannered child.
But none of it mattered.
She still cared for him, she was still by his side, her hand in his.
Even the burning fury he held for his nephew seemed dim in the wake of the pure delight he felt in her presence.
“But, if you ever raise your voice to me like that again I will smack you.”
Her threat, that held no anger in the slightest, made him laugh and duck his head against hers as his body shook with each breath of laughter.
His first laugh since the incident.
From then, they were closer than ever. One was seldom seen without the other at their side.
The Ladies at court through the two of them were just about the most darling thing they had ever seen. Yet, not everyone was rooting for the threads of young love to flourish.
Alicent watched her son in the training yard with a frown. Her second son, so dutiful and so smart, was becoming distracted. Her eyes never strayed from him as he neglected his own lessons to play around with his friend, watching with a scowl as the two of them laughed together, as if there was no care in the world.
The sight of the young girl in the training yard was enough to leave her appalled, but her son’s willingness to indulge in such unseemly behavior was worrying.
“We cannot let this go any further.” Her father spoke from beside her.
“I can’t very well tell him he cannot be her friend. It would devastate him.”
“Let them be friends, but make it clear that is all it will ever be. Aemond can’t get any ideas about marrying this girl.”
Alicent chewed on her lower lip anxiously. The thought of tearing her son away from such happiness turned her stomach, but the thought of him marrying a girl so unpredictable was just as unfortunate.
“Would it really be so bad? We could gain leverage with her father.”
“Ixtal is a neutral house. They have never taken a stand in any war, that won’t change now. We cannot risk Aemond allying with a house that could not give us leverage for Aegon’s claim.” Otto hissed angrily.
Alicent wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes falling back to her son, taking in the sight of his smile while she still could. She doubted it would be a common sight once he was forced away from the Island girl.
But they all had a duty to perform.
~~
Her arm was looped through his as he guided her past the dragon pit.
“Where are we going?” She asked, looking over her shoulder at the structure that housed the mighty Targaryen dragons they had just passed.
“Vhagar doesn’t stay there. She doesn’t fit.” Aemond explained, a slightly smug smirk crossing his features as he subtly boasted about his newly claimed dragon.
Her smile twitched slightly, her nerves suddenly overtaking her. She’d been hesitant when Aemond offered to introduce her to his mount, but the reminder of the great beast’s sheer size had the beginnings of fear creeping through her veins.
Noticing the subtle shift in her expression, Aemond tightened his grip on her arm.
“I would never put you in danger.” He assured her. “Vhagar is bonded to me, she can feel what I feel for you and she would never hurt you.”
“If I could hear that directly from Vhagar I might be able to breathe properly.”
Aemond snickered and led her forward excitedly.
Soon, they arrived at the crest of the hill, Vhagar’s enormous form coming into view. A shuddering breath escaped her when she came face to face with the historic dragon that fought in wars long before her time.
She could barely comprehend such a beast of her size existed among them, that the sweet boy beside her commanded her or even willingly approached her.
“Relax.” Aemond told her softly, moving out of her hold so his hand could take hers, intertwining their fingers.
The pair of them stepped towards the sleeping giant. She watched, mystified, as Aemond spoke a few words of Valaryian, the dragon's eyes sleepily opening, her large head lifting towards them.
She felt her body freeze, the blood in her veins running cold as the mighty dragon looked past her rider, her curious gaze landing on her. A low rumble shook the ground, Vhagar’s protest to the stranger before her.
Aemond soothed his dragon, placing an affectionate hand on her snout as he spoke soft commands.
She doubted a few measly words would suddenly convince Vhagar that she wasn’t a tasty snack, but she could only watch, her eyes widening as the dragon became disinterested by her presence, laying her head back down on the warm grass she had been slumbering on.
Aemond looked over his shoulder at her prone form several feet back and smiled, motioning her to come closer.
She shook her head adamantly, her feet frozen in place.
He spoke her name, holding his hand out to her.
She looked to his hand and then to his dragon and back again, contemplating the risk to her life.
“Do you trust me?” Aemond asked and her tense shoulders sagged. She had no reason to doubt her best friend. With one look in his eye, she knew he would never let any harm come to her.
She took slow steps forward, her fear not allowing her to move any quicker.
She reached out and took Aemond’s hand in hers as soon as she was close enough, holding on tightly.
“It’s alright.” He assured her.
He guided her hand toward Vhagar, watching the girl beside him closely, gaging every expression that crossed her face in a matter of seconds. From fear, to doubt, to disbelief and suddenly to awe.
A shaky laugh left her lips as her hand softly rested on the rough scales of Vhagar’s side. Pure delight was etched across her face as she pet the mighty beast as if she were nothing more than a house cat. Aemond saw how excited she got when one of the many stray cats that roamed Flea Bottom ventured their way into the Keep.
The excited smile she wore now as she pet his dragon was the same one he saw when she would cradle those strays.
The thought made him laugh and he leaned in close to her, letting his head rest against hers.
Seeing her now, fearless by his mount’s side, only confirmed what he already knew.
She was meant to be with dragons. Meant to be with him.
~~
I will hopefully have the next chapter out within the next couple of days! And yes, every chapter is going to be long, I have no control. Hope you liked it xx
Being Aemond's conquest is giving me dom/sub feels. He probably wouldn't hesitate in completely destroying his conquests and forcing them to submission (consensually) and claiming them as his in every way he can. He probably only allows a bit of brattiness for conquests he is more familiar with though, lol.
Closer
Warnings: Smut. Pure smut. BDSM style relationship. 18+
Pairing: Dom!Aemond x Sub!Nameless Female Character
Word count: 1.6k
“I can’t!” she whines piteously, backing up the bed away from Aemond, prey attempting to escape its predator.
To anyone that doesn’t know any better, Aemond’s face holds an air of cold indifference. However, to her, the sadistic glint in his eye is unmistakable. She hates him when he is like this. Yet she craves it just the same. She needs that steadying hand of correction, to give herself fully to Aemond’s control. And he loves being in control.
Aemond stands at the foot of the bed, looming over her. His long white hair is untied, hanging loose around his face and shoulders. He has chosen to forego the use of his eyepatch for this evening’s activities, the sapphire within the empty socket glints malignantly in the light cast from the fireplace. He is bare chested, the pale skin of his toned chest and stomach creamy white and intoxicating.
Ordinarily, Aemond stays fully clothed for their encounters, preferring a swift exit once they are finished. However, he knows tonight will be prolonged and messy. Best not to create any unsightly stains, he thinks to himself. His cock strains painfully at the laces of his leather riding trousers. The urge to free it and bury it in her tight heat is overwhelming, but he refrains, she’d enjoy that. Tonight is not about her pleasure, it is about correction. She had forgotten her place.
It had started earlier that morning. Aemond had awoken with a deep throbbing ache that he knew only her cunt would satisfy. Ever discreet, he’d waited for the opportune moment to approach her. It would not do for a prince to be seen fraternising with a lady in waiting. They were both aware of this and took great lengths to keep their regular trysts a secret. He had lingered around the Red Keep all day, watching her from a distance, waiting for his moment to strike. An opportunity finally presented itself when he saw her sat in the gardens with Helaena. His older sister’s attention was captivated by a beetle meandering its way across the stone floor, so he’d made a point to quietly walk past, whispering as he did so.
“Meet me in my chambers at noon.”
The rush of excitement she’d had felt had caused a flush to creep across her skin. She imagined the iron clad grip of his hands on her hips, the sobs of pleasure that bubbled in her throat, his whispers of “ilībītsos” little slut. Heat had pooled in her core at the thought, biting her lip in anticipation.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of their Septa, calling both her and Helaena inside for needlepoint practice. Late morning gave way to early afternoon, then mid-afternoon. The time was whiled away by girlish exuberance, as she and Helaena giggled and gossiped. The intricate detailing of the spider that Helaena was embroidering becoming more detailed as the hours ticked by.
Realisation suddenly dawned on her and she looked to the Septa. “Is it noon yet?”
“My child, it is four hours past.”
Her eyes went wide, dread gnawing at her insides.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be.”
She rushed from the room, not giving the Septa a chance to enquire as to where she was going.
She slowed her pace as she approached the door to Aemond’s chambers, attempting to calm herself. She smoothed her skirts, calmed her breathing and then knocked.
“Enter” came the curt reply.
Her heart hammered in her chest as her hand lingered hesitantly on the door handle. Her sense of reason was screaming at her to turn and run, to avoid the inevitable wrath of the Targaryen prince. Yet another sense urged her forward: lust.
Aemond was seated in an armchair, facing the fire, his back to her as she entered the room. The long nimble fingers of his left hand drummed softly on the arm of the chair. He said nothing to her, the silence felt like it stretched on for an eternity as she stood there.
Finally, she decided to speak up, unable to endure his ignorance of her presence any longer. “My prince, I am sorry I was late, I…”
“Late?” he interrupted her, his voice eerily calm, “Riña, you are not late. You have forgotten your prince.” Girl.
He stood and walked slowly towards her.
Fear and excitement made her stomach lurch and her heart flutter.
“I would never forget you, I only…”
Her sentence was cut off as she felt the sharp sting of the back of Aemond’s hand strike her cheek. She gasped, stumbling back, her fingers gently touching the quickly reddening skin of where he’d hit her. When she looked up at him through tear filled eyes he appeared almost composed, yet she could see the slight flare of his nostrils, the burning intensity of his right eye. She was in trouble.
“You are disrespectful, ilībītsos.” He said, “You have kept a prince waiting. A Targaryen prince. And you must be taught a lesson.” Little slut.
She stared at him wide eyed, not knowing quite what to say. The sting of her cheek was far outweighed by the ceaseless clenching between her thighs.
Her eyes flickered to his hand moving towards his hip, watching as he unsheathed his dagger before twirling it skillfully between long digits.
“Aemond, no!” said cried, her expression one of pure horror. Fear clutched at her in an icy cold grip.
He gave a slight smirk, his eye fixed on hers. “You think I mean to cut you? You shall not get off so lightly.”
She flinched as he slashed the blade downwards, slicing the bodice of her gown in two, before dropping the dagger and pulling the rest off with his hands, until she stood bare before him.
Relief immediately washed over her. He had not meant to harm her. This was quickly replaced by a feeling of shame, upon realising her vulnerable state. Her hands attempted unsuccessfully to cover her modesty.
Aemond’s eye roamed appreciatively over her, his lips quirking slightly as he did so. “Get on the bed.” He commanded. “I won’t ask you twice.”
There was a part of her that wanted to defy his order, to find out what would happen next. However, like the wanton little thing that she was, she found herself obeying him wordlessly as she climbed on top of the covers.
His hands were immediately upon her, manhandling her into the position her wanted her in. The next few hours were a heady mess of his lips, teeth, tongue and fingers wrenching climax after climax from her aching body. She swore at one point she could feel him pressing the pommel of his dagger inside of her, but she could not be sure. The mingling of overstimulating sensations made her mind cloudy.
At some point he strips himself out of his tunic and jerkin, remarking on how the mess that’s dripping down her thighs will ruin the material. She does not notice him remove his eyepatch, until she is met with the sight of the sapphire, shimmering and threatening all at once.
Which finally brings her to the present moment. Her abused core is throbbing and sensitive, her thighs are trembling. She is certain she cannot take anymore. She will surely pass out if he brings her to her peak just once more.
“I can’t…” she repeats feebly, when he says nothing.
“You can. You will. You must.” He taunts, dragging her back towards him by her thighs.
“Aemond, please, have mercy! Just fuck me and get this over with.”
“Oh no, ilībītsos, you will not have my cock this night.” He says softly, “I would not fuck you past your peak. You are too loud.”
He settles himself between her legs, pushing his face to her most sensitive of parts. She sobs, tears rolling down her cheeks as he presses his tongue back to her pearl, for what feels like the hundredth time that day, licking at her like a man half starved, eliciting another shuddering crest of sensation from her.
He finally stands, satisfied that the task is complete and admires his handiwork. She is a shaking mess, tangled in the bed clothes. Her cheeks are ruddy and tear stained, her hair fans wildly around her head. The apex of her thighs is glistening with her slick and swollen with overuse.
He unlaces his trousers, sighing with relief as his hand finds his erect cock. This evening has been every bit as torturous for him as it has been for her and he is eager for release.
She looks hopefully up at him as he does this and he lets out a quiet chuckle.
“Remember, I said I am not going to fuck you.”
He knows she hates it when he doesn’t spend inside of her and so he fists his length, ready to deliver the final insult. It does not take long for him to reach his end, having been painfully hard for the last few hours. He sighs as he ejaculates rope after pearly rope across her skin.
The wail she lets out sounds almost heartbroken. He smiles to himself. She has definitely learned her lesson.
“Get out.” He tells her coolly, as he tucks himself away and laces his trousers back up.
“But…but…I am a mess!” She protests.
He smirks. “Yes. Yes, you are. And perhaps you will think on that the next time you decide to behave like your time is more valuable than mine.”
Heavily inspired by a gender-swapped Taylor Swift’s Midnight Rain as requested by @prettycutebunny, I hope I did your idea justice (and apologies for changing one lyric to suit the plot!)
WORDS: 5.3k (I’m so sorry)
WARNINGS: canon typical incest, dubcon, angst everywhere you look, p in v, v fingering, physical violence, breeding, degradation, praise, pain kink, Daemon being a real asshat, reader is Viserys and Alicent’s third child, reader has silver hair for plot point, Stockholm Syndrome, terrible High Valyrian translations, crying, power imbalance due to age difference.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
My requests are open! 🖤
Such a pretty little songbird.
Little Starling, your mother had once named you as a child. A free spirit, bound only by the towering castle walls that clipped your wings as the youngest child of the King and his second Queen. Weeks, months, years passed daydreaming beneath your favourite tree, reading the same fantastical books and listening to the same wistful odes from your minstrel.
All the while under the careful eye of your kepus.
Life’s tragedies and horrors had never crossed your path, never entered your realm, therefore could never harm you. Your childhood as idyllic as you could imagine, save for a loving father. That void was dutifully replaced by your uncle Daemon, whose unrivalled care and indomitable attention ensured you never wanted for anything more, evermore understanding that your father’s duty to his throne far exceeded the loving relationship expected toward a daughter and that his brother could offer the closest companionship to his. Yours was an unbreakable bond that defied all secrets, surpassed all proprietary expectations and often branched into full conversation in High Valyrian to remain undetected by outside ears.
Meanwhile, your elder brothers Aegon and Aemond sought to salve the absence of a protective male role model closer to your own age, ensuring they trained in the sword to their own degrees should their little sister ever need rescue. No matter how often you reassured them, they refused to share your belief that no danger could come to you, for danger did not seek you. With the guard of three silver-haired Princes, you thought yourself invincible.
As you matured together, however, your brothers discovered distractions. For Aegon, it was women, cups and the sordid activities beyond the castle walls. For Aemond, it was Vhagar, studies and bitterness. You could not begrudge them the right to grow, to extend their roots beyond your all-too-comfortable sibling unit, as you too had become distracted by literature, music and the pursuit of a quiet life with precious few responsibilities. Somehow your tranquil existence had eluded the conversation of marriage, recognising your unfettered spirit aspiring to greater things than a life secluded within the Red Keep.
But not in the eyes of your kepus.
~~She was sunshine, I was midnight rain~~
“What troubles you, little starling?” Called a familiar voice from behind your favourite reading spot in the Godswood. You squinted against the midday sun to find your beloved uncle Daemon watching over you, an uneasy frown skewing his lips. “Why are you so often here alone?”
“Good day, dear kepus,” you closed the tome in your lap, clasping your hands together. “My brothers are at the Dragonpit, where I fear a princess may never tread.”
“And you are content with reading in solitude?” Daemon stepped closer, treading carefully over the gnarled roots of the tree upon which you sat. “Would you not prefer company?”
“I am sure others would not wish to read the tales I choose to indulge,” you clutched your book closer to your chest, hurriedly attempting to conceal its cover from him. Sighing thoughtfully, you smiled up at your uncle. “I am resigned to the life of a quiet Princess Regent, neither an heir nor a common-born. No responsibility, no authority, yet still no freedom.”
Daemon approached and perched on a root beside you, chuckling softly under his breath. “I suppose that notion is all too familiar to us both, Princess.”
“Then how did you assuage it, uncle?” You looked over to him, noticing a distinct pain behind the considerate smile on his countenance. “How did you counsel yourself to contentment with such an existence?”
“What in the Seven Heavens makes you believe that I have?” Daemon snorted, gaze dropping into his lap. “How do you counsel yourself to contentment with a life of loneliness, niece? You are but seven-and-ten, do you not wish to take a husband? Make an honest man out of some egotistical Lannister?”
You smiled warmly. “I do not wish to marry, uncle. No aspect of marriage or childbearing holds any attraction for me, for I could never find the love of which I read in literature.”
“That I find hard to believe, Princess. If you wish to marry for love, your parents would be only too happy to oblige.” His hand reached to clasp over your thigh reassuringly. “One day, you will find the Prince you deserve.”
A comfortable silence fell between you, enough to hear the rising volume of the wind in the Godswood. You glanced up in tandem to see the once-turquoise sky fading to an ominous grey.
“A storm is coming, Princess,” Daemon clicked his tongue, slapping his knees demonstrably and rising to his feet. With a kindly hand proffered in the space between you, he beamed down at you. “May I accompany my little ray of sunshine to shelter?”
As you reached to accept, Daemon finally caught a glimpse of your book’s cover and smiled to himself. “The Tales of Persephone and Hades, I see.” His voice lowered to a mutter so indistinct you could not hear him. “How apt, vēzos.” Sun.
You paced slowly toward the library together, Daemon always one step behind, his hands clasped studiously behind his back as you meandered around hallway after indiscriminate hallway, wordlessly travelling as if no conversation could be found. You would never notice the manner in which Daemon consumed the image of you before him, a woman grown so distinctly from the small babe he had observed in your youth, born with gleaming silver hair which now tumbled to the length of your hips. Your regal green gown swayed as you moved and swept the hallway before his intrepid footsteps, Daemon swallowed harshly as he imagined the frame concealed by your bodice and boned skirt.
~~She wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain~~
Upon your arrival at the dimly-lit library hall, you turned to nod a farewell to your escort.
“Thank you, uncle,” you smiled before quickly turning on your heels in search of another book to lose yourself in. As you paced, you heard your footsteps echoing with another, realising that Daemon had followed you. After a few more steps, you ground to a sudden halt, giggling gently as he bumped into you and nearly lost his footing. You grasped his arms behind you and steadied him, the gentle clearing of his throat behind you making you chuckle harder. “Kepus, are you following me?”
His hands searched for your waist and skimmed the contour of your hips, pulling you flush to his chest so close his warm breaths fanned your hair. Your laughter silenced with the sudden realisation that this was no child’s play.
“I would follow you to the ends of the earth, little starling,” he whispered into the shell of your ear, venturing a hand to brush your tumbling silver curls from your neck so he could blaze a trail of butterfly kisses unimpeded. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes fluttering closed as his gentle touch melted your resistance immediately.
“Kepus… what do you mean?” You asked timidly, almost afraid of the response.
His next searing kiss into the base of your neck lingered a while, his lips wrapping you up in anticipation and longing for a touch you had never before desired, but now that you had it, you craved it more than the air you breathed. Your head threw back into the blissful sensation, earning a low groan from Daemon that vibrated softly against your skin.
“You have always been the midday sun to my midnight rain, haven’t you, little one?” Daemon whispered. “You were born into this world when I returned from the Stepstones, a ray of light when my world was shrouded in darkness. Whenever my life has succumbed to the pitch black of night, you were always there to illuminate the way.”
Your hands rested on his as they traversed deep into the valley of your pelvis, hovering over the position of your most sensitive place concealed only by the structure of your dress.
“Uncle, please…,” you muttered in a form of weak protest that came out as an encouragement, unable to scramble through your mind for a reason why you should reject his advances. He had lost Laena, you were unwed, there were no marital connections to stop you. Your beloved uncle, who more or less raised you in the absence of your father, had been the deepest love in your heart all your life. Whether or not that had been a romantic love or not, you could not deny the way your body responded to his touch as if you had yearned for this moment ever since you first read of love. Holding him this close felt as natural as breathing.
“Hush now, little starling,” he cooed as his lips blazed a trail up to your earlobe and nibbled gently, all while pressing his palm into your skirt so his fingers could make contact with your mound beneath, making featherlight strokes into the fabric and causing your hips to buck into his hand. “Tepagon aōla naejot nyke.” Give yourself to me.
The darkness enveloped the daylight as you nodded in agreement, and in the blink of an eye Daemon gripped your hips, spun you to face him and captured your lips with his. At first tentative, he pulled back to scan your face for a response, only to growl hungrily as he watched your gaze journey to his lips eagerly awaiting their next contact, consuming your mouth with his before you could mutter a protest. Your hands instinctively reached to lace around his neck, drawing him closer and dipping into the kiss as if your hunger could not be sated, craving as much contact as physically possible.
Without you knowing, Daemon had steered your clinch across the room toward the nearest desk, lifting you to rest on the wood and swiftly hitching your skirt up around your hips in the process. His lips refused to part from yours, nudging his nose into your cheek and humming contentedly against your mouth. With one hand cupping your cheek, the other ghosted a featherlight trail from your knee to your inner thigh, blazing toward your smallclothes between your legs, grazing the sodden fabric as it clung to your core.
“You already want the darkness, don’t you niece?” He pressed, groaning greedily and venturing both hands to rip the weak cotton apart at the seams. With his last obstacle laid to waste and clinging to your hips, his fingers grazed your pulsing folds and collected the waiting droplets of your anticipation. “I have waited so many years to feel your heat, ñuha vēzos.” My sun.
Your vision swirled like a hurricane, conflicting emotions and thoughts blurring the image of the silver-haired prince gazing down at you through lust-blown pupils as he watched his fingers daring to breach your folds before you gave him permission.
“Kepus, not yet,” you pleaded against your own better judgement, a whimper escaping him as you planted both palms on his chest to keep him an arm’s distance away. “We are not yet married, I don’t think this is right.”
Daemon chuckled to himself before grasping both your wrists in one hand and raising them above your head, his free hand pressing your chest to lay you flat on the desk. Pinning your wrists above you and leaning down to hover over you, two fingers rediscovered your folds and slipped inside in one smooth motion.
“Then don’t think, sweetling,” he whispered as he buried his fingers inside you to the knuckle, fingertips eagerly curling into your spongy walls and stroking slowly. Your hips tentatively reared into his touch, a palpable trepidation leaving you worrying about your maidenhead, the pain of coupling that literature failed to address yet had always remained on the lips of every birthing woman within the Keep. Daemon noticed your hesitation and thrust his fingers deeper, eliciting a strangled gasp from the depths of your lungs and revelling in your back arching into his motions. “It’s alright starling, the darkness has you now.”
You swallowed harshly, eyes roving to the ceiling as the full sensation in your cunt overwhelmed you. With a disapproving click of his tongue, Daemon tightened his grip on your wrists and slammed them against the hard wood, making you hiss gently.
“Don’t take your eyes off me, niece,” he commanded until your gaze met his again, ramping up the pace of his pumps as you buckled beneath him. “You need not be ashamed of letting go. Let your kepus take control.”
Daemon’s thumb journeyed to settle on your clit, tracing lazy circles around your bundle of nerves while his fingers drove fervently in a race to reach the furthest points inside you, the wet slaps of his motions echoing through the library. Watching closely as your back arched against his restraint, your eyes fluttering to close as if your climax were nearing, the edge of your pleasure cliff was cruelly snatched from you as his fingers withdrew from your soaking folds with a lewd pop. In a determined hurry and a rustle of fabric, Daemon fumbled with his breeches and freed himself before quickly replacing his digits with a smooth thrust of his length into your cunt. Your determined lubrication enabled his swift entry to sheath himself inside you, but not without discomfort as you winced to handle the stretch of your walls around his girth.
“Easy now, vēzos,” he soothed, pressing a palm into the valley of your hips to feel his tip grazing your innermost core and sending a shallow shiver throughout your body. “Soon the pain will become comfortable, I promise.”
You swallowed deeply, nodding in compliance and dutifully wrapping your legs around his waist to allow him easier access within you. Daemon grunted, making his next thrust deep and punishing to the point you yelped out, filling the library with the echoes of your cries.
“That’s it, little one,” he hummed contentedly, working your cunt with his bucking hips like a man possessed, his free hand gripping your hip to impale you further. He leaned further over you to hover his lips over yours, his towering stature blocking out the dim candlelight of the room and enveloping you in pitch black night. “Give yourself to me, let the darkness take you.”
With every merciless thrust deep into your cunt, your helpless mewls grew louder which only encouraged Daemon’s animalistic plunges within you. Gathering what little strength you could muster, you weakly pulled your wrists against his restraint.
“Please… need to… touch you,” you stuttered, fingers clamouring into mid-air for contact. Daemon’s sadistic grin faded as he acquiesced, your hands firing to curl around his neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss so you could silence your screams into his mouth, his relentless force pummelling you into the hard wood of the desk beneath which was sure to leave flayed grazes on your spine the next day.
“My little sunshine, you feel like heaven around me,” he cooed against your lips, curling his thrusts to bottom out inside you so hard your blurred vision of him would glitter with stars. “Does this not feel like heaven to you?”
You whimpered an unintelligible response, unable to compose any coherent thought as his cock filled you to the hilt. The searing heat swelling inside you brought the vision of your cliff edge back into sharp focus, begging you to drive your hips up to meet his in a desperate race for your release. Daemon recognised your eagerness and met it with a newfound brutal pace, pounding into you so fast the lewd skin slapping that echoed through the chamber became staccato and relentless.
“When you are carrying my child, your father will wed you to me,” he leaned to whisper in your ear, anchoring himself by wrapping his hand around your throat, his fingers and thumb pressing eagerly into each side to stem your blood flow rushing to your head, leaving you breathless and helpless. “And I will return inside your pretty little cunt every single night for the rest of our lives.”
His thrusts became jagged, betraying his own approach to the precipice.
“You see, every night the darkness consumes the light.”
With one last devastating thrust, your high flooded through you like a tidal wave and crashed against Daemon’s incoming climax, flooding your walls with his release and blending with your own, his gaze travelling to watch the space between you as his glistening cock hammered into your depths and stuttered as he poured inside you. The once-deafening lewd sounds of your coupling now replaced with ragged breaths, gasps for air and Daemon’s contented grunts as he rode out his orgasm within you, you threw your head back against the wood in sheer realisation of your own weakness.
Not yet married, but most likely to carry your kepus’ child before long.
You threw your hands to your belly, clutching at the flatness between your pelvis. Pulling out from you and admiring the soaking mess between your folds, Daemon’s hands rested upon yours as you looked up to find him gazing lovingly at the same space which terrified you to the core.
“Byka vēzos,” he hummed. Little sun. “If you do not conceive this time, we have the rest of our lives together to ensure you will.”
~~She looked like a bride, I was making my own name~~
Some flowers bloom only when the sun sets.
You blossomed for Daemon in a way he could never have anticipated. His bravery in the battlefield garnered him the courage to risk it all for a chance to make you his wife, but he found so very little resistance in your kind reception that his claim over you simply fell into his lap. The thrill of the chase evaded him, as you caved so effortlessly to his will.
Each time he requested your presence in his chambers, you parted your thighs and accepted him willingly. Yet each time you requested his presence in turn, he refused, ensuring he kept you wanting more and more, the suspense crafting a new height of pleasure each time you were called to his chambers, bent over his bed and pounded within an inch of consciousness.
Daemon Targaryen had laid his claim to your body and mind, yet all that remained was his possession of your soul.
Unbeknownst to you, Daemon had long pleaded with your father to wed you to him. Informally at first, often disguised as a joke to strengthen the Targaryen bloodline by betrothing two dragons to each other to fight for all eternity. But since the night in the library, his requests increased in volume and tenacity, resulting in a physical confrontation in the throne room between dragon brothers. Dismissing Daemon’s demand as nothing more than a vicious clamour for the Iron Throne, your father sought to banish his brother from King’s Landing to Dragonstone, where he would live out his days out of earshot of the Red Keep, where he would never again hear the pathetic whimpers of a man desperate to bed his youngest daughter for power.
To you, that night came as any other, as Daemon’s maid requested your presence in his chambers at the dead of night and you dutifully obliged, pacing the Keep corridors in eager anticipation of meeting him once more. As you crept through his door, a heavy fabric flew towards you and you grabbed it in mid-air. A dark cloak.
“Kepus, what—?”
“We need to leave. Tonight.” Daemon’s voice was short, snappy, panicked as his face came into view in the darkness. His brows knitted together, his lips skewed with fear.
“Wh… why? Did my father refuse our betrothal?”
“Of course he fucking did,” Daemon snapped through gritted teeth, grabbing the cloak still laying in your shaking hands and throwing it over your shoulders for you. “We need to leave for Dragonstone now, there’s a boat waiting for us in the harbour.”
“I don’t… why do we… what happened?” You were frozen to the spot, confusion washing over you in waves. Daemon’s hands balled into fists as he adjusted the hood over your head.
“Will you stop asking so many fucking questions? Just get down to the harbour, I’ll meet you there soon.”
“Kepus… I’m scared,” you stuttered, hands held out in front of you as if still holding the heavy cloak. “Will I ever see my parents again?”
Daemon smoothed the fabric over your shoulders and tucked the hood over your eyes. Pressing a quick dismissive kiss to the fabric laying over your forehead, he clasped your face and pulled it upwards.
“Whatever happens, little starling, we are each other’s family from this moment on.”
Suddenly, the tense silence between you shattered to the sound of deafening bangs on the door to his chambers. Immediately hunching his back defensively, he ushered you across the chamber toward a dark passage where a rogue guard waited to take you onward. “Place your trust in Ser Baleon, I will meet you at the shore.”
The crashes against the wooden portal intensified as you fled, the distinct swoop of metal from the chamber behind you suggesting Daemon had armed himself against the ambush. Searing hot tears blazed volcanic streams down your cheeks as you fought to focus on your steps down the dark spiral staircase to safety, wondering if you would ever see Daemon alive again.
~~Chasing that fame, she stayed the same~~
“Your father is a cunt,” Daemon hissed, storming into your Dragonstone chambers and crossing the room in three great strides to tower over you.
“Surely not, kepus,” you attempted to calm his temper with a reassuring palm pressed to his chest. “What has he said to irk you so?”
“He’s sent a raven to enquire after you,” he seethed, his jaw clenched tightly as if it might snap at any moment. “He claims that I kidnapped you in the dead of night and will not return you to your birthright in the Red Keep.”
“But I came to Dragonstone of my own free—,” you were cut off by Daemon’s hand firing to grasp your throat, your fingers racing to claw at his grip and prize yourself free.
“Well why don’t you speak those precious words to your beloved father instead?” He half-growled, sneering down at you as if you were his prey. “He seems to be the one that needs persuading of your own free will, Princess.”
“If you… if you let me, I will,” you stuttered against his restrictive clutch, weakly attempting an escape to breathe properly.
“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” He snarled, using one hand to spin you by your waist while retaining his grip on your throat, pressing his chest flush to your back and steering you to the bed. “You could run back to the Red Keep and your books and your perfect little boring life.”
“Kepus, please,” you protested weakly, reaching a hand ahead of you to cushion your fall as he dropped you face-first into the sheets. “Please, don’t…”
“Please don’t what, starling?” He chuckled, bunching your skirt over your behind and battling with his own breeches. “Don’t fight for my family, or don’t take my wife whenever I so wish?”
You scrunched your eyes closed, willing to block out whatever was coming next. This was not the careful husband you knew, this was not the devoted uncle who raised you in place of your father, this was certainly not the man who you fell in love with under a stormcloud amongst ancient tomes. This midnight rain will pass, no matter how much love it unravels in the eye of the storm.
Delivering a swift nudge to your thighs, your legs were parted and Daemon crawled between them, grasping your hips and drawing you up to impale yourself on his hardened cock. With no preparation, you yelped at the intrusion and hissed gently.
“The pain will soon become comfortable,” he declared as he ruthlessly bottomed out inside you. “I promise.”
Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to burst their banks as the agony coursed through you in waves, slowly replaced by bolts of pleasure as his tip grazed your innermost walls.
“Please… take me easily, my Prince,” you wheezed out between merciless thrusts stealing your breath from your lungs. “I am… I am with…”
“You would do well not to give orders when I can ensure you lose consciousness in a moment, little one,” Daemon hissed, pounding into you with an inhuman pace, sending your eyes roving to the ceiling as his nails dug crescent dips into the flesh of your hips. “You want to stay awake while I fill you up, don’t you? Maybe this time you will bear me a child.”
“Daemon, please be gentle…,” you fought to finish your declaration while balling your fists into the sheets, your elbows caving beneath you. “I am with child.”
With your last syllable, Daemon’s thrusts ceased instantly, leaving you whimpering at the immediate loss of friction. He stilled completely, not so much as a laboured breath escaping him behind you, his length still nestled halfway inside you.
“My Prince, I… I’m sorry,” you reassured, venturing a hand back towards him as if willing him to hold it. “I should have spoken sooner.”
You breathed into the deafening silence, wondering if he did not wish you to deliver the news in such a manner. Suddenly, a cool splash of water hit your scalding spine. A tear. Daemon’s tear.
“I have failed you, starling,” he sighed, completely shattering his blind rage into a self-deprecating reflection. Allowing his length to slip out from your folds, he released your hips and collapsed onto the sheets beside you. “After all this time, I could have destroyed our child with my recklessness.”
“You have never failed me, kepus, our babe is safe inside me,” you purred, reaching to brush another tear from his cheek. “If he’s anything like his father, he can withstand any amount of force.”
Daemon’s saddened gaze turned to you, still on all fours beside him. He ventured a hand to brush your cheek.
“I do not deserve you, vēzos jehikagon.” Sunshine.
In the blink of an eye, you threw a leg over his own to capture him between your thighs. Hovering your waiting folds over his length, still hardened and bobbing between your bodies as you awaited a signal to proceed.
“Let me please you, my King,” you pleaded, one hand venturing between your legs to stroke his cock and line his tip with your aching entrance.
Daemon’s gaze met yours, his wounded pride hooding his eyelids in contrast with your wide-eyed anticipation. You smiled at your silver-haired captor so warmly, he could not resist your brilliant sunshine blinding him to walk into the light. Gently bucking his hips to meet you in the middle, you lowered onto his length and shared a gratuitous moan as he filled you slowly and completely.
“You are truly carrying my babe?” His hands journeyed to your belly, swelling softly beneath his palms as you rocked gently into him.
“As true as the sun shines above us, ñuha jorrāelagon.” My love. “The Maester says it is early, so I should rest as much as possible.”
Daemon stilled, concerned. “Then you should cease at once, allow me to…”
“And deprive me of this moment with my beloved? Never,” you asserted, sinking down carefully and bucking your hips to graze his tip against your walls, dropping so far you could swear you felt his cock deep in your stomach. “Besides, I may not be able to ride my dragon for much longer so I will take any chance I can get.”
“When you grow too weary to ride your dragon,” Daemon’s fingers splayed out across your belly as you bobbed above him, his eyes journeying to the ceiling momentarily as the sensation of your walls tightening around him stole his breath. “Rest assured that your dragon will take good care of you, little one.”
The mere implication of his words sent you careering to your precipice, clenching tightly around his cock as your walls rippled and pulsed with the approach of your orgasm. Noticing the sensitivity of your walls to his every motion inside you, jolting and surging around him to bring his rhythmic rutting up into you to a jagged pattern, signalling the arrival of his own climax.
“Let go for me,” he commanded through a whisper, keeping his palms pressed to your abdomen and revelling in the strangled gasps you could no longer hold back, grinding your hips to ride through your high as he deftly painted your walls in staccato thrusts.
Filling the chamber with your mixed groans and deep pants as you slowed your motions above him, you couldn’t bear to move from atop Daemon for fear of losing the moment you shared. Instead, he gripped your hips and turned you onto the sheets, keeping his length buried within you as you lay beside each other.
“Gevie muña,” Daemon muttered under his breath as he reached to brush your silver hair from your face.
Beautiful mother.
~~All of me changed like midnight~~
It had taken you the best part of half an hour to muster the strength enough to heave yourself from the birthing chair. Propping yourself up on the fruit table stacked high with pomegranates, you gazed out from your Dragonstone chamber to the harbour beyond. The day was bright, gleaming, the waters mirroring the same blissful turquoise sky beneath which you used to read your books, drift off into fantastical realms and dismiss your own captivity as the Princess Regent with no responsibility and no freedom.
The Maester said your third birth would be easier than the initial two, but so far he had been proven catastrophically wrong. When sickness could not claim you, tiredness and weakness took hold. Days blended into each other, weeks dragged for months, your belly swelled overnight as you lay helpless in the birthing chair simply waiting for an end to the monotony of childbirth. After delivering Daemon two sons, you assumed your duty as a birthing mother had been fulfilled, yet another child swelled no sooner than the second had left your womb.
A pair of hands snaked around your hips to cradle your blossoming belly, fingers spread out over the span of the bump to feel every sensation beneath your skin. A chin rested in the crook of your neck and peppered lazy, haphazard kisses over your ear.
“Good morning, ñuha byka vēzos,” he cooed softly, his breaths warming your neck. My little sun. “You are not usually out of the chair so early, are you not well? Is our Prince keeping you from rest, little starling?”
You sighed as you dipped your head against his, placing your hands atop his as they surveyed your belly.
“I am quite well, husband,” you comforted him, tracing idle patterns over his hands, still as delicate as the day he first held you as a babe. “I’m always well when I am with you.”
Gazing out beyond the Dragonstone harbour, you could make out the faint outlines of the Red Keep from the safety of Daemon’s arms. Word from court suggested your father’s physical strength was at its last. Your mother sent a parchment requesting your presence but your husband intercepted it before it reached your hand, dismissing your concerns and reassuring that a raven would arrive at once if the King was indeed on his deathbed.
King’s Landing lay just beyond the dock, a symbol of the life you gave away for the sake of love. When you once believed you could never attain the love as told in literature, you failed to notice you had already fallen into such an affair. Persephone and Hades, the blinding sunshine tempted into the all-consuming darkness.
You write warning tags the way I do, but neater HAHAHAHAH. DAMN you write in such a clean way. My frazzled mind could never. You also made me loathe daemon 🫶🫶🫶 slayed. I spit on his grave
“What in the Seven Heavens makes you believe that I have?” Daemon snorted, gaze dropping into his lap. “How do you counsel yourself to contentment with a life of loneliness, niece? You are but seven-and-ten, do you not wish to take a husband? Make an honest man out of some egotistical Lannister?”
😭😭😭😭😭SOBBING AT THE WAY HE CASUALLY BROUGHT UP MARRIAGE. YEAH LIKE YOU HAVE NO ULTERIOR MOTIVE 😃😃😃😃 MISS ME WITH THAT FUCKING BULLSHIT DAFAQ
“That I find hard to believe, Princess. If you wish to marry for love, your parents would be only too happy to oblige.” His hand reached to clasp over your thigh reassuringly. “One day, you will find the Prince you deserve.”
🙄🙄✋✋✋ him literally specifying a prince is so on the fucking nose. But she is just a baby girl who doesn't know better. 🤬🤬🤬 A very good display of 💕predatory behavior💕 🥰🥰🥰🥰 JAIL
“I would follow you to the ends of the earth, little starling,” he whispered into the shell of your ear, venturing a hand to brush your tumbling silver curls from your neck so he could blaze a trail of butterfly kisses unimpeded. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes fluttering closed as his gentle touch melted your resistance immediately.
Wait he kinda
He ate with that. I would have folded too 😔😫 I don't know any better
“You have always been the midday sun to my midnight rain, haven’t you, little one?” Daemon whispered. “You were born into this world when I returned from the Stepstones, a ray of light when my world was shrouded in darkness. Whenever my life has succumbed to the pitch black of night, you were always there to illuminate the way.”
#1 way to project 🙄✋ #2 omg the way you used the lyrics is really nice and I feel like nice is not the right word but yeah nice 👍 HAHAAH
“You already want the darkness, don’t you niece?”
IM NOT GONNA LIKE TO YOU HES SO FUCKING TACKY FOR CALLING HIMSELF THE DARKNESS 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA ITS SO ON BRAND FOR HIM THO HES ONE TACKY FUCKER THAT HAS 0 BRAINCELLS HAHAHAHHAAHAHHAHA
“When you are carrying my child, your father will wed you to me,”
Ok go off you disgusting old man 😊
“Whatever happens, little starling, we are each other’s family from this moment on.”
We love baby trapping AND literal trapping 💕💕💕 FORCED PROXIMITY WHOOO
“You see, every night the darkness consumes the light.”
HES GOT ME GAGGEDDD HES SO TACKYYYY HAHAHAHAH
“The pain will soon become comfortable,” he declared as he ruthlessly bottomed out inside you. “I promise.”
🥰🥰🥰🥰it won't hurtttttt 🤞🤞🤞🤞 promise
“I have failed you, starling,” he sighed, completely shattering his blind rage into a self-deprecating reflection. Allowing his length to slip out from your folds, he released your hips and collapsed onto the sheets beside you. “After all this time, I could have destroyed our child with my recklessness.”
He only cares that he could have destroyed his child 🙂 which is an extension of him. She is just his wet dream 🙂 nice
“When you grow too weary to ride your dragon,” Daemon’s fingers splayed out across your belly as you bobbed above him, his eyes journeying to the ceiling momentarily as the sensation of your walls tightening around him stole his breath. “Rest assured that your dragon will take good care of you, little one.”
🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪 right after I purposefully wanted to hurt you I say I'll take care of you 🤣🤣🤣 gotta love men
To be perfectly clear I enjoyed reading this in spite of the absolutely disgusting things daemon was up to 🫶🫶 and I mean it. You write so well. So compellingly that I just 🥰want to annihilate him🥰 we love writing about disgusting rat characters in this household. SLAYYYY
Synopsis: You are the best thing that has ever been Aemond’s, which is why you cannot really blame him for being so possessive and cautious not to lose you.
Warnings: Possessiveness, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Fingering, Not Proofread
Word Count: 3,193
A/N: This is based on an anonymous request where they wanted a glimpse of the married life of Aemond and Reader from my other one-shot 'But Daddy, I love him'
They often say marriage was a duty— it was a dire chore that not many seemed to enjoy, but that sentiment was one Aemond could ever agree to because being married to you was the most pleasurable and honorable thing he had ever experienced. He thought riding his Vhagar was the purest and most gratifying experience he would ever feel, but he was proven wrong. Being with you— being your husband would be the greatest pleasure he would have the honor of knowing.
Aemond sighed in contentment as he clutched you closer to his chest. Burying his nose atop your head as you slept soundly in his arms. It was a scene he quickly had gotten used to. It had only been three moons since your marriage, but Aemond could not recall a day where he woke with you, not in his arms. He could not recall a moment where his lips had not known the pressure or the taste of yours. Aemond refused to reminisce upon the days when you were not his.
Aemond felt his lips twitch as you huddled yourself closer to his chest, a small moan emitting from you as the wake of the morning sun slowly crept in. “Happy name day, my love,” You mumbled against Aemond’s smooth and chiseled chest, deeply inhaling his scent as you felt his arms wrap around you tighter. “My name day is not until the morrow.” He said and ran his hands through your hair. You hummed and stretched your limbs, slowly peeling your eyes open to see the handsomeness of your husband as the fresh morning sun lit his Valyrian features. “I know, but the celebrations are tonight, so I thought it would be best to greet you today as well,” You smiled and moved your head to kiss his lips.
Aemond sighed happily when he felt your lips against his. Aemond cupped your cheek and deepened your kiss, his whole body aflame with the burning desire to be intimate with you once more. You feel his cold hand venture to the plump flesh of your behind, squeezing it roughly, making you gasp in shock. Your husband taking the opportunity of your parting lips to snake his tongue in and feel and taste you. You felt his wanting against your thigh, warm and pulsating. And though you, too, want Aemond, feeling the need for him gathering in your folds, you gently push your husband away. You bit your lip to hinder a laugh as he looked at you, lips still puckered and eye filled with question and hurt that you would deny him of your kisses.
“We have lots to do today, husband… I am afraid we cannot indulge ourselves this morning.” You say and tried to pull away. Aemond shook his head, feeling his cock painfully seek pleasure as his eye caught your naked form being exposed as the thin sheet was removed from your frame. “It is my name day. You cannot be so cruel and deny your lord husband on the day they celebrate his birth,” Aemond reasoned, pulling on your arm and trying to capture your lips once more. You laughed, “As you’ve said, your name day is not until the morrow— now, let go of me, for I shall need to bathe,” You said and quickly pecked his lips.
You smiled as you heard him groan and whine like a little child. You loved seeing him in such a way— when in the privy of your chambers, his stoic and imposing demeanor was shed and you could see the actuality of him. You get to enjoy his handsome smiles, his genuine laughs, and his fiery touches. But the moment you stepped foot out of the four walls of your marital chambers, he once again returned to the stony, aloof prince that he is known to be. It is saddening that the world will never know the truth of your husband. You would note how the ladies and lords at court would look at you with pity. Bound and tied to what they perceive as a cold prince, but Aemond was far from it. He was a blazing fire that kept you warm even in the coldest of nights. But you supposed it was a prestigious honor to be the few who knew of your husband’s tenderness and love.
Your smile widened as your husband called for your name once more; you peeked your head from the wet room where a steaming bath was already waiting. “Come back to bed, my light,” Aemond called, and you shook your head. “I need to bathe,” You countered, enjoying the way his thin lips almost formed a pout. “And I need someone to wash my back as well… will you help me, dearest?” You bit your tongue as Aemond was quick to his feet and escorted the both of you to the tub. He did not waste a moment as he placed his lips against yours again. Pulling you to rest atop his chest as he leaned back against the copper tub, bare bodies tangled under the milky, scented water of the bath that was meant for only you.
Your breathing hitched as his lips moved from your lips to the apex of your neck and shoulder, feeling as his teeth nipped the supple skin to leave his marks. Your eyes closed pleasurably as you feel your husband’s hands guide your hips so your sex could grind upon his length. “Aemond,” You sighed as you felt the tip of his cock repeatedly glide against the sensitive pearl of your cunt. “Yes, my wife?” Aemond hummed; his voice had an edge that you were growing all too familiar with. He wanted to succumb to pleasure, to be buried deep inside you, but he wanted you to beg for the pleasure he, too, was desperate for. You clenched your jaw and moved your hips, grinding upon his length with more pressure. Aemond hissed and threw his head back, you simply just watched his reactions to the pleasurable torment that both of you were enveloped in.
Your breathing caught in your throat, and your jaw slacked as your husband abruptly entered you— you harshly sinking on his well-endowed length. Aemond’s breathing was quick to grow labored as your walls clenched around him. The only thing heard in the room was your moans, Aemond’s heavy, pleasured sighs, and the slosh of water as your husband guided you to bounce on his cock. “A…Aemond,” You called, fisting his silky, silver hair as his head dipped down to take one of your breasts into his mouth, nibbling at the bud, making you clench around him tighter. Your moans grew louder as Aemond lifted his hips to meet yours, fucking you deeper to the point that your eyes rolled back, and only incoherent words were uttered from your lips. “Fuck, look at you so pleasured by your husband… louder, little wife, I want them to hear how I pleasure you so— so early in the morning as well,” Aemond hummed and moved his hand that was on your hips to your cunt, his thumb drawing circles upon the pearl of your cunt making you moan louder, just like Aemond had wished.
“Oh… Aemond, please! Please, please, please,” You cried, placing your hands on his shoulders as you hoisted yourself to take him deeper and harsher, feeling the bubbling need for release. The prince smirked up at you. Gods, he loved you even more when you were on the verge of coming for him; he loved how desperate and more lewd you became for him. The stifled groans Aemond held were let out when you suddenly reached behind you and cradled his sacks. He looked up at you through hooded eyes, a small smirk on your lips as you moaned his name, your tits bouncing before him as you both reached your peak. You tried to catch your breath as you rested your forehead upon your husband’s. “Well, that was most productive. Do you not think so, wife?” He teased and cupped your behind with both of his hands; you let out an amused breath and shook your head, letting him carry you out of the tub so the both of you could truly get ready for the day.
For the rest of the day, you were busy with the final preparations for that night’s festivities. Inspecting if everything is in perfect order for your husband’s name day. In truth, Aemond had no wish for such a grand celebration. He would rather spend his special day in the privy of your company, and usually, you would oblige your husband. However, after hearing that not once was his name day celebrated with such an event, you had to change that. You wished for him to experience the joy and festivity of a whole kingdom celebrating the day you were born.
“Do not strain yourself, sister; it is not good for the both of you,” You hear Helaena hum as she pauses by the great hall to see how the preparations are coming. You lightly chuckle, “Aye, Aemond had been insisting for me to cancel this feast, fearing that it would burry me in work, but I do not mind it, truly.” You smiled and fixed an askew goblet on the long table. “I did not mean Aemond,” Helaena said, her voice far off, making you pause in confusion. But that confusion was quick to vanish as you heard the call of your beloved brother. “Sister!” Lucerys ran to where you stood, and you quickly enveloped your younger brother in an embrace.
“Oh. I have missed you, sweet boy!” You beamed and held him tighter. You turned to the end of the hall and saw the other members of your family entering, them obliging your request and coming all the way from Dragonstone to attend your husband’s name day. “I’m so glad you all came,” You smiled and went to kiss your mother on her cheek. You turned to your father, who could only grunt; his animosity towards your husband was still there, but you could see it slowly fading with each moment he saw how truly happy you were to be Aemond’s wife. “We would not have missed it, my sweet girl,” Your mother smiled. “Isn’t that right, dear husband?” Your mother nudged your father, who took a deep, burdened breath before reluctantly nodding. “All your chambers have been prepared; I think it would be best if you rest before the feast… so all could be in a more cheery mood,” You turn to your father with a pointed look. “Very well then,” He sighed and kissed your temple before walking off and going to their bed chambers.
“How has married life treated you, my sweet?” Your mother asked as you two were left alone. “I would guess it has treated you well… you look positively radiant, but I want to hear it from your lips.” She added, and your smile widened. “I… I am incandescently overjoyed, mother.” You said, and your mother lightly laughed to see the joyous glint in your eyes. “I am glad you found such happiness with Aemond,” She sighed, and you could only smile in agreement. Your smile grows wider as you see your husband across the hall, walking towards you and your mother. “Sister,” he nodded civilly, and your mother did the same. “Might I have a moment with my wife?” He asked, and you felt your body tingle as he was quick to wrap his strong arm around your waist, “Of course, I’ll see you two at the feast. Happy name day, Aemond.” Your mother said with a small smile.
“What is it?” You asked your husband as he was guiding you towards the direction of your chambers with hastened steps. When behind closed doors, you feel his lips against yours and your bodies flushing against each other. “Nothing, I just terribly missed my wife,” He said in between breaths after parting your kiss. You laugh and lightly hit his chest. “I was with you just a few hours ago,” You said against his lips, your heart spiking as you felt his fingers sly try to undo the lace of your gown. “Stop it.” You warned, but Aemond only grinned wider, connecting your lips to distract you from his other actions. You giggled as you heard your husband whine when you pushed him away and parted your lips. “We do not have time for this, Aemond. We still have to prepare for the feast.”
“Fuck the feats,” He said, and your eyes widened in slight offense as he dismissed the event that you had been working on tirelessly for weeks. His eye too soon widened as he saw the offense in yours. “No— I… that is not what I meant, my light.” He quickly said and cupped your cheeks. “It’s just that I… I need you.” He whispered and pecked your lips. “You just had me this morning,” You say and wrap your arms around his neck. “That was not enough… I could never have enough of you,” he smiled as your heart turned to mush and your mind turned simple by the look in his eye. You whimpered as you felt his lips on your neck, threading closer to your clavicle. It took a whole lot of control in you to push him away once more and not be tempted by the prospect of pleasure.
“Patience, my prince,” You say as Aemond’s hands were firmly placed on your waist. “You will have me over and over and over again tonight… just as long as you be patient,” You whispered, watching as his lilac eye turned dark at your words. “Just be obliging and welcoming to our guests until the feast ends, and you and I could be locked here in our chambers, drowning in pleasure until the next moon if you so wish.” You added, and you watched as he gulped. Aemond searched your eyes and only saw seriousness to back your words. “Very well,” He said and felt his heart stutter as you went to the tip of your toes to peck his lips.
Aemond was trying earnestly to appear cheery and obliging to the guests. He had been nodding ceaselessly to the guests who came and greeted him and offered their gifts. It was useless. He had no need for their things— he had everything he needed. He had shelter, food, the tiltyard, and most importantly, you. He had no care for the gold-threaded eye-patch house Lannister presented him nor the new stallion his mother’s house gave. All he cared about and wanted was a prolonged moment of privacy with you, where your attentions were not divided between him and the guests.
Aemond’s jaw ticked as he saw a past suitor of yours approaching where the two of you sat. Aemond knew that he should not house doubts or insecurities about such matters. He was certainly the higher being. He was an unparalleled warrior; he was a prince; he was your husband. Jealousy is a pitiful, lesser motion that he should not entertain but could not help but do so when it comes to you. He could not help himself as he felt the fiery rage in him only grow with each moment you spoke with your past suitor. It took everything in him not to stab the irrelevant lord alive when he dared make you laugh. Aemond only saw red and was one hair away from beheading the lord as he had the gull to lead out his hand and ask you for a dance. He remembered at the first days of your marriage, even just the lingering look of any of the lords, squires, and even his brothers would cause him to grow enraged to the point he was ready to challenge those punny men. It took great restraint in him not to let his insecurities show through with the times you had to innocently speak with other men, bestowing them with your attention, warm smile, and melodious laughs.
Aemond’s fists clenched around nothing as he felt your expecting stare upon him. You silently waited for his approval that you were certain he would not deny, for it was only a dance. Aemond had promised you that he’d be obliging that night, that he would at least show a grain of warmness towards the lords and ladies, so, however difficult it was, your husband nodded. But Aemond soon regretted his decision as his eye zeroed in on the hold your past suitor had on you. His mind cruelly conjured an alternative life where you were not his but, instead, bound to that lord. He could not stomach to just think of the thought that you were not his wife and lady. He felt vile rising in his throat at the possibility that if the gods were not on his side that fateful day of the tourney for your hand, you would have been married to another, and Aemond would had no choice but to watch you be someone else’s wife.
Aemond made hastened steps to where you and the lord danced and took his rightful place. “My prince… the song has not ended yet,” the lord had the gull to reason, and Aemond’s jaw clenched. “I have obliged you enough; do not overstep your bounds, my lord. Now, remove your hold from my wife.” He gritted, eye widening in fury. His expression is scarily serious, frightening away the lord. You smiled up at your husband as you felt his familiar and soothing touch upon your skin.
“I had expected you to deny him of his first request,” You say to Aemond in ancient tongue. You watch him raise his brow in question and skepticism. “Really? It would seem that you had enjoyed his company.” You bit your lip at his words. “Do I sense jealousy, my dear prince?” You asked, tone riddled with tease. Aemond rolled his eye and shook his head, denying that he had succumbed to such a lowly emotion such as jealousy. You felt your lips twitch into a smile as your husband avoided your gaze as you two swayed to the tune of the dance. You sighed and brought your palm to move his head to face you and for your eyes to lock. “The only company I truly enjoy is yours. You, my dear husband, are the only thing I want.” You say with a beaming smile. Aemond felt his heart and breathing stutter at the radiant smile on your lips and the sincerity in your voice. He sighed in contentment and placed a chaste kiss atop your head. He wished for deeper intimacy, but he could not do so as you two were still before the eyes of the court.
“Do you wish to retire for the night?” You asked as the song ended, and Aemond eagerly nodded his head at you, making you laugh as he practically dragged you out the hall and back into the bed chambers to finally celebrate his name day in the way he wished.
Hi I was wondering about the travel time between King’s Lansing and each of the seats of the Great Houses for a full party similar to Robert’s party travelling in AGOT. How much time would be cut without a Wheelhouse?
Good question! I’ve talked about it here, but I’ll show my work.
WARNING: A HISTORIAN IS DOING MATH.
King’s Landing to Casterly Rock:
Wheelhouse: 83 days. (avg speed)
Riding party: 40 days. (avg speed)
King’s Landing to Highgarden:
Wheelhouse: 76 days (avg speed)
Riding party: 36 days (avg speed)
King’s Landing to Riverrun:
Wheelhouse: 74 days (avg speed)
Riding Party: 35 days (avg speed)
King’s Landing to the Eyrie:
…this one is complicated, because it makes way more sense to take ship to Gulltown and then go west to the Eyrie (450 miles by land) than to go from King’s Landing to the crossroads and then ascend the High Road through the Bloody Gate (640 miles by land, and rough miles at that.)
So I’d call it 5 days by ship and then either 45/21 days by land.
A/N | Originally written as a birthday gift for @humanpurposes. Nothing says happy birthday like a dark fic about madness and murder I guess? :)
RAIN-SOAKED AND WEARY, AEMOND TRUDGES THROUGH the murky streets of King's Landing, his cold and damp riding leathers offering no respite. Each step echoes with the haunting images of Vhagar's reckless attack on Luke, the small, agonizing details etched into his mind like a deep carving. The city, shrouded in an eerie mist, seems to mourn his nephew in silent empathy.
A scared face. The cracking of jaws. The sight of Arrax’s wing flapping aimlessly down into the sea. Luke, falling free through the skies…
The Red Keep looms ahead, its imposing towers piercing the darkened sky. Aemond ascends the ancient stone steps in silence, his solitude a curtain shrouding the tempest raging within him. The guards watch him cautiously, sensing the palpable storm that accompanies the one-eyed Prince’s return. As he passes, the torches on the wall flicker, casting grotesque shadows that dance along the corridor walls.
Entering the shared chambers, Aemond's presence goes unnoticed at first. His wife awaits him, her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and anticipation as she sits at the edge of the bed, finding his gaze and immediately making note of his distress. He can feel her scrutiny, her eyes seeking answers he isn't ready to give. With how disappointed she may be, he is not sure that he’ll ever want her to know. But he knows she must, and that he’d rather it come from him than anyone else.
Words remain unspoken as Aemond, drenched and disheveled, closes the distance between them. She hasn’t moved, holding onto him by the waist as he encloses his cold hands onto the back of her head, finding some semblance of comfort in the warmth of her hair. His wife's face softened, ready to welcome him, oblivious to his guilt and agony. In the silence that hung thick in the air, he braced himself for the storm about to engulf their world.
“You’re cold, Aemond. Let me find you something warm to wear,” she says. He doesn’t let her leave him; he will not let her leave him, ever. In heavy times like these, he’s always quite liked having her to hold - and right now, it seems like she understands it just as well as she always does. She is a part of him, made to be by his side.
She’s my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else’s!
He remembers the words. It was the night he had come to, after his eye had been slashed out. The marriage pact had been brokered in the aftermath, a compensation for the losses suffered. His nephew's tantrum and those venomous words had sown the seeds of a bitter possession, one that manifested in the subtle manipulative gestures that followed.
He had reveled in taunting Luke, relishing in the knowledge that he had triumphed over his nephew in more ways than one. Aemond had married his niece, a Princess of Targaryen blood, a strategic move with which he had alleviated the stain of bastardy off of her. He’d spend years taunting Luke over his wins, and he’d finally taken his life too. And now, his wife was about to cast him aside for it.
As he confessed to his wife, his eye, haunted by the accident, bore into hers, seeking understanding, pleading for empathy. The air grew dense, the chasm between them widening like an insurmountable abyss, a reflection of the irreversible consequences that now consumed them.
I need you to believe me.
In the flicker of candlelight, hope clung to Aemond like a shadow, a desperate desire for his wife to see beyond the tragedy. Yet, her features twisted in disbelief, mirroring the horror within him. He had not expected any less, but to see it happen is like a dagger twisting in his heart.
He’s losing her. He cannot lose her. As she tries to draw away, he lets desperation take over him. He would be damned if he let her slip away over something that he did not mean to happen.
His grip on her tightens to the point of choking, her eyes widening as she realizes that she is trapped. Not just in his hold, but in this marriage with a man that would stop at nothing, and is not even above killing family to survive. How long before he kills me too, she probably thinks.
He longs to assure her that he wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head, but she is angry. She does not want to hear from him, so he will settle for her forced presence for now. Surely she’ll see. He cannot bear for her to look scared and fearful - she looks too much like her twin when she does. The last thing Aemond needs is to be reminded of him.
Her sobs soak through his already damp clothes. She tries to push him away, but he is like a never-ending nightmare - the more she tries, the tighter his hold becomes, refusing to give her the solitude she craves. He wants to, he is simply scared - what if she never chooses to welcome him again?
Why?
His touch, once a source of comfort, now repulses her, but he remains oblivious to her inner turmoil. In the midst of her agony, he lowers her gently onto the bed, attempting to offer solace through caresses and kisses, unaware that his touch has become a reminder, a brand of her brother's murderer. She refuses to believe that it was an accident, and he is further pained at the dark realization that he may not be above killing her if she tries to betray and leave him over this. After all, if he cannot have her, no one else will.
"Stay with me, wife. Stay with me, and you will be kept alive and safe.” Try to leave me, and you will not live to see the next sunrise.
The unspoken threat hangs in the air, a chilling promise that holds its own through his silence and her sobs. She closes her eyes, her unease palpable, a fear of the man she shares her bed and heart with. Aemond, too, watches her drift away, inch by agonizing inch, knowing he will have to learn to endure. He’ll have to, if her place is by Aemond’s side - and the day he married her, he’d solidified that.
What he won’t quite get used to is realizing how much like Luke she looks in fear, and how her eyes make it seem as though he is boring into his nephew’s instead. The resemblance unnerves him as he is taken back to the skies of Storm’s End in his mind once again - Luke had looked just as fearful for his life in his last moments. She is a reminder of what he’s done, of the half of her who is now lost.
How could he have expected that his own living, breathing wife would haunt him so?
THE LIBRARY IS CLOAKED IN A HUSHED DARKNESS as Aemond buries himself in his book, the words flying over his head as he tries to comprehend them. The oppressive silence of the night presses upon him, mirroring the strain in his heart. His worry for his wife weighs heavily on his mind, a persistent ache that refuses to be ignored. She has withdrawn from him, choosing silence over conversation, and the void between them grows deeper with each passing day.
In dreams, Luke sits atop his fledgling dragon, looking at him with a somber expression that makes him appear at peace. They are in the skies of Storm’s End again, only this time, neither of them is involved in a chase. They face each other, and each time, Luke talks, and Aemond seems to have no choice but to listen.
This did not have to happen, uncle, he would say. You could have let me live.
Every time, he wakes and resists the urge to slam his fists and pull his spun silver hair out as he wills the fragments of Lucerys to leave him be. He had initially blamed the shock, but even as he gains his bearings, the visions, dreams, and voices only seem to become louder, stronger, and sharper. It would seem that the more desensitized and ready to face war he becomes, the more his nephew insists on haunting him - reminding him that he is no war god, but simply a boy forced to grow into a man too soon.
This did not have to happen, uncle. You made a terrible mistake.
“Leave me in peace bastard, be gone!” He would scream as he slams his fist into the table and sends parchment flying.
Aemond's torment continues unabated, the ghost of Luke lingering in every corner of his life, a silent spirit that refuses to be exorcized. Late at night, as Aemond lies in bed, he catches glimpses of Luke's face in the shadows that dance on the walls, his eyes hauntingly fixed upon him. The weight of his gaze bears down on Aemond's soul, making sleep an elusive and tormenting escape.
In the courtyard, where the echoes of laughter resound, Aemond finds himself frozen in place, the air heavy with Luke's presence. The wind carries whispers that seem to be the soft murmur of Luke's voice, leaving Aemond questioning his sanity. He can almost feel Luke's hand on his shoulder, a touch that sends shivers down his spine and leaves him grasping at the emptiness.
During war strategy sessions, Aemond's mind plays cruel tricks on him. As he pores over maps of wargrounds and fortified keeps, Luke's reflection materializes beside him, scrutinizing terrains with an otherworldly knowledge. Aemond's fingers tremble as he traces the borders, half-expecting Luke to offer his uninvited and foolish insights, but the silence remains.
In the Great Hall, where feasts were once lively celebrations, Aemond finds himself unable to escape the ghostly presence. The sound of revelry - that Aegon insists upon as they celebrate Luke’s death - becomes a haunting cacophony, and he can almost hear Luke's laughter intermingling with the echoes of those who celebrate his demise. Aemond often finds himself raising his goblet in a futile toast, the wine swirling like a macabre dance, mirroring the torment within him.
Even in the solace of nature, where one would hope to find peace, Aemond can't escape the ghostly reminders. Trees cast shadows that resemble Luke's silhouette as Aemond and Vhagar fly overhead, and the chilly air seems to whisper secrets that he strains to understand.
As he closes the book, a phantom chill creeps into the room. A sense of unease claws at him as he tries to erase the recollections from mind, as though doing so would remove the occurrences altogether. The chilly night air outside intensifies, causing the candle flame to dance wildly before it sputters and extinguishes with a subtle hiss. Aemond dismisses the notion, attributing it to a mere draft, and turns away from the now darkened candle.
As he turns, his reflection in the ornate mirror catches his eye, but instead of his own weary countenance, the mirror unveils the ghostly image of Luke. Aemond's breath catches in his throat as he stares into the haunted eyes of his nephew. The dim light casts an eerie glow on his ethereal almost-figure, and the air in the library seems charged with an otherworldly energy. The weight of guilt and the eerie manifestations converged, leaving Aemond paralyzed in the haunting stillness of the library, caught between the realms of the living and the departed.
"This did not have to happen, uncle," Luke's voice carries a weight of unspoken sorrow, each word etched with the regret of an untimely departure. The ghostly echoes linger in the air, weaving through the ancient shelves of books that stand as silent witnesses to this mad exchange.
Aemond - his breath catching in his throat - struggles to find the right response. The weight of guilt presses upon him as he gazes into Luke, dazed. The regret, palpable and suffocating, threatens to consume him. Luke lingers, a reminder of all his irreversible choices. Caught in the grip of the moment, Aemond feels a lump forming in his throat. "I never wanted it to end this way," he whispers, his voice tinged with regret that he would never have admitted to feeling if he hadn't had to voice it out loud.
"You made a terrible mistake," Luke's voice echoes, the accusatory tone cutting through the oppressive silence of the library.
Aemond's eye meets the hollow gaze of his nephew. "I am aware, and I am burdened by it… by you." He confesses, the weight of guilt hanging heavily upon him. Memories of happier days in his marriage pass his mind, and he is once again left with the gnawing pain of not knowing if she will ever seek him out again. Is he going to be made to live with this chasm between them forever? How could she live without him?
And immediately, as thoughts of his sweet wife cross his mind, the image of Luke transforms into when he was much younger, his curls a lot more prominent and his face a bit more round. He says the words again, the same words that Aemond had heard him say about his marriage - and it is all he can do to not fall apart. "She's my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else's!" Luke's words resonated in the stillness, each repetition intensifying the haunting atmosphere.
The air crackles with unresolved tension as the words loop, a haunting refrain that refuses to fade. Each spoken phrase intertwines with the musty scent of ancient books, filling the room with a lingering sense of melancholy. As the words pass through the room, the library stands witness to the unfolding chaos. Dust motes, disturbed by the weight of the conversation, hang suspended in the air like transient memories. The ambient firelight, filtered through the stained glass windows, casts a surreal glow on the troubled face of a man who desperately tries to escape the consequences of his actions. The words create ripples in the stillness of the library, a transient disturbance.
His fists clench, and with a roar of frustration, he lashes out at the mirror. The impact shatters the haunting reflection, the fractured pieces falling like a cascade of broken memories. Aemond, panting and wild-eyed, stares at the shattered remnants of the mirror as drops of his blood stain them all an angry, bloody red.
ON A DARK, EERIE MORNING, Aemond decides he will seek refuge in combat training with Cole. The rhythmic clash of steel on steel promises a momentary escape from the haunting of his tormented mind. In these fleeting moments, he clings to the hope that the precision demanded by the dance of death will anchor his thoughts, keeping them disciplined and resolute.
But the training ground transforms, and the air shimmers with the echoes of unsheathed swords. In the midst of training, Luke materializes. The world blurs as Aemond's gaze locks onto his nephew's phantom form, the arrogance etched upon his face mirroring the smirk that haunts him. A tempest of confusion descends, and in the blink of an eye, he lunges forward, sword clashing against an illusion.
Reality slips away, and he finds himself ensnared in a mirage - a realm where the dead dance with the living, taunting them with all they have left. In the throbbing aftermath, the truth bears down on him like a relentless storm.
He killed him. The admission echoes in the hollow chambers of his conscience, overtaking him completely. The clash of blades morphs into a funeral dirge, and as he stands amidst the lingering consequences of his actions, the training ground transforms into a graveyard of memories. The air hangs heavy with the scent of remorse, and the phantom of Luke lingers, a silent witness to the torment that now possesses Aemond.
How he wills for his nephew to leave him alone. How he wishes he could turn back time, to a day when his wife was happy with him, when he was not the object of repulsion in her eyes. How he wishes she would welcome him with open arms again...
But why would she, uncle? Why would she, when you have slain her twin and taken me away from her? Her true other half?
He swings his sword once more, the blade cutting through the air with a desperate force. Each slash is a fervent plea, hoping that the slashes would tear up the ghost of his bastard nephew to ribbons that fly away with the wind. Even in death, his nephew is a stain on his life that refuses to let him live in peace. First his eye, now his wife.
Her place is by my side, uncle. And by killing me, you only reminded her of that.
The echoes of Luke's haunting words reverberate through the empty training ground, as Aemond battles not only the illusions before him but also the relentless demons within. The weight of his actions, the echoes of his nephew's voice, and the damning truth merge into a haunting symphony that accompanies each swing of his sword, forming an enemy much more dangerous than the Blacks that he’d sworn to kill.
The air is thick with the acrid scent of remorse. Aemond's movements become more desperate, as if trying to carve out a safe haven from the phantoms that encircle him. The blade slices through him, yet Luke's voice persists, an unyielding reminder of the havoc wrought upon not just his life but everyone’s around him.
Amidst his violent dance with illusions, Aemond longs for the solace that has eluded him since that fateful day at Storm's End. His sword becomes an extension of his anguish, a vessel through which he hopes to banish the nightmares that torment his every waking moment. The words resonate, mocking his attempts to escape the repercussions of his actions.
Aemond's grip tightens on the hilt of the sword, the struggle etched across his face as he battles the intangible. The illusion persists, refusing to be vanquished, a testament to the indomitable force of guilt and regret.
He lowers his sword and the ghostly echoes of Luke's voice linger. The training ground falls silent, a wave of unresolved grief as Aemond grapples with the realization that, even in death, his nephew remains an inescapable presence in the twisted tapestry of his existence.
Luke smiles once more, and Aemond slams the tip of his sword into the gravel, watching it fall to the side as he screams. Luke’s reflection is a sharp image on his blade, but when he looks up, the ground is empty, save for a worried mentor that watches him from the side. What must he do to gain solitude again?
The air in the training ground seems to thicken further as Aemond walks away to put his sword aside. The haunting memories of his past misdeeds cling to him like a shroud, and the distant echoes of Luke's words continue to reverberate in his mind. The once-familiar grounds feel like a journey through a desolate and forsaken landscape as he somehow registers the distant sounds of Cole calling out his name in worry.
As Aemond picks up the sheath, he senses an eerie silence enveloping the surroundings. The wind carries whispers of his regrets, and the atmosphere is charged with an unsettling energy. He looks up to see his wife standing at one of the windows, her gaze fixed on a seemingly endless point beyond the horizon. The pain of a fractured marriage weighs heavily on his shoulders, and his arrogance, once a shield, now crumbles under the weight of remorse.
Their eyes meet, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. He reads the emptiness in her eyes, an emptiness that reflects the void he has created between them. Aemond's heart sinks, realizing that his mistakes have irreparably damaged the bond he once took for granted. The echo of Luke's haunting voice intertwines with the desolation that surrounds him.
She is his, but he does not want to have her like this; unwilling. Unable to withstand the haunting gaze, Aemond turns away. The clang of metal against metal resonates in the air as he sheathed his sword. The once-sharp blade now feels heavy, burdened with the weight of his own sins.
Before he leaves, compelled by an unseen force, Aemond looks up at the tower once more. But this time, it is not his wife who meets his gaze. Instead, the window frames the ghostly figure of Luke, staring back with fear etched on his face. Before he can further contemplate the vision, she is right there again, looking away. With the many sightings of Luke that he is subjected to, Aemond is not fazed anymore. But he is once more reminded of how similar his nephew and wife look in fear. He does not like seeing her this way.
A shiver courses down Aemond's spine as his gaze meets the ghostly visage of his nephew. Before he can avert his eyes, the apparition transforms into his wife, each manifestation carrying an accusing, sorrowful, and frightened expression. The visions alternate with unsettling speed, a haunting dance where Luke and his wife exchange places in the blink of an eye.
Aemond is unnerved by the rapidity with which the pair appears almost indistinguishable, their features blending into an eerie resemblance that sends chills through his soul. The accusatory eyes of Luke and the sorrowful gaze of his wife interchange with a disorienting fluidity, leaving Aemond trapped in a whirlwind of regret, fear, and a gnawing sense of the uncanny.
He walks away, steps definitive and terror-struck as he steps into the tower. The silence is deafening, broken only by the echoes of regrets and the distant wind. Aemond, haunted by the consequences of his actions, contemplates the surreal encounter. The armor-laden grounds, once a place of training, now serve as the stage for the haunting manifestations of his past. The ghost of Luke remains and so does his remembrance of a happier wife - who, for reasons he cannot fathom, reminds him of his biggest mistake. A constant reminder that redemption may be forever out of reach.
THE WORD HOLDS TOO MUCH EMOTION than he can bear to pour into his voice, but he says it all the same.
“Wife.”
As Aemond approaches her, he takes in the sight of her, a weak vision of House Strong's distinct features marked by dark hair and blue eyes. The vibrant happiness that once defined her has been replaced by weariness, one that seems to have settled into the very core of her being.
Her brown hair, once a shiny cascade, now hangs in loose tendrils, lacking the luster it once possessed. The dim light highlights her fatigue, revealing the toll that the sorrow of losing her brother has taken on her. The lines etched upon her face speak of countless nights spent wrestling nightmares and the strain of unanswered questions. Her eyes, once bright and expressive, now carry a perpetual sadness and seem to bear the weight of all her losses.
Does she grieve for them too? For their marriage? For him and all the time they’ve lost?
As Aemond gathers the courage to approach, he can't help but feel a pang of regret for the role he played in casting this shadow over the woman he once knew and still loves. The air around her seems heavy with declarations unmade, the room echoing with the quiet desperation of a fractured connection that he is grasping at to mend. Aemond, yearning for reconciliation, steels himself to bridge the gap that has grown between them, hoping to heal not just their relationship, but her as well.
She turns to look at him, the faint moonlight from the window hitting her face as she assesses the man that stands before her. Not her husband, no - Aemond knows how she looked at him when she loved him. Now she simply stares through him, understanding that it’s her brother’s killer that she is facing. He doesn’t know what hurts him more - her grief, or her cluelessness.
She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t walk away either, empowering him to take a few steps further. He reaches out to her and takes her hand, and smiles by the corner of his lips when she doesn’t grab her hand back.
“Are you… well?”
The idiocy of the question while he sees how tired she is does not escape him, but in all honesty, she has him tongue-tied. Aemond has missed her touch, and simply getting to hold her hand again has set a fire ablaze in him that he cannot seem to quell.
“As well as one can be, considering the circumstances.”
Time stands still as he takes in the sound of her voice, hoarse from not having said much in a long while. His mother tries with her, but even the Queen can’t make his grief-stricken wife budge - she would stay until she couldn’t, leaving his wife to her thoughts. What could she say to make things better anyhow? I’m sorry my son killed your brother? I’m sorry you’re caught in a war that is not of your making? I’m sorry you cannot look at your husband with anything but disdain?
He is rendered well and truly silent as he tries to measure her feelings, but she beats him to it as she speaks again - addressing the elephant in the room as quickly as she is able. “Are you here to apologize for murdering my brother?”
“It was an accident.”
He knows he shouldn’t be arguing, but what was he to do? He’d let the world speak cruelly of him and brand him a kinslayer, but he cannot have his own wife hate him so. His defense of his actions only seem to spur her further as she pushes her free hand into his chest, and he holds onto her hand tighter, unwilling to let her go like she wants to.
“Don’t demean yourself by justifying your venom, Aemond. You have hated Luke your entire life, and I’d rather you not make years of hatred seem like nothing in your pursuit to make a better name for yourself with me now. You’re well past that, valzȳrys.” She spits out the last word, making him feel hurt and horrendously out of place. husband
“You don’t believe me.”
“You killed him!”
She sobs, her tears making it very clear that he is a lot less in her eyes now than he used to be. He fights the urge to scream, to hold her by the shoulders and shake sense into her. He wants to remind her that he is not what she thinks him to be, and that he genuinely would never do anything to hurt her. But he has. And he is now facing the consequences of weighing the choices and choosing wrong. How he wishes he’d simply let Luke leave - Aemond had won, why didn’t he?
Her sobs echo in the strained silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken grievances. In a moment of raw vulnerability, she hits him square on his chest - each strike of her closed fists carrying the weight of accumulated sorrow, an outward manifestation of the tumultuous emotions that have festered within. Aemond, initially taken aback, winces.
Yet, even as the blows intensify, Aemond doesn't recoil. Instead, he envelops her in a desperate embrace, a gesture born not out of defiance but of a shared longing for understanding. The chamber becomes a battleground of emotions, the struggle to make sense of their fractured marriage playing out in light of all that has taken place.
“I want to hate you so much.” She says, the words choked out as her voice comes out muffled. Her lips are branded onto his chest as she mouths the words over the leathers he wears. “I want to. You’re a monster, that's all I see. I hate you so much.”
He pretends to not hear any of the damning words, for fear of hurting her in the anger that they rouse in him. She looks up at him, and all he wants is to crush her in his hold as he feels the anger creep up on him. But what she says next knocks the wind out of him, reminding him of why he has taken the trouble to come here to try and repair their marriage.
“But I love you all the same, and I don’t know if I hate you or the love I hold more.”
It is all the confirmation he needs. She is not out of reach just yet. Aemond, grappling with the weight of her words, feels a heavy tension in the air as her lips remain pressed against his chest, the muffled admissions still hanging in the space between them.
As she lifts her head, her eyes, red and swollen, meet his. Aemond sees the internal conflict etched into the lines of her face, torn between the desire to loathe him and the persistent, undeniable love that refuses to be extinguished. He remains silent, understanding the gravity of her admission, aware that any response from him could tip the fragile balance they are trying to restore.
In a moment suspended between resentment and longing, she tentatively reaches up to touch his face, her fingertips tracing the contours of his jaw. Aemond, still holding back the urge to speak, feels the warmth of her touch, a gesture that speaks volumes. Then, as if guided by an invisible force, their lips meet in a hesitant, exploratory kiss. It is not a fiery embrace born out of passion; rather, it is a delicate connection, an attempt to bridge the emotional distance that has grown between them.
And then Luke surfaces, yet again.
He holds her tighter and kisses her deep, his tongue begging for entrance as he fights the ghost of Luke, staring right at him as he tries to make his wife forgive him. With every movement of their joined lips, he refutes his dead nephew’s words. He is hers, and she is his. From this day, till the end of their days.
Not Luke’s. His.
“Mine,” he mumbles in between kisses. Over and over until the blasted bastard’s spirit hears and lets him live. But why should he, when Aemond did not offer him the same courtesy? “You’re mine. No one else’s.”
“What?” He doesn’t answer her murmured question, not quite ready to make her privy to the haunting of his mind by her twin. He does not want to let him ruin this moment for them, not any more than he already has. His hands involuntarily find her skirts, pushing them up as he lowers his lips to kiss her neck.
The skin of her thighs are as soft as he’d remembered, his hands relishing in the touch as it disappears under her dress. She clings to him, a slight whine escaping her lips as his fingertips graze her skin, holding onto her backside as he lifts her up effortlessly, feet carrying them both and pushing her into the nearest wall. The kiss is never ending, and he’d not have it any other way.He presses into her, his hands holding her by the hip so tight that he’s probably bruising her, but he is too far gone to care. He needs to prove his nephew wrong, and with each moment he believes he is closer to vanquishing the ghost of the Strong pup from his consciousness.
“Take me,” she says. He hears her, but he is not quite sure he is listening. However, he does as she says. He has wanted this for long, having missed her touch for long, having missed her wanting him for long. He has wanted this for too long to do anything otherwise, and so he does. He growls as he bites her neck, while she unlaces his breeches and lets his cock spring free. The weeping tip is erect and stands proud, and he hopes she can see what she could have had in the time that she pushed him away. No matter, she’s here now.
He is taken aback by how tight she is, how warm and inviting she is despite it all. Her wetness engulfs him as he thrusts into her, making up for wasted time. With each thrust and with each moan that she lets out, he hopes and prays that their marriage will endure - but the phantom of his nephew is never ending as he refuses to fade. Aemond claims her as is his right, but as he does, he realizes his true goal is to simply remind the ghost in his head that she is his, and no one else’s.
“Mine.”
She leans into him, meeting his forehead with hers as her hair falls around them. Her panting breaths and heaving chest has him in a tight chokehold, and it almost keeps him from being haunted by her twin. Almost.
She peaks with a shuddering moan, and as she falls into him - limp and willing - he chases his pleasure. He brings her down to stand and mindlessly thrusts into her as he chants mine, mine, mine over and over again and when he does spill in her, he wants to be able to only experience pleasure, and nothing else.
Surely his mind is playing tricks on him, or Luke has simply taken over Aemond in a capacity far beyond his control - for he is certain he sees him in her eyes for just a moment, taunting him and reveling in his misery.
The memory hits him like whiplash, and it is all he can think of.
Aemond’s hands encircle her delicate throat, pressing her frail form against the unforgiving stone wall, as though he intends to merge her essence with its cold surface. The echoes of her labored panting reverberate in the air, a desperate struggle for breath, while he, consumed by an unrelenting force, cannot cease his actions.
Her blue eyes roll back in agony, and the veins on her neck stand out more prominently than usual, appearing blue in certain lights and green in others - details he might have discerned if not blinded by rage and madness.
He sees clearly, he always does. But in this moment, the intensity of his anger clouds his judgment, rendering him as blind as he is perceptive in moments of calm. Her pallor intensifies, and her hands futilely attempt to pry his fingers from her skin, seeking reprieve - he wants to let go, but he cannot. How could he?
His nephew has haunted him for years, much like the famed phantom of Harrenhal. Luke may have only been nine years of age when he took Aemond’s eye, but it has wielded a malevolent influence throughout his journey from boyhood to manhood. It has been the root cause for a lot of what he’s done - right from marrying her, to now killing her so she can join her brother wherever he is.
He needs to banish the haunting memory of his nephew from his tormented consciousness. He wants so badly for the words to stop playing in his head, weaving a harsh thread of thoughts that he cannot seem to find his way out of. Her life hangs by a thread, one that he stretches taut until she snaps.
As much as he resents acknowledging it, perhaps Lucerys was right. He isn't killing her; he is merely guiding her to where she belongs, by his side. “Aemond…” Her plea is feeble, choked, and nearly devoid of a voice. “Husband, please…” He hears his sweet wife’s last words, but he refuses to listen.
As the light in her eyes slowly dims, he watches as she struggles to keep her eyes open. Her hold on his choking hand loosens and loses its fight, and she gives in. It is almost as though they are back to how they were, in the days when they were happier, and his hands had been around her neck in much more sensual moments - always just enough, never as tight and deadly as this.
She looks almost peaceful in this state, in the last moments where she’s accepted that she has outrun her course. He cannot have her this way, does not want her this way - where she fears him and what he has truly become; where every moment that she looks at him with mixed emotions, he is reminded of his nephew and the day he died.
Cursed bastard.
Her once kind smiles, the very essence that once distinguished her from her twin, have undergone a haunting transformation. Her face has since been etched with an unspoken terror, a fear that clings to her like a shroud of impending doom. Every glance she casts seems laden with an eerie anticipation, as if she is poised to deliver a fatal blow.
In those harrowing moments, the resemblance between them becomes a grotesque mirror, reflecting a likeness he cannot bear to acknowledge. The weight of her presence - his presence - is suffocating, an unsettling reminder of his own recklessness. He cannot afford the luxury of a wavering mind, not in the midst of a relentless war that demands his unwavering focus.
This connection has become an unbearable burden, stoking a fury within him that knows no bounds. All he craves is the dissolution of his nephew's haunting memory, an obliteration that refuses to comply with the confines of his subconscious. Instead, it lingers, an ominous specter that shadows his every waking moment, intensifying the horrors that plague him day and night.
And then, her breathing ceases.
The chilling realization of what he’s done crashes over him like a wave, dragging him into the abyss of his own making. The haunting echoes of his nephew's voice, the relentless specter that had tormented his every waking moment ever since the fateful day at Storm’s End, had finally ceased. However, the newfound silence is shattered by the ghastly thud of her lifeless form crumpling to the floor, unleashing an eerie force that wraps its tendrils around his soul.
She seems liberated from the oppressive shackles of fear and her lifeless face descends into an eerie calm that chills the marrow of his bones. In death, she appears more tranquil than any moment he witnessed in life since her twin’s passing. The grotesque disparity between her and Lucerys’ final moments sends a shiver down his spine, the air thick with the stench of regret and the palpable weight of his transgressions.
With a trembling hand, he reaches out to touch her slowly chilling forehead, pressing a sorrowful kiss upon it. The chamber becomes suffocating, the air thickening with an oppressive calm that clings to the shadows. In that macabre stillness, a chilling certainty takes hold — Lucerys will no longer haunt him, but the cost is etched in the lines of his lovely wife’s lifeless face.
As the reality of his irreversible choice seeps into his bones, a haunting question claws at the edges of his conscience: Was the liberation from the phantom of his nephew's influence worth the mad ending of his wife's life? The Seven bear witness to another one of his kinslaying crimes and the heavy silence that follows - a testament to the darkness that now envelopes his soul, as the shadows of the hearth themselves seem to recoil from the stench of blood that stains the very fabric of the air.
Now the twins are together in death, by each other’s side.
Aemond is free.
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Can't stand Rhaenyra's and TB's hypocrite ass like they accused and hate teenage Alicent for comforting (nonsexual) Viserys on her father's advice and prodding and how they as in both the characters and their stans refuse to empathize with Alicent because she was asking for it or she deserved it
and hate/dislike child Aemond for claiming Vhagar saying he stole her and disrespected Laena's memory and victim blame him saying he deserved getting his eye slashed for his actions
BUT when adult Rhaenyra has sex with Laena's husband ON the day of her funeral on the BEACH (her sister in law & cousin who she grew up with) then its ok... they were celebrating Laena blah blah blah
Not to mention they had Laenor fake his death so they could get married.. I felt so bad for all their children at that moment, even at their Valyrian wedding (not a respectable mourning period I'm sure), all children looked so fucking miserable.
she's such a hypocrite, she lives in her own delulu bubble I swear 😭😭😭she's like one of those white liberals who only cares about an issue as long as it affects her.
(also something something about Alicent's eye for eye was her being cruel and dramatic Rhaenyra's son for son was her being in mourning her son and completely justified oh well)
[warnings: sex content, angst, smut, oral sex, miscarriage, suicide and rape attempt, violence, domination, safe words]
[description: (Anon Request)Aemond is to meet his future wife from Essos, in whose veins runs the blood of Old Valyria. They’ve been engaged since they were kids, but he’s in no hurry to get married and he’s not happy about her arrival. His future wife, however, turns out to be someone completely different than he expected. Smut, angst and a lot of sexual tension.]
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 (End)
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC
Premise: Rhaenyra Targaryen, referred to as Rhae by her family, is the heir of her mother, the Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. In this Alternate Universe, Rhaenyra has her children with Daemon instead of Harwin and ascends the throne without an armed contest. However, tensions brew elsewhere, as Rhaenyra intends to marry her heir to her second child and oldest son, Jacaerys Velaryon.
WARNINGS: none, for this part, at least.
Part 2
P.S. this is very spontaneous, and i intend to finish off Moonless, Dark Night as well, I've not abandoned it. However, this will be a shorter series with some interesting dynamics to explore, perhaps three to four parts. Hope you all stick to it!
A dark shadow loomed over younger Rhaenyra’s heart; she could little fathom the tenseness the court had taken on. Everyone seemed terse, including her own mother, then the Queen Rhaenyra of the Seven Kingdoms. Stately matters were being dealt with in nature so abrupt that even her father seemed to raise his eyebrows Rhaenyra watched as Jace stood beside their mother, observing every action of his mother with solemnity. Her other brothers - Luke, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys - stood on one side of the court, mawkishly quiet.
“Where’s Rhae?” The Queen spoke, causing Rhaenyra’s heart to jump to her throat.
“Yes Moth- your grace?” She swallowed hard, looking up at her Mother.
“Your betrothed is only meant to be the King Consort, hope you have not forgotten, Rhae.” She looked at Jace, “What decree do we have for the Princess of Dragonstone?”
Jace looked at his mother tensely, swallowing as he unrolled a heavy parchment, “Your Grace, shall I read it aloud?”
“Loud enough for the entire court to hear.”
The boy cleared his throat, sparing his sister a sympathetic glance, “Rhaenyra Velaryon, the Princess of Dragonstone, is to be wed to the Prince Jaecaerys Velaryon on the ninth day of the sixth moon of the year 130 AC and set sail upon Dragonstone. Upon her wedding, she and her brother-husband shall inherit two dragon eggs each and a treasury of four hundred dragons. Upon the Princess’s taking her rightful seat, she shall, under the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Second of her name, Princess of Dragonstone.”
An awkward silence spread throughout the court like a disease. The Princess’s lips remained sealed, her mouth mute. When the rest of the court regained their courage to lift their eyes and look at the Princess, their eyes surreptitiously followed hers and landed upon a Targaryen prince. Not the one they had desired though.
The new Master-at-arms of the Iron Throne, Aemond Targaryen, stood quietly behind the four Targaryen princelings, his eye set upon the Princess in return for hers. He looked at her fervently, as if waiting to watch how she responds to the decree her mother had produced via the small council. Little could be made of his face alone, his features hardened, his posture straight, his hands holding on to two of his nephews, Joff’s and young Aegon’s.
The Princess’s lips parted as she breathed out, “Aye, your grace.”
The rest of the court aye’d in unison. The Prince Aemond Targaryen stared at his niece, his face unflinchingly stoic. The Princess looked at him with little emotion of her own, yet some could see a smidge of anguish perhaps. Or, was it fear?
—
“Father?”
“Yes dearest?”
“I do not wish to be wed to Jace.”
Daemon had stopped scribbling on to the parchment when his first trueborn child spoke what he had somewhat began to dread upon taking notice. He set aside the quill and casted his eyes toward her. She stood with her face bowed slightly, her eyes resting upon the brick ground beneath. Daemon recalled often the first time he had made love to Rhaenyra, the night before she had wed Laenor. The seed in her grew, for she claimed fervently that Laenor and she had failed to consummate. There was little room for disbelief as much was known of Laenor’s inclinations. Laenor, relieved at the prospect of a Valyrian-looking child being born to his wife, could object little. Shortly before her birth, Daemon had married Laena Velaryon, and she happily allowed the two to continue their relations so long as her brother’s reputation remained intact. She may bear the Velaryon name, and so do the other boys, but they were wholly Targaryen. Rhae was his first child, his oldest daughter. And, it broke his heart to know he could do little about it.
“You are to inherit the throne, my child. It’d be the most beneficial for you to marry your broth-”
“I want Aemond.” She interrupted, “Please, Father, you must speak to Mother.”
Daemon had seen it coming, he could little deny. He had noticed both the children taking a queer liking to each other. As children, they kept close. As they grew, their proximity came with shyness, hesitation, and lingering touches and gazes. Rhaenyra had taken notice, too. However, she chose to look past it, only ever resoundingly reminding everyone in court that her only daughter and heir and her oldest son must wed.
“Why not, Father?” she took a couple steps closer, “He loves me, and I him. We wish to be bound together before the Seven. I do love Jace, but not like that, not at all.”
“Then where’s my nephew? Could he not come with the plea?”
“He waits outside. Both of you have… certain temperaments and I can only deal with so much at once.”
“Now, now, child, do not jape with me.” Daemon laughed, “Well, I’d have invited him in if I could be of any help here, but my hands are tied. I cannot object to the Queen.”
“But you may speak to her, Father.” She insisted, “I cannot marry Jace, it would be most unjust to him.”
“I can assure you, Rhae, that the boy knows.” Daemon stood up, walking toward the large window, looking out at the moon that shone only in half. “He is aware of your feelings, or lack thereof, for him. However, he’s dutiful. That’s required of us.”
“Father, you chose to refrain when duties were imposed upon you.” She walked closer to him, her voice lowering such that no word went beyond the door, “Mother found her way around it, having the four of us with you.”
“And, I am afraid, you must also conduct your affairs similarly, Rhae.” He put a hand on her shoulder, “Your Mother may be Queen, and I may be her hand, but Otto and Alicent Hightower are in some corner of the High Tower, perhaps planning an assault upon King’s Landing to claim it for Alicent’s firstborn son.”
“Uncle Aegon seems pleased to have his castle on the Blackwater Bay.”
“He might be, but not his grandsire. Otto is a greedy, conniving man, whose purpose has always been to have his blood on the throne.”
“You know Aemond is loyal to the Queen. When grandfather passed, he was the one who sent the raven and flew with Vhagar upon Dragonstone, to ensure that the raven was not deterred by anyone opposing Mother’s claim.” She tried to reason, her voice beginning to rise.
“And why do you think he did that?”
Daemon watched as his daughter’s face softened, “Father, he is honoured to be the Master-at-arms, but that was not his primary intent.”
Her father gently shook her head, chuckling under his breath, “You’ll make too good a Queen for the council. They’ll call you Rhaenyra the Simple.”
Her face hardened, “I do not appreciate the slight, Father.”
He put his remaining hand upon his daughter’s other shoulder and leaned closer, “Either you are a simpleton or you choose to turn a blind eye to the fact that your dear uncle Aemond might be Otto’s secondary route to having his blood on the throne.”
Her eyes followed as he drew back and walked away, she walked closer to him and retorted in a hushed tone, “Do you mean to say he does not truly love me?”
“He must like you… a bit. Perhaps, he can even tolerate you. Your temperament is mostly balanced, your tone rarely harsh, your heart kind, and your brain witty enough.”
She glared at her father, her eyes cold, “Father, I may not be as conniving as you are, but I am no simpleton. I am not a child who can be lured into marriage by someone who lusts over the throne.”
“But you are a child, Rhae, you are only six-and-ten.”
“Did you not wed a woman you called horrible names when you were seven-and-ten, to never even touch her or honour her as your wife? Shall I do the same? Would you and Mother like that?”
“Child, do not resort to threatening us.” Daemon raised his finger in gentle rebuke, “Jace is your own brother, not a political alliance we are imposing upon you with a lowly Andal. It is by the grace of your Queen that you were not skipped over and made heir. Do not return her blessing with betrayal.” He walked away from her again, his back now facing her, “The matter is settled, you shall marry your brother.”
Daemon heard closely as his daughter turned on her feet and opened the door. His ears perked when he heard his nephew’s whisper and her shushing. Daemon knew that it was unfair of him to judge the boy so unkindly, but there were incentives the boy could certainly be optimising upon, doubtlessly. Unless the boy made a genuine effort for his daughter, he saw little reason to deviate from the original plan.
—
“Daemon says a match between you and I is unlikely,” she and he sat in Godswood, under the oldest Weirwood tree, “He says it’s a duty I must perform, my wedding to Jace. His implications are laced with worry regarding your grandsire, especially.”
“I have been nothing but loyal, my grandfather has little control over my intent.”
“I communicated that clearly, however, he refuses to accede. He says he cannot even speak with Mother about it.” She sighed, letting her posture relax, “I am beginning to feel like it is all in vain. Either we shall elope, or we shall submit to our duties and commit to each other in our hearts.”
“We surely cannot elope, you have a duty to the realm, no matter what.” Aemond opined, “However, we may conduct whatever we have clandestinely. Even if it produces children, there should be little distinction.”
“Your mother’s lovely locks might make it to one of my children’s crowns. That’d be persecutory.”
“Hers never made it to us. I highly doubt they’d trickle down so far.” He laughed, “You worry so much, darling. If you have to marry Jacaerys, then so be it. I shall follow you to Dragonstone, scout for men and train them.”
Rhae shook her head, “I know Mother, she will want you here.”
“Then I can join the Kingsguard, be sworn to protect you.” She looked at him, her lips pursed,
“No… you deserve to have children in your own name. That would be rather unfair upon you. I can’t subject you to that.”
Aemond gently held her chin, drank her features in, “You’d not be subjecting me to anything. You and I will have children. You can have your heir with Jace, but the rest, we can have together.”
She bit her lip, “I have such love for you, I do not know how to pretend otherwise.”
“I cannot remember a day I haven’t loved you, truly.” He let go of her chin, with much effort, to ensure no one could catch a sight of them so fervent, “Mother kept telling me that you all were the enemies, you and your brothers. Aegon and I had little concerns of the sort. I had none whatsoever. Luke taking out my eye had had an impact, but I believed you when you told me no other harm would come to me from your brothers." He chuckled, "That's how I knew I wanted your Mother to be Queen, such that one day the Conqueror’s crown adorns you. You’d be my Queen and I’d be yours to serve.”
“I have heard little of a man so willing to be subservient to the woman they love and not have her submit.”
“The thought of you as the reigning Queen of the smallfolks and the seven kingdoms – with your heart so kind and your eyes so full – is what seems of good promise to me.”
She took his hand, despite his reservation, and kissed it, “Only if Daemon knew how you think of me.” She laid her cheek upon the knuckles of his hand, “He seems to think that your feelings are ingenuine. It pains me.”
“We might have some time before the wedding… happens. We may be able to come up with a solution by then. But, for now, if my sister asks you to agree to a wedding, you mustn’t refuse.”
“I fear if she has even so much as an inkling, she shall send you far away.”
“Do you think we could speak with Jace?”
“Jace loves me,” she admitted, “And, he also loves his duties. Even if he were to refuse the marriage, he may end up reasoning his decision with our bond to Mother and… that would defeat the purpose.”
He nodded, “Then for now, all we can do is -”
“Wait, think, and hope an opportunity springs up.”
—
Jace was no fool. He had always taken notice of the closeness between his older sister and his younger uncle. However, he had deluded himself into believing that their affections were only friendlike in nature.
Then, at court, as he read the decree and looked at his sister, he knew he’d lost the woman he loved to the man he feared. She loves him, he thought to himself. His eyes were boring holes into his sister’s skull, hoping she looked at him, once. However, she did not, for it seemed like she had forgotten of her brother’s existence. It seemed like, for all that mattered, there was only their uncle who existed in her vicinity.
Jace tried to read his sister’s face, but there was little. Was she contemptuous? Was she livid? Was she envious? Or, was she just plotting? Could the two speak without words, as lovers in lores do? Or did those two just looked into each other’s souls and scoured for words?
Little did he know that she looked at him for strength until he jerked his head in the slightest nod and a loud, strong, clear, “Aye, your Grace.” Left her lips.
He had bit into the inside of his lips and then tasted blood. His Mother, sat on the Iron Throne, showed little care toward his sister. His father walked to Rhae, enveloping her in a hug. Aemond whispered something to the children as the Queen dismissed the court. As the one-eyed Prince exitted, he looked at the Princess, his Rhae, and she at him; and it is almost as if they knew where to find each other upon a single glance.
Jace later discovered that they did. Some corner of the library, deserted and unguarded. He left the moment he heard the ruffling of fabrics and hurried whispers. His hands closed into fists and he rushed to the training grounds. One day, he thought, he might fight his uncle in a duel. If the Seven favoured, he may finish his formidable uncle off in a joust.
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC
Premise: Rhaenyra Targaryen, referred to as Rhae by her family, is the heir of her mother, the Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. In this Alternate Universe, Rhaenyra has her children with Daemon instead of Harwin and ascends the throne without an armed contest. However, tensions brew elsewhere, as Rhaenyra intends to marry her heir to her second child and oldest son, Jacaerys Velaryon.
WARNINGS: none, for this part, at least.
Part 1
The Queen Rhaenyra had begun to feel the absence of her father the moment she sat on the Iron Throne. The throne bore no comfort that commoners assumed royalties to have. If you shifted too much on the throne, it dug into whatever fabric, even the sturdiest of leather. If you sat too high, you could cut your buttocks and thighs. The seat was meant to keep you humble, grounded. Rhaenyra had soon realised it, even before her father’s demise. What made little sense to her was how different she felt as a woman. Much of her womanhood had worn her own crown, akin to hers, and they all submitted to it.
A fortnight after the ravens bearing the announcement of the Princess of Dragonstone’s betrothal to the Queen’s oldest son were sent out, the Queen received ravens of her own. Several. Two from High Lords, seven from Petty; the Queen initially paid little heed to the letters being brought in and unsealed. She resorted to reviewing ledgers and approving budgetary changes as her husband, the King Consort and the Hand, carefully reviewed the contents of the said letters. The Queen noticed a shift in her husband’s temperament, looking to her right to find his face hardened. “What is the matter, Daemon?”
Her Hand, her husband, and the father of their children looked at her for a moment before she nodded. “Everyone, vacate, now!”
The Lord of the Tides looked confused before getting to his feet, soon followed by the Master of Coin and the rest. Daemon looked pointedly at Steffon Darklyn, his wife’s sworn shield, who in turn looked toward his Queen. She nodded at him quietly, watching as the man left without a noise and closed the door gently.
“What is the matter, Daemon?”
“They’re challenging our daughter’s claim to the throne.” He splayed the letters across the table for the Queen to look at. Instead of skimming through the contents of the letters, she began to look for the names signed underneath some lords’ contention. Fossoway, Graves, Willum, Rhysling, Sloane, Varner, Westbrook, Wayne, and Hightower. The Queen felt the blood rise to her neck, heated and charged, as she slammed her fists on the table and rose to her feet. Daemon watched as his wife’s jaw clenched.
“How dare they?” She muttered quietly under her breath, “How dare they challenge my daughter’s claim and me?”
“It is Otto’s doing.” Daemon responds, “Otto must have made that gnat of his nephew reach out to the other lords to make the plea.”
“They’re looking to weaken our claim, my authority.” The Queen spoke, as if in a haze, “They cannot expect to be pardoned of an offense so grave.”
“Fucking Andals…” Daemon spat, “Rhae is being wed to Jace, what else do they want?”
“What they’ve always wanted,” she whispered, “A man on the throne. But they ought to know that such days have come to an end. No merit but the order of birth shall dictate who sits on the Iron Throne from now till eternity.”
Daemon walked to his Queen as she seethed in rage, gripping onto the large table before her, “Might I make a suggestion, your Grace?”
She looked at her husband, “Drop the formalities, Daemon. For once.”
His shoulders fell as his face lost tact, “We send out ravens to the whole realm, decreeing that any such talk will be considered as high treason. Rhaenyra the Younger shall be the Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, second of her name, upon the Queen Rhaenyra’s passing.”
She tutted, “Don’t speak so ominously. Ravens will delay another plea, not stop them. We need to do something else.” The Queen walked to the great window behind her. The sun fell on her porcelain skin, ruddying her cheeks as the golden in her silver hair gleamed.
Daemon watched his Queen in awe. He often did. He knew his niece-wife would make a capable ruler, but once had he imagined her to be so dynamic. “What do you suggest, Rhaenyra?” He finally spoke.
She closed her eyes and inhaled in the soothingly swift breeze that passed, “Rhae must go to them.”
—
Otto Hightower was summoned to his nephew’s council rather early in the morning. Upon being dismissed as the Hand at the Red Keep, Otto soon found employment as his nephew’s Castellan. While the work was less demanding and Otto was left with little to do with himself, he took little slight in it. What he took the slight in was much, much different.
He liked to believe that his grandson, Prince Aemond Targaryen, had ambitions that he failed to ascertain. For why else would the boy choose to yield his obedience to his half-sister and not his own brother of flesh and blood?
He remembered vividly when Syrax’s shriek was heard throughout King’s Landing. Otto and Alicent had already thrown those aware of the King’s demise in the black cells, in hopes of keeping the news shielded. They had begun arrangements for the coronation, Aegon was found deep in the bosom of the woman he had come to adore on the streets of Silk, blithely unaware of his father’s last breath. “Where’s Aemond?” Alicent had asked and Helaena had shrugged quietly. No one had thought the boy would go as far as to fly to Dragonstone and escort his half-sister and her family to the Red Keep.
Otto would never forget the sight of nine whole dragons flying together. The sun had shied away and night had befallen the capital. Despite Vhagar, Vermithor, Caraxes, and Meleys being bigger than Syrax, Rhaenyra was seen flying first onto the Red Keep. Closely behind her rose Rhaenyra the Younger on Vermithor and Daemon Targaryen on Caraxes. Rhaenyra’s once good mother and cousin Rhaenys flew with her grandsons and all of Rhaenyra’s sons, young Viserys sat with her on Meleys. Behind them all, flew Vhagar. Otto could still picture the blue stone glistening in the sky as his grandson smugly wore his betrayal on his face. The betrayal belonged there, in his small grin, his single eye in obeisance to the daughter and her children Otto had worked so hard to depose. All those years for nothing. Whenever Rhaenyra the Younger quirked up the side of her lips to smile, she looked like the Rogue Prince. It made little sense, for the Prince was only a great uncle and could not have passed his looks so far ahead unless his seed was her progenitor. Otto had thought, “You know who else looks like Daemon? Aemond. Aemond the Betrayer.”
He was further incensed when his oldest grandson looked furtively relieved at his half-sister’s appearance. He could not bother to furrow his brows to honour the frustration that arose from the heart of his mother, who had conspired and plotted to place him upon the throne with all her might. He simply seemed… bored, as if the failed efforts of his mother and his grandsire meant less than the bosoms he had his silver crown nestled upon just earlier. Otto intended to take the goblet he drank from, incessantly, and smash in upon his sharp Targaryen nose. How he’d have relished at the sight of the useless, precarious boy bleeding, frowning for once, agonised at the assault.
Otto chose to stand still and watch as the preparations of the coronation were taken over by his traitorous younger grandson, who pushed Cole to oblige. Daemon took over the preparations of the funeral that were to precede the Coronation, the Dowager Queen was only allowed the privilege to wrap her late husband’s carcass of a corpse in fashion.
Soon after the events, the Hightowers were sent back packing. Young Daeron was already in service to Alicent’s cousin, and the Queen Rhaenyra remarked, “How he’d love to have his mother and grandfather!” Aegon was given the castle left vacant upon some Lord’s death that had left it uninherited, with lands and livestocks and servants. Helaena had happily taken it upon herself to vacant her and her children’s chambers, crooning at the prospect of finally foregoing the grandeur she deemed fickle and ostentatious. Aegon seemed nonchalant, but Otto knew that deep inside, the boy was glad to be rid of the burden his mother had imposed upon his shoulders that wanted nothing but whores’ heads as they filled his belly with booze and his head with superficial praise. Who knows how much of his coffers were depleted at the expense of his hedonist pursuits.
When Otto opened the door to the council room, he found only his nephew and Maester Gladwynn. “Lord Hightower,” he jerked his head, ever-so-slightly, down, “You called for me?”
“Uncle, please have a seat.” Ormund’s smile was reminiscent of his grandfather’s, his eyes twinkled akin to his mother’s. “We have done as you had requested. The ravens have been sent. Lord Tarly and Lord Beesbury have, most graciously, denied the proposition.”
Otto’s left eye twitched, “Were no bargains made?”
“They were offered men and a lax on taxes that they humbly refused. I made no further insistences.” Ormund sipped on, what Otto assumed, was honeyed wine. “I spared little effort, nuncle, but I did not resort to attrition or aggression for I see little utility in such plea. The Queen ascended the throne on the merit of the order of her birth, it’d make little sense for her to not continue this as tradition for her own children. She’d be deemed unfair and weak.”
“Her case, as the parchments state, could be considered an exception. She was the only child that the first Queen Aemma Arryn bore the King.”
“But not the only trueborn child born of his seed, nuncle.” Ormund chuckled, “I only did as you pleaded because I know the Queen would refrain from waging wars. Her stepmother and her half-brothers are of my blood, and the Lords who did consent only did so of mine own volition, she knows. And the Queen must know, if she has the slightest of wit, why I must have done so.”
Otto watched his nephew savour the wine in his mouth and swallow leisurely before the man spoke again, “The Queen is the first of her name and sex on the Iron Throne, she will not want to make enemies. The highest threat she will decree is that our tongues will get pulled out with hot pincers and fed to her dragon if we even make a peep as such. And, we will all quiet down as per her grace's orders. If the Gods be good, her daughter will one day rule Westeros, and we can only pray that Rhaenyra Targaryen, the second of her name, is as just as the Father and as merciful as the Mother.”
Otto studied his nephew’s face. Recently widowed, he had taken Samantha Tarly for his wife, and yet he had failed to convince the Lady’s father to join hands. Otto knew rather well at that point that his insistence meant nothing at all. It was almost as if Lord Tarly had refused another serving of a pie or another filling of mead. The old man knew then that his nephew had done little to stir any support. He knew that his effort to anger the Queen into hostility had failed terribly. The Queen would not be viewed as cruel, at most rash, perhaps. But who would not be at an endeavour so treasonous?
While Otto could not help but resent his nephew’s appeasement, he also could not overlook the way he had complied to his Castellan’s request while keeping his seat safe. Ormund had taken after his father, and he had taken well.
—
Rhae had become well-acquainted with her mother’s lack of tact at that point, but it still stung to see her ever-loving and gracious mother turn so stoic, devoid of love and affection.
“Do you know what you must do, girl?”
“Must I fly to Lord Hightower and the others, your Grace?”
“Never answer a question with another, Rhae, seems feeble.” The Queen looked pointedly at her daughter, “Tell me what you believe you must do.”
Rhae breathed her chest full of air, “I must fly to Lord Hightower and the others, your Grace.” She did not know how to meet her mother’s eyes anymore.
“The Dragon does not concern itself with the opinions of the sheep.” Daemon snorted, “Child, you must visit only Ormund Hightower out of courtesy. The rest can suck on their balls.”
Rhae noticed her mother suppress a grin, her eyes resting upon the King Consort, half in reprimand and half in amusement. The moment she turned to look at her heir, the warmth of her eyes dried into stones, “I agree, you must only fly to Lord Hightower and speak to him directly. The ravens will surely fly to them, but you must get there first. I shall excuse the both of you.” The Queen looked to her left, where her oldest son sat in silence, “Get saddled, both of you!”
Rhae’s head shot from her mother, to her father, then to her brother. “But Mother-”
“Your Grace, may I speak before?” Jace spoke, his eyes upon his sister. The Queen settled back into her chair, nodding. “They ask for me to be made heir. Shall it not be futile for the Princess Rhaenyra to arrive with me? She’d be Queen one day, with or without me. I believe it would serve our case more for the Princess of Dragonstone to fly on her mount, Vermithor, on her own.”
The Queen looked at both her children, in deep ponderance she remained as the clocks may have turned thrice. Finally, she huffed out, “Fine, son, you make sense. What do you think, Rhae?”
“I was about to propose the same as my betrothed, Mother. I should be the one making the journey.”
“We cannot let you go unattended, however. I mean no disregard to your capabilities, but the heir of Seven Kingdoms must have an escort. I’d have you wait out until some of our knights could ride there on horseback, but that would take more time than I can allow. The rest of the boys are too young to assume such a duty.”
Rhae sat up straight, “That only leaves the King Consort and Prince Aemond, Mother.”
The Queen hummed, “The King Consort is busy, and Aemond is Lord Hightower’s own cousin.” She nodded in consideration, her mouth shifting in ease, “The matter is settled then. Jace, could you fetch Aemond?”
Jace regretted every word he had spoken that day, “Yes, your Grace.” He muttered quietly under his breath and left hurriedly. The Queen seemed flummoxed, “Whatever got into the boy…”
—
“Remember the night I claimed Vhagar?” Aemond spoke as he mounted his dragon and Rhae hers. “It was a fortnight after you had claimed Vermithor. I was positively anguished to have my only dragonless friend snatched from me.”
“Now you ride the largest beast, the only one reminiscent of Aegon’s, Rhaenys’s, and Visenya’s conquest.” She settled on her dragon, gently rubbing the scales of her old man.
“I’d have any dragon now, happily, as long as I get to take upon the sky with you.”
Rhae chuckled, “Might I say, you have made me begin to reconsider my choices. My brother does not speak nearly as much.”
“You don’t even look at the boy!” Aemond laughed as he fastened his saddle chains, “To whom shall he speak? The atmosphere?”
Rhae relished at the sound of his laughter, rarely witnessed by anybody else. Perhaps only by Jacaerys, who had recently developed a spiteful, voyeuristic delight in watching the two converse. He may not know the sound as much, but he knew the look of it. And he imagined that that is how he may have looked had she loved him.
