Imagine you are Aegonâs ex who goes to his wedding⌠next to his brother, Aemond. What will result of this charming meeting (not to stay a different story)?
Warnings: (loosely?) based on this movie with Keanu Reeves and Wynona Rider.
Warnings 2: light reading, modern world, rom-com vibes.
***
⢠You used to get it in your fishnets. Now you only get it in your night dress. Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness. Landed in a very common crisisâŚ
As you wait to fly to Dragonstone from Kingâs Landing airport, you still wonder why you are doing this to yourself. To accept Aegonâs invitation to his marriage to Miss Rhaella Velaryon, his cousin, feels like a complete exhibition of some lack of self esteem.
You think youâve gotten over him, that you overcame the wounds of this relationship, but this doesnât sound accurate, no. What you did in practice was stopping getting yourself drunk and going to parties where you felt like a sidekick character just to please him. Part of you admits that his breaking up with you did some good to you. You quit alcohol and started to lead a healthier lifestyle.
But now here you are. Waiting for the moment where youâll hear a voice in the airport to call the passengers of the flight 321 (how original, you think) to get to their seats. And soon you will fly to see your ex-boyfriend marrying someone else.
As you wonder whether Aegon was really a good boyfriend, you donât spot a taller, serious, cranky-faced man coming to your side. He is wearing a dark leather jacket and simple clothes, very appropriate for a two hours flight. The man is chewing a gun and is also in a nonchalant posture that annoys you for no reason.
âWould you please stop doing that?â
The silver haired man looks at you, somewhat puzzled by what you tell him.
âExcuse me, what?â
âYou know. That.â
âWhatâs âthatâ?â
âThe arrogant attitude as if you are standing there, contemplating many ways to bother people with your handsomeness.â
He could not help but laugh at your disastrous attempt of flirting. As you realize what you said, you get annoyed at yourself for your lack of social skills.
âIf that is your way to compliment me, I appreciate itâ, he chuckles. âBut I donât think this is the right way to get to someone.â
âOh please.â
It comes out wrong, so wrong but you havenât done this business for ages. Now that it occurs you as you contemplate the amusement behind this stranger manâs smirk, you notice he possesses lilac eyes.
A trait that only a certain family has.
Oh shit.
âYou are a Targaryenâ, you remark.
He looks rather bored at your observation.
âIndeed it looks so.â
âThis means⌠you are going to the same flight as I? To Dragonstone?â
âY/Nâ, you sigh awkwardly. âHis ex girlfriend.â
âFuckâ, is all he can say.
Thankfully the call for the flight interrupts this situation, but it appears that you are not meant to stay away of each for so long.
***
Aemond wishes he is somewhere else, but here he is, next to his brotherâs ex girlfriend. Youâve got to be kidding meâŚ
He watches as you struggle to open the bottle of water, wondering whether he should interfere since you havenât asked for help.
Then, opting to ignore this awkwardness between you and him, he says:
âNeed some assistance there?â
You shoot him a disdainful look, but what for? A few seconds later, you say:
ââŚMaybe.â
He chuckles, taking it and easily opening it before giving it to you. After a while, Aemond, too involved to let go of his curiosity, asks you:
âWhy are you going to his marriage?â
Accepting that these two hours may be longer than planned, you sink in your seat, but take the thread offered.
âI need to put a closure in this.â
âHeâs going to marry someone else who isnât you. Shouldnât this be a closure enough?â
You blush at his complete reasonable remark, unable to convince yourself otherwise.
âHe invited me out of politeness and by the same reason I accepted it.â
âWhen someone does so out of politeness, my dear, itâs because itâs expected that you donât take it.â
You tilt your head and Aemond seems to notice how nice is your y/c hair. He can certainly see how Aegon fell for you, though heâs not going to admit it.
âOh please. What would you know about matters of etiquette being that arrogant, Mr Know-It-All?â
âLittle wonder why Aegon broke up with you. This is a title far more appropriate to you, smart ass.â
And there you have it. For another hour and half you and him do not speak.
***
⢠Everything's in order in a black hole. Nothing seems as pretty as the past, though. That Bloody Mary's lacking a Tabasco. Remember when you used to be a rascal?
To you and Aemondâs dismay, your hotel room is next to his. Which means heâs going to be your room neighbor.
âYour heavy sigh is enough to let your distaste known, thank you very muchâ, you grumble, trying to avoid that unwelcoming sentiment of being unwanted.
âI did not say a word, barely so I sighedâ, Aemond protests. âGoodness me, woman, not everything is about you.â
That being said, he walks impatiently through the door and you do likewise. But destiny is not over with you yet.
*
Aemond wishes youâd dress badly, to the point where your supposed beauty is omitted and he could have a reason to mock you. But his eyes linger at the dark, short dress you wear, noticing your well shaped curves⌠though stopping himself to lust after you even if your y/c hair is loose in cascade and your make up highlights the color of your eyes.
âDo I look weird?â, you ask, forgetting to disguise your broken pride.
âNo, not at allâ, Aemond answers you, surprised by what he is inquired. âWhyâd you think so?â
âBecause you are staring.â
Tonight, your former brother-in-law is looking rather attractive to you. He had got ridden of his long hair, having it cut short; he is wearing a nice polo white shirt and jeans that make him look fancy.
And you could not help yourself a surprising naughty thought at what would be like to ride him.
A thought you promptly dismiss, of course.
âAm I?â, he clears his throat. âSorry about that, didnât mean to. You are actuallyâŚâ
Before he can say âbeautifulâ, to your disappointment heâs distracted by the presence of Aemondâs nephews. Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon, brothers of the bride.
âNice to see you, Aemondâ, so greets Jacaerys, and you swear you detect some irony behind his gallant words.
âThe same, nephew. Looking strong I seeâ, Aemond smirks, wiping out the smug of the otherâs face.
âI thinkâ, you decide to intrude before this could end unwell for both parties, âthat you should follow me in pursuing wine, Aemond. Good evening boys.â
As you lead the way out of trouble, Aemond raises his eyebrows at you.
âReally now, Y/N?â
âYup. Aegon may be a rascal, but you have no reason to be either.â
Easily convinced by you, he pours some wine in his glass before taking a distant seat at the restaurant. Aegon is busy entertaining guests, and itâs when you spot Alicent arm-in-arm with a dark haired woman.
âThat is her girlfriendâ, you hear Aemond say when seeing where your curious eyes are wandering to. âMy motherâs a lesbian. She had a huge crush on her stepdaughter and former childhood friend, Rhaenyra, my sister. But they never made it because Rhaenyra likes men.â
âOhâ, you blink. âI didnât know that.â
âAegon didnât tell you the gossips of the family?â, Aemond muses sarcastically, placing a hand on his heart, feigning to be offended.
âIâm afraid he was too busy partyingâ, you say rather uncomfortable, taking the wine to your lips as you savor the sour taste of it. âThis wine isnât Dornish.â
âItâs notâ, he agrees.
⢠Oh the boy's a slag. The best you ever had is just a memory and those dreams weren't as daft as they seem, my love when you dream them up.âŚ..
Again silence hangs in between the two of you before Aemond gives you a look, studying you for a moment.
âHe wasnât a good boyfriend to you, was he?â, so he inquires after a while.
âNo, he wasnât. But I give him credit for trying.â
Aemond chuckles quietly.
âKudos for doing the least.â
You smile at him. Perhaps Aemond isnât as dull nor arrogant as you formerly judged.
âIt appears I must engage in socially acceptable behaviorâ, says Aemond then. âTo greet my brother and new sister-in-law and repeat expected speeches.â
âExpected only because you correspond to these expectationsâ, you nudge his sides.
âAnd do I have another choice on the matter?â, he scoffs.
âNo one forced you to come, so donât get at me for it.â
Somehow it surprises you both that these teasings do not end up in a clash of words. Aemond actually chuckles before conceding reason to you.
âThat is very true. But I am a dutiful man, Y/N.â
Saying so, he moves away to greet his brother at last. You watch him go, already missing his company and the warmth of his presence.
The funny part about all of this is that, when looking at Aegon, you donât actually miss him. And when looking at his bride, you feel rather oddly comfortable in getting at them to congratulate for the merry occasion.
Past is past, after all, and the aching of this ugly truth doesnât seem to ache any longer.
***
⢠Flicking through a little book of sex tips, remember when the boys were all electric? Now when she's told she's gonna get it, I'm guessing that she'd rather just forget it. Clinging 'til I'm getting sentimental, said she wasn't going but she went still likes her gentlemen to not be gentleâŚ
Aemond watches as you meet your former boyfriend with his now bride-to-be. Judging by your face and your body language, all goes well. However, there is still that expected discomfort as you greet them.
So attentive is he that he doesnât see Helaena coming. She leans by his side, amused by what is going on right under her nose.
âShe said she wasnât going, but she went still.â
Aemond turns his eyes to his favourite sibling.
âHowâd you know that?â
âWe remained friends, Aem. Y/N is a really good person, Egg didnât deserve her.â
âWhen does he deserve any relationship heâs in?â, Aemond snorts, partly playful, partly meaningful.
Helaena smirks.
âDonât be mean, Aem. They look genuinely happy now, which is good. I never thought Iâd see him settling down one day.â
Her brother doesnât answer, eyes still glued in the odd trio. Miss Rhaella is very comfortable in her shoes. But of course she is, she has captured his heart. At what cost, though?
âHow come they broke up?â
Helaena scoffs at him.
âOh please. Donât tell me you donât know the reason why they are not together for some years.â And then she adds, after poking his sides. âDo I detect an interest in you, Aemond Targaryen?â
âLaena, darling. Often the wise in our family, donât play the dumb now.â Aemond rolls his eyes. âI could never nurture any interest of the kind in my brotherâs ex. Y/N is particularly irritating.â
And that is the last part you hear.
***
He doesnât know why, but this prince who takes pride in never falling in love with anyone, nor ever chasing after a woman, is going after you.
You too cannot conceive the reason his words hurt you, but it takes little to comprehend that youâve been vulnerable with this odd circumstance you spontaneously dragged yourself into.
âY/Nâ, he holds you by your elbow, forcing you to look at him. âDidnât mean to say what I said.â
You shrug your shoulders off.
âIn the end you have a point, though. What kind of ex goes willingly to a wedding where she was only invited out of politeness? Besides, have you seen the embarrassed look in your motherâs face? She wasnât expecting me thereâ, you scoff.
Aemond smiles at you, and you donât like how it makes you feelâas if thereâs hope in the horizon.
âI donât think this is the case. She was probably expecting a scene. Not from you, of course, but most likely that Rhaella would be unnecessarily loud. Or even Aegon. Who knows? But definitely not you.â
That being said, walls are knocked down. It all settles for now.
âWell, you know what? I think I need some wine.â
âI take itâ, so says Aemond. âItâs been a while.â
âIndeed it hasâ.
And you smile at each other.
***
The next day both of you are found in the same bed, except nothing really happened in the night before. You realize how nice it was to just cuddle him, that his scent was much fitter to yours⌠than Aegonâs. Such thought embarrasses you when you get back at your senses.
You panic internally and try to disassociate of his arms, albeit unwillingly. Itâs when he opens his eyes.
Aemond too is shocked when promptly observing how one got tangled with the other⌠without necessarily having the need of taking each otherâs clothes off. This perception sort of annoys him, though.
âWhere do you think youâre going?â, he asks in a voice that gives you shivers. âItâs fucking early.â
âI best find my way back to my roomâ, you say, hoping not to sound too awkward.
âMmâ, but of course he cannot take it for himself. âLast night was good, wasnât it?â
âIt wasâ, you give him a soft smile, but something about your eyes makes Aemond smile at himself. âI just donât think prudent if we are caught. People can talk.â
âLet them talkâ, he gently pulls you back and you effortlessly fall into his arms again. âI think we could go for a horseback riding today before lunch.â
You smile at yourself. Aemond spots it and he smiles too.
âWe could. Though Iâm afraid I donât do horseback riding.â
âI could teach you.â
âDo I detect malice in your speech, Aemond Targaryen?â
For the first time in many moons, this bad boy is genuinely brought to laughters.
âIt really didnât occur me at all, but if youâre up to itâŚâ
You punch his arm playfully. But for a while you two just stay like this, lying in bed, sharing laughters as if you have been the best of friends.
***
âI hate how I feel like an adolescent again. I thought Iâve done this already. Countless timesâ, you remark.
Itâs nine in the morning and you two are dressed like going to a picnic, not a fancy breakfast to celebrate the union of the families Targaryen & Velaryon. Maybe itâs not of either interest to participate it. Besides, the landscape is far more inviting than dealing with posh relatives.
The hotel is surrounded by nature. Large trees are spotted above a green hill, surrounded by lakes and some wild animals that every now and then stop by. Not far from it, is this large, crimson white house rent by the Targaryens to celebrate the marriage of Aegon and Rhaella. The said event will happen only the next day since the couple are very fond of celebration.
Uninterested in these endless festivities, you and Aemond are heading to the top of the hill carrying with nothing other than wine and bread, perhaps some fruits too.
"And here we are", says Aemond, surprisingly in a good mood.
You two sit on the grass and its your former brother-in-law who opens the wine bottle. You two share it as it is, with no need to use glasses for the purpose of savouring the red, warm liquid.
"It is a shame we haven't been acquainted properly", you muse after a while. From where you two are, you could still spot Mrs Hightower and her lover receiving the guests alongside Mrs Velaryon, who, you seem to notice, is accompanied by a dark, curled haired man who doesn't strike you as Mr Velaryon.
"Eh, I was a little busy when you were with my brother", and when following your curious gaze, Aemond smirks and adds: "That is Mr. Strong, by the way."
"Busy? With whom?", you tilt your head, eyes now locked with his purple ones. "I feel as if I'm missing something here."
Aemond cackles before lying on the grass. As he's on his elbows, you hate how your eyes scan his frame, taking notice of his body, his part-opened legs under an old pair of jeans and a random comfortable shirt that shows some of his well build muscles.
Fuck.
You lean to grasp a few grapes before suddenly finding interest in the cloudless skies.
"Well, that is Harwin Strong", says Aemond, ignoring the first part of the question you asked him. "He is my sister's lover."
"Oh."
"Oh, indeed. Where were you when our family messed up?"
"I have no idea, maybe we were busy breaking up", you shrug your shoulders.
Now you miss the long gaze Aemond casts at you. He notices your shapely legs, well reinforced by your blue velvet shorts. A mischievous thought occurs him at the thought of removing these shorts. Containing a sigh, but not holding back such sinful thoughts, he notices you have nice, firm breasts just by the stare he gives your blouse.
Desire seems unbearable. Useless to fight against, but he stops the urge. He must. For his sake.
"You deserve someone better."
And your gaze meets his.
"My brother was unworthy of you", and he, a careful, wayward man, is drawn to you.
You, likewise, are inclined to get closer to him. Is it too early to get drunk and do things you might regret? Where is conscience when you need it?
"And who is worthy of me? You?"
Aemond side smirks at you. You two are so close to bound in deeper waters.... when someone else comes in to ruin all, of course.
It's Alys Rivers, his ex-girlfriend.
***
â˘Youâre falling about. You took a left off Last Laugh Lane. You were just sounding it out. No you're not coming back again.
You are quick to leave the scene. Tired to be someone elseâs sidekick character, you know itâs the time to part and be the protagonist of your own.
Itâs been too much humiliation. First to put a closure with a man who is marrying someone else. Second⌠to be able to fall for his brother in a matter of, what, a day and HALF?
You realize no one is missing you anyway. So you are leaving before ceremony even begins.
As for Aemond, itâs all going worse than planned. He wishes youâd have more time to spend together. But, in honesty, he doesnât blame you for parting like this.
He never mentioned that he and Alys were not entirely⌠what word could capitalize it? Untogether? Does this word even exist?
Regardless. Heâs taken by a strange urge of going after you.
ââŚyouâre not even listening to me!â, the protestations of his now ex girlfriend are annoying him.
âFrankly, my dear, I donât give a damnâ, he responds rather coolly. âYouâve left me in balance for a while and now you think you can take me back? I donât think so. Farewell, darling Alys.â
Saying so, heâs not wasting his time. These are crazy days, one might judge, where long relationships end unexpectedly and short ones may begin out of the blue.
Or perhaps not so out of the blueâŚ
***
You are about to get in the cab when Aemond gets to you.
âHeyâ, and once again he holds your wrist, thus making you looking at him. âDonât go.â
âI canât stay hereâ, you sigh dramatically. âYou have unfinished business with Alys. I mean, been there, done that. Not really in the mood to rerun this movie.â
âNo, this is untrue. Fuck, you are the most interesting girl Iâve met and look at me playing the fool here. Always the indecisive and vindictive, I want something new.â
Aemond doesnât know where this urge comes from, but, unlike his brother, he is not willingly to let go of you so easily.
âAnd when this new goes awayâ, you counter argue him. âWhat then?â
âI am not leaving you. I am not Aegonâ, he says rather anxiously. âAllow me to get to know you better, Y/N. We are going through this shit together.â
You tilt your head, but as if to shush any remaining doubts, like the adolescent he never was, Aemond pulls you against him and finally kisses your red lips.
***
Itâs the wedding day. You are elegantly dressed in a pink gown that reinforces your curves and shows some collarbone. Your y/c hair is tied in a braid Helaenaâd done it and you are wearing a pair of emeralds over your skin.
But you lose your breath when you see him, elegantly dressed in a black suit with a green tie. His hair purposely messed, heâs every inch the sobriquet he proudly wears.
Bad boy prince.
When his gaze meets yours, both of you know this day will be no good to either of you.
âReady to be my partner?â
When your hands intertwine with his, so is your destiny for once and all locked with Aemondâs. One smile, one kiss. And what is meant to be a funeral is turned into something more beautiful for this unexpected couple.
Imagine Arctic Monkeysâs songs: Do I Wanna Know?
Imagine you are seduced by Aemond Targaryen.
Warnings: fluffy, light readingâexplicit smut.
Warnings 2: alternative universe where the Greens won uncontestedly the war.
***
Have you got colour in your cheeks? Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift the type that sticks around like something in your teeth?
Aemond finds difficulty to settle after years waging war. There is peace after a decade fighting his sister and her partisans. They are all nothing but names now, recorded in the maesters books.
To placate his restless energy, the prince has, in many ways, followed in his bitter enemyâs footstepsâgetting himself lands in the Free Cities, he found himself a new life style as well as a new wife.
But because heâs now the Hand of the King, in opposite to Daeronâs career in Citadel, his life style was left behind. For now.
You, however, settled easily with this new routine. Harrenhal is your home and this is the household you must fill your wifely duties. Initially, you found a rival for your husbandâs affectionâhis former mistress, a woman named Alys Rivers, did not let easily go the path to Aemondâa heartâwhich complicated your smooth transition from the life of a free damsel who loved the seas to a noblewoman, wife of a bad reputed prince.
Despite the initial scandal such a match evoked, you and Aemond overcame the early disapprovals until the dowager queen accepted you as her daughter-in-law in a relationship that grew fondly in due time.
As you spend the afternoon reading a love story between a knight and his damsel in distress, which in some shades reminds yours, you are found missing your husband dearly.
Aemond has been gone to Free Cities to knock a local rebellion and negotiate peace terms with the involved, applying the law, before going back. And he misses you too.
When he lands with Vhagar, he hurries to youâalthough the prince needs to clean himself first. Only then he comes at you.
Aemond finds you busy with your lecture at their bedchambers, so concentrated that you donât spot him, leaning against the wall, watching you with a side smirk on his lips.
Are there some aces up your sleeve? Have you no idea that you're in deep? I've dreamt about you nearly every night this weekâŚ
His good eye is set on you like a hunter when itâs about to get its prey. Your y/c hair is loose behind your back, your eyes are focused in the lines you read but he wonders what is the theme that makes you furrow your eyebrows. Your lips are partially open and Aemond easily sees his own clashing against yours in a long fervent kiss. But the man is patient.
The gown you dress is the first he gifted you, in the days of your courtship. Aemond is pleased to see you still keep it in your wardrobe. The gown shows some cleavage and shoulders, reinforcing your firm full breasts.
When staring at your heavy breathing, his own chest goes slowly up and down. His eyes devour your skin through the clothing, still keeping in his thought the moment your nipples go hard under his eager tongue.
When remembering how much you enjoy it, how you always sang louder the moment he took his time to suck each breast, a heat troubles his inner balance. His manhood gets lightly unbearable.
Itâs time to move.
How many secrets can you keep? 'Cause there's this tune I've found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat until I fall asleep, spilling drinks on my setteeâŚ
Aemond recollects the first time he saw you. Finding a way to survive in Essos, your brother had plans to send you to serve Rhâllor whilst you considered piracy. Youâve always loved the sea, and there youâd content yourself when your path crossed his.
You knew nothing of his past, and yet you took him in. When love flourished, it took not much time.
Moved by this agony of spending too much of his time away from you, he wants you again. Using shadows on his favor, he is about to surprise you.
Aemond kneels behind you. Still focused in the reading, you do not notice heâs behind your chair. The prince is lightly amused at how this novel has stolen you from him.
âMy lady, I am no poet, no bard, no man versed in the court of love, but Iâd think by now you were missing me.â
Quickly, you stand, turning at him with joy. Itâs been five years since he espoused you and the same joy is there whenever he comes back to your arms.
âI missed you, my husband! How could it not be? Oh Aemond, itâs been so long!â
He experiments that peaceful bliss he never thought heâd feel the moment his lips are welcomed by yours. It starts as a slow, passionate kiss, only then to be parted by you.
âI should have prepared our chambers to receive you betterâ, you say, ready to fetch a servant when he pulls you right in front of him.
âWhy, I wanted to surprise my ladyâ, he smirks, resting his chin over your shoulder as his hands begin to pace around your waist. âYou still have the gown I gifted you during our courtship.â
âYes, I doâ, you blush lightly, not expecting him to notice it.
âLooking gorgeous as alwaysâ, he whispers hotly in your ear, giving you goosebumps.
âAemondâŚâ, you smirk, wondering whatâs to come. âI have some news to tell you.â
âThen tell meâ, so he says as his tongue begins to draw lines from your earlobe to your jawline and neck, tightening the grip of your waist.
You try to focus, but when he gets to your neck, your leg automatically begin to rub in another and you giggle softly.
âY-Your brotherâŚâ, you almost forget how to breathe the moment he rests a hand over your belly, moving up to your breast.
âYes?â, he bites your neck softly, missing to feel your firm breast over his hand, but not taking it long now⌠not yet. âYou were saying?â
You try to release yourself off his grip, about to get on fire, but Aemond is very domineering today. The hand on your back is now over your neck, holding it possessively. The way you like it.
âHe is throwing a feast and a tournamentâŚâ, you get speechless the moment his lips are back at your neck and his right hand starts to lift the skirts of your gown.
âAndâŚâ, he smirks, encouraging you to speak as he defies you not to succumb easily into his teasings.
âAnd⌠Aemond!â, you hiss impatiently when feeling his hand on your thigh.
Aemond takes a seat and makes you sit on his lap. There is a fire that is about to burn youâŚand you want to get burnt. But you know itâll be on his terms.
âTell me, or I will stop.â
He smirks devilishly as you pout.
Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways (Sad to see you go) Sort of hoping that you'd stay. (Baby we both know) That the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow dayâŚ
âThe tournament is onâŚâ you barely speak as he begins to tease you through your undergarments. Using his thumb to draw circles over it, you whimper, partially impatient.
âOn?â
He pauses, amused as you frown at him.
âEither you tell me or Iâll stop, my dear. The punishment for ignoring meâŚâ Aemond chuckles as you pout again.
ââŚon the next weekâ, and he resumes the touching, working his hands within you. âHe wants toâŚ. Oh, Aemond!⌠to celebrate his tenth year he is on the I-I-Iron Throne!â
Aemond chuckles to himself as you try to keep your composure the moment two fingers are inserted in your womanhood. He feels how soaked you are, enjoying the sounds you make as he stimulates you.
âMm. What else?â, he asks in your ear, using his free hand to unlace your gown, aroused by your reactions.
âHe wants youâŚâ, and here you let out a poorly muffled cry the moment he increases his pace. ââŚto take part of the feast and⌠and be his champion! Oh bloody seven hells!â
As you throw your head back, the gown, now loose, begins to fall. Aemond stares at your denuded chest, biting his own bottom lip as your nipples are hardened under his lustful gaze.
âHis champion?â, he helps you to straighten on his knee, despite the trouble to ignore the aching in his manhood.
âOn the tournament!â, you moan indecently loud the moment he cups one boob with his free hand.
Aemond smirks at you. Oh how he loves these games he plays with you. He is a victor each time.
âHmm. I shall consider the invitationâ, he leaves more bruises in your skin, before whispering unspeakable things to your ear that makes you hot enough to burst into his hand.
And when he licks each finger before you, you almost go insane.
âAemond!â, you turn at him, finally free of his grasp. You remove the gown off your body, rubbing yourself to his manhood as you settle your hips properly over his, hands eagerly removing his own clothing.
âOh I havenât finished with you yet, womanâ, he groans as he lifts you and pulls you gently against the window. As you remain on your back to him, he kisses your neck and down to your back, before fingering you again.
âLords, Aemond!â
And to your delightful surprise, his lips soon take place where his fingers have been. Now you settle the reins and gladly ride his face.
Crawling back to you⌠Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do. Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new. Now I've thought it through, crawling back to youâŚ
But once again in bed he has you under his command again. Crawling over your body, he prepares to set his pace.
âIâve been burning too long alone to let these flames go unescapedâ, he whispers, touching himself right before you, until he leaves it to tease your entrance.
Aemond likes seeing you subduing to him. Even more when fire is indeed burning in such a level that makes you bed. And nothing arouses him more than seeing a prideful lady be turned into a beggar in⌠bed.
This is how he spreads your legs gently and, leaning his body to be closer to yours, the prince slowly thrusts in you.
âHave I been punished enough?â, you moan sensually, legs wrapped around his waist.
âPerhapsâ, he smiles at you.
Only when your gazes meet, he softens.
âIâve missed youâ, and his lust is replaced by the genuine affection that has mirrored in your eyes. âA lot.â
âAs have Iâ, you admit in short breath. âVery much, my rogue prince.â
Aemond smiles down at you, kissing your lips as your body and his finally move as one.
Simmer down and pucker up. I'm sorry to interrupt. It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you. I don't know if you feel the same as I do but we could be together⌠If you wanted to.
Later, you feel his wide eyed gaze at you. With no patch to cover his bad eye, he is the way you like him to: himself, nude and crude.
âI am pleased to find your heart shut for me aloneâ, you muse after a moment spent in warming silence.
âHow so?â
He turns at you, on his elbow. Aemond strokes your face gently, doing the same then to your hair.
âAre you still daunted by these insecurities?â
âAt times I am. I fear to lose your affectionâ, you admit. âBut this only happens when Iâm sensitive.â
âYou do not need to excuse yourself for me when Iâm open like this before you, wifeâ, he presses a kiss over your forehead. âI admit I have my own demons to haunt. There are nights I wish I had not⌠survived.â
âHow so, my love,â, you turn at him and he sees fear in your eyes.
âI wish I had not been the cause why such a war disrupted. There is no good in dwelling in the past, but if I must be open with my lady, then my remorse must be shared with you. This is what pains me in times where restlessness knocks me out. Not an old mistress.â
âIâm sorry for thisâ, you feel ashamed for the confession, but Aemond looks in peace with it.
âDonât be. We are husband and wife, love. We are in this together. I love you and itâs your love that helps me with going through difficult times.â
That being said, he kisses your lips. Every doubt dies permanently at his passionate kiss.
âEvery job IÂ do, Iâm always trying to hone my craft and develop new skills to add to my arsenal. Every job IÂ do is like an apprenticeship because IÂ never went to drama school. Iâm learning on my feet.â
Imagine Aemond loves you⌠but thousands die because of it.
Warnings: incest, explicit smut, drama, angst; long post with FLUFFLY ending.
***
You are only a year older than him, the oldest daughter of Queen Alicent and King Viserys; the one whom your mother fights to have your right as the next Queen of Westeros acknowledged by your uninterested father; the one whom he comes after every day, every night.
Where he is the moon, you are the sun. Where he is the universe, you are the stars. One gravitates towards the other every time. This is no exception, but the rule.
Aemond, bad reputed as he already is in his late teenager years, is very good to you. Loyal, some would maliciously whisper, like a famine lover. But you donât give ear to such rumors. These are nonsenses⌠and besides your mother is planning to marry him away. To whom, you do not know.
But to say you donât care is to indulge in lies. Where he goes, you follow. Like this afternoon, for example.
He is outdoors, practicing with his sword. Your eyes glue at the perfection with which he swings it, blocking Ser Cristonâs blow. You can tell he is demanding, unaccepting anything that is not concise.
You take notice of his black weather, how well it shapes his built muscles, a sight that warms your body. Sensing a pair of eyes watching him, little surprises him when the prince captures the owner of such a stare.
âSister!â, he quickly leaves aside his training to engulf you in his tender embrace. As he buries his face in your neck, smelling your scent, which reminds him of sweet red roses, Aemond sighs in content. Reluctantly, though, he parts the embrace. âShouldnât you be elsewhere?â
âAway of my favourite companion? No, I donât think soâ, you smile the brightest when seeing a faint shade of pink color his cheeks. You stroke his face. âI pray not to distract you out of your practices, my sweet.â
âHardlyâ, he whispers, taking your hands and pressing a kiss in each. âI missed you. Has mother been rough on you again?â
Aemond sees through you, as you look away, hoping not to let it too clear the troubles youâve been having with the Queen. Alicent constantly compares you with Helaena and even Rhaenyra, not to add she has no patience with what she judges as laziness and your melancholy.
âNot really, noâ, but your embargoed voice breaks the exhaustion that has been plagued your soul.
âY/NicknameâŚâ
He holds you tight, caressing your back. As his hands tangle in your lose silver locks, the prince comforts you. Similar pain, similar fate, there is too much that links one to the other.
âOh itâs nothing that we are not used to, right?â, you say, dismissing the concern he casts you in a long gaze.
This tension with the family is not new to neither of you; it is in fact an element that brought you close to him and him to you. But as he rubs his thumb over your wrist, you ignore the longing in his body and the desire in his eyes, so obvious to all, completely oblivious at how he reciprocates your sentiments.
âI was wondering if we should perhaps go to a ride today. I feel as if we need itâ, you smile at him, possessed by a sweet temper that melts his pride.
âAs much as I want toâ, says the prince, gently touching your face, âwe have a bloody dinner expecting us.â
You sigh heavily, but you agree.
âI promise, though, that I will visit you tonightâ, adds Aemond, nearly touched by despair upon seeing a flash of disappointment in your eyes.
âVery wellâ, you should not feed expectations, but when he smiles at you, your knees go weak. âI will be waiting.â
***
You sit at a chair before a mirror in your nightgown, hair loose falling like a cascade of silver locks. You brush them by the time a knock on the door startles you, getting you out of your thoughts.
Dismissing a maid of company when suspecting who comes late an hour, you know you are being prudentâ-what if itâs not him? Thankfully he is.
Taken aback by your handsomeness is lord Aemond. The reputed bad prince looks mesmerized at your sight, his eyes staring wide at your boobs. You blush, disconcerted before his gaze but pleased for the same reason, glad to have captured his interest
But for now lust is cast aside when you hold in your arms, welcoming him gladlyâthe same way you used to as children, when more than often he went to your private quarters to sleep by your side whenever he had nightmares.
âYou are hereâ, you muse gleefully, bringing him close inside.
âI amâ, Aemond smiles. âWhen have I failed in being true to my word, especially where it comes to you?â
You beam at his wording, a balsam for your heart. As you two sit at your bed, fingers intertwine and locks are gazed.
âI could have never asked for someone else to look after me so well as you do, Aemond. I was remembering the other day when you brought me to Sunfyre. It felt so well. You freed me.â
He puts a lock behind your ear, a quiet smile dragging slowly on his lips.
âYou may transmit shyness to others but I see the iron underneath your beauty, Y/N. Your wit is as captivating as your lilac eyes, or your red lips.â
You blush, looking away, but he holds your chin.
âI am no liar.â
âAemondâŚâ
Could it be?
An unposed question that doesnât make to your tongue. The prince, however, knows it.
How to answer that, though? He places himself now behind your back and you slip to the comfort of his strong arms, snaking in your waist. You rest your head against his chest, your breathing synchronized to his.
There is no need of words.
Not now anyway.
You carefully lean to blow away candle, but itâs when darkness rises that cats come out to play.
*
âHow are you feeling?â, Aemond asks after a while, and his hot breath in your ear gives you shivers.
Shivers that he feels. It is as if he needed physical evidence that he is not alone in his affections. Innocently he parts your legs with his knee and very gently presses it against your womanhood.
Somehow he feels your fever.
âI⌠I feel betterâ, your voice comes out as a moan when he continuously rubs his knee against your core. Doesnât really help you how his arms conveniently rest over your hardening nipples. You press your hips against his manhood in response. âWhat a day we had, uh?â
Aemond chuckles lightly at your efforts in trying to act as if nothing is happening there. He plays with your hair all the whilst he slips his other hand over your nipple. Feeling it hard under the cloth almost makes him gasp.
Fuck, he curses internally.
âWhen donât we have a good day in this family?â, he snorts, pleased to find you chuckling, though detecting some tension in your short cut breath.
âAemondâŚâ, you eventually decide not to ignore how his hand is slowly lifting your nightgown. It doesnât help how he stops rubbing his knee against your womanhood, getting you familiar with an unknown ache that doesnât cease to torment you now.
âYes?â
Aemond gently places a kiss between the line that separates your jawline to your neck.
âTell me and Iâll stopâ, he whispers against your ear, finding no resistance in removing your gown. âTell me I am not alone in this, Y/Nickname.â
He knows how to awake the dragon in you. Tired of fighting the urge to have him, you turn slightly to let him take away your gown of your body, before diving into his lips, burning in high fever.
The prince moans, sensing a bone as a result of your intensity grip over him. The way with which your naked body moulds to his, how your hand boldly moves from his belly down to his cock.
A kiss like fire tearing each other in flames. A fight for dominance in perfectly synced tongues, but of course Aemond comes over you, biting your bottom lip, chewing it with grace before letting it slip to explore your neck.
âLove meâ, you beg him. âDeflower me!â
The prince groans in response, skin on skin now, he now shivers upon hearing new sounds coming out of your mouth. Nothing tastes better than cupping each nipple of your firm, round breasts. The way you moan loud is a positive indicator he is following the right path.
Though heâd had only one carnal experienceâall thanks to a bet made with his younger brother Aegonâ, nothing compares to the delights he experiments with you.
Spreading your legs to let him fit in between, you arch your back as despair crawls upon your skin the moment his tongue and teeth play with your tits. Your roll your eyes, hands messing with his hair⌠and what to say of this new sentiment when his hand finds way to your clit and with two fingers, you gasp louder?
âAemond!â, you whimper. âAemond, please!â
Darkness involves you, but there is no need to see when one knows the other so damn well. You burn and he burns with you.
âCome to meâ, he commands, all the whilst going low with his mouth. âCome, Y/N!â
His mouth promptly rises to yours when you are about to be so loud. As your legs tremble and shake, you now share his bluntness surprise him with the turning tables.
Your lips are now going lower to his belly, fingers digging across his skin. Aemondâs breath is short cut and his naughty words reach your ears only to arouse you furtherâif possible.
âOh, Lady. I dwelt in long nights at the thought of your lips so close to my skin, working wonderfulness to repent me of my skins. My own touch is not enough when compared to yours. Burn me, consume me. Set my soul alightâŚâ
His words die just as you take his length throbbing into your mouth. The sounds you make at having it in your way make Aemond painfully lustful for you.
He slowly parts his legs, riding your face the way you want him to do. You feel so indecent, a sinner condemned for sureâbut loving him feels right, and you have no remorse in doing what so far only reason conceived through forbidden readings.
You lick it, you bite it gently, and the sounds he makes give you goosebumps. You want more of him, you give your best, letting him be your guide.
Little surprise there is when you feel it.
When you hear it.
When you know it.
And you swallow all of it.
That night, you are no longer a damsel. Aemond Targaryen has finally reclaimed your body and soul at lastâlike youâve dreamt to.
***
You try to disguise the pain in your legs the next day. Worse is, though, to find ways to cover the bruises he left in your skin.
Praise the Gods, he assigned his mark on you. But yet here you are.
Acting in secrecy⌠for now.
âYou must be married right awayâ, considers the queen at the moment her children are gathered for the morning meal. âY/N, Rhaenyra has proposed the union of our houses. You are going to be betrothed to Jacaerys Velaryon.â
âNo!â, you protest all the whilst Aemond closes his wrist and slams the table. âI shall not espouse a bastard, Mother!â
Otto Hightower, there present, seems delighted to discover there is more in you than dissociating in familiar gatherings.
âY/N, this is the best for our familyâŚâ
âThe girl has a point thoughâ, says Otto. âIf she is going to be the next queen, a bastard must not father the next line of kingsâŚâ
âI do not want the bloody crown!â, you sigh heavily. âGive it to Aemond!â
âI would marry her, in fact.â, says the prince, making you blush and surprising the others for his blunt speech.
âAnd you will, and you will!â, remarks Helaena, excited.
âHow, if you are associated with Alys Rivers?â, snorts Aegon, making you raise your eyebrows. âHow considerate of dumping your whore, Aemond.â
âSpreading false rumors are very typical of you, brotherâ, he hisses quietly.
Alicent raises her hands to her hair, as if in silent prayer for patience. Itâs when Otto says:
âI detest to be the one to remind you that you are no longer children to act like ones. Dutiful you are, Aemond, and we are thankful for it, but we need to consider other elements in Y/Nâs arrangement.â
âTargaryen tradition should be an excellent argument in why we are doing what we are doing.â
âI think best Jacaerys Velaryon to marry Y/Nâ, says Queen Alicent, probably tired of her offspring bickering than actually reasoning in favor of the match.
Or maybe she wants a genuine reapproach to her stepdaughter after years of cold war.
Her decision is not welcomed by all. You fall back in your gloomy mood and Aemond storms outside.
Silence falls before Helaena muses:
âLove always comes with a price.â
***
You barely have the chance to speak to Aemond since the Queenâs delusional decision in arranging your marriage to a bastard under the pretense of aligning her house to the Velaryon in order to put an end to this rising rivalry.
It doesnât really help that your body achesânot only due to what happened the day before, but because it misses him in every wayâ, but circumstances begin to separate each other.
The expected dinner is a first. Your father is holding together his family in an attempt to show unity. He couldnât be more wrong.
âYou are looking beautifulâ, says Aemond when seeing you at last.
Today you are dressing a long sleeved gown in green that shows some cleavage. Your hair is tied in a fashion braid and your delicate features are reinforced by Helaenaâs make up.
âFor the love of Godsâ, murmurs Aegon, âfind yourselves a bed already.â
âHow insensitive of you saying soâ, says Helaena. âIf you have not the ability to love, let others do so in peace.â
You and Aemond could have not been any redder.
*
âIâll make you my wifeâ, he vows. âNo matter what.â
âEven so⌠I must say a name hammers in my head since yesterdayâ, you whisper back as you take the seat he pulls for you to take.
Aemond gives you a long glance.
âY/N⌠you are not honestly referring to what Aegon said, are you? We are not together any longer together for a long while now.â
The thread is interrupted though when king Viserys begins his speech. You look at him not like your fatherâhe always neglected you, never got interest in you as a person, hence why you do not understand why your mother thinks proper to make you the first queen to reign in Westeros. Even thatâŚhe refused you.
You look away, pretending to focus in the wine that colors your glass. You start to disassociating when Aemond holds your fingers underneath the table, a firm gesture that reminds you that you are not alone in your resentment.
The rest of the dinner goes awkwardly wellâeveryone plays their role just fine. Until that is Jacaerys invites you for a dance. If he does on purpose, you cannot sayâbut you miss the glare on Aemondâs face.
Partially moved by the disapproval of being told of Aemondâs old liaison with Alys Rivers, you stand and to his horror you take the invitation. But also it feels good to see jealousy behind his good eye as you two start dancing.
âIt comes to my understanding we are marrying soonâ, says Jacaerys to break the ice.
âIndeedâ, you say rather coolly, though you smile benignly at him. âLinking our houses for peaceful purposes. How delightful.â
Jacaerys furrows his eyebrows, perhaps mistaking your remark with sarcasm. He opts perhaps to see this is not the case. And maybe it is not.
âDuty must always stand before sentiments.â
âIt is the wayâ, you nod. âWe aim to serve, even if these ties suffocate us.â
âIt only does if one isnât resignedâ.
Music never before sounds so melancholic to your ears. But here you are. Dancing with someone who long ago ceased to be a friend, performing for a duty like a dutiful daughter. Being kind above all⌠because few have been kinder to you.
Then music comes to an end and you go back to your place. The king stands, itâs time to retire. When he leaves, scars are left open and blood comes outâŚ
âI would like to have a toastâ, so Aemond, in silence for so long, rises abruptly with a glass of ale in hand.
You raise your eyebrows significantly, unable to perceive the subtle change of behavior. Itâs usually Aegon the teaser, never him.
All pair of eyes are set on this tall, paled silver haired prince, whose good eye shines mischief, showing resentment for past events, never buried, always resurrected.
The quiets are usually the worse. It is known.
ââŚfor these three Strong boys.â
It is the start of a new hell. Jacaerys doesnât take it easy, and as predicted he and Aemond get in a fight. Your eyes are wide and you abruptly stand, not believing in the scene that runs before your eyes.
Your heart skips a beat when your uncle Daemon puts and end to it. No need words, just his presence is enough to placate the violence Aemond brought to table.
You frown, but refusing to participate, you slip through the night. No one notices, though Aemond does. But this night he doesnât come for you.
***
Where does all it begin to go wrong? You cannot tell. When Aemond comes at you again, a week has passed by since that bloody dinner. Your father is dying and there are machinations to put you on throne.
Part of you ignores it. But another is prepared for it.
Aemond sees you at courtyard, dressed like a damsel but with the look of a warrior. Silk green gown falls over your curves, your silver locks are tied in two braided buns at each side of your head but your eyes, fierce and empty, stare at the blade you hold with your delicate fingers.
âY/NâŚâ, his voice is brought to your ears like a summer breeze: welcoming, warming, familiar. But it also startles you.
âYou disappearedâ, you accuse him, holding tight the blade, not minding feeling the iron gently cut your skin.
âI disappointed you, didnât I?â, his steps anxiously short the distance and he takes away the sword. âDonât be imprudent, Y/N. Look at your hand.â
Before you protest, he takes you by your wrist to a fountain nearby and there he merges your palm to it. You flinch, but he holds you still.
âI should have not brought you any further disappointmentsâ, says the prince, especially pained when finding tears coming to your eyes.
âDid you go after her?â
Aemond raises his eyebrows at your question. Insecurity has long found solace in your broken heart. He frowns, before removing his eyepatch. You blink at such exhibition.
âLet me expose me to you. I am fiercely loyal to you, Y/N. I fucking love you. Didnât I show you that night?â
And then his arms are tight around your waist, his face, his lips brushing against your chest. You stroke his hair, swallowing your tears.
âI love you too. I couldnât have asked for a better man to keep by my side, but what else would I think when you left for seven bloody days?!â
âI needed spaceâ, he raises his eyebrows, resting his chin over your left boob. âHere I am, though, like a beggar. You donât deserve that bastard, Y/N. I shall not let you marry him.â
âWhat control do we possess before our fates?â, you sniff.
He presses a kiss over your skin, giving you goosebumps, before making you sit on his lap. Little does he care that you two are in public. Less so when he kisses your neck up to your earlobe, pleased to make you moan, before he holds your chin.
When your eyes meet, Aemond speaks:
âWait for me tonight, will you?â
A shadowy smile crosses upon your lips.
âI shall, beloved.â
So sacred, so devoted, this faithful man binds his destiny to yours when he kisses you calmly.
***
When he meets you punctually by midnight, you cannot help that you have a presentment regarding your carnal liaison with this man you love deeply with the waters of your soul. What if you conceive?
But when he stops by in his courtly robes, your concerns are easily dismissed, brushed off your thoughts.
âMy loveâ, urgently he comes to reclaim whatâs his by right. âI have missed you.â
âAs have Iâ, you kiss him hungrily, not minding the conflagration that flares over your skin as you desperately help him toss away his robes. âI ached for you, Aemond.â
âDid you?â, he groans when feeling your lips against his neck, close to his chest as your hand strokes his manhood. âAh, damn it! This feels good!â
âI couldnât even walk for a day or twoâ, your tongue leaves circles traces around his chest, all the whilst your fingers wrap around him, doing circular moves up and down.
The idea of ruining you arouses him to such an extent that you already feel his precum at his tip.
âCouldnât you?â, he leans his head against the wall. âOh, what have I done?â
Itâs when your gaze crosses his. Aemond smiles when seeing his arousal is yours too, how sensual you look at taking his pleasure yours. But he is surprised when you slide to your knees.
âY/NâŚâ
âLet me reward you, my princeâ, your sweet voice is like a melody to his ears, and the moment your mouth meets his manhood⌠Fire consumes him.
***
You are still fast asleep when your motherâs maid finds you, indecently embraced in your brotherâs nude body. But she is not entirely surprised by what she witnesses, considering how itâs been obvious how one always loved the otherâŚ
Nevertheless now time urges her to be the deliverer of bad news. You are barely opening your eyes when she says:
âMy lady, your mother is after you. Now.â
âWhat does she want?â, you try going back to sleep, not minding youâve been caught.
But the woman is too anxious to give you peace.
âYour father, the king, has died.â
This is enough to let your eyes open widely and even Aemond is awaked by these words.
âWhat does this mean?â, you shouldnât have asked but panic steps in.
âYou are queen nowâ, says Aemond, tossing away blankets and dressing his clothes. âThank you, Madame. We are meeting our mother soon.â
You too stand and begin to dress, but your body shakes at what Aemond tells you.
âNo!â, you turn at him. âI am no Queen! I do not wish the crown our father has refused me! Itâs Rhaenyraâs!â
âY/NâŚâ, Aemond sighs. âCome on, now.â
âI have no capacity to uphold it! No! Tell our mother I am no queen!â, you donât realize how loud you are and what fuss you are making until he holds you in his arms.
âDonât say these thingsâ, says the prince. âI will crown you!â
âNo!â, you burst in tears. âI do not want it! Take it for yourself, butâŚâ
âNo!â, and he is firm now, holding your face so you look at him. âQuit with this nonsense. You are the eldest daughter. Yes, I would like to be king myself, seeing myself as better fit for the role than Aegon. Not you, though. Never mind our father does not acknowledge you. Fuck it! I believe in you, Iâd bet my life for you!â
âDonât say this. Your life is too precious for me��â, you whisper, eyes closing before the kiss he presses on your temple.
âCome, my sweet. Let me amend past disappointments. Come now.â
You donât acknowledge his speech, but soon you find yourself walking side by side to him. When you enter the throne chambers, all eyes are on you.
Helaena rushes to your side, curtsying first before engulfing you in her embrace. You swallow a sob, but she hears your whispers:
âIâm scared, Laena.â
âDonât be. Face the storms and what happens next will be endured.â
You nod, thought uncertain of how to proceed.
Then Aegon follows. He bows and says:
âI wouldnât like to be in your shoes right now.â
Him, you ignore. Then comes your mother with your grandfather by your side.
âChild you are no more. My sweet girlâŚâ, she ignores how closely your arm is tied to Aemondâs before kissing your cheeks. âYou are now queen.â
âI do not want itâ, you protest, much to her dismay. âThis is Rhaenyraâs crown, not mine!â
âThis is yours by right and Iâll tell you whyâ, says Otto mechanically. âWesteros does not want to be ruled by bastards. The major proof of it is when the Gods put you right here where you must be. Do not forsake your duty, Y/N.â
Little by little your reluctance is melted away. Aemond then turns at you, on his knees before you.
âMy queen, lady of the Seven Kingdoms, I give you my heart and loyalty. No one shall claim otherwise.â
Seeing how silent you are, in spite of the tears rolling out of your eyes, itâs Ottoâs voice who prevails the general will:
âLong live her Grace, Y/NâŚâ and he lists all the titles that are irrevocably tied to you now.
***
Cut from marble, dressed in silver and gold, you cross the multitude of knighted men who form a corridor for you with their swords unsheathed up in the air.
The High-Sparrow stands above every royal family. Soon a scepter is given to you hold and a crown is placed over your head. The weight of it could smash you, but you stand strong.
You side-glance towards Aemond. You wish this was his instead, but the devotion coming at you convinces duty must not be placated.
âLong may live Queen Y/N, first of her name!â, professes the religious man and as you stand the crowd goes wild.
You are queen now. And your reign has just begun.
***
You watch from the window as clouds come to hide away sun. A bad omen, you judge. Behind you, the first council of the new reign is formed with Otto Hightower as Hand of the Queen. Your mother, the dower queen, also attends it.
Oblivious to all, you miss his company. Aemond has been sent to the seat of Baratheons, at Stormâs End, in order to secure support for your crown.
You hate how fragile this makes your position, how this new beginning feels wrong. And yet, here you stand, foreseeing a storm. As if to confirm it, you hear thunderstorms.
âYou shouldnât have sent him to Stormâs Endâ, you muse, forced to go back to your seat.
âThis isnât the time nor the moment to miss Aemond, Y/N. Like him, you should focus in what matters.â
âDo you think Rhaenyra will accept well that I have replaced her?â, you snort at her.
âBy marrying her son, perhaps this is prevented it!â
âI am not taking a bastard as king consort!â
âFor someone who refused to be queen until two days ago you are strongly decided in what to do with the power to you bestowedâ, muses Otto, entertained.
âWell, grandsire, please forgive me for not willing to be further controlled by others!â, you snap at him. âDamned this be!â
Damned this looks indeed, for barely the council has come to an end, rain begins to fall⌠and a very disturbed Aemond shows up.
âAemond!â, youâd gladly run to him, but something about his face makes you stand where you are.
Alicent, sensing somethingâs gone terribly wrong, dismisses other councilors. There is only family there present. The prince avoids their gazes, ashamed for what was doneâat the same time⌠you can also tell heâs changed.
âWhat have you done, my boy?â, the dowager queen breaks the silence, moving to where he is and thus forcing him to look at her. âWhat have you done, Aemond?â
âI did not mean toâ, he whispers. âIt wasnât intentional⌠but itâs too late now. I cannot change what was done.â
âOh, Godsâ, you rush to your motherâs side, trying to help her sit.
And without waiting to extend this unbearable silence, you hear what is to shock them allâyou included.
âLucerys is dead. I killed him.â
That being said a thunder strongly hits the ground not too far from Red Keep.
An announcement of war.
You just know.
***
âI cannot see you anymore, Y/Nâ, Aemondâs words break you in tears. âIâm sorry, Y/N.â
âDonât do that to me!â, you cry out and he feels the blows you hit against his chest. âDonât you dare doing that, Aemond Targaryen!â
âWhat else can I do? Look the path Iâve taken! And I feel no remorse over it!â, his voice breaks despair of a long broken soul.
You are partially shocked by his words, his guiltless admission. This is a side you never thought finding in him. It partially frightens you, but thenâŚ
Aemond is now on his back at you, tormented by his demons, pounding over his flesh. But you move to where he is, having made your decision.
âLook at meâ, and he does.
âBe with me.â
âWhat? Have you heard what I said?â
âYou will be my king or else the crown is Rhaenyraâs for goodâ, you speak firmly.
Aemond laughs nervously, but your eyes remain in intent stare.
âI mean it.â
âHow can you take a monster as me as your husband, Y/N?â
âYou are not. I take you as who you are, a faithful, loving man.â You side smirk at him. âI cannot conceive a world, less so a reign, where you are not part of it.â
âIâve brought you many disappointments. Iâve taken a path you donât want for me, IâŚâ
You lean on your toes and, holding his face against yours, you kiss his lips intently. Slowly, Aemondâs castle is brought to ruins and his arms soon lock you in.
âI love you. My life is yours, my queen.â
âMake me your wife, Aemond. This is all I ask.â
When looking down at you, he knows he cannot refuse you anything at all.
âVery well then. I know where to go. Take your better robes, my queen. We are marrying tonight.â
You smile, pleased to have your way at long last.
***
No war, no crown, no reign comes at your head when his cock is pumping inside you and his lips are twirling around your pink nipples. No politics, no usurpation daunts your heart, so aligned to his.
âLove me!â, you are a beggar when he is over you, taking the heeds of your body, when you arch your back and have your wrists above your head as he continuously thrusts in you. âFuck me good, my king!â
As your husband, Aemond gladly complies. He groans loud, proudly taking you as he slides within, interlocking his cock with his hand, intently so.
âIt is as my queen commandsâ, he bites your bottom lip before snaking his tongue in your mouth.
He raises your legs, pushing you below to his body, intertwining both in sync moves. Not until he pursues your lips does he seed you, coinciding with your climax.
âMy love, my queen, my womanâ, he doesnât let go of you not even now, rather contemplating this union so sacred to you both.
You turn at him, a smile on your lips. Aemond is mesmerized by how peaceful you look now.
âI bet my life on youâ, you whisper against his lips, holding his face with your hands. âAlways had, always will.â
There is no need to say further. You two are too attached to turn away now.
***
War has still paved its way to you. A scandal that will bring seven kingdoms to bleedâŚ
âWhat have you done?â, you hear your mother admonishing you.
You turn at her, impatience already twinkling in your eyes.
âYouâve started this the moment you placed the crown over my head, mother. Donât make this about me.â
That being said, you walk out. You excused Aemondâs offense, but your motherâs sins cannot be simply be pardoned. These paved your path⌠of the kind you cannot opt to turn away now.
Tired you may be, with morning sickness worsening as days turn in weeks, but you are too distressed with the possibility of having the capital attacked by the Black partisans.
âYou are not flying, Y/N. You must stay hereâŚâ
âNo, Aemond. I must go. This is not your war to wage. It is also mine.â
The decision is made. But what will it cost?
***
Aemond rushes back in when hearing youâve been too unwell after facing Baella in what nearly cost your dragonâs life. Sunfyre got wounded, but lived. The same cannot be said of Baella. A victory to your cause, but one that does not come without a heavy price to pay.
Men march on and against your behalf in what seems an endless contending. It is as if youâve been tossed in the middle of a whirlwind and there you remain.
Once there was hesitation, next came certainty. But where you are now?
It all disappears, every question and doubt are buried in the name of duty. But now you are forced to face a worst battle: the one for your life and yours alone in childbed.
âWhere is she?! Where is the Queen?â, he walks in, steps heavy as thunders, echoing in stoned pillars corridors.
Helaena, dutiful like always, is the one to inform him you are in labor now.
âTwins will come, but be careful, Aemond.â
He stops.
âWhat are you saying? What do you see?â, he almost takes her by her shoulders.
âVulnerability will come in due timeâ, itâs all she can tell.
For now, this says little. For now what matters for the rogue prince is that heâd wage thousand wars to see you well.
Like Helaenaâs predictions, though, there comes a pair of twins robust and well.
âMy Gods. I was worriedâ, Aemond whispers, rocking you in his arms, looking down as you insist breastfeeding your children.
There is peace. Long lasting peace for the moment. Despite the pained conscience for tearing Westeros apart, all else matters not before the prince you love and rose as king, before the children you bore him that rise now as your heirs.
âI love youâ, you tell him.
âI love you too.â
He smiles softly down at you. All is well that ends up well with you.
Definitely worth a bet.
***
⢠Epilogue.
Aemond is holding Jaehaera in his arms all the whilst Jaehaerys is playing with his cousins. The children of Aegon and Helaena, named Maegor and Visenya, are his best companions.
Peace seems to settleâespecially with Rhaenyraâs death by poison, and there had been no signs of her offspring nor Daemon to worry over.
For now.
You are relatively popular and accepted by the common folk. Today you are dressed in gold with details in purple, wearing a necklace gifted to you by your husband.
And you are also pregnant again.
âYou should rest and not presiding feasts, my sweetâ, so tells you Aemond, forehead leaning against yours.
âNonsenseâ, you smile warmly at him. âI must celebrate the result of our hardworking. Our family, usâŚâ
âThe bet was entirely worthy itâ, Aemond smiles and kisses his lips.
âEW daddy!â, Jaehaera protests, making you both chuckle. âPut me down. This is disgusting.â
Aemond scoffs at the little girl.
âI fear Iâve been spoiling you too much, Jaehaera. You know what? Go on and play with your brother and cousins. Daddy needs to chill anywayâ.
She pouts instantly.
âBut will you still spoil me, wonât you? I still want to hear the story of how you fell in love with mama.â
You blush at what you hear, looking away as if you are a teenager young woman again. Aemond is more than pleased when seeing how after all these years he can still affect you.
âThat depends of your behavior, young lady.â
âDaddy!â
âGive me a kiss and Iâll reconsider it.â
She gladly does as requested and Aemondâs good eye follows her daughter, a seven year old, running after her small group of relatives.
âShe reminds me of youâ, says he, leaning his back against the chair as he spots Queen Alicent looking after her grandchildren. âSweet disposed, but very willful.â
You laugh heartily before resting your head against his shoulder.
âWhat would be me without you and our children, my love?â
Aemond smiles quietly, taking your hand to his lips and there pressing a kiss.
âYou made a rebel settle down, crowning the son of careful king. What else could I ask of you, my love?â
He spots the same love behind your irises. It is as if there is no witnesses, as if you two are alone.
Imagine Taylor Swiftâs Songs (XX): No Body No Crime.
Imagine you uncover Aemond Targaryenâs crimes⌠until you fall in his trap.
Warnings: smut, incest, drama, fluffy endings.
***
⢠He did it. He did itâŚ
You enjoy more than whatâs appropriate how he indecently holds you, like an unprotected boy who needs assurance of firm, truthful affections. Your body is warmer when his strong arms snake around your waist, unintentionally brushing against your nipples underneath your nightgown.
You wish you did not feel it. Itâs sinful, notwithstanding this is an old practice in your family. However, under the sphere of influence of your mother makes you feel repulse at it. Or itâs what you tell yourself since the repulse is only because he doesnât see you the way you might.
That night you cannot breathe. His breath is hot against your neck, you hear his snore, and you wish you were as pure as your elder sister Helaena. But it appears your innocence exists only on the outside.
As Aemond presses his body on you, your thoughts drift at an alternative universe where he would kiss your neck and explore your nipples with his hands⌠whispering things youâve only heard doing with hisâŚwhore.
You grumble under your breath, turning subtly and in quiet riot on him. Then the fire dragon dies subsequently at the sweet face your eyes scan, that face whose features conceal an alluring darkness that draws you to him.
Your twin. Your other half, your partner, whose soul is linked to yours for reasons unknown. As you watch him sleep, with no eye-patch to his away his scar, you read through him.
You know why he comes at you instead of her and this gives you small percentages of pleasure, a deliciously tasted illusion upon which the desires of your heart drink to.
As you pull away discreetly the few silver locks that fall on his face, you mumble, lips barely touching:
âMust you always beseech war, my prince?â
And you feel tempted to add that in you he finds peace, but you say nothing, not when you spot tragedy crudely exposed. When he hugs you, it is as if moon and sun meet. It is as if an eclipse risesâŚ
***
⢠We meet up every Tuesday night for dinner and a glass of wine. Este's been losing sleep. Her husband's acting different and it smells like infidelity. She says, "That ain't my merlot on his mouth". "That ain't my jewelry on our joint account". No, there ain't no doubt. I think I'm gonna call him outâŚ
âInfidelity is not always physical, but an aching that begins at the heartâ, your sister muses at you in one of these days she gets into your brain like a prophetess.
She looks into your eyes as if she can read your future. What she may not know is that you too possess the ability of dreaming. It just comes perhaps in other shades.
âTreason often starts with ill intentions, whichever these may beâ, you agree.
Yet, the conversation disrupts something that troubles your conscience. Specially when you know what heâs about to do, what path Aemond is going to take and in many ways itâs treacherous and horrendous. But you are comprehensive at it.
Later the same day, as you walk to the gardens, Aemond comes to meet you. Itâs a sight to behold, the embodiment of innocenceâa stark contrast to the darkness there is in him.
âY/Nicknameâ, his husky voice startles you, but he sees how easily affected you are towards him.
A good observer like him needs little to see. Heâs aware of how your body reacts to his, how synchronized you both are, sharing a unique connection that always binds him to you.
âAemond, darlingâ, you turn abruptly and without thinking twice you run to him.
He smiles to himself as he is engulfed in your arms, tasting a rare sentiment of peace that only your company provides him. For some reason, the prince admonishes himself for letting be easily dragged into your kindness, mesmerized by your alluring beauty that matches his dragon fire.
Cleaning his thoughts, Aemond has to remember himself the reason why heâs here. Reluctantly he parts, his heart aching when detecting sadness in your eyes, aware of how attached you are to him.
âI need a favor.â
âOf course you do.â
Aemond blushes, fighting away remorse.
âDonât look at me like that, my sweet. You know youâre the only one of this family I trust, aside Helaena, but itâs with you I am connected to, emotionally and carnally.â
You sigh, hands resting on your waist. Aemondâs good eye seems to see you as who you are, not as the epitome of handsomeness, but as the woman youâve become. The gown you dress is silk green with short sleeves, showing some cleavage. He swallows, fighting away this strange urge of possessing you right here right there.
âTell me, whatâs it you require of me?â
âHow you speak it makes me sound I only come for you to pursuit redemption for my sins. Though now that it occurs me this may be true.â He chuckles, but there is no joy in him. Itâs when his true self comes to surface. âI think Iâve started a war.â
You barely blink, and every sexual tension in the air dissipates as you pale. You are suddenly dizzy and Aemond has to hold your elbows, leading you to a spot nearby.
âD-Do not think ill of me, I ask you thisâ, he begs, never before looking nor sounding so fragile.
You soften at him, cupping his cheeks before resting your forehead against his.
âI shall not, this I assure you. I suspect Iâve always sensed somehow due to our bond.â
Aemondâs long hands stroke your hair before sliding to your neck, there hesitating for a few seconds before breaking into an embrace in complete ignorance of how deeply he affects you.
âHow can you be so good to me? I do not deserve you, Y/Nickname. Youâre the only one who understands meâ, so he snorts. âHow can this be?â
You should not say it, nor think it, but Aemond is not entirely surprised when he hears these next words of you:
âYou are my other half, Aemond. I could never refuse you anything.â
You close your eyes, subtly agreeing to be the one to hold his darkest secrets. The prince doesnât know it yet, but he loves you for it.
***
⢠I think he did it but I just can't prove it. No, no body, no crime but I ain't letting up until the day I die. No, no. I think he did it. No, no. He did itâŚ
You are bathing yourself at a lake with your sister. With no witnesses, both of you are deprived of your clothes, chuckling at such a defiant moment, aware this would raise your motherâs sharp reprehension.
Itâs when he comes, since Aemond is sent to summon you and Helaena. The moment he finds you with your long locks completely wet, exposed in such a state under the sunlights⌠he freezes.
Aemondâs good eye stares at the happiness glinting behind your lilac gaze, watching how you throw yourself at the grass before standing and getting ready to dive in. He lingers at the sight of your firm breasts and large hips, good thighs to hold on.
His body may react at it. Worse than being mesmerized by you is that heâs caught staring at you.
âAemond!â, you let a cry out, instantly going red before diving in.
Trying to conceal his boner, Aemond too blushes. Not until now he realized how easily you affect him. He clears his throat before saying:
âMother is summoning.â
And then like the wind he disappears, leaving a hole where there is a heart beating in your chest.
âI think heâs fond of youâ, says Helaena in giggles. âMarry him and the merrier youâll be, dear sister.â
You hate how red your face is.
âAllow me to disagree, my beloved. Havenât you heard heâs taken to his bed a bastard named Alys Rivers?â
The Queen laughs quietly at the jealousy that escapes your reasoning. You swim for a little more before getting yourselves dressed, back to meet your mother.
âCarnal needs are hardly met by the ones of the heart, my sister.â And then, before you two disappear into the castle, she mysteriously whispers: âYou are the one he needs the most⌠considering the wayward path the gods chose him to follow.â
*
⢠Good thing my daddy made me get a boating license when I was fifteen and I've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene. Good thing Este's sister's gonna swear she was with me ("She was with me dude"). Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policyâŚ
You omit his illicit affairs, not judging him for doing so. You watch as your mother, Queen Alicent, scowls at her dysfunctional children for their misbehavior on a war she attempted to preventâmore likely as she addresses the word to Aegon and Aemond.
Civil war has brokered out and the Seven Kingdoms bleed for Lucerys Velaryon. However, no judgement is found in your eyes as Aemond is scowled upon.
âYou should be married to a noblewoman by nowâ, she says. âPerhaps a Baratheon lady, since this is a house loyal to us. Donât give me this look, Aemond Targaryen, after disgracing us before the Gods.â
You pity his future wife, knowing his heart and flesh are tied to another woman. Aemond sees how quiet youâve been in comparison to Aegon and Helaenaâs odd bubbling and Daeronâs impatience at how this gleefully dinner is going.
âNo body has been foundâ, you dare to raise your voice and instantly every sound dies. Aemond raises eyebrows and so do the others. You blush, but persist in your speech. âHow can anyone think Aemond did it?â
Alicent looks at her daughter, puzzled by your sudden defense of your brother.
âMy darling child, Iâve always judged you had put your brain to better use.â
You tilt your head.
âWhy, my mother. Has the prince my brother spoken anything at all? You assumed he committed a crime by facts that were brought out by our enemies. Give him some credit!â
Opting to believe that your staunch belief that Aemond is innocent by all costs comes rather from your unshakable faith than your cynicism, Alicent limits herself to laugh away your arguments.
âY/N, I am not tolerating this. Be quiet and meddle not where you are not concerned!â
Itâs enough to cast a shadow in your rarely sentimental display. Disappointed, you are back to your seat, missing the thankful gaze Aemond shoots at you.
Yet, restless as you are, the crowed room does not silence youâŚ
Until Gerold Hightower, unusual guest and witness of his Targaryens cousins squabbling, invites you for a dance. This angers the prince, who projects his frustrations at his mother.
Whilst the world burns in flames, you release your energy when you take your cousinâs hand and let be led him to dance, tired of caring, tired of feeling feelings that are the result of others deeds, you just want to be conducted out of this troubled world.
*
Itâs late night when Aemond comes to your privy chambers. He needs you, his partner, his other half. The prince needs to reach his particular heaven, to gravitate to his sun.
You are just slipping inside the soft Dornish sheets when he follows you.
âGoodness me!â, you let a cry out when seeing Aemond next to you. âAemond! I hate when you do that!â
âYou donât!â, he chuckles before poking your sides. âIâve always done it and you never complained it.â
You squeak, falling into laughters as he tickles your side until you are breathless and laying on his lap.
âWhat brings you here, Aem?â, you ask him eventually rolling back on your side of bed.
He throws himself back at your bed, hands behind his neck, never unlocking the gaze you hold.
âI missed youâ, he takes your fingers and interlock with his. âYour sweet disposition, your wit⌠everything I cannot be, the embodiment of virtues I cannot possessâŚâ
You turn abruptly at him, and Aemond realizes how beautiful you look under candlelight, with a few locks dropping on your brow. He promptly takes them and puts behind your ear, diving in your lilac eyes and seeing the protest that has been forming in your mind.
âYou are good. I know my prince, my other half.â
His gaze lingers at you, but lowers too to your neck. You still wear the necklace he gave you many moons ago, the day you reached ten and three summers. Aemond smirks, peeking your pink nipples that are this close to leave your nightgown.
âYou do not what you sayâ, he quickly looks away, now stroking your cheek. âSuch a faithful woman.â
âWhat a faithless man youâve becomeâ, you put him to an embrace, caressing his long locks, playing with your hand as he nuzzles against your neck, which makes you shake lightly.
Aemond cannot help a smile, feeling what you feel. This unusual connection never ended, he sees it now. It remains strong enough to erase him⌠the woman heâd publicly made his paramour.
As if you read his thoughts, you speak with a hint of disdain in your voice:
âShouldnât you be somewhere else?â
Aemond detects the poorly dissimulated jealousy he finds in you and it makes him smile. You two really complete the other.
âWhat makes you think I have another place to be at?â
He now plays with the necklace and you pretend you do not feel that old ache rising to burn whatâs between your legs. Aemond, however, spots the moment your nipples get hard. He sighs in content, pleased to have his confirmation. But the prince is in no rush to stop enjoying it.
He remembers the day he had an inter course with lady Alys and it does scare him that he came to climax thinking of you.
Aemond blushes at the memory.
âWe all know the woman you are devoted toâ, you say, gently turning against him in a manner to push him away.
âCome on, now, love. Do not do thatâ, he pouts, resting his chin on your shoulder, snaking his arms around your waist. âWho am I without my fiercest defender?â
Gently, he places a kiss on top of your shoulder, eyes glued at your face, part of him praying not to be shooed away. You donât do so, but neither give in as he hopes.
âSomebodyâs husband and paramourâ, you snark sarcastically, folding your arms.
Aemond chuckles, between annoyed and amused at your words. You try to ignore how suddenly his hand rest in your belly, pushing gently your nightgown as in a way to make you look at him.
You feel your breasts are about to leave the cloth that covers each, so you are about to adjust yourself when you find yourself locked in his arms. It doesnât help you how he puts a knee to part your legs and discreetly lay in your womanhood.
Which of course messes with your reason, but you still hesitate.
âWhat do you think you are doing? Do you take me as your whore?!â, you frown, already moody because fire now burns your belly.
âNeverâ, Aemond scoffs at you, speaking more seriously now. âI meant every word I said. You are dear to me, my sweet loving sister to whom I devout myself to.â
You sigh, unsure what to say. You rest your head against his shoulder now, unknowing what to say.
âI think you keep too much to yourselfâ, he whispers, gently pressing his knee into your womanhood, earning a gasp that makes him smirk.
âWhat the hell do you think you are doing?â, you protest rather weakly.
âYou think I wouldnât notice?â, he looks down at you, his fingers now stroking your face before letting his index finger brush over your rosy lips.
âNotice what?â, by now your voice betrays you and almost unconsciously you rub onto his knee.
Aemond holds back a heavy sigh, sensing a boner growing the moment you suck his finger.
âYou know whatâ, he takes it out of your lips and lifting your nightgown, slowly inserts it in your core. âThere is no need to repress yourself, my love.â
You flutter your eyelashes, barely believing in what is happening. Your mouth forms an âoâ as his finger investigates you, sliding farther before being joined by a second finger.
âHeavens!â, you throw your head back at the pillow, his gaze burning you.
âYesâ, he looks at your mouth, wondering whatâs like to kiss it, to taste your tongue, but the prince is patient. Even if it arouses him to an unbearable point where his boner is troubling his self control. âBurn with me. Itâs something you have always wanted havenât you?â
He smirks as you arch your back, giving in completely.
âHowâd you know?â, you ask in between whimpers.
Closing the distance between your lips, he says:
âWhat you feel I feel. The fire burning you inside, consuming desperately all that you heaveâŚâ, he bites your bottom lip, increasing the pace of his fingering. âI felt it too. You should have woken me up, told me countless timesâŚâ
âAemond!â, you whimper under his good care of you.
No words are needed to be said. The moment his lips collide against yours coincides with when your legs are heavier, as if you are levitating, and thenâŚ
Every tension dissipates.
âI love youâ. Aemond whispers against your ear, cuddling you protectively.
Rolling onto him, you kiss him again.
âI love youâ, you mewl under his care, locking him still with your legs as his hands help removing you out of your nightgown.
âThat day I spotted you at the lakeâ, says he, whose famine hands are now pursuing your freed nipples, which make you moan quite loudly. âGot me into another womanâs bed that wasnât yours.â
You purr under his words, forsaking reason and good sense at your best. It is insensible to fight your heartâs desire, to not be consumed by the fire as he burns you with the other part of you he possesses so well.
âAemondâ, you moan out his name as his hands begin to play with your weak spots.
When heâs with you, no need there is to conceal who he truly is. His eye-patch is not there to hide away his scar, as well as others begin to be seen when your hand removes his clothes.
âWill you stay?â, you ask, insecurity shadowing the moment m.
Aemond looks into your eyes as he holds your face with both hands.
âYes, my sweet princess. I shall make you my wifeâŚâ
âLawfullyâ, you hint at refusing becoming his mistress.
Aemond chuckles.
âLawfullyâ, he agrees.
So he kisses you.
***
⢠They think she did it but they just can't prove it. She thinks I did it but she just can't prove it. No, no body, no crimeâŚ
You are there when another crime happens. Aemond has been committed to his word. You are going to be espoused by your twin, thus respecting the Targaryen tradition that has been followed for ages.
But to every great delight is followed by a greater torment.
You are the one looking after your niece and nephew with your sister today. Sheâs been occupied with sewing and you are noticing sadness growing so suddenly in her features. You know what cause is thereâyou dreamed about it too, the loss of the precious Jaehaera and her twin Jaehaerys. The image daunts you.
As if moved by strange instinct, you summon them:
âMy darlings, come here. I want to show you somethingâŚâ
It happens very fast. Before the twins come to you, the royal privy chambers are taken by two strangers. Lowborn men dressing nothing but wickedness in their eyes take possess of the heirs of the crown.
âMy children!â, Helaena squeaks. âLords, please! Give them back to me!â
You try to get to the door, but not only itâs locked as the man who holds Jaehaerys slaps hard on your face, making you fall.
âAn eye for an eye⌠But maybe this can be prevented if you choose one of your children to be saved!â
You panic, and so does Helaena. The older one that smells bad and holds a fanciful dagger says:
âWell? Beauty is not eternal, Madame. So perhaps youâd like to continue the lineage with your prince and let your princess attend the divine call?â
âThis is not a divine callâ, you scream. âItâs a crime!â
You try to find a weapon to avenge your sister, who is too nervous and shocked, having a breakdown at the scene, but the next thing you know you get yourself to a fight.
The next event was not predicted by Helaena. You jump into the back of the man whoâs kidnapping Jaehaerys and thus release the boy. As you try to steal the manâs dagger, you manage to hurt him, which makes his partner get himself distracted and promoted to help him.
Whatever the case, you are not Aemond and your lack of strength is only an advantage to cause distraction. It works, but at what cost?
Soon the blade meets your belly and screams are heard like a haunted ghost throughout the castle. The sound is not yours, but Helaenaâs.
Your beloved sister is about to lose her best friend for the sake of a dynasty that was damned from the beginning.
Your mind goes blank, though. All you remember is the days spent in relatively peace, quiet and studying, always omitting Aemondâs sins and ensuring these never reached your motherâs knowledge.
As you gasp in pain, weeping silently as your murderer twists the dagger in you. Believing your body will be disappeared after your last breath, Aemond will not know a crime has occurred.
Is your sacrifice worth of this dusted and dysfunctional family you are part of? When thinking of the safety of your nephews and the love you received of Aemond, you believe so.
Then you comfortably slip out of your conscience.
***
For some reason, you are spared by the Gods. Aemond is there next to you, concern stamping his features. It softens though when you move your hand, surprised to find it holding his.
âY/N! Y/Nickname!â, you see tears in his good eye when he reaches for you, peppering your face with kisses. âI thought I lost you. IâŚâ
He could not say another word. Still shaken for finding yourself alive and well, you have nothing to say as he rocks you in his arms. Only then you look at him, confused.
âWhat happened? I thoughtâŚâ, and then you remember the events of that evening and you start to panic. âAemond! The children, where areâŚ?â
âShh, shhâŚâ, says the prince, kissing your lips gently. âNo need to stress yourself over this matter, love. All has been resolved and our nephews are well. You are well and y his is mostly important.â
You snuggle onto his arms, weeping silently. Aemond understands what youâve gone through, having spent the last days in great distress. He could not fight a war knowing you are not well. He could not bear in mind a world where you are not part of it.
Later youâd know Aemond rescued you because of the strong bond you two share. When he was about to fly Vhagar, he felt an excruciating pain flinch over his body, a terror that tormented his reason. Quickly he understood this was about you, that you needed him.
By the time he arrived at the Great Tower of the Red Keep, you have been just under a terrible attack that nearly costed your wife. The attackers escaped but Aemond hunted them downâafter ensuring you were under the best care of the best men of the realmâand personally ensured to execute such criminals.
As he did, Aemond knew who was the responsible for sending these two after his nephew and niece. The prince soon found his uncle Daemonâs whereabouts and a fight followedâto no avail, although Daemon was forced to seek exile.
The blacks are now momentarily defeated and now all of your family are present in Aemondâs privy bedchambersâto where you were takenâlooking after you.
âMy dear girl. How imprudent of you to behave the way you didâ, Alicent is weeping since the moment she saw you are awake. âI frightened for you. I prayed for your soul. I⌠My sweet Y/N! I have no words for what youâve done and the great pain you made me suffer! Do you care so little about your life?â
Before you could give her an answer, which includes an apology, another teary relative comes to your sight. The Queen Helaena rushes to your side before carefully holding you in her arms.
âI didnât see it coming, please forgive me!â
âThereâs nothing to forgive. What it matters is that they are well⌠arenât they?â
âThey areâ, a male, embargoed voice joins the party. Itâs Aegonâs. âY/N, your loyalty has always been the most admirable trait of a sweet heart none but Helaena possesses genuinely. Thank you.â
Itâs an emotional scene, a reward for a duty youâve never expected to earn. Aemond is there by your left side, him too sharing your sentiments. It is clear by now that what one feels, so does the other.
But what a greater victory there is to rejoice now than the harmony of the Dowager Queen and her children?
You know it⌠because youâve dreamt it.
***
⢠Epilogue.
Harrenhal Castle, many years later.
No more shadows nor sorrows since war came to an end. For once every enemy is defeated and the king reigns uncontestedly with his family by his side.
Politics here, politics there, a rival to your manâs love is nowhere to be seen. Some of the servants believe you possess the same wickedness there is in Lord Aemondâs heart, for since you and him were married, Alys Rivers has gone to dust. Where has she gone, the ambitious witch?
A name that doesnât remain in anyoneâs mind when your Valyrian beauty is seen inside and out of the Castle. You are a good landowner and you do your charity.
You earn the epithet of âthe good lady wife of Aemond, the kinslayerâ. But you do not mind it. Not when you rule your household⌠and him.
Whilst children are fast asleep, you are found in great intimacy with your lord husband. In nude state, you sit at the edge of your bed, subduing him at your will.
âAemond!â, you throw your head back, going insane at the wonderfulness his tongue does inside your womanhood, dancing around your clit until he drinks all the liquid you provide him. âOh, oh AemâŚ!â
You gently push his face to your core, arching your back as that familiar wave rises from your already levitating thighs⌠before crushing in your belly. And you almost scream, had he not placed a hand over your mouth.
Soon after, he doesnât let you take a break and promptly slides inside you, making you whimper and squint in surprise.
âMy lady is soaked!â, Aemond pushed you by your thighs, his tone so indecently hot that you squirm and drop back in bed. âGoodness me, woman!â
The prince groans loud, throbbing right into you, watching you with lust and desire as you are about to get undone again. Specially when he intercalates his deep thrusts with his fingers.
âSing it to meâ, he now inclines his body over yours, both of you soaked. Aemond wraps a hand around your neck, holding it the way you like him to all the whilst slapping your bum respectfully. Heâs about to come undone himself. âYes, wife!â
And to his surprise, you lock him with your legs and turn positions. Barely you begin to ride him, though, when both of you reach orgasm.
âThis was so good!â, Aemond cries out before making out with you passionately.
He then helps you come to his side, and there your bodies remain interlocked.
âI think we conceivedâ, you muse mischievously.
Aemond is cuddling onto you, holding you tightly close. You donât mind his sweat, so mixed to yours that smell as one. You love him intently so and he feels it.
âI donât mind if we doâ, he chuckles. âThe more, the merrier.â
One exchange of glances is enough to express how one feels for the other. It makes you happy, it contents him likewise. No signs of war, no crimes to be slandered of. No more.
Imagine Taylor Swiftâs songs (XIX): This Is Me Trying.
Imagine Aemond Targaryen imprisons you during the late civil war.
Warnings: long post, drama, angst, light smut, fluff ending.
***
⢠Before the War.
I've been having a hard time adjusting. I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting. I didn't know if you'd care if I came back. I have a lot of regrets about thatâŚ
When Aemond meets you again circumstances are about to erupt in an event that most involved wish to prevent. Heâs lost an eye, and though for gaining something more important, his pride never amended for the loss.
You, on the other hand, are his cousin via his uncle Daemonâs first marriage to Lady Rhea Arryn. In theory, you should be ruler of that House, but women hold no rights there so that is why you are there with your family.
With your dark hair and darker eyes, you attract your cousinsâs attention. Itâs a week before the fatidic dinner when he spots you, dressed in dark blue, ignoring the rising tensions between the already formed green and black parties.
âYou look as if this is the place you wouldnât want to beâ, you hear him address you.
In all fairness, last time youâve been there he was a child and so were you. Hardly surprising it is to find the quiet boy a taller and handsome man.
âLord Aemondâ, you smile when recollecting his name. âItâs been yearsâŚâ
âIndeed. Many events have transcurred since we last spoke, Lady Arrynâ, he side smirks, eyeing you intently, pleased to make you blush.
As children, you were playmates before your father remarried to Lady Laena of House Velaryon. She took you as one of her own and under her care you remained until she came to past away. And then your father espoused Princess Rhaenyra, whom also took you as her daughter.
And here you are.
âThey have, yesâ, you nod, transfixed by his enigmatic presence. âIâm sorry about your eye. I wasnât there when this happened.â
âYouâd think I didnât notice?â, he raises his eyebrow. âWhere have you been?â
Silence hangs in between the two of you. Aemond resents your absence, how out of reach youâve been when you were once close. How on earth have you become strangers?
You look down at your wrung hands, but when carefully lifting your gaze you still find his good eye glued on you, trying to understand you.
âI tried to reclaim my inheritance at the Eyrie right after my stepmotherâs decease. I couldnât do so earlier as I was too young, but nowâŚâ
âAre you their lady now?â, Aemond softens.
You smile almost unconsciously as the tension between you two dissipate and the prince leads you to the gardens.
âNo. They accept no woman as their overlordâ, you sigh. âMy father doesnât take it nicely, though. He intends to reclaim it on my behalf, refusing the proposal of my maternal uncle.â
âOh?â, he furrows his eyebrows, fearful of the response. âWhat thatâd be?â
As you two move towards the gardens, you barely notice how your arm slides to his, distance now shorter than before.
âMarriage. What other proposal would be?â
Aemond chuckles lightly, but you spot no amusement in his good eye.
âIt is the way, is it not?â
âFor us women, usually is. A duty that requires plenty of sacrifices.â
As he looks at you, Aemond doesnât resist the urge of asking:
âWhat would you be prepared to sacrifice, lady Y/N?â
As you two lock gazes, you are reminded of the time spent together. As children, you were both so alike in temperament, in likes and thoughts. What has changed now?
You open your mouth, but you do not know what to say. Aemond gently parts of you, hands behind his back, expectation somewhat filling behind his good eye.
He knows the answer. He can tell by your heavy breathing, the light shake of your hands, how your bottom lip trembles⌠what will come out. Sensibility rises behind your coal eyes like darkness pulls him into it.
He waits.
You wonât say it. You wonât say it.
But you do.
âYou.â
To your dismay, the prince smiles. Taking your hand in his, he says:
âIâve always thought about you. Iâm glad you havenât forsaken me, Y/N.â
You blush, moving your gaze instantly away. A torrent of words are being held back. Aemond, who knows you so well, gently makes you look at him.
âDo not slip out of me. I ask you this.â
âEven though I am the elder sister of the twins who attacked you?â
Aemond chuckles.
âNo one is perfect.â
That being said, he takes your hand and there presses a kiss.
***
⢠The Dinner.
Pulled the car off the road to the lookout. Could've followed my fears all the way down and maybe I don't quite know what to sayâŚ
Right before the expected meeting at the Kingâs table for the evening meal in a familiar gathering, you are found at Lord Aemondâs company. You see heâs been acting weirdly, even though nothing on his face betrayals it.
âWhy are you in a glooming mood?â, you inquire, your face rested in his lap, looking up at him as his long hand strokes your hair.
âI am notâ, he says in a dismissive tone. âThis is who I am, you know.â
âDo not play me a fool, Aemondâ, you stand reluctantly, but never too far of his grasp.
Aemond likes how wild your hair is, mirroring a tempest that is forming behind your eyes as you stare at him. He strokes your face, prompted to succumb to his desires if circumstances were different.
âWill you force me speak my mind?â
âIf I must, yesâ, you narrow your eyes.
Again, he chuckles.
âYou can be stubborn when you want to be, Y/Nickname.â
âA trait you also have, if I recall well.â
Aemond leans so close to you now that you fear you are about to lose your balance. Especially when his lips are pressed against your forehead, there lingering in a gentle, but intense kiss that spreads fire over your body.
A sentiment that you think wise to ignore.
But when his slander hands slip from your face to your long hair, resting around your waist, you find yourself holding your breath.
âAlways beautiful, my sweet Y/N. I could never let go of you, nor hold you accountable of othersâ sin.â
You realize the feud between him and your half siblings are deeper than youâd judged.
âMy sweetâ, you hold his face gently. âDo not feed these grudges. I understand the pain of losing what is dear to you, by no chances I mean to demove you of this sentiment. However, vengeance is not changing what happened.â
It is as if you are twins, one knowing the other so well, able to feel what other feels, to think what the other thinks. As if your soul is made of the same material as his.
Even if where he is fire and you are water, a perfect mix has always tied each other.
âAemondâŚâ
He takes your hands and there presses a kiss.
âCome, we better not get late to the dinner.â
To your disappointment, Aemond stands, waiting for you to take the arm he offers you. But the moment you take it, it feels as if you are growing apart.
***
âWhere have you been?â, your father asks you the moment you slide to your chair, next to Baelaâs seat.
âBy a certain somebodyâs sideâ, you hear your half-sister grumble.
âWould you please mind your own business?â, you snort at her.
âGirlsâ, interferes Rhaenyra. âThis is not the place nor the time.â
âIndeed it is notâ, agrees Daemon. âAnd I pray you have not been randomly wandering around with him again.â
You raise your gaze only to meet your fatherâs inexpressible pair of lilac eyes studying you. Praying you are able to hold back your emotions enough not to blush, you smirk.
âOh please, father. As far as it may be difficult for you to accept, I have other companions to spend my time with besides my relativesâ, you lie blatantly at his face.
âRight⌠If that is what you are telling me, I have no need to preoccupy myself thenâ, he reclines back at his chair, ignoring how the small conversation has captured Aemondâs attention.
Though he sits at the other side of the table, the prince monitors you. He can tell you are lying by how you close your first around the glass, how you cast your eyes to the plate, chewing your bottom lip nervously.
He can tell you are upset at some sibling provocation by the blush that paints your cheeks and the air of impatience that makes you roll your eyes. The discomfort at it is crystal clear as you feel an outsider as your twin sisters talk nonsenses with the Velaryon boys.
You do not belong there. Your looks outstand the Targaryen looks, that itself makes you uncomfortable. He wishes he could tell you many great thingsâamongst which the depth of his affections for you.
As you raise your eyes, you meet his gaze and for the first time during the dinner both of you smile. He wishes to reach out for you. But then something changes.
It all happens very fast. The food and mutual implication of Aemondâs loss of an eye lead him to subtly stand.
âI would like to have a toastâŚâ
You barely blink. Tension is in the air and you see by their faces that everyone is holding their breaths.
You know Aemond is up to no good. You try to convince him not doing what heâs about to, suspecting this has something to do with his long standing rivalry with the Velaryon boys.
To your disappointment and not entirely surprise, vengeance takes his best. Aemond sees the moment he speaks unwanted words how aghast you look.
ââŚfor these three Strong boys.â
And what happens next prevents him to reach out for you again.
***
⢠War.
Wind howls violently at the top of the hill. You stare at your dragon with silver eyes and black scams. Itâs time, you know it.
Your hair is tied in a long braid and you dress for your first battle at this disgrace war that has been waged since your sweet prince has caused the death of your half-brother.
You could not forgive him for this atrocity, even if part of you doesnât buy the narrative that Aemond chased Lucerys and purposely ended with his life. You recall how that day you and Rhaena entered in a fight because you were accused to stand for such a kinslayer, an accusation you refused to absolve her for.
âAre you sure you are ready to do it?â, you hear the voice of your father not long as you prepare to mount your flying beast.
Clouds clash, resulting in electric storms. Not the most propitious skies to fly. Daemon looks at you with fatherly concern, reading in your impulsiveness the need of proving your worth.
âI ask you not to fight this war unless itâs absolutely needed to. You should not do it because of your sisters. What Rhaena has said to youâŚâ
âI care naught about what she saidâ, you turn your head at him. âThis isnât about me or her, but our cause. I will not disappoint you, my father. Youâll be proud of me.â
âI am already proud of youâ, says Daemon with his greeted teeth. âI see myself in you. There is no need to have Targaryen looks to be one. You have the dragon blood in you, Y/N. Listen to me, this is not the timeâŚâ
âI am a woman now, father. As capable as anyone else to stand for the Queen.â
You swallow your tears, smashing your childhood fears down to your throat. And you fly with your dragon without further waiting, wishing to wipe off your thoughts the nights spent with Aemond at the library or running the corridors or when each confided insecurities to the other.
You wish you had not in mind the envy you felt when seeing your twin sisters sharing the Targaryen looks. You wish you were not mocked upon because of that.
You rise, aiming to fly higher. And your dragon feels your angst, howling through the air. As electric as it is, you seem immune to it.
But of course when you play the game of thrones you either win or die. What shall be the destiny gods hold to you?
Nothing of it comes to your thoughts when you spot Aegon, the Usurper, mounting his dragon. He flies right against you. The battle scene is prepared and you promptly join it.
The dragons dance and your temper takes the best of your reasoning. Nevertheless you hold the advantage of having a dragon bigger than Aegonâs.
But inexperienced.
A fault that will come at you when Aegon commands his dragon to fly right into you. Itâs a violent battle to see. He tries to attack you wearing his sword, but his blows are useless.
So suddenly you wish you have heard your father. You are not prepared to fight your cousin on your own. And when a greater dragon casts its shadow below, you have realized you fell to a trap.
***
Aemond doesnât take pride in taking you with him as his prisoner. Your silence is a harder blow to take, unprepared he was to face it.
âDo not, I ask you, make these matters worse to you.â
He takes you to Harrenhal with him, reclaiming you as his war prize, against his brotherâs will, who certainly had other plans for his uncleâs daughter.
You are still processing the trauma of losing your dragon to those beasts you share your blood with. Perhaps itâs not a misfortune to look such an Arryn this time.
You answer him not. Aemond knows this is a difficult battle to fightâand whatâs worse, his conscience tells him this is the result of his doing.
âYou shall stay in these chambersâ, Aemond tells you. âIt used to belong toâŚâ
Heâd say these were his mistress Alysâ bedchambers before she came to pass after a hard labor, but to avail should he remind you that he supplanted you in his affections?
Or did he plan to say so as a form to plague you with remorse for daring to fight his brother alone?
Such thoughts are slipping out of his mind before the sight of your distress, already plagued by traumas of a war⌠caused by him.
âTo your whore?â, you cut the silence by saying what he could not. âHow thoughtful of you, Aemond. Thank you for being considerate.â
Your sharp remark leaves him astonished at your bluntness. It hurts him more than he admits, but as you turn your back at him, entering the bedchambers and there locking yourself in, Aemond realizes that what you two once shared is no more.
***
You sob violently when being left alone. Your imprudence brought you such tragedy and at times you consider going to the window and jump to death at long last and put an end to your misery.
As your fatherâs daughter, however, your inclination to life speaks louder than letting broken pride taking the best of you.
However, for how long will your spirit resist this? You were never someone to be easily caged.
And yet, here you areâŚ
***
⢠Reproach: the aftermathâŚ
They told me all of my cages were mental so I got wasted like all my potential and my words shoot to kill when I'm mad. I have a lot of regrets about that I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere. Fell behind on my classmates, and I ended up here pouring out my heart to a stranger, but I didn't pour the whiskeyâŚ
Like strangers you meet. Dressed in a green silk gown with hair loose behind your back, a sign of resistance, you join the prince in an awkward dinner.
âWill you not eat?â
âI lost my appetiteâ, but your mouth is dried and you eventually take the silver glass poured with red wine to your lips.
Aemond softens before you.
âWe have started wrongly. Again time steals you from me. I, who possess all that gold and titles can purchase, was deprived of the luxury of having you.â
How openly and crudely he speaks these words make your eyes go wide open at him. You down your glass, skepticism stamped in your features.
âYou cannot be serious.â
âI mean every word I say.â
You do not answer, fearful of being brought to the edge of your tears. The old signs Aemond sees: you chew your bottom lip, you close your wrist in a fist, your shoulders remain tense.
Your body screams resentment when you spirits locks in silence.
âYou donât.â After a while you add. âHas Lady Alys been what then?â
âA replacement of you.â
You promptly stand.
âStop it. Stop right there, my lord prince. Do you take me as a toy you can play at your will? Have you not taken enough of me to satisfy your thirst for vengeance?â
So does he stand.
âI lost a lot for the wrongs Iâve done, lady.â
âYou have never missed me!â, and you at last explode. âYouâve forgotten me long ago! You took that woman to your bed, making her your wife in all but name! What have you sacrificed?â
Aemond shortens the distance as he holds your wrists, pulling you closer to him. When removing his eye patch, he hisses:
âI sacrificed you! Us! All that we could have been! Caged my own shadows, I was misled to believe I would earn no peace until they paid for the wrongs I suffered!â
You weep violently, drowning in your sobs as he holds you against him.
âDo not torment me more than I am tormented myselfâ, he whispers in your ear. âThis is me trying, Y/N, to exorcise my demons and be a better version of me to you.â
He buries his head against your neck, smelling your scent, being reminded of peaceful days that now look old, ancient ones dusted in the wind.
His long fingers bury his nails tightly in your waist, nearly provoking physical pain as impatiently begins to unlace your gown.
You shiver before his touch, not hissing away of the pain you two inflicted each other. Now the only sound you hear is of his small sobs. Your hands go to his head.
Two souls harmed, pained in long term angst. You lift his face with scars exposed.
âHow did we get here? I used to know you so well, Aemond. My sweet Aem, what have we done?â
âI swallowed vengeance as a medicine and had me poisoned. Never wanted to get you involved in this.â
Fireplace warms the princeâs chambers and soon you and him are sitting on the ground, close to the flames that warm the cold there is in either of you.
âWill you be the death of me?â
âNeverâ, he takes your face with his face and finally kisses your lips. âI will not let you go.â
As much as you want to be kissed, as much as your lips devour his in a fervent kiss, as much as your gown starts to slip out of your shoulders and your hands get to remove his shirt, you pull out and Aemond knows he should be more clear.
âThere is a plan.â
âThen share it with me.â
âIâll make you Lady of the Vale. You will sit at Eyre as their only lady. Iâll be by your side as you reclaim your inheritance.â
You can barely believe in what heâs saying.
âAemondâŚâ
âNo more wars. No more tragedies. No more blood spent. This I promise you. I will make you my wife.â
When his lips twitch at a small smile, that sweet smile that has always melted your heart, you know what he speaks is true.
âMake me yours.â
That being said, Aemond, more than willingly, rises to claim your lips. And right there, before the flames, two dragons meet in flesh.
***
⢠Lady
And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound. It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you. You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my townâŚ
A feast is thrown at the Capital. Civil war has come to an end and you are told there had been no survivors of the black party. In spite of the plans secretly arranged with Aemond, youâd still have to go through the humiliation of being seen as a trophy to the green cause.
For him, you try. To conceal your grief, to mourn underneath a well masked emotionless face.
For him, you try. To dress in the colors of his house, to act composedly even when Aegon laughs at you, even when the usurper mocks at all you know.
But Aemond keeps his word. He stands for you, refusing to let his victory to perpetuate wounds that should be closed, that must be cured.
Itâs when the Dowager Queen comes at you.
âThere has been many losses to our sidesâ, she plays the diplomatic role that is expected of her position. âI lament it deeply how this ended. She was dear to me, you know.â
You cast your dark coal eyes to see a pair of green ones plagued by vicious sadness staring back at yours. There are many things you want to say, but no words make to your tongue.
Instead, you opt for the cold, silent treatment. However, when seeing how Aemond has stood for youâas he has always done, once youâll learn-/, you eventually say with your dry throat:
âYour condolences are welcomed, Your Grace. I assume this is where I should congratulate you thus.â
âCongratulate me?â
Oh her cynicism prevents you try further to be genuinely polite.
âIndeed. Your schemes came to fruition and here your son rules uncontestedly, notwithstanding his fatherâs wishes in keeping Princess Rhaenyraâs his heiress. But what do I know?â
Leaving the paled queen prompted to another access of tears, you excuse yourself to the gardens.
A film of past, merry days is relived behind your eyes. Lady Laena educating you next to her twin daughters, only two years younger than you. The tutors, the moments spent with your father, who somewhat was distant but always caring to you.
The sadness of losing Lady Laena being replaced as you witness your father marrying Princess Rhaenyra. You remember her kindness and her favours. The dragon egg she gifted you in your late teenager daysâŚ
You sob as you miss your black dragon. A hole in your heart is open and your knees go weak. You can hear Rhaenyra telling you this is not your fault for Lucerysâ demise.
âThis is not your war to fight.â
But you fought it, didnât you?
âDonât goâ, your fatherâs eyes cried out to you when his words attempted to pull you down.
But you wanted to prove his worth⌠And that was the last time you ever saw him.
Here you are, hardly free. A trophy for all those victors to exhibit. And in this cruel circumstance, you miss him coming at you, standing by your side.
âComeâ, he says, taking your hand to his.
âWhere?â, you do not mind disguising anymore.
Your castle tumbled and you are nothing but the ruins of days that are not going back.
âTo reclaim your inheritance with meâ.
Aemond senses your reluctance and stands with you, now out of others eyes. And right under his gaze you sob violently, and he takes you in his arms, feeling your pain as if itâs his own.
âIt shouldnât be this way. I cannot apologize enough for what Iâve done to you.â And leaving his pride aside, he takes your face with his hands and wiping your tears, so he says: âPlease, forgive me.â
Underneath grey clouds, out of the bloody feast, itâs just you and him. Trying.
âI forgive youâ, you concede genuinely, forgiving yourself too for the impulsiveness.
âI shall never leave you. Everâ, he vows it.
And this is the start of a new journey to you. Where you are neither trying it, but making it. Itâs time to amend the wounds of the civil war.
***
You regain your strength, your old self the moment you land at the seat of your motherâs house.
You are not entirely surprised that the local noblemen welcome you reluctantly, as if prepared to engage in war.
âPeaceâ, you tell them. âI come in peace.â
Aemond leaves you to settle it. He is by your side, hand resting in his sword. Having claimed Blackfyre, he wears it proudly. Not to mention the grand beast behind them.
Although calmly, Vhagar stares at those pair of eyes as if sheâs about flame them all.
A dark haired young man comes at you. He could easily be a lost sibling, but the similarities end there.
âLady Y/N Targaryen. I thought weâd not meet.â
âHow kind of you, cousin. A very warm welcome on your partâ, like your father before you, snark remarks are something you do well. Aemond himself doesnât conceal a smirk.
âWhat are you here for? You have no right here.â
You really forgot how the people of Vale could be ruthlessly straight to the point. Itâs when Aemond Targaryen comes in the scene.
âYou either bend your knee on behalf of my lady or else youâll face consequences in the name of King Aegon, Second of His Name.â
Those present still remember from stories when Vhagar last came there. Her rider was lenient and they prayed you and Aemond remain so.
But your maternal cousin, Lord H/N, doesnât seem prudent. Silence hangs.
âWell? What is your choice going to be? Westeros has bled for more time than it needed. Will you be the reason why the Vale will meet blood and fire on the wrong way? Itâs not shameful to bend the knee.â
âI shall never bend a knee for a treacherous whore as yourself.â
Itâs enough for Aemond unleash his sword and⌠let its blade kiss the manâs neck.
âNo one who offends my lady walks out free.â
Just like that you reclaim your inheritance and you barely conceal your satisfaction at it. Whoâd else dare to resist you after Lord H/Nâs unwelcoming reckless?
**
You are dressed in the colors of your motherâs house. How ironic it is that your fatherâs enemy helped you to obtain what he could never achieve not even as his widowerâs alleged claimant to Lady Rheaâs inheritance.
You look at your prince, who stands at the higher table as your Arrynâs relatives welcome you with a proper feast.
âThank youâ, you smile at him and Aemond is pleased to find no sadness behind your eyes.
âIt is only right to amend the wrongsâ, right under the table he takes hold of your hand and there squeezes it. âIt pleases me more to see your kinsmen and the folks here did not provide any sort of resistance.â
âDespite my surname and whom I take after, they remember my mother well even if I donâtâ, you sigh shortly. âThey see how diplomatic and reasonable I am. No matter how tied I am to this new regime, they want and need the peace these years took from them.â
Aemond smiles at you and you are content for finding peace at last behind his good eye.
âThankfully you are. I donât see how this could be otherwise.â
Earlier that day, before the ceremony of your rise as Lady of the Vale began, you and Aemond were lawfully married before the Seven. This feast intends to celebrate both occasions with tons of merriments. The next day a tournament will be given on behalf of their new overlords.
*
âMy ladyâ, he kisses your neck and bare shoulders, his hands already removing your line nightgown.
Sitting behind you at your bed, your husband stands all bare as you let him take his time to contemplate this new state both of you are.
No more childhood sweethearts. No more lovers parted due to war. But a husband loving his wife.
You tilt your head to the side, already feeling a heat ache in the between of your legs. Your nipple is already hardened as he exposes it, and youâd gladly touch yourself to ease this burden had he not held your wrist.
âLeave it to meâ, he bites your neck, there leaving his bruise.
You arch your back in silent protest.
âYou are torturing in meâ, you moan, turning your head as you make sure to remove your nightgown and begin to climb on your nude consort when he turns you to be laid under his body.
âAm I?â, he smiles, his hair a mess as you bury your nails on his shoulders, pulling you to him. âAm I torturing my beautiful wife?â
âFor yearsâ, you grumble before breaking in a loud whimper when he inserts a finger in between your legs. âOh, husband!â
His tongue now slides to your chest, path trailing before reaching your nipples. There, the night finally begins to you and your prince gladly takes his time.
Until you begin to reach the climax, he climbs back at you.
And not entirely unexpectedâŚ
âAh, yes!â
He groans as he slides inside you. Raising your legs to fit better his moves, he matches the pace of his hips with yours.
Locking hands with you, he pursuits your lips and in a very passionate kiss you give all you have to him.
***
Some years later.
You watch from your scribe quarters how Aemond trains your son, Daeron, with his sword. You are writing a letter to your sister-in-law, the Queen, to ask a favor on behalf of the Vale when the lovely scene captures your attention.
Your son is now four years old. He has silver hair with some dark shades, a trait youâve once seen in Lady Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was. His eyes are painted lilac, likes his fatherâs. Your boy is every inch Aemondâs son.
But his temper is quiet, like yours. He possesses attentive, fierce eyes. He has a quick wit, and some say heâs a precocious boy. Heâs indeed very healthy.
The scene is adorable. Whenever Daeron mishits a blow, he pouts.
âI am terrible at it, daddy!â
Aemond chuckles, very patient and says:
âTake your time, young man. You have to go back to our lessons when holding a proper sword.â
âIf you gave me a real sword, Iâd do better.â
You laugh quietly at the sight, especially when Aemond reprehends him for this thought.
âNay, son. You need to uphold a wood sword or else whatâs the point in holding a true blade? And even if you did, your mother would kill me.â
He then lifts Daeron and ruffles his hair.
âCome, letâs see what your sister is doing.â
Not too far from where he is, your daughter Rhaella is climbing a tree under the supervision of your trusted maid. When seeing her father, the dark haired little girl with purples irises beams at him and promptly goes down the tree to run at him.
âDADDYYYY!â
You get emotional at the sight. Aemond and your offspring. Your children, your heirs. A family you never thought youâd have to call yours.
And thereâs a third one, a newly born baby who now reclaims your attention. The maid brings little Aemon to be breastfed as you insisted you do so.
âMy little boyâ, you turn at him, stroking his silver locks. You once joked to Aemond how the Gods amused themselves by sending a child with silver hair and another with dark locks. âMy prince. Come, you are hungry, arenât ye?â
You are doing so the moment the door is open and your husband comes in with the two children.
âMy ladyâ, Aemond greets you with a kiss on your temple. âHow is our son?â
âHealthy and hungry, praised be the Godsâ, you chuckle. âAnd our children?â
âMama, I must tell you what I did today!â
Suddenly your husband is pushed aside and Rhaella and Daeron begin to compete for your attention. Aemond, as amused as he is by the dispute, has to intervene.
And hereâs how the rest of your afternoon is spent: surrounded by your family you love.
But thereâs a surprise that might come to shake the grounds of your hard worked for stability. Before you get to dine with them, a lady of your trust comes at you in a hurry.
âWhat is wrong, my dear?â
âSomeone wants to meet you. I am forbidden to share his identity and he wants to see you aloneâŚâ
Itâs when Aemond has a glimpse of the conversation and he promptly entrusts his children to your lady before saying:
âShe shall not meet this stranger alone, regardless of the conditions he imposed.â
The said woman messenger only gives you a look before doing as said. You and Aemond shoot glances, but neither dares to speak.
What surprise it is when, opening the door, you spot Daemon Targaryen completely weary standing before you.
âDad?!â
He gives Aemond a long look before looking at you.
âGreetings there, daughter of mine. Iâm alive.â
Imagine Taylor Swiftâs songs (XVIII): Lavender Haze.
Imagine you and Osferth hit the road.
Warnings: smut, fluff.
Warnings 2: based on this aesthetic here <<https://www.tumblr.com/ewanmitchelll/737975550586634240/moodboard-on-the-road-with-osferth>>
***
⢠Meet me at midnight
He stops by your house by midnight. In silent steps, with no warning, he rings the bell. You are about to slide in your bed, for youâve had a long day but anxieties prevented you sleeping earlier and get a proper rest.
âWhoâŚ?â
Your inquiring dies in your throat when realizing, through the eye door, who stands the other side of it.
You sigh and unlock it, before saying:
âReally, Osferth? Honey, itâs Thursday and itâs midnight.â
Your boyfriend is dressing comfortable clothes, the same as usual. Despite the hour of the wolf, he looks restless as you let him in.
âWhatâs going on? Couldnât you have called me?â
Osferth walks in, hands in his pocket. Then a glint of mischief is perceived in his eyes. Whatâs he planning now?
âI could not sleep. I wanted to see you.â
He smiles when detecting a blush painting your cheeks. Now that the lights are on and heâs at your place, Osferth takes a better look at you.
You dress cozy, warm pajamasâand it happens to be that pair he gifted you on Christmas, velvet teddy bear pink pajamas, very appropriated and cute for winterâand your hair is completely a mess. Not to mention the sleep-eye you have over your forehead.
âYou look gorgeous, my darlingâ, he shortens the distance, peppering your face with kisses.
âWhy thank you, honey. But now I am worriedâ, you put your hands around his neck. âWhat happened? You didnât come all this way to tell me Iâm beautiful.â
Osferth smiles at you and nothing warms his heart more than seeing how he affects you, when spotting the same spark of joy in your eyes, the smile that unconsciously rips open your lips⌠Itâs been two years and what you two have remains special, untouched by time.
âAs much as this would make me the last romantic of the worldâ, says he in a whisper, pleased to make you giggle, âI came here to steal you away. Letâs hit the road and do something different.â
Your eyes go wide and you part the embrace to step back.
âIâm sorry, what?â
âYup. Letâs do it, hit the road with me, Y/N.â
You have many arguments at why you cannot simply get away with him, but none reaches your tongue. Instead you tilt your head and say:
âFine. Let me pack my stuff, will you?â
***
⢠Starin' at the ceilin' with you. Oh, you don't ever say too much and you don't really read into my melancholia⌠I've been under scrutiny (yeah, oh, yeah). You handle it beautifully (yeah, oh, yeah). All this shit is new to me (yeah, oh, yeah)
Silence hangs comfortably as he drives with you by his side, no destination intended. Whilst you sleep on the driverâs backseat, Osferth opens briefly the window on his left and lets his hand holding a cigarette out so the smoke doesnât trouble you.
At times this son of Alfred, high skilled diplomat under King Charles III of England, is impulsive and somewhat reckless, but never entirely unpredictable.
However, now that he has finally some time to himself, he wants to spend it with you. Osferth has recently started working as a college professor after finishing his PhD. A path that his father, however, did not initially look with good eyes. Alfred preferred to have inserted his children at politics or at royalty, by somehow making them approach the royal ladies and lords. Only Edward, his youngest son, followed his path.
ĂthelflĂŚd has recently married Uhtred Ragnarsson and is residing at Bebbanburg, located in the north of country. As far as Osferth knows, sheâs just recently found out sheâs having their first baby.
Stepping away from these domestic affairs reminds him of what liberty is like. You and him share a common taste for pursuing it whenever social pressure is too much for you.
As he casts a look at you, Osferth is reminded the first time he met Finanâs sister and how he fell for you.
It was actually at Uhtredâs fancy feast, but you looked just as an outsider as he was, specially when both of you were introverts who happened to be selectively extroverts and that night was particularly not one for the latter.
You two shared a couple of beers and turned out talking a lot, on the floor and staring at the ceiling of a random room. Curiously, this didnât end up in a session of make outâbecause by then you had a boyfriend, whom soon was dumped out.
As he casts a quick gaze at you, hearing you snore lightly, Osferthâs memory of you two connecting with time comes in the back of his mind, the shock in his best friendâa face when he caught you two kissing at Uhtredâs gardensâin another occasion, of courseâŚ
He inhales the smoke of the cigarette, exhaling next when remembering the first time you two started you relationship. You were the one to tell how you came to love him. You admitted it half drunk at his birthday party, and that night he held you close against his chest⌠only in the morning to make love to you.
âFuckâ, he smokes out, cursing under his breath as he is reminded of how you like to straddle his lap. Promptly he dismisses his memories otherwise things would get⌠uncomfortable.
Road is easy, wind blowing against his hand before he throws away the used cigarette making the scenario perfect to calm his inner storms. Too much pressure on his work, some quarrels with Edward in regard politicsâŚ
âI frankly donât give a fuck to anything. I wasnât born to live a fancy lifeâŚâ
He sighs. Hours have been spent on the road and by the time sun begins to set itâs first rays in the promising warm sky, Osferth needs a rest. Finding a random hostel, he stops by and gently wakes you up.
âMmâ, you grumble.
Osferth finds sensible not to say youâve been drooling.
âWe must rest, love. Comeâ, says he in his usual tone, calm and peaceful.
You follow him, trusting him completely as he leads you inside. Your face is buried in his neck, as he helps you stand.
âSweet Y/Nickname, you canât simply sleep and walk at the same time.â
âI canâ, you counter argue him. âItâs called sleepwalking my darling.â
Osferth chuckles.
âAnd here we goâŚâ
Funny, though, as the moment you eventually drop in the bed of the room he arranges for you both, your eyes are instantly open.
âWhere are we?â, you ask, too comfortable to stand, watching as he drops to your side.
âWinchester, I dare say. Do you want to visit some of the historical places tomorrow?â, he inquires, already about to fall asleep.
You nuzzle against his neck, cuddling against him as his open arms welcome you in between.
âOf course I doâ, you beam. âThank you, Osferth, for making my days betterâŚâ
You chuckle when he doesnât respond you straight away. At the loud sound of his snores, Osferth has succumbed to sleep.
***
⢠I feel the lavender haze creepin' up on me. Surreal, I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say. No deal, the 1950s shit they want from me⌠I just wanna stay in that lavender haze.
As you two walk hand in hand between ancient pillars that stood through times amidst modern buildings in clear contrast between past and present, you come to realize how much you like to do your things with him.
When looking at Osferth, no words are enough to describe what he makes you feel. But damn, in secrecy you long to be his wife, to be his every day partner and even perhaps to mother his children.
Naturally your pride doesnât let you express this views out loud⌠not when you once mocked Stiorra, your long time friend, for what you judged to be â1950âs shitâ where marriage and children are concerned.
But thereâs nothing wrong in changing oneâs mind. You are proof of it, even if you are scared to admit it to yourself.
âI feel the weight of your stareâ, Osferth mumbles as he lights another cigarette.
âI was merely admiring my boyfriendâ, you flash him a smirk. ââŚand also wondering if we could stay one more night here?â
You love to make Osferth blush and look shyly down at his hands.
âWell, I was hoping we could set ourselves back to the road, but what is it you have in mind?â
âSome wine and random lectureâ, you suggest.
âWine is good. But what would you like to debate today?â
The fact he is diplomatic and listener makes you swoon. And Osferth can read it in you, because you disguise poorly how deep your affections for him are. Which is why he smiles to himself, locking hands with you as you two stroll around this old town.
âSocrates, perhaps? Itâs a good day to philosophy.â
âI am open to philosophyâ, he muses, âor we could debate early medieval Englandâs kingship.â
You laugh at his excitement about the passion he shares with you: history, wars, weapons, kings⌠all that has now been reallocated to what is now the past.
âWe may see how this will do. You more than often stand for the House of Wessex and God knows whyâ, you tease him with a playful eye roll.
Osferth responds by holding you from behind, his chin rested on your shoulder, his hands lightly tickling your waists. The sound of your laughters echoes in the air, only stopped as you are turned onto him.
âSilly headâ, you tease him.
Right there, at the sidewalk, there is no one but you and him. World seems to spin slowly, nothing else matters.
His hands around your neck, moving higher to cup your face⌠This is what liberty feels like. When he sees you as who you really are and stays because of it, not in spite of your vices and virtues.
He stays.
His eyes tell you this. He is not leaving. And you, drowning in these blue irises, leave every insecurity aside the moment your lips so willingly clash against his.
Itâs a passionate kiss. Always is. Like a thermometer of the love one feels for the other, never disappoints in measuring high temperatures. Itâs addictive, itâs perfectly synced.
But you must be always on guard if you are not inclined to be slaved by the passion his kiss and caressing prompt you to.
As you part, however, it begins to rain.
âLooks like we are anticipating our wine evening.â
You chuckle quietly, eyeing him fondly as your thumb strokes over his when locking fingers with him.
âIt looks so.â
***
⢠Talk your talk and go viral. I just need this love spiral. Get it off your chest. Get it off my desk (get it off my desk)
You both are soaked by the time you get to the hostel. As you quickly head towards the shower, Osferth, tossing away his shirt, makes his priority open a bottle of wine heâd purchased for you two. Since heâs not driving tonight, heâs allowing some fun to happen.
And this is what is in your mind too. Moved by a feverish instinct of what this wine might result, you opt to wear a nice black pajamas that, however, are very looseâperhaps more appropriate for summer but because thereâs heater in your room, you know there will have no cold to make the choice of your clothing improperly.
Or maybe you do want to look improper. The idea makes you chuckle to yourself.
When door is open, like you presumed, heater is already warming the room. But what does warm your body is seeing your boyfriend partly nude on his waist, lighting the fireplace as he waits for you.
Your eyes scan his well build muscles, small scars collected through his restless childhood and impulsione teenager days that mark his skin, with stories you are already familiar with. His long neck, his hair cut, his well lined jawline, hisâŚ
âWhy do I sense a pair of eyes over me?â
Osferth turns his head and when he sees you, the jest in his blue eyes are quickly replaced by a glint of mischief that already makes you weak on your knees.
âGoodness meâ, he whistles, standing as he comes to meet you. âWhat do we have here?â
âOsferthâŚâ, you blush, but you enjoy the way his gaze lingers at the silk cotton blouse that barely covers your chest and the shorts that quite leaves exposed your legs.
âDamn itâ, your usually composed boyfriend groans quietly. âMaking it difficult for me, eh?â
You blink your eyelashes innocently, pushing him aside gently.
âGet yourself a shower first, Osferth.â
He laughs, bitting down his bottom lip as he watches you heading to the kitchen. Osferth sighs in feigned pain. This is a promising night⌠certainly more than heâd planned.
***
It is not unusual, to your disconcert, that you are easily aroused every time Osferth opens his mouth to make his long discourses of the difference between the use of long swords and daggers in battle.
To worse is that heâs only dressing his boxes. Your legs are almost unconsciously rubbing to repress the aching that burns your womanhood. And you take a long sip of wins, struggling to keep it discreet.
However, Osferth knows your weak spots. And he can tell how your body reacts to his speech. Itâs when it becomes unbearable to ignore it further that, placing himself right beside you, says he:
âIâve always wondered whether my voice impacts you somehow.â
âWhy would you do that?â, you ask, pretending to be busy sipping your wine.
Leaving aside his already emptied glass, Osferth leans to kiss your neck very gently, softly just as you like it. The moment his lips brush against your exposed neck is when you slightly arch your back⌠and he has a peek of your pink nipples.
âIs that a yes, dear Y/Nickname?â, the more his tongue moves to your neck, the more shivers run over you.
And he takes his time, resting his hands around your waist. You tilt your head to the side, trying to hold back the growing lust in you. But Osferth is not letting it happen.
His expertise tongue is going to your shoulder, as his hand starts to play with the shoulder trap of your black blouse, not satisfied until your head falls back and you are barely breathing in anticipation.
âI missed thisâ, he whispers in your ear as his hands cup your exposed breasts, there spending a long while as you give in easily.
âOh Osferth!â, you sing out his name as your boyfriend drinks of the view, already experimenting an unbearably ache in his pants.
âYes?â, he bites your earlobe, never tiring of seeing your nipples going hard under his touch, already wishing to feel each under his drooling tongue.
âIt feels so goodâ, Osferth smiles at it, pleased to provide you these sensations.
It only gets better the moment he helps removing your shorts and his hands find way to where you like them to be: in between your legs.
*
Yet, you know him good. Underneath his good boy demeanor, there lies a bad one that he saves only for his girl. And it comes out when heâs over you, thrusting you the way you like, slow, deep and intense.
âOh Gaaawd!â, you cry out as he locks your hands above your neck, whimpering right under his sensual moves.
Osferth smirks down on you, eyeing you with a mix of devotion and lust. Nothing looks, nor feels, better than watching you come undone⌠despairly so. And when you lift your legs, he slaps your bum respectfully.
âThatâs my womanâ, he speaks in between greeted teeth.
His pace now increases and it needs no more than a few minutes before your screams are muffled by his lips as you reach your climax. As it doesnât before he follows you, this time forgetting to come out of your legs, not deep inside of you.
But you know what? You love it. You smile to yourself as you feel that warm liquid going right into your uterus.
Fuck the consequences. Perhaps this is what youâve always wanted.
***
⢠That lavender haze, I just wanna stay in that lavender hazeâŚ
Osferth knows a perfect place to take you. Aware of your fondness for lavender fields, itâs where he drives you.
Once more, you are asleep as you two hit the road. Like usually, Osferth drives fast, (almost) never surpassing the speed limit. It amuses him, though, how easily you sleep in a car. The sight brings him peace and contentment, because there are moments you talk in your sleep and itâs often sweet words.
âI love you, Osferth. Very much so.â
Itâs like the day before when you get yourselves drunk. You are more open, sentimentally speaking, when alcohol holds the reins of your tongue than otherwise sober.
âI love you too, Y/Nicknameâ, he mumbles, taking your hand with his right one and gently holding it.
A sigh in contentment fills the car. Today there is no radio as Osferth opts to hear the sounds of nature, as itâs raining. A sound that gladdens his introspective soul.
After a few hours, he manages to get to the destination heâs planned. Gently, he wakes you up.
âHoneyâ, Osferth whispers in your ear, nuzzling against your cheek. âPlease wake up. I want to show you something.â
âMmâ, you purr, smiling quietly as he places tons of kisses at your forehead, cheek and nose. âDo I, really?â
âAyâ, and as you detect excitement in his voice you open your eyes. âI think youâll like it.â
You lean to peck his lips.
âHow perfect you areâ, you say, smitten.
Osferth blushes, a beautiful sight to behold.
âNever perfect, my darling. I fear you have bewitched eyes.â
You giggle. He makes you sigh like a little girl after all those years, having knocked down your Irish pride with just his way of being.
âIndeed. I believe you have bewitched my body and soul.â
âI think I may have heard something like that somewhereâ, he smiles at you.
But Osferth doesnât want to waste any more of your time as heâs anxious to see how youâll react. And when you eventually comply to his wishes and see where you have been taken to, you are speechless.
And with teary eyes.
ââŚmy love?â, he asks, reluctant.
Right under your gaze lies a field of lavenders, a mix of green and purple with grey clouds painting the horizon. Removing your shoes off your feet, you want to feel the grass against your skin, experimenting a type of liberty rarely felt.
Youâve always wanted to connect with nature like this, and youâve never thoughtâŚ
âOh, Osferth!â, you turn at him and throw your hands around his neck.
âA-Are you ok? I am worried whetherâŚâ
âShush, you fool. Canât you see how I loved this? You are the best!â
His face goes bright pink. And he hasnât even started it yet.
âCome here, I want you to see somethingâŚâ
Without hesitation, Osferth leads the way and suddenly you two are walking inside this lavender field as if you are entering another world. You cast him a puzzling look, but await until you are at the center of it, close to a lake.
There is no time to admire this idilic scenario because suddenly Osferth goes to one knee and pulls from his pocket a velvet blue small box.
âMy sweet temperance, lover and best of friends, good woman of gentle heart and sharp witâ, he begins and you cannot help a sob, specially when seeing him going emotional too. âThis has been a hell of a ride, hasnât it? Literally so. But it had the sole purpose of not only bringing you close to the wilderness as it was an old dream of yours because it reminds you of the Irish countrysides and we havenât had the opportunity to go there yet.â
âOsferth!â, is all you can say in the midst of soft sobs his sweet words put you through.
âI am no poet so allow me to be straight at onceâ, he clears his throat, but to no avail, for he too weeps. âYou are the love of my life, Y/N. I want to take you as my wife and love you, carnally and spiritually, for the rest of my days. WillâŚâ
âYes!â, you throw yourself over him, knocking him down at the grass. âA thousand times yes!â
And here he is chuckling, but not kissing you until he gets to slide the ring in your finger first. Only then, amidst this lavender field, Osferth takes his soon to be wifeâs face and, holding it dearly with his hands, there he kisses it, passionately too.
Imagine Aemond is the King of Westers when you, a Greyjoy, rebel against his rule on behalf of a pretender to the throne.
Warnings: lots of drama, angst; smut, fluff ending like always.
***
â˘I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser. Midnights become my afternoons when my depression works the graveyard shift all of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room.
Just as Aemond lands, rain begins to fall. Storms usually bring bad omens, but he takes his time in going back inside. He knows heâs expected and yet the prince has no need to rush inside.
His hair is soaked as well as his leather robes. Nevertheless, he acts as if heâs been barely touched by the foul weather. Iron doors are pushed so Aemond walks inside. The moment he does Ser Criston Cole greets him.
âI salute you, lord. It appears you bring me bad news.â
âHas my grave look delivered it?â
Aemond doesnât show him any emotion.
âThe king lays in his deathbed and has requested your presence.â
Tragedy has marked the few years since his older brother won his crown upon the longer period of time spent fighting Rhaenyra and her children. Madness followed when sweet Helaena went on her free will to the grave once the twins were bitterly deprived of their lives.
Because Lucerys had to be avenged for what Aemond caused. Their mother, some would whisper, did not last longer either. Victory came when most of the greens were buried and the blacks were dead and gone.
Now all that has remained is Aemond, recently a widower after his lady wife, the unpopular Alys Rivers, died in childbirth, preventing the greens to continue their lineage since their unborn child never breathed their first breath.
He tries not to dwell in the dark waters of the past if he does not wish to be drowned in the worst depression that could make any sane man sink into it.
But a path of blood has led him to this moment. One that he always desired. At what cost, though?
âI shall see him. No need to show me the way.â
Ser Criston doesnât seem pleased with the cold remark of the prince who has been like a son to him, but the knight knows his place and lets him be.
Aemond soon takes the stairs and in this state, he walks to his oldest brotherâs privy chambers. Once he gets in, unannounced, the silver haired prince is surprised by the bad smell that comes in.
Itâs the smell of death.
âBrotherâ, the ghostly, pained voice reaches his ear in a most unpleasant way.
Aegon II is prostrated unhealthily in bed, the opposite of what his young self used to be. The weight of the crown costed much, but no price was high enough to restaure his sanity, health or, worse perhaps, his glorious past. In his eyes, there is nothing but the disgrace of another kinslayer, consumed by remorse.
A terrible sight to behold.
âMy kingâ, he bows his head.
âEven in my darkest hour you are tied to formalitiesâ, Aegon snarls in disdain. âIt should have been you here, not me.â
âTime has always been a great thief, on that we agree, but do not think the shadow of death will not be casted upon meâ, responds Aemond in a whisper.
âI should have been wiserâ, says Aegon with eyes blurred by tears. âThe older I grew, poorer were the decisions made.â
Aemond doesnât know what to respond, opting for silence. In truth, heâs always been more of a soldier than a general. Always one to follow orders than give them. Or perhaps the civil war has led him to shape this perspective of himself.
âWhat good is there to think of what should or could have been done? The past is there for a reason.â
âHow can you be so cold?!â
âI am being reasonable, logical even. Where is the need of being sentimental when pointing facts?â
âThe woman whom you fought so hard has died! And here you are!â
Out of respect for the dying king, Aemond doesnât pick this battle to fight. Not again. Not now.
âThe crown is yours to use. But there is one thing you must be told before Iâm goneâŚâ
Aemond steps closer now, accustomed with the bad smell. The heat of the fireplace seems unwelcoming now that heâs friends with the cold.
âYes?â
âNot every kin has perished in the warâ, he murmurs.
âWhat the hell are you talking about?â, this is the first time in a while that Aemond has shown some emotion.
Aegon smirks at his brother, pleased to get him some reaction.
âTwo of Rhaenyraâs sons are livingâ, but for some reason the dying king thinks itâs not his problem to give Aemond their whereabouts. Or perhaps this is remorse for all that heâs done.
Who knows? Who could tell whatâs in his mind?
âYouâve got to be fucking kidding meâŚâ
âI am notâ, and as if he is suddenly tired of living, Aegon coughs.
Aemond spots blood in his brotherâs mouth, but by now his heart and mind are divided in between genuine concern over Aegon, his last remaining family, and the whereabouts of possible pretenders to his throne.
âAegonâŚâ
âUneasy lies the head that wears the crown, brother.â
That being said, Aegonâs life has been turned into nothingness. The old king is dead. Long live the new king.
***
⢠I should not be left to my own devices. They come with prices and vices. I end up in crisis (tale as old as time). I wake up screaming from dreaming. One day I'll watch as you're leaving 'cause you got tired of my scheming (For the last time)âŚ
You stand in black leather robes by your fatherâs side the moment a messenger enters the great salon. Outside waves hit the shore violently, announcing a tempest that has been forming in the past twenty and four hours. Clouds have been obscuring the skies, but only by this twilight theyâve been producing electric sounds.
A lightening is heard.
âWell, lord. Under hospitality laws you are welcomed in this householdâ, says the chieftain of the House Greyjoy. âWhat news do you bring us?â
The messenger inspires some sympathy in you. Heâs younger than your youngest brother and appears to have been made of summer. He knows naught of the perils that coming to Pyke might indulge him. But to his fortune Lord H/N Greyjoy is the head of the House at the moment, which means that he knows the aforementioned laws and would never harm a messenger.
âWe have a new kingâ, by his accent you know he comes from a mid noble house of Kingâs Landing. âAegon, second of his name, has died and transmitted the crown to his successor. His brother, lord Aemond Targaryen, is now the new king.â
âAhâ, says Lord H/N, playing with the knife. âA usurper following another usurper. Why does he care about us, often ignored by most Targaryens? Is he familiar that our laws somewhat differ even though we have been paying tribute and homage to them for a while?â
The poor messenger is sweating cold. You think wise to interfere when Lord H/N smiles benevolently.
âYoung man, as bad reputed as my house is, we are honorable. At least I like to think my kin and I are. The laws of hospitality mean a great deal to us. But I appreciate the message you delivered us. I presume this means Lord Aemond is expecting that we submit to him as our overlord and king.â
The boy swallows again in relief. You see heâs considering correcting your father for the misuse of titles, but opts not to ruin his fortune.
âAye, lord. The time to pay homage is soon.â
âIndeed it isâ, your father strokes his chin. âThese are the days I miss King Viserys. Many took him for a fool, but peacekeeping is the product of hard work. This is what made him a good king. And His Grace respected us, the houses that made his reign proper to rule.â
Then he stands, indicating the time to talk has come to an end.
âTell lord Aemond that we recognize no king but the one who attends the name of Aegon III, son of the formidable Lord Daemon Targaryen and the queen who should have been, Rhaenyra.â
The warning is done. When the messenger leaves, you pity the poor ladâs fate. As you see the wind whirling against the sea, you say:
âThe bad omen is sent by the God.â
Itâs your elder brother, your fatherâs heir, who says:
âWhat do you understand of such things?â
You shoot him a gaze as if you are speaking with someone whose comprehension equals that of an ant.
âGreat tempests like the one thatâs been forming is hardly favorable. It is known.â
âA bad omen for the self pretentious new kingâ, you hear your father correct you. âThis is our God preparing us for war.â
âWarâ, your brother repeats. âWas it necessary, father? We do not know whether the offspring of Queen Rhaenyra are alive.â
âThey areâ, lord H/N says in a tone that makes clear he knows many more things than heâs letting show. And here is how the schemes begin. âHowever, we must test the new kingâs forces.â
Looking at you, his favored daughter, the head of Pyke says:
âTake with you a great number of men. You do well in tempests like this. The new king will assemble his army, but heâs not foreseeing our attack against his shores, assuming we are going to Lannisport again.â
You nod, unquestioning. Another brother, however, meddles:
âIs it prudent to underestimate the usurper, sire? He collects epithets that make quite a powerful sobriquet.â
âWords as those are meant to break fools by creating unreasonable fear of a man who is just that: a man.â And giving you a look, he says: âYou may go.â
You hide away your fears, taking his orders. Unlike your brothers, you donât question your father and you have no taste for blood. Though sensitive you may beâgrieving the loss of your sister springs ago when she was forced to marry a green partisan only to die in childbirth and that of your mother by melancholy made you deal with your rage through violent seasâ, you hide away your true self off the eyes of others.
Despite the beauty that brings admirers to your side, iron is set above it so though you never caused any death directly, you had enough power to bring itâwhich only means how fearful to some you can be, not to mention the protection and favor you have of the family.
Now here you are with the men under heavy rain. Itâs time to scheme. Despite the bad feeling you bear with youâthe fights you won previously during the civil war for the blacks usually occurred in calm sea, not amidst violent wavesâ, what else is there to do but to obey your father and overlord?
You turn at the ship and instruct your loyal men to follow you. But you do not enter in it before praising the God you serve and yelling after taking a long sip of wine:
âWhat is dead may never die!â
***
⢠It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me. At tea time, everybody agrees. I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero
Aemondâs coronation may have happened with no issues, but brought vices of temper that were not sufficiently tamed during his days of prince. One of which was the obsessive search for the lost sons of Rhaenyra.
Amidst this inconclusive search, the wolves of Winterfell are threatening to revolt at the same time the Krakens of Pyke delivered the message of subtle warning of war.
In spite of the circumstances, he is more than acutely aware of the fragile state of his kingship. This is the time to show his subjects he is not like Aegon.
Nay. He is better.
All the whilst the whereabouts of his nephews remain inconclusive and unknown, Aemond concentrates in issues that expect pragmatism of his part.
The North can still be dealt with the use of diplomacy and he sends his Hightower cousin to Winterfell with gold and an arrangement that works for his causeâpresumably a match between a daughter of Lord Cregan and his envoy himself since Aemond has no desires in remarrying.
However, the Greyjoy assault assumes preoccupying colors. What could possibly lead an old house to open rebel against his rule?
âThis is easy to resolveâ, he shares his thoughts with Ser Criston Cole. âTheir fleet will burn with fire and blood.â
Aemond does not fantom how the glory of his moment, albeit with a bloody path that brought him there, can be eclipsed by the refusal of a general acceptance of his rule.
Leaving personal vanities aside, cleaning his judgement of probable vices, the new king understands that the civil war of years ago has not yet been put to an end.
As he watches from the Red Keep the storm outdoors, calmly and steadfastly, a part of him comprehends that he may not be the best loved king time has witnessed and the pen of the maesters registered, but duty is what will always impel him to do whatâs best.
If those will not see it through his good, may they see through his worse.
*
You cling onto optimism under the advantage that this is a surprise attack well coordinated, not a spontaneous sack in search for gold, nor an occasion fighting with random pirates.
This is not, however, a mere thirst for adventure being satisfied. The purpose, although ignored by you in great measure, is bigger than what your reason can conceive.
Perhaps you lack ambition to fight your wars, to be manipulated by your father like your brothers accuse him of doingâbut what other choice do you have? Heâs never treated you unkindly nor forced you upon an unwanted marriage, giving you liberty to do as it pleased you as long as youâd not forget your duties to your house.
You had your mother and your sister to tame your worse tendenciesâwhether to be slaved by the passions of the flesh or under the sins of prideâ, some of which youâve learned to repress. Now, however, you are where you belong. In the midst of chaos.
You do not like to fight it or to shed blood. To waste lives is a purpose you take no pride of. But leading others to it⌠or letting them choose to do what circumstances impel them to do so⌠this is what you are born to do. This is what makes most men fear you, comparing you to your father.
But they donât see that, underneath this iron, there lies something pure and good. Sensitive. Aiming to be seen, aiming to be truly free of the duty that ties you to your family.
For however loved or useful you may be to your father, you are still under his command. Even here, even now.
However, it would have been prudent to question it, to have followed your instincts. For you have forgotten, or perhaps not have been told, that a storm never stopped King Aemond of flying his great legendary beast.
Waves clash against the ships, threatening to drown the men in them, or perhaps, as you hopefully attempt to see, leading you all to your destination.
But you miss a great shadow following above clouded skies. The night looks longer and deadlier, specially when itâs heard a roar right when a lightening bolt hits the ocean.
It doesnât take long before you and your men pale as a shadow of the largest creature youâve ever put your eyes on is casted upon the ship. You yell orders to separate the ships, with each carrying a beast to put it down.
The rain is too strong now and thus muffles your commands. To worse all, fire comes from above. Two of your ships are gone. You try not to succumb to your fear, soon leading the ship yourself. The desperation of your men is heard, but you try not to let the sound shake your core to join them in frustration.
Some of them opt to jump into the arms of the Drowned God and you cannot blame. But as you try to flee out of the dragonâs grasp, to your dismay you spot an outstanding number of fleet coming to your direction.
You flush violently.
âFuck, we are ruined! This mission has beenâŚâ, your voice dies out. What is there to say? Has your father sent you to a trap?
âWhat should we do, lady Y/N?â, the second in command asks you.
âNever surrenderâ, your pride takes the iron shield back to surface. âIf we must die, so be it.â
Aemond, however, has other plans. Despite burning and leading his own men to suffocate your rebellion before it reaches land, he wants to imprison the leader of it, which means you.
Soon, your ship is bombardedâand you watch as the kingâs men slay all of yours, but you.
âWhy are you sparing me?â
To no avail you seek death or protest. As if you are nothing, Lannister men hold you tight, removing you from the wrecked ship. By then you do not know whether you are weeping or the rain is washing your face. What difference is there?
You understand death is coming to you soon or later. Realizing that gives you strength, but paradoxically descend into melancholy.
***
⢠Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby and I'm a monster on the hill too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city, pierced through the heart, but never killedâŚDid you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism like some kind of congressman? (Tale as old as time)
Aemondâs victory upon the two threats against his rising reign leaves him comfortable to deal with upcoming events. Whilst there is no indication that only the names of his nephews are alive in the memory of his enemies, with no bodies found he focus in the real threats and these have been placated.
But curious in meeting the leader of what he judges to be a piracy house, he expects to see you soon. Barely he knows, as well as you, what will result of this.
In the meantime, as comfortable as you are in new robes and in fancy quarters of the Red Keep, protected from the storm that is still daunting outdoors, you have your nightmares to deal with.
The sounds of the men screaming as they either embraced death willingly or were deprived of their lives with inutile resistance bend you to your tears. Never before you felt so weak for loving the sea, the wilderness in it.
What hurts more is the realization you were not born to be a soldier. A part of you always expected to be equal your brothers, but your failure shows precisely that you are not like them.
Lost in your contemplations, you are trying to think of a solution about leaving the place when you are surprised by the presence of no one but the king himself.
Aemond has no time to waste in delegating useless tasks that he can do it himself. Thus it is this anxious warlord comes to the chambers he located you.
Whilst he stands there, you and him share a silent stare. The silver haired prince is significantly taller than you, possessing, as you first notice, a long sword in his right side and a dagger in his left. The idea that he came protected to meet you almost makes you smile.
âWhat reason is there to your lips twirl in a smirk? You have no reason to commemorateâ, his husky voice assaults your troubled mind, forcing you to focus on him.
âYou came alone to meet me, lord king. Armed. Do I pose you enough danger for that?â
Aemond takes a seat before you. His good, lilac eye studies you intently. Despite feeling crimson paint your cheeks, you do not look away.
âYou think too high of yourself, lady Y/N Greyjoy. I suggest you to know your place.â
You fold your arm, mockery rising to your eyes.
âPlease, lord. Enlighten me what place is this when you have no morals to speak in such terms.â
Aemond is patient. And unlike many of the men that crossed your path, not tempted to easily demonstrate or slip into his temperament.
âI wear the crown and impose a defeat on your feeble attempt to overthrow me, lady Y/N. It is unwise to dictate the rules of this game.â And then he adds. âA game that you perhaps have not been prepared to play. Has your good father not instructed you on it properly? By the sounds of your defeat, I guess not.â
You clench your jaw. Despite the broken pride and the heat in your throat that might vert in unwelcoming tears, you hold back the instinct of throwing your hands around this kingâs neck and break it.
But youâve never been one back to violence, have you?
âHas the cat eaten your tongue?â
You stand at last.
âWhy coming to insult me so freely? Kill me if you must, lord king. One less enemy to humiliate!â
Aemond too stands, hands contrived in his back.
âNayâ, he speaks in almost a whisper. âThe rules are not yours to dictate. Besides, with your supporters dead, I have a guess that your father will not come for you.â
With a side smirk, he leaves you. Victoriously so. And as he closes the door, there locking you in, the prince hears your screams.
*
But he wonders what to do with you. This is not a typical rebel, nor a natural leader who easily inspires dissent. A soldier. The word brings him back to his memories when, as the right hand of King Aegon, his brother, he did what you are doing now. Obeying orders.
Intrigued by this comparison, he goes back to your quarters after he finishes dinner. Unannounced, he surprises you combing your long y/c hair, wearing a white night gown. As you readily stand before the noise of opening door, he sees not only fear behind your eyes⌠but comes to notice the strong firm breasts the silk poorly disguises.
However, to his own sake he best not to look too much in you.
âWhat are you here for, lord king?â, you ask away, throwing robes over your shoulders. âI-Itâs too late for a visit and I shall not be your whore.â
Your words, much to your dismay, make him chuckle. Aemond pulls a chair and there sits, holding your uncomfortable gaze still.
âDespite the inappropriate hour, I had to speak with my ladyâ, says he.
âWhat for?â, you retort, still at a corner like a frightened animal.
âI will do no harm to you, Y/N Greyjoy. I am not my brotherâ, he clenches his jaw, waving his hand dismissively. âAll I want is talk. You have my word.â
You hesitate and Aemond sees distrust in your eyes. He doesnât blame you for this behavior. Now wondering what heâd do if his sisterâs forces had captured him many moons ago, he comes to think heâd behave similarly. If not more rudely.
Eventually you cede and take a distant seat of him.
âWell?â, you say, anxious. âSpeak your terms.â
âI did not come to bargainâ, Aemond smirks. âWhy, as a victor, would I do so?â
âI am not your trophy, lord kingâ, you frown your eyebrows in clearly displeasure. âEither send me home or execute me. Other possibilities are out of consideration.â
Aemond is entertained by how your pride takes the reins of the situation. Ignoring what you just said, he proceeds rather cautiously.
âYou are a soldier.â
On that you donât see it coming. You tilt your head and had not it been for a few scars over your eyebrows and on your neck, besides the calloused hands, heâd take you as a princess.
âIâm sorry, what?â
Patiently, the king explains.
âYou were following orders to bring your men here. When we captured you, Iâve already had some informations about you. You are the only daughter of Lord H/N of Pyke, but hardly as skillful as your brothers⌠at least where bloodshed is concerned. You have a tender heart and even when you sack or pile you tend to have mercy on your enemies.â
You look at him in between astonishment and embarrassment.
âYou planted a spy at my fatherâs household.â
Aemondâs lips twitch in a smile.
âYou are clever, my lady.â
You feel a strange urge to weep, but you blink a few times, refusing to cede to it.
âI will not ask why. Youâve been counting on that, havenât you? But seeing I am useless to my father, why keeping me here at your mercy?â
âI do not think you are useless to him. On the contraryâ, Aemond rests his hand over his knee. âI know how cherished you are for him.â
âYou are using me to bring out my family and defeat it publicly. My House will stand, lord.â
âThere are many ways a House can perish, lady. But this is not about it. Disregarding what you may have heard about me, I was a soldier like you. Obeying orders blindly without questioning. However, I was born to hold a sword. You, perhaps, to command.â
Silence hangs in between the two of you. Aemond sees the value you have for your family, but what surprises him is that you donât share the perspective.
They see the beauty in you, not the iron that lies underneath.
A thought he doesnât find convenient to share. He stands, having collected enough for his judgement.
You watch as he stops by the door. He knows you have the urge to beg him to spare your family. It is an instinct that many would have in your position. But because you know that he studied you well, you say nothing.
You turn your back on him, disappointing your captor for sparing him of temperamental exhibition.
***
As days turn in weeks, you have been forced to deal with eminent loss of the main purpose that has led you there. Serving your family has not only brought you disgraces or exposed your fragilities to your enemies, but comes to nothing when no news of your father or brothers searching to avenge you reach you.
âA soldier is replaceable, whether by blood or notâ, says Aemond.
This evening you two are dining together at his privy royal chambers. You realize the king is a lonely man with unseen scars. Like you.
âYou have offended my honor and disgraced my prideâ, you speak softly as you take wine to your lips. Itâs sweet and part of you wishes it to be poisonous. âUntil when do you intend to break my spirit?â
When Aemond raises his eyes to meet yours, your soul is perturbed. You wish you could look away, but not even vengeance is a scheme tolerable by your mind now.
âDespite the circumstances, I wish you had not seen me as suchâ, he speaks behind the glass he takes to his lips. âI believe thereâs much to gain in here.â
âWhatâs there to gain?â
âLiberty.â
âBy what means?â
No answer comes. As you now start to study him, you come to see him as not the villain many folks had moulded him to, but not the hero either. Somewhere in between.
Aemond doesnât say. Silence again hangs in between you, but this time it has not the same shades of awkwardness.
By the end of the dinner, he is leading you back to your quarters. He sees that you still shake when he takes your hand.
âLady Y/NâŚâ
You look at him, deprived of your pride.
âY-Yes?â
âThis would all be different had you not openly rebelled against me on behalf of phantoms. I sought about the whereabouts of the princes myself and didnât find them. Why letting yourself be the pawn of others game?â
You lower your eyes so he doesnât see the depth of melancholy that has hammered these questions long ago, but the king lifts your chin, there gently holding it.
âWhat other choice did I have? You, of all, should understand what is like to be tied to the family. Have you never sacrificed anything for them?â
Aemond contemplates you in silence, words that echo that fatidic night where his mother claimed Lucerysâs eye for the loss he suffered.
âI haveâ, he admits. âMore than you will ever know.â
A ghostly smile is seen forming shyly on your lips.
âThen we are not different. Soldiers, like you said.â
And then you stop by the door. Looking back at him, you find the king staring at you. Why, this time, does his intent stare shake you? Why do the parallels between you two bring something more?
Worse is, why does your prison doesnât feel like one anymore?
***
Aemond leaves the council, certain that no more rebellions will spread. There had been no more words from Pyke, though heâs more than aware that the remaining of your brothers might attempt something in not a near future for heâs been informed that they plan another sack at Lannisport.
In that order, he instructs his spy to pay enough gold to have the Greyjoys protecting the bays of Westeros if they occasionally let go of supporting names that are nothing but a memory of days long put to rest.
However, a question remains: what to do with you?
***
You are allowed to walk freely through the castle. At first this intrigues you. As you love the unknown, you occasionally lose your fear as you start to explore this new environment.
But when going to the gardens and there spotting the sea, your heart aches. As you contemplate those calm waters, you wonder why your father had sent you in such a suicidal mission. He knew you had won previously in placid seas. It was never prudent to combat in ugly storms.
Such are your thoughts that you do not see him coming. Aemond has realized that for a long while he hasnât come to enjoy a feminine companion, gotten now used to you.
Like a hawk in guard, he sets his good eye to scrutiny over you. This time, your beauty captivates his sight. Your y/c hair, falling down to the mid of your back, is only partially tied according to the local fashion; he notices itâs cleaner and better brushed too. As the sun lights on it, it makes it shine in almost a different shade of y/c.
The gown you dress is silk made and it slips delicately in your body, shaping your curves. Aemondâs good eye notices your hips, how firm they are. He thinks you look good in red and black, the colors of his house. This perception makes him smirk unconsciously.
Feeling you have been under observation, you promptly turn in defense mood, admonishing yourself for letting your guards down, until you see itâs the king, your captor, whoâs been the observer.
âStaring is rudeâ, you do not know how else to greet him and curtsying is not an option; this means that you are subduing to his authority, and as much as you are thankful for his clemency to you, you still have your pride.
Aemond notices it, which amuses. Nothing different that what would have he done, had he been in your shoes.
âNot greeting your king properly is as wellâ, he remarks. âI thought that even the Greyjoys had some manners.â
You scoff at him in defiance.
âWho do you take us for? Barbarians?â
âNoâ, Aemond wrings his hands behind his back in his usual composed posture. âOnly a folk who is often on combat with their own kin when not assaulting other shores.â
âPleaseâ, you snarl in response. âSays the one who came to power after murdering a few of his own kin.â
Any sign of humor dissipates of the kingâs eyes. Darkness casts its shadow upon his face and your smirk is instantly wiped off yours. You instantly regret saying it so, even though you cannot understand why.
âDo not speak of matters that you donât understandâ, the king addresses you in a cold tone.
âThen you should not judge a life that you never lived.â
No one admits defeat. Pride takes victory, thus separating one from the other. For the moment.
***
But your remorse begins to hammer against your conscience. You know if you wanted to make your way, you would. Perhaps seducing the king to buy your ticket to liberty.
As days turn into months and these begin to slowly turn into another year, no signs of the Greyjoys in avenging you shows that there is no point in going back home.
Have you been tamed? You fear to find the answer. Itâs when you come for him.
âI need to find His Graceâ, you ask Ser Criston, his closest advisor.
The knight looks down upon you and you detest to feel small by this manâs gaze. Iâm still a Krakenâs daughter. But you keep the thought to yourself.
âHeâs occupied at the moment.â
Sounds come from the kingâs bedchambers and you narrow your eyes at what you hear. Why are you flinching upon hearing these scandalous noises?
You do not answer the knight. Lifting your chin, you storm out, perhaps prompted to do something very impulsive.
Which is, for now, getting yourself drunk. Now familiarized with the kitchen and collecting a few friends amongst the servants, you get yourself some good bottles to yourself.
âI do not think wise that you should drink alone, my ladyâ, a maid responsible to look after you named Gisla tells you concerned.
âWho cares if wine takes my breath away, dear? I am forsaken by all, a prisoner whose life turned into dust.â
As you lock yourself in your bedchambers, you get to wonder why the possibility that the king has found lovers to warm his bed should affect you.
Trying to dissipate these uninviting thoughts, you begin to unlace the gown he gifted you, ready to toss it in fire. Pouring wine in the glass, you try to release your caged spirit in the best way you can.
Now wearing nothing more than undergarments, you open the window in search of fresh air. Moon rises high at sky and when looking at the reflection it casts down the sea, melancholy strikes again.
Having calmed your temper, you start to reason with yourself. Who are you now? A memory that remains, a survivor long forsaken? As you taste the sweet flavor of red wineâDornish, you are sureâyou donât see the king getting to your chambers.
Aemond is dressed in his usual robes, but looking somehow less than a royal. He throws his cape at the seat, his good eye scrutinizing over your melancholy. Almost twelve months have passed and somehow one remains unreachable for the other.
Under moonlight, he spots a free spirit caged. A woman born to rule, his other half in another life if defeat was meant to him. He did to her what others would do to him. And he realizes how unjust he was.
To secure his throne, he did what he must. But growing used to you, he refuses to let you go. The mere thought of you abandoning him is⌠unacceptable.
Nevertheless, the king wishes to compensate you. Desire arises, sparked by perhaps his utmost selfishness in keeping you with him.
Or perhaps you are only a gift by the Gods to put an end to this misery. His head is heavy with the crown he wears, a burden that tests his limits and feeds his ambitions.
Yet, all is set aside when he looks at you. Slowly he comes behind you. Sensing an enigmatic presence behind you, you abruptly turn only to find him this close to you.
âLord king! Your Grace!â, you exclaim out of short breath.
âI see we are welcomed properly now, my ladyâ, he never noticed until now how deep your y/c eyes are, as if sea is calling him. âI have missed you.â
You scoff, trying to find a way out of his arms, but Aemond doesnât let you to.
âWill you please let me go?â
âNay. I was prepared to do so, but I am a selfish man, Y/N. I care about you.â
You clench your jaw, frustrated. So many men have been pushed away, despised and looked down by you, but this king⌠When you look up, you are trapped.
âYou care not!â, your voice betrays your spiritual state. âYou have been whoring!â
Aemondâs eye twinkles with amusement. He is now holding your wrists as he pushes you against the wall, his knee gently parting your legs. You feel a strange ache burning your womanhood, rising to your chest.
âWhat makes you think I was?â
His long, slander pale fingers wrap around your fingers, eyeing your chest with lust, perceiving the hardened nipples under the white nightgown you dress. Then he raises his eyes only to meet your inexpressible face completely red.
âI⌠It doesnât matter how I think when itâs a factâ, you try to protest, but it dies incomplete in your throat the moment Aemond gently rubs his knee against your entrance.
You should not enjoy this, but by the Kraken, here is no ordinary man.
âAnd if it was? Why would you care?â, he is pleased to find some reaction in your eyes at the moment he speaks with his husky voice, a positive effect of him over you.
âI donâtâ, you squeak as he continues doing what heâs been doing with his knee.
âDeny me, then. Send me away the way you sent your suitors all beforeâ, Aemond defies you, aroused as you begin to rub against his knee, willingly this time.
Eyes locked in one gaze, no one is ready to surrender. Yet.
âMy king should know better whom you speak to.â
âOne day youâll wake up with regrets if I leave.â
You move closer to take hold of his long face, fingertips daringly touching his cheeks, up to his eyeâbut despite your staring you donât touch the eye patch. Letting them slip to his silvery hair, wrapping your fingers around his locks, pulling him closer to you.
âWill you dare to leave me, Aemond Targaryen?â
His eyelashes barely open as his lips remain close to yours, his left hand holding your waist as his right one leaves your neck, slipping vaguely and purposely over your breasts before resting over your waist.
âWill you stay, Y/N Greyjoy?â
When you dare to remove his eye-patch, Aemond surprises you by not fighting away your curiosity. Knowing how this means he trusts in you, itâs enough to knock down every other barrier youâve held up to him.
âMust be exhausting to repress your sentiments to this anti-heroâ, he stares at you intently.
âIt isâ, you gasp, spreading your legs as his hand finally moves under the skirt of your nightgown. But he doesnât make to your core, not yet, which makes you mewl.
Aemond side smirks at you, waiting to bend you to his will. You barely breathe, but this time you turn the tables by letting another hand finding the way to his pants.
âMy lady!â
âYou did not take me as a damsel, did you?â, you chuckle, even though he sees you are misleading in your eyes.
In truth, as you feign a confidence you donât have, all you did was having a limited experience with men. So you did know some things as he can tell by the form your fingers skillfully unlace his pants andâŚ
âShit!â, Aemond curses.
You giggle quietly, appreciating the mix of shock and libidinous in his wide-eyed gaze. It feels good to have his length throbbing against your hand, how you manage to have him under your control.
It feels so good to deflect him to you, to have captured your captor.
âGodsâŚâ, his moans are sensually low, the pleasure stamped in his features making you wet in your legs.
What is meant to be an instrument of domination is now domineering you. And oh you want more⌠But then, you stop.
âY/NâŚâ Aemond groans in between annoyance and disbelief.
âI cannot do thisâ, you say, detesting to break the spell, but thenâŚ
He gives you a quizzical look, perhaps thinking many possibilities of why you are doing this to him after he let himself be so crudely open to you.
Precisely why you are surprising him again when you tell him.
âI am not your whore, Aemond. You either make me your wife and queen, or my life ends right here, right nowâ, you indicate with your head in direction to the opened window. âI am a Krakenâs daughter. I am the sea, I cannot be caged for longer.â
Maybe itâs the wine, but you are scarcely afraid of holding back a character that hasnât fitted you for long.
âI grew to love you and even though I am forsaken by my family, more painful would be if I were deserted out of your heart.â
Aemondâs features sooth before your words. Indeed heâs been taken by surprise, a deed few would have claimed to do.
âYou could have said this earlierâ, says he, shortening the distance between you two, cupping your face with his. âI meant not to dishonor you, my lady.â
âI was afraid you would notâŚâ
ââŚlove you?â, he chuckles, resting his forehead against yours. âI fucking do. Hence why I said Iâm not prepared to let you escape. I cannot do so. And I am ready to make you my queen.â
One smile is enough to firm the peace between hearts in array.
***
⢠I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-heroâŚ
Aemond admires the wild beauty that sleeps next to his side. His queen, at long last announced before the whole realm notwithstanding the disapproval of his council, his wife.
He begins to kiss your face, before burying his face against your hair. No more sorrow when your sea salt scent envolves him in a jolt of happiness never before experienced⌠not before Alys.
No more past to daunt his heart and torment his mind as his tongue slips to your ear, biting your earlobe and sliding to your neck, his hand pressing against your waist. His eyes remain glued at your peaceful, serene face, despite the shivers that begin on your skin and, as he discreetly pulls off the blankets, sees the exposed nipples hardening.
Aemond is careful not to wake you yet. Admiring your nude frame as his lips move to your neck, he keeps in mind the events of the day before. No protest came from Pyke as one of them is crowned their queen. But you are still resented to write them letters, despite the efforts of your brothers in renewing a direct alliance with the crownâto the Lannistersâ preoccupation.
The king is not here to please anybody, but you. He recollects how beautiful you were in a green, silk gown, appropriated for summer feasts. His motherâs tiara was placed above your head, and your hair down reinforced your sparkling beauty.
As his mouth leaves bruises against your skin, you move lightly, making incomprehensible noises. Aemond smirks, slowly turning over your body, always careful when doing so.
Contemplating your nudity under his gaze, he recollects the night beforeâand the nights beforehand where he took you as his wife, never able to leave your body, remembering how you mewled under his touch, how humbled you were when you begged.
âMy lady likes to be commanded in bedâ, he said in the occasion.
âOnly you has possessed this rightâ, so you snapped in between short breaths.
Smiling at the retrospective moment, his lips now move delicate to mouth out your nipples, finally awaking you as his fingers move down to your womanhood.
âOh Aemond!â, you cry out in pleasure, eyes open with despair, as your body reacts like a big wave sets to hit the shore violently.
âYes, my lady?â, he takes his time in each nipple until your cries get louder, all the whilst his now two fingers make way deep inside you, already familiar with the walls that clench around it, the spot that is soon making you call his name.
And thenâŚ
âI need you!â, you whimper.
Your wishes are prompted complied. What a good way to start your tenure, you remember thinking. When looking at you, Aemond Targaryen knows he is not merely a king, but a man who finally found love in his lifetime.
Imagine you are the Lady of Mercia and Osferth is your knight.
Warnings: soft smut, drama, angst.
Warnings 2: slightly divergence with âThe Last Kingdomââs events, with you being the daughter of ĂthelflĂŚd and Uhtred, prepared to the role dutifully.
***
⢠We were both young when I first saw you. I close my eyes and the flashback starts⌠I'm standin' there on a balcony in summer air. See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns. See you make your way through the crowd and say, "Hello". Little did I knowâŚ
It all starts when you two are young. Osferth has just recently met Uhtred, promptly embraced by this warrior who is to be half Dane, half Saxon, when lady ĂthelflĂŚd thought wise to prepare you to succeed her.
By then you and him are in your late teenager days. You do not know yet, though you may suspect, that Lord Ăthelred is not your father, a man who inspires no sympathy of his subjects, dismissing you a paternal concern that, how curiously, Uhtred doesnât hesitate in giving you.
âLady Y/Nâ, Uhtred side smirks when seeing you. He can tell this growing beauty has his eyes and the man takes pride in gazing at you. But the secrecy must remain what is, a secret. âWhat a delight is to see you again.â
Due to recent events, which are a mix of your fatherâs death and the treachery of some of the Mercian aldermen, this infamous pagan warlord comes to protect your mother as part of his vow to the House of Wessex.
âMy lord Uhtredâ, you nod your head, unable to explain the instant sympathy the man inspires you, notwithstanding the differences in your creed. âI pray to find you well, my mother has been looking a great deal to seeing you again.â
He laughs, a sound you are most familiar with. It is a secret to none that he is your motherâs lover.
âLikewise, young lady. This is Osferth, by the wayâ, Uhtred presents one to the other, unknowing heâs planting a deadly seed.
Osferth steps forward. This tall man inspires you butterflies in your stomach, a feeling that you, however, promptly dismiss.
âMy lordâ, you curtsy graciously.
âLadyâ, he avoids your gaze, nodding his head. âA pleasure to make your acquaintance.â
âOsferth is a very good warrior, Y/Nâ, says Uhtred, amused by the teenager awkwardness. âHeâs proven his worth and thus is here with me. Osferth, stay here with lady Y/N all the whilst I have matters to attend.â
Just like that he leaves you both. There is an awkward silence hanging between you two, so you opt to make things easier by breaking it:
âIs this the first time you stay on Mercia?â
âNay, ladyâ, he slowly raises his eyes only to meet a pair of y/c irises staring at him. âIâve been at Uhtredâs service for a few years sinceâŚeh⌠since I left my order.â
âOrder?â, you repeat, rather intrigued. âIs my lord a priest?â
Osferth chuckles. You particularly swoon at his smile, at how handsome he is, but the pride that comes with your station prevents you to show it.
âI was, or rather am, a monk, lady.â
A small exchange of smiles occurs between you and him.
âHow a monk then came to serve the great warrior Uhtred Ragnarsson?â
âThis is a long conversation, lady.â
âWell, Monk Osferth, I have the time.â
***
⢠That you were Romeo, you were throwin' pebbles and my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet". And I was cryin' on the staircase. Beggin' you, "Please don't go, " and I saidâŚ
ĂthelflĂŚd raises her eyebrows when seeing how all of a sudden you are engaging in a conversation with Osferth when you have never had eyes to somebody else.
âYou should not be so demanding to herâ, says Uhtred, as they all gather at the table for a supper. âShe found in Osferth a good companion, is all.â
âI can see the way she looks at himâ, says the lady in a disapproving tone. âShe will, when God wills it, be my heiress. She should know where this will lead her to.â
Uhtred limits himself giving her a look that she understands well. At times he wishes he could be more⌠present in your life. But in many ways he is.
As he observes you and Osferth cautiously now, he thinks wise to interfere.
âY/NâŚâ,Uhtred calls you. âYour mother wishes you to be more focused in your duties.â
âI do what she asks and moreâ, you sigh. âShe is never pleased with anything I do.â
âIt is the way of things. Kings and queens put duties over their sentimentsâ, says the warlord. âMost times they require personal sacrifices.â
You are tempted to argue, but seeing reason in his speech, what else is there to speak? You nod and giving Osferth a meaningless look, you depart without saying anything.
Osferth watches you go and, when noticing where his eyes follow, Uhtred clears his throat.
âBe careful, boy. Some prizes are too high to aim.â
The monk blushes at once.
âWhat is it you say, lord? I am but a bastard, a monk who, by chance, follows you in your wars.â
Uhtred side smirks in response.
âYouth can be misleading, this is all I can offer as an advice.â
But some part of the younger male wishes heâd have more time with you⌠however impossible it is.
***
⢠Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run. You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess. It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes"âŚ
You do not see him again. It takes years until tragedy reunites one with the other. Until then you slowly grow into a different woman.
Your mind is well versed in politics and languages, at least knowing enough of Latin to understand the scriptures. You try to follow your motherâs steps, but this comes with a price.
Even Lady ĂthelflĂŚd is aware of the subtle changes in your personality. Whereâs that characteristically joy that used to spark behind your y/c eyes? She misses it. As well as your innocence. Would time steal it from you?
At first she opts to ignore it. But not even her loyal adviser is blind to the loneliness you go through.
âIt would do well if Lady Y/N had some companions to spend her time with. However is her position now or in the future ahead, she must not live isolated.â
ĂthelflĂŚd considers. But whilst she asks him to look for suitable companions, the role of a mother, which she often mistook as the same of a queen, leads her to a shadowy road.
âY/Nâ, she comes to your chambers and doesnât like seeing some sort of melancholy in you.
âYes, my lady?â, you stand and curtsy.
ĂthelflĂŚd swallows the hurt when seeing itâs the queen you greet, not the mother.
âWe must speak.â
âHave I done any wrongs?â
âIt is not about that. I fear I have isolated you. I was⌠concerned you might suffer mundane influences which I attempted to prevent you to succumb.â
A flash of anger is perceived in your eyes. To your mother this is better than apathy.
âI am never good enough for you, arenât I? You take the few friends I have and send them away. If I recall your words, all was done under the pretense of following duty.â
An argument is inevitable. There is only so much you can do to hold back the temper that is an inheritance of your mother and your father, though ĂthelflĂŚd credits the latter for it.
She hears the accusations in silence. An explosion is better than a cold storm, so the queen judges.
In the meantime the royal household is trembling, Osferth has been living quietly, fighting his wars and drinking his ale. The monk clearly breaks any celibate oath by getting himself involved with women.
âIt so appears that our baby monk is not a baby anymoreâ, so Finan cackles.
âA man does what he doesâ, he shrugs his shoulders.
How can it be, though, that his thoughts never left aside the only lady heâd commit his heart to? Remorse soon comes when thinking that youâd not do what he did, knowing your character. Glooming soon comes⌠washing away what he judges to be weakness of his flesh.
As Uhtred likes to quote, though, destiny is all and soon it works to tie his life to yours.
*
Despite amending relations with your mother, you have never been the same. Duty has forged you into an iron lady prepared to embrace the arduous task to inherit a crown that deep inside your heart youâve never wanted it.
Nonetheless, once you prove how dutiful you are and how sharp is your wit, the witan somehow feels at easy when looking at you as your motherâs heiress.
And the day where you are expected to become Lady of the Mercians comes sooner than expected.
âI have to deliver grave news to you, childâ, and without wasting time, she tells you that sheâs dying.
Naturally, you are shocked.
âThis cannot be!â
âIt is the will of God and we must respect it. Soon, transition will occur as we have planned all these years. Listen to me, Y/N, you are ready.â For the first time in a while she looks a mother to you. âI am proud of you, my daughter.â
You lean against her forehead and, letting a sob escape, you say:
âI shall not disappoint you, mother.â
âYou could neverâ, and she kisses your forehead, thus reconciling permanently with you.
As she secretly requests the presence of Uhtred, you are going outside to fetch a messenger when you are surprised by his presence.
âMy lord!â
âWhere is she?â, by the grave expression on his face, you know heâs already been informed of her condition.
âAt her bedchambersâ, and itâs when you see him.
Osferth stands in the corridors, his eyes reminding you of those of a lost puppyâs. Courties come and go but you two freeze in time and space.
He knows and you know. With a movement of your head, you indicate him to follow. Discreetly he does, going after you somewhere that you know itâs not well guardedâin the past it used to be the spot where your mother welcomed Uhtred.
âLady Y/Nâ, Osferth isnât sure how to address you, how to even look at you.
For one moment neither do you. It seems as these last years turned one stranger to the other, and perhaps to avoid this odd sensation, you are the one to take his hand in yours.
âMy lordâ, you speak in short breath. âOsferth.â
âI thought we would never meet againâ, says he, daring to raise his eyes.
Studying you, Osferth sees how grown you are. How beautiful you have become with eyes dark as coal and softened features, with y/c locks falling in one long braid. There is sadness behind your y/c eyes and God knows how he wishes to take it away.
When leaning his hand to stroke your cheek, you lean it against his palm, searching for comfort. For the very first time in years you shed a tear.
âI am alone in this world, Osferth. My life is not mine. They forbid me to nurture sentiments of any nature. I am caged.â
âThis is not true, lady. Iâm here and will never leave your side, this I vow. I did try to forget you in the pastâ, he admits. âThe deep affection there is in my heart admonished my weakness. I cannot nor will I ever be so blunt in letting you to yourself.â
âI am expected to remain chasteâ, you sob. âOr at least to marry someone else. Save me, my lord. Save me from my fate.â
âThere is little need to protest against destinyâ, says Osferth. âYou were born for this, lady. God has put you where you should be. Iâll be here for you. Whatever comes, Iâll be beside you.â
You bury your face to his neck, bursting into tears. Osferth is tensed at such proximity, but when he embraces you, his concerns dissipate. Your smell brings him peace and as he rocks you in his arms, he realizes how much he loves you.
Oh, what a misfortune to love a star that is too high to grasp! But Osferth has been accustomed to the night to be drowned in hopelessness. What is he but a moon in search of the sun, contemplating the vast of the galaxy?
Nevertheless, the love he feels for you is inexplicable, inexpressible, irreversible.
âMy ladyâ, he speaks in his husky tone, reluctantly parting from you. âWe must go. We cannot take so long. I wish we had more timeâŚâ
âOsferth.â
âYes?â
âCan you do at least one thing for me?â
âAnything, ladyâ, he takes your hands and presses a hand in each.
âStay with me. Never leave my side, no matter the circumstances. Be the knight I want you to be.â
Osferth knows what you ask is too much of him. Especially now how acutely aware he is where came from this pair of dark coal eyes that stares at him.
Nevertheless, heâs been too weary to stay far from you. Even if he cannot have you, the warrior monk knows he has no strength to stay away from you anymore.
âI will do as my lady commands me to.â
That being said, Osferth does a bold move that surprises you both. He takes you by your waist and kisses you at long last.
***
⢠So I sneak out to the garden to see you. We keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew. So close your eyes, escape this town for a little while, oh ohâŚ
You are promptly acknowledged as Lady of The Mercians, the rightful successor of Lady ĂthelflĂŚd. Duty compels you to act as honorably as you can, showing the witan and your royal uncle how sharped is your wit.
There present is Lord Uhtred, who ensures his natural daughter is safe, that the transition to power occurs smoothly.
But at the end of the day you wish to see only one person. And when everyone else is sleeping, your loyal friend lady Ălfgifu brings him to your privy quarters.
âLadyâ, Osferth is surprised at your summon. âIs there something wrong?â
He drinks the view of you, trying not to succumb his lust. Years have passed since he took the oath of not letting be slaved by his flesh, especially regarding his feelings for you.
Now, the sight of your long loose hair and the nightgown that covers poorly your body, letting be captured in glimpses your firm breasts, makes Osferth face an internal battle.
âThere is nothing wrong, my love. Fear notâ, you short the distance between you two feigning a confidence you lack. âI am my own mistress here, Osferth.â
He gives you a cautious look.
âTime has played with us, has it not?â, the monk muses. âHowever, my lady, we must not be imprudent. I stand here as you wish, but I am not going to be unwise and put you at risk.â
âI understand my mother has done a vow which I intend to keep. In the meantime she has met the man I know now as my father in secrecy. We could do the same.â
âIf you are certain this will notâŚâ
But his words die at how close you two are. What time has repressed, no iron is suffice to hold back now itâs loose. Osferth himself forgets reason when his lips collide against yours and his arms are all around you.
Sighing in content, never before you felt a mistress of yourself as in that moment. When his breath and yours are combined, his strong body warming yours, your fingers let loose in his face, his features, his hair.
All the whilst his tongue dances with yours, his long and callous hands play with your hair and work quickly to remove your fabric. Once he leads you to bed, he pauses a moment to hold your face gently:
âMy lady wife.â
âMy lord husbandâ, you beam at the secrecy with which you and him express at last the true sentiments and desires to each other.
Even if this love story is not having the end youâd like, it is already written more pleasant than youâd conceived.
As his mouth drinks in your skin, his tongue twirling around your neck, his hands gently spread your legs, placing himself in between as his mouth starts to cup each nude breast. Devouring your nipples like a hungry man, Osferth for few seconds forgets he is the one experiencedâŚ
âWhy did you stopâ, you moan in protest when seeing this handsome and strong man right where you want him to be.
Osferth smiles at you, a smile that brightens his face which in turn makes you beam at such a view.
âI remember my lady that I must have utmost care with you, considering you are a damsel.â
You narrow your eyes at him.
âIs it a way to remind me you have had others in your bed, lord?â
Osferthâs smile quickly dismisses as he crawls over you.
âLady, whilst it is true I have not behaved well in the past, I am being careful to you. We are already doing it unlawfullyâŚâ
âOh shush! This is not the moment nor the time toâŚâ
And here you are pleasantly swallowed his fervent kisses. Where Osferth is shy and discreet when heâs with others, right here with you heâs every inch the man youâve read in books. Even more.
When his hand slides to your womanhood, there is no shadow of doubts or jealousy, but two hearts united in one purpose. And this is as holy as mundane, as sacred as profane, from the moment he slides in you only soon to seed you, providing a new delight never before you considered proving.
***
⢠Romeo, save me, I've been feeling so alone. I keep waiting for you, but you never come. Is this in my head? I don't know what to think. He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said, "Marry me, Juliet. You'll never have to be alone. I love you and that's all I really know. I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress. It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes". Oh, oh, oh. 'Cause we were both young when I first saw you
You receive a visit of Lord Uhtred, whoâs been too suspicious of the reason youâve been keeping Osferth wherever you go.
âLady Y/N, may we have a word?â, he is somewhat surprised to see you fitting well in your new role.
In spite of the burden that being the sole ruler of Mercia carries, youâve been continuing with the hard work of your mother. Some advisors, already perceiving that you hold a favourite in the person of your dearest knight, who does not meddle in politics, keep a blind eye to his person. But will others do the same notwithstanding your utmost discretion?
âYes, lord Uhtred. You know you are welcome hereâ, you dismiss the council and receive him like a daughter receives a father.
The tender gesture does not go unnoticed by the man, who softens before you.
âSo much like your motherâ, Uhtred whispers, a sad smile crossing his lips. âEven in temper.â
âWe had our differencesâ, you say, leaving a hint of a resentment that never truly healed. You wish you had been better as a daughter, more committed to the cause she stood for. You try amending the remorse by doing what sheâd do⌠though this does not mean you forget your secret vows exchanged with Osferth.
Uhtred studies you for a moment and itâs almost as if he can tell whatâs been left unsaid.
âWe all did, but you are doing a good work here. She would be proud of you. Leaving these matters aside, I am not here to discuss the rather unpleasant businesses King Edwardâs been having with Mercia.â
You ask servants to fetch yourselves wine and food before gallantries are set aside for politics. To your surprise, however, what Uhtred comes to discuss with you is in regard of your relationship with Osferth.
âLord!â
âThere is no need to protest. I am not here to admonish you for what Iâve done myselfâ, says he. âWhoever you lies with is your problem, Y/N. But the point isâŚthe oath your mother took was only performed after you were adult and well looked after. You need to continue the lineage if you do not wish that Mercia falls onto the hands of Wessex.â
âI do not think the aldermen will accept Osferth as my husbandâ, you hesitate.
âThere may be some elements they might considerâ, Uhtred strokes his chin. âDo you love this man, Y/N Y/LN?â
You smile at the question posed. Uhtred can tell you do love his baby monk, unbelievable as it is that Osferth conquered the lady of Merciaâs heart. He scoffs at it.
âI doâ, and then as if hesitating, you ask: âWill you give us your blessing?â
Uhtred never considered that youâd outwit him and your mother, but looking at the sagacity with which youâve been conducting Mercian affairs, is it really difficult to believe youâve known all this time?
âI personally think you deserve betterâ, the warlord teases you. âBut alas, aye! He will look after you, Iâm sure.â
You nod your head, thankful for his blessing. Then a moment of silence passes before Uhtred says:
âHow long have you known?â
âLong enoughâ, your smile spreads. âWhat a shame is that I will never be able to acknowledge you as my father in public.â
âIt matters notâ, he says. âWhat is more relevant is that you are well and conducting your affairs properly, something of which Iâve never harbored doubts. Iâm proud of you.â
A delight this reunion proves to be, giving your heart the balsam you need.
*
You are lawfully married to Osferth before selected witnesses on a sacred day. You ensure to bring your half-siblings for the ceremony, particularly bonding to Stiorra, who, despite the differences in creed, proves to be the sister you wish you had back in your youth.
At the feast, the aldermen present themselves. Not many are content with the choice, but if the blood of Ălfred does not meddle in Mercian matters, then all is well.
âYou look beautiful, ladyâ, Osferth smiles as you two dance beautifully in your own ways after receiving the blessing of the priest. âI never thought Iâd see this day come.â
âIt did, husbandâ, you smile back and he notices the old glee once spotted in your eyes long time ago have now returned. âIâve always had my faith this would somehow end well for us.â
âPraise the Lordâ, says he.
An exchange of loving glances is enough before the bedding parade is announced. You see Uhtred is sighing heavily, opting for not partaking of the boasting. Some aldermen snort at it for its pagan nature.
But some traditions survive the time. Therefore, you play the role of a damsel, whose gown is stripped on your way to your bedchambers, as Osferth does the same. He laughs as Finan teases him, as well as their other mates, considering they were more than familiar with Osferthâs history before you came along.
Now here you two are, alone at last.
âIt brings me great relief, in all honesty, that we are no longer hidden in secretâ, he admits, lying on his elbow as he admires you openly.
âAs it does to me, though what we have is not a burden, never was.â
âI knowâ, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. âI only wish we had not taken such a long time.â
âIt all happened in due timeâ, you smile before pulling him to you.
One kiss is enough to make Osferthâs mind go blank as well as yours. Thus it is this love story is sealed with a carnal union that mirrors that of the soul.
***
⢠Epilogue.
Some years laterâŚ
You pat your growing belly, watching with concern as Osferth teaches Edgar how to manage a sword.
âYou must first learn how to unsheathe the sword, boyâ, he speaks patiently. âAnd only then you will swing the basis like thisâŚâ
Edgar has the dark eyes of your father, but the hair of your husband. Except by these features, itâs a common consent that Merciaâs next ruler is very much like you.
âBe careful, husband! Edgar is not yet fiveâ, you say, at the same time keeping an eye to the maids who look after Ădyth, 3, and Osbert, 2.
When Osferth meets your gaze, you still freeze, mesmerized by the unique kind of joy only a man like him could make you feel. After all these years? Always, youâd say to your sister.
âI will, my love. I assure you that, whatever has Finan told you about me, Iâve grown prudentâ, he chuckles.
âIâm just assuring you, this is all.â
âYou are fussingâ, you hear a familiar voice that makes you turn your head to. Itâs Stiorra, the happily queen of York. âYou didnât think Iâd miss your labor, would you?â
At times you forget your belly is heavierâŚ
âWith many matters to attend, my sister, I honestly wouldnât expect you to. But you know how grateful I am by your company.â
The thread is briefly interrupted as you are distracted by the shout of your youngest children. Osbert is crying for a reason and Ădyth is claiming she can hold a sword.
You give Stiorra a look before playing the role of a mother. As Osferth fussed with his sonâs hair, thus finishing the training, his eyes linger at the familiar scenario.
âWhoâd ever known we would come all this way?â, when he turns itâs Finan who speaks.
Today, he came with Uhtred for a familiar visit that has, however, political implications. It appears that Brida has been planning a vengeance at Uhtred, so the northern warlord came to ask for Mercian aidâspecially when your royal uncle is not excited at the prospect of borrowing your father some men to impede this alleged Danish invasion.
âGod writes in mysterious waysâ, says the former monk.
âYou deserve this, my friend. You have a wife who loves you, and she is rich, possessing lands and enough silver for a lifetimeâ, both friends laugh at his remark. âAnd what about your children? Iâll ensure that Edgar is training by my sonsâ side when time is come.â
âYou can always bring them hereâ, suggests Osferth. âY/N doesnât want to acknowledge but in due time our boy will have his own household, so he must be surrounded by good and loyal friends.â
âIâll consider it with my wife. Itâs an excellent suggestionâ, Finan agrees.
As the day turns into night and the guests, as well the children, are set to sleep, Osferth and you finally have a moment to yourselves.
âWhat a dayâ, says he in the moment he slides at his side of the bed.
âIndeed. Grandmother has been very, uh, busy with our children. I fear she might spoilt them too muchâ, you shake your head, in reference to the King Ălfredâs wife whoâs been with you since your motherâs premature demise.
Osferth is on his elbow, stroking your hair as he ensures you are comfortable.
âShe enjoys a privilege few do: meeting her great-grandchildren, another generation of the old kingâs blood.â
You lean into his touch, locking hands with his, watching your husband blow away a few candles.
âYou bring me great delights, my love.â
âThe seed is strongâ, he teases you, making you chuckle quietly.
âDonât be silly, Osferth.â
With moonlight finding its way stubbornly through half closed curtains, you see the gaze your husband casts at you. You lift your hand to play with his short hair before stroking his face.
No words are needed.
As you smile and he smiles too, you peck his lips. It is a love story and both of you said yes to it. Such is what the pens of future scribes will register.
Others will write songs. The Lady and Her Knight will echo through the centuries, with your descendants still on power somehow by the 18th centuryâŚ
Imagine Lord Aemond Targaryen courts you amidst the rumors heâs been linked to Lady Alys Rivers.
Warnings: drama, fluff.
Warnings 2: alternative universe where no civil war happens, notwithstanding the silent rivalry between the Valeryons and the Targaryens.
***
⢠(I)
There I was again tonight forcing laughter, faking smiles. Same old tired, lonely place, walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy⌠Vanished when I saw your face. All I can say is, it was enchanting to meet youâŚ
You are an illegitimate daughter of Lord Daemon Targaryen who was promptly taken by King Viserys to live at the royal court. Because you have the same age of Lord Aemond, one his youngest children, you are raised by their side under the careful gaze of his Queen.
Notwithstanding her enmity to your father, whom you see rarelyâespecially after his marriage to Lady Laena Velaryonâ, sheâs grown attached to you, a sentiment you reciprocate.
It could not be otherwise. You are great friends with the Greens and as much as you appreciate the fanciful robes and education, like any other dragon whom you share the blood with, you feel locked up at a cage.
You are there when Helaena reclaims her dragon as well as Aegon and even the Velaryon boysâJacaerys, LucerysâŚâbut you and Aemond are the only ones without one to ride. This is perhaps what brings you to him.
âYou are very quietâ, Aemond muses one of these days where he and you share a lesson under the same tutor designated by Queen Alicent. âWhat troubles you, Y/N?â
âI am often quiet, Aemondâ, you shrug your shoulders.
âThis is not trueâ, he insists, poking your side until he gets a smile out of your lips.
âIt is! You know how introspective I can be.â
âNo more than my sister Helaenaâ, Aemond teases you.
You turn at him, in contemplative state.
âHave you ever wondered whatâs the world outside like? What lies beyond these pillars of stones?â
âI have⌠If I had a dragon to reclaim, this question would have been long answered.â
âI doubt it. We are tied to our families, my dearâ, and by that you mean your uncleâs since you resent your father has not given you any short notice.
Seeing it through you, Aemond realizes you two have more in common than heâd judged.
âTrue, but my path is mineâ, he says with conviction.
You smile at him, pleased to find in your cousin a proper companion. Aemond, on his turn, is enchanted to think likewise. A bond has formed.
***
⢠(II)
Your eyes whispered, "Have we met?". 'Cross the room your silhouette, starts to make its way to me. The playful conversation starts, counter all your quick remarks like passing notes in secrecyâŚ
Aemond is there to encourage you when the situation to reclaim your dragon presents itself. Both of you are in your late teenager days and it has been a while since your favored companion claimed Vhagar, which resulted in a permanent feud with your half-sisters and the Velaryons. Disregarding it such, at their horror, you stood by his side.
And now the one-eyed prince leads you to Dragonstone where a silver dragon awaits, wild and with no rider to claim it.
âThere you have itâ, you hear him say. âThe key to your aimed freedom.â
You turn at him with a glint of mischief in your eyes.
âOh, Aemond Targaryen. You are the death of me.â
Hands tied behind his back, the composed prince nods his head before chuckling.
âHardly, my dear. Off you go. No tips. You must do it yourself.â
Itâs when your willfulness disappears and Aemond spots fear taking its place. As he takes your side, the silver haired prince seeks to encourage you like youâve always done to him.
In this quiet twilight where birds are not singing and no other sounds are heard, it feels as if the world holds its breath. You are remembered of the comparisons made between you and your father by malicious courtiers, the look of disdain perceived in Otto Hightowerâs gaze due to your station and whom you are related to.
Aemond knows where this reluctance comes from. He watches you, his lingering gaze capturing the lines of concern that form in your eyes when you narrow your gaze at the wild beast that dangerously sets its pace around the abandoned hill where no peasant nor nobleman sets their foot.
His gaze moves to how you chew your bottom lip, how you barely breathe, paralyzed by the insecurity he too was once familiar to. Wind blows against your hair, wildly loose this day. It is as if nature takes hold of your spirit for you clench your jaw.
Aemond smiles to himself.
âGo on, lass! I know you can do it!â
When you turn your head, not minding the mess your hair is, you and the prince exchange a long look, sharing a secretive smile.
A soul recognizes in another. You and him know it, as if a spell has been casted to charm you to himâand, unbeknownst to you, him to youâ, that synchrony is not a proper word to describe your bond.
But encouraged by him this is the time to leave your sentiments aside, that now have become evident to you. Ignoring the fear that flashes before the princeâs good eye, you step proudly to the silver dragon with long, pointed tail and shade of dark silver coloring its wings.
The creature is a young adult with yellow flaring eyes that cast a disdain look at you. It takes little time before it reads your intentions. Aemond watches, frozen, as the flying beast throws its head back and spits fire.
âFuck!â, he curses under his breath, unwilling to admit he could have followed you closely and helped you in mounting the said creature.
âY/N!â, Aemond yells. âBe careful! Look at its eyes with no fear!â
Without looking back, you respond something he cannot understand. Aemond pales, giving a look at Vhagar, who doesnât stand too far. The older dragon opens only an eye as if itâs to say âyour problem, not mineâ, drifting back to sleep leaving Aemond grumbling to himself.
In truth, the elements of riding this young adult dragon are not in your favor. The creature is a product of wildnerness, and only the Gods can tell how on seven hells it appeared there. Thus, away of human care, it would prove difficult to settle easily with anyone who attempted to tame it.
Regardless, you are well versed in draconian studies to be easily frightened off.
âI am my fatherâs daughterâ, you tell yourself.
Twice, the dragon tries to burn you alive. Perceiving you as a threat, this only makes difficult for you to approach.
Aemond, as a watcher, fears for you. He forgets to breathe when seeing you fearlessly facing the silver dragon.
Two steps he gives, decided to rescue you when he is surprised by your confident yells:
âLykiri, Silverlightning!â
The dragon hesitates at first, however, understanding the command said in Old Valyrian, promptly bows its head.
Aemond smiles widely, proud of you as you climb the dragon you claimed and start to fly.
Indeed, a thought occurs the prince, you are every inch Lord Daemonâs daughter.
***
⢠(III)
This night is sparkling, don't you let it go. I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home. I'll spend forever wondering if you knew. I was enchanted to meet youâŚ
You and Aemond are flying high this night with nothing but the moon and stars as witnesses. In spite of the great difference between their dragons, harmony is felt, synchronized in perfect balance.
âHow on earth do you manage to fly dressed on your gown? This is impossible!â, you hear Aemond muse loud.
He smiles at the sight of you throwing your head back and laughing. Nothing warms his heart more than being the cause of the delight he sees sparkling in your eyes.
âA lady always has her tricks and shares them with no oneâ, you answer him over your shoulder, winking at him.
Under the moon light, your dragon and Aemondâs pair up like two skilled dancers. There, up in the air, liberty is tasted at its highest. Titles are casted aside, privileges forgotten, obligations neglectedâŚ
You and him can be yourselves. Simply dragon riders.
Eventually, though, you two must land. Once you do, Aemond insists in helping you going down. As he does, his hands take a little while around your waist.
Itâs when you notice how tall he is in comparison to you.
âYou look pretty, ladyâ, he whispers. âI like when your hair is down like this.â
Wind is still blowing, albeit weakly, against your curls, and you are struggling to keep them down. You smile at his words.
âOh, lord. I fear you are flattering meâŚâ
âThis is not a trait I possess, Iâm afraidâ, he smiles in his own way and you like the view. âYouâve grown to be a very handsome woman, Y/N. Your wit has sharpened as well, and you possess virtues I admire.â
Aemond can tell how his words affect you. The way your eyes go slight wide, the dimples forming in your cheeks, how slowly your lips twist in a smile that brightens your face. His heart races. But something stops him of moving further.
Yet, whatever occupies his thoughts is distracted of the pink that paints your cheeks and how shyly you seek out of his hand.
âYou are an expertise in making any lady speechless. I wish I was poet so I could give voice to how I feel about youâ, you avoid his gaze, leaving your bluntness with your dragon. âHowever, I cannot let you go back inside without assuring you that I have no one to hold dearer in my most deep affections than you, my lord.â
You raise your eyes and meet his. Aemond is bewildered by your words, captivated by the depth of your sentiments that these could at least partially transmit even though he sees it in your eyes.
Drowned in them, the prince is dragged to meet your soul. It feels like home. Gravity pulls him to you. He lifts your chin, holding it still and there is a mutual expectation concerning the next steps.
His lips are short distanced of yours, and you can smell his sweet breath. Your eyes linger to his red-ish mouth as his stare into yours. His long, paled and callous hand strokes your cheek and you are transmitted, in turn, the darkness within that paves bad choices and poorly closed wounds.
Nevertheless you remain.
âHow sacred is the bond that links usâ, he whispers before finally holding your face dear and kisses you fiercely, but slowly.
You gasp in delight at the clash of your lips against his, at the dragon smell of his body that mixed with the scent of yours, at how close, but not seemingly enough, one is with the other.
Every barrier is knocked down as his tongue snakes in your mouth, pairing perfectly with yours, dominating in a sweet, vicious kiss. You fear to lose your breath, thus holding onto him for balance.
As the kiss deepens, your hands grow confident. Soon, your hands move up to his hair, feeling his locks slipping through your fingers as you hold them tight, earning him a sigh.
The danger posed by this unexpected and secret meeting is the fire that might come out of a spark. Aemond feels it in you, thus parting it before he lets it lose within.
When you meet his gaze, there is no need to speak. Even so you need reassurances.
âWill I see you again?â
Aemond takes your hand and there presses a kiss. Only then he answers, when looking into your eyes:
âYes, my dear Y/Nickname. How can it be otherwise?â
You smile, completely charmed, completely enchanted to be with him.
***
⢠(IV)
The lingering question kept me up. 2 AM, who do you love? I wonder 'til I'm wide awake and now I'm pacing back and forth. Wishing you were at my door. I'd open up and you would say, "Hey"âŚ
It so appears that Daemon Targaryen has the bad habit of carrying bad omens wherever he goes. A judgement of his enemies that you cannot not think at times.
He barely arrives and all the distrust between him and his brotherâs second wifeâs family threatens to disrupt in something worse.
Leaving politics aside, though, he does not look very pleased at the thought of you being courted by Lord Aemond.
âI am nothing but the daughter of a whoreâ, you snap at him when he comes to you and rather leaves clear his opinions on the courtshipâand only Gods know by what means he was informed of your liaison with the prince your cousin since neither had made it official. âIs it not what you have always been told? Is it not why I was left under the kingâs piety?â
Your father stares at you in complete disbelief. Now residing at Dragonstone, heâs taken as wife Princess Rhaenyra, whoâs been acknowledged only recently as the heiress to the Iron Throne.
âThese people have been poisoning your ears. Iâve always told my brother about the danger of having you raised here. Do not speak ill of your mother, she was a good woman.â
âThis is untrue. The Queen is kind to me and her children are like my family. At least they are far more like brothers and sisters than the ones I have by full blood.â
Daemon strokes his cheek, reclined against the chair he occupies. You two are at his privy bedchambers and though he appears to be relaxed, you know thereâs a tempest forming behind his lilac eyes.
âI admit I should have brought you to be raised with Rhaela and Baela, but my brother, the king, took an especial interest in raising you.â
âAnd I am not being ungrateful about thatâ, you scoff. âI love my uncle dearly, but you have not been present when I needed most. You cannot tell me who I may or may not get myself involved withâŚâ
âOh yes, I mayâ, he interrupts you, to your consternation. âEspecially when my good nephew has been spotted at Harrenhal at the company of a woman named Alys Rivers. It appears that heâs taken a special liking to bastards.â
You blush furiously at this amount of informations, but more so when he highlighted your status.
âIf I brought you shame, father, you can say so. But do not offendâŚâ
âSince when speaking truths mean offense?â, Daemon loses his patience at last. âAll I wanted was to provide you security, girl! But the Hightowers have turned you in a soft young woman who takes as token the poisonous words of a libertine!â
âAnd do you think you have the morals to exempt yourself of it?â Part of you refuses to believe in him. âSeparating myself from you and never writing me a letter to know how I was fairing⌠Certainly after the incident where Aemond lost an eye contributed to your getting away. But no matter. The King has been a better father than you ever were!â
You have no idea how high your voice was and how hurt you have become through the years. As you storm off, you recollect how, at the day of Lady Laena Velaryonâs burial, you were looked down by the said ladyâs mother. Youâve always felt despised for being a natural product of your father with an old flame.
As you rush to the outdoors, you miss Aemondâs going back from wherever heâd been through. He is following Aegon when he spots a shadow of a storm crossing the corridors.
âI wonder what has left Y/N so upsetâ, the prince thinks out loud.
Aegon chuckles dryly.
âOh, havenât you heard? Our dear uncle has come to bring some more scandals. Like always, set to leave a path of troubles.â
âAnd what he has done now?â, Aemond inquires in between annoyance and interest.
Aegon gives his younger brother a mischievous grin.
âHe took as third wife our sister, Rhaenyra.â
*
Aemond watches as you land with Silverlightning. The bond you two formed has strengthened with the time. Your hair, always lose, is a mess by the wind, but today it looks like a veil under which you hide.
You also notice that you dress an old green gown of his mother, which he thinks that matches you fine, reinforcing your delicate features at the same time that leaves to notice the beauty of your curves.
Clearing his throat to dissipate these thoughts, the prince moves to where you stand. Once wind stops howling, he says:
âIâm sorry.â
âWhat do you feel sorry about?â
âYour fatherâs latest scandal has been the talk of court.â
You snarl at him.
âOh, that.â
It occurs Aemond that something else upsets you, which prevents you to look back at him. He lowers his gaze, ashamed for a moment. Silence hangs awkwardly between the two of you until the prince dares to break it.
âYou have not been yourself lately and I was not there to watch over youâ, he apologizes, trying to short the distance that has been growing between you.
You cast the prince a look and he sees pain in it, which leaves him in tormented.
âMy lady, your silence is like a sharp daggerâ, he takes your hand and gives it a squeeze.
Part of you wishes to get him answers. Another one refuses it. Where, however, do you stay? You look at this man, your childhood companion who grew to be the only one you love. Once upon a time these nights flying in your dragons, where you were enchanted in sharing this great intimacy with someone like him.
Now you question yourself whether this had been an illusion you fed.
As you open your mouth to finally inquire about the rumors that have been snaking into your mind and forming a nest of paranoia, you are interrupted by the presence of the Queen.
âMy childrenâ, she greets you warmly and you smile instantly. Alicent has occupied the left vacancy post of your mother, something which you are thankful for. âWe are receiving guests this evening. The king, your father, wishes you to partake the feast. Better get yourselves dressed.â
Aemond pulls a face, but this is the only sign of displeasure he shows, not being a fan of such ceremonies. But before he protests to have a chance to speak with you, the Queen steals you away.
âI understand the presence of your father here might be delicate to youâ, she says as you two step away. âBelieve me, dear Y/N, it is delicate to me as well. It was a never a secret that I dislike my brother-in-law.â
Somehow the crude honesty in her words makes you chuckle.
âAnd yet you have welcomed here, my lady, being the mother I was deprived of.â
The Queen smiles fondly at you, stroking your hand gently as you two walk arm-in-arm.
âThe children are not blamed for their fatherâs sins. And you are not sinful by all means, Y/N. I mean to tell you this because I am playing a good effort in receiving him and your siblings here too. Rhaenyra and I, as you know, are good friends. She has yet to meet you properly, but the princess has confided me the wishes of having you living with her and your father at Dragonstone.â
You stop by the corridors at what you heard. In truth, you hold nothing against Princess Rhaenyra as you hardly had some concept against her predecessor, disregarding some prejudices concerning your illegitimacy. However, this is all new.
âIâve always assumed I was unwanted somehowâ, you confide the queen in a whisper.
The Queen turns at you gently and holds your face with a maternal look. She sees your unspoken wounds and makes sure to amend them. Or try to.
âMy darling, you are not unwanted. Do not think yourself as such. You are a dragon, the king ensured to legitimate you for this purpose. You are a great dragon rider. I have heard Aemond telling many good things of you to Aegonâ, she smiles widely when spotting a blush creeping on your cheeks.
âMotherâŚâ
âYou are loved here. And whatever decision you makeâŚâ
âI am staying with youâ, you tell her. âI need no other family.â
The Queen beams at you. She places a kiss over your forehead before saying:
âI appreciate my darling. But even so I must insist in that you should tell this decision to your father.â
You find strange that the Queen is playing the peacemaker with her enemy, but this is part of the queenship, so you should not be entirely surprised. Later that day, you two speak no more of it, and you are momentarily distracted of your current issues.
***
⢠(V)
This is me praying that. This was the very first page not where the story line ends. My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again. These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon. I was enchanted to meet you. Please don't be in love with someone else. Please don't have somebody waiting on youâŚ
You are taking a moment by yourself when your father approaches.
âWe didnât start wellâ, says he, watching as you stand and look at him, surprised to find him there. âI always thought my brother, the king, had stolen you from me. He said I was unfit to look after you, my child. This does not excuse my poor choices, but somehow I wanted the best for you.â
You tilt your head, weighing the words he said. Considering what you know regarding his behavior, you find no lies. Nonetheless, youâve been in a distrustful mood, considering the whole Aemondâs possibly affair with a lady named Alys Rivers.
âI was raised here. The king and the queen were very good to meâ, you find sensible to omit Otto Hightowerâs despise.
Daemon studies you. Though calmer you may be, he can still see you like a mirror. The looks, the snarks, the self defense⌠Every inch like him.
âWe can still amend it. The princess would like to spend more time with you. Your sisters likewise.â
You scoff.
âBaela and Rhaena donât speak to me since I stood for Aemond many years ago.â
âNot the wisest move, but I am hardly a model for anything of the sort.â He snorts. âThere is still time to consider⌠Y/N.â
Daemon watches as you merely nod your head, moving to Silverlightening. He side smirks as you ride graciously, dressed in silk. At times heâs remembered of the woman he first loved, your mother. These are the times he wishes to go back in past and be a more decent man.
But this Targaryen rogue has fewâif anyâregrets to collect. Even so, as you fly, he knows he will have you back. All he needs is the precious thing he lost: time.
*
Aemond finds you this evening, anxious to resolve all that has to be resolved. He couldnât find you all day, frustrated for having you removed out of his sightâbut never out of his mind.
âY/N!â, he cries your name out the moment you land with Silverlightening.
You freeze as your Achilles heal comes at you. Aemond has grown to a fine, good looking man who, despite his bad reputation, has been nothing but kind to you, protective and more.
âI fear that Iâm losing youâ, he doesnât wait to formalities. âI understand it has reached you the rumors about me and a woman named Alys Rivers.â
Aemond can tell there is much to be said, but none of it reaches your tongue. Nonetheless, he must clear once for all before itâs too late.
âShe was once my mistress, I will not deny thatâ, says he, pained as you flinch quietly. âBut this is no more. I am yours, and yours alone. I was never besotted with a woman like herâŚHer name hardly ever occupied my thoughts.â
You will not deny yourself that for a while you wished he never loved anyone else, that you secretly prayed that no one would be waiting for him as you two danced with your dragons in the night.
But now you are confused.
âWhat are you telling me, Aemond?â
âI fucking love you, Y/N Targaryen!â
That being said, he takes your face with his long hands and kisses your lips intently so, fearful of letting you slip through his fingertips.
âOh Aemondâ, you sigh in content, a smile set on your face dispersing every fear, every insecurity.
Red is his face. Aemond is usually careful, mindful of his sentiments, which are normally on check. Hardly the one prompted to impulsiveness, to be ruled by his passionsâhe is the epithet of lucidity amidst his siblings.
Where reason doesnât see, though, a deep ocean of feelings is felt. And you gleefully dive in as you pull him back to kiss his lips.
âI was always enchanted to be with youâ, he whispers, his lips inch away from yours, forehead resting against yours, eyes closed. âI was a fool for never making my feelings clear.â
âBetter late than everâ, you smile at him in great contentment. âAll is well that ends well with you.â
As he locks fingers with you, there lies the certainty of never letting you go.
âBe my wifeâ, Aemond murmurs and you are amused by his demanding tone.
âYou are not askingâ, you giggle.
âNo.â
âOf course not. If you vow to me that you are not going back with this woman.â
Itâs Aemond who laughs now.
âClearly not, Y/N. If I shall take the love of my existence as consort, then I best offer you whatâs the best of meâŚâ
You throw your hands around his neck.
âThen you better take me away and make me your wife, Aemond Targaryen.â
***
⢠Epilogue. (Perpetual peace)
With Rhaenyra crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, relations between the Targaryens have altered significantly.
One of which concerns how you and your father managed to overcome obstacles in your relationship thanks to the mediation of the new Queen, who also consented in having you married to Lord Aemond.
This day, thus, is one of the many celebrations the Queen and her consort, your father, are giving on your behalf. There are many tournaments and a great feast is held on your wedding day.
It is curious how by amending his relationship with you, by extent you make peace with your half-sisters and even towards the Velaryon boys. Despite preferring Helaenaâs company, soon you and Baela find that riding a dragon is something both of you enjoyâamidst other common tastes.
As for Aemond, he admits that uncle Daemon is one whom he often looks up. Thanks to you, this is a bond that will get stronger with time.
âYou better not break my daughterâs heartâ, the rogue prince says in a very serious tone. âI have many flaws, but do not underestimate my iron will in protecting my family.â
And then he takes his son by marriage in a tender embrace. You could not have your cheeks any redder after it.
âDear Godsâ, you mumble, all the whilst you watch them exchange amenities.
As you take your seat at the high table and your husband follows you, for the bedding ceremony is about to be announced in that boisterous manner, you both enjoy the last reminiscent of brief silence.
âMy lady wifeâ, Aemond takes your hand to his lips and there presses a kiss. âI donât think I ever told you how I was enchanted to meet you the day my late father brought you to us.â
Your face is bright red, much to his delight. The one eyed prince side smirks at you, still kissing your delicate fingertips. You tilt your head to the side, eyeing him devotedly.
âMy lord husbandâ, you chew the new word and it gives you butterflies on your stomach. âSo was I. The moment I saw you, I knew you were mine.â
âIndeedâ, he whispers. âI shall be eternally yours if you have me.â
You lean towards him, lips barely touching his.
âAs am I.â
But no word is spoken as the already drunk prince consort announces this is it. Itâs time for husband and wife to be⌠well, husband and wife.
Thank you very much for those who are keeping up with this side blog! I hope you enjoy these one-shot fics. My direct messages are open for suggestions and constructive critics.
Wish I could follow you all back but every time I do so it goes with my main blog, really donât know how this works, apologies for that.
Again, thank you for the patience, the likes and reblogs.
Imagine Taylor Swiftâs songs (XIV): State of Grace.
Imagine you find the love of your life on Tinder. But thereâs a lot going on before you and him realize that.
Warnings 1: fluff, light reading, some drama, light smut.
***
⢠(I)
I'm walking fast through the traffic lights. Busy streets and busy lives and all we know is touch and go. We are alone with our changing minds. We fall in love 'til it hurts or bleeds, or fades in timeâŚ
You stare at the Tinder app youâve just downloaded. Motivations cannot be concealed of why you are doing it. Loneliness is why itâs suddenly opened, leading you to interact with strangers under the pretense you are about to fall in love with the man of your life.
Ridiculous are such romantic notions, and you have no one to blame for nurturing them but yourself. That is why you open it and sliding these male pictures like they are part of an odd menu, you think you are very demanding when you see his picture on your screen.
His profile reads:
Aemond T, 28 years old. âLive fast. Die young. No idea what the fuck Iâm doing here, but it is what it is.â
You think those lines are quite amusing and you press the âlikeâ button, a part of you doubting heâs liking you back. Especially when your profile reads:
Y/N, 28 years old. âI talk a lot and make bad jokes. If you are here to be monosyllabic, please get out.â
To your disconcert, he likes you back.
âWell, letâs see how this one goesâ, you tell yourself, somewhere between self pity and skepticism.
*
Aemond Targaryen has arrived home in the first rays of morning. Ran on the streets, crossing red lights, a color he dresses and lives for, hardly respecting it at times when he finds convenient.
Living at the upper east side of Kingâs Landing, heâs slightly drunk when he gets at the apartment he shares with the only tolerable member of his family: his sister, Laena, whoâs sleeping by now.
Opening Tinder because, since he left Alys, he feels the need of one night stand, he finds himself quite impatient before such pursuit. When he sees Y/N on his screen, he knows this is not the kind of woman he usually hangs out with.
In fact, this bad boy hardly looks for good girlsâAlys once accused him of mother issues for dating older women who somewhat resemble his mother and this kind of traumatized him. No one knows, but heâs doing therapy to fix this issue.
But you are not older, hardly look like his mother, Mrs Alicent Hightower, and⌠well, you look beautiful with vivid y/c eyes, smooth y/c skin and y/c hair tossed against the wind.
As soon as he sees heâs corresponded, he sends a message, almost falling asleep because itâs 5 am but heâs surprised when you promptly reply.
âAll good. And you? Where do you speak from?â, you write back.
âUpper east side, you?â
âNot the richest part of the town for sure.â
When reading these acid lines, Aemond laughs, though something about them annoys him in the same measure.
âWhat do you know about that?â
âEnough to know this is not a place I frequent.â
âSo where do you come from?â
âI recently left High Garden and am temporarily living at the capital. In that neighborhood called Y/C.â
âThatâs a good neighborhood. Despite your prejudice, I actually go there at times.â
âMy prejudice? Do you suppose I hate rich people now?â
Aemond is not sure how the hell this is going. Shouldnât a one night stand be this difficult to find, for sure.
âSorry. Iâm drunk.â
Heâs about to throw the phone away and touch himself instead. This appears to be a better option. Besides, calling Alys is not fucking considered.
âApologies accepted. I admit I did not express myself wellâ, you write. âShould we start again?â
Aemond, between horny and impatient, finds himself compelled not to throw away his phone, after all.
âSure, why not? What are you doing at 5 am? I mean⌠I have the excuse of being drunk after a fantastic party at the port, but you?â
âI couldnât sleep. Too many thoughts over my head, I think, but this is not a conversation for Tinder.â
Now Aemond is wide awake. You donât look like any superficial woman heâd been talking these days.
âWhy, tell me about it. I am an expert when itâs about anxiety and other things. Besides, who do you take me for? I like deep conversations.â
âSend me a text message and we can keep this going.â And you write your number down.
The silver haired male raises an eyebrow. Despite the poor starter, you are more interesting than heâd formerly judged.
I wonder what lies behind these photographed vivid eyes, Y/N.
***
You exchange messages with Aemond for three days. A date is set, and before you know expectations rise. Then you start to sabotage yourself.
You begin to look for excuses when it comes to meet this strange, handsome rich man. Old traumas remind you of past failures, but your mind is briefly distracted when he sends you a message:
âHey, Y/N. Howâs it going? Didnât hear from you today.â
Itâs mid-week, and due to your work as y/c you occupied yourself enough to avoid his name or the fact that in three days you might meet him.
Part of you wonders what could possibly go wrong whilst another makes a power point presentation with lists of why it could go worse than expected.
âAll goodâ, you eventually answer. âSorry for not answering straight away. Iâve been working.â
To your surprise, he doesnât take long to answer you back.
âHowâs work so far?â
You know Aemond works as humanities professor at Westeros University, but that heâs also part of that (rather infamous) Targaryen family.
âGood so far. Just busy. Howâs yours?â
âOne needs patience to deal with young adults that still think they are teenagers. By the way, apologies for the swift change of subjects, but howâs our Saturday going? Still standing, I hope?â
You hesitate, panicking before the idea of seeing someone. Part of you tries to find motives to avoid him, but another, more reasonable, reminds you this is living: hurting, yes, but embracing the joys life may offer. Shielding oneself against disappointment will not stop them happening, so what is the point of hiding in shadows under the pretense of impeding suffering?
âIs 10 oâclock good?â
âIt works fine for me. Iâll see you there!â
Itâs set. Your first date in three yearsâŚ
⢠(II)
You come around and the armor falls. Pierce the room like a cannonball. Now all we know is don't let go. We are alone, just you and meâŚ
Aemond is not romantic, but practical like his ex used to mock. He is not the kind of man who opens easily, rather being a man of actions.
How unusual, or perhaps following an advice of his sister dear, that he opts as first date with a girl heâd never seen before a picnic at the Aegonâs Hill.
Dressed like someone who could easily be mistaken as a motorcycle rider man, heâs wearing a pair of sunglasses and threw over his shoulder a black jacket, wearing a simple white shirt and black pants.
He checks his phone once a while, but why is he feeling dizzy at this first encounter with a stranger?
Itâs when he spots you dressed in a flower dress, medium y/c hair blowing against the wind, wearing a pair of blue sandals on your feet.
A funny contrast you two are, like sun and moon when they meet, resulting in an eclipse. But as Aemond watches you come, shy and insecure about him, he wonders where this will go.
Taking off his sunglasses, he stands and smiles:
âY/N? Itâs me, Aemond.â
âOhâ, you barely blink when spotting those purple eyes. âYou are taller than I had assumed.â
He chuckles at your remark.
âIn my family this is a remarkable trait, some would say.â Aemond offers you a seat and you soon take it.
You see the picnic is already set, the cloth already spread over the green grass on a spot that has some shadows thanks to a large tree that there stands.
There are fruits, cakes, cereals and breads, but also juice, water and coffee. You are positively impressed by the effort he paid to this. Aemond side smirks at your reaction.
âWhat? Did you like it?â
âI loved itâ, you smile the brightest at him. âThank you, Aemond. Iâve never done picnics before.â
âNo?â, he inquires, watching you with interest. âHow come? I thought this was a common thing at High Garden?â
You laugh heartily and Aemond decides that he likes the sound.
âI am not a noblewoman, my dear. It may be a tradition amidst the local elite. You must certainly have heard of a beauty named Margaery Tyrell. She does promote these events there, but like I said, Iâve moved to Kings Landing a few years ago.â
âThe name may hint something, but I donât care about elites and their gatheringsâ, says Aemond, serving himself some water whilst you opt for some juice. âMy father loves throwing fanciful parties, but I donât fit them, so I stopped going.â
As you study him, your gaze and his linger for one small, but significant moment before you say:
âSo I get you are not very close to your family?â
âNot really, no. But you wouldnât be if your father favored one child over the other and expected gratitude in returnâ, he smiles despite the poisonous words.
You raise your eyebrows.
âIs it that bad then?â
âYou have no idea.â
You tilt your head.
âI cannot believe I relate to you, Aemond Targaryen.â
For some reason, this brings you both to delightful laughters in that first dateâŚ
***
⢠(III)
And I never saw you coming. And I'll never be the sameâŚ
Itâs been two weeks. What was supposed to be a chasing after one night stand it has become new discoveries giving space to new sensations.
Aemond likes to kiss your lips in his car, to make you laugh at his bad jokes or listen when you tell about your day.
You like to listen to him too, not only about his days, but his past experiences, open wounds that mirror yours. And when he kisses you it is as if the world stops spinning and everything takes in a slower rhythm.
His kiss makes you feel unspeakable things, but that you never felt encouraged in doing them, transferring to reality what has only been a fantasy of your dreams.
Nonetheless, you are still reluctant in pushing affairs forward and Aemond respects you that. He reads you like an open book, always observant about your mannerisms.
This day, for example, you two are at a coffeehouse that is located within a bookshop. There, you read a book of poems all the whilst he drinks coffee. Itâs a comfortable silence and it gives him such a peace, one of the kind heâs unused to it.
âWhat are you looking at?â, you ask upon sensing his stare, which makes you blush.
He chuckles, finding adorable how easily he makes you shy.
âYouâ, says he directly. âIâve never seen anyone so beautiful like you, reading so concentrated.â
You giggle like a silly girl, finally putting the book aside to take his long hand in yours, enjoying how smooth it is when your fingers are locked with his.
âStop itâ, you shoot him an embarrassed look. âYou know itâs untrue.â
Aemond laughs quietly. He then makes sure you are now sitting on his lap, disregarding the fact you two are at a public place.
âI mean every word I sayâ, he looks deep into your eyes, holding your hips as he rests his chin over your shoulder. âHow come I feel more alive when Iâm with you, dearest Y/Nickname? My heart races when you look at me like that.â
You lean closer to him, a smile spreading big on your lips before cupping his face with your hands.
In your mind you cry out a big âI love youâ, but these words donât reach your tongue yet. You thus kiss his lips instead and there you stay, at your private paradise.
*
Later, he drives you to his home. His sister isnât there and Aemond wants to show you his place properly. This is the first time you are there since you and him started datingâthough no label has come out of either mouths yet.
Once inside, you are given a tour at the apartment. Itâs bigger than youâd expect, but cozy and nice to look at with a huge view at his living room to the sea.
âLook at this view!â, you exclaim in awe as you see green hills mixing with different modern buildings that are combined with the blue of the oceans, reflecting the same shade of the color that paints the skies. âI wish I was this privileged! But then I remember I already am.â
And saying so, you look at him, transmitting more than youâd expect. But even so⌠when Aemond meets your gaze, he sees it through you. What is curious is that, somewhere in his past, heâd flee, panic or fight it in his way by sabotaging the process.
He still has his scars, and these are eventually coming to surface, but this silver haired male has no space in his mind that is not you. Thus, he comes to stay behind you and says:
âYou know what, Y/N? Be with me. Be my girlfriend.â
You turn your head at him. It is easy to be involved by sweet words and empty promises, but this is not what you feel when your wide-eyed gaze meets his intense one.
Souls speak in silence when desires, sentiments and thoughts are aligned in one purpose. Could it be any different? Perhaps yes, but neither you nor Aemond conceive otherwise.
"Yes, my dearest."
You turn and wrap your hands around his neck. Proximity is shortened as his long, callous hands tight the grip around your waist and his forehead once again rests against yours and a kiss comes as a result.
Though he is not yet ready to speak these three words that at times can be seen behind his dazzling purple eyes, Aemon is more than ready in building a new, more optimistic future with you by his side.
A sentiment and perception that you share as your togue snakes in his and together dance in one slow syncronized rhythm. Silence remains undefeated in the surroundings... but for how long?
His is the fireous pursuit and you, like a timber prompted to burn. Soon, you are pressed against the wall with his lips still locked with yours, but his hands move to your hips, there staying, there caressing your bum before rising to your waist and slowly transferring his gentle, warming touch to your back, underneath the blouse you wear.
It does not help that, after biting your bottom lip, he breaks the kiss so he gradually grows bold in his teasings. You like how your boyfriend--and the word brings a smile to your redish lips--takes his time to get to know you and your pace even if you suspect he's a dragon like the standard of the symbol of his famous family.
You play with his long locks, wrapping them around your fingers, sighing quietly as his tongue takes its time to get familiar with your neck. You giggle softly, however, when his hands rest subtly on your belly.
"Yes, babe?", he raises his eyes to meet yours and in them you see mischief. "Is it good for my lady?"
Your knees often weaken and your body gets instantly warm at whenever he is gallant with you. Aemond, a good observer, knows it well. No wonder why he smirks at you.
"It is more than good, I fear to say", you chuckle, struggling not to rub one leg to the other, especially when he looks at you like that. And you find yourself restless, prompted to let your fingertips vaguerously move from his arms to his chest, thus helping him remove his shirt.
"Is it so?", Aemond laughs quietly, letting you take the reins of the moment. "Your innocent gaze makes me no fool, young lady".
Saying so he presses you one more time against the wall, biting your neck all the whilst your hands eagerly move to his pants.
"You are my doom", you whimper impatiently.
The spark is about to explode...
***
(IV)
So you were never a saint and I've loved in shades of wrong
We learn to live with the pain, Mosaic broken hearts. But this love is brave and wild
Even sun sets in paradise. In due time, his obscurity comes to surface as well as your vices. Jealousy is a trait you dislike in yourself, reflecting the insecurity within due to bad experiences in former relationships.
His self entitled taste for liberty awakes this beast, coming to test your relationship in the famous âthree months crisisâ.
âDonât give me the silent treatmentâ, says Aemond, troubled by your silence as he drives you home.
The cause of disagreement rests in the unwelcoming presence of Alys Rivers. Two days after Aemondâs birthday party, she, who remained a close friend to his brother Aegonâeven if his entire family hates her for reasons you have not yet figured outâpaid him a visit and you were not told about this.
But he eventually tells you like it is not relevant for your relationship. You, proud where sentiments are concerned, think that if he cannot see how wrong this all is, certainly will not find out by you.
âI am not giving any silent treatmentâ, your words cry a wound open in your ego, your voice betrays your pride.
Aemond sighs and stops the car somewhere random.
âCome now, donât be like this, Y/Nâ, he looks at you with confused eyes. âWe have always talked about everything, havenât we?â
Your therapist usually tells you that, regardless of how uncomfortable it is to speak out, you must not swallow your sentiments nor bury them by turning into a burden that should be forgotten. Or else your body would feel the results, which in turn were not nice.
Aemond can see you are struggling against yourself, aware that underneath you there lies old scars that still do you harm. He puts a hand around your shoulders, patient.
âTake your timeâ, he says with his usual soothing voice.
In other circumstances, heâd not be patient. But this is someone whom he cares deeply, having grown to love sincerely. Only another woman holds his patient affection and itâs his sister, Helaena.
Eventually you burst into tears, letting yourself exposed before this man you love. Youâd think he is the kind of guy who likes strong women so youâd never let be seen so fragile, so open.
Aemond somehow comprehends it, then he lifts your face so you can meet his gaze and see thereâs no judgement behind his eyes. Wiping away your tears, he suddenly realizes, after examining his conscience, the probable cause of your hurting.
âWhat did I do, lass? There is no need to push me away. We must speak. What is troubling you, my love?â
âI⌠IâŚâ you take a deep breath, confident you can battle your demons. âYou welcomed her, the woman who you told me you loved fiercely for many years. You welcomed her at your house and tell me as if this is no big deal? She may remain friends with your brother, but then what about us? What about me? Do you care so little about my feelings that you simply receive her, a woman I cannot equal in many ways?â
Oh, the thought comes too late. So this is what itâs about.
Aemond doesnât know how to respond straight away. Sticking to his early encouragement, he is not running away from himself.
There is embarrassment, there is shame. His thoughts are a mess, but only after you stop sobbing that he turns at you.
âIâm sorry, Y/Nickname. That was imprudent of me.â
âI am not that kind of girl who is possessive of her boyfriend. Who you hang out with is your problem, we all have friends and itâs completely understandable to be friends with oneâs ex butâŚâ
âWaitâ, he frowns. âAre you friends with your exes?â
You ignore his remark.
ââŚto welcome her like that without even telling me, and at your own house with no one else. How can I feel comfortable with that?â
âAegon was thereâ, Aemond mumbles. âThis doesnât excuse, I know. Iâm sorry, darling. And I had no idea you compared with her. For the love of God, I am your boyfriend, not hers. If I wanted to relive the past, I would be a historian or a museologist.â
Pleased to make you chuckle, Aemond smiles at you, pressing a soft kiss against your temple.
âAre we good?â
âYes, my love, we are.â
And you two stay silent, appreciating each otherâs company with only the stars and the poorly illuminated posts as witnesses.
*
A few months later, a graver disagreement comes like an earthquake to shake the stability between you two.
Aemond is a possessive man, so he is not exactly a man of sharing. This flaw comes particularly when he feels threatened by others. One of these is his nephew, Jacaerys Velaryon.
He thought this rascal man was being friendlier to you than you deserved. You two had a fervent argument after that.
Or when you accused him of running away of his commitment to you by not introducing you to his family.
As you can see, itâs been a hell of a ride.
But twelve months later and insecurities are overcome, with you finally settled with each otherâs demons.
***
⢠(V)
This is a state of grace. This is the worthwhile fight. Love is a ruthless game unless you play it good and right. These are the hands of fate. You're my Achilles heel. This is the golden age of something good and right and realâŚ
You mount on him, ready to another drive. It feels so damn good to have his cock twitching hard, thrusting inside you as you two move slowly.
âThis is so damn goodâ, you moan, eyes closed.
âDo not be loud, my dearâ, Aemond smirks, adjusting to you, taking a seat without letting you fall.
Curtain is open, giving path to moonlight spark in his bedroom. You are at his apartment, having recently moved together.
But dear Helaenaâs birthday is coming soon and some of the family is spending time there.
âI am trying to, but you make it difficultâ, you whimper when he takes your breast to his mouth all the while fingering you concomitantly to his moves.
And then he rolls you to his bed, fastening his pace and kissing you passionately.
Not too long after that and you both come together in the same climax. When cuddling you, Aemond says.
âI corrupted you, didnât I?â
You cast him an amused glance.
âWhat are you talking about?â
âYouâve become more naughty since weâve metâ, Aemond chuckles, kissing your neck. âNot that I am complaining.â
âWhat can I do if the makeup sex is really good?â, you laugh quietly.
Interlocking fingers, you two stay like this for a moment, staring into the nude dark sky able to spot from his bed.
âI was thinkingâŚâ
âYes?â
You look at him, admiring his beauty, the paled, smooth skin, the well built muscles perfectly drawn in his shaped body, his long hands that mould so well with yours⌠Even his wrongs, his flaws, his vices⌠make you love him ardently.
Sensing your gaze, Aemond begins to flush.
âI am no romanticâ, he whispers in his usual quiet tone. âBut you know how Iâve grown to overcome my disability in expressing my thoughts and sentiments.â
âIâve always judged you did this better than meâ, you muse partially joking, pleased to make him smile.
âIâŚâ
Now on your elbows, you take his face with your hands.
âWhatâs it my dear?â
Avoiding your inquisitive gaze, Aemond is silent before bursting it soon:
âBe my wife.â
You barely blink, a small, silly smile, coming to form on your lips.
âIâm sorry, what?â
âYou heard meâ, he blushes.
You laugh at his lack of sensibility. Throwing yourself at him gives the peace his rioting heart requires.
âIs this a⌠yes?â, Aemond asks, unsure. âI should have done it better, Iâm soâŚâ
You shush him by kissing his lips, then saying:
âOf course this is a yes! You are my state of grace, Aemond Targaryen! I could have not asked for a better husband.â
When contemplating the genuine joy stamped in your features, he, stroking your cheek, then says:
âYou are the love of my life, Y/N Y/LN.â
Without waiting for any response, he holds you against his chest, rocking you in his arms as you share a kiss.
Itâs the first chapter of your happily ever afterâŚ