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aemxnd · 1 year

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midnight rain | daemon targaryen x niece!reader

Can the sunshine win over the darkness?

Heavily inspired by a gender-swapped Taylor Swift’s Midnight Rain as requested by @prettycutebunny, I hope I did your idea justice (and apologies for changing one lyric to suit the plot!)

WORDS: 5.3k (I’m so sorry)

WARNINGS: canon typical incest, dubcon, angst everywhere you look, p in v, v fingering, physical violence, breeding, degradation, praise, pain kink, Daemon being a real asshat, reader is Viserys and Alicent’s third child, reader has silver hair for plot point, Stockholm Syndrome, terrible High Valyrian translations, crying, power imbalance due to age difference.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

My requests are open! 🖤

Such a pretty little songbird.

Little Starling, your mother had once named you as a child. A free spirit, bound only by the towering castle walls that clipped your wings as the youngest child of the King and his second Queen. Weeks, months, years passed daydreaming beneath your favourite tree, reading the same fantastical books and listening to the same wistful odes from your minstrel.

All the while under the careful eye of your kepus.

Life’s tragedies and horrors had never crossed your path, never entered your realm, therefore could never harm you. Your childhood as idyllic as you could imagine, save for a loving father. That void was dutifully replaced by your uncle Daemon, whose unrivalled care and indomitable attention ensured you never wanted for anything more, evermore understanding that your father’s duty to his throne far exceeded the loving relationship expected toward a daughter and that his brother could offer the closest companionship to his. Yours was an unbreakable bond that defied all secrets, surpassed all proprietary expectations and often branched into full conversation in High Valyrian to remain undetected by outside ears.

Meanwhile, your elder brothers Aegon and Aemond sought to salve the absence of a protective male role model closer to your own age, ensuring they trained in the sword to their own degrees should their little sister ever need rescue. No matter how often you reassured them, they refused to share your belief that no danger could come to you, for danger did not seek you. With the guard of three silver-haired Princes, you thought yourself invincible.

As you matured together, however, your brothers discovered distractions. For Aegon, it was women, cups and the sordid activities beyond the castle walls. For Aemond, it was Vhagar, studies and bitterness. You could not begrudge them the right to grow, to extend their roots beyond your all-too-comfortable sibling unit, as you too had become distracted by literature, music and the pursuit of a quiet life with precious few responsibilities. Somehow your tranquil existence had eluded the conversation of marriage, recognising your unfettered spirit aspiring to greater things than a life secluded within the Red Keep.

But not in the eyes of your kepus.

~~She was sunshine, I was midnight rain~~

“What troubles you, little starling?” Called a familiar voice from behind your favourite reading spot in the Godswood. You squinted against the midday sun to find your beloved uncle Daemon watching over you, an uneasy frown skewing his lips. “Why are you so often here alone?”

“Good day, dear kepus,” you closed the tome in your lap, clasping your hands together. “My brothers are at the Dragonpit, where I fear a princess may never tread.”

“And you are content with reading in solitude?” Daemon stepped closer, treading carefully over the gnarled roots of the tree upon which you sat. “Would you not prefer company?”

“I am sure others would not wish to read the tales I choose to indulge,” you clutched your book closer to your chest, hurriedly attempting to conceal its cover from him. Sighing thoughtfully, you smiled up at your uncle. “I am resigned to the life of a quiet Princess Regent, neither an heir nor a common-born. No responsibility, no authority, yet still no freedom.”

Daemon approached and perched on a root beside you, chuckling softly under his breath. “I suppose that notion is all too familiar to us both, Princess.”

“Then how did you assuage it, uncle?” You looked over to him, noticing a distinct pain behind the considerate smile on his countenance. “How did you counsel yourself to contentment with such an existence?”

“What in the Seven Heavens makes you believe that I have?” Daemon snorted, gaze dropping into his lap. “How do you counsel yourself to contentment with a life of loneliness, niece? You are but seven-and-ten, do you not wish to take a husband? Make an honest man out of some egotistical Lannister?”

You smiled warmly. “I do not wish to marry, uncle. No aspect of marriage or childbearing holds any attraction for me, for I could never find the love of which I read in literature.”

“That I find hard to believe, Princess. If you wish to marry for love, your parents would be only too happy to oblige.” His hand reached to clasp over your thigh reassuringly. “One day, you will find the Prince you deserve.”

A comfortable silence fell between you, enough to hear the rising volume of the wind in the Godswood. You glanced up in tandem to see the once-turquoise sky fading to an ominous grey.

“A storm is coming, Princess,” Daemon clicked his tongue, slapping his knees demonstrably and rising to his feet. With a kindly hand proffered in the space between you, he beamed down at you. “May I accompany my little ray of sunshine to shelter?”

As you reached to accept, Daemon finally caught a glimpse of your book’s cover and smiled to himself. “The Tales of Persephone and Hades, I see.” His voice lowered to a mutter so indistinct you could not hear him. “How apt, vēzos.” Sun.

You paced slowly toward the library together, Daemon always one step behind, his hands clasped studiously behind his back as you meandered around hallway after indiscriminate hallway, wordlessly travelling as if no conversation could be found. You would never notice the manner in which Daemon consumed the image of you before him, a woman grown so distinctly from the small babe he had observed in your youth, born with gleaming silver hair which now tumbled to the length of your hips. Your regal green gown swayed as you moved and swept the hallway before his intrepid footsteps, Daemon swallowed harshly as he imagined the frame concealed by your bodice and boned skirt.

~~She wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain~~

Upon your arrival at the dimly-lit library hall, you turned to nod a farewell to your escort.

“Thank you, uncle,” you smiled before quickly turning on your heels in search of another book to lose yourself in. As you paced, you heard your footsteps echoing with another, realising that Daemon had followed you. After a few more steps, you ground to a sudden halt, giggling gently as he bumped into you and nearly lost his footing. You grasped his arms behind you and steadied him, the gentle clearing of his throat behind you making you chuckle harder. “Kepus, are you following me?”

His hands searched for your waist and skimmed the contour of your hips, pulling you flush to his chest so close his warm breaths fanned your hair. Your laughter silenced with the sudden realisation that this was no child’s play.

“I would follow you to the ends of the earth, little starling,” he whispered into the shell of your ear, venturing a hand to brush your tumbling silver curls from your neck so he could blaze a trail of butterfly kisses unimpeded. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes fluttering closed as his gentle touch melted your resistance immediately.

“Kepus… what do you mean?” You asked timidly, almost afraid of the response.

His next searing kiss into the base of your neck lingered a while, his lips wrapping you up in anticipation and longing for a touch you had never before desired, but now that you had it, you craved it more than the air you breathed. Your head threw back into the blissful sensation, earning a low groan from Daemon that vibrated softly against your skin.

“You have always been the midday sun to my midnight rain, haven’t you, little one?” Daemon whispered. “You were born into this world when I returned from the Stepstones, a ray of light when my world was shrouded in darkness. Whenever my life has succumbed to the pitch black of night, you were always there to illuminate the way.”

Your hands rested on his as they traversed deep into the valley of your pelvis, hovering over the position of your most sensitive place concealed only by the structure of your dress.

“Uncle, please…,” you muttered in a form of weak protest that came out as an encouragement, unable to scramble through your mind for a reason why you should reject his advances. He had lost Laena, you were unwed, there were no marital connections to stop you. Your beloved uncle, who more or less raised you in the absence of your father, had been the deepest love in your heart all your life. Whether or not that had been a romantic love or not, you could not deny the way your body responded to his touch as if you had yearned for this moment ever since you first read of love. Holding him this close felt as natural as breathing.

“Hush now, little starling,” he cooed as his lips blazed a trail up to your earlobe and nibbled gently, all while pressing his palm into your skirt so his fingers could make contact with your mound beneath, making featherlight strokes into the fabric and causing your hips to buck into his hand. “Tepagon aōla naejot nyke.” Give yourself to me.

The darkness enveloped the daylight as you nodded in agreement, and in the blink of an eye Daemon gripped your hips, spun you to face him and captured your lips with his. At first tentative, he pulled back to scan your face for a response, only to growl hungrily as he watched your gaze journey to his lips eagerly awaiting their next contact, consuming your mouth with his before you could mutter a protest. Your hands instinctively reached to lace around his neck, drawing him closer and dipping into the kiss as if your hunger could not be sated, craving as much contact as physically possible.

Without you knowing, Daemon had steered your clinch across the room toward the nearest desk, lifting you to rest on the wood and swiftly hitching your skirt up around your hips in the process. His lips refused to part from yours, nudging his nose into your cheek and humming contentedly against your mouth. With one hand cupping your cheek, the other ghosted a featherlight trail from your knee to your inner thigh, blazing toward your smallclothes between your legs, grazing the sodden fabric as it clung to your core.

“You already want the darkness, don’t you niece?” He pressed, groaning greedily and venturing both hands to rip the weak cotton apart at the seams. With his last obstacle laid to waste and clinging to your hips, his fingers grazed your pulsing folds and collected the waiting droplets of your anticipation. “I have waited so many years to feel your heat, ñuha vēzos.” My sun.

Your vision swirled like a hurricane, conflicting emotions and thoughts blurring the image of the silver-haired prince gazing down at you through lust-blown pupils as he watched his fingers daring to breach your folds before you gave him permission.

“Kepus, not yet,” you pleaded against your own better judgement, a whimper escaping him as you planted both palms on his chest to keep him an arm’s distance away. “We are not yet married, I don’t think this is right.”

Daemon chuckled to himself before grasping both your wrists in one hand and raising them above your head, his free hand pressing your chest to lay you flat on the desk. Pinning your wrists above you and leaning down to hover over you, two fingers rediscovered your folds and slipped inside in one smooth motion.

“Then don’t think, sweetling,” he whispered as he buried his fingers inside you to the knuckle, fingertips eagerly curling into your spongy walls and stroking slowly. Your hips tentatively reared into his touch, a palpable trepidation leaving you worrying about your maidenhead, the pain of coupling that literature failed to address yet had always remained on the lips of every birthing woman within the Keep. Daemon noticed your hesitation and thrust his fingers deeper, eliciting a strangled gasp from the depths of your lungs and revelling in your back arching into his motions. “It’s alright starling, the darkness has you now.”

You swallowed harshly, eyes roving to the ceiling as the full sensation in your cunt overwhelmed you. With a disapproving click of his tongue, Daemon tightened his grip on your wrists and slammed them against the hard wood, making you hiss gently.

“Don’t take your eyes off me, niece,” he commanded until your gaze met his again, ramping up the pace of his pumps as you buckled beneath him. “You need not be ashamed of letting go. Let your kepus take control.”

Daemon’s thumb journeyed to settle on your clit, tracing lazy circles around your bundle of nerves while his fingers drove fervently in a race to reach the furthest points inside you, the wet slaps of his motions echoing through the library. Watching closely as your back arched against his restraint, your eyes fluttering to close as if your climax were nearing, the edge of your pleasure cliff was cruelly snatched from you as his fingers withdrew from your soaking folds with a lewd pop. In a determined hurry and a rustle of fabric, Daemon fumbled with his breeches and freed himself before quickly replacing his digits with a smooth thrust of his length into your cunt. Your determined lubrication enabled his swift entry to sheath himself inside you, but not without discomfort as you winced to handle the stretch of your walls around his girth.

“Easy now, vēzos,” he soothed, pressing a palm into the valley of your hips to feel his tip grazing your innermost core and sending a shallow shiver throughout your body. “Soon the pain will become comfortable, I promise.”

You swallowed deeply, nodding in compliance and dutifully wrapping your legs around his waist to allow him easier access within you. Daemon grunted, making his next thrust deep and punishing to the point you yelped out, filling the library with the echoes of your cries.

“That’s it, little one,” he hummed contentedly, working your cunt with his bucking hips like a man possessed, his free hand gripping your hip to impale you further. He leaned further over you to hover his lips over yours, his towering stature blocking out the dim candlelight of the room and enveloping you in pitch black night. “Give yourself to me, let the darkness take you.”

With every merciless thrust deep into your cunt, your helpless mewls grew louder which only encouraged Daemon’s animalistic plunges within you. Gathering what little strength you could muster, you weakly pulled your wrists against his restraint.

“Please… need to… touch you,” you stuttered, fingers clamouring into mid-air for contact. Daemon’s sadistic grin faded as he acquiesced, your hands firing to curl around his neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss so you could silence your screams into his mouth, his relentless force pummelling you into the hard wood of the desk beneath which was sure to leave flayed grazes on your spine the next day.

“My little sunshine, you feel like heaven around me,” he cooed against your lips, curling his thrusts to bottom out inside you so hard your blurred vision of him would glitter with stars. “Does this not feel like heaven to you?”

You whimpered an unintelligible response, unable to compose any coherent thought as his cock filled you to the hilt. The searing heat swelling inside you brought the vision of your cliff edge back into sharp focus, begging you to drive your hips up to meet his in a desperate race for your release. Daemon recognised your eagerness and met it with a newfound brutal pace, pounding into you so fast the lewd skin slapping that echoed through the chamber became staccato and relentless.

“When you are carrying my child, your father will wed you to me,” he leaned to whisper in your ear, anchoring himself by wrapping his hand around your throat, his fingers and thumb pressing eagerly into each side to stem your blood flow rushing to your head, leaving you breathless and helpless. “And I will return inside your pretty little cunt every single night for the rest of our lives.”

His thrusts became jagged, betraying his own approach to the precipice.

“You see, every night the darkness consumes the light.”

With one last devastating thrust, your high flooded through you like a tidal wave and crashed against Daemon’s incoming climax, flooding your walls with his release and blending with your own, his gaze travelling to watch the space between you as his glistening cock hammered into your depths and stuttered as he poured inside you. The once-deafening lewd sounds of your coupling now replaced with ragged breaths, gasps for air and Daemon’s contented grunts as he rode out his orgasm within you, you threw your head back against the wood in sheer realisation of your own weakness.

Not yet married, but most likely to carry your kepus’ child before long.

You threw your hands to your belly, clutching at the flatness between your pelvis. Pulling out from you and admiring the soaking mess between your folds, Daemon’s hands rested upon yours as you looked up to find him gazing lovingly at the same space which terrified you to the core.

“Byka vēzos,” he hummed. Little sun. “If you do not conceive this time, we have the rest of our lives together to ensure you will.”

~~She looked like a bride, I was making my own name~~

Some flowers bloom only when the sun sets.

You blossomed for Daemon in a way he could never have anticipated. His bravery in the battlefield garnered him the courage to risk it all for a chance to make you his wife, but he found so very little resistance in your kind reception that his claim over you simply fell into his lap. The thrill of the chase evaded him, as you caved so effortlessly to his will.

Each time he requested your presence in his chambers, you parted your thighs and accepted him willingly. Yet each time you requested his presence in turn, he refused, ensuring he kept you wanting more and more, the suspense crafting a new height of pleasure each time you were called to his chambers, bent over his bed and pounded within an inch of consciousness.

Daemon Targaryen had laid his claim to your body and mind, yet all that remained was his possession of your soul.

Unbeknownst to you, Daemon had long pleaded with your father to wed you to him. Informally at first, often disguised as a joke to strengthen the Targaryen bloodline by betrothing two dragons to each other to fight for all eternity. But since the night in the library, his requests increased in volume and tenacity, resulting in a physical confrontation in the throne room between dragon brothers. Dismissing Daemon’s demand as nothing more than a vicious clamour for the Iron Throne, your father sought to banish his brother from King’s Landing to Dragonstone, where he would live out his days out of earshot of the Red Keep, where he would never again hear the pathetic whimpers of a man desperate to bed his youngest daughter for power.

To you, that night came as any other, as Daemon’s maid requested your presence in his chambers at the dead of night and you dutifully obliged, pacing the Keep corridors in eager anticipation of meeting him once more. As you crept through his door, a heavy fabric flew towards you and you grabbed it in mid-air. A dark cloak.

“Kepus, what—?”

“We need to leave. Tonight.” Daemon’s voice was short, snappy, panicked as his face came into view in the darkness. His brows knitted together, his lips skewed with fear.

“Wh… why? Did my father refuse our betrothal?”

“Of course he fucking did,” Daemon snapped through gritted teeth, grabbing the cloak still laying in your shaking hands and throwing it over your shoulders for you. “We need to leave for Dragonstone now, there’s a boat waiting for us in the harbour.”

“I don’t… why do we… what happened?” You were frozen to the spot, confusion washing over you in waves. Daemon’s hands balled into fists as he adjusted the hood over your head.

“Will you stop asking so many fucking questions? Just get down to the harbour, I’ll meet you there soon.”

“Kepus… I’m scared,” you stuttered, hands held out in front of you as if still holding the heavy cloak. “Will I ever see my parents again?”

Daemon smoothed the fabric over your shoulders and tucked the hood over your eyes. Pressing a quick dismissive kiss to the fabric laying over your forehead, he clasped your face and pulled it upwards.

“Whatever happens, little starling, we are each other’s family from this moment on.”

Suddenly, the tense silence between you shattered to the sound of deafening bangs on the door to his chambers. Immediately hunching his back defensively, he ushered you across the chamber toward a dark passage where a rogue guard waited to take you onward. “Place your trust in Ser Baleon, I will meet you at the shore.”

The crashes against the wooden portal intensified as you fled, the distinct swoop of metal from the chamber behind you suggesting Daemon had armed himself against the ambush. Searing hot tears blazed volcanic streams down your cheeks as you fought to focus on your steps down the dark spiral staircase to safety, wondering if you would ever see Daemon alive again.

~~Chasing that fame, she stayed the same~~

“Your father is a cunt,” Daemon hissed, storming into your Dragonstone chambers and crossing the room in three great strides to tower over you.

“Surely not, kepus,” you attempted to calm his temper with a reassuring palm pressed to his chest. “What has he said to irk you so?”

“He’s sent a raven to enquire after you,” he seethed, his jaw clenched tightly as if it might snap at any moment. “He claims that I kidnapped you in the dead of night and will not return you to your birthright in the Red Keep.”

“But I came to Dragonstone of my own free—,” you were cut off by Daemon’s hand firing to grasp your throat, your fingers racing to claw at his grip and prize yourself free.

“Well why don’t you speak those precious words to your beloved father instead?” He half-growled, sneering down at you as if you were his prey. “He seems to be the one that needs persuading of your own free will, Princess.”

“If you… if you let me, I will,” you stuttered against his restrictive clutch, weakly attempting an escape to breathe properly.

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” He snarled, using one hand to spin you by your waist while retaining his grip on your throat, pressing his chest flush to your back and steering you to the bed. “You could run back to the Red Keep and your books and your perfect little boring life.”

“Kepus, please,” you protested weakly, reaching a hand ahead of you to cushion your fall as he dropped you face-first into the sheets. “Please, don’t…”

“Please don’t what, starling?” He chuckled, bunching your skirt over your behind and battling with his own breeches. “Don’t fight for my family, or don’t take my wife whenever I so wish?”

You scrunched your eyes closed, willing to block out whatever was coming next. This was not the careful husband you knew, this was not the devoted uncle who raised you in place of your father, this was certainly not the man who you fell in love with under a stormcloud amongst ancient tomes. This midnight rain will pass, no matter how much love it unravels in the eye of the storm.

Delivering a swift nudge to your thighs, your legs were parted and Daemon crawled between them, grasping your hips and drawing you up to impale yourself on his hardened cock. With no preparation, you yelped at the intrusion and hissed gently.

“The pain will soon become comfortable,” he declared as he ruthlessly bottomed out inside you. “I promise.”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to burst their banks as the agony coursed through you in waves, slowly replaced by bolts of pleasure as his tip grazed your innermost walls.

“Please… take me easily, my Prince,” you wheezed out between merciless thrusts stealing your breath from your lungs. “I am… I am with…”

“You would do well not to give orders when I can ensure you lose consciousness in a moment, little one,” Daemon hissed, pounding into you with an inhuman pace, sending your eyes roving to the ceiling as his nails dug crescent dips into the flesh of your hips. “You want to stay awake while I fill you up, don’t you? Maybe this time you will bear me a child.”

“Daemon, please be gentle…,” you fought to finish your declaration while balling your fists into the sheets, your elbows caving beneath you. “I am with child.”

With your last syllable, Daemon’s thrusts ceased instantly, leaving you whimpering at the immediate loss of friction. He stilled completely, not so much as a laboured breath escaping him behind you, his length still nestled halfway inside you.

“My Prince, I… I’m sorry,” you reassured, venturing a hand back towards him as if willing him to hold it. “I should have spoken sooner.”

You breathed into the deafening silence, wondering if he did not wish you to deliver the news in such a manner. Suddenly, a cool splash of water hit your scalding spine. A tear. Daemon’s tear.

“I have failed you, starling,” he sighed, completely shattering his blind rage into a self-deprecating reflection. Allowing his length to slip out from your folds, he released your hips and collapsed onto the sheets beside you. “After all this time, I could have destroyed our child with my recklessness.”

“You have never failed me, kepus, our babe is safe inside me,” you purred, reaching to brush another tear from his cheek. “If he’s anything like his father, he can withstand any amount of force.”

Daemon’s saddened gaze turned to you, still on all fours beside him. He ventured a hand to brush your cheek.

“I do not deserve you, vēzos jehikagon.” Sunshine.

In the blink of an eye, you threw a leg over his own to capture him between your thighs. Hovering your waiting folds over his length, still hardened and bobbing between your bodies as you awaited a signal to proceed.

“Let me please you, my King,” you pleaded, one hand venturing between your legs to stroke his cock and line his tip with your aching entrance.

Daemon’s gaze met yours, his wounded pride hooding his eyelids in contrast with your wide-eyed anticipation. You smiled at your silver-haired captor so warmly, he could not resist your brilliant sunshine blinding him to walk into the light. Gently bucking his hips to meet you in the middle, you lowered onto his length and shared a gratuitous moan as he filled you slowly and completely.

“You are truly carrying my babe?” His hands journeyed to your belly, swelling softly beneath his palms as you rocked gently into him.

“As true as the sun shines above us, ñuha jorrāelagon.” My love. “The Maester says it is early, so I should rest as much as possible.”

Daemon stilled, concerned. “Then you should cease at once, allow me to…”

“And deprive me of this moment with my beloved? Never,” you asserted, sinking down carefully and bucking your hips to graze his tip against your walls, dropping so far you could swear you felt his cock deep in your stomach. “Besides, I may not be able to ride my dragon for much longer so I will take any chance I can get.”

“When you grow too weary to ride your dragon,” Daemon’s fingers splayed out across your belly as you bobbed above him, his eyes journeying to the ceiling momentarily as the sensation of your walls tightening around him stole his breath. “Rest assured that your dragon will take good care of you, little one.”

The mere implication of his words sent you careering to your precipice, clenching tightly around his cock as your walls rippled and pulsed with the approach of your orgasm. Noticing the sensitivity of your walls to his every motion inside you, jolting and surging around him to bring his rhythmic rutting up into you to a jagged pattern, signalling the arrival of his own climax.

“Let go for me,” he commanded through a whisper, keeping his palms pressed to your abdomen and revelling in the strangled gasps you could no longer hold back, grinding your hips to ride through your high as he deftly painted your walls in staccato thrusts.

Filling the chamber with your mixed groans and deep pants as you slowed your motions above him, you couldn’t bear to move from atop Daemon for fear of losing the moment you shared. Instead, he gripped your hips and turned you onto the sheets, keeping his length buried within you as you lay beside each other.

“Gevie muña,” Daemon muttered under his breath as he reached to brush your silver hair from your face.

Beautiful mother.

~~All of me changed like midnight~~

It had taken you the best part of half an hour to muster the strength enough to heave yourself from the birthing chair. Propping yourself up on the fruit table stacked high with pomegranates, you gazed out from your Dragonstone chamber to the harbour beyond. The day was bright, gleaming, the waters mirroring the same blissful turquoise sky beneath which you used to read your books, drift off into fantastical realms and dismiss your own captivity as the Princess Regent with no responsibility and no freedom.

The Maester said your third birth would be easier than the initial two, but so far he had been proven catastrophically wrong. When sickness could not claim you, tiredness and weakness took hold. Days blended into each other, weeks dragged for months, your belly swelled overnight as you lay helpless in the birthing chair simply waiting for an end to the monotony of childbirth. After delivering Daemon two sons, you assumed your duty as a birthing mother had been fulfilled, yet another child swelled no sooner than the second had left your womb.

A pair of hands snaked around your hips to cradle your blossoming belly, fingers spread out over the span of the bump to feel every sensation beneath your skin. A chin rested in the crook of your neck and peppered lazy, haphazard kisses over your ear.

“Good morning, ñuha byka vēzos,” he cooed softly, his breaths warming your neck. My little sun. “You are not usually out of the chair so early, are you not well? Is our Prince keeping you from rest, little starling?”

You sighed as you dipped your head against his, placing your hands atop his as they surveyed your belly.

“I am quite well, husband,” you comforted him, tracing idle patterns over his hands, still as delicate as the day he first held you as a babe. “I’m always well when I am with you.”

Gazing out beyond the Dragonstone harbour, you could make out the faint outlines of the Red Keep from the safety of Daemon’s arms. Word from court suggested your father’s physical strength was at its last. Your mother sent a parchment requesting your presence but your husband intercepted it before it reached your hand, dismissing your concerns and reassuring that a raven would arrive at once if the King was indeed on his deathbed.

King’s Landing lay just beyond the dock, a symbol of the life you gave away for the sake of love. When you once believed you could never attain the love as told in literature, you failed to notice you had already fallen into such an affair. Persephone and Hades, the blinding sunshine tempted into the all-consuming darkness.

Such a pretty little songbird.

In such a pretty little cage.

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ladydostoevsky · 2 years

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲

𝐓𝐖: 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬'𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝, 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐭?

You walked the halls of the Red Keep to see your brother, the King. He has weakened the past few years. He is seriously ill and you are very scared for him. You feel sorry for him, you really do.

You haven't heard much about Rhanyra and Daemon, your niece and older brother. You have tried to send several letters to them, but no replies.

You finally arrived at the doors of the king's bed chambers. The knights bowed on either side and opened the door. "Princess y/n Targaryen, your grace," one screamed. You entered the room. In front of the fireplace sat your sick older brother, the King, and beside him stood your sister-in-law, The Queen Alicent. She turned around and smiled happily. “Y/n” she said and hugged you.

You have very nice relationship and get along very well. You were grateful to her for taking care of Viserys. You ended the hug. "My queen" You whispered. You turned your glance to your brother, walked beside him and knelt next to him. "Brother, how are you?" You asked softly. You heard the door close and assumed that Alicent had left you alone. "Who is it?" he replied weakly. You felt tears in your throat but you held them back. "Viserys, it's me. Your sister, Y/n" "Aah Y/n. Of course. My dear sister. I feel like I'm gonna die any moment" he joked. Your eyes widened. "Don't say it like that, Viserys! What would Rhaenyra think? You are strong, brother. You are a Dragon, like Daemon, like me," You said softly sobbing now. Viserys placed his hand on top of yours which was on his planket. "The one who was promised. The long night… it's… the promised…" "Viserys? Viserys!" He turned to look at you, confused. "I think.. I need to rest a little," you nodded and stood up. "I'm gonna tell Alicent," and after saying that you left.

⎯⎯⎯⎯

The garden had always been your favorite place. The smell, the colors, the picture was just breath taking. You walked around until you saw your niece, Helaena sitting alone on one of the seats there. You walked over to her, smiling sweetly. "Helaena, how are you?" She turned her attention from her hand, where a yellow butterfly rested, to you. Her face lit up when she saw you. "Aunt! Sit, sit!" and so you did, your red dress swaying with every movement. The butterfly flew away and she took your hands to hers. "I'm fine, aunt. Today is a beautiful day, isn't it? Did you come from seeing my father?" she asked hurriedly. "Today is a very beautiful day, my darling. Yes actually I did. Your mother told me you'd be here," her face fell. You frowned and put your hand on her shoulder. "Is something wrong, me dear? Are you spending much time here?... Alone?" she looked at the floor dreamily.

"I don't have anyone to talk to most of my time. Father is sick, mother is busy with Kingdom, Aegon… does his own things, Aemond also don't care. You're the only one I have, aunt." "Don't ever say such things again," you took her head and hugged her against your chest. She hooked her arms around your waist, strongly. "Never Helaena. Your parents and brothers love you, they really do. I love you. You don't have to feel alone, never." She took her head from your arms and looked you into the eyes dreamily. "I wish you were my mother, y/n." You looked at her sadly and hugged her again.

What you didn't hear were the words she spoke to herself. "The one who can't fly can't breathe fire."

⎯⎯⎯

After that you were to search your two nephews and talk with them about Helaene. Like you expected they were on the training ground. You watched from the balcony as Aemond's and Aegon's swords clashed. A few knights and lower lords around them. You knew how proud they were. They liked to show off, especially to you. You never knew why thought.

You made your way down the stairs. The knights and lords bowed when they saw you. "Make way to Princess y/n Targaryen," this took your nephews attention. Aegon smirked. "Came to see how I beat this brat's ass and cheer me up?" he asked arrogantly. "Not today, Aegon." Aemond looked at you with narrowed eyes. He never liked how his brother talked with you. "Actually, I would like to talk about Helaena with you," Aegon groaned and rolled his eyes for that. "My lovely aunt. Can we not talk about her again. I'm about to win this battle and I would like some cheering with your beautiful voice." Next thing you knew Aegon was bleeding from his right hand. The maesters ran to him and took him to his chambers, while Aegon cried and whined dramatically.

You looked at Aemond, shocked. He had thrown his bloodied sword to the ground. He looked unbothered. "He got too close to you." You had nothing to say. What was wrong with these boys? "Aemond… I have to talk with your mother about this. This is not…" "Don't worry, he has seen worse battles," he mocked his brother. You shaked your head, turned around to walk away and said, "I need a hot bath. Now." "I will see you at the dinner, Aunt," said Aemond, watching your beautiful figure walking away.

#house of the dragon #hotd #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #helaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #alicent hightower #viserys targaryen #house of the dragon x reader #daemon targaryen #rhaneyra targaryen #yandere aemond

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volturissideslut · 5 months

Note

Hi! Omg I love your writing I’m so happy I found your blog!! Hope you like this request.

Okay request idea- Bella has an older sister who went on a school trip/study abroad to Italy and went missing never found.

But when Bella and Alice show up to save Edward and they enter the throne room Bella sees her sister- who is now a vampire and is Caius’ mate and queen!

Thank you 🖤🖤🖤

𝕮𝖆𝖎𝖚𝖘 𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎

No Bella bashing. This fic actually made me sad for her. And Charlie. But I don't say much about him.

"You're alive??" Bella practically sobs as she launches herself toward you, babbling incoherent strings of sentences together.

Pulling yourself from beside your lovers throne, you barrel into her half way. Though your red eyes and marble skin cannot match her teary eyes and blushed cheeks, the sentiment is still there.

"I missed you" you whisper, breathing in her smell for the first time in months.

"how did you- what did- when- you're alive?!" she breaks down into you and it breaks your heart. At this point, it's obvious to you that Edward, her lover, will be fine and so you give a glance to Caius as if asking for permission.

He nods, though surprise you were even seeking it,and watches as you pull dear Isabella away, Edward and Alice soon to join.

It was a sweet reunion, really. But it didn't last long. It's better than nothing, I suppose, as it was never meant to happen in the first place.

"won't you visit? Come home for a while?" she all but begs, stuck like a vice to Edwards side. The moment was all to much for her poor human heart. Yours too, but being a few years older than her still made you wiser. "please? I need you, your my big sister."

"I can't, bella" oh how it killed you. Caius stood behind you, hand comfortingly over your shoulder. "Dad can't know I'm alive, you shouldn't know I'm alive. And I have responsibilities here. This is my home now"

All there was left for Bella to do is be pulled away by Edward. Grateful for him being alive, heartbroken again by now.

Now it was decided by her. Even if he was against it, she would be turned. She was for it. The volturi was for it. She's have eternal life with Edward. But most of all, her big sister whom she has always admired, wouldn't have to hide away from her anymore.

The next few days after she left, Caius abandoned all responsibilities and tended to you. Though he had a personal distaste for her, to you she was family. And so he put all his needs aside to be there for you. She's family.

Nobody deserves to lose their family.

Poor Charlie.

#twilight #x reader #twilight renascence #headcannons #hc #volturi #twilight saga #twilight x reader #twilight imagine #volturi kings x reader #volturi kings #caius x reader #caius volturi x reader #caius #caius volturi #volturissideslut #asks open #reqs open

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nebulaafterdark · 1 year

Text

More Than Anyone Pt. 4

Aegon x Velaryon(Strong)! Reader

Summary: Royal family dinner at the Red Keep is rather interesting.

Porn with heavy plot. MDNI, 18+ Only. Targcest, depictions of labor/childbirth, character death.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Family dinners at the Red Keep are somewhat of a farce. They do not enjoy breaking bread together, content to stick to their separate wings, their separate lives. Alicent and Rhaenyra especially.

Since Y/N and Aegon have wed, the Queen has stopped pushing for the Strong children to be declared illegitimate. Her son would be close enough to a King. He would be safe.

Y/N will make a fine queen. Alicent loves her like her own, but Y/N is stubborn. Aegon’s love has only proved to further spoil her. If she wishes her daughter to be heir, in spite of Alicent’s desires, she would do just that, and she has.

The Princess is seated between Jacaerys and Aegon. The Prince does not tolerate other men being so close to his sweet wife, even her beloved brothers. Or perhaps it was the fact that they are so dear to her that sets him on edge. If they had wed, in the true way of the Dragon, Y/N would’ve been married to Jace instead of Aegon. And the thought alone leaves a foul taste in his mouth.

Y/N keeps her husband’s hand in hers as she laughs, jesting away with her brother.

“Hello, little one. It’s your uncle, Jacaerys. Jace, if you prefer. Your sisters and brother enjoy my company, I hope you will too.” With that he leans away, happily and back to his meal.

My baby, Aegon seethes. The one I fucked into her. Not you.

Y/N brings Aegon’s hand to her belly then, watching with a tender grin as his face softens.

“Perhaps Jacaerys should focus on fathering a child of his own. Hmm, Baela?” Aegon says, directing his attention down the line of bodies. “You have been married a year now.”

“Aegon,” Y/N shakes her head as Jace’s hands ball in fists.

“It fills me with great joy to see you all getting along.” King Viserys tells the children.

“Indeed, Grandsire.” Jacaerys affords a tight lipped grin.

Aegon raises his cup to his father. They are not sure how much time the King has left, they all do their part to keep him happy.

Y/N pats her Grandsire’s hand across the table.

“My girl,” Viserys chokes out. “Mending our family whole.”

Y/N feels tears prickle at the back of her eyes, “I try.” She tries but never quite succeeds.

Luce is sat at the foot of the table, with Aemond at the head, near his wife Helaena. Lucerys chuckles to Rhaena at the way the pig jiggles when placed in front of his uncle.

This sets Aemond off, slamming a fist into the table as he stands. All eyes land on him.

“Aemond,” Alicent whispers.

“I should like to raise a toast, to my niece, Y/N and to my nephews; Jace, Luce and Joffrey. Each of them comely, wise….Strong.” Aemond meets their gaze pointedly. “Let us drain our cups to these Strong-”

“I dare you to say that again.” Jace rises to match him.

Daemon clears his throat, watching the chaos unfold. Rhaenyra shifting uncomfortably beside him, heavy with child.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment.” Aemond skirts round the table so they are face to face.

Y/N stands immediately, placing herself between them, facing her brother. “Ignore him.”

At this Rhaenyra, Daemon and Alicent spring to action. Lucerys and his wife not far behind.

Aegon takes his own brother aside, “bite your tongue.”

“Oh relax, brother. It’s all a bit of good fun.” Aemond purses his lips.

Even after they manage to get everyone back in their seats, Aegon cannot shake the image of Jacaerys’ hands upon her. Clasped in Y/N’s as she calms him.

When they are excused, Aegon follows his wife to the children’s rooms. Bidding them goodnight and sweet dreams, he feels a bit less on edge after that.

He helps Y/N out of her dress and into her nightgown once they are finally alone, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Y/N reaches back, caressing his hair; soft and familiar beneath her fingertips.

“Thank you for what you did…standing up to Aemond couldn’t have been easy, but it moves me, deeply.”

“I will protect you, always.” Aegon tells her.

“You seem unnerved.” She nuzzles against his cheek.

“Jacaerys was quite…close to you this evening.”

“He is my brother.”

“The man you might have been betrothed to.”

“Aegon,” the Princess huffs a laugh. “You mustn’t do this to yourself. I love no one else the way I love you. It does not suit you to be jealous of my baby brother.”

He turns his wife to face him, tracing his thumb along the apple of her cheek. “You are the world to me. The thought of anyone taking you from me is one I cannot bear.”

“Aegon,” she cups his hand with her own, “I am not going anywhere. I’ve no desire to. I want to be with you, my love.”

Aegon nods, still not entirely convinced.

“Come here,” Y/N murmurs. Drawing him in until their lips meet. “I need you, Aegon.”

The Prince groans, the note of desperation rushing directly to his cock. He pulls her closer still, her belly pressed up between them, full of his babe. His child and hers made of love.

“Now, please?” Y/N purrs, stroking him through the fabric of his breeches.

He walks her back toward the bed, until it hits the back of her knee. “Lie down, sweetheart.”

“Here?” She breathes. Upon the short side of the mattress?

“Let your legs hang over the edge.” Aegon nods, removing his own clothes.

Y/N obeys, allowing her thighs to fall open for him.

Aegon runs his finger tips up her calf, to her knee, hitching her leg up past his waist, to his shoulder. “Is this too painful?”

“No.” The Princess quirks a brow.

“Good.” He removes her small clothes before resuming the position. His length poised at her entrance, pressing inside slowly so she feels every inch.

Y/N replies with a sharp intake of breath, accepting him eagerly. Her cunt is hot and tight, sucking greedily at his cock as he pulls out, only to force himself back in.

Aegon allows her a few moments at this pace, working her open as not to cause discomfort. She prefers to keep a bit of modesty about her as she swells with child. Her husband entertains this by allowing her nightgown to remain on during intimacies. Watching her little pebbled nipples strain against the thin fabric.

“Fuck,” Y/N whimpers as he begins moving faster.

“That’s right, sweetheart.” Aegon growls, kissing her inner calf, held up against his shoulder to drive himself deeper. “I love fucking you.”

Y/N reaches out between them, putting a hand to his hips. Her eyes wide as Aegon’s thrusts quicken.

“Use your words, pretty.” He continues battering the sweet spot inside her.

The Princess whines a bit more. “I-”

Aegon takes mercy on his love, finding the worlds for her. “You are so sensitive.”

“Please, Aegon.” Faster. Slower. Harder. Softer. She wanted all of these things at once.

“I know, my dearest love.” He tuts at her.

She fumbles around for his hand. “Need you.”

“You have me, sweet girl. Right in your perfect little cunt,” he cooes. “I’m going to take care of you.”

The Princess nods, rapidly. Face screwed up in unbearable pleasure, fighting for breath as Aegon pushes her higher; until she tumbles over the edge of bliss.

Trembling, sobbing and squeezing his hand. The force of her release threatening to shove him out as she coats his length and thighs in her slick. The poor thing jumps when his forefinger finds her pearl, still swollen and throbbing, coaxing more wetness from her.

“That’s my girl. Let me see you, Y/N. Give me your eyes.” Aegon murmurs.

Her lids peel open, blown pupils meeting his. “I want you to come for me. Please? I need it.”

“You need it?” He chuckles. He’s trained her well.

“Please,” she cries. “I love you, please.”

“I love you too, dearest.” He murmurs against the leg upon his shoulder. And oh how her love was a weapon to wield. Breaking past every obstacle in it’s path; reshaping him into something new. He circles her bundle of nerves faster. “You’re going to have to come again, all over my cock. Then I will give you every last drop. Can you do that for me?”

“Just for you.”

His erection twitches within her warmth. Her words alone threaten to pull him over the edge. Aegon allows her leg to fall back to his waist, her bump is nearing the point where he cannot reach her lips when leaning over. So he takes advantage while he still can.

She tangles her fingers in his hair, content to be full of him, loved by him. To please him and to satisfy his every desire. That is the depth of her love for Aegon…and it terrifies her.

Y/N comes apart again, milking his length for what feels like an eternity as Aegon pumps his release deep within her. Feeling tears come, hot and unbidden against the crook of his wife’s neck.

“What troubles you so, my love?” Y/N wonders, stroking his silver locks, patiently.

How can he explain it? For he does not understand himself.

————————————————————————

“Princess.”

Y/N’s lady in waiting startles her awake, Aegon’s arm still draped over her side, only the bed sheets covering them.

“I am sorry to wake you, but your presence is requested by the Princess Rhaenyra.”

“My mother?” Y/N springs from bed. “Help me dress, please.”

“At once, your grace.” The woman nods, moving dutifully toward the armoire and gathering the first dress her hands stumbling upon.

The closure seems to take longer than usual, perhaps due to nerves, or the fact that they both fumble around in the dim lit room. “Have you any idea what’s happened?”

“I could not say, Princess.”

“Of course,” Y/N takes a steadying breath.

“But…it may be her labors.”

“Her labors?” It is far too soon.

“I cannot say for certain.”

“Very well,” Y/N understands. “Thank you for telling me what you know. If Prince Aegon wakes while I am away, please let him know I will return soon.”

With that Y/N takes leave, down the corridor, fast as her legs will carry her. One hand held to her belly as a side stitch seats itself beneath her ribcage.

Rhaenyra is hunched forward, grasping the windowsill, groaning through her contraction.

“Mama?” Y/N breathes out.

The woman releases a low moan, gathering her strength before she speaks, reaching a hand toward her daughter. “My darling girl, this revelation is a heavy one and I do not wish to burden you with it, but I’m afraid I must.”

“It is alright,” Y/N shakes her head. Taking Rhaenyra’s hand for comfort.

“Your Grandsire Viserys has passed. Few are aware, but the news will soon spread. Ow- fuck.” Rhaenyra falters.

“What can be done?” Y/N squeezes her mother’s fingers.

“With my father dead, the Greens will demand the throne be swiftly claimed. You are my heir. If I do not survive this night, you shall be Queen.”

“I-” I cannot lose you.

“Go. Make your preparations.” Rhaenyra chokes out, “nothing is to be done while I’m abed. Daemon is seeing to that, you needn’t worry.”

“I worry for my mother.” Y/N blinks back tears.

Rhaenyra cups her daughter’s face in hand. “I will not go quietly.” Rhaenyra will fight.

Series Taglist: @sophiexoxosblog @alicentswife @f4ll-for-you @tempt-ress @percyjacksonspeen @zoleea-exultant @midnightrqin @buckystevelove

Part 5

#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x you #hotd smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon ii #aegon targaryen smut #aegon the elder #aegon smut #aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon imagine #aegon ii x reader

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writtingforfun · 10 months

Note

Daemon Targaryen x reader

She’s Leana’s sister and married to daemon. On Leana’s funeral daemon and Rhaenys manage to convince Corlys to declare daemon son next lord of the tides. Later Rhaenyra try to talk to daemon about the issue saying her son should be lord of the tides. Daemon and reader just say to her that bastards won’t have the driftwood seat.

Hey, I hope you enjoy this and that it fits your request.

Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!reader

He should be your heir

The three Velaryon siblings had always been close. They were both fire and sea; they burned as hot as dragon fire and were restless as the sea during a storm. They grew between both elements, they were taught the Valyrian ways, they claimed dragons and they felt at ease at the shores.

The first to wed had been the middle child, a girl of beautiful dark skin and silver curls. She had a tinge of purple circling her irises. After the sudden demise of Lady Rhea, she quickly connected with Prince Daemon, the most fascinating man she had ever met. The girl had been swooned by him from a very young age. Corlys had loudly celebrated this union, happy to unite the Velaryons to the Targaryens once again.

The second to wed had been Laenor. While both parents were happy with the chance to have their son be the future Queen's consort, worry had filled their family. They all knew of Laenor's taste, and his sisters supported him with all their hearts. Regardless of agreements between the heir and him, he'd still have to bed her and have new heirs. It's a pity it didn't work.

Laena was the last one to marry.

The two Velaryon girls were happy and in love with their husbands, as for Laenor... He was happy with his side piece.

Prince Daemon and his wife were expecting their first child just two moons after they were wed. A boy was born and they named him Aelor. Aelor was his father's twin in everything but the color of his skin, a true-born Targaryen and Velaryon.

In their 10 years together, they had been blessed with four children.

Aelor with 10 namedays, Maela and Gaellor, twins of 8 namedays and Taemon with just 4 namedays. And a soon-to-be brother or sister was in their mothers heavy belly, halfway of her term.

It had been excrutiating for her to hear the news of her dear sister's death on the birthing bed, she had collapsed on the floor with tears and loud screams of the pain of losing her.

They had lived at Driftmark for their entire marriage, only leaving to take their children on adventures across the skies. They had the perfect life; it was filled with laughter and joy as well as the warmth of their family. With Laenor living at the Red Keep and Laena at Pentos, it had been up to her to bring joy to her parents. Corlys and Rhaenys dotted on all of their grandchildren, but mostly on the ones brought by their youngest girl. They had brought sunlight to their lives after beeing separated from their other two children.

She made it her mission to greet everyone to ease the weight on her parent's shoulder, forgetting that she herself had a noticable weight to carry in safety. Daemon, always the caring and loving husband he was, never left her side or their children's side.

Not even when Rhaenyra had arrived as if she owned the place. "It will belong to my husband and my son after him", she had replied smugly when reprehended about her manners.

She was nervous and saddened, Laena had been a great friend to her. But to rub in her parent's face her light skinned children... it was too much.

Later that night she and Daemon had talked about how it should be their son, their Aelor, to sit on the throne of Driftmark, for he was the closest male heir after Laenor.

Rhaenys and Corlys laid in bed with saddness between them. They'd never see their Laena. At least they had the joy of their grandchildren. Aelor and Maella had made it their mission to cheer them up, to lift their spirits even if just a tad.

"Come in," Rhaenys said as someone knocked on their chamber's door.

"Mother, father. I hope we are not disturbing terribly"

"No, of course," Corlys hurried her and Daemon inside. She was always his favorite, his precious girl, the girl that always begged him to tell stories from when he was sailling across the continents.

"We need to talk"

"About?"

Daemon took the lead and explained their concerns "you know I'm right. It's Aelor's birthright. Everything in Rhaenyra's life is because she was the firstborn of my brother. With Laena gone and no children behind, it should be my wife and then our son who becomes Lord of the Tides."

Corlys exhaled frustrated, "History remembers names, not blood, Daemon"

"Everything is about blood, father. Everything. Fire runs through my veins. As does the sea. Where does Lucerys have that? Why should he sail as if he owned the place?"

"Because-"

Rhaenys cuts him before he can defend his thoughts "They are right, husband. Our trueborn grandchildren are left with nothing when her bastards inherit the throne as well as this seat. I love those boys, and Jace is in fact Rhaenyra's heir. But not Laenor's."

"To change it would be a blow to the Targaryens."

"Except he is a Targaryen." Daemon defends.

"Exactly. He does not bear the Velaryon name. Lucerys does."

"Name him your heir," Daemon says as he takes his wife's hand. "Name him and he will take my wife's name. Your name"

Rhaenys had been adamant on making sure her husband would choose correctly, and finally he did. Finally he saw it. Aelor Targaryen would come as Lord of the Tides after Corlys. Aelor Velaryon, of house Targaryen and Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, rider of Aemax.

The first Lord of the Tides to fly on top of a dragon and to sail on ship. To say that his parents were proud of him was to say the least.

But of course that Rhaenyra was not happy. While Laenor seemed content to be freed from having to step into his father's footsteps, she was mad.

"He is Laenor's son, he should be Lord of the Tides, not Aelor. Uncle," she pleaded "its not fair"

"Lucerys is anything but Laenor's son. They are bastards, and bastards don't take the Driftwood seat"

#daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #fanfic writing #fanfiction #daemon targaryen requests #daemon targaryen imagine

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kinktae · 2 years

Text

most undesirable || (M)

Spring has sprung and engagement is on the forefront of all of Regency London's young ladies' minds. All except for yours, of course– the Queen's niece who a certain notorious author has named the Ton's most undesirable.

pairing: lord!jungkook x lady!reader

word count: 5k

genre: BRIDGERTON AU, regency era, angst, eventual smut

warnings: cocaine usage (not oc or jk), oc has dead parents

A/N: this fic was commissioned by the lovely Baby. As per her request, it features me and our beloved izzy! please do let me know if you would like a part two, i have big plans for whats to come next ;)

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

PART ONE **UNEDITED**

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

A word of profanity left your painted lips as the outsoles of your lace-up boots danced across the limestone floor of the palace, making haste but not in a manner that was unbecoming, your head held high despite your mood running low.

You reached the door of Her Majesty's room with purpose, hands fiddling with the satin of your dress to make sure it covered your shoes. It wasn't that you didn't appreciate the influx of garments your dear aunt had gifted you upon your arrival. Still, the heels Her Majesty had deemed in style this season were particularly uncomfortable. She would no doubt grow sour to see you parading in countryside shoes in her home.

"Your highness." One of the oldest guards snickered, his eyes flicking towards you knowingly as he and another guard moved to open the grand doors to their Queen's private quarters.

You crunched your nose, "Shh."

Of course, the guards had already read the paper… Rotten gossips.

Willing a smile onto your face, you were let into the room. Your aunt sat at her sofa, the furniture floral in design, its fabric dyed a luxurious red. Between her hands were the source of your dismay, the newest Lady Whistledown papers fresh off the press.

You hadn't had the pleasure of reading this week's issue personally, but word traveled outrageously fast in the palace; both maids and guards suckers for a good scandal. You knew quite intimately the matter of its content as you were the matter of its content.

"Ah. Niece. There you are.” The Queen called you over, setting the paper down beside her unceremoniously.

You walked closer stiffly, "Aunt Charlotte, you wished to speak to me?"

"You know I adore you, don't you? You're like a breath of fresh air in this miserably dull palace."

Your once tense shoulders relaxed instantly, taking comfort in knowing she hadn't called you in for a scolding.

"It is you that lights up every room you enter, your Majesty." You bowed your head slightly, knowing well that flattery was your best line of defense should the tides change against you.

"I do, don't I?" She agreed with a grin, before it fell off her face suddenly. "Sorry– whatever were we talking about?"

"Um–"

"Ah, yes! Well, there's no point mincing words. I'm sure you've seen it by now. I mean, can you believe it? That sorrowful sow Whistledown attempting to soil the reputation of my bloodline with such a frivolous title as… as…" She snapped her fingers, forgetting the word she was looking for.

The sound echoed throughout her enormous chambers, currently barren as your aunt was in the process of renovating.

"Ice Princess." You reminded her quietly. She tutted her tongue in recognition.

"How tactless, how tasteless! It is me who sets reputations. Not her. No, no, this simply won't do."

You watched in silence as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Remind me, darling. Why weren't you at the Danbury Ball?"

You shifted, thinking back on the excuse you had given her, "I was… ill."

It was a lie, of course. You had been feeling quite well actually when notice of the ball came 'round. But could anyone fault you? Ballrooms and gowns weren't exactly your area of expertise.

Growing up, your mother and your aunt couldn't be more different; you often heard stories of the two sisters butting heads from your grandfather. One sister went on to marry the king of England, the other a humble traveling merchant. One stood throne in England; the other lived simply in France's countryside. Despite their differences, it was no secret that your aunt loved her older sister dearly, writing to her often in hopes of convincing her to come move to England. When she learned that your mother was with child, she even went as far as to purchase land for her sister and soon to be niece.

But your mother was every bit as stubborn as she was kind. She loved her husband and the life she had built with him, staying by his side until she passed last year. Your poor father was grief-stricken; by eight months, the stress on his heart had become too much, dying nearly a year after your mother.

It was your aunt who had reached out first, offering her deepest condolences and, far more noticeably, all the money you could ever need and your very own suite in the palace.

You weren't exactly sure why you had agreed to such a lucrative proposal. You, much like your mother, adored the countryside and the small town you grew up in. And perhaps that was why you agreed, not to move in, but instead to visit. She was family, after all, something you didn't have very much of left, though you have since come to know of a cousin Friedrich, recently married to an Edwina Sharma that your aunt raved on and on about.

In the week you had been here, you had come to know far more about British aristocracy than you ever wished to know, entirely out of your element amidst the corsets and personal maids. Only recently had you managed to lower your number of attending maids to two, a far cry from the original seven you were greeted with.

You did your best to fit in, but you were no fool. You knew nothing of soireés– or how to dance for that matter, so the moment your aunt spoke of a ball, you knew you had to conjure up some excuse as to why you woefully must decline.

"Exactly! For heaven's sake, you were ill. How dare Whistledown suggest otherwise." She gestured at the staff in the room as though they were her audience.

The sound of the Queen's chamber doors being thrown stole the attention of everyone in the room. Unsurprising to you, two young maids barreling in, tripping on each other.

"S-Sorry, Your Majesty!" The blonde stuttered out.

The brunette nodded in agreement, "Our apologies, Your Majesty. We didn't know where her highness had gone–"

"–We came running as soon as we realized she had snuck off."

Isabella and Roselia. Of course. Your two personal maids. You had only just managed to shake them from your trail when you heard the news that the Queen had sent for you. You should have figured they'd inevitably catch up with you.

They were pleasant enough company, the duo were quite funny, actually, but the constant shadowing was something you learned you rather detested. You understood they were under strict orders by the Queen to ensure your every need was attended to but still… surely even nobility understood the concept of wanting to have a moment alone?

"Oh— Are we interrupting something?" Roselia's cheeks went pink, eyes running over the room as she took note of the Queen's pursed mouth. "We'll just… we can wait outside actually."

"Outside, right! We'll be just outside." Isabella chimed in, heading bowing as the brunette maid yanked her back and out of the room.

"Sorry for the intrusion!"

You stifled a snicker, watching as the young maids slipped back out of the Queen's chambers, shutting the grand doors as they went. Your aunt merely rolled her eyes at the bumbling maids.

Suddenly, her Majesty sniffed, and it was as if a switch had been flipped. All her maids ran towards her, offering handkerchiefs as if their life depended on it. You nearly laughed at such a ridiculous display of servitude, but seeing as you had spent well over a week in the palace, you had become accustomed to such theatrics.

"Whistledown is right about one thing, you know." Queen Charlotte said as her nose was blotted at. "Everyone needs to meet you. And meet you they shall."

In surprise, you pulled your eyes from the doting maids, "They shall?"

"Certainly. We shall have a ball. Here in the palace, of course."

You felt your stomach plummet into your leather-bound boots, your aunt's words echoing.

"All of London's marriage-minded ladies and lords are to be invited. We'll show Whistledown just how splendid you are. Oh! How glorious if you were to find a suitor! That certainly would put to rest that frozen title once and for all."

Just faintly, you could make out the sound of white noise buzzing, mixing with the words the Queen spoke. Anxiety flooded you, deafening your brain's attempts to self-soothe and rationalize that this wasn't the catastrophe you felt it was.

"Aunt Charlotte," you tried to swallow, but your mouth felt stripped of all moisture, "I… I'm not sure if that is wise–"

But it was as if she hadn't heard you, rambling on as if you hadn't objected, "I'll be arranging for etiquette and dance lessons since my beloved sister undoubtedly failed to do the same for you. Are you free this afternoon, darling?"

You stood for a moment, no doubt looking foolish as you struggled to get your words out, "I… I suppose I am…"

"Dear, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Are you feeling well?" The Queen cocked her head at you, eyes sizing you up with concern.

"I… I am not feeling my best." You admitted.

"That's the second time now. Growing up in the countryside— all that sun and dirt— it's made you weak of constitution. Hm. Very well. We'll wait until you're feeling better. In the meantime, I will begin planning!"

You averted your eyes politely as she bent over suddenly, inhaling a white powder off her tea tray through a nostril. She sat up with an exhale, eyes fluttering open with a smile.

"Oh, how I love having you come to stay in the palace for a change. I'm terribly bored these days, you know." She sighed. "Did you care to assist me with planning?"

Despite how you felt seconds from unearthing your already digested lunch, you managed an apologetic smile, "I'm not sure I'd be of much help. I'm afraid I've never hosted a party before."

"Yes, my dearly departed sister never cared much for such things, did she? Such a shame she raised you out of the aristocracy." She said.

A furrow found your brow.

"You're wrong, you know." You disagreed before you could think to hold your tongue. And just like that you had become a magnet, all eyes in the room snapping towards your frame.

"Oh? About?" The Queen offered you a pointed look.

"About the way I was raised. I wouldn't change a thing about it. My mother didn't fail me… she loved me. I had a mother and father who loved me. That was worth more to me than any new dress could ever." You said, gesturing to the gifted garment you adorned today, with perhaps a touch more spite than you should've.

Of two things those in the palace knew to be true. One— Her Majesty was not wrong. Ever. Her opinion was the first to seek and the only to matter. Anyone was someone because she said so, whether explicitly or subtly.

And two— her love for her niece ran deeper than even she anticipated, as watching you stand before her defiantly didn't fill her with rage as the staff in the room assumed, but rather with melancholy.

You looked like your mother just then. It seemed you reminded her of her sister more and more as the days rolled by.

"Your mother would be pleased to hear that." She merely replied, wondering if her sister might be looking down on you both at this moment. At her words, your entire demeanor softened.

"Very well. Off you go." Your Queen sniffed, a handkerchief at her nose within seconds.

Bowing, you moved to exit the room.

"And niece," she called one last time, causing you to turn around, "must you wear such unsightly footwear under your dress?"

You felt your face grow hot, muttering a quiet apology before exiting the room altogether.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"Chin up, darling." Your aunt reminded you.

You followed her instructions coolly, hoping you didn't look nearly as nervous as you felt.

It was undoubtedly a soirée for the books; every square inch of the ballroom was gilded in gold, the chandeliers' gleam diffusing luxuriously as it bounced around the room.

Eligible men and women of all shapes and sizes had come from far and wide, donned in their absolute best; every possible hue of pink, blue and purple on display for Her Majesty. The ballroom looked akin to the royal grounds, you thought; the cool-toned dresses reminding you of upside-down bellflowers, floating across the marble floor in a synchronized dance.

Flocks of the most noticeable families and town figures had swarmed their way to the royal estate, drowning themselves in champagne as corseted woman fluttered their eyes at the Ton's lords.

But despite their poised smiles, neither woman nor man spared you more than a cautious glance and courteous bow. As the hours ticked by, you couldn't help but feel increasingly uneasy. Was it fear of Her Majesty sitting beside you that kept them away from you? Or was it the less than auspicious picture a certain faceless author had painted for them about you?

"It's rather hot in here, wouldn't you say?" The Queen spoke to you suddenly, looking larger than life from her magnificent throne.

"I suppose." You agreed absentmindedly, far too occupied with how a group of ladies' eyes flickered your way.

She continued, "Perhaps some champagne will cool you down. Why don't you fetch yourself a glass, dear?"

The meaning behind her words was clear. Go. Socialize.

"A splendid idea." You concurred.

Granting yourself one final shaky breath, you straightened up, walking towards the table where drinks were being freshly poured.

"What shall it be, my lady?" A servant greeted you politely as you reached it.

"A glass of champagne, please." You smiled, grateful for a friendly face, perhaps the first of the night.

The servant nodded, moving to open a new bottle.

"She doesn't even hold a title, you know. That Ice Princess."

You blinked, growing still as your ears caught wind of a conversation between party goers not far from you.

"But she's the Queen's niece?"

A sinking feeling washed over you, the kind that made all the other noise in the room disappear. You flirted briefly with abandoning your spot in the room altogether, but the bubbling pour of golden liquid into a glass kept you still. You thanked the servant with a halfhearted smile.

Bringing the glass to your mouth, you turned an ear to the three gossiping ladies, careful to avoid their gaze.

"Word has it her mother married out of the aristocracy." One of them babbled, pulling noises of disbelief from the others.

"Pity. Though, I suppose that explains the appalling way she walks in heels. You'd think she grew hooves from all that time she spent in the countryside." Another prattled. Stifled giggles rang around the group like they were all in some sort of secret, one that wasn't theirs to know. "Can you believe she thinks herself better than us?"

"One more glass, if you please." You asked the same servant, quickly making your way back to the Queen, now with a glass in either hand.

You approached her wordlessly, merely offering her a glass.

"Ah." She accepted the drink eagerly, and for a moment, there was silence, the two family members enjoying the cool velvety acidity of what was no doubt costly champagne.

"It appears the Ton thinks poorly of me." You blurted out.

You felt rather foolish telling this to your aunt. It wasn't as if you really cared what three cankerous aristocrats thought of you. But who else were you to tell? You knew no one.

Your Aunt Charlotte furrowed her delicately painted brow, "Darling, it'll do you well to realize that this Ton doesn't think. They merely reiterate what they've been told. They don't know you. Never mind what they think they know."

But her words went in one ear and out the other, merely background noise to the way you suddenly felt all eyes on you.

And suddenly, your dress was too tight, the ballroom too small. You felt your breath grow shallow, a sure sign of panic. How may others deemed you the subject of gossip tonight? What else were they saying about you?

"I think I should step out for a moment." You muttered.

"Take your maids with you!"

You were halfway across the room before you could even think to register your aunt's reply. Blinking away your tears, you pushed yourself through the crowd, muttering absentminded apologies as partygoers scoffed in protest.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

How small you felt sitting alone in the palace's rose gardens. You wept on a stone bench, wishing ever so badly that your mother was here, looking back with sorrow at how she used to pull you into her lap whenever you were upset. How she used to wrap her arms around you, and everything seemed better, if even for a moment.

How you missed her. How you missed your father. How you missed your life away from this shining, hollow palace.

But they were gone, and the simple life that awaited you back home was gone. Aunt Charlotte was all the family you had left. Without your parents, your home was gone.

"Oh! My lady… forgive me!"

A soft voice caused you to gasp, turning to face the man that had walked in on your self wallowing.

You were up on your feet in seconds, wiping away at your face.

"No… no, it is I who should apologize! I'm sorry you had to see me like that." Your cheeks burned.

"See you like what?" The mysterious raven-haired stranger pressed, a note of cheekiness to his tone. "Human? Heaven forbid."

You laughed gently, sniffling away your shame. You knew at once he was no threat to you.

The young lord wasn't exactly sure what had led him to the palace gardens; most of the event seemed to be taking place indoors as the night nipped and chilled unforgivingly. Still, a few stray bodies mingled underneath the string of lights that the palace servants had strung up. He had briefly greeted them, passing through the clouds of cigar smoke and small talk before bounding down limestone stairs.

He had tucked his hands into his pants pockets, sighing as the night's festivities grew quieter the further he slipped away, the crunch of wet grass kissing the underneath of his dress shoes. His mind was heavy with thoughts, hardly noticing where his legs had taken him.

It was the sound of your cries that pulled him from his thoughts and jerked him back to his senses.

He was in the Queen's rose garden; he immediately recognized the vibrant flowers and tall bushes. What he failed to recognize, however, was the weeping girl sitting on a stone bench, a look of embarrassment written plainly on her pretty face as she realized she was not alone.

He was quite handsome, you noticed despite your humiliation. He was younger than most of the lords inside, his face still featuring a certain softness despite his sharp features. His gaze was inherently kind, his warm brown eyes all but beckoning you to lower your guards.

"Lord Jeon.” He introduced himself with a bow, eyes never leaving yours. "Forgive me if I frightened you, my lady. I shall return at once and grant you your privacy."

You sank back down onto the bench, pulling the shawl wrapped around your shoulders closer. Your dress was beautiful— you were beautiful… puffy eyes, smeared makeup and all. He couldn't imagine why a lady like yourself would be weeping in the rose gardens unattended.

"It's alright. I supposed I'm not the only introvert at this party tonight. The garden is big enough for the two of us."

Lord Jeon shrugged, "A bit of fresh air is good for the soul."

You watched cautiously as he walked closer, sitting beside you on the opposite side of the bench.

"You know… I've been told I'm a decent listener." He said suddenly, brown eyes admiring the roses surrounding you.

You blinked, "Is that so?"

"Well… not explicitly. But I've got two ears, so I'd say I do alright." He teased.

You smiled softly, contemplating how much to reveal to this stranger.

"It's… I suppose I'm just a bit out of my element here."

"You?" He seemed surprised, a slight chuckle of disbelief accompanying his question.

"You laughed." You raised a brow.

He bit down on his lower lip as if contemplating his following words.

"Well, it's just… I can't imagine someone like you having trouble at these events." He confessed.

For a moment, you wondered what he could mean. Looking down at your lap, you realized he must be referring to your extraordinarily fanciful garments.

"Ah. These clothes were a gift, and this hair— well, none of this is me. Not really. Truly, I don't know why I came." You sighed.

He nodded, "Beginning to feel that way myself, actually. Most lose interest when they hear my name. I'm a bit of a nobody, it seems."

"Funny. It would appear you and I have the opposite problem." You nearly laughed.

"Uptown girl, are you?"

"I'm afraid I've got a bit of a reputation. And no one cares to know whether it's true or not." You said.

He let out a sigh.

"Terrible soirée full of terrible people. I can't say that doesn't happen here often."

You let his words hang in the night's cold air, your fingers intertwining themselves across your lap.

"Is that all?"

Your head turned to face him, growing warm to find him already looking at you.

"Forgive me, it's just," he continued, "your sadness… it feels heavier than you're letting on."

He watched as your body language changed, suddenly tense as if you had built your walls back up.

He was back up on his feet within seconds, his shoes coming into view by the bottom of your dress as he stood in front of you.

Swallowing down a sob, you allowed yourself to look up at him.

"May I?" He asked, extending a hand out as if wanting yours.

Hesitantly, you gave it to him, assuming you would be ushered back onto your feet. To your surprise, however, he merely flipped your hand over, your palm now facing the night sky.

Your eyes widened as he took a finger and traced a line onto your palm.

No. Not A line. A letter.

L-O-V-E-R-?

He wrote into your palm. You stared at your hand, skin still buzzing faintly from where his finger had run across.

His mother used to do such a thing when he was younger and much angrier, often struggling to say the words when something troubled him. He only hoped it would work for you the way he had for him.

Frowning, you shook your head. He wrote once again.

F-A-M-I-L-Y-?

A tear fell from you as if instinctively. You nodded your head, confirming his suspicions. Spurred on by his touch, you moved to grab his hand, flipping it upside down as he had done to yours.

L-O-N-E-L-Y you wrote.

"… I just wish I had a little bit longer with them." You found yourself saying once you had finished.

"No time is enough when it comes to the people you love." He spoke with heart as if referring to his own personal melancholy.

Another tear fell from your eyes as his thumb ran over your palm, not to spell anything but to offer his condolences.

"No. I suppose not." You sniffed, a shiver running over you as a crisp breeze passed the two of you.

He wrote into your palm again.

C-O-L-D-?

You let out a laugh, shrugging dismissively.

"Here." Lord Jeon suddenly peeled his suit jacket off his shoulders. You froze, stunned silent as he gently draped it over your shoulders, a gentle smile on his face.

Your chest tightened, moved by the gesture of kindness. But before you could think to thank him, his warm fingers were at your palm once more.

F-R-I-E-N-D-?

His smile tugged at your heartstrings. You wondered how anyone inside could possibly look down on him. You didn't need to know his name to see that he was kind, a worthy suitor for any marriage-minded aristocrat.

F-R-I-E-N-D. You wrote back.

Happy was the girl who sat on the cement bench of the palace's rose garden, wrapped up warm under the jacket of the first person to show you genuine, unconditional kindness since arriving weeks ago.

The two strangers sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the quiet of company. Neither of you knew the other, but there was comfort in the silhouettes of the adjacent shadows at your feet, knowing that neither had ill intent towards the other.

"Do you ever wonder what it might be like to live in a palace?"

You fell stiff, mute as you turned towards him, watching how he looked over at the illuminated estate.

"Lonely."

"You think?" He pondered.

"I'm not fond of big empty rooms. They tend to make me feel small." You explained quietly.

"Well, should I ever have a palace, there would be no empty rooms. Every room with music and the sound of children's laughter. I would decree it so."

"Children? And where do you figure you might obtain those?" You chuckled.

"Well, they'd be mine, of course." He grinned lopsidedly.

You grinned back at him. "Then the happiest of children they would be."

You suppose the young lord reminded you somewhat of a child. He was a man by every definition of the word, standing tall and proud, but there was something about the way his large eyes took in the palace that was decidedly childlike. Eyes wide and glimmering with awe.

You watched contently as he suddenly noticed the silver plated container that sat by the leg of the bench; an unopened bottle of champagne sat neatly in a bed of ice, several glasses along side it.

Your dear aunt thought of everything when it came to party planning, you were coming to find out.

"Shall we?" He smirked suggestively.

"I don't see why not." You laughed.

The two of you giggled as he attempted to open the bottle, champagne spilling everywhere. He tried to pour you a glass neatly, but your new friend had no future in bartending, champagne spilling over the glass' edge and onto your fingers.

Sticky but smiling, you brought your glass up, mirroring him.

"A toast." He decided, his own glass now only half full from his carelessness.

"To?" You questioned.

He contemplated for a moment, meeting your inquisitive eyes innocently. A boyish smile broke out across his face.

"To us, of course. Tonight's most undesirables." He declared, making you chuckle.

But before you could touch glasses…

"Your highness!"

Your eyes went wide, your stomach dropping as a certain blond maid came scrambling into the garden.

"Isabella! Please! Just 'my lady' will do." Heat rocketed up your neck, ears no doubt hot to the touch.

Her hands fell to her knees, clearly out of breath from running around the palace grounds, undoubtedly in search of you.

"My lady, I should advise you to return to the party. Her Majesty the Queen has someone she wants you to meet." She cautioned.

You cursed internally.

"Of course, she does. Give me just a moment then. I'll be over shortly."

The young maid's eyes flickered over to Lord Jeon, cheeks rosy.

"But your highness—"

"Thank you, Isabella." You cut her off curtly.

The young maid gave you two one more final look over before nodded, pardoning herself with a curtesy.

Hesitantly, you turned back towards Lord Jeon, unsure what to make of the look of disbelief clearly written across his face.

Awkwardly, you brought your glass to your mouth, taking a cautious sip.

"Your highness? You're a princess?" He gawked, eyes still wide.

"No!" You quipped. "Not… technically?"

The young lord merely blinked at you, his doe eyes telling you everything his mouth wasn't.

You were rambling before you could help yourself.

"M-My mother is the Queen's sister. Technically speaking, she held the title of 'Princess.' Though, I suppose if my mother were born a man then, yes, that would make me a princess— titles are patriarchal in nature, it's all… very complicated, really…"

You felt like you couldn't take in a deep enough breath, the chilly air now burning your lungs.

"So… not a princess. Just… daughter of a princess." He reiterated, clearly stunned.

You felt a frown form on your face, all your etiquette instructor's reminders of poise and manners slipping from your mind.

"I am the Queen's niece. We shall leave it at that."

The handsome lord had the most fascinated look on his face, eyes locked on the way your jaw twitched, mouth shut rigidly to hold back the slew of word vomit you instinctively felt compelled to let out.

The way he held your eyes – the intensity behind his dark orbs – made you uneasy yet engrossed you all the same.

You bit down on the side of your cheek, "Are you upset that I didn't tell you?"

He shook his head suddenly as if trying to shake off his shock.

"No. I'm not."

"Are you… disappointed?" You grimaced.

You hadn't the faintest clue as to what was running around in his handsome head.

"Disappointed?" He cocked his head.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what the hell you're thinking right now, and it's frankly unnerving." You frowned.

The raven-haired man let out a noise that toed the line between amusement and disbelief.

"I think you owe me a toast… your highness." He teased.

Rolling your eyes, you failed to fight back a smile, bringing your champagne glass up to meet his, his smirk assuring you that whoever your aunt wished you to meet could wait a moment or two.

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maria-tries-to-write · 1 year

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Hi! I saw that your requests are open, if it's ok and within your rules, I can ask, Aemond being obsessed with his half sister (daughter of Aemma and Viserys), who defended him after the Driftmark incident, along with Alicent

Aemond Targaryen being obsessed with his half-sister would include:

A/N: I feel horned to wright you ask, my dear anon! I'm deeply sorry, I think maybe run a little out the topic, but nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it! Also, PLEASE, READ THE WARNINGS!

SUMMARY: the journey of Aemond Targaryen, trying to have a taste of the forbidden fruit: his own half sister.

WR: f!reader, reader has long hair, violence, murderer, fire, mentions of groping, non-con groping, Aemond being Aemond. Once again, PLEASE, READ THE WARNINGS!

WORDS: +4.2k

Being the second daughter of Viserys and Aemma meant getting the utmost care and affection from your dear father, the king.

Also meaning being completely despised by your older sister’s ex best friend, Alicent, now Queen of the seven kingdoms.

Alicent done everything to make sure her kids hated the blacks as much as she did, poisoning their minds with paranoias and conspiracy thoughts; however, none of this seemed to change the mind of her second son, Aemond.

Being considerably older than him, you, Rhaenyra’s younger sister, were the prince’s object of affection, much to his mother distaste.

You’ve always thought how cute your half-little-brother clung to you at every royal event or sought your presence at the Red Keep.

Since he was just a kid, you couldn’t help but indulge on his clingy tendencies.

Without fail, Aemond always ran to your comfort when he was feeling too overwhelmed by Aegon’s bullying, burying his face on the space between your shoulder and neck.

You would calmly soothe him down, rubbing his back and lightly rocking him side to side.

However, time proved to be harsh, making you face a cruel dilemma.

It was night at Driftmark, everyone were supposed to be sleeping, yet, the shouts put everyone on their feet, looking for the commotion.

You slammed the doors open, facing little Aemond being stitched up by the maester.

You gasped, horrified, running to his side, but you were violently shoved by Alicent, who were throwing daggers with her fiercely gaze.

“You, stay away from my son!” you wobbled a few steps back. Aemond seeing this, got up from his chair, yelling at his own mother, but unfortunately got even more hurt in the processes by the pinching of the needle.

“Sweetheart, calm down, I’m here—“ “Don’t touch me!” Aemond shout out, slapping his mother’s hand away from him.

Viserys, trying to keep the situation under control, asked to Alicent to let you pass, which she complied with resistance.

Seeing her son immediately hugging your waist while rubbing his cheek on the fabric of your nightgown, made her bitter. This was supposed to be her job, giving comfort to her son on this difficult situation; not her rival’s sister.

After all the commotion and Rhaenyra being stabbed by Alicent, you were tasked to stay with Aemond on the nursery, again, by the prince’s begging and to his mother distaste. One more time, Alicent felt rejected by her own son.

Her only wish were to let Ser Cole stay with you at her son’s bed, fearing that Rhaenyra, who were sleeping at the nursery as well, attempted against the prince’s life.

Now at the ward, with a damp cloth, you cleaned the caked blood on Aemond’s hair. Brushing your fingers through his locks, you said “Some day, you will have the most beautiful silver hair of the kingdom.”

“Do you like… my hair?” the now one eyed prince asked, thanking the gods the lights weren’t strong enough to show his flaming cheeks.

You laughed, delighted by his cuteness “Of course I like, silly! Unfortunately, you’ll have to take a lot of baths to wash away the reddish stains.”

Aemond took a mental note to never cut his hair ever again.

“May I ask you something?”

With a gentle smile, you agreed “Of course!”

“Why did you defend me? Why didn’t you defended your nephews?”

You took a moment to pick the most appropriated words “Even though I’m very disappointed at your words, I would never wish any harm to come for any of you.”

Sensing the drop of your mood, the prince asked what happened. Sighing, you explained “Me and my sister will leave the Red Keep, Aemond.”

The little prince’s life turned upside down. Widening his only eye, he begged for an explanation, trying to cover his wobbly voice.

“Me and my sister talked and we decided that Red Keep is no longer safe for us.” “What do you mean?! I have Vaghar! The biggest dragon in the seven kingdoms! I can protect you!” he fisted your arms, as if you were going to vanish in front of him.

You lightly chuckled, petting his cheek “I appreciate your efforts, my brave prince, but our family is in the verge of a war. Leaving and letting things calm down is the best decision for now.”

“But…I don’t want you to leave! Take me with you, if needed, but please, don’t leave me alone!” now full crying, he caged you on his frail embrace, sobbing uncontrollably.

Returning his hug, you brought him to your lap, taking extra care to not touch his fresh wound “My little prince, you know I can’t bring you with me, your mother would kill me. It do hurt me to separate from you, but you must understand that there’s no other way. Besides, there’s nothing stoping me from visiting you or sending you ravens!”

Aemond stoped crying, now just enjoying your warm embrace as long as he could “But it won’t be the same…” “I know, my love, but it’s just a provisional measure. I’ll reunite with you sooner or later.” You said finally, kissing him gently on the top of his head.

The next morning, everyone prepared for your sudden departure. Rhaenyra informed you it would be better if you leaved as soon as possible, which Aemond strongly disagreed.

Out of the castle, your dragons waited for you, already equipped with everyone of your belongings. Turning to say good bye to your favorite prince, you and Aemond shared a hug; obviously with everything monitored by Alicent.

Seeing you flying away shattered his heart in a billion pieces. It felt like he couldn’t breath, as if a hole opened up on his chest. He felt lonely. Never wanting to feel this way ever again, Aemond promised that the next time he saw you, he wouldn’t let you go.

The years passed. Every single day, religiously, Aemond wrote you a letter, informing you of everything he did or planned to do in the day.

You happily read all of his letters, glad to know that the young boy was not as depressed as you thought he would be due to your departure.

So, as fast as you could, you wrote him back as eager as him, alway commenting something he told on his own letters, just so he knew you read and payed attention to every single word he draw on the paper.

But, after a few months, Aemond stopped receiving your letters. It came to a point where he would spend all day pestering the servants interrogating the whereabouts of your letters.

Completing a whole month of no news about you, Aemond snapped. He destroyed his bed chambers, breaking the furniture, slashing the curtains and ripping his book off the shelves.

Ser Cole and Harold were sent to contain the enraged prince, who kept screaming and kicking, while the Queen tried to reason with her son.

When the prince stopped slashing around and started to cry, Alicent cocooned him on her lap, “She promised” he murmured between sobs “she promised she’d never leave me…”

Years passed. Daemon and Rhaenyra, now husband and wife, travelled to King’s Landing to defend Jacaerys and Lucerys right to the iron and driftwood throne. Not passing this opportunity, you flied along with them to the Red Keep.

It’s been a long time since you received a letter from your favorite little-half-brother. You were a little hurt at the beginning, but then you started to be a little reasonable: maybe he was busy with Vaghar or his training. So, you opted to send Alicent letters asking for permission to visit her son. Unfortunately, you never got a response.

After the coldly reception of Alicent and Otto, you accompanied your two nephews to the training grounds.

Immediately, you spotted a man with wide shoulders and a beautifully long silver hair cascading his broad back. He was sparring against Ser Cole, your sister’s late knight.

Making Criston surrender, applauses erupted from the grounds. “Well done, my Prince.” congratulated the knight, still panting “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys” he dismissed Criston’s flattery “Nephews, have you come to train?”

Aemond turned to Lucerys and Jacaerys, but he was caught by surprise when his eye landed on you.

Ethereal as ever, your now longer hair was braided expertly on a beautiful bun, assenting your features. The heart of the one eyed prince beat uncontrollably inside his chest.

Sensing his eyes upon you, you greeted him “My prince, it’s been a while.”

Aemond, not knowing how to carry with the conversation, agreed “Yes, it’s been, my dear half-sister.”

Seeing the interaction between the royal family, the crowd started to dissipate. Jacaerys e Lucerys left the training grounds as well, glad that the prince’s attention was not on them anymore.

Now all alone, you approached the eye-patched prince “Can we talk?” not taking no as an answer, you locked your hands on his arm, making Aemond get stiff.

So many years has passed, but you still caused him the same effect. Silently, the prince enjoyed the innocent contact, loving the felling of your torso rubbing against his toned arm.

“Long ago, you stopped sending me letters. Why?” you asked, bluntly.

“You never answered them, so I stopped writing.”

Stopping in your tracks, looking straight into his eye “The few that I received, I answered them right away. But suddenly, you stopped writing. Why?”

Scoffing, the prince replied “As I said before, my dear half-sister, you stopped writing, so did I.”

“I never stopped trying to reach you out, Aemond. I even sent your mother a raven, but she said you did not want to see me. So I ask again, my dear prince, why did you put me on arms length?”

Immediately, something clicked inside the Targaryen’s prince head. Obviously it was the doings of his own mother; she never liked you in the first place. But Aemond thought that, at least, after the incident at Driftmark, Alicent would warm up to you, but apparently, he thought wrong.

His blood started to boil. How dare his mother try to stay in the way between you two? His nostrils flared up; he locked his jaw tightly, gritting his teeth.

Feeling your soft hand, now smaller than his, interlocking your fingers pulled him away from his enraged state “Aemond, what—“ “I’m really sorry about this misunderstanding.” he apologized, engaging a hug.

Got by surprise, you hesitantly put your hands on his back, slowly giving into his embrace.

Aemond finally felt at peace. Feeling your hands around him and how his toned arms circled your waist, almost made him forget of his rage against his mother, almost. Sniffing your scent for the last time, the prince left you, promising to talk and explain everything to you after he was done with his business.

Dropping his reassuring smile, the prince stormed into the keep, going straight to his mother’s bed chambers.

Not even greeting Ser Cole, Aemond locked the doors as soon as he passed through them, only listening to the knight’s knocking.

Hearing all the commotion, Alicent beelined to her living room, facing her second son “Aemond? What are you doing here? You can’t enter my bed chambers like that, what if—“ “Spear me from your lecture, mother.”

Feeling shocked by her son’s harsh words, she continued “And this is how you speak to your mother? Your queen?”

Aemond smirked, mockingly. Suddenly, the young man caught his mother by her throat, lightly lifting her from the floor, letting her balance herself on her tiptoes “Don’t pull the ‘your Queen’ card right now, mother. If you haven’t noticed, my patience is running thin.”

Alicent fisted her son’s wrist, trying to sooth his grip. Seeing that he not even bulged, she cried out “Aemond, plea—“ “As I said before, my patience is ending. I’ll give you one chance, and believe me when I say few got this benefit: did you barred my half-sister’s letters?”

The queen’s eyes winded, but she stayed silent, probably paralyzed by fear. Seeing her state, Aemond did not needed a verbal answer: just looking at her gave away her guiltiness.

He let her break free, making Alicent instantly tear to the ground, coughing and gasping for air, uncontrollably.

Aemond’s jaw was tightly shut. Feeling betrayed by his own mother, he started to rant “You knew how important she was to me, and still, you deprived me of seeing her and did not even let me get news from her! You left me in the dark, and you saw how it was killing me, but even so, you did nothing!”

The prince’s voice escalated along with his rage, which was increasing with time. Feeling the need to take his anger on something, he threw the coffe table against the wall, making the Queen gasp in horror.

“Aemond,” she tried to reason with her son “I did this only to protect you! I thrust her as much as you do, but you must understand that the circumstances—“ “Don’t you dare lie to me again!” he slammed his hands on another table “Admit you were jealous of her, of her proximity to me. You always despised her, there’s no need to lie!”

Rilling up as well, Alicent exploded “Of course I always hated her! She’s Rhaenyra’s sister, Aemond! She would do anything to help her kin! To stole your brother’s throne!” with tear cascading her cheeks, she continued, approaching her son “And of course I was jealous, Aemond! You’re my son! Mine! But you never ran up to me when you were sad, hurt or happy! It was always her! Even at Driftmark, when her own nephew stabbed your eye, you ran up to her! You didn’t even let me accompany you at the nursery! And—“

Sobs interrupted her speech. But now that she started to talk, she was not going to back off “Do you think she genuinely loves you, Aemond? Like I do?”

The prince looked at her with warning eye “Watch your tongue.”

Feeling bold, Alicent continued, not listening to her son’s threat, facing him fearlessly “Don’t you ever thought that, maybe, she just treated you well to do this? Put you against me? Your own mother? Don’t you ever thought that she’s as cruel, manipulative and a whore as much as her—“ “Don’t you dare talk about her like that!”

Aemond pounced on her mother, now fully strangling her. His knuckles were white with his bruising grip, eye completely fogged by hatred. His nostrils was flaring up, teeth gritting madly.

With the little oxygen that lasted on her lungs, Alicent was able to call out to Ser Criston Cole, who immediately opened the doors, running to save the Queen.

Along with the knight were Otto Hightower, who coincidentally were passing by his daughter’s corridor.

“What in the seven hells happened here?” the hand lord exasperated, demanding an answer.

“We had a heated discussion, father” Alicent explained with her voice sore due to her son’s strangulation.

Sensing he wouldn’t get no more details about the incident, Otto coughed, as if putting an end to the matter “I was going to remind you of tonight’s dinner, which begins on a few minutes. Our king decided to attend it, so I was going to ask my Queen to ask her children to be on their best behavior.” Otto gave Aemond a meaningful look.

“I don’t care what this discussion was about. What matters is that this behavior can’t happen again during the dinner. Are we clear?” Alicent silently nodded, while Aemond stayed motionless by his grandfather speech.

Later, the whole house Targaryen sat at the fancy dining room. An uncomfortable silence dominated the group, tension so thick it could be cut by a knife.

King Viserys, as usual, tried to reason with his family that was bound to break in two, yet only he denied to see the truth “With that being said,” the sick king, with the help of his loyal wife, stayed up “me and my dear second daughter discussed and agreed that, in the name of peace, she shall be betrothed to her half-brother, Aegon Targaryen.”

Aemond’s heart stopped beating. The whole time, his infuriated gaze was directed to his mother, who would avert her own with all of her might; but now, he gazed incredulously to his father. He didn’t even notice when he stood up from his chair, flying to his mother’s throat.

Caos broke loose in the room. The king was immediately withdrawn from the scene, leaving Daemon alongside the others guards to separate the infuriated prince from the Queen.

On the other side of the chamber, you saw how animalisticly your dear little half-brother acted. He was no longer that sweet boy that easily cried with his older brother’s bullying: now he was a man, and a very dangerous one.

You cried hopelessly: how things take a turn like that? You thought that agreeing to the betrothal, you could finally reunite your family, but instead, here you are, seeing who was once your favorite person in the world trying to kill his own mother.

Even though Aemond were the best swordsman on the realm, he were not able to defeat Daemon and all of the Keep’s guards. “Lead the Prince to the dungeon. Tomorrow morning we will discuss with the small council what shall be decided of the prince’s future.” as Otto commanded, the guards escorted Aemond, who was now unconscious.

You offered yourself to accompany Alicent to the nursery to check upon her bruised throat. As expected, Ser Cole went along, only a few feet away from you.

“I’m so sorry with what happened, my Queen.” you morned, while helping Alicent walk through the hallway “I know prince Aemond since he was just a little kid. I would never expect such a horrifying act from him. It seems like I don’t even know him anymore.”

Moaning in pain, Alicent commented “I think both of us never truly knew him.”

Getting to the nursery, seeing the state of their Queen, the maids promptly took and laid her on a bed reserved to the royal family.

Staying by her side, she started to softly cry “I never should have tried to stay between you two, you know?”

Trying to stop her crying, you gently brushed her messed hair out of her face “Shhh… I must confess I don’t know what you are talking about, my Queen, but you shouldn’t be blaming yourself for what happened.”

Giving you a saddened smile, Queen Alicent continued to apologize “I appreciate your kind words, my dear, but I do have a portion of guilt on Aemond’s behavior.”

Gulping, you finally asked “If I may ask you: what could you have done to make him have such a reaction, my Queen?”

Seeing your confused eyes and caring acts, she confessed “I barred all of your letters to prince Aemond, and I also lied about him not wanting to see you.” your heart clenched, but still continued to sooth her hair down.

“And why would you do that? What would you gain from it?”

Alicent nipped her lips “I was afraid and jealous. My paranoia took over me. I was convinced that you were only being nice with my son just to destroy my family. Also, I’ve always envied how close you two were. Aemond never loved me like he loves you.”

“Nonsense, my Queen. Aemond always told me how he wished to make you proud. That’s why he’s so dedicated.” you brushed her off, with a little giggle.

“Well, it can also be true, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried his best just to impress you, my dear. My son’s crush on you didn’t go unnoticed by me back in the days.” she too giggled, remembering how flustered the boy got when others brought you up. Obviously, back than she disapproved vehemently, but seeing how caring you are, Alicent couldn’t blame his son for falling for you.

“You are so gentle and caring, I don’t blame my son for falling for you.” she looked straight into your eyes “I’m sorry for making things come to this point. If I never have felt insecure and suspicious of you, things would may be different.” she sobbed once again, feeling regret consuming her soul.

“Don’t blame yourself, my Queen. You did what you thought was right to protect your son.” you embraced her, like you used to embrace Aemond. Feeling her tears stain your dress, you let Alicent pour her heart out.

Calming a little, she sat up, encasing your hands between hers “Now that I know your genuine feelings, I must apologize for misjudging you. Yet, now that I know my son’s true colors, I’m afraid I’ve put you in danger my dear. I don’t want my son to rot on a cell, but my heart wouldn’t bear to bring you anymore harm.”

Your reassuring smile faltered. If Aemond was able to hurt his own mother, you feared what he could do to you. But even so, a part of you still believed he would never touch you.

Cupping your cheeks, Alicent continued “Now, listen to me, dear. It’s clear that Aemond is completely obsessed with you, and he won’t stop until he gets what he wants. We must take this opportunity, and send you as far as we can!”

You looked perplexed at her “Wait, but what about my betrothal? And my family? You?! What makes you so confident that Aemond won’t go after you for answers?”

Grunting in frustration, Alicent still insisted “We and the council will figure something out. Please, let me help you scape, as a form of apologizing for all the caos I brought to you.”

With the Queen’s begging, you couldn’t help but agree with her plan. Unfortunately, your conspiracy plans was cut short due to the shouts coming outside the nursery.

“Fire!”

Smelling the scent of smoke, you looked terrified at the Queen who ordered “Fast, we must reach the outside!”

Throwing her arm o your shoulders, you and Queen Alicent stumbled through the flaming hallways, crumbling with the fire.

Finally reaching the gardens, you could breath properly, coughing out the smoke off of your lungs. Once again, your feelings of security was throw out the window when you heard a loud roar.

Immediately, Vaghar stomped on the Keep’s wreckages, spitting fire at the only way out of the garden.

“Shit.” Alicent cussed, trying to stand up doing to the impact of Vaghar’s landing “We are cornered!”

Feeling despair pumping on your veins, you tried to run anywhere, getting the Queen’s wrist.

However, sensing her stillness, you turned back, facing Alicent being impaled by Aemond’s sword.

Letting out a gasp of horror, you let go of her wrist, trying to run away, but you stumbled, falling to the floor.

Retrieving his sword and cleaning it, Aemond tuck it on his belt again, now approaching you warily. “There’s no need to be afraid. Now no one can stop us from staying together.”

“You killed her…” you stated, still in shock, while gazing at her dead body a few feets away from you.

Cooing at you, like you used to do to him when he was still a child, he tuck a strand of hair that stubbornly stayed on you face “I had to, or else, they wouldn’t let us be together. Now we are free to do as we please; we could even marry.”

“…marry?” you repeated his words, dumbfounded “but, I’m already betrothed to your brother, and I never saw you in—“ “Shhh… there’s no need to worry your pretty little head about this right now, okay? That drunkard is no longer of our concern, I already took care of him.”

Still petting your hair, you scrambled with your words “I-But… I don’t want to marry you! You were my little brother, remember? I could never see you in that way!”

Aemond let out a joyous laugh, too excited to finally have you all to himself to be angry at your denial “Don’t worry, darling; you’ll have enough time to you recognize me as a man, and in the future, as your husband.”

You didn’t react when the prince’s lips crashed hungrily at yours. In your catatonic state, you could only think about how your life came to this moment, being fervidly groped by the man you once adored. Your family was dead. Now, you were all alone with your little half-brother, who claimed you as his. Realizing your future, you could only cry silently.

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flowerandblood · 9 months

Text

The Impossible Choice (19)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, domination, murder ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

They returned by carriage to the Red Keep in complete silence. She couldn't stop crying at the thought of what had happened, at the thought of who they had just crowned King.

At the thought of how many innocent people had just died in the Great Sept.

She pressed her lips together so that they were almost blue, not making a sound, snuggled into her husband's chest, who was embracing her with one arm, himself resting his head on the other, covering his face with his hand. She had never seen him in such a state.

Pale, terrified, petrified.

They were both in shock.

Aegon was the King.

The queen, despite her almost grave mood, did not give up the great feast that she had organised in honour of her son and the new ruler. Only family members and the most loyal lords with their wives and children attended.

She, however, did not touch the food or the wine and stared blankly ahead, wondering when she would be able to leave without commiting a discourtesy. She saw that her husband was only drinking wine, immersed in his own thoughts; they didn't speak about what had happened.

They were both equally devastated.

Aegon, however, to her surprise, completely changed his attitude. After the applause of the people of his kingdom, he seemed downright delighted with his new role, the new power that was now in his possession. He was strutting proudly in his silver crown, enjoying each toast, drinking to the bottom, Helaena sat beside him but did not look at him, playing with her fingers.

"When the fire summons, the scorched earth will breathe a sigh of relief under the raindrops." She whispered so quietly that she barely heard it; Aegon paid no attention to it, as he made another toast.

Suddenly, however, the king's attention, to her dismay, turned towards her.

"Dear sister-in-law, why such sadness in your eyes? Are you not happy to have a new King?" He sneered, raising his eyebrows as he took a sip of wine from another already full cup.

She saw her husband's hand lying on the table in front of her clench into a fist, her heart pounding in her chest, but her face remained indifferent.

She thought that she would not be drawn into his pathetic game.

"I almost burned alive today. The experience has worn me out, my King." She said calmly, a grimace on her husband's face that could be called a smile.

Aegon laughed at her words, raising his cup to the air, clearly delighted by her coarse, ironic reply.

"So my sister-in-law can speak. Until now, all I've heard from afar in my chamber are the other equally curious sounds that you are capable of making." He said accusingly, taking a sip of wine again, grinning under his breath at his own statement.

Some of those gathered moved in their seats, looking at each other with embarrassment, the Queen stared at him in pain and disbelief.

"How can you say such things in front of all these people? To humiliate your brother's wife in front of everyone?" She said with pain, clearly on the verge of tears herself after all that had happened. Aegon snorted loudly at her words.

"After all, it's no insult. I envy my brother such a wonderful possession."

"That is enough." She said, looking at him impatiently, feeling her stomach clench from the humiliation overpowering her.

She promised herself she wouldn't cry, that she wouldn't give this bastard the satisfaction.

"Your words are insulting to me and your own wife. Your Queen."

Aegon raised an eyebrow, letting out a loud breath, reaching for the grape standing before him on a platter.

"My queen is indifferent to everything. Isn't she?" He asked, leaning over Helaena. His wife-sister looked at him, her gaze dreamy and sad, full of a hopelessness from which her heart squeezed. She heard her husband stand up suddenly, turning away, tense.

"We're leaving." He hissed, but his brother's voice stopped him.

"I order you to stay. You will leave when I allow you to." He said matter-of-factly, washing his hands in a bowl of water to reach his hand for another dish.

She saw her husband look over his shoulder at his brother-king, saw that he was on edge, his eye black, menacing, filled with madness and rage.

She thought that if they were to win, he could not burst now.

She extended her hand towards him under the table, so that no one but him could see the gesture. Her husband looked at her fingers, then at her face, his chest rising and falling in anxious breaths. He clenched his eyelid and swallowed his saliva along with his humiliation.

He turned back, pale with rage, and sat back in his seat.

She placed her hand on his knee, stroking it up and down, and he placed his own palm on hers, intertwining their fingers, clasping them almost painfully in a tight embrace.

She straightened herself proudly, feeling that they must support each other now more than ever.

She could not leave him.

Aegon cocked his head seeing this.

"See? The younger brother should always listen to the older brother. I want the best for you and your wife." He said, looking at her with such a look that she felt her stomach twist.

Even from the feast after their wedding, after he said the door to his chamber would always be open to her, she knew that she had caught his eye.

She had pretended over the months that she did not see his surreptitious glances at her when her husband was not looking, that she did not feel his burning gaze on her lips and breasts.

The thought that he was now King, that he could send her husband off to war just to left her alone in the keep, terrified her.

She would never give him what he desired, but what if he wanted to take it by force?

She swallowed loudly at the thought, weak and pale, trying to focus on the warmth of her husband's hand, stroking his skin with her thumb.

They returned to his chamber in sullen moods; Lyanna helped her remove her gown and unbraid her hair. When she had finished, she dismissed her and glanced over her shoulder at her husband. He was sitting by the fireplace again, thoughtful, his face expressing nothing.

Since she slept in his quarters it was she who helped him remove his clothes to sleep.

She approached him slowly, but he did not even look at her. She knelt down in front of him and saw that he opened his mouth to protest, but only swallowed loudly as she pressed her cheek against his thigh, embracing his knee with her arms, closing her eyes.

She needed his closeness and protection.

She was as scared and frightened as he was.

She felt a pleasant shiver as she felt his fingers slide into her hair, their tips combing through her dark curls so tenderly that she felt like she was about to cry.

"Come here." He said quietly, calmly, softly. She rose slowly, climbing onto his thighs, and he drew her to him like a small child, pressing her head into the hollow of his neck, the other holding on her back, stroking her.

She knew that they both needed something more than intimate lovemaking right now, even if he would never admit it.

They lingered like this, comforting each other with their closeness, thoughtful, the darkness around them illuminated only by the flames and the sound of the fire. She was snapped out of her blissful half-sleep by the quiet voice of her husband.

"One day I will make you my queen." He whispered softly, as if he were speaking of something forbidden, defiled, cursed. She rose slowly, looking at him in pain, placing her hand on his shoulder.

They looked at each other for a moment, she could see on his face that he was waiting for her reaction.

For what her response would be to his indirect admission, to his most dangerous, darkest desire.

She stroked his cheek with her hand, running her fingertips over his scar and he squinted his eye at her gentle touch, letting out a quiet breath. He trembled and quickly caught her wrist when he felt her wanting to remove his eye patch.

"No." He said dryly, nervous and scared at the same time, suddenly all tense, his lips tightened into a thin line.

She was not frightened.

She had long since stopped being afraid of him.

"If I am to support you with my whole self, if I am to become your Queen, you can no longer hide from me who you are." She mumbled quietly, his pupil narrowed in surprise at her words, utterly not expecting it.

She could see that he was in complete shock, pale and terrified, she saw how hesitant he was.

He wanted to say something but couldn't, his hand holding her wrist trembling slightly.

"… it's a repulsive sight." He choked out finally, uncertainly and weakly.

She knew what he feared.

He feared that she would stop desiring him.

And along with her desire, he would lose all her tenderness, everything they had managed to build between them.

She felt a squeeze in her heart at the thought that he had feared this all this time, all these months strenuously checking that his eye patch was fastened tightly enough not to slip off his face as he made love to her.

That's why he took her from behind.

Then he didn't focus on the fact that she might accidentally see him.

"I find it repulsive to see your brother-king, even though he has two eyes." She hummed with a smirk; he snorted at her words, amused, shaking his head, lowering his gaze.

She felt his grip on her wrist loosen, his gaze directed at her again, watching vigilantly to see what she would do.

He drew in a quick breath as her hand slid his eye patch off his head in one, sure flick of her wrist.

Her heart stopped for a moment, her lips parted in surprise when she saw that in the pocket of his skull where his eyeball had once been was a large, polished sapphire, shimmering ominously in the fire.

She thought that it was the most demonic and arousing sight she had ever seen in her life.

She felt his chest rise and fall in uncertainty, searching her face with horror for any sign of disgust or fear. Her hands cupped his cheeks, her face leaning over him to kiss slowly every inch of his scar and eyelid, running slowly downwards, drawing a loud, exasperated sigh from him.

"Ābrazȳrys (wife)…" He whispered, and she smiled, renewing the caress again, his hand tightening on her back against the material of her nightgown.

She felt his cock pulsate hard between her thighs, clearly delighted by her gentle, tender touch and by her reaction. Encouraged, she began to rub against him with slow rocking of her hips.

She heard him begin to breathe loudly, his manhood becoming completely hard after several such strokes. She felt him throbbing between her thighs at this unforced closeness, her nipples hardening completely, shining through the thin material of her gown.

He saw this and clung to them as he had on their wedding night, slipping her chemise off her one shoulder, pressing his lips to her exposed breast, sucking on it almost immediately.

She moaned in delight as she felt the tip of his tongue trail around her nipple, sucking on it once in a while, making her sticky wetness run down her thighs, his free hand tighten on her buttock, forcing her to speed up.

"− one day I will caress your soft breasts like this on the Iron Throne, sweet wife −" He muttered low, panting heavily, his words making her clamp her hands in his hair, pressing him closer to her. She felt him quickly untie his breeches, his erection all swollen, twitching with desire, ready to possess her.

She lifted herself quickly, thirsty and flustered, and sank down on top of him, stretching her fleshy insides with the fat head of his cock, both of them letting out a gasp of delight. She began to ride him with a wet click of her moisture, involuntarily watching his face, his sparkling sapphire eye, her husband's face, whole as he was, sucking on her breast.

"− is that so? − the King will not fondle his mistresses in the privacy of the Throne Room −" She hummed, smiling coquettishly, panting quietly, rising and falling on thick, throbbing mannhood in an unhurried, soft pace, sliding it inside her to the very end each time, moaning quietly as it's tip pressed the front wall of her fleshy core.

She heard him chuckle lowly, as he was clearly amused by her words.

"− as a king, I could indeed have a mistress −" He muttered, running the tip of his nose over her nipple, playing with it between his lips, sucking and licking it, drawing a loud whimper of pleasure from her. "− she would have to meet a lot of conditions to satisfy me though −"

"− to have your firm breasts −" He breathed out, and she moaned at his words, surprised and aroused, pressing him tighter to her chest, holding her hand in his white, pearl hair as he began to rock his hips inside her.

"− to have your soft hips − your small hands − your shiny hair − your bright eyes − gods, your tight, hot insides −" He growled out, clenching his hands on her hips, forcing her to speed up, thrusting his cock into her brutally and quickly, panting loudly, feeling her hot, soft walls tightening on every inch of his hard length.

She wasn't sure she'd ever been aroused like this before in her life, his words made her feel as if she were burning from the inside, their closeness, his face that he dared to show her at last, his eye looking at her ominously, making a shiver of pleasure run through her every time with a wet, perverted click she fell against his cock again, panting along with him.

She parted her moist, swollen lips, brushing the skin of his face once in a while before catching her breath again.

"− and if she had it all − would you fuck her? −" She mumbled sweetly, softly, almost on the verge of her peak, her insides beginning to pulse hard against him, craving fulfilment, his thrusts sloppy and messy, sticky and loud from her juices.

She could hear how aroused he was by what was happening between them, by the fact that they were speaking about things that shouldn't be said about.

"− no − fuck − she wouldn't have your voice − your scent − she wouldn't moan like you −" He gasped, clenching his eye, tilting his head back, she knew that he imagined they weren't sitting in his chamber now, but in the throne room, and she was just riding him on the Iron Throne.

She felt her nipples harden painfully at his words and that thought, she knew that a few more thrusts of his length and she was about to come as hard as she had never come before in her life.

"− my king-husband deserves it all −" She cooed, her lips parted wide, her eyes clenched, his pushes loud, fast and sticky, his fingers clenched painfully tight on her hips, seeking fulfilment.

"− he can fuck me on his throne whenever and however he wants − ah, Aemond, please! −" She sobbed, tilting her head back, feeling a powerful wave of hot, tickling pleasure pass through her, the delight she felt, the heat that spread through her body made her unable to calm down, writhing on top of him.

"− fuck, yes, just like that − oh, gods −" Was the only thing he managed to get out of himself before he came inside her with a loud, low, fulfilled groan, tilting his head back, clenching his eye, consumed by his own dreams and desires, the sight of them, fucking on the throne that was his right.

They lingered over each other, enthralled by the experience, at least for a moment able to escape the cruel, dark reality that enveloped them like a night that was never to end.

However now, in this moment, they were both happy and fulfilled.

She pressed her forehead against his and felt that they were both hot and sweaty, their eyes closed, their breaths loud and raspy.

She felt him embrace her and pull her close, hugging her to his chest, hearing his whisper.

"You're the only one I trust."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics

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jacesbeloved · 1 year

Text

for the kingdom: part II

summary: being the youngest daughter of alicent, you hadn’t known what it was like to feel restraint until you had been betrothed to the eldest son of queen rhaenyra for a pact. for who? for the kingdom

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!reader

warnings/notes: sexual innuendos, tension again, drunk jace and rude y/n, mild enemies/rivals to lovers, them arguing 60% of the time. (a/n: i haven’t read the part in the book w/ jace being in the north and w/ cregan so pls don’t come at me at the latter part <3 and also meraxes the dragon is alive yay)

part: I, II, III, IV

ftk taglist: @kentarosbaby @lady-ashfade @simrah1012 @mfrnchsk @sexualityisajoke @elsyyie @instabull @ephemeralninon @chrisevansgirlfriendsposts @mainstreambitchlife @alexandra-001 @writer-lee5 @nightly-polaris

jace taglist: @cosmicfairygirl @simrah1012 @lucerysvelaryonstan @lady-stark-winter-rose @moon1gt @aureliapappa @jcrsctrl @bobfloydluvsblackwomen

It was quite mind boggling to you how Jace managed to irritate you even more than your pre-wedding feast.

After telling you that both of you had to travel around Westeros, he only clarified now that you two would head north to Winterfell. Telling you there's no need to pack or choose your clothes to bring since he already had them tailor different clothes.

Your voice boomed around you and Jace's chambers, furiously ranting about your own style and preferences all the while, Jace stared at a random book he picked up on his cabinet.

"What do you even know about my clothing!?" You roared, glaring at your husband. "I'm well aware of your tastes and colors, beloved. No need to yell," Jace replies swiftly, his tone calm as if you weren't hysterical at him, loudly slamming the book shut.

"Rich green and white colored gowns, hand-sewn images of Meraxes on the cloth, golden accents and belts, emphasis on the bust area, curvy patterns. I may elaborate further if it pleases you." He started to list out before you could respond, each thing he mentioned describing your own collection of gowns perfectly. He stood from his seat, eyebrows arching in challenge as he saw the surprise in your eyes.

You scoff at him before leaving him in your room, walking out, and yelling at him to get on with the flight. Your husband followed quickly right after.

With your and Jace's bags loaded onto carts and horses set to journey to the north, you and him, along with the Kingsguards, head outside the walls of King's Landing to your dragons. Vermax was brought outside by dragonriders, while Meraxes, your dragon, lived outside. She didn't fit in the Dragonpit.

Your blank face slowly brightens as you see your dragon, and you smirk when you hear Jace marvel at the sight of her. "Meraxes is beautiful," Jacaerys comments, staring at the silver beauty that is your dragon.

Having been riding Meraxes since you were 12, you were quite proud of your dragon. Her silver scales that made her look white, her red eyes that made any person gulp in fear, and the fact it was first ridden by Rhaenys Targaryen, sister-wife to Aegon the Conqueror, gave you all the more boast.

You side-eyed him, getting a glimpse of his dragon before sighing. "Vermax is small, very much uglier as well."

Some of the kingsguards stifle a quiet chuckle at your comment while you smile sweetly at Jace. Your husband glared at you before scoffing.

"Truly such an honest woman, aren't you, my dear wife?"

"Only for you, my lovely husband," you grin, and he scoffs sarcastically before turning to his dragon. You did the same, patting the side of Meraxes' head as she mewled, the ground rumbling when she started moving.

You easily mount your dragon, pulling at the ropes cautiously and patting the base of its neck as it starts to rise. You see Jace rise the same way, his dragon roaring as well.

"I bid you a safe flight, my princess." Criston Cole spoke, bowing with respect. "And to you, Prince Jacaerys."

The both of you nod at him, your heads gliding as you glance at each other with squinted eyes, the wind blowing in your faces.

"May you reach Winterfell safely, my beloved," he says loudly, nodding at you.

"See you there." Was the only thing you replied before ascending with your dragon.

Winterfell appeared to be much colder at night. The infamous grey direwolf that every person in Westeros recognizes greeted all of you inside the castle walls warmly, contrary to the cold environment surrounding it.

You walked the pathway of Winterfell with your head held high, meeting halfway with Jace after you and Meraxes had to take a detour. Your husband now wore a thick fur coat around him, placing a matching coat onto your shoulders after you arrived at his side.

Jace leans over to your side, breath fanning over your ear. "I see Vermax may be uglier, certainly faster though." He withdraws with a cheeky grin as the both of you arrive in the very heart of Winterfell, the courtyard.

The guards holding the Targaryen banners halted when you both did, facing the people of Winterfell as you and Jace did.

In one united motion, they all descended onto their knees, bending the knee to you both, bowing their heads out of respect. Jace inhaled a sharp breath before beckoning the lord up, his people following after.

"Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Heir to the Iron Throne, and Princess Y/N Targaryen, his future Queen Consort, daughter of the late King Viserys, the first of his name."

"You honor us, Lord Cregan," Jace was the first to speak, smiling warmly at the older man before they hugged. "It is our honor to have you both in Winterfell," Cregan says, pulling away from Jace and kissing your hand.

You nod at Cregan's council, sisters, and children beside him, them bowing in return whilst Jace shook their hands.

"How long has it been, a decade? More than?" Cregan inquires, "I'm afraid more than, Lord Cregan. It's been quite some time, if I may say so myself." Jace says with sympathy.

While Jace had been conversing with Cregan, you let yourself stare at the people surrounding him. You're not really familiar with any of them; you haven't really known much about them aside from what's written in the books in the Red Keep and what you hear from your mother.

They all had a small smile as you looked at them; even the children looked happy, like they were excited to hear the prince and princess would come to their castle. Although, one of the men caught your attention.

A lowborn. His face was dirty and messy, blank expression, and his clothes were torn. He was haunting. You two locked eyes with each other, as everything else seemed rather irrelevant.

"Beloved, are you okay?" Your husband's hand lightly holds your arm, startling you a bit. You looked at him alarmed before your face softened, turning to Lord Cregan.

"I’m fine." You nod, smiling tightly at him. Jacaerys stared at you weirdly before nodding as well and turning back to Cregan.

The man clapped loudly, a jolly smile on his face as he spoke. "Well then! Let us have them settled and rested for the hunt tomorrow!" The rest of them clapped as well, slowly dispersing away as you heard your horses neighing, glancing to see your stuff being taken off of the carts.

Cregan led the both of you to the guest house himself after feasting for a bit, cracking jokes with you and Jace. He was actually much more jolly and warm than you had expected.

You enter first, a massive door opening up to a warm living room with a fireplace already burning in the middle. There were heads of wild animals decorating the walls, and a staple, the House Stark banner, in the middle of it all.

"We gave the princess her own table of sweets, we heard the princess loves that." Cregan directs your attention to a platter of fruits, crackers, and pies.

"That is well appreciated, Lord Cregan. Such thoughtfulness," you replied, nodding softly at him. Cregan nodded his head at you—a bit ambiguous, which made you and Jace confused a bit.

When he saw the way both you and Jace looked confused, he chuckled loudly. "Oh, are these the newlyweds that threw away tradition? I see why now, you two are still stiff with each other."

"My prince, go on, feed her." Cregan encourages, patting the other's back rather harshly, which made him lunge forward a bit.

Your forehead creased, looking at Jace to see what Cregan meant, and the man had the same amount of confusion as you did. He tried to utter something, but the smile on Cregan's face never faltered, now resulting in Jace laughing dryly and nodding, picking up a fork from the silver tray, cutting a piece of the pie, and gathering a big amount of cream on it.

You swallow harshly, wondering if that big of a pie slice is going to fit in your mouth. It was the side of a fist, and Jace had a grin on his face as he cut it.

"Say "ahh," my beloved," Jace holds up the fork, your eyes going over to Cregan, a proud smile on his face.

"There's, uh, there's a lot on it, husband," you chuckled at Jace, the man clearly knowing the smile on your face only meant a threat.

"You can take it, go on." You glare at him as the pie eventually dissolves in your mouth, surprisingly fitting. The sweet taste of the blueberries and the sweetness of the cream on top of it mixed so well. "Very good," Jace whispers, wiping the leftover cream on the side of your mouth.

You quickly swallow the pie down whole, quickly grabbing the fork from Jace as you cut an even larger piece than the one Jace made you eat. Cregan laughed loudly at this, thinking of it as a sweet interaction between the two newlyweds, but it was just both of you trying to shove pies down each other's throats.

There wasn't a second you wasted, after cutting the piece, you scooped it up on your fork, shooting the fork inside Jace's mouth as you ignored his nervous excuses.

"It's- Gods, it's really good. Thank you, Lord Cregan," Jace says while munching on the pie, grabbing a glass of wine to drink as he side-eyes you. "And you as well, my dear wife."

"Truly such a sweet couple," Cregan sighs, walking away to head upstairs. You smirk at Jace, hitting his side before following Cregan. Jace had clutched his side before following you. He led the two of you upstairs, where there were only two doors, one of which you recognized as the room with the chamber pot.

You look at Jace, trying to communicate with him with your eyes as he still holds his side now with a delicious cup of wine in his other hand. He furrowed his eyebrows when he saw your glare, a jerk to your head to the door and he finally gets it.

"And, uh, this is our chambers then?" Jace asked, gesturing at the door.

"Ah, of course! This is where I hope the miracle would happen," Cregan winks at your husband, the latter freezing in place. "Rest easy now, my princess, prince, and be ready for the feast tomorrow! We have a hunt!" He bows at the both of you before excusing himself, leaving the two of you there now.

"Miracle," you grimaced, glaring at him while he rolled his eyes, ignoring you and opening the chamber's door for you.

The door revealed a beautifully lit and decorated room, warm fur all around, an incredibly large bed with fabric draped on the frame, and a dozen candles all around. The room had everything.

Your things had already been arranged inside the room when you saw your familiar knick-knacks and bottles by the mirror. Jace's things were also mixed in with yours, his black and red coats hang beside your green and white ones on a wooden hook.

Your hands quickly pulled open the cabinet, ready to lash out again at Jace when your mouth dropped.

The green color of your gowns was just as rich as you always liked, the amount of gold accents were just right, the appropriate buckles, buttons, laces, everything. Even the embroidered images of Meraxes were done well.

"Told you. A beaut, aren't they?" Jace smirks, joining you by your side to look at the extravagant dresses inside the cabinet.

You swallowed down the need for complaining in your throat, tonguing at your cheek before grabbing a hold of one of the gowns and inspecting it critically as if you had five sets of eyes. You had wanted to look at something to nitpick at, but none of them were ugly or imperfect.

"What now, Jacaerys? Do you want me to fall to my knees in front of you? Do you want me to smother you in kisses? Warm our bed? Tell me, I'd give it to you since you're such a darling for having such beautiful gowns tailored for me." Jace could hear the sarcasm even if he was deaf. The sarcastic look in your face contradicted your actions as you tried to give him lovestruck eyes while walking towards the bed.

"Does your family have a knack for drama?" Jace remarks. "You're welcome, Y/N. I see giving thanks is not your specialty."

You lay on the edge of the bed, your head lying beside Jace's figure. "I give thanks in different ways, Jace. Would you like to know how?"

The man's eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips, licking his own in a split second before standing up, the knock on the door making you both stand quick.

The door opens to reveal Lord Cregan's sister, holding a fruit basket. "I beg your pardon, my prince. I did not mean to interrupt you and your wife, my brother, Lord Stark, had just wanted me to give you these."

She smiled sweetly at him. The man reciprocates the smile as he takes the fruit basket gratefully, surprised at another basket. He inspects a few of the fruits in the front, glancing at you, who had been lighting a few candles before handing Sara an apple.

Sara furrowed her eyebrow at him, chuckling lightly at the prince as she waved her hand as a no.

"Go on." Jacaerys gives her his hand after she takes the apple. "I don't think we've been properly introduced to each other, I am Jacaerys-"

"I already know who you are, my prince. I am Sara Snow, Lord Cregan's sister," she replies, shaking Jacaerys' hand.

"I already know who you are as well, Lady Snow," The two laugh lightly before waving, Jace closing the door.

When he stepped back into the room, you still had your back to him, lighting your candles.

"So you prefer brunettes," you spoke quietly while fanning the matchstick you held, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You're taking an interest in my preferences, might I say you like me?" Jace replies, walking over to you to grab his clothes from his cabinet.

You laugh at him, side-eyeing your husband as he pulls off his shirt. "And you're always undressing in front of me, might I say you are hinting at something?" He halts his movement, turning to face you with his bare chest in front of you. His lips jutted out as he cocked his head to the side.

It was tempting to look down. It took every bit of control you had not to look at his body.

You had expected him to reply, but he doesn't. He merely looks at you from your head to your legs before taking the cup of wine he had set aside earlier on your dresser and drinking it, walking away from you.

The whole hunt had been boring—mainly just Jace and Cregan laughing and drinking with each other, not paying you any mind. You hated being bored, so here you were, playing with three highborns from Winterfell for hours.

"A boar's arse? Just a peck?" One of the boys clarified with you, the other two were already thinking about how they'd get to do it.

"No, kiss a boar's arse also using your tongue. You must kiss its ass for two minutes. All four of us must be present for it to be valid," you explained once more, laughing to yourself when you saw them look at each other worriedly.

They nodded at you, making you laugh at how stupid they were. They even kneeled, swearing to you that they'd do their best. As if you'd actually let them ride Meraxes, you'd rather jump off of your dragon mid-flight than place another person with you on your dragon.

The maidens beside you looked scared but intrigued, anticipating whether or not they would actually do it.

"Oh, and, the boy that could do that and climb the broken tower in the middle of Winterfell, I'll bring him to King's Landing on dragonba-"

"I'm deeply sorry, my lords, my wife is not bringing anyone to King's Landing on dragonback," the familiar voice cuts you off, placing an arm around your shoulders while you roll your eyes. "If I may have a word with her, that would be splendid."

The three boys and maidens beside you all bowed to the prince, scurrying away while they still hoped your offer still stood. They wanted to ride a dragon that badly. You winked at one of the boys, nodding to him teasingly.

"A boar's arse, really, Y/N?" Jace spoke, disappointment in his tone, as he took a seat on the log beside you, holding a canteen of wine, courtesy of Cregan, as you expected.

"You should've seen earlier, one of them ate a rabbit raw after I told them I'd take them to see Meraxes—not even a ride, just see." You laugh at the memory, remembering the boy puking his guts out because of it.

You glance at Jace; he still has a disappointed look on his face. "Oh, come on, at least I'm keeping myself busy. What d'you want me to do, chatter with the maidens? Head back to the halls? This is honestly so boring, Jacaerys." You groaned while dramatically massaging your own forehead, even closing your eyes.

Jacaerys reciprocates the same gesture, probably even more stressed than you were after he'd been hearing your tricks and challenges to the mindless boys with you, seducing and playing with their feelings and desires.

"Do whatever you wish for entertainment, but leave the poor boys alone," Jace says, and you giggle at him, slowly cocking your head in his direction while batting your eyelashes. "Or else what?"

He turns to you, no longer stressed nor disappointed, but amused, "Do you really have to turn everything provocative?"

"I just asked what would you do if I did it again, how is that provocative?" He crossed his arms. "I am either provocative or dramatic, which of me do you like more?" You asked, crossing your arms as well.

"Isn't there a nice one of you?" You smiled at his question, one that he's always seen from you.

"Go kiss a boar's arse, my lovely husband."

After the day-long hunt, a boar was piked on top of a fire, with rabbits and birds being roasted beside it as well. Dozens of Cregan's men had their tents set up, declaring that, as per Cregan's joyful experience with earlier's hunt, they'd sleep in the woods and continue tomorrow.

And there you were, laying inside your tent while studying the handle of your own sword, given to you by your father, Viserys.

"Keep it, be someone they don't want you to be." The words of your father echoed in your head, telling the story of your older sister Rhaenyra, who was forbidden to be a queen, told not to be one as it breaks the law. But your father didn't care; he still named her heir, and no one could do anything about it.

Not even your mother.

You sheathed it back, throwing it aside as you pulled a cushion underneath your head. Closing your eyes while the rest sang songs and danced around the fire. You didn't even know where your husband-

"There you are," speak of the devil.

A relieved sigh sounds from the entrance of the tent. You didn't need to look at the speaker, you already knew who it was.

"They're... They're asking for you, for the princess." Jace slurred his words, audibly drunk.

"So you came to me, the princess, your wife, because your companions are looking for me? Not because you just so happened to wonder about what I was doing?" Your voice came out gargled as you had your face planted on the cushion.

"And also to make sure you're not tormenting boys. Who knows, someone might just throw themselves in the fire, saying you'll give them a kiss if they do," you laugh at Jace's allegation, seeing that the alcohol has given him quite a different personality now.

Alcohol does change people, at least for a few hours.

You raise your middle finger at him from your back, and you feel him sit beside you. The rustling and clanking of glasses make you sit up. And there you saw that Jace wasn't only audibly drunk, he was the most obvious drunk you have ever seen. His eyes were puffy, his hair disheveled, his cheeks a light shade of red, and his lips in a pout as he took a sip of his wine once more.

If you knew any less, you'd actually think he was adorable right now. He looked like the type to read stories at night, but you knew better than to expect nice things.

Silence floats around the air between the two of you, him silently sipping on his wine all the while you watch him blankly, taking a sip of your own wine as well.

"Well then? I am alright here. You can go back to your companions and drink 'til you drop. Tell them to just drop you outside of our tent after." Jace nods however, he refuses to leave the tent. Making himself comfortable with a cushion.

"Can't I stay in our tent?" Jace furrows his eyebrows at you.

You groaned, slapping your hand onto your forehead. "There's no fun in our tent, Jacaerys."

"Who said that? Of course there is." He smiled. For a second, you thought something else, but then you see him holding a ball—various balls—and throwing them upwards in amusement as he tried to catch them again with the same hand he used to throw them.

You watch him entertain himself with some balls and wine while drinking some wine yourself.

"Oh, so you'd rather drink here with me, have fun with me?" you spoke. "That's... provocative," Jace replies, clearly drunk as he downs his wine, making you scoff.

"Do you want to see how provocative I can be, husband?" You whisper just enough for him to hear, and he gulps.

You stood up from your seat, walking slowly to the older man before sitting down in front of him. The two of you are now inches apart. You placed the cup somewhere, making sure it was far from both of you as you unclipped your coat, throwing it to your side of the tent as you were now left in your dress. You stood once more, swinging your leg over him as you straddled him, making sure there was still a decent amount of space between you two.

Jace froze completely, not sure what to do as he was intoxicated. His mind was hazy, drunk and nervous. This is the first time you two have ever been this close. You placed your hands on top of his shoulders, leaning in slowly.

You manage to give him a short kiss, his own lips moving subtly with yours as you taste the strong wine on his lips. Before you could fully close the distance between you two and continue, he spoke. "Don't."

hearts, reactions, replies, and reblogs are very appreciated if you liked the story! <3 ^w^

#hotd #jacaerys imagines #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon fic #jacaerys x reader imagine #jacaerys fluff #jacaerys x reader #hotd fics #jacaerys fic #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen

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lady-ashfade · 1 year

Text

What ever it takes.

Yandere Alicent & Aemond x Sister/daughter reader. Miniseries.

What ever it takes. Part two. Part three. Alternate ending.

I can’t help but love the idea of yandere house targaryen but sometimes about these two just stick out to me.

Plot: You are the twin sister of Aemond targaryen, and the daughter of Alicent Hightower and Viserys Targaryen. Your mother and brother have always had a sense of protectiveness towards you. Then you go missing.

Words: 611.

Reader appearance: I try and not give any sense of what the reader looks like but this being a twin reader you know it’s coming. But the readers description will just be Brown hair, purple eyes.

Warnings: Small yandere tendencies. No real statement of the targaryen way of love…If you know what I mean (Only with the one eyed prince.)

The sun has only be shining not more then two hours, the birds flying and chirping and everyone had awakened to start their day. Queen Alicent sat on her padded chair reading what ever report was onto top. She had awaited her youngest daughters arrival for their morning cup of tea but most days it was the only thing keeping Alicent from going mad.

Alicent didn’t like to pick favorite between her children and she loved them all deeply but there was something about y/n she just couldn’t help but favor. Maybe it was hair that matched hers, or the way she would always cling to her at a younger age, or to the smile and cheerful attitude she always carried. The only real resemblance you have to the targaryen blood is your purple eyes, and the dragon you possess. You had your mother captivated and she loved you with all her heart.

Then there was Aemond who saw the same thing in y/n as his mother, only different. Y/n had come into this world with him to face every battle and challenge thrown their way. No matter what happened she was always at his side to brighten up the darkness. Y/n was his light that he held so close and dear. He loves you more then anything in the world, but how could he not? His mother and him agreed to protect you at all cost, no matter how high of a price.

“You’re grace.” The doors opened as one of her knights stepped through rushing and urgently speaking. “We can not find the princess in her chambers, your father sent us here to tell you.” She didn’t have much time to think as she tossed the papers next to her but landing in the floor then standing standing up.

“What happened? Tell me everything, now!” She demanded as her eyes grew wide and small tears in her eyes, she looked angry. All Alicent saw was red. “Your Grace, as of this morning her maiden went to awaken her but she was not found. Her room trashed and a note was left, that’s why your father sent for you.” Bowing his head to not inflict any wrath of the queen.

Alicent rushed passed him with a heavy step, her hand clinched in a tight fist while she worried what had happened to you. And why her father knew first. How long has he known? How long as her precious girl been missing. “Mother?” She almost didn’t notice aemond in the hallway but hearing his voice stop her.

“Your sister is missing.” His body teased up as did his jaw, he moved to her side as they continued to walk. “And what has happened? When did she go missing.” The queen just shook her head. “I do not know but the hand of the king does.” She spat the words out with venom.

If just the feeling of anger and hurt could kill: Otto would be dead right now and who ever dared to take you. Stopped before walking into Ottos room Alicent grabbed her sons arm and gripped it tight and the look in her eyes he knew all to well. He was sure he had the same, they both knew the feeling.

“You must find your sister, if she is taken then you must burn her captors to ash and bone. My little girl is missing- Your sister is missing and is possibly in grave danger. I do not trust anyone else…It is your job my son.” But he already knew that already. She didn’t even have to say it.

“What ever it takes”

#yandere house of the dragon x reader #yandere house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #yandere alicent hightower #alicent hightower #alicent hightower x reader #yandere aemond targaryen #Aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon

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darklinsblog · 11 months

Text

Instructing Pleasure | Lucerys Velaryon

Summary: As you are soon to chose a husband, your brother Luke, realizes you know nothing of sex. so he decided to teach you.

Pairing: Lucerys Velaryon x TargaryenReader

Warnings: Smut

Part II

Author’s note: Basically following Targaryen traditions, yes. If you want to be added to the taglist of HOTD please lmk!

Born as the last child and only daughter of the marriage of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon brought a lot of attention, as you were a bloody living imagine of both Sir Laenor and Rhaenyra.

There was absolutely no way anyone could question your offspring and truth be told, you became the next Realm’s Delight but your giving nickname was the Enchanting Ember.

People of King’s Landing adored to watch you turn into the beautiful young lady you now were, and ever since your birth it was easier to mitigate rumors of your brothers potential “bastardy” so you quite literally, brought the family together.

Your mother had become Queen, as it was planned from the very start, Jacaerys had taken more responsibilities as heir to the throne and to start your mother’s regency on a happy note, Jacaerys and Baela celebrated their union.

Lucerys was a year away from becoming Lord of Driftmark, which meant he was also soon to celebrate his arranged marriage.

By this time you were sixteen and overall you had no political obligations like Jacaerys, Lucerys or Joffrey, but by your age both your mother and Daemon, who was very much your father, thought it was the perfect age to start looking for potential suitors.

There were in no rush to marry you, in fact, the simply wanted to give you enough time for you to choose your spouse, therefore, giving you the freedom of choosing your fate.

As your focus was now to find a husband, you began to take more care of your appearance, you had to represent your House, you had to present yourself as the rightful daughter of a Queen.

Your brothers noticed this, especially Lucerys. Both of you were very close since childhood, always sitting together at family reunions and dinings, but one night he noticed his perception of you, was changing to him.

It was no surprise when you were coming late for the supper, it was quite usual of your character and Lucerys was chatting with his brothers when the doors opened, reveling you in a rosy- silver gown, with your hair falling on your back yet perfectly arranged, not a single hair out of place.

He lifted his brows in awe, suddenly feeling a notorious lack of air in his lungs, truly everyone was mesmerized, from your uncles and aunt to your own brothers and parents.

“Forgive me all, for the tardiness” you gracefully excused yourself as you walked slowly to your place at the table, Luke was quick to react and help you sit beside him, you looked at him with a smile, you were always smiling at him but this time, his cheeks rapidly turned red as he finally took his own seat.

“You look divine, my dear daughter” your mother, Rhaenyra, complimented you and soon everyone else at the table did too. It was so obvious that Lucerys couldn’t keep his eyes away from you,

He was truly at the loss of words by the sight of you and your unique beauty, your clothes accentuated every curve in your body, how your breast were showing from your dress, not too much, but enough to make him want to see more…

What in the fuck was he thinking?!

It was nothing like him to have such sinful thoughts, much less of his sister, but he wasn't looking at you as his beloved sister, but as a woman that awakened a blinding desire.

For the next weeks, Luke tried his best to keep his emotions at bay, but whenever his eyes laid on you, whenever he heard your sweet voice, calling his name, your laugh, anything at all, his knees would shake.

He knew it was best if just focused on his own duties but against his better judgment, he offered to serve as companion and counselor even, in your quest of a suitable husband.

Your mother allowed it, because being rational, Luke was betrothed to Rhaena for long enough to be a good advisor.

What could go wrong?

Basically everything, because now Luke and yourself were practically joint to the hip, always chatting, walking, inspecting suitors.

He would even crack a joke or two about some of your prospects.

“This one isn’t much of a charmer, is he?” He muttered in your ear, making you hold back on a laugh, resulting in a grimace.

“You promised to be nice” you reminded him on the low

“You deserve more than just nice, dove” he said on a more serious note, because truly, he meant it

Lucerys was enjoying his privileged position because he could have you near, but he could not ignore the fact he became jealous of you, whenever a suitor caught your eye or when you were receiving generous gifts and praises of this men.

Because you were the Enchanting Ember. Of course men from all the lands were coming just to have a chance at earning your hand.

Your quest was soon to be over, only three men were left as the legitimate options; so to make something out of this event you had another family reunion.

Evening was going quite nicely, between the chatting, the small dancing and the food, it all seemed to be ending on a very high note.

That was until your drunk uncle Aegon, stood up and dangled his cup up in the air, spilling a few drops of wine on the table cloth.

“I wish to make a toast” Aegon slurred, everyone at the table shared glances between awkwardness and somewhat amusement.

“To my lovely niece Y/N! You have grown quite nicely but soon you’ll become a full woman as a complete stranger puts his cock in your-!”

“We’ve heard enough, Aegon” Alicent deadpanned, sitting him back down.

Everyone in the room went awfully silent and when Luke turned to meet your gaze he only found eyes of deep confusion, you were trying to look at your parents, but they avoided your gaze knowingly.

Had they not explained to you what was supposed to happen when you were married?

Helaena took Aegon back to his chambers and as we was dragged away both Rhaenyra and Daemon tried to approach you, but you took a few steps back.

“I’ll go back to my room” you spoke breaking the absolute silence.

“Y/N…” Rhaenyra murmured, but you ignored her and left the room at a fast pace, Lucerys looked at his mother whom looked awfully troubled.

“I’ll go see her” Luke eased her mother as he followed your steps, as he reached the door to your room he opened it quietly to see you in some sort of wrestle to get your corset out of your body.

Your maidens were a few feet away from you, not sure what to do in this scenario.

“May I?” you jumped, looking at your brother with embarrassment, you slightly nodded, right now the only thing you needed were truly familiar faces.

Luke dismissed your maidens and they closed the door behind them, after being left alone, the black haired prince approached you from behind, resting his hands on your and enclosing them tightly.

“Talk to me, please” he begged

“Luke… I’m not like you or Jace or even Joffrey, my only duty to this realm, to our mother is to marry a good Lord and I don’t even understand what my marital duties entail” you explained distressed and ashamed of yourself.

Lucerys placed his hands on your back, freeing you of the restraining piece of clothing rather easily, then, he exhaled deeply.

“Sex”

He said finally, making you turn in your heels, you were looking for further explanation, because still, the word meant nothing to you.

“You know how you must give birth?” You nodded quietly

“Sex is what a man and a woman must do, so that you are with child” he tried his best to explain as his cheeks were tinted red.

“Okay, but what does the act entail?” You asked, right now he didn’t know what to do, or even what situation was he getting involved in, but out of nervousness his gaze fell on your breast, his eyes went down instinctively scanning the thin fabric of your dress, it would be so easy to…

Then something clicked inside his brain.

“Let me show you” he said.

Before you knew it, you were out of the castle, dressed in the dirty rags pacing down the land in the quiet night.

Until you reached some strange place filled with all men and women. Luke was holding your hand tightly, guiding you.

“Where-“

“Shhh!” Luke shut down almost immediately, you were perfectly hidden in the shadows, your ears pricked as you heard some really strange notices and Lucerys instructed you to take a peak.

What you saw was beyond your wildest dreams, this people were all naked, you saw the men inserting their cock into different holes of the women’s bodies, fingers going in and out, man and women both having their cocks and cunts even on their mouths.

You just could not bring yourself to look away, too impressed with the scenes before you eyes.

The raven boy saw how aroused and mesmerized you were and carefully sneaked his hand inside your garments, causing your breath to become more faltering.

“This is what sex is” Lucerys whispered in a husky voice, his hand found it’s way to your core as he started to place long and sloppy kisses around your neck.

Your whole body was pulsing, tingling, burning all at once, every sensation was new and intoxicating, even when you couldn’t see his face, you could feel his hot breath on your neck, his breathing getting more elaborated, how firmly he was grabbing you.

He was touching and playing with your folds expertly, he wasn’t forceful, instead he was methodical, quiet even as he entered a single finger inside of you.

You had to catch your breath quick, the feeling of his digit inside you in that moment was pure insanity.

“Luke…” you moaned as he pumped up and down into your walls, groaning at how your insides clenched on a single finger of his; the more he pumped, the more your walls were constricting him and even as he heard you moan under your breath, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He plugged his finger out of you, earning a whimper from your lips and then he turned you to face him, to look him in the eyes.

So he could finally kiss you.

It was a kiss full of lust, need and urgency, the kind of urgency only lovers could understand.

Lucerys felt as if he was in Valyria, he was deep into the bliss over the sensation of your lips on his, of your tongues dancing gracefully with one another, he just kept clinging onto you for dear life, drawing you impossibly closer to him.

Out of the lack of oxygen you both pulled away from the kiss, but you were still holding each other.

“Do you want this?” Lucerys asked before this could go to the point of no return. He wanted you, desperately. But he would never do anything you wouldn’t consent to.

“I do” you confirmed, Lucerys felt the air in his lungs almost purifying with your answer, he smiled widely as he took your hand in his again.

“Let us go then, the castle is a better place to fuck” he jokingly said, making you giggle and soon Lucerys was almost dragging you at full speed back into the castle.

This time around though, he led you into his room and as soon as the door closed Luke was all over you.

He kissed you and lifted you from the ground to finally place you on the bed with gently and start removing your clothes one by one, you applied the same principle on him until you were both fully naked.

Both of you took a moment to soak in the sight of the other as all was very new.

“Fucking hell. Your body is utter perfection” he said truly mesmerized.

You blushed madly at his comment, smiling as he sneaked closer and closer to your face, he kissed you softly before going down to your neck, now intently sucking on the your soft skin, while his hand made its way back onto your core.

As Lucerys reached the valley between your breast, so did two of his fingers inside your folds, this time around, your sounds of pleasure were louder, which he absolutely adored.

His fingers were curling and pumping inside your cunt as his mouth was swirling and sucking on your nipples harder and harder.

For the first time in your life, you felt yourself hot and growing wetter under Luke’s skillful ministrations. Your nails were starting to dig into his shoulders, as you couldn’t control the sounds coming out of your mouth.

“God, Luke!” You moaned close to your edge, although you couldn’t put it into words, Lucerys could definitely feel it and so he stopped abruptly.

“Why did you… stop?” you said almost out of breath and notably flustered.

“Because I wish to feast on you” he said smiling wickedly before positioning himself between your legs and pulling your core closer by dragging you down by the ass.

Before you could even let out a sound, Lucerys had started to taste your, running his tongue up and down your folds, poking at your very center with the tip of his tongue, he went in all possible directions, sucking on all the right places.

Out of instinct and completely drunk in the moment you placed your hand on the back of his head, keeping him in place and even pulling him deeper.

“Y-yes! Luke keep g-going!” you begged in ecstasy, a knot was tightening around your stomach and you needed a desperate release.

Lucerys Velaryon was, quiet literally feasting on your juices and no matter how much you squirmed nor moved, the man was on a mission, a mission to make you ride the fuck out of your own ecstasy.

At this point there were no words, just incoherent sounds of absolute pleasure and even as you felt yourself come undone, Lucerys wouldn’t let go and instead, drank every drop of what you had to offer to him.

When he was done, Luke found your eyes, pleased with his doings as he could tell it had been successful to the purpose of making you cum.

The sight of you, glistening in sweat, with heavy breathing and rosy cheeks was arousing to extends he could not describe.

His cock was undoubtedly hard as he towered over you his green eyes seemingly darker and lustful.

“This will hurt, but I promise it won’t take long before it’s pleasure what you feel afterwards” he explained to you calmly, you placed your hands around his neck

“I trust you, Luke” you both smiled at each other and still looking at you in the eye, he positioned himself at your entrance, slowly entering you.

You gasped at the strange sensation of him being inside you and as he went deeper you understood him completely.

You could feel yourself adjusting to his size, and yes, it wasn’t comfortable, truly you did feel a pain you had never felt before.

Luke got your mind of the pain as he kissed you passionately and you reciprocated immediately, his cock went slightly in and out of you, trying to give you time to familiarize yourself to the sense of him fully inside you.

Just like Luke had said, the pain at one point turned to pleasure, your whimpers were now turning into moans as Lucerys placed sweet kisses on your cheek.

“Luke… please fuck me” you pleaded him and he was quick to answer to your command. The future Lord of the Tides held onto your leg, keeping it wrapped around his waist while his other hand held your hip.

His pace was firm and bit by bit he started going faster, being careful not to hurt you but still looking to suffice his hunger and need of you.

His head was buried in the crook of your neck, your eyes were shut in pure bliss and you were dragging your nails up and down his back as Lucerys found your g-spot.

The sounds of pleasure and the act itself echoing the room, you were chanting on each other’s names like a prayer. Your climax came first and not long after Lucerys followed, filling you whole.

As you both breathed heavily, Luke pulled out of you and it was amazing how hollow you now felt without his cock in you.

He reincorporated himself just to grab a fur large enough for the both of you to be covered, he grabbed the fur around him and hugged you inside the blanket keeping you incredibly warm and close.

“Luke?” You looked up at him

“Yes, dove?”

“It’ll be okay,right?” You asked.

There were a lot of things implied in that question, he knew that well, the honest answer was he didn’t know, he hoped so, but a lot of the things that were implied in that question were very much uncertain, but Lucerys knew that right now, everything was quiet, everything was okay.

So he went with that.

“Of course” he said as relaxed as ever, giving you the peace of mind you needed.

But that, was the last moment of peace the two of you would get.

448 notes · View notes

myladysapphire · 1 year

Text

His Sapphire Princess (I)

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra is married to Laenor Velayron to protect the birth of her child. who in the years to follow is the only one of Rhaenyra's children that is believed to be his, she is loved by all in the red keep, even queen Alicent adores the girl, so when Rhaenyra proposes a marriage between Aemond and Rhaenyra's daughter Visenya, Alicent happily agrees.

The children having been best friends in their youths are more than happy to be wed but when the incident at drift mark occurs things change, will it be for better or worse?

word count: 2,866

CW: mummy issues, childish teasing, incest

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen (can be read as x reader)

Masterlist | series masterlist | next part

disclamer: i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and fire charecters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all charecters are his except for my OC

Visenya

Her mother was once again in labour. Visenya was the eldest of three. With two brothers and two uncles, she often found herself surrounded by boys. Her Aunt Heleana was often her only escape and even then, bugs seemed more interesting to her. She had longed for a baby sister and loved the idea of dressing her up like a doll and teaching her everything she knew. She often felt lonely, her brothers were often off with their eldest Uncle Aegon, trying their hardest to impress him. She missed the days when they longed for her satisfaction or happiness over any task, she asked them to do. And now they focused their attention on tormenting her other Uncle Aemond.

Aemond was her dearest friend, having both had eggs that didn't hatch in the cradle they found a way to bond through that. And later their love for the histories of old Valyria and learning High Valyrian.

One was never without the other, that was until she finally claimed her dragon.

When she was six, she went to Dragonstone for the first time. There she made it her mission to claim a dragon. She did not mind which, but she was determined to do so. Having given up much sooner than Aemond on her egg ever hatching, she concluded that she would claim a dragon, and if Aemond wished, she would happily share a dragon with him.

It was no easy feat, she snuck off in the dead of night and rode on horseback (a horse double her size, barely hanging on for dear life) to the dragon mount. Nine dragons resided on Dragonstone, her mother's; Syrax, her brothers; Vermax and Arrax, her father's; Seasmoke, the three wild dragons; Sheepstealer, Greyghost and the cannibal (though she would never think of attempting to claim them), and then there was Vermithor and Silverwing. She believed her best bets were lied with one of them, wild dragons being far too risky for a mere child. There were also several hatchlings and young dragons, but she wanted a grown one. A dragon to strike fear and build her respect.

She was a princess and the heir to the iron throne, after her mother. And riding a dragon fit for a king or a queen is a sure-fire way to build her some support, if not fear to stop any usurpation.

So, when she came face to face with Vermithor, she knew he would be hers.

She sang him a Valyrian lullaby, A song her mother often sang to one of her brothers. She almost giggled at the motion, the bronze fury, wooed by a lullaby. But she had heard stories of dragons being lulled into submission by a song, she hoped it would attract his attention, and lure him out.

It did.

Though she did not anticipate him letting a monstrous roar into her face, a fire built in his throat.

"Umbagon, gīda"

Wait, calm.

He stopped, his head lowered, sniffing her. She refused to show her fear, refused to cry. "Dohaerās" she stuttered.

Serve

His head lowered further, edging closer to her face. He sniffed her, letting out a grumble. "Dohaerās" she let out again, this time her voice firm.

His body lowered; his face approached hers. She reached her hand out to stroke him, rubbing at his nose.

"kessa ao ivestragī nyke kipagon ao?" she questioned, hand still stroking him.

will you let me ride you?

His eyes homed in on her, taking in her every movement. Assessing her.

He moved his head forward gently, softly nuzzling her, or at least as much as a dragon could. She took that as a yes and moved forward slowly. Her hand not leaving him. whether to reassure her or him, she did not know. She stoked along his side gently. Moving forward to the ladder to his saddle.

"ok" she muttered to herself, reaching forward to grab the ladder "don't fall, don't fall" she moved up slowly, holding her breath. Making it onto the saddle, he let out a slight shake. Not enough to throw her off, but enough to hurry up. It seemed as if Vermithor was eager to let his new mount fly him.

She sat down slowly, grabbing the reins, "sōvegon".

fly

His ascension was fast, somewhat graceful. Unlike her mother's dragon, he did not glide into the air, sweet and graceful. No Vermithor flew. He flapped his wings to their full length, showing off his size and power. Vermithor wanted to dominate the sky and show his power. He was loud, roaring as if to announce his presence. At first, she thought it was to strike fear and warn other dragons off, but by the quick company of Silverwing, she knew it was a call.

The mated dragons roared upon each other's presence. And then they began to sing. They moved around each other, their voices echoing their movements.

They flew and moved around each other.

She realised then that with one came the other. Much like she and Aemond, perhaps he could claim Silverwing. And they could be like their first riders, she hoped.

She wasn't sure how long they flew, by the time she had even claimed Vermithor the sun had begun to rise, and her parents must be starting to worry. But she could not find it in her to care. They landed outside the entrances to the castle and were quickly greeted by her parents.

"Muña, Kepa" she shouted in greeting. "I claimed him, Muña" she let out excitedly.

"I saw, my love." Her mother spoke, her tone wavering between stern and happy. She knew her mother could not stay mad at her for long, especially with how happy she was.

Her father let out a laugh, "We saw, sweetheart, but you can't keep sneaking out" he tried to say sternly, though his pride shone through his eyes.

"I know, it won't happen again" she muttered, lying.

"hmm" her mother spoke, clearly not believing it "you know, when you lie you look at your feet"

"sorry" she squeaked out, before seeing Jace, her younger brother (by ten moons) run out.

"Senya!" he shouted.

"Did you see? Did you see?" she asked excitedly, as Jace ran up to her and hugged her.

"Yes! Can you take me riding?" he questioned excitedly, Vermax being only four was nowhere near large enough to ride.

"of course," she spoke quickly wrapping her arms around him and spinning in a circle.

Her mother cleared her throat "not until you are older" she spoke " and you missy, will have to hold off on the riding until the dragon masters deem you ready".

Shouts of discontent rang between the two children, "but you claimed Syrax was around my age, and you were allowed to ride her!"

"Yes, but Syrax was much smaller, and Vermithor is much bigger" her mother spoke, pride in her tone when speaking of her dragon.

Visenya only hoped for a bond like her mother and her dragon had.

Ever since claiming her dragon Aemond had tried to distance himself from her. His jealousy strong and their relationship. But she refused to put up with Aemonds actions. Dragging him along with her to meet Vermithor, trying to get Silverwing to bond with him. She did not, but the notion alone made all jealousy he felt disappear. She continued in her efforts to find him a dragon to claim, and whenever he wanted, she would take him out on Vermithor.

If the people of KingsLanding thought, they were close before, then this was a whole new thing.

Alicent, her grandmother, had always liked her. Found her sweet and adored how she cared for Aemond.

Everyone in KingsLanding enjoyed the young princess.

They did not however like her brothers.

At first, she didn't understand, still believing that Ser Laenor was their father. That was until she met Ser Harwin strong. Seeing the way her mother looked at him, the way he looked towards Jace and Luke. The way he had taken her under his wing also and treated her as if she were his own. She knew he was her brother's father, not hers. But neither was Laenor. But she still loved him like he was and treated him as if he was. She was his favourite (another reason for the court to believe she was his) and she was always by his side, and always felt such sorrow when he went off to battle in the steppestones.

She did feel some envy of her brothers, though Ser Harwin loved her as much as he did her brothers, even sneaking off to teach her how to defend herself and swordplay, she could not shake the feeling of jealousy.

Her mother, as much as she loved her, always had a look of resentment when she saw her. She assumed it was because she looked like her father. A man she had no idea who he was a man she could only assume her mother loved. Her mother favoured her brothers, she knew it, lived with it, and resented it. All because she looked like a man whom she had never met. Though being named her mother's heir did quench some of the envy she felt, it still wasn't enough.

Her mother may always be there for her, that was no lie. But unlike with her brothers, there was a hesitance to it.

That was another reason why she wanted a sister, perhaps a sister would understand why she felt the way she did and be treated the same as she was.

But she understood she wouldn't be, no her siblings would all come from a man who loved her mother, and her mother loved back. A man who stuck around.

So, when she overheard, she had a brother, no surprise was seen on her face as she understood nothing would change. That she would be fourth on her mother's list of priorities.

Loved just as much as her brothers, but a hesitance to it.

"Muña" she called, walking down the hallway, towards her mother's chambers.

She had promised her mother she would be there for the birth, wanting to act as support and learn one day what would be a part of her own life (a fact her mother never let her forget).

She ran up to her, quick to greet her new baby brother, her brothers will be very pleased. Her father quickly appeared from another entrance, causing her to run straight into him "ugh, Kepa! Watch where you are going" she groaned, rubbing her nose

He chuckled softly "sorry, little love"

"My, my what happened to you!" her mother exclaimed, "if memory, serves you'd said you'd be her for the birth of the babe?"

She offered a sheepish smile, "Sorry mother, Vermithor wanted to go flying, ask him yourself" nodding her head, it was true to some degree, she wanted to go flying and Vermithor was more than eager to comply.

Her mother hummed in response.

"A boy! I've just heard" her father finally spoke, happily.

"Yes," mother said through pained breaths.

"Can I name him, this time mama?" she said begged. She had a very long list of names and was more than prepared to give her brother a fitting name. as much as she loved Jace and Luke, she hated their names.

Her father patted her head and said "it's up to you mother, love" before turning to her "well done, where are you going?"

"She wants to see him." Her mother hissed, walking shakily up the stairs.

She?

Alicent?

She Shook her head, Alicent had four babes of her own, surely she understands how painful birth is. She rolled her eyes. Perhaps she was getting too old. She was a grandmother after all!

"Now? I'm coming with you"

"Me too!"

"I should hope so," her mother remarked, bitterly.

"Can I hold him, Muña?" she asked, seeing her mother struggling.

Her mother looked down at her and nodded, grateful for the small rest it gave her "of course, my sweet girl"

Her father quickly offered her his arm, which was taken gratefully.

She looked down at her brother, he had the same nose as Luke, brown hair and what she could make out brown eyes. A shame. She had hoped for at least one silver-haired sibling. She was starting to feel like the odd one out.

"Was it terribly painful"

Both mother and daughter turned to look at the other and rolled their eyes.

"I took a lance through the shoulder once," he remarked, unaware of his wife and daughter's actions.

"My deepest sympathies" her mother hissed.

She was completely enchanted with her newest brother, despite his plain features, and simply choose to ignore her father and his attempts at comforting her mother, giving the babe forehead kisses, and cooing at how cute he was, but stopped upon realising he was covered in blood let out a disgusted snort. Her mother chuckled thinking it was directed at her father.

The halls were crowded with court members. Awaiting to see the newest prince. some to see if her mother had had another child sired by her father or another bastard.

Stopping for several members of the court to offer their congratulations to her mother before reaching the queen's chambers. She handed over her brother before bidding her parents farewell.

Whatever was about to happen, she had no desire to see.

And spotting Aemond walking through the corridors meant she didn't want to stick around for much longer.

"AEMOND!" she shouted, running up to him "I have another brother!"

He rolled his eyes, an action he tried to keep from her "hmmm" he said, not caring too much. She and he were walking down the corridor heading towards her family chambers.

"Congratulations Visenya! Oh, that's great news Visenya!" she mocked, putting on a deeper voice.

"Ha Ha, very funny" he spoke, unamused. Arms crossed.

"What does it even matter? Aren't they just another bas-"

"Do NOT-" she interrupted him; a stern look on her face. "They are my brothers, and that is all that matters" she spoke, tone hard, tired of Aemond's attitude. "If you're going to speak about this is will take my leave" she stared him down. Not at wanting to leave. Aemond always apologised, he hated it when he received the silent treatment from her and was often quick to apologise to prevent it.

"Sorry, Senya" he looked down. "what's his name?"

"I don't know, I have ideas, but mother probably won't listen to them!" she let out frustrated "it'll probably be some stupid name like Rhacearys or something!"

They had come up to her family chambers now, the door opened as Ser Harwin and her brothers walked in placing a dragon egg in a fire hearth inside.

"Brothers!" she exclaimed, walking in. Aemond stood by the doorway hesitant to enter.

"princess" Harwin greeted with a warm smile.

"Hello Harwin" she replied, hugging him.

"Senya" both her brothers exclaimed, before moving their eyes to Aemond "uncle," they said curtly, before looking at each other and giggling. Oh, they were up to something!

"Perhaps I should go" Aemond mumbled, moving to leave.

"I – but" she stuttered out, sad, he wanted to leave "I'll see you later? In our secret spot" she whispered the last part, winking terribly as she did so.

Aemond went to laugh but stopped after seeing something over her shoulder. Her brothers most likely. "of course," he mumbled.

"WAIT!" she ran up to him, giving him a quick hug. "BYE!"

Not long after his exit her mother and father entered the room, stopping her from confronting her brothers about whatever their plans with Aemond were.

"Mother look, we choose an egg for the baby" Jace spoke, as their mother moved to sit.

"That looks like the perfect one" she agreed, finally sitting in the chair to rest, as the cover on the eggs pot was lifted.

"We let Luke choose" Jace admitted, as Luke grew a proud smile and thanked him.

"Not every day an egg leaves the dragon pit, princess. I thought it best to escort the lads" Harwin spoke up, his eyes drawn to the babe in her father's arms.

"Laenor and I thank you, commander".

"Another boy, I heard. What a fine knight you are going to make, yes?" Harwin spoke towards the babe.

She stood by her father, looking down at the babe. He had been cleaned up since she last saw him. Much less blood.

"Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey"

"Joffrey?" she questioned, looking between her mother and father "my list had much better names!"

"shush, now," her father whispered, patting her head and moving the babe into ser Harwin's arms.

"wasn't that your friend's name?" she questioned, looking at her father.

He gulped and nodded "Oh! Ok, it's fine then. I forgive you!" she exclaimed. Though she still hoped for a chance to rename him to something much better.

"Father, please may I hold Joffrey?" Luke spoke, trying to grab Joffrey out of Harwin's arms.

Their father tutted, moving her brothers and herself away, dismissing them to their dragon pit lessons.

next chapter

743 notes · View notes

dango-milk · 1 year

Text

to make them love me (and make it seem effortless)

pairings: aemond x fem! Targaryen! reader / original female character

word count: 15,046

genre: fluff, angst

content warnings: TARGCEST, age gap, mentions of death, mentions of childbirth, swearing (aemond has a potty mouth)

additional notes: we interrupt your regular genshin x reader viewing by bringing you this (big) little thing I wrote for aemond targaryen. he had me in a chokehold until I finally relented and. this is it.

expect a couple more works on this pathetic little meow meow and an eventual update to an ode to heartbreak!

read this work on ao3

“I don’t understand,” Aemond says in disbelief, pushing his helmet’s visor out of his face as he attempts to decipher the contents of the note. “How could I have not been informed of this earlier?”

Ormund shrugs. “Perhaps the tourney masters thought it best to rearrange the lists. More signed up for the games than they thought.”

“Their poor planning does not justify an inconvenience on my part,” Aemond scoffs. “I am a Prince of the realm. I should be placed higher up on the lists.”

“Never mind that, cousin,” Ormund attempts to console him. “It is your first tourney, after all—”

“—and yet it is one we all look forward to seeing.”

The two look up to see Aegon sauntering into the hall, grinning from ear to ear as if he’d just been privy to a particularly humorous joke. Aemond rolls his eyes as he shoves the note into Ormund’s hand.

“Why so tense, dear brother?” Aegon nudges Aemond playfully. “I only speak the truth. You’ve never really thought much of tourneys.”

“Some of us like to keep most of our thoughts to ourselves,” Aemond shoots back, as he fiddles with his armor. “Where’s Helaena?”

“Back in the castle.” Aegon jabs his finger behind him. “All the shouting was getting to her, so Mother had me escort her back.”

At Aegon’s words, Ormund’s expression lit up in realization. “Perhaps it was the Queen behind it!”

“Shut up!” Aemond hisses, at the same time Aegon asks, “Behind what?”

“Er…” Ormund scratches his head, lowering his gaze in response to Aemond’s murderous one. “Behind, er, the Princess’ nameday tourney.”

Aegon scoffs. “My mother can hardly be credited for my sister’s nameday tourney. We all celebrate our namedays for days at a time, with tourneys and feasts galore.”

He glances around, taking in the sight of the contestants and squires milling about the area. “Though our sister’s nameday tourney has, indeed, piqued the interest of all. How strange.”

“Hardly,” Aemond mumbles. “She comes of age today.”

“Ah!” Aegon claps his hands. “Our beloved sister comes of age today, yes. I wonder just what the prize is for this tourney.”

“Surely, His Grace would not decide who Princess [Y/N] marries based on who wins today’s tourney?” Ormund says, blissfully unaware of Aemond slightly wincing at his words.

Aegon frowns. “Have you never picked up a history book, cousin?”

“Have you?” Aemond retorts.

“Of course I did. I never said I read them, though.” Aegon sniffs. “It’s not usual, but it’s certainly not new. Tourneys are simply pageants in all but name. See for yourself.”

The trio turn to see a tall, sweeping teenager, with locks the color of night and skin like copper parading about the hall, his bronze armor chased with red, a spear piercing the sun on its front.

“Qoren Martell,” Aemond whispers, a sense of dread washing over him.

Aegon hums. “Came in right at the last second, as they were drawing up the lists.”

Ormund turns to Aemond, holding up the note he had been reading earlier, an expression of understanding dawning on his face. Aemond fidgets beneath his armor, hating that Aegon had a point for once; there really wasn’t any other plausible explanation for Dorne to finally start taking an interest in the Crown’s affairs.

Aegon looks over at him, seemingly contemplating his next line. He decides instead to clap Aemond’s back, sending him forward. “Oh, don’t worry, brother! The Dornish don’t mind sharing their lovers. They seem to enjoy it, in fact.”

Aemond turns and walks briskly away from his brother, Ormund hastily trailing beside him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Of course, Aegon had to press further, keeping up with Aemond’s pace in a couple of long strides. “Oh, but I think you do,” he says. “If there’s anything the Dornish get right, it’s their outlook on bastards. I’m sure Prince Qoren wouldn’t mind if [Y/N]’s children turn out to have silver hair and a remarkable resemblance to a certain other Prince—”

Aemond stops abruptly to stare Aegon directly in the eye. “[Y/N] is not you. You would let our sister disgrace herself and put the stability of the realm at risk?”

Aegon towers over him, smirking triumphantly. “You and I both know that’s not any of your concern.”

“Then you do not know me.” Aemond turns away again, walking towards the edge of the hall where the tourney field was being set up. Hordes of people continued filing into the stands, some of whom were dressed to the nines despite the sun beating down upon them like a drum. He glances at the King’s Box, watching as the newest arrivals, the Velaryons, occupy their seats next to Rhaenyra and her children.

A mix of gasps and cheers sound from the smallfolk as a shadow passes over them, coupled with a familiar-sounding roar. Aemond squints up at the sky, and his heart practically leaps at the sight.

The voice of the Master of Revels announcing your arrival is all but drowned out by Silverwing’s proud roar, as you land her atop the King’s Box, jostling the people inside. Rhaenyra grabs the end of Lucerys’ coat to keep him from falling off trying to look up at you, while Lyonel Strong steadies a visibly surprised Viserys. Aegon lets out a hearty laugh at the sight, and Aemond could not help but join in.

It’s only when the she-dragon lowers her neck does Aemond finally get a better look at you. You’re grinning from ear to ear, and the only thing that could compete with the brightness of your smile was the glint of your silvery hair in the sun. Your dragon climbs down the Box, much to your family’s chagrin as they grip the arms of their chairs to stay steady.

Silverwing dips herself to the ground of the tourney field, allowing you to dismount and pat her neck before you wave to the crowds. You don a black dress chased with blue (which Aemond presumes is for your late lady mother, who was an Arryn), with the Targaryen three-headed dragon embroidered on your front.

“A fly might make its way down your throat if you don’t close it,” Ormund murmurs in Aemond’s ear, and he only sniggers as Aemond elbows him in the stomach. When your eyes meet his, he prays his ears aren’t as red as he thinks they are.

“Seven blessings on your nameday, dear sister,” Aegon says, pairing the mock reverence in his tone with an exaggerated bow.

You only snort as you remove your riding gloves. “Save your courtesies for someone who actually believes them.”

“Now, is that any behavior befitting a lady who has just come of age?”

You deliver a playful punch to Aegon’s midsection, which he just barely dodges.

Ormund bows. “I wish you a happy nameday, Princess.”

Aemond fidgets nervously, silently cursing both Aegon and Ormund for getting to greet you first.

You smile warmly. “Thank you, Ormund.” When you turn to look at Aemond, you reach out to push his visor out of his face. “Finally joining the lists today, eh, Aemond? I never thought you were interested in jousting.”

Aemond opens his mouth, but no sound leaves it. Behind you, Aegon raises his eyebrows, giving him a look that says, Say something!

“I…decided to test my skills today,” Aemond manages.

Aegon silently gestures for him to keep going.

“…and I thought your nameday would give me extra luck,” he adds, now feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks.

You laugh, reaching over once again to pat the front of his armor. He wonders if you can feel his heart hammering underneath the cold metal.

Aegon clears his throat, glancing at something behind Aemond; in his periphery, he sees Qoren Martell hovering around the group. Ormund, miraculously, gets the silent message.

“If you would excuse us, Princess,” the Hightower lord says, slapping the back of Aemond’s armor. “As his loyal squire, I have a duty to get Prince Aemond ready.”

You nod in understanding. “I will pray for your opponents,” you say solemnly, and a genuine smile finally breaks out onto his face.

“Will you allow me to escort you back to the King’s Box?” Aegon says in his mocking tone once again, and you wrinkle your nose before dropping your hand into his.

Ormund pushes Aemond in the other direction. “Come now, my Prince,” he says. “You’d better get ready if you want to win the Princess’ favor.”

“I’ve been put in the lower lists,” Aemond reminds him miserably, while keeping his eyes trained on Qoren Martell attempting to strike up a conversation with you.

“What of it?” Ormund scoffs, suddenly sounding confident. “It just means you’ll score more victories. Makes the final one all the more sweet. Just trust your training, and you’ll have Qoren Martell on his fat Dornish ass before you know it.”

It seemingly only takes a split second for all the air to leave Aemond’s lungs when he crashes into the dirt. Though his armor had taken the brunt of his fall, pain shoots all over his body like tendrils of lightning, ironically leaving him feeling momentarily weightless.

He manages to roll onto his back, gasping for air and staring up at the sky above. The ringing in his ears subsides enough for him to hear the triumphant shouts and the shocked gasps of the crowd, as well as the neighing of his distressed horse. He blinks the stars out of his eyes, and after remembering seeing a Bolton squire die from a lance to the throat, he checks himself for any injuries. To his relief, he seemed to be physically fine.

“My Prince! Aemond, cousin!” Suddenly, Ormund was hovering over him, distress and clear fear in his eyes. “Speak to me, are you alright?”

“I’m…” Aemond coughs, feeling his lungs constrict, then relax. “I’m fine.”

A tourney master joins Ormund. “Will you continue with a contest of arms, my Prince?”

Ormund helps Aemond sit up, and he catches a glimpse of his sword lying off to the side. He blinks again, and his vision finally returns to normal; he sees his opponent (who, by the stag on his armor, Aemond surmises is a Baratheon) jumping off his horse and running over to him.

You fool, Aemond wants to shout. If your opponent wished to continue, you might have benefited from the distance.

But he glances over to the King’s Box, where members of his own family were peering over at him, awaiting his decision. His mother leans over the railing the furthest, so much so that her ladies were trying to restrain her.

He does not see you.

Aemond sighs and shakes his head, and the tourney master nods.

“Prince Aemond forfeits! The winner of this round…”

“My Prince!” The Baratheon boy tosses his helmet to the side, sticking his hand out. Aemond clicks his tongue, but accepts the gesture, allowing his opponent to pull him up. “It was an honor to tilt against you, Prince Aemond. I hope to be given the opportunity again.”

Not likely, Aemond wants to snap back. But he only gives the boy a brief smile and a respectful nod, before turning away.

“Do you need help?” Ormund offers.

“No, be quiet, keep walking,” Aemond commands, keeping his head held high. He nods and waves to the crowds shouting out their congratulations to him, deliberately ignoring the pain he was starting to feel in his left leg.

As soon as he was out of both the public and his opponents’ sight, Aemond finally gives in, grabbing the wall for support as he reaches down to tug at his armored leg.

“Aemond!” Ormund throws one of Aemond’s arm over his shoulders. “Sit down, I’ll call the maesters.”

“No, no need,” he hisses in reply. “Just help me get my armor off.”

“But you might have twisted or broken your leg, I—”

“If I had twisted or broken my leg, you’d think I’d bloody well know, wouldn’t I?” Aemond snaps. “You’re my squire, act like it. Just take off the damn armor.”

Ormund blinks. Aemond feels a twinge of regret over the venom in his tone, but elects not to say another word. He instead works on the buckles of the metal, all the while trying to swallow down the growing lump in his throat and blink away the stinging in his eyes. Ormund finally assists him, detaching the parts away and allowing Aemond to stretch his limbs out.

The humiliation weighs over him even as he climbs into the King’s Box. Ser Criston Cole is the first to greet him, and after looking over him to find no serious injuries, pats Aemond’s shoulders. “You did very well, my Prince,” Criston assures him. “Don’t lose heart. You’ll get your chance one day.”

Aemond offers him the same tight-lipped smile he’d given his opponent, and keeps it on as his mother hurries over, worry painted all over her face.

“Are you alright?” she fusses, pushing his hair out of his eyes, looking as if she was about to demand he remove all his clothes in front of all who were present. “The lance—I thought it went through—”

“His armor took the blow, Your Grace,” Ser Criston says. “The Baratheon squire’s lance splintered against it, yes, but there’s no harm to him as far as I can see.”

A Baratheon squire. Aemond’s jaw locks in anger; he, a Prince of the realm, had lost to a Baratheon squire of all people.

Alicent sighs. “You scared me, deciding to enter the lists out of nowhere. Perhaps you should wait until you’re a little older before—”

“Why did you place me further down the lists?” Aemond hisses, keeping his voice as low as possible (but failing to contain the anger in it).

Alicent frowns. “What?”

“I was supposed to tilt against the likes of Qoren Martell,” Aemond whispers furiously. “I am the son of the King, in line to the throne, brother to the Princess to whom this tourney is dedicated to! Why wasn’t I placed where I was originally supposed to be?”

“I am not liking your tone, Aemond,” Alicent warns. “Remember that you are not of age yet. This is a vile, cruel game where men attempt to kill each other for sport. Be grateful that you were even allowed at all to compete.”

Aemond opens his mouth to protest, but Alicent gives him a look so scathing, whatever argument he had promptly died in his throat. He grunts in displeasure and pushes past her, ignoring his father's Council members congratulating him as he goes.

He finds his seat regrettably next to Aegon, who at the sight of him, bursts into uncontrollable laughter. Aemond surges forward, only to be stopped by Rhaenyra's outstretched arm.

"You did well, little brother," she says, though all Aemond hears is the underlying distaste that she seems to reserve solely for him, Aegon, and Alicent. "But settle your scores with Aegon later. I'd rather not ruin my sister's day with any of your antics."

Aemond removes her arm from his path, sauntering forward and dropping into his seat, taking care to crush Aegon's foot underneath his. A heavy hand finds its way onto his shoulder, and he turns to find its owner, a scowl on his face ready to greet them—

"Well done, my boy," Viserys says, a smile on his lined face. "Next time, you'll win. I know it."

One could almost take your words for affection, old man, Aemond thinks, as Viserys pats his shoulder again before settling back in his seat. Still, he manages a polite, "Thank you, Father," before turning back to the tourney still playing out beneath him.

It takes a while for him to realize that you were sitting right across him, already turned to face him with your signature blinding smile. You reach out to pat his interlocked hands. "Father's right," you tell him. "You'll win next time. If you focus on your training."

"I will if you will," he blurts, before he could stop himself.

"Ha! I feel I'm much better at riding a dragon than wielding a sword."

The moment is shattered when Lucerys (who Aemond just realized had been sitting on your lap the entire time) begins to wave your wreath around wildly, causing you to turn away from Aemond to keep your nephew from falling to the ground.

He watches as, to nobody's surprise, Qoren Martell wins the tourney. The Dornish Prince urges his horse forward towards the King's Box, and asks for your favor. Rhaenyra nudges Ser Laenor, the two sharing knowing glances as you stand with Lucerys in your arms and balanced on your hip, instructing the boy to toss your crown of red and black roses into Qoren's hands, much to the delight of the spectators.

In that moment, Lucerys’ curly brown locks no longer suspiciously remind Aemond of the Commander of the City Watch standing right next to Ser Laenor, but of the man staring adoringly from below as you and Lucerys wave to the crowds.

Aemond stands, mumbling an excuse in his brother's ear, and leaves the Box in a hurry.

Having to watch as Viserys deliberately has Qoren sit next to you during your own nameday feast had irritated Aemond beyond measure, given that he could do nothing but pick furiously at his own food as Qoren regales you with tales of his House and region. It had seemed like forever before the King had finally gone to bed, and even then his torture ended bitterly with Qoren bringing your hand to his lips.

Rhoynar scum. He scowls as he slams the door behind him. Your lot come from vagabonds at sea with no real homes. Our blood is the blood of Old Valyria, the blood of kings and conquerors and warriors. She rides the Good Queen’s dragon. What in the Seven Hells could ever possess you to think you could have her?

Aemond opens the window to his room, allowing the cool breeze of the Red Keep to wash over his agitated figure. Aegon’s teasing, Ormund’s obliviousness, and Qoren’s audacity had given him a migraine like he’d never had before, yet he could not find it in himself to sleep it off.

Of course he was fond of you, that much was certain. He’d always looked up to you, asked for your advice, took great comfort in the fact that your dragon had not been born to you either. It had always been his crutch for when he laments his lack of a dragon, what with Sunfyre hatching in Aegon’s cradle and Helaena claiming Dreamfyre shortly before her tenth nameday. Ultimately, though, Aemond supposes he hadn’t much to go on about you other than the fact that you took the time to get to know your half-siblings, unlike your actual full-blood sister.

He’d mulled over the idea of claiming Vermithor, who at this point was the only known dragon that had yet to be claimed after the death of Jaehaerys. He would imagine himself flying alongside the Good Queen’s dragon atop the Good King’s, and what a poetic ending that would be for all his troubles.

A knock comes at his door. “My Prince, I apologize for the late hour,” one of his servants calls out to him. “Princess [Y/N] is here to see you.”

Aemond’s head whips around. “Send her in,” he replies almost immediately.

The door swings open to reveal you, still in the same dress he’d seen you in that morning, the only difference being your hair now let down; a silvery waterfall, not unlike his own.

He turns to face you, heart hammering in his chest.. “What…what do you want?”

“I came to check on you,” you reply. “You fell hard earlier, I didn’t get a chance to check how bad it was.”

Aemond chuckles dryly and gestures for you to sit. “ “How bad it was”, huh?”

“Our family is more than fond of tourneys,” you remind him. “We’re just about the only ones that are not. I would be lying if I said I was not surprised that you changed your mind today.”

“I’ve not changed my mind.” Aemond picks at his sleeve. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys. Never have and never will.”

You laugh, and though it is a quiet sound, he tries to fool himself into thinking it’s more genuine than the ones you’d shared with Qoren. “I’m glad to hear it.”

He sits there with you in silence, and for the first time all day, he relaxes. It’s nice, he thinks, to simply be in your presence, where no one—not even himself—expects him to do something to impress you.

Being with you was enough.

That said, the thought of you leaving for Dorne forever leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Namedays are always a time for celebration,” you begin. “I confess, however, that my nameday…always comes with a tinge of sorrow.

“I went to the Sept with Rhaenyra this morning. It’s always been a habit of ours on our namedays. It’s really less of us praying to the Seven for good fortune, it’s more of…finding comfort in the silence. It…it’s where we hear our mother and siblings the best.”

He nods in understanding.

You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, staring off into the distance wistfully. “Father’s always been good at putting on a mask,” you continue. “He’s good at it, too, probably from all the years he’s had to do it. But today would have been Baelon’s nameday, too. And today was also the day when Mother…”

You duck your head.

Aemond leans forward to capture your hands in his. Despite his own misgivings with Aegon, he had to admit that it was difficult to imagine a life without him. He would have been the heir, forever put against Rhaenyra. Forever put against you, one of the few of her true kin.

You squeeze his hands gratefully. “In any case,” you say. “I am glad you’re no longer interested in tourneys, otherwise I would not have brought you this.”

You produce a box from the depths of your skirt and slide it over to Aemond. He clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “It’s your nameday and you’re the one giving out gifts.”

You wave your hand dismissively. “I have a whole mountain of them in my apartments, very few of which I would actually care to have. I take far more pleasure giving things to you.”

Aemond shakes his head, finally relenting and opening the box. Glittering among the plush dark velvet was a sapphire brooch, as blue as the waters of the Narrow Sea, sitting in a bed of pure starlight. He lifts it from the cushion and sits the gem in his palm gingerly, admiring its weight and the way it glints, even by the dying fireplace.

“The sapphire was my mother’s,” you explain. “One of many I’d inherited from her. I had it re-cut and set.”

Aemond swallows thickly. “I…I can’t take this. If it was from your mother, then you should—”

You interrupt him by closing his fist over the jewel, holding his fingers down with a firm grip. “I want you to have it,” you tell him firmly. “We are one House now, no matter what others say. None may divide us. Keep this with you as a reminder, you hear me?”

You stare at him with such intensity that he has little to do but agree. You pat his hand and rise from your seat. “Think of it as my favor,” you say, and he doesn’t miss the slyness in your tone. “You have no need to fight in tourneys or any sort of battle to earn it. It will always be yours, Aemond.”

Words he’d been keeping buried for months were bubbling on his tongue now, tearing down the walls that he’s had to construct all his life to keep them from destroying what he has with you. Resistance seemed futile now, now that you had bid him goodnight and turned to leave his room.

“Don’t marry him.”

Your hand had been on the door at his words, and you do him the considerable honor of pausing in surprise before turning again to look at him. “Aemond?”

“Don’t marry him,” he repeats, desperation now leaking into his tone. “Qoren Martell. You were never meant to marry a Dornish, even the first of them, so…”

He wrestles with his words, and you seem oblivious to his agony as you stare, clearly waiting for him to finish. He inches closer and closer to the brink, and there seems to be nothing tethering him to reality anymore, save for the erratic beating of his heart.

You purse your lips, and the expression on your face is something he can’t read—did you think him foolish for telling you not to do your duty? Or did you perceive his desperation as an act of childish jealousy, a brother imploring his sister not to give anyone else the time of day?

What did he think his words meant?

You do not give him an answer. “Good night, Aemond,” you whisper, and you slip quietly out the door.

Your betrothal to the heir to the Dornish throne had begun to sound less like a rumor and more like a given fact, with the endless whisperings fluttering about the Red Keep like irksome flies. Viserys certainly did not do much to silence them, and Aemond had the misfortune of hearing him discuss potential dowries with Rhaenyra.

He had to admit that it was an ideal match, and certainly one he would have considered seriously were he in his father’s place. Any king who would bring Dorne into the fold would be credited with something even the Conqueror could not have done, further cementing his place in Westerosi history. Aemond often dreams of having his name written down in the history books, never just as an afterthought or a simple second son, but of a warrior king who made the Seven Kingdoms truly one, with a queen by his side who would cast a shadow over all who would succeed her.

But like his position in life, all his dreams had to occur in the darkness of the wings; the only good thing about it was that, given their unlikeliness, he was free to dream just a little bit more.

In a surprising turn of events, however, he’d received the news that you had suddenly mounted Silverwing and taken off. At that moment, Aemond truly curses the lack of a dragon—he could have just gotten on and tracked you down, not go through the humiliation of asking Aegon (or any of his kin, for that matter) for a favor. He would have had to explain why it was so important for them to take time out of their day to find out where you had gone, because beyond you being a Princess of the realm, he had no other reason (that he’s willing to admit, at least).

Even Helaena, whom Aemond had realized could see things before they happened, offered no help in this matter. She had even expressed confusion at the very notion, much to his frustration.

So, he turns to his last resort.

Jacaerys looks up from where he was cleaning his armor, clearly surprised to be addressed. “She isn’t at Dragonstone,” he tells Aemond. “She could be anywhere, for all we know.”

“She didn’t tell you anything?” Aemond presses. “No notes, anything?”

Lucerys fiddles with Aemond’s gauntlets, and for a brief moment, Aemond sees you in his little face. “I think she’s gone to Daemon.”

“Prince Daemon? Why would she…”

“It’s just a guess,” Jacaerys says, scratching the back of his neck. “The last we heard of him was that he was in Pentos with the Lady Laena. They’re our only kin living beyond Westeros, and [Y/N] was always fond of Lady Laena.”

Of course. Aemond wants to smack his forehead. It made sense. You, Rhaenyra, and Laena had always been so close. But it wouldn’t have been his first guess, not when a marriage proposal didn’t seem too far behind…

Jacaerys’ and Lucerys’ guess seems to hold merit, as the small council receives reports of a silvery dragon flying east. It’s only confirmed when you finally write to your family, stating that you were indeed exploring the Free Cities and would be staying there for an indefinite period of time.

Funnily enough, your message had arrived at the Red Keep the same day the Dornish party did.

The excuse given had been that you were sent off as an envoy to the southern Free Cities to ascertain the peace, following the Triarchy’s defeat at the hands of the Daemon-Velaryon alliance. Aemond had to restrain himself from laughing in the throne room at the Dornish lord’s baffled expression, as well as the irritation that Viserys had kept well-hidden beneath his kingly persona.

That same night, he’d received a raven from you, carrying a brief message and a couple of trinkets you had collected on your travels thus far. It had been as if a giant weight had been taken off his shoulders, and in the privacy of his own room, he finds himself running his fingers longingly over your handwriting.

But your letters begin to stack on his desk, the gifts you bring him start to collect dust on his mantle, and every day holds less and less promise of you finally returning to King’s Landing. He’d thought you would finally return shortly after Rhaenyra gives birth to her third son, but aside from a written note of congratulations and a messenger bringing gifts, you never do. Aemond finds himself sitting by his window every night, deluding himself into thinking a bird flying over Blackwater Bay or the occasional cloud would be Silverwing, bringing you back to him.

But you don’t, and he finds solace only in his lessons and his training, stealing glances at the sky whenever he has the chance. He’d thought your absence would finally rid him of thoughts and desires unwanted, but all it is is a thorn in his side; a dull ache that flares up every now and then, much like his old leg injury.

When news of Laena Velaryon’s death reaches King’s Landing, and as he sits next to his mother on the ship, his thoughts were only of you, and if you had already been in Driftmark for a while now. He should have known better when he sees no silver dragon sitting amongst the gold, blue, grey, and red amongst the rocks.

After giving his condolences to the Velaryons, Aemond walks around aimlessly, the disappointment sinking in with every passing second. Politicking thinly veiled as courtesies seem to follow him everywhere he goes, and he eventually finds respite in Helaena’s presence, though it would seem she had not noticed his.

Of course, Aegon had to come and disturb it, only to repeat what he had been complaining about for weeks.

“We have nothing in common,” he grumbles, gesturing to Helaena.

“She’s our sister,” Aemond replies curtly, as he has done many times before.

“You marry her, then.”

“I would perform my duty, if mother had only betrothed us.” The words weigh heavily on Aemond’s tongue.

Aegon scoffs. “If only.”

“It would strengthen the family,” Aemond parrots what he’s learned in his lessons. “Keep our Valyrian blood pure.”

“She’s an idiot!”

“She’s your future Queen.”

Aegon lowers his goblet, and from his periphery, Aemond can see his brother watching him carefully. He keeps his gaze on Helaena muttering under her breath, waiting for Aegon to call him out for the double meaning in his words.

Fortunately, he doesn’t. “We actually do have one thing in common,” Aegon says, as he throws the rest of his drink back and reaches for the next, his eyes lingering far too long on the serving girl. “We both fancy creatures with very long legs.”

Aemond only shakes his head in resignation, feeling a surge of pity for Helaena. It’s the first time he actually feels relieved that you had left before you’d gotten any offers of marriage; he dreads the thought of you being doomed to suffer the same fate as Helaena.

A dragon’s cry pierces the air, and Aemond looks up sharply. He rushes to the edge of the courtyard, listening as best as he could with the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below.

He scours the skies and searches among the dragons already resting nearby, to no avail. His shoulders sag; perhaps you weren’t coming, after all.

But that same cry persists, even as the sun begins to sink into the sea. Aemond has never heard a sound like it before—this one was a melancholic melody, like longingness taking flight above the waters of The Gullet. It isn’t long before his attention is drawn from searching for you to searching for the source of the sound instead, somehow feeling as if it was calling out to him.

And then it happens.

A clear and piercing trill that he initially chalks up to one of the other dragons, had it not been for Rhaenyra looking up, surprise painted all over her face. Aemond follows her gaze, and even in the setting sun, it’s clear as day—

He momentarily forgets himself and runs over to his half-sister, tugging on her sleeve. “It’s her, isn’t it?” he asks, unable to contain his excitement.

“It is,” Rhaenyra replies, pure relief in her tone. She glances down at Aemond, and it’s perhaps only then does she realize the peculiarity of the situation; he doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever had a casual conversation with her. Aemond lets go of her sleeve, clearing his throat and taking off in the other direction with his head spinning.

It takes a while for you to show up, but when you do, you’re soaked to the bone, with Laenor Velaryon’s arm wrapped around your shoulders and his other arm around his squire on the other side. The whispers come to a standstill, partially at the sight of you and partially at the sight of the future Prince consort looking as if he was about to follow his sister at any second. You must have found him, Aemond thinks, about to keel over into the water.

At the sight of his father, however, Ser Laenor steadies himself and limps away, leaving you in the middle of the crowd. No doubt you feel all eyes on you, but you straighten and walk to your father, who now looks as if he’s ten years younger again.

Aemond doesn’t get the chance to speak with you, not while you remain glued to Viserys’ side, leaving only to speak with Rhaenyra, Daemon, and his daughters. You’ve not changed at all over the years, save for your hair, which you had cropped short (presumably for it to not get in the way of your flying), and for your gait, as a certain confidence exudes from you as you walk or simply stand. But you were still you, much to his relief.

His thoughts take him back to the strange cry, which rings out well into the night. It’s only until his mother commands him to go to bed that he realizes Viserys has long left and you are nowhere to be found. He waits for his mother and siblings to head into the castle before heading down the stairs, down where you had come bringing your good brother.

He doesn’t have to search long for you—you’re right there on the beach, your head tilted upwards as if in silent meditation. The sand crunches underneath his feet as he closes the distance between you two, and just as you’re within arm’s reach, he stops.

And he waits.

When you finally turn, you regard Aemond with the same smile that had greeted him on your nameday all those years ago, tinged with just a bit of sadness. He wonders if you get your seemingly eternal warmth from the late queen; whatever the case, he certainly has never felt it with any of his siblings, even the one you share all your blood with.

“You’ve gotten tall,” is the first thing you say to him. “You’ll probably be as tall as Daemon.”

“I’ll be taller,” he promises, and your smile grows wider, only for it to drop just as quickly. Aemond remembers the very reason you had come, and the history you shared with Laena. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

You turn back towards the beach, and Aemond moves to stand next to you. “It is our loss,” you correct him. “Laena was kin to you and me both.”

Aemond nods in response. You duck your head and sigh deeply, the grief you feel leaving you looking aged. “I left Pentos the day before she died,” you whisper. “I promised to be back for the birth, but…”

“They say she went into labor early,” Aemond says. “You couldn’t have known.”

You keep your eyes trained on the ground. “I don’t think I could have borne to see it,” you continue in a shaky voice. “She died trying to birth a son, and my mother—”

You choke on the last word, and for a moment Aemond fears you would start crying. He reaches for your hand, and you squeeze it gratefully in response.

But you don’t, and instead take the time to be silent and count your breaths, all the while holding onto his hand like an anchor. When you raise your eyes to the sky once more, he sees all the stars reflected in them.

When you speak again, your voice is steadier. “You remind me of her, you know. Laena.”

Aemond struggles to find an answer, one that would insult neither you nor the deceased. You seem to sense his hesitation, and you squeeze his hand again. “Our dragons weren’t born to us,” you say, confirming his thoughts. “Though I became a dragonrider earlier than she did. She cried the first time I mounted Silverwing, and cried again when I took her up years later.”

“The second time…out of fear?”

“At first, I suppose. But she was laughing, too. Always a wild one, Laena was.” You sigh. “You’re just as spirited as she was. Fearless. Bold.”

“If I were fearless and bold, I’d have a dragon by now,” Aemond grumbles.

“It isn’t that easy, I fear,” you tell him. “I’ve spoken to scholars and warlocks and magicfolk of all kinds in the Free Cities. Some of them are of the opinion that dragons are not as willing as we might imagine.”

“We’re a family of dragonriders. One dragon-less member is hardly enough to discredit that fact.”

“Our Valyrian blood is the exception, not the rule. Had we been so confident in its mere presence, I daresay we ought to have more dragonriders around.”

“Especially with Aegon,” Aemond offers.

“Especially with Aegon, yes,” you chuckle. “It may well be that our blood is a contributing factor. But dragons have minds and hearts of their own. Some say they are even more intelligent than we are. The right is not freely given, Aemond. It is earned, it is fought for, it is taken.”

You turn to face him then, and it’s only when you do so does Aemond realize he has indeed grown taller; he no longer has to tilt his head upwards to properly meet your eyes. You take his other hand in yours, and he feels the calluses from years of dragon-riding brush against his skin.

“I told you you were as spirited as Laena was,” you say. “Like her, you are also kind. Compassionate. Smart. Loyal. You are everything our House stands for and more.”

For the first time in what seems like years, a genuine smile spreads across his face. “I’ve missed you,” he admits.

“As did I,” you whisper, and your eyes travel to the sapphire brooch you’d given him all those years ago, nestled just above the middle of his collarbone. You let your fingers skim over the gem lightly, before pulling away from him. “Father has mentioned that we may stop by Dragonstone to see if any of the eggs there take your fancy.”

Aemond’s spirits rise. “Really?”

“Really,” you promise. “If nothing does, Rhaenyra’s told me that if Syrax brings forth another clutch of eggs, you’ll have your pick from them.”

He lets out a breathy laugh; he could think of Rhaenyra’s sudden act of kindness as a way to win him over to her favor, but surely Viserys had agreed to the Dragonstone visit only upon your request. He had never been known to turn you down, and the impromptu visit to the Free Cities was clear proof of it.

To think, you had talked him into it for Aemond’s benefit…

He shakes his head, almost in disbelief. “Wait. You said “we”. You’re coming home? You’re coming with me to Dragonstone to pick an egg?”

You give him another one of your comforting smiles. “If you’d like.”

He nods, almost too quickly. He’d come to Driftmark expecting to have the secondhand grief hanging over him like a storm, not to feel as if he’d been denied the sun for years before this very moment. He imagines walking off a ship onto Dragonstone and leaving atop Vermithor, as he’s always thought of doing. He replays a scene from his dreams where he finally flies next to you, the Good King and the Good Queen’s mounts flying over the realm once more.

He’s almost too happy to notice you’d reached out to brush his hair away from his face. “You might take a little inspiration from Laena,” you advise him. “She was dragonless for years, and yet she did what many thought was impossible.”

“She claimed Vhagar,” Aemond says, his mouth suddenly feeling dry.

“She certainly did.” You squeeze his hands before slipping out of them. “Now, go to bed. Your mother will have my head if she finds out I caught you after dark and did nothing.”

The same cry pierces through the night sky again, and Aemond watches as you head back up to the castle. He wants to call out to you again, to tell you what he’s been hearing all day, to confirm something that had clicked at your words just now.

Aemond stares across the sea, in deep thought.

The right is not freely given.

He turns to the west, to the source of the strange cry.

It is earned, it is fought for, it is taken.

He begins walking.

“It will heal,” Alicent frets. “Will it not, maester?”

Aemond winces as the needle pierces his flesh, dreading the answer; but even with one eye, he sees it on the maester’s face as clear as if he had both.

Alicent audibly sobs at the revelation, and Aemond isn’t sure if his feeling light-headed was due to the blood loss, the pain from the little scuffle he’d gotten into earlier, or just remnants of his encounter with Vhagar. He tries to link it to the last factor; it was the only good thing he got out of the entire ordeal.

He’s no stranger to dragon-riding, as you’ve taken him up on Silverwing many times before. But to be completely alone, to hold the reins and be solely responsible for directing the flight, to ride the largest dragon in the world, a Conqueror’s dragon—

Something flutters in his periphery, and Aemond turns his face to see you, still in your nightclothes. He opens his mouth, about to call out for you, knowing that surely you of all people would rejoice at the news…

But he watches as you rush past everyone else to where Lucerys was, his face still bloody and nose crooked from where Aemond had punched him. Lucerys cries out when you attempt to set his nose, and you shush him comfortingly, kissing the top of his head before checking on Jacaerys.

What little happiness left in Aemond ebbs away as Rhaenyra calls for him to be “sharply” questioned, as Viserys demands he reveals where he heard the rumors over Rhaenyra’s sons parentage, as Alicent loses her patience and attempts to exert justice on his behalf by force. All those he could have lived with…if not for you standing behind Rhaenyra quietly, moving only to shield Jacaerys and Lucerys from Alicent. If not for you barely even sparing him a glance.

When he tells his mother an eye was a fair trade for a dragon, he means it.

But when he thinks about you as part of the price, he's not as certain.

"Be calm, Vhagar," Aemond instructs the great beast. He tries to climb the ropes, as he had the night before, but Vhagar continues to squirm.

He sighs, trying to focus. Walking was already disorienting enough on its own, but flying with a limited depth of perception was another matter entirely. But Aemond's no stranger to challenges—this is just another he has to conquer.

"Obey, Vhagar," he reminds the dragon. "Serve me."

"She feels your pain," someone tells him, in the same tongue.

Aemond grips his ropes tightly, his jaw tightening as he tries to maintain his composure. He turns in the direction of his good eye, and when he finds no one, he lets go of the ropes to turn the other way around. Sure enough, you were there, in full riding gear.

He'd forgotten that he was supposed to stop by Dragonstone to pick an egg. And he'd forgotten that that was probably the only reason you had to return to King's Landing.

Now, perhaps, he's left you with no other choice but to remain on Driftmark, as Rhaenyra and her family did. Worse, you'd probably go back and dig up your own potential match to Qoren Martell.

Funnily enough, though, the thought didn't stress him out as it used to.

"Dragons and their riders share a special bond," you continue. High Valyrian was the most beautiful language to ever exist, and even with all things considered, Aemond still thinks it's at its best when he hears it from you. "What you feel, they feel. Your friends are theirs, and your enemies, they will endeavor to crush."

"You say it like it's a bad thing," he says.

"I say it as a warning," you reply. "You must keep your emotions in check if you want to have a safe flight, without any dire consequences."

Aemond laughs humorlessly. " "Keeping emotions in check"? Is that what you did last night?"

You frown. "You don’t understand."

"I lost my eye," Aemond hisses, pointing to the bandaged side of his face. "On account of that bastard."

"Aemond.”

"You were supposed to be on my side!" He's raising his voice now, and Vhagar shakes her head in agitation. "You understood me better than anyone, you know the truth about our nephews, you were supposed to stand aside and let my mother seek justice!"

"They are our blood, regardless," you remind him gently. "We protect our own."

He stomps in frustration. "You were supposed to be happy for me," he snarls. "I have a dragon now, and all of those warlock shits that you spoke to were all wrong. I proved them wrong."

"Yes, you did," you tell him, and it takes everything in him not to pull his hair out over your patience. "But I hope you know that having one does not change who we are. Dragon or no dragon, you are still you. Still Aemond."

His fury threatens to boil over. "Go away."

"I want to help you, Aemond," you coax. "You've gotten past the first ride, yes, but with one eye, you're going into unknown territory. You will need a new saddle, too. There's still so much I can teach you."

"Go away!" he screams, running forward just to push you away. "I don't need you! Don't come near me, don't ever presume to speak my name, and don't you ever come home!"

Perhaps it had been a trick of the light, but he thinks he sees you flinch. Whatever it is, you try to maintain your composure. "You don't mean that, Aemond."

"I do," he insists, turning and hauling himself up the ropes. "I hate you. Go away."

It takes nearly forever before he finally reaches the saddle. The view from atop Vhagar with one eye certainly was disorienting, but not as bad as he'd originally thought. He looks up to see Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already up in the air, and he gains a sense of pride; he would be flying back to King's Landing with his trueborn siblings.

Out of habit, he tries to ascertain where you were. He deduces you had left just as he'd demanded you to, but pushes the guilt down to focus.

"Obey me, Vhagar," he shouts over the wind. "Fly!"

The dragon rumbles in response, and Aemond holds on tightly as Vhagar makes her way towards the edge of the cliff, before spreading her wings and taking flight. The short drop makes his stomach flutter delightfully, and he tugs on the reins to pull her higher into the sky.

He drinks in the feeling of seeing Aegon and Helaena on either side of him, and even dips Vhagar to greet his mother watching atop the same ship he'd arrived at Driftmark on.

When he finally gets the nerve to look back, Driftmark continues to disappear into the distance, but he can barely make out a familiar figure flying east.

He turns his attention back forward, thinking of nothing but the breeze in his hair and the sun washing over his skin.

The morningstar swings idly at Criston's side as he and Aemond circle each other, like mountain lions about to pounce at any given moment. Aemond twirls his sword in his hand, scanning his opponent from head to toe and watching his every move.

When Criston swings, Aemond dodges, immediately understanding what fight pattern his teacher was about to go for after years of experience. The crowd around him grows, the whispers now starting to irritate him, but he remains calm and collected.

The morningstar comes down on Aemond's other side, and he moves; he treats it as a dance, and the weapon an overeager partner (gods know how many Aemond's had to deal with at feasts).

Criston smirks, but Aemond can tell he's running out of steam. "Shall we have a respite, old man?" he teases.

His teacher opens his mouth to retort, but he's interrupted by a guard by the nearest watchtower.

"Dragon!"

Aemond looks up in confusion. All dragons go straight to the Dragonpit, he thinks. Why would they warn of a dragon, unless…

A high trilling sound, louder than what was normally heard so deep into the Red Keep, causes everyone within the vicinity to look around. Aemond's fingers slacken around his sword—he knows that call.

Silverwing soars into the courtyard, circling the area thrice before Aemond realizes she was trying to land.

"Clear the way!" His voice booms across the yard, and servants, nobles, and guards alike frantically move to open up a space for the dragon to land.

However, it did not seem to be what the silver mount had in mind; gasps ranging from those of shock to wonder echo throughout the Red Keep when you land your dragon atop the very gate, causing those on the watchtowers on either side of you to cry out in fear.

Aemond shakes his head in disbelief, watching in a near-trance as Silverwing dips down to allow you to dismount carefully. The years melt away as you walk over to where he and Criston were training, completely ignoring the stares you were receiving.

"Princess," Criston says, bowing deeply. "You know dragons aren't allowed this deep into the Red Keep."

"Really?" you ask, raising your eyebrows. "There are a whole score of them here, so I did not think it any harm to add one more."

Criston laughs, a short but genuine sound. "Welcome home, Princess."

You nod your head in response, before turning to Aemond. He remembers the last words he spoke to you as if he'd just said them yesterday, and not all those years ago. He remembers panicking after you never indeed come home, opting to resume your travels across the Free Cities.

He remembers spending six years trying to come to terms with the fact that he might never see you again.

What does he even say, now that you've proved him wrong?

Thankfully, you relieve him of that burden. "Brother," you greet amicably.

He opens and closes his mouth like a fish, trying (and failing) to piece together a sentence. Criston shoots him a sideways glance.

Aemond eventually settles for a nod, before his sword slides out of his grasp.

You look like you're about to burst into laughter.

"I hope he's better with a sword than he is with women, Ser Criston," you say wryly, before heading into the castle.

As soon as you've disappeared, Criston turns to Aemond, a single eyebrow raised.

"Be quiet," Aemond mumbles as he reaches for his sword.

Aemond doesn’t mull over the potential reasons for your arrival long, as the answer comes to him by the news that you have not left Viserys’ bedside all day, even to eat. He leaves you to it, equally because the incense in his father’s room lingers about him for hours, and equally because he has nothing to say to you.

But whatever your intentions were, they immediately took second place in favor of the news that the Sea Snake had suffered a mortal wound while fighting in the Stepstones, leaving the succession of Driftmark in doubt. Rhaenyra, along with her now-husband Daemon, all but materialize into the Red Keep, no doubt to secure Lucerys’ claim.

Aemond next sees you on the day all claims to the Driftwood Throne were made, just before the entire court had begun to settle in. In a brief stroke of madness, he makes his way over to where you were, drinking in your startled expression before changing course towards Rhaenyra and her sons. He gives them the usual courtesies, much to their bewilderment, and even strikes up a conversation with Jacaerys over their encounter in the courtyard, where he was training. His good eye flickers over to you, silently bidding you watch as he walks over to Daemon.

To his great satisfaction, he’s a couple of inches taller.

Aemond could have sworn he saw you smile.

It does occur to him that perhaps you have come to fulfill your father’s wishes and to marry at last, now that Viserys is on the brink of death and the succession (in Aemond’s mind, at least) remains unclear.

No doubt that thought weighs heavily on Alicent’s mind, also, given that she’s let slip a couple of times that she’d wished for you to marry one of Vaemond Velaryon’s sons. But that plan died on the floor of the throne room along with Vaemond himself, who destroyed his ambition by letting his pride get the best of him.

Through you, any House would have closer ties to the throne, and the various other lineages you’ve been linked to. That House would also be bound to whichever party secured that pact for, and all their strength and swords would be theirs.

Perhaps you’d be wed to Joffrey. No doubt that would keep you on Rhaenyra’s side forever, had you not already declared for her in all but writing. Qoren Martell was no longer a viable option, given that he’d taken your absence as an insult and married some other noble lady. Had Borros Baratheon not already married, you’d probably be his, owing to his House having hosted you in your youth. Cregan Stark. Whomever at the Vale had the claim after Jeyne Arryn. Some old and balding Riverlands lord.

But Aemond has a better idea.

Your serving girl answers the door, and her eyes widen at the sight of Aemond looming over her.

“Is the Princess still awake?” he asks quietly.

The serving girl swallows. “She is, my Prince, but…”

“I thank you in advance for your discretion,” he interrupts, reaching over to place a bag of gold dragons in her hand. Bribery was the oldest trick in the book, and yet it was always Aemond’s last resort; so many things, even principles and skills that people spend their whole life trying to cling to, could be traded at the mere sight of a gold dragon.

To the girl’s credit, she seems to struggle over the dilemma, and Aemond owes it to her to give her a moment. When she purses her lips and turns away, he steps back in victory.

The few times he’s entered your apartments, it’s always empty, on account of you being somewhere else. He’s never had a reason to stay long, if only to bask in the ambience of a room you’d spend a lot of your time in, before turning to other matters that require his attention.

Now that you’re there, however, he realizes it does not differ much from his own apartments. The same layout, but a different air about it. Less cold. More you.

Aemond waits for the serving girl to close the door behind her, and he keeps a respectful distance from your bed, allowing you some time to make yourself presentable.

“The hour is quite late, brother,” comes your tired tone.

“My apologies, sweet sister,” he says, walking forward. “I had to see you.”

You were indeed already in bed, putting a book aside when he stands at the edge. You regard him carefully, clearly wondering about the purpose of his visit, before you sigh and move to throw the covers off yourself.

He holds up a hand. “Please.”

“I cannot see you in this light,” you reason.

“Then allow me.”

Aemond takes the box of matches from you, moving about the room to light the candles. The room glows brighter, allowing him to see the shift you had put on for bed. Your silver hair hangs about you like spun moonlight, and he has to fight the urge to reach out and touch it.

“To what do I owe this late-night visit, then?”

Aemond sets the matchbox down, before turning to you. “I apologize, again,” he says. “I was not certain you’d stay in the Red Keep for long.”

“And why is that, do you think?”

“I regret I do not have the answer. You’ve never really explained the reasons behind your frequent absences from court.”

His direct tone surprises you, and he sees it in your face. But gone are the days where he stumbles over his words, cherry-picks through them to find the ones that would please you the most.

The boy you knew died the night his eye had been taken. And he wants to prove it to you.

“You think your little stunt this evening will not change anything?”

A smirk threatens to play on his lips. “Call it what you will, I was simply expressing how proud I am of my family.”

“Clearly, pride comes in the form of insulting your nephews’ parentage,” you shoot back.

“Is that why you’re contemplating leaving again? Leaving Father to succumb to his wounds alone over the truth?”

He’s never seen you this angry before; you were always the most patient sibling. “Did you come here to try and elicit some anger from me? Was your intention to alienate the only friend you have at court?”

His jaw clenches. “I am the Prince. I have no shortage of friends.”

You scoff. “With that tongue of yours, I am sure that’s true.”

“If you would like to bring my tongue into this matter, I can talk of more than just friends.”

“Your nocturnal activities mean little to me, Aemond,” you say, your tone getting fiercer and fiercer with every word. “If you mean to brag about your conquests, I suggest going to your brother instead of me. Now, if there is nothing else—”

“Why do you refuse to marry?”

Now that catches you off-guard. You look up at Aemond questioningly, but he stands his ground. He will not repeat it. He knows you have heard.

“I—I hardly think any of my decisions should matter—”

“But they do,” Aemond interrupts, moving forward to sit at the edge of your bed. “Had Father been anyone but who he is, you would have long been married by now, with children. Your husband and children would have been Rhaenyra’s, if you insisted on backing her claim. You know the benefits, and yet you refused. Why is that?”

You sigh, fidgeting with the covers uncomfortably. “I do not expect a man, even you, dear brother, to understand.”

“I’m smart. Try me.”

You give him a look so scathing, that if he were a lesser man, he would have backed down immediately. But the fire in your eyes sets his blood aflame, and he wants nothing more than to stoke them.

“My mother died attempting to give Father a male heir,” you say. “Laena gave her life for a son that did not live and wanted to ride Vhagar before she bled out. Helaena has to bear children for a philandering, drunken husband who shares her bed only when he’s out of whores to fuck. Rhaenyra dedicates her life to a realm who will not accept her because she has a mind of her own and not a cock between her legs. History will not give you women that are as miserable as the ones in our family.”

“And yet, you run from your duty to save your own skin.”

You elect not to respond to that.

Aemond sighs. “Qoren Martell would have cherished you. He said he’d wait forever for you.”

“If “forever” meant half a year, certainly,” you mumble. “I have no desire to marry, Aemond. No one expects me to be Queen, nor would my children ever come close to the throne. My only regret is that I never told my father the truth when he was still sound of mind.”

Aemond remains silent, letting your words sink in, while wrestling with his own. You lean forward, letting the covers fall to expose your skin. His eye widens at the sight, and he swallows thickly as you reach for his hand. As your fingers close around his, he has to wonder: were they always this small?

Against his will, his body turns towards you, and he shuffles up your bed so you don’t have to reach that far to touch him. With your other hand, you cup the side of his face, and he briefly flinches when you gingerly brush the pads of your fingers against his scar.

“May I?” you whisper.

He was never one to refuse you.

He keeps his one eye closed as the eyepatch leaves his skin, and is replaced by your curious fingers. He hears you suck in a breath.

He opens his eye to see you regarding the sapphire, your gift to him all those years ago, with a strange sort of reverence (despite the playful jab he had offered). He knows you’ve already seen his missing eye at its worst: swollen shut and stitches marring his face. Now, the scar has healed but not quite disappeared; Lucerys Velaryon had made his mark on Aemond forever.

He’s taken to putting jewels where his eye used to be so as not to scare the ladies at court, but he finds your sapphire fits the best, ironically. The parallels to his father's eye, gouged out by his illness and eaten through by maggots, is not lost on him, either.

"You haven't seen it since it happened," Aemond says. "It's healed. But it has left its mark. There are some things that just cannot be forgotten, as your sister is so often told otherwise."

"Our sister," you correct him. "And I know Rhaenyra regrets the incident, too."

"I don't need any of her regrets or apologies."

"Then why are you here?"

Aemond doesn't answer, and instead fixes you with the same chilling, weighted stare that he’s often been chided by his mother for having. Had you been a lesser being, you would have cracked under the pressure of his gaze.

But you are the blood of the dragon, fierce and proud and unafraid. No man, not even the one you share blood with, could ever make you back down. The look in your eyes ignites something in him; a feeling not unlike the one he gets every single time on dragonback. He steals a glimpse of the smooth expanse of your throat, then lower, and even lower…

Aemond pulls away sharply, leaving your hand drifting midair.

“The entire kingdom expects you to marry soon, rather than late,” he says, attempting to salvage what was left of his self-control.

You tilt your head. “The kingdom, your mother, or my sister?”

“I regret to say all of them do. But your fears will not be ignored.”

“Do you have a better idea, then?”

Aemond hesitates, testing the words on his tongue before letting them leave his lips. “You could marry me.”

Your reaction is what he expects it to be.

You withdraw your hand sharply and get out of bed, and Aemond gets to his feet, allowing you to increase your distance from him.

“Does…does no one listen to a word I say?” you ask in agitation. “I never thought to hear these words from you, brother, I—”

“This match has its merits,” Aemond says. “I will not insult your intelligence by discussing them one by one.”

“Whose idea was this?”

“…Father’s.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Father?” you ask incredulously. “Father was barely able to speak in complete sentences before today, and you expect me to believe he’s behind such a large arrangement?”

“Can you prove that he isn’t?”

All of a sudden, you’re standing inches away from him, a finger jabbed into his sternum and your eyes blazing with anger. “You are not getting away with this on a technicality,” you hiss. “Tell me the truth of it.”

“Is the thought of marrying me that repulsive to you?”

“Not if it’s born out of lies.” You clutch the collar of his shirt. “Why do you want to marry me, Aemond?”

He looks down at you, and his hands twitch by his sides, no doubt wanting to feel your warmth permeate through your clothes. He can feel your heart hammering underneath your ribs, and he’s sure that if you slide your hands lower, you could feel his racing similarly. Your body melds so perfectly to his, and you breathe in sync, as if engaged in a dance of their own. Every molecule of your body thrums to life underneath his fingers, every second that passes between you is charged with a tension that threatens to push the both of you over the precipice, and still you do not see.

He hates that, even with one eye, he does.

You await his answer with bated breath, but he sees the way your eyes briefly flicker down to his lips.

“Aemond,” you whisper.

“To…to preserve the family line,” he answers.

And your face just falls.

You gently detach yourself from him, leaving him impossibly cold despite the roar of the fireplace nearby.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat. “I’m afraid I will have to refuse you. As I did Qoren. As I did everyone else.”

Your words echo around his mind, as if you’d shouted it to him in an empty corridor. Aemond does nothing but stare at you, and you hold his gaze with a practiced ease.

He doesn’t remember leaving your room, nor does he remember if you’d said anything to him as he did. But the next day, he breaks fast alone: his mother missing, Aegon not expected to wake until well in the afternoon, Helaena tending to the children, and Rhaenyra’s family having left for Dragonstone at first light.

When a messenger arrives to inform him that Silverwing had left the Dragonpit before dawn, he simply waves them away.

Aemond takes the death of his father in stride.

He operates exactly how logic demands him to, what he’s always been expected to do. He takes great pains to track Aegon down and forces him to face the reality that Aemond would have accepted without a fight. He keeps Jaehaerys and Jaehaera company as Helaena is prepared for her joint coronation with Aegon, sobbing the whole time her maids fit her into her dress, all the while fighting back thoughts of you donning the magnificent dress made for a future queen.

He gets through the coronation, and is momentarily forced into action when Meleys and Rhaenys disrupt the ceremony. But when the Red Queen and the Queen Who Never Was depart, he settles back into his work.

None of the things he was doing required emotion. He had no need for it. He’s gone for so long without an eye, he can live without a heart.

It’s why he can accept Borros Baratheon’s terms without batting an eye, why he can choose the first of his daughters that crosses his line of sight. He may grow to love her, he thinks, as he offers her a tight-lipped smile, and he may look at her someday without you lurking in the back of his mind.

But the gods that decreed he’d lose an eye, the gods who damned him to years of being dragon-less, are the very same gods that bring Lucerys Velaryon to Storm’s End.

“Go home, pup,” Borros spits, his voice booming like thunder all over the hall. “And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up and need to set against her foes.”

Lucerys keeps his head up, unwilling to show any semblance of weakness. Aemond wants to laugh; his entire body screams fear from head to toe. “I shall take your answer to the Queen,” he replies, his voice steadying at the last word. “My lord.”

Ever the consummate fighter. Had he not been born a bastard, Aemond might have actually liked him.

“Wait,” he calls out. “My Lord Strong.”

Lucerys pauses, taking a moment before looking back at Aemond. His eyes glint with a familiar fire that only eggs Aemond on.

“Did you really think,” he says. “That you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

Lucerys scoffs. “I will not fight you,” he asserts. “I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge. No…” Aemond moves to remove his eyepatch, a burst of lightning illuminating the sapphire sitting where his eye used to be. “I want you to put out your eye. As payment for mine.”

Lucerys pales. For a moment, Aemond wonders if he recognizes the jewel in his eye socket. He presumes not, and even with you now forever out of his grasp, he can’t help but feel a sense of triumph. He had something Lucerys Velaryon had not—your favor.

“One will serve,” he continues casually, retrieving the dagger he keeps on his person and tossing it onto the ground between them. “I would not blind you. I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

What fear was in Lucerys’ face left at the sight of the blade, and was replaced by an expression of pure defiance. The adrenaline rushes through Aemond’s veins, practically begging Lucerys to make one wrong move. The looming threat of war, the despair that threatens to crush his mother, the look on Lucerys’ face that looks so much like—

“The Princess [Y/N] of House Targaryen!”

Lucerys nearly staggers in his attempt to turn to the door, and the lump in Aemond’s throat rises as you walk into the hall. You take one confused look at Lucerys, another at Aemond, then at Borros Baratheon.

“Am I to host the entirety of House Targaryen in my hall?” Borros shouts.

You raise an eyebrow. “I admit my surprise at seeing two more dragons than expected in your courtyard,” you say. “But, lest my lord forget, you invited me for the Lady Cassandra’s nameday tomorrow.”

Aemond frowns, and Lucerys looks equally confused. Was it possible that you hadn’t…

Borros gets to his feet. “I will not have this,” he snarls. “I will not be spoken to so casually by dragonspawn, and the least of them, least of all!”

Lucerys reaches for his sword, a look of great affront painted all over his face. Aemond turns his attention to Borros, ready to strike at any given second.

Silence falls over the group, interrupted only by the sounds of the storm raging outside.

You raise your eyebrows.

And Borros bursts into laughter.

Floris stifles a giggle from behind Aemond, as do all her other sisters next to Borros. Aemond and Lucerys share a quick look, all enmity momentarily forgotten in the confusion.

“You have not changed at all, Princess,” Borros continues to laugh heartily, as he settles back into his throne. “My father always told me you would have made a better Baratheon than a Targaryen.”

“And as I’ve told your father, I’d leap off one of your cliffs first before I’d give up the life of a dragonrider,” you say, entering the hall and making your way into its center as if it had been your home all this time.

And it’s then that Aemond remembers you’d been hosted at Storm’s End in your youth, and later named godmother to one of Borros’ daughters.

“But I must admit my confusion, Princess,” Borros says, as soon as he’s finished wiping the tears from his eyes. “I hardly think this is the time for celebrating.”

“I fly all the way back from Volantis to be told it isn’t the time for celebrating,” you repeat dryly.

Borros looks at Lucerys, to Aemond, then back to you. You mimic the action, and when your eyes settle on Aemond, it takes a while for you to get it.

Your lips part in shock, and he watches as your eyes slowly widen.

“I’m…I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Princess,” Borros says, his voice sounding the gentlest Aemond has ever heard all day despite the gruffness in his tone. “You know how highly my father and I held the late King in regard. If there is anything we might do…”

“You are too kind, my lord.” You clear your throat. “You are right, of course, this is not the time for celebrations. I will see the Lady Cassandra on the morrow, but first…” You walk over to Lucerys and wrap an arm around him. “I believe Prince Lucerys’ business here is finished. I ask your leave to escort him back to Dragonstone.”

“Granted,” Borros replies. “Safe travels, my friend.”

Aemond seethes as the guards follow suit, and as you press your lips to Lucerys’ ear as you turn him around. “If you leave,” he near-growls. “Then you are craven as well as a traitor.”

Your head whips around, and you meet his gaze with a fury he’s never known you to hold. “Not here,” you snarl.

Wisely, Aemond holds his ground.

You take one last glance at the Baratheons, before tightening your grip on Lucerys and leading him out of the hall.

When the door shuts behind you, Aemond retrieves his knife, just as he hears one of the Baratheon girls scoff. He follows the sound to the lady standing closest to Borros, who had on an expression of pure contempt.

“Princess or not, she had the gall to speak to a Prince like that,” she says. “No wonder she’s not yet married. What man would take her?”

“Maris, hold your tongue,” Floris warns.

Maris ignores her sister, looking at Aemond straight in the eye. “Was it one of your eyes he took, or one of your balls?” she asks, voice sweet as honey despite the venom in her words. “I am so glad you chose my sister. I want a husband with all his parts.”

Aemond’s mouth twists in anger. “Lord Borros,” he nearly spits through his teeth. “I ask your leave to depart, as well.”

Borros harrumphed in response. “It is for me to tell you how to act whilst not under my roof.”

Aemond turns on his heels, barely sparing his betrothed a glance before disappearing out the door.

Despite the relentless rain, all Aemond’s senses were heightened as if he were the beast he rides, focused solely on the hunt. He wants to see that look on Lucerys’ face again—that look of pure fear. Pure helplessness. He wants to see all those years’ worth of misery weigh on his entire being, threatening to crush Lucerys with every second that passes.

The laugh that leaves him is one of pure glee as Lucerys and his dragon just barely dodge Vhagar, and he only urges her after them. He shouts a command, and the great she-dragon opens her jaws, closing with a sickening snap that causes Lucerys to cry out in fear.

The dragon takes Lucerys even lower, and to Aemond’s great dismay, they disappear between two cliffs. He takes Vhagar’s reins and heaves; she follows suit, albeit with great difficulty.

The fog clouds his already-compromised vision, and the only things he sees above the gorge are the tips of dragon wings as it beats up and down. “You owe a debt!” Aemond bellows, the frustration of being denied his vengeance lining every single one of his words. “Boy!”

Vhagar notices it before he does, and moves her head to the left. He barely sees it in the darkness of the storm, but there was an unmistakable flash of white that wasn’t a streak of lightning. He pulls to the left, cursing. Finally took advantage of your handiwork, Lucerys? he thinks bitterly. Flying in my blindspot…who would have thought…

Perhaps the storm had grown fiercer, or the fog had gotten thicker, but Aemond only now gets glimpses of Lucerys’ dragon, unlike the direct confrontation that had occurred just earlier. It was unlikely that it had gotten used to Vhagar’s flight pattern so easily, given its age and how inexperienced Lucerys clearly was…

“There!” he shouts, and Vhagar follows without further instruction. The new direction is one that turns the wind against them, and Aemond wonders how such a young dragon fares in such terrible conditions. But Lucerys and his dragon were now up ahead, growing bigger as Vhagar closes the gap in mere moments…he could have sworn that the dragon was a little brighter than that…

A hard gust of wind nearly blows him back in his saddle; blinking the tears out of his eye, he dodges the cloak that Lucerys had previously donned as it flies past.

Revealing a taller figure in the saddle, sporting bright silver hair…

You sense the shift in Vhagar’s disposition almost immediately.

The roar she lets out is enough to shake the entirety of Storm’s End to its very core, and Silverwing shakes her head, clearly agitated. You glance over your shoulder to see Vhagar being pulled back, and you know you have run out of time.

You could only hope that you had bought enough to allow Lucerys and Arrax to escape.

“Listen carefully, Luke,” you shout over the rain, as both you and your nephew make your way to your dragons. Lightning flashes, and you look to the east; your stomach drops when Vhagar is nowhere to be found. “Aemond will try to follow you as you leave.”

You take Lucerys’ face in your hands. “You must find him and Vhagar first. Get them to chase you, and take them to the gorge just a few miles away from here.”

“How will I—”

“It isn’t hard to miss. Fly Arrax through that gorge, go as low as you can. I will meet you there.”

“But you—”

“After that, go as high as you can and go with the wind so you can go faster.”

“What are you going to do?” he asks fearfully. “Vhagar is the largest dragon in the world, and—and Aemond’s angry, and—”

You shush him, brushing his curls out of his face as you have so many times in his youth. “Vhagar is also the oldest dragon in the world,” you remind him. “And Silverwing and Arrax will look nearly identical in this storm. I will try to stay in Aemond’s blind spot, and trust that his dragon will not know the difference.”

The tears start to well in Lucerys’ eyes. “This is my fault,” he begins to cry.

“It is not, sweet boy.” You pull him into an embrace, and Lucerys grips onto your shoulders almost painfully. When Arrax shrieks, and Silverwing hisses at the sky, you pry yourself out of Lucerys’ grasp, tilting his head up.

“I may still reason with Aemond,” you say. “But at least one of us must make it back to Rhaenyra, to tell her what has happened here. I intend it to be you.”

“But—”

“Be brave, Lucerys,” you tell him, and in High Valyrian, you command just as much as you soothe.

Your mother had told you to be brave, too, just days before she’d died on the birthing bed.

Was that the same fate that awaits you in the jaws of a dragon? You suppose that, one way or another, you would leave this world in the same manner.

You find a rocky beach, and you will Silverwing towards it. The pebbles crunch in a strange sort of symphony under her feet, as it does under yours when you dismount. The waves pummel the shore just inches away from where you stand, waiting for the inevitable.

You press your forehead against Silverwing’s head, feeling the she-dragon purr at the contact. No doubt she was feeling the same things you were feeling, after so many years of flying together, but you want to let her know how much she means to you.

A terrifying growl shakes the beach, and Silverwing hisses as Vhagar appears just above you. You hold onto her as the dragon hits the ground, her sheer size causing nearly half of her body to be submerged in the ocean.

You watch as her rider dismounts, his blade glinting in the darkness as he makes his way over to you. When you move to meet him halfway, Silverwing blocks your path, wailing. You feel a surge of affection for your dragon wash over you.

“Be calm,” you instruct her. “Obey.”

Silverwing keens in protest, but obliges, withdrawing reluctantly, only to roar in contempt when Aemond points his blade towards your neck.

Amidst the heavy rain and thick fog, Aemond Targaryen stands tall and proud, his missing eye doing little to discredit the fact that he now looks every inch a god. You could find no trace of the boy you’d known all those years ago, the one who’d followed you everywhere in the Red Keep, the only one of your half-siblings who’d managed to maintain a solid correspondence with you when you were away.

But perhaps he is still in there, somewhere hidden behind the clear wrath in his eye.

“None can stand between a dragon and its prey,” you begin. “A Conqueror’s dragon and her blood, even less.”

“And yet here you stand,” Aemond spits.

“And yet here I stand,” you repeat calmly.

Aemond studies you carefully. You keep your gaze trained on him, completely ignoring the blade he holds to your throat.

“You know the truth of Rhaenyra’s sons,” he hisses. “You’re no fool, yet you choose not to see it. Would you let the pups of House Strong sit on our father’s throne, and his grandfather before him?”

“They have just as much Targaryen blood as you do.”

“Do not—” He presses the tip of his sword directly against your skin, and Silverwing growls in warning. “Do not dare question my heritage.”

“I would never,” you say quietly. “But surely you see why I cannot let you do this.”

“Would you lay down your life for your traitor kin?”

“They are all I have left.” Your voice quivers dangerously. “You may deny their parentage all you like, but you cannot deny that they are my blood still.”

“I am your blood!” You hadn’t realized that Aemond had dropped his blade in favor of closing the distance between the two of you, looming over you like a malevolent shadow in the pouring rain. “‘Tis I who know you better than anyone else; I, who wrote back to you and sat every night by the windows of the Red Keep waiting for you to return; ‘tis I who study history and philosophy and politics to elevate myself to your level.”

Thunder rumbles overhead, and you blink the rain out of your eyes as you continue to stare up at Aemond. You think you catch a glimpse of the child he once was when he holds your gaze so defiantly, but he scoffs, and turns away from you.

“Lord Borros was right,” he spits. “I stand to destroy myself, risk my brother’s cause, worry my mother senseless, and for what? The whims of the last in line to the throne? A mere afterthought, forever in the shadow of her sister? A spoiled bitch who flees with her tail between her legs at the very thought of duty?”

You shake your head, and despite the gravity of the situation, you have to smile. The rocks crunch beneath your feet as you move towards him this time. When your hand presses against the middle of his shoulders, just opposite of his heart, you feel him jolt.

“Words hurt less to those who have heard the same all their lives,” you tell him gently. “But if it comforts you to lash out at me, I will not stop you. I daresay by the time you end, Luke will have already returned to Dragonstone.”

Aemond growls as he turns and grabs you by your arms. Silverwing hisses and snaps, but backs down when Vhagar moves forward.

“Stop acting as if I was a child,” he demands. “I can challenge the greatest knight of the Seven Kingdoms and ride the largest dragon our world has ever known. I am the closest in line to the Throne. The Aemond you knew died the night Lucerys Strong took my eye, and if you mourn him, you will step aside.”

“I cannot,” you whisper, but you might as well have screamed it in his ear. “I told you on Driftmark, didn’t I? You are still the Aemond I know. The Aemond who fought during my nameday tourney all those years ago, giving it his all despite being out of the lists earlier on. You believed that it was Alicent that put you in the lower lists, did you not?”

Aemond stares at you, clearly not following.

“You thought and acted exactly as I’d hoped. I’m sorry you were embarrassed because of it. But…if you would forgive my selfishness…I wanted you by my side in the King’s box, not injuring yourself on the jousting field for my favor. I would have always given you my favor, no matter how many you’d win against.”

You reach up to brush away the hair sticking against his face in the cold rain. “Because it’s you,” you say, running a thumb down the strap of his eyepatch before gently lifting it up. “You’re my Aemond.”

The sapphire that once sat in the brooch you gave him glints in what little light the storm permits to shine. No doubt that to many, it only serves to further unnerve those who already shift uncomfortably in his presence, but to you, it rivals the stars you’d stared at, thousands of leagues away from home, quietly wondering if Aemond was looking at them too.

The expression on his face is a mixture of surprise, admiration, and pain all into one. You know his true feelings; he’d made it known the night he asked for your hand. You would have given it to him gladly, freely, had he been honest about his reasons. A loveless marriage was the last thing you wanted for yourself in this lifetime, the very reason you’d run away from home all those years ago, causing your own father grief; you weren’t about to have it start with a blatant lie.

You think he understands everything now, by the way his shoulders slump and how Vhagar nearly purrs in content. It’s only confirmed when he reaches for your hand, still warm despite the biting cold.

“You’re not playing fair,” Aemond murmurs. “You would make me a kinslayer…every word you speak will damn me for all eternity, and yet…”

He shakes his head. “You know why I’ve come here. Baratheon’s banners for a marriage pact. You’ve scorned me once before. What makes you think I could ever give in to you now?”

“I dare not force you to choose,” you respond. “But know that I will not move from this place; how you will deny me, I leave it to you.”

Aemond’s mouth twitches. “How kind of you to make things simple for me.”

He backs away, and you close your eyes, waiting for the frigid storm to be drowned out by a shower of dragonflame. You think of Lucerys, and how you hope Arrax was able to navigate the storm all the way back to Dragonstone. You think of Rhaenyra, too, your sole full-blood sister, and the tears that you’d shared together in the Sept on your namedays. Your chest grows heavy with grief at the thought of Viserys, and how he’d begged you with his rattling breath to stay, only for you to leave the very night he’d passed.

You should think about what your death would mean; the pain that would cause your kin, the war that was bound to follow. But your last thought, ironically, might ultimately be of the man who would bring about your demise.

Seconds pass. Silverwing falls silent.

And you feel Aemond’s lips on yours.

#🍡—dango-works #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x ofc #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond x targaryen!reader

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fallingintoyourlilaceyes · 5 months

Text

Let me put my lips to something (Alicent Hightower x Reader)

synopsis: Neglected by your husband, you find a confidant in Alicent, who is being treated the same way by her own husband. The depth of that trust and friendship however stay hidden to the two of you until one faithfull evening.

warnings: period typical homophobia, more porn than plot, kissing, oral sex, afab reader

word count: 3k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall, @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom/series or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

It is late when you knock at the queen´s chambers. You are aware it is, but you don´t know where else to go as well. Trying to keep a neutral expression on your face for the servants that walk by you, your foot taps on the stone floor, until the heavy doors finally open. You can tell Alicent is surprised to see you at this time of day.

“The hour is late. Are you feeling well?” She asks with worry coating her voice.

It takes a while for you to find your own voice as you see her standing in front of you however. She looks so beautiful. Her curly, auburn hair flows over her shoulders perfectly and the dressing gown covering her night dress adulates her figure in the most flattering ways.

“May I come in?” You ask quietly so that only the woman can hear.

“Naturally.” Alicent steps aside to let you in.

Together the two of you sit down at the table in her rooms and suddenly you are more nervous than before your knuckles grazed her door.

“I must say, you look positively radiant this evening.” You compliment her in the hope to distract her attention from the way your fingers pick at each other and you eyebrows pull together. To no avail.

“You are amongst friends. Speak your mind freely. What is wearing so heavy on your soul?” Alicent lays her hand on yours to keep you from hurting yourself. Much like you often did to her. The touch sends a spark of electricity through your arm to your heart, making it stop for just a beat. You weren't sure how it had happened but after you married her eldest son, the queen and you had become a source of comfort for each other. Both neglected by your husbands and left to fend for yourselves against a seemingly uncaring world. Or court at least. And some time in the three years you now lived in the Red Keep, you had found yourself falling for the one person you could never have. Not only a woman, but the queen of the seven kingdoms none the less.

"My Queen. My friend. You know I do not like to speak ill of people, even more so when it is your own son I am speaking about. Yet every day more I feel I am not strong enough for this marital bond. I find myself wishing Aegon would simply divorce me. The silent sisters or even the wall would seem like a simpler lot."

“I feel for you and I do not blame you for such thought, my dear. Yet I must also protest. You possess much more strength than you think. I can see it in your eyes. Your husband may not know how lucky he is in having someone so lovely and intelligent besides him…” She pauses in the middle of her sentence and never finishes it. Searching anything in the room but your eyes.

“I cannot thank you enough for listening to my foolish worries. They must seem so small compared to what you have to endure.” Your hands take a hold of her delicate ones and you allow your thumb to caress the back of them to get her attention again.

Unbeknownst to you that simple action drives her heart to pound against her chest in a much quicker rhythm than before.

“If they burden you they are not foolish at all. Better to voice them in the safety of this chamber than to break from them. I have to admit, I do feel like I am trapped in a gilded cage from time to time. Though your presence has made my suffering more bearable.” An inexplicable blush lays itself over the queen´s pale features at the last sentence.

“I will always be here for you, dear friend. For as long as I breathe.” You squeeze the woman’s hands gently to emphasize the intent in your words. Words that speak of a love far deeper than the one for a mere friend.

One of your hands leaves her touch to rest against her rosy cheek. Your thumb caressing over the warm skin. The air between the two of you seems to crack with tension. Her breath falters under your fingertips and suddenly nothing between you seems like it should be between friends. The underlying feeling of her being your husbands mother is gone entirely. It encouraged you to utter the words you swore you would never tell a single living soul.

“May I confess something else? Something darker than what I laid upon you already?” You feel Alicent nod under your hand. It is your only answer as you avert your gaze in shame at the desire you are about to share.

“I had a dream last night. Stemming from desires I tried to hide and pray away for some time now, but all the praying in the world was for naught.” Your voice is barely above a rough whisper.

“What happened in that dream?” Follows Alicent´s question. Equally as quiet at the seriousness of the moment.

“I dreamt about you…” The words come out only slowly. “And me. We were lying in bed. You were writhing underneath me in pleasurer at my touch. It was a most sinful, yet beautiful dream.”

Alicent is left speechless, with an even higher beating heart and an animated fantasy. Despite that, her words speak of the opposite sentiment.

“This… this is highly inappropriate. We are both married and even if we weren´t this could never be by the laws of the seven. It would be better for you to retire to your chambers now” The words have so little conviction that you are unsure who she is trying to convince.

Your thumb wipes over her heated cheek once more and before you know it there are mere inches separating her lips from yours. Your eyes meet hers one last time and with a shuttering breath you taste her lips on yours. It´s only for a moment, but that tentative touch heightens your senses massively. When your eyes open again Alicent´s brown ones are already looking back at you. Uncertain, searching in yours for what to do next, for an answer to all this.

“You need to leave. Now. Before this can lead to anything… more…” The brunette stands up, walking out of reach to wrap her arms around herself. The feelings of shame and want clashed inside of her. Swirling in her stomach in a whirlwind of emotional conflict.

“Please, do not send me away so soon.” You plead in a soft tone. Walking after her to lay your hands on her shoulders. “I am begging you, dear friend.”

Alicent doesn´t push them away. Instead she turns around to take your hands once more.

“What are you doing to me?” She breathes.

“I merely wish to love you. To worship you, just like you deserve. Even if it is for one night only. Let me prove the true nature of my feelings to you. I care naught for how sinful these desires are. You are too beautiful not to sin.” You lead your friend to her bed and sit her down beside you. “Will you let me?”

Your hands travel the length over Alicent´s arms with feather light touches as you wait for an answer. Taking in the satin of her dressing gown underneath your finger tips and the silky, smooth texture of her hair as you put it behind her ear.

Her soft lips part to make way for a fluttering breath to escape and then she leans in to lock her lips with yours again. It takes not even a second for you to respond to it. At first they brush over Alicent's lips in a slow, sensual manner. You try not to overwhelm her with everything. That however quickly wanes, when her tongue presses against your lip to silently ask for entrance. Of course you let her in letting her tongue explore your mouth and dance with yours as you do. One of your hands wanders down to open the dressing gown and slips it off Alicent´s shoulders. Wandering up the front of her body, grazing her breasts that were now only clothed in a thin nightdress anymore. The way her heart beats against it clearly tangible. Assuring you that your friend is just as excited as you are. Next your hands gently push the older woman backwards by the shoulder, to lay on the bed as you straddle her hips. Letting your hands wander over her breasts over the fabric of her nightdress once more, a small moan falls sounds off into the room. Her body has long since forgotten what is happening right now is a sin. She feels herself being pulled into the heat of the moment, letting her body go loose to the touches of her friend´s hands. You part from her only for a second, trying to gather yourself. It is so unbelievable that you are lucky enough to be allowed to touch her in this way. Then you place a peck to the corner of her now kiss swollen lips, trailing more passionate, open-mouthed kisses along the length of the side of her neck. Looking down, Alicent's fingers clutch at the blankets, her hips instinctively rising towards yours as your bodies brush against each other. Another moan escapes Alicent's lips, as the tingling sensation your touch leaves behind and that excites her more and more.

“Do you know how long I have desired this...?” Alicent whispers in a voice full of passion, her voice catching in her throat.

“Tell me how long.” You murmur against the hollow at the base of Alicent's throat. Mouthing at it and then kissing further down to her collar bones. Alternating between soft kisses and gentle nibbles.

When the queen´s hips raise off the mattress again, you shift your weight to put a leg between both of her thighs, to assist her in her search for more friction to satisfy the need for more stimulation.

Alicent turns her head to be able to look into your eyes, even though they are blurred because of lust and love and the way her body rubs against yours. Her heart still pounding heavy in her chest.

“Since I first saw you. When you came to the keep after the match was made. Your dress was such a beautiful green and you hair… Oh, your hair.” Alicent's voice trails off as she closes her eyes, unable to keep looking for the moment.

“Keep looking at me. I want to see your eyes.” You whisper into Alicent's ear with a soft dominant tone. Waiting until you have your lover´s eyes on you again to push up the nightdress to reveal her pale skin and the rosy nipples that sit atop her beautiful breasts.

“ I cannot.” Alicent says while trying to hide her face, but she can't manage too.

You grab her chin between your thumb and forefinger to turn her face back to you and her body is overcome with lust, and her mind is consumed by the image of your hair in her hands. Your eyes looking deeply into hers, with a look as if she had created the world and your lips on her supple skin.

“Look at me.” You whisper with more emphasis. “You are so beautiful.”

“Yes, oh yes.” Alicent whispers in a faint voice, her breath catching in her throat.

She feels her mind go hollow and her heart beating so fast it feels like it is about to explode. She moans again and again as she is overwhelmed with so much more than she has ever been able to desire in her lifetime.

“You are a goddess…” You murmur breathlessly against her breasts. Your tongue swirling around the erect buds until they are painfully hard. Blowing on them to elicit another sound of pleasure, before you close your lips around the peaks of her chest to nibble and suck on them.

Meanwhile your hands find Alicent's hips. Leading them with a firm grip in a slow rhythm to drag against her thigh.

Alicent's breath comes out in hot, shallow breaths. Her entire being is consumed with your touch, her body shaking.

“It's like heaven. It's divine, that touch of yours.” Alicent's breath quickens, yet her mind remains empty of all thought. All she understands is the need to feel more.

The older woman´s hands let go of your hair and the bedsheets to take hold of your shoulders. Her nails digging into the flesh as you guide her away from your thigh and instead replace it with your fingers. Reverend touches of your fingertips, pull all kinds of sounds from her. Delicious whines and whimpers and needy pleas for more.

“Please, oh gods, please. More… More...” Alicent is on the edge of losing control. Her mouth opens, but no words can form under the small, deliberate circles you rub into the sensitive bundle of nerves that sits at the top of her fluttering cunt.

You can tell Alicent is close to her release. So you capture your lover's lips in another passionate kiss, swallowing her every loud moan as to not get caught by any guards, your fingers lead her over the edge of pleasure.

“Yes! Yes!” That's all her mind can grasp as her entire body shakes with her release.

Once all the pent up energy is out of Alicent´s system and the shaking dies down to a trembling again, You take your fingers, that had caught some of her juices, away from her wet heat and lick them clean.

“You truly are a delicacy. To be savored, not used and cast aside at the whims of men that cannot even begin to process the goddess that you are.” You groan at her sweet taste.

Diving down between her legs, wrapping your arms around them to keep her hips still, you begin to kiss all around her center. Nibbling and sucking a few, easily concealed marks into her flesh. Teasing her long before she finally puts her lips to the queens wet heat. Letting her tongue swipe out to lick a wide stripe through it.

Alicent feels like a bolt of electricity has hit her. Her entire body is consumed with excitement. She does not want you to ever stop touching her. Every touch is a pure delight that Alicent's body and mind crave. It has her panting and heaving for air, writhing underneath you in no time. Not able to stop the feelings she feels building up in her body, she tries to push her lover´s head away, but her weakened arms cannot stop the force of your touch.

Assured by her actions, you suck on the queen's pearl even harder. The feelings of another oncoming release begin to wash over her again, she is taken back to that moment when her body was pushed over the edge. Her nails raking over your back to leave red markings along it. Until they reach the back of your head.

You willingly let Alicent pull your head closer between her legs and think, that if you were to die then and there, tasting your lover's nectar on your tongue, it would be the happiest death. Nevertheless you live and Alicent reaches her second peak. Alicent gasps for air as her entire body is consumed with pleasure. She is convinced that her heart will give out any second now from how hard it beats. She is in the seven heavens. Would be screaming out her feelings, if it wouldn´t be for your hand covering her mouth. You are eager to please the queen, but you are not eager to face the king´s wrath for doing so. Your tongue guides her through her climax. Making sure not to waste a drop of the sweet nectar from between her legs. While under your hand a muffled whine of your name signals her overstimulation. Then you kiss your way up again. Over Alicent's stomach and chest up to her lips.

"You taste so sweet. Truly divine.” You murmur as you give her a taste of herself.

Shifting your weight once more, you lay next to Alicent. The pinky finger of one of your hands entangled with one of hers as your other hand runs lightly over Alicent's bare arm.

“How do you feel?” Alicent feels her heart flutter, as the simple touch and question. She looks towards her lover, her eyes fixed with adoration. Her cheeks become flushed once more as she takes in her love, not only for you but for the way you makes her feel. Safe, loved, content.

“I do not know how you manage to make me feel this way.” Alicent says as she caresses your cheek.

“I am merely a fool in love, lucky enough to share the bed of the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros.” You say as you savor every moment of the sweet touch. Butterflies raging in both of your stomachs.

Alicent cannot take her eyes away from you. The love she bears for her lover, the way all her thoughts and emotions are consumed by the desire for your touch and love makes her smile.

“Come here.” Her voice remains calm, though it trembles slightly due to her lasting breathlessness. “Kiss me again.”

“Anything the queen commands.” You tease her with a wide smirk. Letting her pull you closer, before laying her lips on Alicent's in a slow, most tender kiss. You wrap your arms around the queen. Tracing the length of her spine with the most reverend touches.

Even the softest movement of your fingers send a wave of pleasure down her spine. She cannot hold back any longer. Alicent's body is overcome with a feeling she can barely describe.

“Love me.” Her voice trembles with excitement, though she cannot say much more. All she wants is you.

“You will never go unloved for another day as long as I live. I promise. In the smallest gazes and touches or in the biggest gestures we can allow. I will always love you.” You promise her and the look in your eyes tells Alicent that you mean every single word of it.

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