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fl3shm4id3n · 1 year

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𝓘𝓽 𝓦𝓪𝓼 𝓜𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓣𝓸 𝓑𝓮

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤, 𝐲��𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

ᴊᴀᴄᴀᴇʀʏꜱ ᴠᴇʟᴀʀʏᴏɴ x ᴀᴜɴᴛ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Tw: Targ!cest (Aunt and Nephew), underage drinking, medieval themes, Driftmark events, angst, a pinch of fluff. Jacaerys being a sweet heart. Reader being a little menace, forced marriage, erranged marriage.

Author’s note: I’ve been thinking a lot about Jace, so I decided to write a fic with him in it. I also wanted to as some what of a dark!(?) Aemond x reader, I might make a part two of this :P

Since you were a child and on your own most of the time, your nephew Jace had always included you in his interests and he’d get interested in yours. After his training he’d go and see what you where up to. He’d get his brother Luke to come hang out with you as well.

Jace was always a gentleman towards you, he’d open the door for you, pull your chair out for you, he even has picked you up once in the garden when it had rained and there was puddles of mud, so that you didn’t get your dress dirty.

You were also there in the dragon pit with your brothers and nephews, that was when they decided to play a prank on Aemond, it was a harmless jest right? After you went to talk to Aemond about it all being a joke, he was not happy, he has yelled at you, calling you all sorts of names that you don’t even remember what they were. You just laughed and shrugged it off because he was upset about a pig dress as a dragon.

Even though the family was splitting, you tried to be by his side no matter the cost. When Aemond had lost his eye by the hands of Luke, you weren’t present, you were in your bedchamber’s passed out drunk from the drinking you have been doing with your brother Aegon.

You were sleeping, not hearing the door open and close. Then the bed had a bit of movement, feeling a light shake and your named being whispered. “Jacey? What are you doing?” you asked as you sat up, getting a good look at him. “What happened to you? You look like you came out of a bar fight” you said as he had a sad look on his face. “I came to say goodbye Y/n/n” he said sadly, this made your blood run cold. “what do you mean?” you asked, now scared.

“Mother says we’ll be going to Dragonstone” Jace said with a frown on his face. “But you can’t leave” you said hugging him tightly, afraid that he’ll disappear, tears had now flooded your eyes. He hugged you back. “I have to go were my family goes, I’m sorry” he said as you sobbed, hugging him tighter. “We’ll meat each other again, I promise” he said as you sniffed, using the sleeve of your gown to wipe off the tears and snot.

“Can I do something?” Jace asked as you nodded. “Close your eyes” he said, you gladly obeyed, waiting until you felt a soft pair of lips touch yours. It was quick, it made your stomach flutter as if you had eaten butterflies.

The next morning your family left back to the Red Keep, you along with your siblings headed back on dragon back. You found out what happened, Aemond claimed a dragon that it wasn’t for him to claim, the price he paid was by loosing his eye. You didn’t really care, what hurt more was the pain in your heart.

Back home, you didn’t leave your room until it was time for you and Aegon to go to the Tavern. You drank your sorrows away and cried. You missed Jace already, Aegon encouraged you to drink more which you gladly did. He was the one who had carried you to an Inn that night for you to rest while he went to a brothel.

The next morning you went to break your fast with Aegon, with a major headache from the drinking. That’s when you saw Aemond’s missing eye, that would leave a scar for sure. You didn’t really eat, you just drank wine to get over the headache. Then you left, not bothering to asked to be dismissed, before Alicent could stop you, your father told her to leave you be.

𝒮𝒾𝓍 𝒴𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝐿𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇

Today was going to be long, Veamond Velaryon had petitioned the crown to be named Heir of Driftmark, you didn’t care much until you heard that Rhaenyra and her sons will come. You got excited, Jacaerys was coming. You were basically jumping of happiness. You wore your red dress and added a body chain that displayed between your chest. Hopefully he still found you pretty like when you were children.

You explored the halls, trying to find him, you were nervous. What did he look like? Did he still have his freckles? Was his button nose the same? Was he still shorter than you? Then you felt a warm hand take yours, quickly turning to see who it was, it was him, the boy now man you were looking for.

Jacaerys Velaryon in the flesh “Hello, Y/n” he said as you stared at him, he had grown taller, way much taller than you. His once button nose was now slim, and he had a few visible freckles, he also grew in a jawline, he was stunning. “H-hello... Jacey” you said feeling your face heating up. You also caught how his voice had got deeper too.

“You look, lovely my lady, short hair really suits you” He said as he takes your hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Thank you, you had gotten handsome yourself” you said as you looked into his eyes, those beautiful brown eyes. It may not be proper for the two of be being alone together but you didn’t care, you really missed him.

Then you both hugged, his embrace was warm “I’ve missed you” you admitted as he stroked his delicate fingers thought the short strands of your hair. “I missed you too Y/n/n” how you missed that nickname, he was the only person who had called you that.

You didn’t want to go to the trail, you just wanted to spend time with him or even take him to the tavern to catch up, but he convinced you to go. You wanted to stand by him but he protested, insisting that you stand by your family, finally you had agreed.

During the trial, your focus was on him, he’d also look at you from time to time. You were standing between Aegon and Helaena, while Aemond was behind you. It felt as if it was only you and Jace in the room, so close but yet so far. “I see that you saw your lover” Aegon whispered in your ear causing you to smile. Aegon knew how you felt towards Jace, you had accidently told him one night that you were drinking at the tavern drunk and just spilling whatever you had to say.

Then your Uncle sliced Sir Veamond’s head clean off, due to him calling your older sister a whore and her sons bastards. “He deserved that” you said to yourself but Aegon heard you, making him laugh as Otto had yelled for your Uncle to be disarmed.

You heard about the dinner, it made you more happy, being able to share a dinner with your other family, also Jace will be there. When it was time for the dinner, you got there as quick as possible, you spotted a seat that was empty, Jace was occupying the chair on the right, before you could take that seat, Aegon had sat down, then next to him his sister-wife Helaena, then their was an empty hair between Aemond and Helaena.

You sigh sadly and just sat down on the chair, you also noticed how Aemond was looking at you. Ever since that day from Driftmark, you noticed how your older brother would try to be a part of your activities, but you never really cared much if he was around. Why would he want be involved with you when he had Mother’s attention.

The king was carried in, as you stood up along with the others. Toasts had been shared and the night was going peaceful. As you drowned on your wine, you saw how Jace excused himself and walked over to you, the offered his hand out to you. Gladly you took his hand allowing him guide you to the empty floor for a dance.

Aemond turned his seat and watched you dance with the Velaryon boy. During the whole dance he just stared at you both dance, and stopped when your father had been carried away to his bed chambers. Everything was moving smoothly until a roasted pig was placed in front of your brother causing your younger nephew to chuckle.

After your brother had called your nephews Strong, causing a small brawl. After the brawl was stopped by your uncle, you walked over to Aemond, angrily and shoved him as hard as you could causing him to nearly fall. “You fucking twat!!” you screamed angrily, not carrying if they all saw, you were upset. Then when your cousins and nephews, you went after Jace.

“Jacearys!” you said catching up to him, he gestured his brother and cousins to leave the two of you alone and they gladly did. “I’m sorry for Aemond” you said looking down embarrassed. “It’s alright, tis not your fault” he said as he picked up your hands and held them. You sigh, still feeling responsible for your brother’s out burst. “I was thinking of going to the Tavern I go to, would you like to join me?” You asked looking into his eyes. “I’d like to Y/n/n” he said leaning in and kissed your cheek lightly, feeling your face heat up.

When you departed, an hour or two has passed, you had woken up from your nap and got ready to sneak out with Jace. After you had finished tying your boots, someone walked in, you assumed it was Jace, but it was your brother Aemond.

“Didn’t your mummy teach you to knock?” you said as you got up, checking yourself out on the mirror. Aemond just hummed as he watched you “you are going out?” he asked as you rolled your eyes “Isn’t it obvious?” you said as you went to reach your hood. “With that Strong boy I assume? What a shame, he along with the rest of his family had left.” You stopped in your tracks and looked at him.

“You’re jesting aren’t you?” you said looking at his face, he was serious. Jace had left? What is a last minute thing? You wondered as you’re distracted, Aemond was now standing in front of you, lifting your chin to look at him. “I also wanted to deliver you better news.” He said with a grin, this made you shiver. “What may that be?” you asked shaken by his grin.

“We are to wed, we’ll be husband and wife” he said with a sinister like look. You backed away from him “No, it- it can’t be” you said turning away from him, not wanting to look at him. “It is, we were meant to be together, and now we’ll fulfill it” he walked towards you placing his hands on your shoulders. “It was meant to be” he whispered it in your ear, feeling your eye beginning to water by these news. You were suppose to wed Jace, not Aemond, but you had no other choice but to obey.

“Fine, I’ll be your wife but in one condition.” You said frustrated. “What may that be?” Aemond asked as he turned you around, lifting your hand to his lip and kissed your knuckles. “I’ll be your wife, but I will never be your woman” you said, he only smiled, seeing that you had agreed to this. “Of course, anything for my soon-to-be-wife.”

#house of the dragon #hotd #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #jacaerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #jacaerys velaryon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x aunt! reader #aemond targaryen x sister! reader #jacaerys velaryon x y/n #jacaerys velaryon x targaryen! reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen! reader #y/n targaryen #targaryen! reader #sister! reader #aunt! reader

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ireneispunk · 4 days

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Teach Me

Aemond Targaryen x female reader smut (Rhaenyra & Harwin Laenor Velaryon's daughter)

After your family gathers in King's Landing for Maelor's name day celebrations, tensions build between in more ways than expected. A lesson in High Valryian from your uncle Aemond causes a mutual infatuation to bubble over.

w.c: 9,398 (i know)

c.w: SMUT 18+ , targcest (uncle & niece), NO use of Y/N, oral (m & f receiving), afab reader, foreplay, unprotected p in v sex, the slowest of slowburns to ever exist, mild aemond angst, but also kinda soft aemond(?), fluff to finish ofc, small implied age gap, reader is briefly mentioned to have Srong features, pet names (in high valyrian), use of High Valyrian all translations in text as it is spoken (E.G "Rytsa Skorkydoso glaesā?" (Hi how are you?)) (i didn't translate these everytime bc i used them a lot so: mandianna = niece (child of your older sister), iāpa = uncle), pls let me know if i've missed any

a.n: so this came from a post i did the other day, and @sinistersnakey9419 gave me the idea for this fic and it had me giggling and kicking my feet fr. also, this took me like a week to write because i kept adding more plot teehee.

dividers: @saradika ♡

It was a week into your families stay at King’s Landing. The Red Keep was a familiar place, but it was no Dragonstone. Your Grandsire, King Viserys, had made it his wish of his for his family to be together to celebrate Maelor’s name day which was to be a multiple day affair. And he meant all of his family, regardless of the fabricated tensions that divided you. As Rhaenyra’s second eldest and only surviving daughter, you felt an unspoken pressure to help maintain the peace between the brothers of the family. One side couldn’t help but torment whilst the other was quick to defend his family by any means. You missed being back on Dragonstone, but this was an exciting place to be. Days were filled with activities befitting of a young lady, and you enjoyed spending time with your Aunt Helaena – both of you appreciated a sisterly figure from within each other. There was one presence you couldn’t quite understand. Aemond. Your uncle had watched you closely since you first arrived, it had been a time since you had both seen each other. He had grown into a very tall and incredibly handsome man; he was more pleasing to the eye than he should be. His large frame and equanimous demeanour loomed over you, even from the other side of a room. His gaze stuck upon you like a hound tracking game. You couldn’t help but assume, like most other members of his side of the family, he held nothing but judgemental distain for you and your brown-haired brothers.

The mornings were always the same, Viserys had wished for you all to break your fast together daily. That had started to dwindle until the King had heard of it and demanded you eat together regardless of his presence. It was going about as well as it had the past week, Aegon’s head in a cup, Alicent on edge at every second.

“The maesters have been helping us with our Valyrian.” Spouted Lucerys, he was sweet, too sweet and sensed a smog of tension over the room. Rhaenyra smiled, appreciating your brother’s attempt.

“Let us hear it then.” Daemon announced leaning back in his seat.

“Rēbagon se gerpa kostilus.” (Pass the fruit please). Lucerys seemed impressed with his statement, Daemon seems confused for a moment before leaning forward and sliding the dish of grapes over towards Luke. A short scoff was heard from across the table, Aemond sat casually, smirk laden on his lips.

“Something the matter, Uncle?” Jacaerys spoke through slight gritted teeth. Aemond raised a hand in a defensive motion, smile still playing at his lips.

“What my brother wants to say,” Aegon peeled his face up from the tablecloth and took a swig of whatever was in his cup at this hour, “Is that your ‘High Valyrian’ sounded more like Old Ghiscari.” Lucerys smile faded as he looked to your mother for reassurance. You sighed, looking down at you half-finished plate as yet another verbal disagreement erupted between the men in your life. You rose to your feet with more haste than you anticipated causing your chair to wobble and crash onto the stone floor behind you. The room fell silent, and you felt everyone’s eyes burning into your skin.

Your gaze remained vacant, lingering on the table, “May I please be excused.” You were embarrassed: of your outburst, your family’s inability to get along, your uncles’ comments. Mostly due to the fact they were right, Lucerys’ nor Jacaerys High Valyrian was perfect, and it just added to the rumours that spread about your family. Your mother had barely spoke an ‘of course’ before you took your leave, nails digging crescents into your palms.

Leaves rustled beneath your feet as you paced the grass of the Godswood, it was always a small sanctuary of peace for it’s quiet and empty nature. You closed your eyes and let the sun beam down on your face, if you imagined hard enough you could feel the cold breeze from your balcony at Dragonstone. A harsh snapping of a twig pulled you from your thoughts, your head shooting up towards the direction of the disturbance. Aemond stood a few paces away from you, palm raised in a surrendering motion. You released a breath you had been holding onto, bringing your hands together to fiddle with the clasp of your bracelet. “I did not mean to startle you, Mandianna,” He took a stride closer towards you, hands clasped behind his back. “You caused quite a scene. For a princess.” Your eyes stayed fixated on the ground beneath the two of you. This was the first time you had ever been alone with Aemond, and he was being agreeable? It was hard to deny how beautiful he was, even just from the stolen glances towards him. You knew about sex, parts of what it entailed. From a few detailed paintings to the small snippets you overheard from the younger handmaidens. You hadn’t spent an awful lot of time thinking about it apart from when conversations of finding you a match came around. That was until this week, something about being around Aemond meant fighting away thoughts of him a regular occurrence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you picked up your chin to meet Aemond’s stare. It was softer, and more inquisitive than his usual piercing gaze. Your stomach dropped as thoughts of him bending you over and fucking you right here in the Godswood clouded your mind, how his hands would feel over your body, his tongue across your neck and between your thighs, how it would feel him sliding – “Keli jiōraton aōha ēngos byka genes?” (Cat got your tongue little mouse?). You felt heat rising towards cheeks and across your chest as you tried to mask your raised heart rate. You were pretty sure Aemond couldn’t read your thoughts, but the small smile that played at his lips made you feel otherwise. Something about your close proximity, the way you could make out each detail of his face, and his intoxicating smell had muzzled you. Lips parted to respond but nothing came out. You felt helpless in the best way possible. “A Velaryon princess who can’t hold a High Valyrian conversation, you disappoint me Mandianna.” Aemond turned on his heel, briskly walking towards the wood’s exit.

Maybe it was the need to please, the burning between your thighs, or the fact he was no longer facing you, but the words escaped your lips before you could even process what you had said, “Teach me.” The small wave of confidence dwindled when he turned his head back to face you.

“Teach you?”

“Teach me what you think I should know, Iāpa.” You didn’t know how he would respond, nor did you know how you wished for him to respond. Aemond raised a brow and smiled to himself, your small use of High Valyrian and how your statement could be interpreted in many different made him intrigued to see where this would lead.

“Tomorrow evening, after supper. Meet me in the library’s reading room.” Without needing a response, he once again made his way out of the wood, leaving you flustered and equally excited, yet dread filled.

As supper slowly began to drew to a close, your excitement manifested in a small bobbing of your leg. Actual conversation rang out between small groups on the table, Lucerys and Helaena had included you in there’s but all you could focus on was keeping your thoughts clear. Everything about Aemond drew you further in his lips softly against his cup, the way his index and middle finger tapped along to the quiet music that had been played, but most of all the way he would catch you watching with a satisfied smile. You partially walked back to your chambers, before feigning forgetting a ring behind at the table, and insisting to your mother and Daemon that it couldn’t wait until morning. Part of you wondered if you shouldn’t have lied, there was a simple explanation: getting lessons in High Valyrian from your uncle Aemond. Except this would not go over well with your immediate family. For you could hold a conversation in High Valyrian, it was Aemond you couldn’t speak to specifically. You were actually quite proficient in High Valyrian, not as much as you’d hoped to be but a whole lot better than your brothers. Whether it was common tongue or Valyrian Aemond rendered you speechless, and now you were willingly walking into a situation where he had complete control. You knew for certain how much you longed for him, but other than glances you couldn’t figure out what he truly felt. Part of you wanted to be under him at every moment possible but if he didn’t feel the same, if his glances were all a trick, you’d be ruined.

After stepping through the library, you took one final breath before opening the heavy oak door to the reading room. It pushed open with a small creak to reveal Aemond sat at the desk, tattered book in hand. “I thought you might’ve gotten cold feet,” he closed the book and softly placed it on the table, “Come take a seat.” He arose, pulling the wooden chair beside him out from the table, allowing you to sit down. You nodded your head slightly before taking a seat, smoothing out any creases in your dress. Taking a moment to examine the reading room in the dark, you noticed the two brass cups and a wine jug, along with numerous High Valyrian scriptures and books with plain parchment and a fresh quill. Aemond himself was wearing his usual attire, except his black coat had been unbuckled a few straps, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbow. You swallowed, eyeing the wine. Everything seemed real of a sudden. You weren’t used to drinking wine, especially alone at night. Sensing your nervousness, Aemond picked up a cup and placed it in front of you, “Just because it is my drink of choice for the evening,” he poured a small amount into his own cup, “Doesn’t mean I expect you to partake, Mandianna.” You paused for a moment before shaking your head ‘no’ and sliding your cup away. “Very well, read this out for me, I want to hear what you can do already.” He relished in how you squirmed when he was close to you. You looked down at the papers in front of you, ‘Aegon the Conqueror, The High Valyrian Scriptures’. You knew all about Aegon the Dragon, but the words escaped you as Aemond stood behind you, left hand atop your chair, right hand holding up his weight on the table. You felt a few strands of his long hair tickle your shoulder, the closeness of him made you feel as if you could burst. “Go on then, read it.” He said, almost a whisper. His lips were so close yet still too far, you could feel the warmth of his breath when he spoke but not the softness of his lips on your skin. This is the type of torture that scribes should mention.

“Aegon I Targaryen iksin se ēlī āeksio hen sīkuda Dārȳti se-“ (Aegon I Targaryen was the first Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and-). You paused as Aemond moved from behind you to stand beside the table.

“I didn’t say stop.” His firm tone excited you more than you wanted it to.

“se dārys va se Dēmalion Āegenko.” (and king on the Iron Throne). You continued, looking up to Aemond for approval. He nodded before gathering up the papers from in front of you and holding them in his hands. Puzzled, you turned to face him “But-“

“Too easy, you know how the story goes, tell it to me in High Valyrian.” Aemond looked pleased with himself as he sat back into his own chair that now faced yours.

You looked down at the floor for a moment, before continuing “Ziry kithsair bȳre hen sīkuda Dārȳti se-ziry se-“ (He conquered six of the seven kingdoms and-he a-nd-). Yet again, your words escaped your lips as Aemond’s gaze wandered over your body, free to visually devour your form now you were not in the company of others.

He inhaled sharply and rose to his feet, “Valyrio Eglie iksis iā kostōba udrir, se ēdruta sagon spoken hae mēre. Aōha udra issi nākostōbā, ao ȳdragon tolī rāpa. Eman daor drīve geptot naejot dohaeragon ao byka genes.” (High Valyrian is a powerful language and must be spoken as one. Your words are weak, you speak too softly. I cannot help you little mouse.) His words came at you fast and rather harshly, you hated the effect he had on you, and you hated how he judged you for it. You searched his face for something more, surely all of this was not over, the yearning looks, the candlelight, the wine, did it not mean something more? As your mind raced you looked towards the floor and wished it would envelop you. Aemond sighed, and placed the scriptures that you had read from under your chin and used them to lift you face up towards his. Your brows furrowed slightly as you looked up at him standing over you. “You don’t understand do you Mandianna,” He chuckled softly, tilting you head to his will. “Nyke would qogralbar ao ēva ao could gaomagon daorun yn ilagon isse ñuha baer mirre tubis byka genes.” (I would fuck you until you could do nothing but lay in my bed all day little mouse.) He dropped the scriptures onto the table, taking his leave with such haste that you felt he air pass by through your hair. Once his footsteps dissipated you felt as your jaw went slack. The wetness grew between your legs as you squeezed your thighs together, attempting to relieve some of the mounding pressure.

Your heart thudded in your chest like a drum, you swiftly shut the door to your chambers and tried to steady your shaky breathing. After shedding yourself of your dress you made your way to the vanity and undid your hairstyle of the day. As your fingers worked between your hair you imagined Aemond’s large hands making their way through it, your fingers delicately glided across the crook of your neck before resting upon the warmth of your chest. If Aemond wanted to play games then you would gladly oblige, except this time you knew he wanted to play.

Your reading was interrupted by the ever-persistent King’s Landing ladies in waiting, you’d usually grumble except it was the first day of Maelor’s name day celebrations and you were taught the importance of good first impressions. Today would be important as Lords and Ladies of every great house would be there and you were yet to find a betrothed who was approved by the heir to the iron throne, your brothers, and Daemon, who once sent a young lord away teary eyed with embarrassment. You smiled to yourself as the ladies working on you bickered between what way to style your hair for the occasion. “What about something mostly up, with a few small braids, and the red gem hairpins? I think that’ll match the dress I picked out for tonight.” They glanced between each other, smiled, and got to work on your dark hair. Part of you was filled with excitement, it had been a while since you had an excuse to dress up, and it was even more thrilling at the thought of catching Aemond’s attention over all the other Ladies present. As the late afternoon rolled around you were finally considered presentable to the guests in the great hall. You eyed your reflection, your hair lifted to expose your neck and clavicle, dark fabric fitted to your shape with delicate blood red beading sewn into the neckline and down the sleeves finished with your gold jewellery pieces. Just as the ladies were about to leave you had an idea, “Wait! Do you have any of the rose perfume oil?” You spoke with a smile. A few knowing glances were shared between the two eldest ladies as a younger one brought over the small crystal bottle before dabbing a small amount on each wrist and on either side of your neck.

The rest of your family waited beside the towering doors of the great hall, “Finally, I thought we’d all starve.” Joffrey spouted with a huff earning a short laugh from Lucerys, a half shove from Jacaerys and a raised brow from Daemon. Your mother waved them off and placed her hands either side of your upper arms, “What a beautiful young woman you have become, my sweet child.” Rhaenyra looked upon you with great admiration as always. You smiled and squeezed her hand as you all stood together as the doors were slowly pulled open. You could feel your heart beating in your ears as the chittering in the room slowly dissipated and all heads turned to face you all. You bore a brave face following after your parent’s movements down the steps and towards the King’s table. After greeting the king, you were all seated, the family had grown rather exponentially since Rhaenyra’s wedding to your father Laenor which you had heard many stories about. You sat towards the outer curve to one side of the table, and out of the corner of your eye you saw Aemond, already watching you. So not to give him the pleasure of your gaze, you made conversations with your family next to you.

A short clearing of a throat pulled you from your conversation with Jacaerys, “I am Jorick Lannister, your graces,” He bowed his head towards you, “I was wondering if I may have the honour to ask the Princess to a dance?” He flashed his best smile at you.

You looked expectantly to your mother and Daemon, “If you wish to, then go dance.” Rhaenyra grinned, she gently touched her own elbow against Daemon’s, and he muttered something about there ‘being worse choices in the room’. You stood up from your seat, perhaps a bit too eagerly and walked around to the side of the table where the Lannister stood. He extended his hand, palm up towards you and lead you down the few steps to the crowd of dancers. You stood a pace apart and looked at the man in front of you, he was certainly handsome, dark blonde hair that waved towards the nape of his neck, gentle grey eyes. As you looked into them something caught your eye behind them. Aemond was alert, not sat in his usual laid-back posture with his cup resting in his hand on the arm of his chair. He was sat forward, stiff as a statue and boring daggers into the back of your dance partner. You swallowed as you saw the grip he had around his cup; it was solid metal but from the look on his face alone it could crumble. The music swelled as Jorick took your hand in his and placed his other upon your waist.

As you both moved across the floor, he leaned in to speak to you “How are you enjoying the capital princess.” Jorick spoke above the music.

“There’s a certain beauty to it, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss Dragonstone.” You spoke with truth.

Jorick chuckled, “Ah yes, it is the perfect home for a dragon. I do believe you would grow to like Catserly Rock your grace. It’s no island but the coastline is just as harsh, I miss the sound of it when I try to sleep somewhere new.”

You heartily laughed at his statement as he twirled you in a circle. “I have said that ever since we got here! But no one else seems to understand it.” While he laughed and agreed in return.

Meanwhile at the King’s table, Aemond’s jealousy bubbled harshly. Already did he have a hard time resisting taking you into his arms and treating you as you deserved, but watching another man, a Lannister at that, hold you the way he wanted to, enraged him. He counted the guards in the room to simmer his anger, but then imagined fighting them off as he cut down every person between you and him and taking you into an embrace. He was completely and utterly enamoured with you, ever since he watched you climb off of your dragon from a tower of the Red Keep. Gone had the child he knew as a babe himself and was now replaced with a woman who plagued his thoughts. Your darker hair that framed your face, eyes that crinkled when you laughed and held so much emotion, the way you smile brought him an unmanageable amount of joy. He couldn’t hate you, no matter if he tried. At this moment, he wished for it to be simple. That he wasn’t your mother’s brother, that he was just a Lord of some other house, dancing with you and holding you close. A world in which he could have you, touch you, without bearing the reprehensible disappointment of his mother or the feeling of his heart being crushed right in front of him. He had once and for all had enough after the 6th eager meek had hovered around you after each song had finished to ask for your hand. Aemond rose to his feet and made his way to you on the floor with large strides dipping in between the guests. Queen Alicent watched him with worry, he wasn’t known to dance or partake in many festivities like these.

You parted ways with your last dance partner and smiled as you were approached by yet another Lord, “My princess, I am Erich Baratheon and I would love the honour of-“ He started before being cut off by the sudden appearance of Aemond: he’d brushed past the suitor on his was to you, not harsh in any sense but it definitely took you both off guard.

The broad Baratheon was dwarfed by not only the Targaryen’s height, but his mere presence also. “Perhaps is it my turn for a dance, Mandianna.” The request seemed so lewd and intimate coming from him, despite it being what would otherwise be an innocent dance between family.

“I was just asking the Princess for a dance. Perhaps you may dance with her after?” The Baratheon mustered his bravest voice, a touch deeper than it had been a moment ago. Aemond’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer before he turned his head round and down with a rather dramatic tilt to amplify the inches between the pair. From this angle you could fully admire his jawline and neck. You imagined kissing across his sharp jawline, travelling down to his throat. At this moment you were so overcome with lust you imagine grazing your teeth against it and biting gently just to release some tension. After a very short stare off on the Baratheon’s end, “Perhaps not, uh- goodnight, Princess.” He had turned to walk away before even finishing his sentence, leaving you and Aemond face to face on the floor.

“That wasn’t very proper of you, uncle.” You spoke above a whisper, struggling to hold back a small laugh.

“Luckily it’s not so expected of me.” His face bore a small smile. An actual smile instead of a sly all-knowing smirk.

“I didn’t take you for a dancer either.”

“Well, someone had to put a stop to the herd of sheep begging to stomp on your feet all evening.” You couldn’t help but chuckle in agreement. Some of the Lords had been nice, decent dancers, with something to say. Others spent their time ogling your exposed skin or asking about your inheritance. You could not deny as conversations lulled between some of them, you imagined you were in the arms of Aemond instead. As the music began to swell, he offered you his hand which you gladly accepted whilst his other hand tentatively made its way to your upper waist. As he led the dance, he never looked away from you, it felt as if you were slowly melting into him. Able to ignore the few judgemental looks and quiet whispers from the people around you and just focussing on the man in front of you.

Back at the King’s table, your interaction had not gone unnoticed. Alicent’s worry had faded, she knew you had always been a sweet girl. She looked over to Rhaenyra who had already been watching her to gage a reaction and the two exchanged a small smile each. “Mother, are sister and Uncle Aemond going to get married?” Joffrey asked in matter-of-fact way, causing Rhaenyra to cough on the wine that she had sipped whilst Daemon chuckled and ruffled his dark curls.

You’d made a mental note to thank the gods for the current song choice, a slower one. Your hands flush together as the two of you rotated and eyes never leaving each other’s. As the end of the song drew close Aemond’s body moved behind you, left hand upon your waist and right taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers. The latter part was not a usual for this particular dance. Your breath hitched in your throat as you could feel the strength of his torso behind you. “You know uncle, I have been wanting more lessons in High Valyrian, I think a few more and we could really make some progress.” It wasn’t 100% a lie, Aemond definitely could teach you some High Valyrian, but it was mostly an excuse to be in private with him again.

“Really? Because you did so well last time?” You could practically feel the smirk on his face from behind you. “I know you can ask a lot nicer than that Mandianna.” You shuddered softly at the sensation of his voice so quiet, whispering into your ear. The music pace picked up as you glided across the floor, heart beating within your ears. As the instruments came to a halt, you felt a sense of weightlessness as Aemond dipped you and held you there, so low to the ground you felt the ends of your hair touch against it. You eyed him, brows raised and chest rising and falling, feeling fully in his hands.

“Kostilus, Aemond.” (Please, Aemond) The words left your lips in a soft way that travelled straight down his spine. You could not identify the emotion that swept his face as he swiftly brought you to your feet and ripped his hands from yours. His eyes shut briefly, his hands flexing into tight fist, you were not sure what had happened. As you reached out for his hand he stepped back and kept his eyes to the ground before making his way to the exit of the great hall. You called out to him softly, but he soon disappeared in between the crowds.

Confused and a little hurt, you made your way back to your seat and looked at the remainder of your meal that had surely gone cold. You felt your mother’s hand rest upon yours, and you looked to her and smiled weakly. “Where did your uncle go sweet girl?” She spoke softly and quietly, as to avoid bringing your brothers into it.

“He mentioned that he had to go for something.” Your lie wouldn’t have fooled a stranger, let alone your own mother, but she did not pry. She gave your hand a small squeeze and gave you the mother’s look of ‘I’m here if you need me’.

Aemond briskly made his way down the corridors of the Red Keep. His hands met the roughened wooden doors to a balcony as he pushed them open and felt the chill of the night air cover him. It was not enough as he felt is blood burn hot, coursing through his veins and the sight of you in his arms. Your hair cascading down past you, exposing your neck, the way your breasts filled out your corset and raised with your breathing. That damned perfume you wore and how it mixed with your scent had been a drug to him this night. Your eyes that stared up at him like a doe and looked at him like he was a god. He couldn’t help but remember your soft plump lips, the way they parted slightly when he looked your way, how you bit your lip whilst saddling your dragon and worst of all: how deliciously his name sounded coming out of them. He had not yet heard you say his name, but it being paired with such a submissive plead made it all the more torturous. He slowly breathed through his nose; head tilted back resting on the bricks. Aemond was too infatuated with you to ever hate your effect on him. His frustrations only grew greater the more he knew you. He was at a grand dinner, filled with every food and treat he could ever imagine, yet all he wished to taste was between your legs. He decided then and there on that balcony that his affections for you must go. ‘It should not be so painful’ He thought to himself, after all, you only had a few short days left in the capital.

The following day started even earlier, with the second day of the celebrations taking place in the gardens. You yawned into the palm of your hand and watched as the front side pieces of your hair were brought back and weaved into a delicate braid. “You mustn’t stay up so late princess!” The handmaiden fretted as she pulled out the dress you had chosen yesterday. You eyed it, before glancing towards the window to see the sun breaking out through the clouds, giving you an idea.

“It looks like it could really warm up in the garden under the sun, I was thinking of wearing this dress instead.” You lifted the dark berry coloured dress up in front of your handmaidens.

“I think you may get cold your grace.” One of the younger handmaidens spoke eyeing the dress, after a harsh glare from the eldest maiden she continued, “But you will look perfect no matter what!” She clarified with a nervous chuckle. You smiled at her in reassurance and allowed the cluster of ladies to dress you. Once they had finished arguing over minor details you stood back to look at your reflection. This was a dress you had never worn before, meant for particularly warm weather. It was an off the shoulder cut, that capped your upper arms with a tie. The dark coloured material was thinner than your regular dresses and the skirt flowed with any movement you made. After trying to sound as nonchalant as possible you once again asked for the rose perfume oil. After a few dots were dabbed on your wrists and neck, you thanked your ladies and placed the delicate bottle on the vanity. Once they had filed out you reapplied a few extra drops to your skin before dropping a small amount onto your fingertips and ran it through the ends of your hair. You looked beautiful, and hoped this would gain Aemond’s affections once more.

The garden party was a success from the get-go. Conversations bubbled, drinks were poured, and the food spread was something to marvel at. You were walking through the flowerbeds, arms linked with Baela, both of your laughs travelling from reminiscing on moments from your shared childhoods. “I heard you and Aemond caused quite the stir last night.” Baela giggled, nudging her elbow into yours.

“Word does travel fast in the capital,” You laughed. “And it was not a shared commotion, he was the one who left in a rush after we danced!” You reasoned with her; slight frustration apparent in your tone.

“And what a dance it appears to have been, they’d be able to smell you from Pentos.” You frowned slightly, wondering if you had overdone it today. She turned to face you, placing her hand over yours. “I jest of course, anyone would be lucky to catch your eye.” Baela’s smile was genuine and reassured your worries. You looked around the crowds of people once more, eyes fleeting from face to face. “He’s still not arrived yet.” Your eyes met hers once again as you both burst into loud laughter.

After much convincing from Alicent and a more silent encouragement from approach from Helaena, Aemond was finally making an appearance at the garden party. He thought to himself ‘What could a child so young possibly want with such celebrations?’ He justified his annoyance for his affections for you by dismissing the whole day, but being Maelor’s uncle he was expected to be there at some point. He was mere seconds into his arrival at the party before he overheard a distinct sound that made his heart sting. The familiar song of your laughter rang out from across the gardens. Every fibre of his being urged him to look for you, just to turn his head and see your face once more. Against all odds he kept his eyes trained on the floor and made his way to a quieter corner of the event in an attempt to go against his instincts and hide from you. He stood with his cup, fingers tracing across the details, a few feet away from the largely untouched array of desserts.

You grew frustrated as you looked around once more for your uncle’s presence. “Drink this, it’ll relax your nerves.” Baela handed you a cup with a dark red liquid in the bottom of it. “I know, wine isn’t for you, but this one is sweet! I think you’ll like it.” You nodded and took a sip, there was a slight burn as you swallowed it, but the fruity taste overtook it, and you nodded in agreement with her. As Baela and Jacaerys began talking intently you decided to have a look the foods on offer. You took another sip of your wine, the sweetness made you crave the sugared fruits the cooks always put out after dinner. After glancing over each table filled with every animal you could think of, cooked in every way. Your eyes made contact with a cake that was almost the size of you. Peering round the corner of the tent your eyes spotted something even more tempting. Aemond stood to himself, brows furrowed and finger lightly tapping against his cup in slight sync with the distant music that played.

“Uncle! I thought you were not going to make an appearance.” You tried to hide your excitement as you stepped into the tent and faced him. He seemed taken aback by the sudden presence of someone. His gaze shot up from the floor and lingered on your body, fleeting from your face to the way your dress fitted your figure. Just as he thought he’d mustered the strength to speak a light breeze rustled through the gardens and cascaded through your hair. ‘That damned floral perfume’ he thought to himself as he tried to hold his composure. After taking in her appearance once more, he noticed something unusual.

“I didn’t think you to be a wine drinker.” He spoke to you, his jaw clenched stiff.

You giggled slightly, “Me neither! But this one is Dornish, it’s a lot sweeter.” You took a step closer to him and held up your cup to him. “Would you like to taste?” You looked up at him through your lashes.

‘Yes’, He thought. “No.” He answered bluntly, “Thank you, no thank you.” His Adams apple bobbed in his throat as he answered, and you tilted your head slightly.

“Well, there’s plenty if you change your mind.” You smiled at him and turned towards the desserts table, various cakes, fruit pies, candied treats, decorated the large table.

You placed your cup and traced your finger across the end of the table eyeing the selection, you spotted your favourite sugared fruits. “I love these!” You exclaimed as you made your way over to the selection: cherries, berries of all kinds, plums, and peaches. You selected one of the peach slices and looked towards Aemond to find him watching intently. You popped the slice in your mouth and closed your eyes and exhaled a small ‘mmm’. You eyed the remaining sugar on your thumb and index finger. You looked into Aemond’s eye and popped the tip of your finger into your mouth and sucked the crystals off and releasing your finger with a pop. He muttered a short ‘gods’ to himself as he watched you round the table, another piece of fruit in hand. You faced him and held out the small piece of fruit. “You should taste it for yourself Aemond.” Something changed on his face, he looked down at you and slapped the fruit out of your hand and grabbed you by your wrist and led you out of the tent into the empty corridor nearby. “Uncle, Uncle!” You protested quietly once you were led far enough away to not be heard by guests.

“Let go,” you demanded, pushing his hand away. You eyed him as he turned away from you, breathing steadily, hands balled into fits. “Why have you dragged me out here?” You exclaimed in a hushed tone.

“Why have I?” He turned to face you, “Why have I?” He roared, stepping a pace towards you. Stepping backwards you felt the stone walls hit your shoulders. “It is you, you who has poisoned my thoughts ever since you got here, you who has made even existing in the same room as you arduous yet being away from you nearly impossible. You danced with every fool this side of The Narrow Sea and even then, you could not keep your eyes on them and not me. Calling me by my name. Now today-“, He furrowed his brows, remembering the sight of you in that tent. “Gods.” He whispered, running a hand over his face. “Do you really wish to torture me so?” He looked up at you, fragments of defeat washing over his face.

You pushed yourself away from the wall, taking a step towards him leaving an impossibly small gap between the two of you. “Nyke pendagon bisa iksin skoros ao jeldan hen nyke, Iāpa.” (I thought this was what you wanted from me, uncle.) His jaw remained tense, as slight confusion washed over him. You rose to the tips of your toes to whisper to him, “Hen aōha byka genes.” (From your little mouse.)

Without hesitation you felt his large hand cup the side of your face, his other snaking around your waist, the force of it pinning you towards the wall. His fingers brushed down your face, resting beneath your chin. His thumb tentatively ran across your bottom lip. Aemond leaned down to the side of your face, “Tell me to stop, tell me to stop and I will walk away.” His breath fanned over you; lips grazing against your neck. It took all of your efforts to not crumble beneath him.

“Ȳdra daor keligon.” (Don’t stop.) Your breath was shaky as Aemond brought his face to yours. You placed a hand against his chest and leaned up to kiss him before a rumble of distant laughter reminded you both of your current location.

He grabbed your hand from upon his chest and led you down the winding corridors of the Red Keep, your slippers tapping twice as fast on the floor to keep up with his long strides. As you both climbed the spiral staircase towards the chambers, voices rang out on the floor in front of you. Aemond brought you both to a halt, keeping his back against the wall and pulled your back towards him to avoid detection. “Why did we st-“ You started before feeling his large hand covering your mouth. He whispered a small shush into your ear. A heat spread across you face feeling a large bulge in his trousers, just above your ass. Once the footsteps had completely disappeared, he climbed the rest of the stairs, hand still firmly gripping yours. His spare hand pushed open the heavy door with such urgency, crashed against the wall beside it. He pulled you into his chambers, almost pulling you off your feet before only breaking eye contact to close and lock the door behind him.

He stepped towards you, unbuckling his jacket from the top. “Tell me to stop.” He once again commanded.

“No.” You spoke so quietly you weren’t even sure it had left your lips, but Aemond had definitely heard it. He pulled you close, keeping your bodies flush and brought a hand to your hair, pulling you closer. Your eyes fluttered closed as you felt his lips graze yours slightly before delving into a deep kiss. You struggled to keep up with his desperate pace at first, feeling overwhelmed a gasp left your lips in an attempt to catch your breath. Aemond pulled away ever so slightly before planting a small kiss to the side of your mouth and kissing across your jaw.

“Turn around,” He whispered. You did as he instructed and turned your back to him. His hands gathered your hair and looped it over your shoulder. His hands traced down your back to the satin ties of your dress, before undoing the bow. You felt as his pulled your dress down your arms, down your torso and heard it drop to the floor in a light whoosh. You felt exposed, this was your first time in just your undergarments around anyone other than your handmaidens, and a man at that. His hands moved to the lacings of your corset, undoing each loop as his eyes consumed every inch of new flesh he saw. He tossed your corset to the side and pulled the rest of your undergarments off, and your arms instinctively crossed your chest. Grabbing a hold of your hand, he pulled you around to face him once more. A low groan escaped his lips at the sight of you before bringing your face to his in a deep kiss. His body led you to the foot of his bed, your back hitting one of the towering bedposts.

You let out a small gasp as his lips left yours and latched onto your neck. His hand came to your jaw and tilted your head back to look up at him. “Ivestragon nyke skoros jaelā.” (Tell me what you want.) His voice sent a heat that spread across your body.

“I want you to-“ You started before he cut you off, fingers gripping your hair slightly.

“Daor.” (No.) He eyed you, thumb tracing your jawline.

You realised what he was requesting. Your brain sped through thousands of scenarios you could’ve imagined before settling on one. “Obūljagon.” (Kneel.) You spoke with all the confidence you could gather. His typical smirk returned to his lips as he scanned your face. He was not sure what he had expected you to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. A welcomed surprise, he sank to his knees in front of you. You watched as his lips peppered small kisses across your hips, running his hands up your thighs. He parted your legs and lifted your leg up and over his shoulder by the back of your knee. You gripped the footboard of the bed to steady yourself. An almost growl left his lips at the sight of your pussy mere inches away from his face. A sharp gasp left your lips at the feeling of his large fingers spreading your wetness from your core to your clit.

He brought one of his fingers to his lips and sucked the tip of it, watching your face intently. “Mmm, all this for me?” He grumbled rubbing the inside of your thigh at a painfully slow pace.

“Yes- Kessa, syt ao.” (Yes, for you.) You felt your pussy clenching, aching to be touched. His fingers moved to your pussy, teasing your folds before starting to slowly rub circles across your clit. You let out a moan, desperate for more. A smirk painted his lips, watching you in this state. Surrounded by the plush of your thighs, your small moans filling his ears, watching your nails dig into the footboard just to cope with the sensation. His middle and third finger slid down from your clit to the entrance of your pussy.

Your eyes opened and mouth parted to question the lack of contact before you felt his two fingers slide inside of you. You let out a loud moan at the foreign sensation. He worked his fingers in and out of you at slow pace, admiring as he watched them disappear into you, stretching you out and covering them in your slick. He left small kisses on your inner thigh, keeping his eye on your face. “More,” You pleaded in between moans. Aemond considered teasing you further, before giving into your request. His sped up his fingers pumping inside of you, increasing the tightening in your lower stomach. He admired your face screwed up in pleasure for one more moment before latching his lips upon your clit. A loud ‘fuck’ left your lips, and even you were partially surprised by the vulgarity of your language before all you could think about was Aemond’s tongue. He alternated between furiously licking and sucking your clit as his fingers pumped at a rapid pace inside of you. Your other hand moved up the bed post, gripping it for dear life as the man beneath you pleasured you. Your hips involuntarily bucked into his tongue as your moans grew louder and more frequent. A moan that left Aemond’s lips vibrated across your clit pushed you over the edge. You cried out his name and felt your pussy clench around his quick fingers. He continued to thrust them inside of you and delivered a few final licks to your clit, only stopping when your legs began to quiver. He slowly removed his fingers from your pussy and planted a final kiss on your clit, earning a shiver from you. He wiped the wetness from his chin with his cotton shirt before moving your leg off from his shoulder and rose to his feet and held his hand upon your waist sensing your wobbliness. He raised his fingers towards you admiring the wetness that coated them. He brought them up to your lips and you opened your mouth, feeling them run over your tongue towards the back of your throat. You sucked them clean, watching his expression from beneath your eyelashes.

Despite how hungrily he had attended to you, he looked at you like he was starved. “Better than any of the sugared fruits down there.” He gestured towards the window, and you blushed at his remark. Never had you been filled with such desire; you had just reached your peak on Aemond’s tongue, yet you needed more. His hand collected yours, as he led you over to his bed. His lips once again found yours as he pushed you towards the edge of the bed. The backs of your knees hit the bed and you plopped down. His lips left yours and you looked up at him expectantly. His fingers gripped the ends of his shirt before lifting it off of his head and tossing it with the rest of the discarded clothes. You eyed the definition of his chest, down his stomach and his arms that landed either side of your head, pushing you down onto the bed until your head hit the pillows. His lips latched onto your neck and eagerly kissed down your chest between the valley of your breasts.

“You do not know how much I have dreamt of this,” His large hand travelled up your side to cup your breast, his hand playing with the plumpness of it before his thumb ran over your nipple. “Moaning my name, naked in my bed, all needy for me.” His tongue traced the perimeter of your nipple before taking it into his mouth, massaging it with his tongue and earning another moan from you. Those moans that could sustain him for the rest of his life he was pretty sure.

“I also dreamt of you.” You spoke meekly, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear. He raised his head from your breast, brow raised.

“And what did you think about little mouse.” His smirk radiated off of him. You dreamt of him. The tightness in his trousers had become almost unbearable, but he needed to hear your sweet voice talking about him.

“I was touching you, a-and you were enjoying it.” You spoke, interrupted by a moan or two from his touch stimulating your nipples. He hummed a small ‘mmm’ in response before he moving off you and laying beside you, back propped up against the headboard. You turned to your side and looked and him inquisitively, his hand rubbed slowly over the bulge in his trousers and your mouth fell into an ‘o’ shape. He patted the bed next to his hips and you knelt facing him, unsure of what to expect. His hands reached for the tie of his trousers before you reached out and placed a hand over his. “Wait!” He looked at you with a hint of concern before you continued, “Can I try? And you tell me what you like along the way?” His jaw stiffened for a moment before he moved his hand to tangle in your hair and bring your lips to his.

You pulled your lips away from kiss and moved to kiss his neck. You started tenderly, mirroring how he had kissed yours as your hand slid down his chest towards his trousers. His breathing became more uneven as your hands touched him. Your hand fumbled with the tie of his trousers, struggling to undo it before you removed your lips from his collarbone to concentrate on the tie. He watched as your brows furrowed together, he felt as if he could finish at the sight of you. Beautiful and naked, trying so desperately to get into his pants. You finally undid the tie and looked up to Aemond with a sheepish smile, “I am not used to trousers it seems.” You giggled, and it seemed by reflex he planted a kiss on your lips.

“Dōna.” (Sweet) Your cheeks burned with his affection.

Your fingers looped over the hem of his trousers, and you pulled them down along with his undergarments as he lifted his hips slightly. Your stomach dropped at the sight of him, his cock was large and red at the tip. You froze for a second – the paintings and stories had not prepared you as well as you’d thought. You watched as his hand came to his cock and pumped it slowly a few times. His free hand reached for yours and replaced it with his own, “Just like this.” You followed the movements he had previously made, concentrating on trying to make him feel good. A small hiss brought your gaze back to his face to see his eye squeezed shut and hands gripping the sheets beneath him. You slowly increased your movements, enjoying the feeling of his cock in your hands, as you noticed a bead of precum spill his tip. Working on instinct you leant your head down and licked your tongue in a broad stroke across the tip of his cock, tasting him in your mouth. His eye immediately snapped open, “Don’t-“ He groaned.

“Sorry I-, I thought it would feel good like it did for me when you…” You trailed off searching his face. He panted, bringing your face to his. He placed his hand over yours and continued pumping his cock indicating for you to continue. He rested your forehead against his and inhaled deeply.

“It does feel good, great even, much too good.” You watched him confused, if it felt so good, why couldn’t you do it? “The difference between you and I, men and women, you may finish as many times as you please.” His voice travelled over you like honey, his free hand sliding down your stomach and rubbed his two middle fingers over your clit. “I may only once, for now, and I intend to do it in your sweet pussy.” His fingers ran small circles over your clit causing a flurry of moans to leave your lips. Your hand continued to run up and down the length of his cock, but it was hard to think straight when Aemond touched you.

“Can I feel your cock inside of me too?” Your question was genuine, if not laden with lust. It was all Aemond needed to hear before his hand reached your hip pushing you onto your back. He kissed you, hungrier than ever, barely giving you chance to keep up.

“Mirros syt ao.” (Anything for you.) He said in between kisses. He spread your legs apart, eyeing your soaking cunt, and stroked himself a couple of times before leaning over you, elbow resting beside your head. You felt as he ran his cock up and down from your clit to your core, a low groan leaving his lips. “Remember to breathe deeply, Dōna.” (Sweet). You nodded, unsure of what to expect. Aemond’s weight shifted, and you gasped as his cock slowly slid into you. Your brows furrowed as the slight discomfort slid away and was replaced with a new pleasure. His cock bottomed out, and you reached your hand to his cheek, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. He slowly started thrusting, the pace was painfully slow, but he was determined to make you feel good. As his pace picked up, his cock continuously hit a spot in your pussy that his fingers did not, causing a rather loud moan to escape your lips. “Mazemā ziry sīr sȳrī.” (You take it so well.) His praise caused a familiar tightening to start to form in your stomach.

“I love the way you feel.” Your moans filled his ears, fuelling him to go faster. His hand free hand snaked between your bodies and found your clit once more. His thrusts pounded into you, as his fingers diligently worked at your sensitive clit. The headboard begun to crack against the wall with each movement, not that either of you noticed. The quiet but delicious moans that left Aemond’s mouth were enough to ride towards your peak, the coil in your stomach tightening as you gripped your nails into his back. “Fuck! Aemond!” You exclaimed. His large cock filling you up and his fingers playing with your clit caused your orgasm to wash over you, feeling yourself tighten around his cock. His thrusts became quick and erratic as you rode out your high and his groans growing louder and more animalistic as he finished inside of you.

He panted, dropping to his elbow, and planting a small kiss upon your cheek, before pulling out of you slowly. You groaned at the loss of the fullness, missing the feeling of him already. Aemond lay beside you, pulling you by your hips to have your back against his chest. As both of your breathing slowly returned to normal you felt a small shiver run across your body, now aware of the breeze through the window. Aemond’s hand came up and ran up and down the length of your arm and pulled you close. “Is it possible to remain here all day.” You sighed, cuddling the blankets in front of you.

Aemond chuckled, “It is not our name day.” He planted a small kiss upon your shoulder. “But I do think people may notice both of our absences.” He spoke softly, with a small amount of his serious tone peeking through. You groaned, liking the feeling of being in Aemond’s arm, in his bed.

“Aemond?” You questioned, turning slightly to face him. He hummed a ‘hmm?’ in response, opening his eye. “Kessa gaomā bona run lēda aōha ēngos arlī gō īlon return naejot se rūklun?” (Will you do that thing with your tongue again before we return to the party?). A playful smirk returned to his face as he shifted above you on the bed.

“Va moriot” (Always).

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darlingofvalyria · 7 months

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❝Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine. Dragons take.❞

[ Betrayal clouds your judgement, for when Jacaerys' indiscretion takes the form of a child, your anger lands in the palm of the Rogue Prince. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 3,412 ] | Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen Niece!Reader, Jacaerys Velaryon x Manipulative Aunt!Reader | this set in an au inside of in hightower green. | this is able to be read as a oneshot.

contains— canon divergence to the second power - an au of an au - targcest, use of 'bastard', infidelity, profanity, revenge, violence, pureblood Valyrian bullshit - thinking about death as a revenge but no suicide/suicidal ideation- angst, smut - two wrongs apparently make a right - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - nsfw: rough sex, biting, degradation, breeding kink, smidge dacryphilia, creampie - no kinslayers, no kings, no betas.

a/n— special thanks to @ahristata and @hiraethrhapsody for kicking my pursuit of this thread!! i woke up (almost literally) to this line of inquiry, & though writing for daemon is difficult, i had a way, way too much fun with this one m'fraid. Ihad so much fun I started laughing at the absurdity. + comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

You can't breathe.

You stand there, your daughters by your sides, no more than five or so name days, dutiful as ever, the princess of the realm— the heir's wife, blindsided. Betrayed. Lied to. And you can't show them your grief, your anger, your shock— you smile, not betrayed, not realised, stupid.

Your act of stupidity protects you, for you can just tell that others, sharp-eyed as they are owning of sharper tongues, calculate the similarities between your husband and the child he is cooing at, at the arms of the Warden of the North's sister.

His bastard fucking sister.

You can't blink away as the facts, the threads, make a beautiful web in front of you. The conclusion is unmistakable. Jacaerys' consistent travels to the North, despite the campaigning for his mother's seat had not required the frequent stretches of long travels. How Aemond had remarked that the bastard is doing twice as much work in doing so, "as he should," Aemond murmurs darkly. "He casts a disgusting shadow on the Iron Throne, 'tis the least he can do."

The insistent of personally greeting the delegates from the North, you thinking it is just his wondrously formed friendship with the Lord Stark, had you dressing up and bringing your girls with him. So that your daughters can meet their father's fucking friend, one that occupied his time when he could have been at home, tending to his duties, his heirs.

And the woman who follows after the Wolf, the bastard Snow, his beloved sister. Dyanna had told you beforehand, as Lord Stark adores his only sibling. Their parenthood is unmistakable, dark hair and sharp chins. A Northern Beauty.

And then you stop, as there is a babe in her arms, no more than two name days at least.

And you see Jacaerys in his gaze.

His beautiful, warm brown eyes in the child in her arms, and as he stands there, your Prince of the Realm, too close for comfort, too close for platonic friendship, a familiarity one cannot deny— and that fucking, sweet-edged, tender smile on his face...

The same one he wore when you had given birth to his daughters. Soiled sheets, bloodied babes— it didn't matter. He held them to his arms with the very same smile, thanking you for birthing his babes.

A gut punch, a sharp inhale, an anger that coils and burns and roars.

Your bastard of a husband had fucked another bastard, and made himself a bastard little fucking family.

Life can ever be so cruel as it is humorous.

Daemon could have laughed at the prediction you found yourself in.

He sits to the left of his wife, the Queen who— in enough of itself, the evidence of the turmoil the court is about to get under, amusingly is talking quick with her Lord Hand; Corlys and Rhaenyra had not stopped pointedly looking at her heir, words too fast but unmistakable what the topic is if their gestures, the knot between their eyebrows, and unmistakable sighs and determined noises.

He, on the other hand, is pointedly staring at you.

You, who tries so hard to piece together an armour of stupidity, an air of nonchalance. As if there is no anger in your visage at your husband's attention completely stolen by Wolf's little sister and her son... who looked completely like him. Dark colouring, the First Men blood thick in his nose, his hair, at the curled edges of his baby-cheeked giggles.

When standing so close, faces to each other, there can be no doubt a mirror.

Or the lovesick smile on the mother's face, watching the Prince of the Realm interact with her son.

Together, the trio of them don't hint as much as a bead of Targaryen blood. One is able to pretend they are nothing more than a small... brown haired family.

Daemon presses his lips, trying desperately not to laugh so loudly.

He admired the boy, truly. Rhaenyra loved each child from her bosom with equal fervor, and Daemon was prepared take him as purely one of his own... but after he broke the betrothal with his daughter (though Baela could give lesser of a shit, though mildly dissatisfied as she was to become Queen, and the girl held her duties between canines) to marry a Hightower cunt... he had distanced himself from the boy.

Daemon viewed it as a sign of weakness, for he knew you. You were just like your mother, prodding into softened parts of his family— that green whore with his brother, young as she had been, his good sister Aemma had not been cold in their memories before she had found herself weightily pregnant with new heirs, and then Jacaerys, new to womanly spells, new to cunt, and you had him making vows in the ways of the dragonlords.

Though he can surmise that much of your mother's movements had not entirely been her own... Daemon knew that calculative look you got in your eye. Blink and it's gone, but your gaze sharpens, your mouth curls in a winning, prideful little smirk.

You were Otto Hightower's granddaughter alright, and you had wanted the Heir's Heir.

But now, it seems like, once a vow broken, it didn't really matter if it was a betrothal or a marriage to Jacaerys.

It brings a sick pull of satisfaction in him, that tugs him to look at you. Every time.

You laugh, tither, still evermore the gem of the feast— a feast you organised with the Lord Hand for your husband's absolutely exceptional diplomatic achievements in the North, truly, Daemon is laughing in the sidelines as the jests and songs make themselves — but Daemon is overtly familiar with dragons. And anger. And you simply stink of it. The way your eye twitches, the occasional grind of your jaw to how your fingers dig crescent moons into your palm. He catches blood in one blink then smeared, then gone, in another.

Your hold onto your armour— the Darling of the Realm, curated so painfully by a young, sly girl moving about the cesspit they call a crown's court — is breaking in pieces and tatters at each hour the feast went on.

It snarls. Like a dragon locked in the pits, tugging at reins, wishing to burn cities.

Maybe you aren't just another Hightower cunt after all.

Not purely at least, he thinks in distaste, staring at the dark green of your gown.

It is a childish tantrum, more than anything, for what is your Hightower green will do now? A bastard has been made, worse, a son. And though Jacaerys himself has muddied blood, he is still a Targaryen. His mother is Queen, prepared to make him an Heir to the Iron Throne as he had been legitimised as Laenor's son. A Velaryon. He bears the name, the crest, and the support of its house.

What is stopping him from marrying the Snow Bastard, legitimising the boy as his own, surpassing your own daughters?

Targaryens marry siblings, they also marry multiple wives.

It is a thought that he can see it dancing in your head— raw, enticing rage and bloodlust that tightens his breeches.

It is an interesting thing.

The green is disgusting, but Daemon can appreciate a young, fertile, Valyrian beauty.

Something your mother had ingeniously provided you and your siblings with, reining in her muddied blood to produce unmistakable Valyrian children. And as a smart little tart, you understood what to do with it.

When Daemon first met you, you were just one of the Hightower spawns that his brother had made to further his line. His brother's daughters—apart from Rhaenyra — were quiet things as babes and children. Odd the two of you were, but not really hostile. When you were introduced to him, your fat babe of a twin brother was teary-eyed and clinging to you, a quiet child with round eyes, staring at him inquisitively, as if challenging.

Then and there, Daemon disliked you so.

Even as you grew, the little of what he could see as he paid no mind of Viserys' other children, you grew up a fine royal, a princess of every word and sung note. Mentions of your progressive fight for the small folk, your charitable heart, your sweet nature that even his brother had made a note once or twice—

He thought it had been Otto Hightower who put you up to such machinations. Wouldn't be below him.

The night you bedded Jacaerys Velaryon, he was pleasantly surprised to find out it had been you all along.

And now here you are, betrayed as you had betrayed his daughter, delicious in your righteous anger and ripe (two babes before the year ended, Jace is an inglorious fool) for the taking. And youthful still. Smooth, soft skin, pretty lips and bright-eyed.

All your scheming, going as far as throwing your grandsire to Oldtown, it is obvious no one has wrangled the clever, spoiled little brat out of you.

As he sips his wine, amused and pleasantly hungry, he muses he might do a job or two of being the strong arm to do so.

He snorts, eyes straying back to the little First Men family.

There it is again. The jest that keeps on giving.

It was pride, truly, that kept you for most of the feast. That kept your gritted teeth to yourself, ducking into corners whenever your anger burned at your eyelids, stubbornly brushing stray tears away.

All is not lost, you stubbornly thought. You just had to plot.

But when Jace had taken your daughters, your Daenera and Aemma, gently tugging them to his bastard whore and his actual bastard to meet— finding your eyes, at that very moment as Daenera's precious, pureblooded hand shyly took the hand of her bastard brother, a fool's tender fucking simpleton of a smile on your husband's face —

Something in your head had snapped. A clean break.

And your armour had fallen. Like limestone from a fortress. Caved in ruins at the pool of your feet. Dark, furious loathe unfurled in your chest. Unable to handle it anymore, you had taken your dress and got out of the feast, for you could feel the urge of unsheathing a sword and going on a bloodied massacre, crowns and titles be damned.

You may not have a dragon, but you have its bloodlust.

Just as you are rushing to your chambers, you stop and make a different turn, knowing that if your husband had caught wind of such an ugly expression on your face, he would try and find you, talk to you, and you don't have the patience to cater to him at the moment— you find what you know of is an empty chamber, reserved for guests at the Keep.

It is a simple room with all the usual accruements. Most of the fanfare, the sheets, are in storage.

You start with a candelabra.

Raise it high before you are violently smashing it against the dresser, shrieks and guttural screams out of your mouth as you tear through the room like a typhoon, cursing Jacaerys, the North, and bastards to the Seven Hells.

None will be the wiser, for you had built your network well. Your spiders will pivot guards and strangers from this area, ensuring you a reprieve where your anger and grief can unfurl and manifest.

So you lose yourself, a dragon untethered. You get so into your rage, quiet in your thoughts, that you don't hear an intruder entering until there is a low, amused laugh too close for comfort.

You whirl around, tear-stained and rage-filled, and though the Rogue Prince expects you to fall into stutters, your eyes slit and you grip— when had you picked up a tome? — the tome tighter to your chest, snarling, "Get out."

Instead of surprise, or even offense, Daemon laughs as if you are the most amusing thing to him all night. Jesters and whores alike.

"I shall not." He makes a noncommittal hum around the dark room. "I rather like it here. It seems this chamber holds a much better entertainment than anything beheld at the feast."

You let out a dark, incredulous laughter. "I have no time for your toying, uncle, get out!" You toss the tome with fervour, but he's a warrior and he anticipates your anger, sidestepping easily before he's back to casual prowling.

"I do not have time to play jester for your entertainment," you hiss, unable to stop the hateful tears from spilling, brushing them away harshly as you watch him watch you.

He raises an eyebrow. "I am not asking you to."

"Are you here then for my humiliation? Press a bitter wound while it's still bleeding, is that it? Is that what would make the glory of your night?"

He snorts. "What would make the glory of my night is a warm body and a tight cunt."

Your face scrunches. "You are disgusting."

He barks out a laugh. "Not as disgusting as your brother."

"Aegon is no longer—"

"— or as stupidly naive as your husband."

A sharp intake of breath before you're once more cracking in broken rage and ghastly pain.

"Of course you would notice, who would not, he looks so much like his fucking bastard."

"Watch yourself, girl," he barks. "You are still talking about the Queen's heir."

A beautiful guard dog, you think, you snort. You push past him, gasping into the crisp, cool air, holding onto the balcony for dear life.

"His already diluted blood makes this conversation entirely hilarious to me I'm afraid." You look down and wonder how fast you will fall. How messy would such a death be? How much care there is left in your wake? Will your husband even care, now that he has his heir? Borne out of true love no doubt, despite such bastardly blood— or is that what makes it thrilling for them?

Mangled bone, spread thin blood— if you die such a way, it should be pretty. You hope it haunts the Keep of so many before you.

But if you die now, you will be replaced so easily. So prettily.

And your daughters—who will care for them? Will Jacaerys even care, if his bastards soon no doubt fill your once home, your mother, your brothers— your daughters pushed aside to make way for fucking dogs.

There is no satisfaction in such a plan.

There are many others.

The Rogue Prince makes his presence known by standing close to your back, close enough that you can smell him, that his heat is your own, as he hums, peering below as you have.

"Have you been drinking, zaldrītsos little dragon?" he whispers, tangling his fingers through your hair, running a lone finger down your neck, up and down in a tantalising movement. You can't help it, it feels comforting, leaning close to it despite such a breathy huff out of your lips.

"Since when am I dragon, kepus uncle? Haven't you always likened us muddied blood, filthier than dragonseeds?"

"I see that I am wrong," he says, almost idle as if he isn't devouring you in his gaze. How you feel soft, pliant under one finger after weighted in wine and the ruins of your anger, how you're almost purring and sweet like this, your fire alive but consistent. "Aōha perzys burns jehikagrī. Nyke hae ziry. Your flames burn bright. I like it."

"Hm. You've had sons, don't you uncle?"

"I have," he replies, amused.

"And many a children." You reach for his chin, your thumb rubbing his bottom lip. He's old, sure, but men don't have the same bodily issues as women. You know he could reach your father's age and be able to produce five more brats.

But his shoulders are strong, spry only as a swordsman can be.

And he isn't like he's loyal to Nyra, turning fully to you with a hand caressing your side.

His hand comes for your neck, halting your movement as he tests a squeeze. There is only much hatred as there is lust. And his cock is winning over his mind, for when your free hand, watching him intently, reaches for the hardness straining against his breeches, giving it a stroke, his breath stutters into a groan whilst his hips push into your hand.

"Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine," he hums darkly. "Dragons take, or do you have too much of your Hightower cunt of a mother that you—"

You curl your hand over his cock until his breath hitches.

"I want a son. Surely you'd rather want for your true blood to sit on the Iron Throne? Your wife would remain Queen, her and her heir none the wiser. Any son of mine would be King regardless." Your voice is barely above whisper, stroking him as your squirm in his hold, his breath heavy by each promise, each tale you spin so tall. "Wouldn't you like that better? I am a Targaryen, as are you. Our blood would be pure."

"I have pureblooded sons, riñītsos little girl."

"But will they be king? With my husband as your wife's heir?" When his hold softens on your throat, you push yourself forward, pressing yourself against him. "Wouldn't you want your family's legacy, your legacy, unsullied with prettier blood?

"I want a son, uncle," you whimper, thickened with need and desire, willing him to bend and fold because men like Daemon are easy, because a loving marriage is one thing, a man who holds his house as his pride in another fist is another. "I want your seed to take root in me."

And it isn't like you're asking him to betray his Queen.

Daemon is surprisingly a soft lover, prone in a way to worshipping you even as you had gotten impatient and tried to get your way. His punishments are quick and precise, a hit on your thigh, a tighter squeeze in your throat, a firm bite in your breast enough to draw blood. He's soft but by choice, almost as if he is amusing you in each caress while one hand is holding you by your hair, fucking you down into the sheets.

His words aren't better, spun in hisses and spits, mocking laughter and groans.

"Do you want my seed, you little whore?"

"What would your husband say now, his pretty wife mewling for another? Or would he even care?"

"Your tears are pretty, if you want my seed, I think you need to be sobbing, hm?"

When he finally spills inside of you with nothing less of a broken, guttural roar, hips chasing the high, meeting your sensitivity once, twice, again— you are shattered in pieces and contradictions, floating and wide awake, pleasured and in pain.

He slaps your face gently after he's cleaned himself up, tucked his flaccid cock back in his breeches as he comes to your eye line. "Come to me again when you want my seed, hm? I shall prioritise your wants for the good of the realm but I dare say—"

He cocks his head with a smirk, feeling stirrings at the sight of your fucked out state, his seed spilling from your pretty hole that he can't help himself as he chases it with a finger, forcefully pushing it back in while your body trembles and twitches.

"— you may be with child soon enough, niece. I shall congratulate you and my son with the happy news."

Your eyes flutter close at the echoes of his disappearing footsteps.

Nine moons later, through a hearty, blood-soaked birth that rocked the keep with your wails of pure pain— much more painful than when your girls had come into the world — a baby boy is born of pure Valyrian colouring.

A fat babe who cried murder in his first seconds of life, and it is Caraxes who snarls and screeches into the high noon sky.

"I shall name him Daemon," you say to your husband beside you as you beheld the babe with a wondrous smile and a full heart.

"After your brother and my father," Jace says, smiling. "That is wonderful, my wife. He does look much like them."

Your smile curls, a finger rubbing your babe's fat cheek. "He does. And he will be strong swordsman." Your lashes flutter to Jace, poisoned vowels in each word that he blinks, startled. "Just like his father."

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absurduty · 3 months

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SAINTLIKE | AEMOND TARGARYEN X READER

a b r i d g e m e n t : when you, now a Lannister, return to King’s Landing, Aemond ensures you won’t leave.

TW: smut, groping, mentions of anal, penetration, oral (fem receiving), degradation mixed with praise???, creampie, breeding, slight cum eating

CREDITS FOR THE AEMOND PICTURE TO ultravi0l3t on Pinterest!

TAGLIST: @toodlesxcuddles , @imsoshygirl

“Gods, Helaena,” you sigh softly, spraying your perfume on your dress. your slender fingers continue to spray it on your neck, behind your ears and the inside of your wrists. “It feels strangely comforting to get away from all that gold up in Casterly Rock.”

“I’ve missed you, sister.” she said in response, sitting on your bed with her eyes focused on her sewing. "But Aemond missed you more.”

“I'm sure he did,” you say softly, biting your cheek to prevent a smile from spreading. your eyes flickered to the bed Helaena was sitting on. the chambers Aemond had snuck a thousand times in to get some comfort to sleep. “Do you have any-"

“The dragon eats the lion,” your little sister suddenly interrupted you, looking up from her sewings. “The lion is blinded by pride, but the dragon is blinded by rage.”

you dropped the perfume on the floor, dumbfounded by Helaena's interruption.

“Come again?” you asked softly, careful as to not undermine her. you knew better than to undermine her sayings after the time she proclaimed Aemond had to close an eye. “What are you talking about, sweet sister?”

she only hummed, and sprayed some perfume to the back of your knees as you lifted up your dress.

"I will see you at supper, sister." she dismissed your question with a gentle tone, standing up.

you bid her goodbye, your confusion present to what it meant. However, you shook it off. Your boys were with the Septa, Aemond was practicing his swordsmanship, Aegon was doing god knows what...

you readied your hair again, making certain the curls at the bottom were luscious enough. you then headed out to the halls, your flat flootwear tapping against the ground with each step you take.

“Aunt y/n!” you heard a masculine voice call out, causing you to turn your head at the voice. you recognised the two brown-haired princes instantly.

“Nephews,” you smile warmly, embracing Lucerys first. you rubbed his back and asked him how he was doing, to which he delightfully replied that he’s officially betrothed to Rhaena.

you rise up again and turn to the eldest, Jacaerys. you could have sworn you saw him blush, but you knew better than to act as if you know the truth. you engulfed him into a hug, your scent rubbing off on him. “How have you been?”

he blinked twice, his mouth slightly parted at seeing you again. “Good, auntie.” he said softly, attempting to stand tall and noble.

“Good.” you nodded respectfully, trying to brush them off politely. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some urgent business with your mother.”

they both nodded, and scurried off to the courtyard, you knew that if you mentioned you’d be visiting your dear brother’s chamber, all you’d hear are subtle sighs of annoyance and whines disguised as uncertainty.

you treated down the grand halls again, finally reaching his chambers. there were no guards, strangely enough, and you took the liberty of opening the door, entering, and shutting it behind you.

“Sister.” his voice startles you, causing you to turn around. “What brings you here?”

“Aemond,” you smiled, trying not to let your eyes flicker to his tunic less form, stepping a few steps closer to look him up in the eyes. “You are attending supper, are you not?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked gravelly, his hands sliding down to the small of your back. you tried to avoid it, but you felt a small sense of arousal affecting your thoughts. “After all, nothing more than a supper with… family.”

“Aemond,” you whisper, as if he had just said a sentence condemning the gods. “No matter how you think about it they are still Rhaenyra’s. Half Targaryen.”

“Is that what she told you after you confronted her?” he asked huskily, his hands sliding down to your hips. “That her fucking a strong was just, and that they’re still half-fucking-Valyrian?”

“Aemond, stop,” you say in a hushed tone, feeling his other hand run across your stomach area, covered by the dress, unable to feel your full breasts due to the material of your dress. “We shouldn’t. My lord husband-”

he broke off your sentence by pressing his lips upon yours, his tall figure looking over you as if it was a shadow, your face in his hands as if it were a precious gem needing to be cradled.

“Your craven of a husband is out fucking whores, not seeing the absolute fucking beauty he has in front of him,” he murmured between kisses, his slender hands working to unbutton your dress. “But it’s fine, I suppose. You were meant to be mine anyways. Meant to be carrying my children.”

you tried not to kiss back, you really did, but his hand crept up the second your dress was dropped, and kneaded your breasts. then he took advantage of your little gasp as to slip his tongue inside. you let out soft moans, your hand flying to his hair.

“Perfect, rōva mandia,” he coos, his hand once again switching positions to rub at your asscheeks and hips. “After 4 sons, you've remained sensitive. That cunt of a Lannister must have not pleased you enough, has he?”

the only thing you could do was shake your head, placing little kisses on his neck and face which in all honesty, were adorable to him. your eyes looked at him so purely, yet he couldn’t see you as anything other than a vixen born to seduce him.

“Be a dear and show your little brother what he has missed,” he whispered in your ear, and you obliged rather quickly, crawling onto the bed, your tight little back-hole showing for him.

“Hm,” was all he said as he took his time stepping, coming to rub one of your ass cheeks as he took a look at your tight asshole. “We'll have countless nights to do that.”

you were about to open your mouth, before he tenderly turned your body over, leaning in to lick the corners of your lips, purposely drooling some of his saliva into your mouth.

“The gods have made us be together, for they know how we belong.” he murmured in between planting kisses on your jaw and throat. “You belong in black and red. I’ll give you the gold anytime you desire it.”

you grow even wetter at his words, pushing your hips up to rub yourself against his already rock-hard cock prominent through his breeches. the feeling did not last long, as one of his hands moved from gripping the sheet next to your head, to pinning your hips down.

“Oh, do you desire me now, rōva mandia?” he whispered, brushing your nose against his. “I’ve grown, sister. I am a man now. A man worthy of you.”

his lips kissed the top of your breasts, before latching onto your nipple, swirling his tongue around it while he kneaded and pinched the other with his hand.

“Ae-aemond,” you whine, your eyes trained on his bulge. you looked up at him and you couldn’t look more possibly beautiful than now. “Fuck me, please.”

“Patience, sister,” he rubbed your stomach, his other kneading your tits. you whined but quickly stopped once he brushed some hair out of your face. “You’ll be given my cock, but beforehand I'll have to taste your sweet essence I’ve been thinking about for years.”

“Aemond, I need it,” you begged him, rubbing your foot all over his crotch to rile him up. “I need you.”

he only let out a satisfied hum, kissing each toe and trailing up to your calves, knees, thighs up until his big hands spread them apart.

you remained too aroused to properly function, letting out a deep breath when his tongue only took one lick of your folds. what followed after was his thumb rubbing your sensitive pussy, having you let out fast breaths.

“Are you not used to having anything other than your husband’s cock touching your cunny?” he asked mockingly, placing a kiss on your wet folds. “Of course not, my sweet sister deserves to get fucked like a whore, and treated like a princess.”

you let out a whine at his words, practically thrusting your hips into his face. he licked at your folds and used the muscles of his tongue to fuck into you pleasurably. he let out a few grunts himself as if he was tasting the sweetest essence ever known. his hand rubbed up and down your thigh as you wrapped them around his head.

he continued tongue-fucking you, occasionally stopping to suck on your sensitive bud, his big hand continued to caress and massage your thighs, slurping up your sweet taste. you let out the most melodious moans he has ever known.

“Valonqar,” you moaned out, thrusting your hips against his face. he sucked and swirled his tongue against your clit. your muscles clench around him tighter and tighter, feeling something build up in your stomach. your body tensed up as his tongue gave his final thrusts.

“Come for me, rōva mandia, come hard for your brother,” he murmured, his tongue making his final trust on your stimulated clit. “Scream my name.”

you finally bursted, your orgasm washing over your. half of the juice shot down Aemond's throat and the other half drooled down his chin. he eagerly slurped up your juices, before rubbing his cum-covered chin against your breasts, rubbing the cum off on your breasts.

“My sister, my love,” he coos, kissing the shell of your ear. “The best woman to give my cock to.”

he got rid of his breeches and pulled out his hardened member, throbbing with pre-cum. he let out a soft hiss as it rubbed against your entrance, teasing you endlessly.

“We should stop,” you say softly. “Anyone could come i- ah!”

you let out a gasp as he began to began to circle your sensitive button with the tip of his erection. his hands were placed on your waist, pinning you down.

“Let them,” he murmured close to your lips, his unoccupied hand coming up to trace his thumb over your bottom lip. “Let them see how a dragon has claimed another dragon. As it should be.”

you moan loudly, feeling him push his fat head into your throbbing pussy. his cock was much better than your lord husband’s, thrusting slowly into your tight heat. his face cane close again to plant suck and kiss on your jawline, holding your face to the side.

“My sister is too beautiful,” he murmured in between occasional quiet grunts, feeling you deeper with each trust. “The only cunt that’s perfect for me.”

he could feel you tightening around him, your sweet eyes looking up at him. his one eye met yours, locking eyes intensely. your gasps and moans, accompanied by clapping sounds lingered around the room. his hand creeped down to knead your breasts, brushing a thumb over your hard nipple. his hips went upwards to thrust deeper. he could hear those telltale cries of ecstasy, and basked in it.

“You wish for me to put a babe inside of you?” he asks mockingly, rubbing your cheek against his hand. “Of course you do. You’re mine, and once that husband of yours knows his place, we will be wed.”

you clenched around him, juices already wetting his cock inside of you. your eyes roll to the back of your head as his hand rubbed your clit. you looked up at him once again, and he looked majestic and vulgarly gorgeous. his hair sticking to his forehead, not as straight anymore now that it’s wet. you were a sight for sore eyes to him as well, your dark hair messy and disheveled, your cheeks red and your neck scattered in hickeys.

after a few moments, you came undone, spilling against his cock. not soon after, he slowed his thrust and shot his load inside of you, a part of him forever embedded within your womb.

“Too beautiful,” he murmured, planting kisses all over your breasts and collarbone. “You have been mine since we were children. You were meant to be my betrothed. Tis I who has always loved you.”

you only smiled, but even that made his heart flutter and his cock twitch. he slowly engulfed you into a kiss, slipping his cock outside of you.

“My children have taken a liking to you,” you smile, rubbing your nose against his. “I’d love for you to stay by our side.”

“Which I will do,” he replied, his big hand rubbing your stomach. “After all, they ought to meet one of their own.”

you were about to attempt to stand up on shaky legs, but his veined hands cupped your face and slowly pinned you back down.

“Do not clean yourself up, rōva mandia,” his melodic voice ringed. “Let us depart to supper with my seed, deep inside of you. The bastard might realise how little chance he makes with you.”

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ladythornofrivia · 2 months

Text

Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part One)

word count: 2,733

author’s note: i’m sorry that i didn’t post much stories, as I’ve been reblogging and changing themes in my profile. i’m trying my best, but I’ll make up for it.

warnings: incest, cockwarming, teasing, sucking, p in v, rough play, flirting, wholesome moment, jealous aemond, possessive, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, second hand embarrassment, dark content, mentions of su*cide, Aemond being too touchy with his aunt, degradation, humiliation.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts).

There hasn’t been a day that you never left your homeland. All in prosperity. All in solitude, all in mindful thoughts that even the castle walls were unable to perceive. Oldtown is known for the oldest kingdom within Westeros.

We light the way, those are the words from House Hightower, a tall, silver tower with a green light of flames atop. Members of the Hightower court are known to be proud and resilience. Perhaps too greedy to your taste. Less fickle to their needs, their desires, their secrets, their ambition.

All minds think alike, as they said. But your mind is unalike from theirs.

There hasn’t been a single day where your life change—steady as it goes. But when your older sister, Alicent, sent a letter to you from a raven fled from miles, you instantly ripped the seal and unveiled her letters, written in neat cursive. In the days where you can recall that Alicent taught you to read and write, before accompanying your father, Otto Hightower, to aid the ailing king and his throne.

In King’s Landing, where Aegon has set and had trees felled after his conquest in Westeros. The stories of dragonlords and ladies has caught you into a slighted dot of peculiarity. But with your father, you knew that your father wanted more than being as the Hand of the King. Like any folk in Oldtown, he’s all in the same cloak of mind and heart as the rest. The only difference is he has resided in King’s Landing with the Targaryens, warming the throne with Alicent’s political stead.

With you, as Alicent’s half-sister, one thing you adored about her is her resilience, no matter how the power struggle may have been, Alicent held her head high, it inspired you to do the same cause, not for the greater good, but for you to steady your heart. With Alicent’s brown eyes, anyone would be easily swayed at her beauty. With your eyes like glowing water, the subjects were to assume that you’re either a sea creature in the ocean, or have been reincarnated as a woman. Common folks assumed that you’re a goddess sent by Maiden herself. But others theorized you’re born in the sacred pond within the forest.

Despite the nonsensical rumors, you carried out your duties dulled within life, but with your brother, Gwayne Hightower, entered in your chambers without a warning.

“Sister!”

“Good heavens, you gave me a fright,” you screeched, hand clutching over your chest.

“A word from the raven,” he resumed, pulling out the letter. “It’s from our dear sister.”

She hasn’t written you a letter for months. Understanding of her high authoritative position, thankfully enough you aren’t the queen. You couldn’t bear to think about gifting children into the world from your maidenhood.

“Alicent!” Departing from the chair, you snatched the letter from Gwayne’s hand and ripped the letter open, straightening the scrolled paper.

My dearest sister,

I regret to inform you that I cannot visit in the Oldtown due to personal circumstances that our father has been trifled with the matters in King’s Landing. As queen, I must fully prioritize my duties and smite the inconsiderate undutiful thought of others. My dear husband, King Viserys, has been unwell as of late, growing slower day by day, but still the same man who loves his histories and shed upon endless favoritism on his daughter and her plain-featured sons, as well his miniatures he rarely finished. As of this moment, we are preparing the feast for the upcoming celebration. Misery and dread and politics has been my company, and I’d be happy if you come to King’s Landing and stay here for more than a month. I also send Gwayne and his men to escort you back. I hope you still have the new dresses and jewels the seamstress sorted to your taste; I always know that you hated attire that itched your flesh or suffocating. Words cannot expressed about how I miss the sweetness of your smile and laughter. We shall meet soon.

Signed,

Alicent Hightower

Jumping with joy, your body lunged at Gwayne, locking him into a tight hug, slightly hopping in place with a big grin stretched onto your lips.

“Have my things ready, brother,” you said, hasting, forgetting about the silks and fabrics in your hands.

“But you need more time. You’ll stay in King’s Landing as our queenly sister instructed.”

“Send the maids, then. I can’t do this alone.”

“You mustn’t make haste!” Gwayne shouted as you ran off, never minding the silks on the ground only for him to pick up.

“The sooner the better,” you shouted back.

~~~

The trailed ship took no more than three days to reach King’s Landing. Alicent hasn’t mentioned anything particular to the celebration. But you have come to acknowledge that Alicent lessened the details.

By the time the ships rested at the shore, you rushed down to the clear path and greeted your father, who was rather cold and emotionless. Nevertheless, you gave the courtesy of shallow inclination of your neck bent down. Though your heart shattered at the motionless greeting; a chilled wind spiraled on your thickened sleeves.

“Father,” you said, grinning ear to ear.

“Queen Alicent awaits,” is all he said, then left without abiding on you.

“But—”

“Ser Gwayne, escort this lady in the Red Keep,” he wasn’t saying it with care.

This lady.

Months without communication and souvenirs, you’d ought it’ll soften your father’s resolve regarding onto the estrangement.

Another clash of heartbreak has struck again. But it comes as no surprise.

Both of you hadn’t spoke since of his second wife—your mother’s—passing.

As numb as it may be, the small pang in your heart resolved again as Gwayne Hightower escorted you to the high steeps close, reaching the royal grounds of Red Keep.

~~~

Infiltrating from climbing the steps until reaching the indoors, the green queen appeared.

Your sister.

“Alicent,” you rushed and clung her to embrace.

“Sister, how good of you to come,” Alicent replied.

The halls greeted you in cold and dreaded air clinging onto your sleeves, goosebumps flooded over your skin, the thick air of candles and torches has impaled your stomach. You didn’t like this feeling. These halls, darkened in heralds of statues and stars that your pupils recognizant.

Faith of the Seven.

Hightowers held their religion in the highest regard, while you, don’t cherish the ideologies of the religion, filled with fanaticism and hypocrisy. Even Targaryens have the queerest customs, of marrying brother to sister, relative to relative since Aegon I. It dire consequences of genetics and birth, and the fruition of a child birth into an unshakable world of politics and desires. According to the Citadel, in secret debate, those who are born of incest are nothing but sort of monsters lurking, a defect to a bloodline.

The Targaryens disagree—couldn’t care less, of course. As you often heard of keeping the bloodline pure.

Bloodline pure. People speculated that the Targaryens are closer to gods than men. Thus their words ‘Fire and Blood’ is in order. In Valyria, their source is magic and dragons, long before volcanic eruptions swept the lands and dragons into ashes. The last Targaryens resided in Westeros, and thus, their last kind is dwindling, hence creating pure bloodline. As theatrically hysterical as it is, you trudged along the halls.

“It has been so long since I saw you last,” Alicent began.

“It has, but we rarely sent letters as of late.”

“Being a queen is no simple task. Our father’s ambition has gotten stronger.”

“Your father,” you said bitterly.

“My dear sister,” Alicent resumed, her voice soothed. “Father is doing his best to stabilize the realm.”

“Cold, cruel and calculated,” you answered. “Your strength and dutiful as queen is one of the things I admire about you. But, sister, it feels as if my existence is no longer needed. I feel as if I’m useless. My mother received no love from your father.”

The doe-eyed look in Alicent’s eyes protruding. “Sister, I—“”

“Half-sisters,” you reminded. “Everyone thought I was some sort of creature that shouldn’t belong in the realm. I’m no fool; I could hear everyone whisper, even closed doors.”

“Creature or not, you’re still a Hightower. We share the same blood. Nothing will ever change between you and I.”

“But your father will never accept me,” you replied.

Alicent clasped her hands onto yours. “The next time we see each other, I’ll be visiting the Oldtown.”

“You said that the last time on our previous letters,” you chimed. “Let him stabilize the realm alone.”

“That is why you’re here. I needed time apart from the council and subjects,” Alicent reasoned. “Men are often ambitious with their politics and trifling over gold than their wives.”

“It appears so,” you agreed, huffing.

Ironically, Alicent served men, and still is. First Jahaerys, then Otto, then Viserys. Though you wouldn’t so recklessly give your personal opinion away to Alicent.

“We have yet to explore the grounds. We must rest at the gardens. I know how much you love staying in the gardens.”

Your cheeky smile was showing. “I do.”

Alicent squeezed your hand. “Let us be off. It’s considered bad luck if we let our food grow cold.”

“Never knew that it involves bad luck.”

“I’ve been told.”

“By who?”

Not once, Alicent answered.

~~~

“Make yourself comfortable,” Alicent said, indicating the spare chair, and watched you sat with ease, eyeing the lavish outdoors where the Weirwood stood as main view.

“Quite nice out,” you complimented.

This was Alicent meant when she said gardens.

“I chose this spot for a reason,” Alicent said as the servants settled the meal over the table—bowed and left. And the last servant entered, placing a stacked candied almonds and candied plums on a gold platter, alongside of Dornish wine.

Alicent watched your eyes lit up.

“I took the liberty of having the kitchen staff ready for your sweet-tooth,” she clarified.

“You know me well, sister.” You grinned.

“My lady,” a soothing masculine voice said behind you.

“Ser Criston,” Alicent addressed, glancing. “I’m occupied as of this moment.”

“There has been urgent matters regarding to your son.”

Puzzled, Alicent spoke with, “Which son?”

Appalled, your eyes darted at her. On the other hand, you never retain information from Alicent.

“Aegon,” Criston answered, eyes turning away. “I’m afraid his excursions have rather been…” Then his dark brown eyes flicked to yours, his mouth opened, choosing his words carefully.

“We’ll speak no more of it,” Alicent pleaded. “I’m under the liberty of entertaining my sister at the moment. Do ignore Aegon’s excursions for now.”

Somewhere in between the lines, you knew Alicent’s calm demeanor struck hard when the excursions take place, wrath kept within, as you read between Alicent’s lines furrowed on her forehead. Ser Criston glimpsed at you and bowed before withdrawing from the outdoors.

“My apologies,” Alicent said to you in a dreaded voice. “The excursions in the daylight hour upon King’s Landing hasn’t ended.”

“I never knew you had a son,” you said, munching on the candied almonds.

Alicent swallowed the contents of the food. “I mentioned it once before in the letter. That I was having a babe in my belly.”

You pondered for a moment. It was back when Alicent married Viserys and carried a child in her.

“But you never mentioned that it’s a son,” you commented.

“But I’m sure you heard Aegon’s name the moment he arrived into the world.”

Your teeth clenched. “I can assure you I did.” The Oldtown spoke of Aegon in high regards, but as you grew older, you never hear much of Aegon’s doings, hoping to meet your nephew, you waited, but as usual, you sister never once sent letters to offer you an invite.

“Things have been hectic for the past years, and I doubt that’ll cease. With the Iron Throne empty and with all that it stands, we’re keeping the place intact with politics and debate,” Alicent reasoned.

You stayed in silence.

“If you would like,” Alicent continued, “I would be happy to take you to the gallery. The Red Keep has been nothing but a dread. I shall escort you and give you a tour to the Red Keep unless you want someone else to—”

“No, I’d be thrilled if you were to accompany me,” you paused, then said, “sister.”

Alicent gently beamed at that.

~~~

When you and Alicent both went inside the Red Keep, the royal subjects and guards bowed before the green queen as their eyes lingered onto yours, and an incoherent of whispers were passed to your ears.

The sister of the green queen.

And as you ascended the staircases, from there, you saw the shaded eyes of violet and curled hair—a young girl, a few years younger than you.

“Mother, have you seen my—” The girl’s youthful stare darted to yours, backing away gradually.

“This is my sister, (y/n), your aunt,” Alicent introduced. “This is Princess Helaena, my daughter,” Alicent said to you.

“A pleasure.” As you made an inclination to your neck, smiling to the princess as you hadn’t realized that the others accompanied none other by two young men behind Helaena, both with Targaryen features.

Your heart stopped—leapt with warmth—when you first glanced at the tall prince with gold, lithe hair as his other eye covered with eyepatch.

“These are my other sons…” Alicent said, searching for the third son with a slight frown on her features. “Where is Aegon?”

“Drunk as usual,” Daeron rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.

“That blasted fool…” Alicent hissed, then smiled merrily in a way to appease herself. “I hope you and Lady (y/n) would get along.”

“Yes, I remember now! You’re that boy—that cupbearer in the council!” you said to Daeron.

Daeron beamed. “I am proud to serve my mother’s family in Oldtown. Ashamed we never met circumstances in the Reach, yet here we are!” he chuckled. “For my dear father’s name day contained in private ceremony, I’m glad you came.”

You sensed the sarcasm in the word “father”, but shrugged it off.

The dread of unwanted unwelcome washed away with glee. “Indeed. I shall look forward to the festivities.”

Aemond lifted and placed his kiss upon the back of your hand. A kiss placed with gentle fire ignited your dulled soul, envision with flames of blush blaring your dewy cheeks. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

Breath caught in your throat, eyeing on his hand still lingering his intertwine fingers to your skin. “Likewise, my prince…”

For the first time in your life, the gentleness of a dragon has captured your heart and soul.

As for Aemond, with the slighted news of your presence, there’s nothing more than mere maiden who needs to be soiled with his perversions trapped and coiled and enflamed in between his legs. When he first laid his gaze on you, he pictured your flushed skin wrapped with his own, his lips captured yours as his presence trapped into your mind for eternity. But alas, with a wandering thought just now, it wasn’t like him. He mustn’t be capricious and avarice on the spot.

With your grand arrival, Aemond had already decided you’ll become his.

One day at the time, he reminded himself.

“It’s unusual for you to be courteous to someone,” Alicent commented.

“I never wish to scare anyone with my presence, mother,” Aemond said. “It is my duty as a prince to make our special guest comfortable.”

A hot tingle between your legs stirred as you eyed on him—on his lips—how rolled off words with his tongue, finding yourself imagining at the thought of your nephew tasting your folds as you ride him, warming the bed—riding him whilst lace and corset of your precious dress torn apart by his own rugged and young hands.

“He’s only being courteous like Prince Daeron,” you noted, clearing your throat. “Everyone must fulfill their role to the realm. We mustn’t decay our customs to rudeness.”

Aemond’s eye gleamed at your flushing features whilst you looked at Alicent in the eye, you speak with assurance yet your body wavered, dying for your hungered coil in you—the scorch caged within your dress to be set free.

You cannot fool me, my princess, he thought.

In the end, nobody can fool a dragon like him.

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hs-is-loml · 2 years

Text

Bound. (a.t)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Fem!Reader (minor oc descriptions)

Summary: you didn't realize when you stood beside aemond during the night when he lost his eye would solidify your stance in the war.

Warnings: death, murder, angst, fluff between aemond and reader, betrothals, incestual relationship uncle/niece, little family drama (UNEDITED)

a/n: i wanted to get this out before i watched episode ten later. which will determine whether or not i write a part two to this.

word count: 5.5k

all translations of high valyrian come from google! english translations are in parentheses!!

masterlist - as i am yours (part two)

It was always a deep regret in your heart that you could do anything to save his eye during the fight. He never held any resentment towards you though as you stood by your place to his side. You could never fight against your siblings, and Aemond knew that. Though he continued to taunt them, you stood quietly next to him not meeting anyone’s eye.

You could recall that night so vividly. The chaos of everything. The questioning of who was right and who was wrong. Trying to decide whether you made the right choice of standing next to your betrothed in his defense. Your family might hate you now, but you got a family out of it in more ways than one.

FLASHBACK

“Aemond, this is worrying to me,” you expressed your concern as you both made your way toward Vhagar to see if Aemond could claim her.

She was a free dragon as of the death of your Aunt/Stepmother Lady Laena Velaryon, and no one has yet to take claim of her more so bond with her. You knew that your half-sister would be furious at the revelation that Aemond was to be the next rider of Vhagar. In all honesty in your mind, it was her fault thinking no one would want to claim the most powerful/largest dragon in the realm.

You knew that you were the creation of an affair between your mother Rhaenyra and your biological father Daemon. Everyone knew you were with your hair being as bright as snow and bold violet eyes with your fair complexion. Though you were legitimized by the King himself, so no one dared ever call you a bastard to your face.

Ser Laenor was also your father who raised you and brought you up. You loved him as a father and knew how hard his sister’s death hurt him. You two would visit them on dragon back with Seasmoke and Silverwing allowing you to get to know your biological father and half-sisters. Daemon had a hard way to show that he cared for someone, but you were his jewel.

He would teach you more complex High Valyrian and teach you about your ancestors. Always telling you that it was important for you to me in the knowledge of those before you when you were to take the throne. Which made Baela and Rhaena envious of the favoring of their father towards you.

Though Daemon cared for you as his daughter when you visited him, he did not pay any mind to you outside of it. Always so hot and cold. Never allowing himself to get too attached to anyone. Making you more in favor of your stepfather Laenor. Who taught you how to swim on the shores of Driftmark, unbraided your hair before saying goodnight, taught you the basics of bonding with a dragon, and took you on rides with Seasmoke when you were too little to ride Silverwing.

“There is nothing to worry about, and I would never let anything happen to you,” Aemond reassured you taking your hand as the two of you got closer to Vhagar.

“Aemond be careful, I will not lose my betrothed over a dragon claim,” you squeezed his hand before letting go allowing him to approach the large she-dragon.

“Dohaeras! Dohaeras, Vhagar! Lykiri! Lykiri!” Aemond shouted to the dragon as Vhagar growled in his presence. (Serve! Serve, Vhagar! Calm down!) “Lykiri.”

You watched in anticipation, scared for Aemond’s life. To your relief, Vhagar seemed to be accepting Aemond as she allowed him to climb to her back.

“Soves! Dohaeras, Vhagar! Soves!” he yelled out commands to the dragon. (Fly! Serve, Vhagar! Fly!)

As Vhagar and Aemond took flight, you waited for his return watching the beautiful dragon’s wings spread amongst the sky. It seemed like an eternity before you saw them rearing back to where you awaited. Vhagar landed with a loud grunt letting Aemond climb back down on her wing.

“I knew you were always meant for amazing things,” you admitted to Aemond as continued to bond with Vhagar. He put his forehead to rest against the dragon’s cheek.

“Come here.”

“Aemond, you must be joking,” you nervously let out, staying in your place.

“Come here, love. She won’t hurt you, I promise,” Aemond said as he reached out his hand to you, beckoning you to come closer.

“Rytsas, Vhagar,” you greeted the dragon, taking Aemond’s hand, and staying close to his side. (Hello, Vhagar)

Aemond took your hand in his grasp and laid your palm against Vhagar’s cheek which radiated heat. Vhagar purred at the attention both you and Aemond were giving her. You enjoyed this moment shared between the three of you. You leaned your head against Aemond’s shoulder looking up at him as he relished in the fact he finally had his own dragon.

“Maybe when we get back home we can take Vhagar and Silverwing on a ride together,” he suggested as you two made your way back inside the High Tide.

“It’s him,” they gasped at the sight of Aemond and you.

“It’s me,” Aemond mocked.

“Vhagar is my mother's dragon.”

“Your mother's dead. And Vhagar has a new rider now,” Aemond stated in arrogance.

“She was mine to claim.”

“Then you should've claimed her!” Aemond shouted in thinning patience. You stood behind him keeping your head down as your siblings continued to yell and argue with your betrothed.

“Y/N, come here,” Jace commanded to you as he saw Aemond shield you from them.

“Jacaerys, you do not command her to do anything unless it is of her free will,” Aemond defended you as your siblings looked at you with disgust for siding with their “enemy.”

The chaos surrounding you came with the overwhelming feeling of guilt of not knowing who to stand by and defend. Causing you to be frozen in your place as they started to fight. You saw punches getting thrown around and how they all ganged up on Aemond.

“Baela, Jacaerys, stop it,” you shouted as you saw them go against Aemond. “Aemond, no!” you continued as you saw Lucerys’ nose bleed profusely from Aemond’s hit.

You were paying so much attention to them that you didn’t see Rhaena coming up to you ready to strike. You only realized when you felt the slap against your cheek.

“How dare you stand next to him instead of your family,” she yelled at you in disappointment. “Father will be so disappointed in you,” she said as if it seemed like you cared so much about your parents’ approval.

Everything seemed to slow down as you heard Aemond yell in pain, you turned in a hurry to try and attend to Aemond. That’s when you saw Lucerys holding a blade and you felt yourself sink down to your knees beside Aemond taking his head on your lap.

“What have you done?!” you shouted at them. “A disgrace upon all of you,” you cursed them cradling Aemond and trying to do your best to comfort him.

Aemond continued to groan in pain as you ripped a portion of your cloak to help stop the bleeding in his eye. The others continued to scream at you and Aemond which you paid no mind to.

“CEASE THIS AT ONCE!” Ser Harrold came rushing in separating your siblings from you and Aemond.

“GET AWAY!” you screamed as you noticed them quieting down but unmoving.

“My Prince, my Prince. Let me see,” Ser Harrold approached you two. “Gods be good.”

You stayed by Aemond’s side as the maesters attended to his wounded eye. You held his hand as they stitched it together, feeling him squeeze your hand when the pain got too much for him. You stayed quiet as both families argued against each other. You noticed the look your mother gave you when she saw that you had not taken the side of your siblings.

Daemon stayed to the side watching the situation play out. Your grandfather continued to demand answers as he shouted amongst the room.

“I will have the truth of what happened. My sweet granddaughter, tell your grandsire how did this happen?” the King turned to you asking for an explanation of the situation.

“Due to the death of my Aunt Lady Laena, Vhagar was left unattended and unclaimed by a rider since. Aemond and I went down to see her and to see if Aemond could bond with her which he did. As we made our way back inside the castle, we were stopped by my siblings and cousins, and they argued with Aemond about Vhagar. In my honest opinion, no one truly claims a dragon they just bond with them as a rider, so making Rhaena's claim of Aemond stealing Vhagar from her false as she should not have waited so long to bond with Vhagar,” you started to retell the story to the King who listened closely to your words. “I did not want to fight against my betrothed or my siblings and cousins but I stayed alongside Aemond. The fight broke out between all of them when Baela threw the first punch against Aemond. I did not participate in the fight until Rhaena struck a slap against me while throwing insults towards my loyalty. I was too late to see the blade held by Lucerys and to save Aemond from the attack. It was an unfair fight as it was majorly the four of them against Aemond,” you told your grandfather letting a tear fall on the reddened cheek of yours as you look at Aemond and raised your hand to caress Aemond’s nonaffected cheek.

Your mother, Rhaenrya looked at you with repulse as you finished retelling the incident. She never realized the actual bond between you and Aemond as she only ever thought of it as you acting for your duty to the throne.

“Now how is it you are the only one to ever speak the truth? Thank you, granddaughter,” Viserys said as he laid a hand on your shoulder as he passed by you.

“Oh my sweet child,” Alicent came to you and brought you into her arms in a tight squeeze. “Thank you for being with Aemond,” she whispered into your ear as she let go to attend to Aemond more.

A couple of days had passed and you did not leave Aemond’s side for most of it. You noticed himself trying to distance himself from you and knowing it stemmed from the scar that was now embedded upon his face. He was scared of you feeling disgusted by his new appearance. You were quick to reassure him that you still kept the same feelings for him regardless of how he looked.

You were with Queen Alicent and Aemond in his chambers when the news was broken to you by Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys that your stepfather was found dead. You were holding a vase ready to set it down beside Aemond’s bedside table. Upon hearing the news you froze and the vase slipped out of your hands shattering on the ground where you fell to your knees. You felt small shards of glass against your skin, but it couldn’t compare to the pain you felt in your heart for the loss.

“Dear child, come here,” Rhaenys said with tears in her eyes as she approached you and signaled you to stand up from the broken glass. You felt stuck. Once again.

“Y/n?” Aemond questioned from his bed. He got out of the covers and carefully stepped around the glass and brought you to sit on the bed. You were silent as tears gushed from your eyes.

“How?” you managed to say through your growing sobs. Rhaenys and Corlys came to your side as Alicent and Aemond nodded to them as they walked out of the room out of respect.

“His body was found burned in the fireplace of the hall,” Corlys told you taking the space to your left and Rhaenys took the spot on your right. You were staying down on your bloodied dress and trembling hands.

“I never got to tell him how much I loved him,” you cried which had Rhaenys pulling you to her chest in a hug as you gripped her sides letting your anguish out. Corlys wrapped his arm around Rhaenys moving you to let yourself lean against the both of them.

“He knew. He always loved you and was so proud of how you have grown. Always talking about your accomplishments and the adventures you both took visiting around the realms,” Rhaenys admitted to you softly relishing in the fond memories of her son.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized to both of them.

“For what, granddaughter?” Lord Corlys asked letting his hand run through your hair.

“We all know that I am not my father’s actual daughter, but do know the love and respect I held for him in my heart as he raised me as his own,” you told them in honesty but afraid to look meet their eyes you kept your head down.

“Y/n, you are his daughter through and through. He cherished you more than anything in the world and we will always accept you as our own,” Rhaenys pulled your head up to meet her gaze and more tears filled your eyes at the love and acceptance given to you at this moment.

“You hold the memories of him. You are his legacy,” Corlys confirmed to you.

END OF FLASHBACK

“Darling, your mother, and her family are coming back here to petition for the claim of Driftmark in days' time,” Alicent snapped you out of your thoughts which caused you to snap your attention to her setting your cup of tea down on the table.

“Is there a reason I was not made aware sooner?” you asked her with anxiousness crawling inside you.

“I saw no reason to worry you and the raven only arrived last evening,” she replied leaning forward to place her hand on top of yours. “It will be okay.”

“I have not spoken to them since that day all those years ago,” you admitted aloud.

After the night when you stood by Aemond’s side to explain to your grandfather about the incident, your mother and your entire family turned their back on you. Which only allowed you to keep in contact with your grandparents Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys whether it was you traveling back to High Tide with Silverwing, Aemond, and Vhagar or them coming to the Red Keep to see one another.

You did not even attend the wedding between your mother and your biological father still upset about the ending of your step-father. You learned to figure out that it was in the hands of your mother and her newlywed husband. You grew to resent them as they took the person who raised you, loved you for who you truly were, and never wanted to change you.

You stayed at Driftmark until you got sick of the ocean air, and left to return back to the capital. You were welcomed with open arms by everyone but your own family that took their stay in Dragonstone. Your time in Red Keep allowed you to be with Aemond and spent time with your grandfather until he got bedridden a couple moons ago.

“May I be excused, my Queen?” you asked.

“Of course,” she smiled at you, removing her hand and allowing you to stand and exit her chambers.

You walked in the halls of the Keep stuck in your own thoughts and worries about what is to come soon. Knowing that it could never be calm with your families. You found yourself near your shared chambers with Aemond and knocked with the hope he was in the room. Unless he was on the training grounds with Ser Cole.

“Yes?” you heard from inside the room.

“It is only me,” you said loud enough for him to hear you as well.

“Well do come in,” it was quiet but loud enough for you to open the door enough to let you slip in and shut it behind you. “Has something happened?”

Aemond notices the look on your face and knows that you are drowning in some sorrows. He gets up from his chair near the fireplace to go to you and takes your hands to lead you to the bed to sit. Both of you sit along the side of the bed, but you are staring at your intertwined hands while he stares at you. He removes one of his hands from your and raises it to your chin to lift your head up towards him. Meeting eye to eye he nods to encourage you to tell him your thoughts.

“My mother and her family are coming back to the Keep,” you muttered looking around the room trying to not meet his eye.

“Is she to bring all of them?” he scoffed at the thought of them being here.

“Yes, I assume so. She still has Jace and Luke, but I think she has another two in addition with Daemon and not to forget about Baela and Rhaena,” you answered as you thought about the family they had created without you.

“Well, we must prepare ourselves for the upcoming days,” he suggested as he let his fingers play with the sapphire betrothal ring the was worn on your left hand.

“I do not want them here.”

“No one does, My love.”

“They cannot come barging into our lives again just because they got bored of theirs,” you whine in frustration.

“They are pesky little things,” he spat which made you giggle at the tone of his voice. In which he grinned at the sound of your laughs.

You stood beside Aemond next to Aegon as the petition of Vaemond Velaryon was to be heard for who was to be the next Lord of the Tides. You felt the glares from your siblings as you stood alongside the Greens. With your emerald green dress with black lacing and your body adorned in jewels, they could not stand the sight of you standing tall with them.

Though they had no right to any opinions they create of you, that did not stop them from frowning at the conjoined hands of you and the prince to your left. It was a constant reminder for them of the night everything changed. As you did not take their side after Lucerys wrongly slashed Aemond’s face.

“I am Lord Corlys's closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins,” Vaemond stated to Otto Hightower who sat upon the King’s throne. As you have gotten along with the rest of the family, the Hand of the King was one person you would always dislike.

“As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon,” Rhaenrya said which made you scoff loudly at the statement. “If you cared so much about your house's blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition,” she added on.

“You will have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra,” Queen Alicent said from her place near you towards your mother.

“Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard,” you continued for the Queen. Rhaenrya snaps her attention to you with sorrow-filled eyes in hearing your voice for the first time in years. Her eyes travel down to the grasp you held onto Aemond’s hand and arm.

“What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn't recognize it,” Vaemond scowled at Rhaenrya. “I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor to be the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides.

“Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Jacaerys Velaryon.”

“If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly 20 years ago, in this very…” your mother started.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm,” as your grandfather King Viserys arrives near the doors.

“I will sit on the throne today,” he breathes heavily. The King limps his way toward the throne before stopping to take in a heaving breath. “I said I’m fine.”

It broke your heart to see the man you called grandfather slowly wither away to bones. The continuation of his walk does not go any further as he drops his crown as leans over his cane. You removed yourself from Aemond’s side and made your way to your beloved grandfather.

“Grandfather, here,” you pick up the crown from the floor and offer your arm out to him to try and lead him to the throne easier.

“Thank you, my child,” as he takes a seat on the throne.

“My King,” you bowed your head to him as you placed the crown back on his head.

Making your way down the steps seeing everyone’s shocked faces at the King getting out of his bed rest and his granddaughter for helping him. You made your way back over to the Greens with Alicent stopping you with her arm before you were able to reach Aemond.

“Thank you,” she smiled at you softly.

“I must... admit... my confusion,” the King starts off with coughs. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is Princess Rhaenys.”

“Indeed, Your Grace. It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark would be passed through Ser Laenor’s daughter, Y/n, but in the circumstance that she is the next heir of the Iron Throne after her mother it would be passed to Ser Laenor’s trueborn son… Jacaerys Velaryon,” Princess Rhaenys told to King as she glanced at you slightly giving you a tight-lipped smile. “His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys's granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

“Well, the matter is settled. Again,” Viserys said. “I hereby reaffirm Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides. As well as the next change of succession.”

The crowd gasps at the statement of the king. Alicent looks to her father in gleaming hope. Aemond and you look at each other afraid for the words that might be said next as if Aegon were to be crowned heir. Rhaenyra and Daemon look at each other in worry.

“I hereby state a decree whereupon my death the Iron Throne and Crown are passed onto my son Prince Aemond Targaryen and my granddaughter, his betrothed Princess Y/N Targaryen,” Viserys stated to the crowd. “For they are the next heirs to the Iron Throne,” as he looked at you and his son with a smile.

There is an uproar with the crown and attending council members in the change of succession. Cheers were heard all around the room except for your mother and family. Alicent turns to you and Aemond with a bright smile on her face. She takes your face in her hands and tilts your head down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“You will make an amazing queen, Sweetling,” she told you as she placed a hand on your shoulder giving it a tight squeeze. “You, my son will be a brilliant king,” shifting her attention to Aemond.

“Oh thank the seven hells, it was not me,” you hear Aegon from beside you with a grin on his face which you poked at his side with a small giggle.

“Father, what is the meaning of this?!” your mother shouts from her place to the King.

“It is my wish you do not receive the crown, daughter,” the King said bluntly.

“You break the law... and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir then now your second son and granddaughter,” Vaemond spat at the King. “Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

“Allow it?” Viserys scoffed at the claim. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

“That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Aemond and Y/N are of my kin and as well as Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you... are no more than the second son of Driftmark,” your grandfather defended.

“You may run your house as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned I will not see it ended on the account of this,” Vaemond shouted. “Her children are…”

“Say it,” Daemon said from beside Rhaenyra as Aemond pulled you behind him as he glared at Vaemond.

“BASTARDS! And she IS A WHORE. Not to mention the ward you had taken under your house,” Vaemond yelled loudly in the room allowing every person to hear his words.

“I will have your tongue for that,” Viserys countered.

“WHO ARE YOU TO SPEAK AGAINST MY BETROTHED?” Aemond shouted in anger leaving your side.

“Maybe she will end up like her moth-” as Aemond took ahold of Vaemond’s neck dragging him out to the courtyard.

Everyone followed in suit with you running out after Aemond in front of everyone. Even the king who was moved to a chair carried by guards was in attendance to see what his son will do. Alicent grabbed ahold of your hand preventing you from getting too close. Rhaenyra looked at Alicent in envy at the relationship between you and the Queen.

“VHAGAR!” Aemond yelled out to the sky awaiting his dragon. “I shall feed you to my dragon for your vile insults towards the heir.”

“You are not even the king yet,” Vaemond spat blood on Aemond’s boots.

“Ipradagon zirȳla, Vhagar!” Aemond commanded which had the large she-dragon pop her head into the courtyard and snatch Vaemond up in one piece. (Eat him, Vhagar)

“Well done, my son,” Viserys said from his chair proud at his son’s defense of his beloved granddaughter.

“ANYONE ELSE THAT MISSPEAKS A WORD AGAINST PRINCESS Y/N WILL BE BURNED ALIVE BY VHAGAR!” Aemond shouts to the crowd.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” Viserys started. “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. As well as our new crowned heirs my sweet granddaughter Y/N and my son Aemond. A toast to the young Princes and their betrothed.”

“Thank you, father,” Aemond thanked Viserys while taking your hand from under the table.

“It seems that we will be planning your wedding sooner than we thought, Darling,” Alicent said from her seat next to the King. You were seated next to Aemond alongside Helaena.

“Of course!” you beamed.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world yet grown so distant from each other in the years past,” Viserys told around the table as he took off the golden mask from his face. “My own face is no longer a handsome one if indeed it ever was. But tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king but your father. Your brother. Your husband and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems to walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”

“To you grandfather, King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name,” you said standing up from your seat and raising a glass.

“To King Viserys!”

“I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude and my apology,” Rhaenyra toasts to Alicent.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you and to your house. For our children will make fine King and Queen,” Alicent smiled warmly to you and Aemond before turning back to Rhaenyra for the toast.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies as Prince Aemond marries my dear sister. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles,” Jace remarked after he had slammed his fists onto the table from what Aegon muttered to him and Baela.

“I would like to say a few words. I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad. Mostly he just ignores you except sometimes when he's drunk,” Helaena rose from the seat next to you. “Unless of course they are anything like how Aemond is to Y/n who worships the ground she walks on,” she finished with an airy laugh as you gaped at her wording with wide eyes.

“In speaks of her, this one goes to my daughter, who will ascend the crown and throne as well as her betrothed my nephew. For you shall have a long life and take the throne that you have taken from your mother,” Daemon mocked as he stood from his seat raising a glass to you.

“You are no father of mine. And I did not take anything from anyone. Aemond and I will allow the kingdoms to grow and prosper instead of you and Rhaenyra taking it for your own selfish reasons and burning it to the ground,” you announced as you slammed your hands on the table.

“Brother, it was upon my wish it was given to them,” Viserys told his younger brother.

“You are a disgrace to me,” Rhaenyra shouted at you.

“You murdered my father. It is you who is a disgrace to the Targaryen name!” you argued back with rising anger at the thought of the two people who planned your father’s murder to be standing in the same room as you.

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to say something but it closed with silence filling the room as tension surrounded the air. Viserys coughs loudly before groaning at the pain in his head making Alicent call the guards to take him back to his chambers. Aemond guides you to sit back down in your seat. Otto smirks at the obvious split between you and your so-called family. Aegon smirks at the entire situation. Daemon frowns at the result of this dinner.

“I believe it is best if we end dinner now,” Alicent spoke out.

“Are you okay, My love?” you heard from behind you as you took out the pins holding up your hair.

“Of course,” you replied.

Aemond remove your hand from your hair and replaced them with his own as he started to carefully unbraid your hair. Though it was a normal occurrence that Aemond undid your hair, it never seemed to stop the warm feeling you would get when he did.

“It is you who deserves to sit on the throne the most.”

“We will share it.”

“My love, it belongs to you, a true Targaryen.”

“Please do not mention my heritage as of now,” you groaned at the mention which made Aemond laugh at the thought of the dinner that just happened.

“In days' time we will be married,” Aemond said as he took your hand to motion you to stand.

“We shall be bound till our last breath,” rising from your seat to stand in front of him.

“I would never want it any other way,” pressing his lips against yours.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #reader insert #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen

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house-strong · 2 years

Text

— THE WAKE of the dragon ʾ ⋆

summary ; a request by anon.

“Would you please write a Daemon x niece!reader where Alicent attempted to attack her half-daughter like Episode 8 but the reader is pregnant with Daemon's third child?? I NEED protective, murderous Daemon in my life.”

pairing ; daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader

notes ; daemon is the man that i need in my life 😭 i cannot get over his short hair look. also, myrax is the name of your dragon. there’s no description for her, so feel free to make up your own! also unrevised,, oops.

funerals were a finicky thing.

when laena velaryon passed from childbirth, or rather the flame of her dragon-mount vhagar, the royal court had assembled on the velaryon’s ancestral seat of driftmark to pay tribute to the beautiful sister of laenor velaryon.

a towering castle surrounded by black water bay, driftmark was surely rivaling the volcanic mountain of dragonstone in terms of beauty. dragons soared across the sky, a plethora of beige, red, silver, and green wings dappled the sky. with a monstrous cry, vhagar was lurking within the mountains somewhere.

the procession was something that bordered mystic. tossing laena’s body that was enclosed in a stone casket carved out of her liking into the sea, never to be seen again. you supposed it was poetic, the velaryons were of the sea after all.

your two children, daenys and baelon, were doing their best to console their cousins, rhaena and baela. you smile fondly at them, the girls holding hands and baelon trying to make them laugh in attempts to raise their spirits. a sharp kick to your belly sends you leaning forward. your arm shoots out to find something to grasp on to and sure enough, you find the arm of your husband, daemon.

“he’s a fighter, isn’t he?” his voice asks, the tone low and cool enough to send a shiver down your spine. you wince and try to muster a smile despite the pain, but you shake your head.

“she is a fighter. i was thinking about the name visenya.”

“he will be named daerion,” the rogue prince counters, a sly smirk rising the corner of his lip. his eyes you curiously, eyes flickering back and forth between your eyes, your nose, and soon, he stops at your lips. he licks his own, before turning away and gazing at your children. you sigh in soft adoration, the action he did was enough to send the babe in your belly and stomach into flips.

it was no secret that daemon wanted another son; after the birth of prince baelon, named after his late nephew and in a sheer decision to repair old amends with his king brother, he was enamored with his child. he was the epitome of what daemon had inspired to be; a faithful and loving brother to his sibling, and a bundle of joy that was the near opposite of what daemon was. to create something so good and so pure was evidence enough that maybe daemon could be salvaged.

he knew that this, this family – his family, was the one thing in the world that he vowed to uphold and protect, no matter the cost. he’d cross oceans, move mountains, and bring the kingdoms to heel with the help of his dragon-mount caraxes if that was what you needed.

“they’re sweet, aren’t they?” you say, following his gaze. he hums in agreement.

the funeral then moves to the inner halls of driftmark, where corlys velaryon and your aunt, rhaenys targaryen, had set a feast in remembrance of their late daughter. the food was delicious, an array of players of roasted pig, cakes, and fish been laid out. no doubt they were delicacies that were once enjoyed by laena velaryon. your seat was at the long table alongside the princess rhaenyra’s family, your fathers family, and your own.

the day had swiftly come to an end and everyone was confined to their chambers, or rather, they were supposed to be. it was no secret that aemond targaryen had disliked the obviousness of being without a dragon-mount. he, however, had the glorious idea of claiming vhagar as his mount. now riderless and unclaimed by someone of valyrian descent, the enormous beast had accepted aemond as hers.

this did nothing but enrage the velaryon twins. push had come to shove, and soon punches were being thrown. it was only through the intervention of the targaryen household guards and kingsguards, were the children separated. your children, unfortunately were caught in the crossfire trying to defend both aemond and rhaena. your poor children had no idea of the growing divide that grew between the children of alicent hightower and rhaenyra targaryen.

a knock had come to your chamber doors, one that interrupted the slow, passionate kisses that were exchanged between the near naked body’s of you and daemon. he pulls away from you and glares daggers toward the door.

“i thought we asked to not be disturbed?” he asks, his voice mixed with the edge of anger and annoyance.

“i’m sorry, my prince and princess, but it’s of grave urgency,” the steward responds behind the closed door, “i’m afraid it involves your children.”

the pair of you were quick to redress and make yourselves presentable. with the swing of the door and a bow of respect, you both followed the steward without another word.

that is when you met the other members of your family in the halls of hightide and you arrive before moments before rhaenyra. your children are quick to be by daemon and your side; daenys hugs you and baelon seeks refuge by daemon. a growing, red and purple welt had begun to swell on the full cheekbone of baelon. the fury that begins to grow in daemon is obvious.

you bend at the hip to the farthest your growing stomach will allow, your hands gently cupping daenys’ tear stained cheeks. her cheeks are flushed with pink and hair frays thick with sweat gather at her hairline. you feel your heart break as you feel her small body shudder.

“what happened? tell me the truth.” daemon asks gently as he kneels down to baelon’s level. the growing boy turns his head to glare at where the other children were gathered.

“aemond claimed vhagar as his mount, but baela said vhagar was hers to claim.” gods, the kids and their never ending desire to be a dragonrider. you were thankful your kids had mounts already, as your dragon myrax had laid a clutch of eggs that both hatched. “then jace and luke got involved.. then i tried to help defend aemond. it wasn’t right that they all attacked him.”

atlas, your son wasn’t a bully. a sigh leaves you and you hug your daughter tight.

then, the question comes to what would happen as a result of aemond’s eye. you release the hold from your daughter and approach the rapidly forming circle. you stand by your elder sister rhaenyra, your hand holding hers in support.

everything happens too fast. rhaenyra demands that aemond be questioned about where he learned to call her children bastards, alicent demands and eye for an eye, and soon, a knife is drawn by the queen and she makes a beeline for the crowned heir.

your eyes open wide in surprise, but you move forward quickly despite the pregnancy you bear, “no!”

again, a push comes to shove, and alicent shoves you to the side. you cry out as your body collides with the floor. somewhere along the fall, you hit your head. your children shout your name and rush to your aid, followed by their father. he kneels beside you, moving your hair from your face, eyes assessing the damage.

it’s then he notices the crimson liquid that slowly gathers then falls from your temple. your hand tenderly touches the spot and you grimace with pain.

he rises and moves to pull the queen away from rhaenyra, his eyes cold and his face hardened. the members of the kingsguard are confused as to who to protect; the king whose in the presence of a weapon, the queen who was just shoved by the rogue prince, or the named heir to the iron throne who was bleeding from her forearm. three important figures of the crown were in the crossfire.

criston cole, ever so faithful to his lady, ran to alicent’s side and stuck himself between daemon and his queen. daemon takes this as an invitation to draw his sword and the kingsguard, as well as the targaryen household soldiers, follow suit. your husband raises dark-sister and points it accusingly at alicent and her band of loyalists.

daemon wants a reason to have dark-sister meet criston coke – any reason, small or large, would’ve rid the targaryens of this rat.

“disarm him!”

the command is met with no response. no one knows who to defend, but your heart warms at daemon’s ability to single-handedly not care and care so much at the same time.

“you will not come into this hall and dishonor the very memory of laena velaryon,” he starts, voice low and thick with disdain. his lips curl back into a snarl, “and you will not bring my wife and my children into this feud.”

once his message seeps into the air; he pulls away and sheathes his sword, eyes locked onto the shocked expression that queen alicent wore, “you should remember your place, alicent. royal blood runs through our veins, you should do well to remember that you don’t have the same luxury.”

the comment causes a scoff to draw from alicent’s mouth.

daemon returns to your side and helps you to your feet. a maester comes, along with a rag and some needle in case the wound is needed stitches. he leads you away, arm wrapped around your back and the other supporting your weight as you hobble your way next to him.

“as soon as you are seen to, we and the children are leaving.”

and with a few stitches to close the wound, your face was rid of the blood that came. daemon, daenys, baelon, and yourself, packed your things and sent them home along with your household guards. the four of you, took your dragon-mounts to the sky and flew to dragonstone, where you shared the massive castle with your sister and her family.

despite warning alicent to not involve his family, you taking rhaenyra’s side and baelon’s actions in the squabble between the children had already chosen your fate and tied you to the blacks.

sooner or late, the war between the blacks and the greens would divide the targaryen family.

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #my writing

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asumofwords · 8 months

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Smoke, Fire and Ash - EPILOGUE

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Mentions of grief, war, blood, loss.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, Cregan Stark X Reader

Note: Whelp... Here we are.... This is it. This is the end. The end of Smoke, Fire and Ash. We are ending with this Epilogue in a five year time jump. And oh boy.... I can't believe it. I really hope that you enjoy how I finish this era lmao, with over 370k words.... someone needs to take my computer away from me. Again, I can't even begin to express my love and gratitude to you all, I just hope that you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it! <3 So as always.... ENJOY!

EPILOGUE : His Song of Ice and Fire

Time jump: 5 years into the future.

There was a chill that had come early to Kings Landing that season, all those years ago. A chill that had swept across the stones of the Keep, cool air creeping into your bones through your gown.

But now, as you stood where you had many moons ago, there was no crisp breeze that sent goosebumps rising on your arms, nor was there a bite to it that came as a subtle and precursory warning for what was to come.

The courtyard of the Godswood was warmed by streams of glowing sunlight that blanketed over the cobblestones and grass.

A soft breeze rolled through as you walked forward towards the tree, having missed being in its presence over the years passed, mostly spent on Dragonstone.

It had been five years since your mother was seated upon the Iron Throne. Five years since you had been named her successor. Five years since Lords, Ladies and Heads of Houses pledged themselves to you and the Queen.

Five years since the death of Aegon and all those responsible for the usurpation.

Since you commanded dracarys and watched as Alicent was devoured by flames. Since Larys laid on the flagstones, blood seeping from his stomach.

Five years since your father had gone to Storms End and slayed Borros Baratheon for his play in it.

Five years since Baela and Rhaena flew to Oldtown and rounded up all the Hightower's who had shown support for Otto and his kin.

And five years since his death.

Five years ago, in these very walls of the Red Keep, you had plunged a dagger into your husbands neck. Your uncles neck. Your childhood companion. The man you had loved.

And not one day that had gone by did you not think of it. Did you not dream of it. Did you not see him in the corners of your eyes, or in the shadows of your chambers on Dragonstone.

Did you not see the blood that stained your hands when you would wake, or witness with bouts of anxiety.

In your hand, the old and worn cover of your favourite book, ‘Ten Thousand Ships'. A novel in which you had read under these very branches of the Godswood. On the grass your mother had sat with you, or your brothers, or your uncles and aunt.

You watched as a small head of silver raced ahead of you, shoulder length hair billowing behind him, with two tidy braids holding the sides behind his head.

“Careful, Lucerys.” You called out gently, watching as your son climbed atop the roots and settled right into your favourite spot. His black and red robes crinkling as he leant back against the root of the Weirwood tree.

The smile on your face stretched widely as you moved to sit beside him, the small boy crawling into your lap as you brushed his hair back behind his ears. Little hands reached out to play with the necklace at your neck.

Aemond’s sapphire.

Ever since Lucerys was born, he had always longed to touch or hold it, violet eyes always finding it with ease against your neck, fingers outstretched to play with it or caress it. He tapped it up and down upon his finger as he looked at it with content.

There was so much of Aemond in him, it was hard for all not to see. It was especially true with his eyes. Eyes that you had loved since you were a child, reflected on your own sons face.

His were, much like Aemond's, a way to read him almost immediately, showing so much emotion and character in them as he thought, or played, or argued. Long silver lashes blinked up at you, and you could not help the tug of your heart as you bent your head to kiss his forehead.

The young boy scrunched his nose at you in mock disgust before grabbing the book from your hand to hold it open in his lap, finding the page that you had been up to not just the day before.

The bridge of his nose was dusted with light freckles, and there was such a boyish charm to his rosy cheeks, whenever he smiled his teeth would show, bar the one he had recently just lost.

Little Lucerys was as Aemond had been as a young boy. Inquisitive, soft spoken, kind and daring. He had a longing for knowledge, and sought it out whenever he could in Dragonstone's library or by picking your brain with a continuous stream of questions and consciousness.

But then there was so much of you in him too. His nose, his sure fire temper when things did not go his way, and his utter refusal to back down, even when it brought him to tears.

You read to your son beneath the tree as you reminisced on your days before. On how you had sought solace beneath the branches many times. How your mother had read to you here. How your brothers and Helaena would sometimes join you or play. And how Aemond would sit behind the trunk and listen to you read aloud, your voice carrying enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to let him know that you knew he was there.

And as you read, you felt his presence, there on the other side of the Godswood, where he would sit as a boy, listening as you read to his son. Watching as he always did. There as he always was.

Always and forever more, would the ghost of Aemond haunt you.

You read louder, just so you could be confident that Aemond could hear, just as you had when you were young, even though you knew he was not truly there. But it felt right. It felt the way it should have been. What could have been.

Familiar.

That is where your mother found you, nestled where she used to, reading a book she had once read to you to your son, and loud as though you wished for your voice to carry to some unknown spectator.

You felt the eyes of the Queen and lifted your head, pausing your reading if only for a moment, and Lucerys, being as perceptive as he was, looked up and spotted his Grandmother, leaping from your lap all elbows and knees and ran towards her.

The Queen opened her arms widely as she chuckled, bending down slightly to catch the young boy who launched himself into her arms, crown unmoving from the top of her head.

“Grandmother Nyra!” He had cried as she lifted him into the air, sitting him atop her hip as you dusted your skirts down and made your way over.

“It feels right to see you there. I can remember how eager you used to be.” She smiled, turning her head to look at the boy in her arms, “Did you know your mother had me read to her there too?”

The boy nodded his head, silver hair bouncing atop his shoulders, “Uh huh. And father too!”

Rhaenyra’s smile softened as she looked at the boy and back to you, “She did. Your father loved her reading.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in to kiss your mothers cheeks, son still in her arms as he played with the crown at her head.

“Are you ready for this evenings feast?” Rhaenyra asked, swaying the boy gently as she pressed another kiss to the top of his head, once, twice, three times, exaggerating the noise as she sucked air through her pursed lips.

“Of course,” You adjusted the necklace at your throat in nervous habit, “We flew all this way for this evening, didn’t we?”

“Vermithor is grumpy, Grandmother. But he lets me on his back!”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth and raised her brows, “Does he? Why, you must be the youngest rider ever!”

Lucerys beamed.

“Muña has been taking me to see Vhagar! She flies with us sometimes.” Mother.

The smile on Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, if only for a moment, before she regained her composure.

“Does she now? Vhagar must know that you’re your fathers son.”

Little Luc nodded his head, “I’m going to claim her. Muña said I shouldn’t because she is too old and grumpy and dangerous, but I know father wants me too.”

You cleared your throat, “That’s enough of that. Grandsire will have a new clutch soon, and you will have your own egg.”

“But I-“

“-Hush, my sweet.”

Turning back to you, Queen Rhaenyra lowered the boy back on to the ground, letting him run circles around the courtyard as you spoke, “Is he still having dreams?”

You bit your lip anxiously, before nodding, “He knows things he shouldn’t. He is much like Helaena in that respect.”

Your mother gave you a reassuring smile, “A gift from the Gods no doubt. A most precious one.”

You nodded in agreement, but in some ways you didn’t agree at all.

Was it really a gift if it aided in driving Helaena to madness?

Rhaenyra held one of your hands, brushing her thumb up and over your knuckles soothingly. You didn’t dare look down, knowing that they would be bloodied, “There will be allies from all the realm tonight. I cannot believe little Rhaegar is to have his first name day already.”

Rhaegar was a small boy of silver hair and tanned skin, one violet eye, and one brown. The third son of Jacaerys and Baela, with yet another on the way. Baela had told you in secret that she wished for a girl this time around, but had been surprised when the small boy had been born.

None were more surprised however, than when he had opened his eyes to peer up at your brother, besotted by his son already, staring down at the violet and brown eyes that looked back up at him.

Aelor, the eldest, was but a few moons older than your Lucerys, and the two got on more fiercely than even you and Aemond possessed. It was a beautiful bond the two boys had, full of love and loyalty.

The middle child of Jacaerys and Baela was a sweet and quiet boy named Rhaelor. He had the most beautiful of curls like his mother, who braided it closely to his scalp with clips of gold and silver dangling from each.

"I cannot believe it either.” You agreed, casting a quick glance at your son, “They grow so quickly.”

Rhaenyra took your other hand in hers and squeezed them, “You grew the fastest of all. You shot up far before your brothers. I feel like I blinked and then there you were, a woman grown.”

Chuckling, you squeezed her hand back, “Will Rhaena be joining us this evening?”

Rhaenyra turned to lead you away from the Godswood, Lucerys running up beside you to hold your other hand, “Rhaena sent word that she senses the babe to be with us any day now. It is too far to travel from the Vale to Kings Landing in her condition, but has told us we must all be ready to come see the babe once it is born.”

Rhaena, upon the death of Lucerys, had refused to wed for years. She had stayed loyal and adamant that she would not be betrothed to another, but then she had met Ser Corwyn Corbray, a knight of House Corbray one evening at a feast.

They had immediately connected, an older man with flowing black hair and deep brown eyes that almost looked black. Corwyn was a kind man, if not fierce and skilled as a swordsman, wielding an ancestral longsword of Valyrian steel named Lady Forlorn.

“A shame that I will not see my half-sister again, but I’m delighted to hear the babe should be born any day now. We shall be having many name day celebrations close together.” You smiled.

As you left the cobblestones of the courtyard, you turned your head back to gaze upon the ruby red leaves of the tree. They shimmered in the light of the sun and rustled softly with the breeze.

And there, sat beneath its branches, was Aemond.

His head was leant back against its trunk as he watched you, sapphire missing from the empty socket of his lost eye.

He had not left you.

He did not speak as Helaena and Lucerys had. Not in full sentences anyway. Not anything but the familiar name of endearment that he had called you.

Zaldrītsos.

It was whispered to you in the dead of night, or in the darkest of rooms when your hair would stand on end. Or at times, whispered to you when you were with Lucerys.

It was never malicious.

Or at least, thats what you liked to tell yourself. Though it never felt like he was there with bad intentions. It felt neutral. And you liked to tell yourself that he was there to watch and keep you safe. To keep you company. That a piece of your mind had made him up so that he could live a life with you, and watch your son grow.

There would always be a part of Aemond with you no matter where you went. Whether in your son, or in your visions, or upon your neck and scarred skin.

Your heart ached at the thought.

Rhaenyra walked you back to your chambers, entering as your four maids bowed and began to get preparations in order to ready you for the feast. The chamber doors opened as they left, held open as the tall and built body of your father entered.

“Grandsire!” Lucerys screeched, and you winced as the sound sent fear racing down you spine.

Your heart jolted, the echoes of screaming in your ears as you plastered a smile on your face, eyes twitching, watching as Daemon lifted him high into the air, throwing him up once and catching him to hold him tight against his chest.

Loud noises sometimes did that to you. Threw you back to your time in the Keep before your parents had arrived. Sparking fear into your very core, to the point where sometimes you could not breathe, as though your brain stopped functioning and you were gasping for air, clawing at your throat.

In those moments, Aemond would whisper to you.

It had been especially hard when Lucerys was first born. His cries would wake you and send you into a fit panic, racing to grab the dagger beside your bed as you would check the chamber for danger, wide eyed.

It took several months to learn to live with it, with his presence there, and you would be lying if you didn't say that looking down at Lucerys in his crib as a babe made you feel a guilt that you could not fight away with common sense. A melancholy that ate away at you viciously.

You had fallen into a state of depression, and in your confusion you had sent a letter to your mother and father via raven asking for star fruit. Your mind was so confused, so lost. You barely slept, or ate, and were in a perpetual state of fear.

Daemon came at once, and ended up spending almost an entire year on Dragonstone with you to help, before he finally convinced you to come back to Kings Landing with him so that your mother could help too.

It was months of screaming through the night, months of support, months of pacing your chambers, wondering if it was all worth it. Wondering if it was worth living, worth staying another day in such Hell.

The same thoughts had replayed in your mind over and over.

My son will hate me for what I have done.

I took his father from him.

He will never love me.

He will resent me for my sins.

The thought of climbing out the window as Helaena had done became an almost daily occurrence. And it was hard. Hard to not give in to it.

But you couldn't do it. Cowardice be damned, you could not leave you son alone. You would not abandon him. You would not do it.

So after months of the turmoil that chipped away at you day by day, you told them the truth of it, the whole truth of it, and by that time, after voicing such things aloud, little by little, you felt a bit more of yourself.

Lucerys had had his second name day when you were ready to go back to Dragonstone.

“Se skorkydoso iksis ñuha byka Dārilaros?” And how is my little Prince? Daemon grinned, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek as your son wriggled in his arms.

“Merbugon!” Hungry!

Daemon plastered mock shock upon his face, something that he would do often to you as a child, "Arlī? Yn ao sepār iprattan.” Again? But you just ate.

“Kesan ipradagon ao!” I’ll eat you! Lucerys growled, fake biting at his Grandsire’s arm.

The young boys High Valyrian was good, but nowhere near perfect.

Daemon and Rhaenyra spent ample time teaching him, as did his uncles Jacaerys and Joffrey when you'd come to visit, or them you. His other uncles, Little Viserys and Aegon the Younger were not too many years older, similar to the age gap you and your uncles had had. They often played with him and Aelor.

Daemon dropped the boy onto the floor, messing his hair with a rough hand before pushing him away to go play with his toys, Saria and Aella sitting with him on the floor. Your fathers lavender eyes landed on you and he smirked.

“Tala.” Daughter, He greeted you, voice almost playful, “Do you look forward to tonights feast?” He pried, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“I look forward to spending time with all of you, of course.”

“Kostilus kessa ao ūndegon iā arlie valzȳrys.” Perhaps will you see a new husband, He smirked.

Rolling your eyes, you sighed, “Kepa.” Father, “Kostilus, daor bisa arlī." Please, not this again.

It was a conversation that had begun to come up more often than not. You knew the reasoning behind it. You were heir. And you would be expected to wed again, and soon. But all the Lords in Kings Landing you had met had not once sparked any sort of interest for you. And Rhaenyra had vowed to let you marry whom you wanted, when you wanted.

She had kept true to her word thus far.

Rhaenyra sighed, tilting her head up at her husband as she looked at him in exacerbation, “Henujagon zirȳla sagon.” Leave her be.

Daemon held his palms up in surrender, looking over you before he brushed your cheek with his knuckle quickly, “Ao jurnegon gevie hae va moriot. Hae aōha muña.” You look beautiful as always. Like your mother.

You smirked, “Don’t try and get in my good graces now.”

Rhaenyra grabbed Daemons hand, “We shall leave you to get ready, and see you at the feast.”

You watched as they left your chambers, Rhaenyra whispering to Daemon in your mother tongue.

You were readied by your maids, the two who had been in service for you for many years, and the two who had been your saving grace in the Keep for all those long and trying months. The four sworn to you, and almost never leaving your sight.

They dressed you in a style you were more familiar with, a style you had worn prior to the war. Tight bodice with dripping cleavage, short sleeves and dragons embroidered all over. Your hair was left in waves down your back, with braids nestled amongst them. Against your neck, the same necklace as you wore everyday.

Lucerys joined the feast for a time, eating with the other young children, Maelor and little Jaehaera included, before they were taken back to their chambers by maids.

The ale flowed heavily in the Hall, and all wore smiles on their faces, the frowns and wrinkles caused by the tension of war having been smoothed from their skin.

You sat beside your mother, Jacaerys and Baela to your other side.

Baela was glowing, stomach round with the new child and cheeks rosy from smiling. Jacaerys cheeks were rosy from ale, but parenthood suited him all the same. He had matured, that much was obvious, but his love and devotion to his family and wife had only gotten stronger.

“Little Aelor is growing so quickly.” You smiled, bringing your wine to your lips to sip as you felt nothing but joy to be where you were. To be where you always should had been. The room aglow with your mothers supporters and love. All around you joyous and bright.

“Little Aelor,” Baela leant towards you, “Is a little shit. Not once did I ever behave such a way. He bit Rhaelor this morning because he wouldn’t play with him.”

Jacaerys chuckled and Baela elbowed him in the arm.

“It's all Jacaerys, I’m afraid. He used to bite me too.” You grinned.

“I did not! Not once did I bite you.”

"You did too. I have scars to prove it. Even ask the Septa, she's the one who tore you from me like a rabid dog.”

Jacaerys turned to his wife for support, who only bit her lip to try and hide the smile that broke on her cheeks, “My sister condemns me with these lies. Do you hear her?”

Baela smirked, sipping her wine, “I believe her. You were terribly wild. I seem to recall you have bitten me on more than one occasion.”

Jacaerys blushed, tongue in cheek as he looked at his wife.

You made a teasing face of disgust, "Incorrigible, the both of you."

All three of you watched on as Lords and Ladies danced in the middle of the Hall, loud music bouncing off of the walls by the band that played in the corner, and all laughed and clapped with joy as they watched.

“It is good to be home.” Jacaerys grinned, watching the celebrations, “Driftmark, though close, feels miles away.”

“You’re both always welcome to visit me and Lucerys at Dragonstone again, perhaps a longer stay? I am sure he would love to have you and the boys more often.”

Jacaerys nodded, “We will come promptly then. If the heir beckons, we shall come.” He teased.

“You have been summoned then." You put on your most pious voice you could manage, bursting into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

As your eyes looked into the sea of people, a familiar face came into view.

Jacaerys and Baela, also noticing, turned to face you.

“You know,” Jacaerys began, leaning towards you, “He only comes to these things for you.” He whispered, watching the way a soft blush creeped on your cheeks.

“He comes for you, brother. You are friends after all.” You breathed, feeling your heart race in your throat as the man got closer.

“Kessa, yn ziry umbagon syt ao.” Yes, but he stays for you, Baela snickered.

“You are both as bad as each other.” You griped, finishing the rest of your wine quickly, hoping to distract yourself by pouring another.

As you reached for the goblet, the tall figure of Cregan Stark stood before you at the table, donned in brown and black leather robes, his long dark hair tied back away from his face, and stubble casting a shadow across his defined cheeks and chin.

His stormy grey eyes bored into yours, and the soft and yet polite smile of Cregan Stark greeted you.

“My Lady.” He bowed his head politely, “Jacaerys. Lady Baela.”

“Cregan.” They nodded.

Jacaerys and Baela turned their heads away, conversing with themselves in an attempt to give you mock privacy.

Though you knew they were listening.

“Cregan Stark. You have journeyed far for such an occasion.” You gazed up at him, watching as his eyes flicked downwards and then back to you.

“Of course, My Lady. It is not every day my good friend’s son has his first name day.”

“You could not have missed it, I would have never forgiven you.” Jacaerys chimed in, cheeky smirk on his lips.

Cregan chuckled, deep and heartily, “You’d burn me alive if I did not come. I think those were your words that you sent via raven.”

“Good memory, Stark.”

You smiled, loving the banter the two men had, “But to travel all the way from the North, it must be a tiresome journey, is it not?”

Cregan’s broad chest expanded as he pulled his shoulders back, hands held behind him, “Aye, a tiresome journey if on the backs of horses, and not dragons. Though I am gladdened to know I shall be well rested before my return. His Grace has offered for me to stay at the Red Keep for the month.”

You turned your head towards your father, who’s eyes were already on you, smirk on his face. Your gaze told him you would have a word with him later.

A stern word.

Turning back to Cregan you gave him a smile, "That is wonderful news that you will be here with us in Kings Landing for longer than expected. I had not imagined you to be here at all.”

“Apologies if my arrival has offended you, My lady.” Cregan jested, and you felt a blush creep across your chest.

“Please, Cregan, enough with the formalities. You may call me Y/n. I think we are well acquainted enough by now.”

Cregan smiled, showing a line of white teeth, “Y/n.” He tested the name on his tongue, as though it was the first time he had spoken it.

He stood for what felt like an eternity as you looked at him, neither of you sure of how to continue this conversation.

Jacaerys, being the meddlesome man that he was, decided that his false conversation about the weather with his wife had ended with perfect timing, looking up at his old friend with a shit eating grin.

“My sister here has been approached by many men this evening, all who call her the Beauty of the Realm. Do you find my sister to be beautiful?” He smirked.

Cregan blanched, but answered almost immediately after, “Aye. It would only be a fool who could not see it.”

You blushed, drinking half of your wine in one gulp.

“Then will you continue to do her the dishonour of not asking her to dance?” Jacaerys blinked at his friend from atop the rim of his cup, hiding his grin behind the silver.

Cregan looked as though he was ready to chastise the Prince, perhaps even hit him, but instead turned to you, bowing his head, “Might I ask for a dance, Your Grace?”

You looked at the tall man before you, dark hair that curled lightly in waves, with eyes as stormy as winter.

“If only you call me by my name, Lord Cregan.” You pushed from your seat, turning to give your brother and half-sister a furious glare that the Stark could not see as you turned away from the table, moving towards Cregan who waited diligently for you, hand held out, palm up.

Cregan was much taller than Aemond had been, broader, and when your hand slid into his, you felt your chest come alight. A rush that you had not felt in a long, long time. A sense of butterflies that fluttered about behind your ribs like a makeshift cage.

Cregan led you down to the sea of people, feeling the eyes of your family upon your back. When finally amongst the crowd you turned to face each other, dancing with the rest as your hands intermittently connected.

“I must apologise, Your Grace-”

“-Y/n.” You corrected him.

“Y/n.” He smiled, “It is not often that I dance in the North. I fear I may be a terrible partner.”

“You are yet to step on my toes. I think you are doing perfectly well, if not a little clunky.” You smirked at the tall man, watching as he looked away bashfully.

“There is still time for that I suppose.”

Each brush of his hands atop your body caused warmth to spread through you, tiny little tendrils winding their way up your flesh wherever his skin would make contact with yours. Your hands, arms, shoulders, waist. It was almost overwhelming, and the only time you had ever felt it before, was many years ago.

Five years ago, to be exact.

“Ao jurnegon gevie.” You look beautiful.

Your legs got tangled with themselves as you came to a halt, looking up at the grey eyed man who looked down at you wistfully.

“What did you say?” You breathed, uncertain if you had heard him right, or if it was your mind playing tricks upon you.

“I said you looked beautiful.” Cregan’s eyes roamed your face, brows beginning to furrow, “I apologise, Your-“

“-No.” You shook your head, “Ao ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie?” You speak High Valyrian?

A warm chuckle erupted from his chest, “No, My Lady. Just that and some other small things. Your brother has been a great teacher thus far.”

You tilted your head, trying to get your feet to unstick from the floor, blurs of people moving around you, but in that moment it felt as though they had all disappeared, and you were left alone with the man before you.

“He is a good teacher because I have taught him.”

“Then perhaps I must ask of you to teach me instead.” Cregan gazed at you hopefully.

You hummed, “Do you have need to learn it? I did not think the North had any speakers of my mother tongue.”

Cregan opened his arm towards the side, weaving you through the crowd to the edge of the table, grasping a goblet of ale and procuring a goblet of wine for yourself.

You sipped on the wine, eyed widening.

Dornish wine.

Of all the wine on the table from this realm, to the Redwyne's vineyards, from Essos, to Dorne. Cregan had given you the one wine you liked the most.

How did he...

“We do not." He replied, "The North has no need for tongues of fire, our breath is ice.”

“Indeed. I am not too fond of the cold, I am afraid.” You teased.

Cregan’s large hand moved to swipe at his chin with a thumb, stumble rubbing beneath it in thought as he looked at you, “And have you been to the North? It is far more than just ice. Winterfell has a garden that may rival the one in the Red Keep.”

The spiced Dornish wine was sharp on your tongue, “So I have heard. I have not had the Gods graces to witness it for myself. I have however, been gifted a Winter Rose.”

Dark brows pulled together as the Stark looked at you in confusion. Brown hair cascaded over his shoulder as he tilted his head at you, the earthy smell of oakmoss, ginger and pine surrounding you.

Oakmoss, ginger, pine.

Not at all, smoke, leather, and sandalwood.

It was earthy, warm despite his origins, and gentle. Like a breath of fresh air. Like a scent of safety and calm.

“Winter Roses do not grow in Kings Landing. How were you gifted one?”

You swallowed, looking away momentarily.

The energy around you shifted.

“My husband- late husband, had a knack for gifting me rare things in atonement for his temper.” The words came out sharp, crinkled on the edges, and tasted of iron.

Cregan nodded solemnly, “I am sorry for your loss.”

You blinked.

Not once, had a man or woman or any person who you had spoken to over the past five years, ever said they were sorry for Aemond. Not once had anyone offered condolences, except the silent stares of your family. In fact, most times, people congratulated you for your bravery, your strength, your ability to drive that dagger into his throat.

People congratulated you for killing the man you loved.

But not him.

Not Cregan.

And it intrigued you.

You finished the last of your wine, “I have not had the chance to thank you for supporting my mother after all these years.” You began, taking a glance to look up at her, as she gazed lovingly at your father in small conversation.

“Thank me not. A Stark never forgets their oath, and we made one to your mother.”

A smile wound its way on your lips, “And how cold does it get in the North, Lord Stark? How does one not freeze in the walls of Winterfell?”

Another warm chuckle floated from his chest, “There is much to be frozen in the North, but Winterfell was built atop hot springs. Brandon the Builder built it amongst giants. The hot water flows through the walls to keep us warm.”

“I thought I had read as much in a book once.” You smirked, feeling warm from the wine, “But I had never imagined such a thing to be true. Giants?” A cheeky laugh fell through your lips.

Cregan smirked down at you, goblet close to his mouth. It wasn’t a smirk that set you ablaze, nor did it create anger or contempt or suspicion. It wasn't a smirk to provoke you. Instead, it made warmth spread steadily through you, like the hot springs in Winterfell.

“Aye,” He laughed, “What is hard to believe about giants? Your blood rides upon dragons, do you not?”

“I suppose you are right. I do ride upon a dragon, a large one to be sure. I wonder if it would marvel at the size of your giants.”

“We shall never know. Perhaps you might ride upon the great beasts back to Winterfell?”

Your heart began to beat quickly in your chest, fingers tapping on the side of your cup, “My great beast would swallow you whole for calling him such a thing.” Jest on the tip of your tongue.

“It would be an honour to be devoured by a dragon.” Cregan shamelessly flirted.

Devoured.

I want to devour you, zaldrītsos.

You swallowed thickly, “And what would Lady Stark think of three dragons coming to Winterfell? My son has not seen snow or ice, I have little question if he would enjoy it.”

Cregan placed his ale upon the table, “There is no Lady Stark, unless you are referring to my Lady Mother. Winterfell would welcome you and your son with open arms, and furs to warm you.”

You felt heat in your cheeks, “Why would I need furs if Winterfell is as perfectly insulated by hot springs, as you say it is?”

Cregan Stark pushed his tongue into the side of his cheek as you gazed up at him, quick witted response ready to be fired back instantly.

“For all its warmth, there can be a biting chill that occasionally drifts through the cracks. Or if you are to be outside, say in the Godswood, you would need furs.”

“You have a Godswood?” Interest peaked.

“Aye. The Old Gods have not been replaced by the New in the North.”

“Good, I should hope so. The New Gods are an abomination in the eyes of the Old.” You paused, watching as grey eyes flitted down to your lips, if only for a moment, “And what of Dragonstone. Have the Kings of the North ventured as far?”

Cregan huffed a laugh through his nose, “No, I can say we have not.”

“Then perhaps you should see the great Dragonstone Keep. Its walls are the last of Old Valyrian stonemasonry. Fire and magic created it. Dragons live in the Dragonmont, and I am sure they would welcome the Wolf of Winterfell with open arms, and there would be no need for furs to warm you.”

“The Dragonmont sounds like the perfect place to be eaten by the dragons that live there. I may ask to be pardoned from venturing inside, a bite from a dragon would surely be the end of me.” Cregan’s eyebrows were raised, goblet to his lips again, smile peeking over the top.

There was something about this man. Something that drew you to him. Something that made you feel safe, wanted, unafraid. Like an invisible string was pulling you to him from the centre of your chest, the need to be closer to him, the want to be closer to him amplifying with each second spent in his presence.

In all your five years past, you had not wished to be in the presence of any man again, said for acquaintances and family.

But Cregan?

It was different.

It was the same pull you had felt in the throne room when he had sworn himself to you.

And that was why the next words that left your lips were playful, light, alluring. You wanted to draw him in. You wanted to taste him. You wanted to get to know the man who had helped to change the tide. The man who had stayed loyal to his oath. And a man who had travelled across the realm, just to kneel before you and swear his House to you, despite him not needing to do so.

“I will only bite if you ask me nicely.” You purred.

A blush crept across the mans face, and you felt your heart soar.

He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, his eyes half lidded, “I will come to Dragonstone when you beckon. But I fear a wolfs bite may rival that of a dragons.”

Grinning you tilted your head, looking up to the table, to find all eyes on you both again, a large smirk on Jacaerys’ lips.

“I do not like to make commands, but I shall beckon you. If,” Your hand came to graze his arm gently, sliding down, before your finger traced along his that held the goblet of ale, “You show me these hot springs in Winterfell, and that you have furs for me and my son to be kept warm. I make no illusion to thinking there would be furs enough for Vermithor.”

Cregan’s finger twitched beneath yours as you dropped your hand back to your sides, sliding them together behind your back.

He bowed his head, “Of course, Your Grace. But there may not need to be a use of furs to keep you warm. Your blood is of fire, and I have a strange inclination that you would wish to be warmed in another manner.” Your cheeks grew hot, warmth sliding down to settle in your gut.

Cregan wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, “I will await your invitation, Princess.”

You smirked, “And I, yours. Though, you are to be here until the next turn of the moon. I am sure we will see each other more often than not in these walls.”

“I should hope that I would have the privilege of your company whenever you would wish for mine.”

“That you will, and that I do.”

With a nod of your head, you turned, walking back up to your table, spring in your step, and heart pounding against your ribs. You could feel the warmth of Cregan’s gaze on your back with each step you took to the table. Jacaerys, Daemon and Baela all watching you with knowing eyes as you moved to sit back down once again, cheeks ablaze.

You ignored them all, reaching to grasp your goblet and sipping the wine as your eyes instinctually found the pair of icy grey ones that watched you from across the room. He lifted his goblet to his own mouth, mimicking your action as you sipped in tandem.

The sound of laughter and chattering surrounded you, and it was hard to not get yourself lost in the excitement of it all.

How things had changed.

Jaehaera and Maelor, Helaena’s children, had been taken in by your mother immediately, and at first, had been terrified, and quiet, and reserved. But now they had now grown into beautiful, soft and sweet children who doted on their nephews with care and familial excitement.

Jaehaera was so much her mother, and often was woken in the night by terrors of her twin being slain before her eyes. But as time went on, the nightmares lessoned with age, but her visions grew stronger.

There was no denying that the little girl had the same gift as her mother, the same brilliance, the same intuition. And your Lucerys and Jaehaera often understood each other on level that others didn’t, an almost instant connection sparking between the two, and you watched as Jaehaera doted on your son with fierce devotion and loyalty.

Maelor, was very much like Aegon.

Loud, boisterous, terribly cheeky at times, but kind. Something that he was allowed to grow into with the nurturing of your family, the nurturing of your mother. Something that he would continue to be. Maelor was a whisper of what could have been for Aegon, if he had not been raised with the vile whisperings of the Hightower’s in his ear since birth.

He had the same round face as his father, the same round face that Alicent had. But there was no sadness in his lavender eyes, no hollowness that settled behind them. And for that, you were most thankful.

They both especially got along with Lucerys, and that gave you a greater joy like no other, and often stayed with the two of you on Dragonstone.

If you were to say that you had gotten used to being surrounded by so many people, you would be lying. But there was no doubt in your mind, that as the years went by, you would eventually find yourself again, or at least the fragments of her that had survived.

You had changed.

But so had they.

And there were some things that would never change.

Some things that would always stick.

And the visions of your brother, your aunt, and your uncle, would remain forever more.

Or at least, you hoped they would.

As a reminder.

As a punishment for your deeds.

As a comfort.

Whilst the Lords and Ladies in the court danced, and drank, and sang, and cheered, three familiar faces watched from within the crowd, unmoving, unblinking as they were.

Observing, watching, with two smiling softly.

The third face however, had not smiled in years, and would never smile again. He watched you, from across the room, hidden behind dancing bodies, long silver hair cascading down his back, an eye of violet, and a shadowed socket peering up at you.

He never left.

He was always there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Your hand came to play with the sapphire that sat heavily against your chest.

“What did you and Cregan speak about?” Jacaerys inquired, leaning towards you, breaking you from your stare at a man you missed most terribly.

“Hm?” You turned your head blinking at your brother.

“Cregan, what did he say?”

Baela leant an elbow on the table as she watched, a hand rubbing her swollen stomach in soft, gentle circles, soothing the babe inside.

“Merely asked how I have been, how I have been faring. Pleasantries is all.”

Jacaerys’ brown eyes danced with delight, “Pleasantries? Spoke of pleasures did you? You know, I wouldn’t let him speak to you if he was not a good man. He is a Stark. Dutiful, full of honour, kind, and a skilled swordsman.”

“And I have a dragon. Swordsmanship does little against fire.”

Baela snickered, “And why would he be near dragon flame? Have you promised him a ride upon Vermithor?”

A blush settled across your cheeks, “He wouldn’t.” You argued, feeling exacerbated by their prying, “I was just saying, swordsmanship does not warrant a marriage.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” Jacaerys smirked, and you felt your mouth go dry.

You gripped your goblet and tossed the rest of its contents greedily down your throat, shivering at the heat that settled in your bones, most of which not caused by the alcohol, but instead the memory of his warmth, eyes, and touch.

Sighing, you looked at the pair beside you, “You have been all but pushing us together for the past five years.”

Jacaerys snorted, “I have not. But there is no denying the pull you two have to each other. You’re allowed to be happy, sister.”

And Jacaerys was right.

There was a pull.

And no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, brush it off of you like water, close eye and look the other way, it was there, and it pulled at you.

“I am happy.” You argued, but it felt wrong. False.

Jacaerys had his chin on his fist as he gazed at you, curled brown hair looking a mess as many a hand had brushed through it. His cheeks were rosy, and pink lips plump from smiling or biting at them to keep his mouth shut. It was clear that the ale had gotten to him, but Jacaerys was never one to lie to you, especially about someone he considered a good friend.

And Cregan was his closest companion.

“It’s a perfect match,” He began, and you groaned loudly, rolling your eyes, “You being hot headed-“

“-I am not hot headed-“

“-And him being cool and patient. Blood of the North and Valyria. Perzys se Suvion.”

Fire and Ice.

A strum of recognition tickled in the back of your mind as Jacaerys continued.

“Opposites attract, even you out, and all the other nonsense some love sick fool would tell you. You would be good together, Y/n. He would calm you, and you would warm him.” Jacaerys teased.

“Don’t tell me you’re in love with Cregan, brother.” You teased back, watching as Jacaerys narrowed his eyes, “All this talk of opposites being perfect for each other, why do you not take him as your second wife? I am sure Baela would not mind sharing.”

Baela smirked, rubbing her stomach, “I wouldn’t mind a break. And Cregan looks good in-“

“-Keligon bona.” Stop that, Jacaerys chastised his wife, turning his attention back to you, “Think on it. He would be good for you.”

“I don’t need a man to make me whole or 'be good for me'. I will be Queen one day, and a husband will do naught but hold me back.”

“You will have to marry again someday, you know this as well as I do. And he would help you forward, if only you let him.”

You huffed, looking back out at the sea of people again, eyes immediately falling on him.

He was talking to a Lord, who’s gold and yellow robes shimmered in the light of the chambers. But as though he felt your gaze upon him, Cregan turned his head, and his eyes immediately met yours.

Instinct.

That pull.

“He invited me and Lucerys to Winterfell.” You told the two of them, seeing Jacaerys and Baela give each other excited looks in your periphery, as a soft smile found its way on Cregan’s as he looked at you, your own stretching your cheeks.

“Will you go?” Jacaerys’ voice hopeful.

As you watched Cregan, his gaze still on you, man beside him still talking, not having noticed his companions attention had been taken away, you felt the pull again. A sharp tug in your chest, the string having wrapped itself around a rib thrice, just below where your heart would sit.

It tugged again, and your hands curled into fists in your lap, desperate to keep yourself seated as you looked at him. Desperate to fight the urge that made you wish to go to him, stand by him, be close to him.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you watched him, your brother and half-sister staring at you from your periphery as you feigned thought.

But you knew your answer already.

You knew it before he had even asked, before Cregan had even spoken to you.

Instinct.

“Yes.”

Hen ñuha ānogar māzigon Kivio Dārilaros, se zȳhon kessa sagon Vāedar Suvio Perzo.

From my blood come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of Ice and Fire.

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 10 days

Text

Inconceivable (Princess Bride AU)

Part I: A Kissing Story

Westeros has been at peace for nearly a year, and a wedding has been planned to celebrate the anniversary. King Jacaerys will marry his aunt, the only surviving child of the Greens, and unite both Targaryen bloodlines at last. It is a fairy tale ending, but this is no ordinary fairy tale...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x sister!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Jacaerys x reader

Warnings: Angst, grief, forced marriage

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: Nothing like watching an old classic movie to revive the writing inspiration, huh?

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

Part I: A Kissing Story

“The princess was raised in a great castle along the coast of a glimmering sea. Her favorite pastimes were riding her dragon and tormenting her older brother. His name was…” Aemond. His name was Aemond, but she couldn’t say that. She had not said it in what felt like a lifetime. Not even to their mother.

His name was Aerion. But she never called him that. Nothing gave the princess as much pleasure as ordering Aerion around. ‘Lēkia, help me brush my hair!’ she would say.

Aerion would reply, “as you wish.’ It was all he ever said to her.

One day, the princess called him into her chambers before they were to attend a ball. When he entered, she was sitting at her vanity, a necklace of sapphires set in gold laid before her. ‘Lēkia, help me with my necklace. The clasp is quite tricky.’

The clasp was not tricky, but he put it around her neck anyway, his hands lingering on her neck as they gazed into each other’s eyes through the mirror. ‘As you wish,’ Aerion said.

That day, the princess was amazed to discover that when her brother said ‘As you wish,’ what he meant was this: ‘I love you.’ And even more amazing was that night when she realized she truly loved him back.”

“Is this a kissing story?” Young Aegon’s voice shattered the spell she’d been under like a pane of glass. The young prince – her nephew – was tucked into his bed as he recovered from a mild fever.

She laughed. The boy was becoming a man now if he no longer had a taste for ‘kissing stories.’ Once, he had loved them. “I’m sorry, Aegon. I can tell another if you would prefer?”

Aegon sighed. “No, I think I just want to sleep, muña.”

“Then I shall let you sleep, trēsy.” She did not let her disappointment show until she had left her nephew’s bedchamber. She needed to tell the story, for it was the only way she could keep it alive, the only way she could remember.

So, as she returned to her rooms and was readied for bed by servants she did not trust, she silently told the story to herself.

“Aerion asked the crown for permission to marry his sister, but before they could say their vows, war befell the kingdom, and he was sent away to battle to protect their family.

‘I fear I’ll never see you again,’ the princess cried as they said their farewells.

‘Of course you will,’ he assured.

‘But what if something happens to you?’

‘Hear this now: I will always come for you.’

Through her tears, the princess asked, ‘How can you be sure?’

Aerion smiled, ‘This is true love; you think it happens every day?’

His assurance gave the princess enough bravery to watch him mount his dragon and fly away. But Aerion did not return from battle. His dragon was attacked in the Gullet by his enemies and felled. When the princess got the news that he was murdered, she went into her rooms and shut the door and for days she neither slept nor ate, swearing she would never love again.

Two years later, King’s Landing was filled as never before to hear the announcement of the great King Jacaerys’ bride-to-be.

‘My people,’ Jacaerys said, ‘three months from now, our realm will celebrate a year since peace was at last declared. On that sundown, I shall marry my dear aunt, our princess, to reunite our family and signal an end to the strife that threatened to consume us.’

The people cheered so loudly that the princess thought she might be struck deaf. But she was not, forcing her to hear every moment of their adoration. Her emptiness consumed her.

Although the law of the land gave Jacaerys the right to choose his bride, the princess did not love him. He had fought in the battle where her true love had been killed, and every time she looked at him, all she could see was a vision of her brother as he and his dragon fell into the sea.

Despite Jacaerys’ reassurance that she would grow to love him, the only joy she found was in telling her story to her little niece and nephews – the only other remaining members of her family and the only ones who would not glean the longing in her voice. For if the king or his council ever learned that she still loved her brother…”

The door thumped shut as the last of the servants left. She let out a heavy sigh, at last feeling as though she could breathe again as she finished her story, whispered into her pillow.

“She would never be allowed to tell the story again.”

Hundreds of miles away, a weather-worn ship rocked lazily in the docks of Lys. Its crew was scattered within the city, enjoying its many pleasures.

All but the captain.

The man known and feared throughout the world as the Dread Pirate Symeon sat alone in his quarters, silent as death. He pored over a map of the Narrow Sea, but his eye was drawn again and again to a single mark – the small three-headed dragon along the coast of Westeros—King’s Landing.

He ran a finger gloved in black leather over the mark, tapping it twice as he again pondered the words that had echoed in his mind since he heard them.

“King Jacaerys has announced his intention to marry his aunt upon the anniversary of his taking the throne and restoring peace to Westeros.”

Symeon stood so quickly that his chair toppled over, one leg splintering on impact. He did not give it a second glance before strapping a sackful of gold to his belt and storming off the ship.

One of his sailors had the misfortune to be making his way drunkenly back to the ship when the captain pulled him aside. “The ship is Marlow’s now,” he said, naming his first mate. “You will tell no one that you have seen me, or I will return and slit your throat. Understood?”

The sailor nodded, his blood sluggish with drink and fear. The captain released him, and he nearly stumbled into the sea.

When he regained his balance and looked back down the dock, the Dread Pirate Symeon was gone.

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youraverageaemondsimp · 7 months

Text

“You belong to me and me only.” // Aemond Targaryen x Aunt!Hightower!Reader

MDNI

WARNINGS: dubcon, p in v sex, canon typical incest, breeding kink, noncon voyeurism, jealous!aemond, kinda toxic, tiddy sucking, degradation, humiliation, dacryphilia(?), rough sex, choking, reader's age is left up to interpretation. + not proofread // based on this request.

WC: 2k

You were reading a book in allotted chambers when you felt the noise of a stone slide, you sighed already knowing who it was before you got up and turned to face the intruder, arms crossed. Aemond was in your room before he came close to you and embraced you, “Aunt.” he whispers, nose buried at the top of your head before he takes in the scent of you, hair smelling like roses.

You push him away and put your book down on the table before putting some distance between you and Aemond, “You should leave.” you say and he furrowed his eyebrows, “What the fuck do you mean by that?” he grits his teeth and you sigh. “Aemond, I am to be married soon, I cannot continue this….whatever this is, with you.” you speak, “But I love you.” he replies.

“I know, and I love you too, but my sister has declined our betrothal.” you try to speak some sense into him.

“I do not give a shit about my mother's opinion on this matter, I want you. I want to have you, your body and soul.” Aemond says and you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach at that but you quickly push them away before you shake your head.

“It is useless.” you reply.

“I would rather burn this keep to the ground with vhagar than watch you marry someone that isn't me, aunt.” he grits his teeth as he proclaims angrily.

“My dear, I know it is upsetting, but we cannot do anything about this-” you try convincing him but he lets out a sound similar to a growl before storming off.

Just then a guard informs you of the dinner you were supposed to have with all of the family, yes that included Rhaenyra and her family.

Your maids quickly get you ready for the dinner, donning you in a beautiful green down, with a squared neck cut and slightly puffed sleeves, gold lacing incriminated into the cloth, not extravagant, simple enough dress which was suitable for dinner.

You wore your hair loose, except the two strands that were braided and put together at the back of your head, and then you wore your most valuable gift of all, a valyrian steel necklace, thin braided, with a sapphire drooping down the middle, small and heart shaped.

It was a gift from Aemond, it's not he hadn't gifted you other things, it's just that this necklace was something that you liked the most and the one which held meaning to you, after all it was the necklace you had received after Aemond had confessed his feelings for you.

And just like that, you were ready for dinner.

You sat down on your chair and watched as Aemond talked to Aegon, Aemond had switched places and sat right next to you, which earned a look from Alicent who Aemond paid no mind to.

Dinner was going well, everyone seemed to be getting along, Luke and Jace were on their best behaviour today, it seems their mother had finally reprimanded them.

That was what you thought until you caught Daemon Targaryen staring at you, at first you thought it was a mistake, but he for sure was staring at you, or rather at your cleavage.

You watched as he took a sip of his wine, eyes flickering down to your breasts before up to your face, he gave you a small smirk before drinking.

You noticed how visibly uncomfortable Rhaenyra was and you felt so bad for her, you shrugged off and pretended nothing ever happened, until you heard your sister bring up the topic of Aemond's betrothal.

What shocked you most was that she had said that Aemond was the one who proposed it.

A marriage alliance to the Baratheon House.

Floris Baratheon.

You clenched your jaw in jealousy and anger, you knew you were both meant to part ways, in fact you were the one who bought it up in the first place anyways but that didn't matter, you were angry, at both him and yourself for feeling like this.

You simply gave him a glare from your side, before turning your attention to the man who was sitting across, he still shamelessly checked you out. And then you got an idea.

You leaned in front of the table, pretending as though you were fetching something, causing the flesh of your breasts to almost spill out, giving Daemon the time of the day, his face flickered over to your face and you gave him an innocent smile before sitting back, nobody seemed to have noticed except for Aemond at what you had done.

Then you felt something trail up the front of your leg and you looked at Daemon who now had a relaxed expression as his boot made its way upwards your skirts, trailing a path, and you pulled your legs back, and shot him a smirk, basically inviting him in.

Aemond had begun to notice all this, the way when your hands would linger longer whenever you would pass something to his uncle, the way he stared at your chest, it made him mad.

He proposed this marriage so that you would break and create a scene and get you and him married. But this isn't what he had expected.

He finally snapped when he heard your sweet laugh, which was drawn by daemon's joke, he slammed his fists on the table and before anyone can process it he's pushing the food off and slams you by your head on the table kicking your chair off forcing your legs straight. You were extremely taken aback by this.

“Since you want to parade yourself like a whore, I will treat you like one.” he growls before he hikes your skirts up and you panic, struggling and Alicent looks at this in horror, everyone looks as if they're scared.

“Aemond! Stop this right now!” Alicent tries to come over to help you but he shoots her a look and she backs down, scared that her son might hurt her as well.

He quickly undoes his breeches, he didn't care if everyone was watching him, that's exactly what he wanted, he slipped into your folds with such brutality that made you moan loudly and claw at the table, you tried fighting him off but he held your hands together at your back and let go of your neck, spanking your ass.

“Look at this, already so fucking wet.” he collects the wetness yout produced and smears it across your skin, and just then you were able to feel how wet you were.

“Fucking whore.” he says as he starts snapping his hips at a brutal pace causing you to moan, it was so humiliating, to have everyone watch you while he fucks you, they're too scared to interefere, Alicent closes her eyes at this act of depravity being displayed, and everyone seems to be looking anywhere but whatever was being displayed, and Aemond was visibly annoyed, he wanted everyone to look, to see how much of a whore you were, he wanted to humiliate you.

“Look at this uncle, wasn't this bitch just flirting with you moments ago? Watch how she is moaning underneath me now.” he grunts, thrusting, making your body jolt up the table, and Daemon stares at you, unashamed.

You burst into tears, feeling insulted and humiliated, “Dear aunt, are you crying right now? Don't, you were the one who wanted to act like a whore from the silk streets.” he coos mockingly and you sniff, his thrusts become sloppy before he pushes him to the hilt and finishes inside you, before pulling out and wearing his breeches, before smoothly walking his way out, leaving you unsatisfied and on the table, a mess.

Alicent comes towards you and pulls your skirts down, she seems to be at the verge of crying as well, fixing you up and giving you a hug and you just looked at everything in a daze, mad and humiliated.

But most of all unsatisfied.

Aemond didn't let you finish, but sought out his own pleasure like a cunt.

That's what made you mad.

“Let's pretend nothing happened here, and Aemond.. That mangrown… ” Alicent sighs and everyone nods, looking at you in pity and you just feel tears streaming down your face, and your sister wipes them away.

You left the scene, going back to your chambers, and the sight in front of you made you mad.

Aemond was in your chambers.

“What the fuck are you doing here, get out.” You say sternly and he turns to look at you, you close the door behind you before lunging at him, and he seems taken aback by this but he dodges, and grabs you by your neck before applying pressure, causing you to see stars as the oxygen was so slowly deprived from you.

He pushes you onto the bed, hand leaving your neck as he rips your gown apart, the material tearing, causing your breasts to spill out, he grips them tightly, nails biting into your skin causing sparks of pain, you gripped his hands trying to pull them off but he only held on tighter, “He was staring at these,” he growls, “But he doesn't know that they belong to me.” he takes your breast in his mouth, tongue circling around your nipple, causing you whine before he bites down harshly, making you arch your back and grip his hair.

He pulls away and trails kisses down your body, stopping at your cunt, he pulls your legs apart, revealing your folds to him, he moans at the sight, his previously stuff spend leaking outside, and coating your thighs, he licks at of it up before his lips descend onto your pearl, he sucks on it, tongue flicking up and down your bud, you throw your hand back and moan, hands coming up to grip his hair as you rut against his face, he moans into your cunt, relishing in the combined taste of you and him, he pushes his finger inside your hole as he kisses your bud, thrusting in and out, fingers curling upwards to hit your spot.

And soon, you come all over his hands and he moans at the way your cunt clenches around his digits, “Fuck- need to be inside you once again.” he pulls his fingers out and replaces it with his cock, pushing past your folds and sitting all snuggly inside.

He leans down to kiss your neck, biting at it to leave marks, he fucks you at a brutal pace, making your body jolt, and the bed creak against the floor.

He pulls away from your neck to watch your fucked out expression, drool dripping from the side of your mouth, which he leans in and licks it up before kissing you, your moans are muffled by it.

He felt himself near once again, “I can't wait to fill you up, maybe at the earlier display, and my son growing in your womb, she might wed us.” he tells you his plan easily and you nod.

“You'd be so pretty, all full and round of my child, trying to waddle around, trying to keep up with my pace— ah! fuck!” he moans as he spills himself inside you, all the thoughts only spurring him on further.

And you feel your band snap at the same time, cumming along with him, moaning extremely loudly, chanting his name like a prayer.

He pulls out and watches his cum drip out of you, he scoops it up and shoves it back inside, and you wince from the overstimulation.

“You belong to me, and me only, do you understand?” he growls and you nod.

“I want to hear it.”

“Yes, Aemond, I understand.” you say.

And soon, Alicent weds you both, the entire family was quiet during the celebration, knowing the reason why, yet they all congratulated you.

Aemond finally got what he wanted at the end.

———

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#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond x reader #aemond x reader smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #house of the dragon smut #hotd smut #x reader #x reader smut #reader insert

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controld3vil · 1 year

Text

what she sow

PAIRING(S): AEMOND TARGARYEN X TARG!READER, AEGON II TARGARYEN X TARG!READER SYNOPSIS: Alicent sees herself in you. Her once-wild spirit dissolved in the flames of missed adventures and leisure. Before duty took her life away. But like her father, Alicent was bound to the realm. She scolds you whenever you make a brash comment or clash with your siblings. Out of everyone, Alicent finds comfort in talking to you but knows it’s a double-edged sword. You spoke truthfully and gave her the harsh reality every time. That you were a stubborn Targaryen. NOTES: - this one shot mostly revolves around the reader's life & perspective. implied relationships are referenced but aren't the main focus of this story. - excuse all grammar mistakes !! - cw: targcest; there are subtle hints but not explicit. if you’re uncomfortable, please do not read

DRIFTMARK was not as welcoming in its pursuit to give you comfort. You never favored the sea - it was a thousand miles away from your homeland. The grim-looking castle stood towering on its own, surrounded by the open ocean. The sun hid in the morrow today, and so did the radiant blue sky. You could feel a tinge of sadness as you glimpsed up into the void of dusty clouds. Regardless of the ceremony, the empty hole in your chest would not waver. The High Tide, a section of the Driftmark castle, was where most people visited in sorrow.

And as you stepped down onto the cold cobblestone, you took a deep breath. The apparent death of Laena Velaryon gathered many loved ones. She had only passed away a few days prior. Laena failed to give birth to her third child, her son. If not worse, Ser Vaemond persistently recited in high Valyrian. You understood the parts and pieces of what he was saying. In the memory of Laena Velaryon, let the Driftmark waves guide her soul toward peace. Or something like that you couldn’t decipher quickly enough.

You stood by, with your dark cloak next to your mother and siblings. Ser Criston made sure to stand by Alicent's right side. Your father, King Viserys, First in his name, was held by two knights, underseeing the ceremony in utmost sorrow. But compared to his children and wife, they were motionless and could not express empathy. You heard stories of Laena in your younger years. Your aunt and her family resided in Pentos, a thousand miles away from King's Landing. It was inevitable, partly because she was never interested nor cared.

You, the secondborn, did not want to bring shame to your family. But the Driftmark ceremony was tedious and cold. Not to mention, you knew no one besides the residents from King’s Landing. Staring at the ocean, you hope no one is looking at you for not paying your respects to your late aunt. Nothing on this god-forsaken island was worth contemplating. You knew this trip was dull as the most intriguing thing you sought out were the rigid rocks and dried-up seashells.

After the ceremony, the atmosphere became more relaxed. As residents and families alike walked on the canopy and talked. Your mother and Ser Criston Cole hesitantly stared at your father, who was seated in the center. You were holding your mother’s hand when she spoke to you.

“Go to your brothers and sister. Find comfort in them.”

You nod with haste, wanting to seek a sense of comfortability. Being surrounded by the unknown residents of Laena Velaryon did not please you. Why wouldn’t it? You never attended a funeral until now. It felt foreign, more uncomfortable than the grand parties back at King’s Landing.

You jog towards the nearest tent with drinks and tarts. The salted aroma of the sea was murky but diverged terribly with the freshly baked loaves of bread. Taking note of your presence, a servant girl presented a tray, a new batch of bread with various stuffings.

Politely thanking her, you grab the largest one. Sadly before you could delve into your savory snack, your brother’s obnoxious voice came down like a snap of a whip.

“I can't marry her.”

“You have to - it’s your duty.”

“You marry her then!”

“I would perform my duty to pass on the Valyrian bloodline.”

“She's an idiot– ow!”

“Not as idiotic as you,” Aemond turned to his right to find you, munching on a pastry. The same pastry you split into pieces and threw at your older sibling. Aegon lets out a scowl. “You were never suited for duty.”

“Pardon me,” The eldest son suddenly felt the urge to correct your claims. “I never said I'd refuse mother's marriage pact – Better yet, you should be envious of me and our sister. We’d be the first to marry in the family, performing our duties.”

“Mother says she will be our future queen.” Aemond jumps in, gazing at Helaena’s oblivious mumbling. His claims were purely harmless, though it was something your mother wanted you all to understand. Duty came necessary to bring to the realm. Sacrifices would be bargained with afterward.

Ignoring his words, you faced him head-on. “Call her an idiot again and I'll sever your tongue and feed it to the rats at King’s Landing.”

“That's awfully far from here, sister. Are you sure you can make it back on Gaelithox? Without plunging into the deep sea bottom?" He taunts, knowing it would only agitate you. Your dragon, Gaelithox, shared many qualities with you. Even after claiming him on your fifth-name day, you had trouble controlling him. He was not pleased whenever you mounted on his back. Numerous times, he jolted you off his saddle out of aggravation. Aegon could recite all the times you puffed annoyedly, pleading with the dragon as if he listened.

“Then I will feed you to Gaelithox. I'm sure he would enjoy a cunt for a meal,” You barked, trudging towards where Halaena sat. You knew what you said was disrespectful. Your mother would most definitely reprimand you if she heard. Calling your brother a cunt was prohibited. You spoke out of turn and will accept the consequences if Aegon or Aemond decides to tell your pesky mother. “Helaena, have you been sitting here all day?”

“Fret not dear sister, I've caught a spider,” Conversing with Helaena always soothed your sanity. You had a soft spot for her, attending to her mumbling and infatuation with insects. “Rivaling disorder will come to shake the tides. Solitude will not prevail.”

“Then we shall prepare for the tides,” Seizing your sister’s arm to head inside the castle. The cold and eerie palace. One that corresponded to King’s Landing but did not offer the reassurance your home did. “Come! Let’s rest!”

THERE WAS an inkling urge to rip all of the strings you’ve conducted. It didn’t look right. Embroidery was a lady’s sport, the representation of articulated beauty. Out of all of the girls, Helaena was the most skilled. She could’ve woven a thousand portraits and never gotten tired. The threads continually overlapped each other as she hemmed the final knot. She replaces the string with a different color and starts again.

“The trick is to keep track of the number of loops you’ve made,” She says, finding her rhythm in her work. Seeing your sister at ease consoled you. Her soft-spoken words were like an old childhood melody.

Sweet and soft.

Helaena never raised her voice. Only when she came to the world did her cries screech throughout the Red Keep. As a babe, you had no conscious memory. However, Helaena’s squealing gave you such a fright, you screamed. The mutual linger of anxiety was the only reminder of your genesis. It was a fuzzy recollection that periodically hovered in your head. For such an innocent girl, her cries would be the last thing you wanted to hear.

“What if you lose track?” You idly gaped at your sister’s handiwork. It was exquisite, resembling the sigil of the three-headed dragons.

“Then you best retrace the loops from the last knot you started on.” She giggled, tugging the needle in and out of the fabric. “Septa Rhea taught us that together!”

You beamed, “My apologies sister. I've forgotten.” You both knew that was sarcasm. You didn’t care as much as Helaena did about embroidery. A lady’s sport. Many things distinguished you unbecoming of a lady, and sewing was the least of your concern.

“At least understand the basic maneuvering of the needle, dear sister,” Your twin teased, slowly beaming as the corner of her lips moved upwards. “Mother would be upset if you abandoned your duties.”

“I have been practicing! No need to worry.”

“Even dragons lose their footing,” Helaena lightheartedly said. “Some may tumble into the sea like flightless birds…”

Your eyes quirk up to process her remarks. You couldn’t help but devilishly grin. “How dare you-!” Abandoning your work, you tackled her to the ground. Both of you giggled but were abruptly interrupted by the sounds of servants.

“Princess Rhaeryna is going into labor! Quickly bring the maesters!”

It stuns the two of you, ascending from the rug to pat down your gowns.

“We should visit our sister to help! I hear the birthing chambers is where many women gather to aid the–”

“It’s best if we do not intrude,” Helaena pats her skirt one last time and hauls you out of the room and down the passageway. “Mother would disapprove of such things.” Alicent forbade any of her children to even be in sight of Rhaeryna and her children. Her childhood friend was now a stranger to her. The discourtesy she bestowed on Velaryon and Targaryen's lineage was unrepairable. And the Queen Mother made sure to enlighten her children in such manners constantly.

“Follow your duties properly and the realm will be protected,” she said, caressing the heads of her four children one night. Her four children nodded, all too young to recall her words.

That afternoon, you roamed close to the gardens of King's Landing. They were nearly in color as winter was approaching its end. The flower bushes looked withered due to the frigid temperature. But soon they will prosper from their slumber, luminous with rich colors. Strolling down the gravel lanes, you pass by Jacaerys and Lucerys. Grabbing their attention, you ask them where they were running.

“We are going to the Dragon’s Pit! You’re welcome to join us.” Jace smiles while Luke nods with delight. The two of them were affixed on you whenever you joined them. Feasts, sword fights, or chasing through the Red Keep, they have become fond of your company. In the absence of your siblings' love, you were present whenever they asked.

“I’d be delighted to!”

In the waiting years for your egg to hatch, your father and the council members were worried whether your dragon would hatch. It was custom for a dragon egg to hatch at the same time as the birth of a Targaryen, becoming their life companion. But the dragon keepers reassured the king that patience was crucial.

Eventually, the gods shined brightly on you at the age of five. Despite many stares and pity whispers, you dismissed them. Even as a small child you were strong-minded and kept your thoughts clean out of criticism and jealousy. In a sense, Galitheox was alike — having to endure five years of isolation, unable to break away from the shells of dependency. You too felt imprisoned - the two of you in fire and blood were twisted in the bloodline and hierarchy of fidelity.

The day you recall the faint cracking sounds over the fire was one of the most rewarding days in your life. In excitement, you attempted to grab the egg but the dragon keepers defied your touch.

“You mustn’t touch, princess. Dragon eggs desire a place where they’re most comfortable.”

After you visited the Dragon Pit, your mother scolded Aegon and you. You were not involved in Aegon’s and Rhaeryna’s children's schemes but it did not bypass Alicent. She was enraged, more apprehensive about the reputation and well-being of her second son.

“You mustn't ridicule your younger brother. You know how passionate he is to have a dragon!”

You grimaced in silence when you saw the pig with wings strapped around its belly. Your older brother relished teasing, and he would giggle in delight at the humiliation of others. It was something you developed to distaste, a bad and annoying habit.

You felt your stomach pile with remorse at their laughter. You defended Aemond that day but were heavily criticized by their taunts. Your anger rose when they suggested you fetch your dragon to fly with Aemond. Everyone eventually exploded into name-calling that would’ve escalated into a physical fight. Fortunately, because of the distressed company of your younger brother, you held against it.

“It was only for mere amusement, mother—!”

“It should not and never will be! You brought shame into this family and humiliated your younger brother!” Alicent screeched, seizing both of Aegon’s fair arms. He had no clothes on, an appearance you were familiar with now.

Moping, you gazed down at your feet. You felt awful for not protecting Aemond. You treated him with respect since he was a babe. But you lacked the care your mother had for all of her children. Your protectiveness of him was relentless, yet you did not know how to console him, to reassure him of his insecurities. You accept ten times the admiration you deserve.

Calmly, Queen Alicent ushered her secondborn out of the room.

Sundown was mere minutes away as you strolled through the dimmed galleries. Dinner would come soon. And affairs were problematic to reminisce about. The Kingguards stationed around the palace peeked at you in question. The orange sky laminated brightly as the clouds surrounding King’s Landing grew darker. When night falls, the faint sounds of insects and chirping appear. The servant maidens who had completed their chores whispered in the dark corners. And the septas in the garden carefully minded their tongue, aware of Targaryen’s predicaments. Everyone in the palace was accustomed to the disputes all princes had.

The legitimacy of Jacaerys and Lucerys was always on the top of their tongues. It will never fade as long as they live. You wonder if their mother scolded them for the recent incident. Rhaeryna’s and Alicent’s relationship had plummeted out of existence since the birth of Aegon II. And the servant girls were naïve enough to whisper in hollow halls. You heard numerous rumors when Rhaeryna disregarded her father’s order to wed. And how Alicent’s proposal for marriage contradicted Laena Velaryron's. It saddens you how the deep scars of your family's past revoke the realm.

You weren’t mindful of where you were until the door of Rhaeryna Targaryen was in front of you. It was as if your consciousness wanted to find her. Would she allow you? Rhaeryna despised all of Alicent’s children, as someone said to you. Replace her legitimacy from the Iron Throne. You hoped it was not the case because your mother was inclined to pursue her duties as the second wife.

She never spoke to you only in telepathic stares. Her lilac eyes forever grimaced at yours, a gesture you could never recuperate. Knocking a few times, you voiced your greetings and asked for her presence. The doors were slightly open and only allowed light inside. The first time you saw Rhaeryna in days, she looked radiant. She was glowing with the aftermath of her pregnancy - sweat still presents on her forehead. She looked weary and slightly disoriented at the sudden visit.

Rhaeryna lets out a sigh at your name. “Please come in.” she smiles, which shocks you. She never smiled at you. “I apologize for the mess. I wasn’t expecting any visitors as the maesters have ordered me to rest…” Rhaeryna pushed her arms to allow entry. You strode into the room. Close behind you, your older sister shut the doors and found a suitable seat in her lounge.

For as long as you can recall, the firstborn of Viserys Targaryan and Aemma Arryn was fierce. She had a reputation as the first female heir declared to the Iron Throne. It fascinated you. Rhaeryna was given the duty of the realm at such a young age. Her purpose to wedlock children was now more demanding than ever. It was the power that was given to her that made her fierce. And the more desirable.

“I congratulate you on the birth of your third son, Princess.” You nervously chirped up, taking a seat across from her. “Pregnancy is a terrifying thing for all women. Yet you’ve done it three times.”

She laughs, buckling her chin down. The atmosphere felt bizarre because you’d never had a casual conversation with your half-sister. “I suppose you’re correct with that matter,” Rhaeryna mumbles, looking at you with those lavender hues. The same lavender hues from years before. “I thank you, Princess…” She acknowledged the atmosphere was tense. “Would you like to see him…?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “If you would allow it.”

“Come…” Your half-sister rises and puts a hand on her hip. “But you must be quiet since Joffrey’s been sleeping for quite some time.”

Rising, you immediately ran to her side and supported her weight. Rhaeryna beams up again and directs you to his crib. In quiet paddles, you could hear your nephew's tiny snores. His dark brown curls were the first thing that caught your eye. You mindlessly cursed at yourself for bringing up bad habits.

Taking a deep breath, you admired his other features. The silence you two shared was sublime. Staring down from the top of his lips to his tiny hands, you felt smitten. The babe was only a few hours old, but you wanted to spoil him rotten. The light blush he had reminded you of Rhaerynas. The sunset was beautiful, yet your nephew's face was more divine. The orange hues of sunlight highlighted his chubby cheeks. Joffrey’s long lashes resembled the smallest feathers.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?”

IN THE late evening at King’s Landing, the palace grows weary, and so have their residents. Dinner was tolerable - all the council meetings were pleased with their progress. The royal family was escorted back into their chambers to rest while the Kingsguard lurked around the shadows. Candles lit in every corner of the castle were burned out. Only a few in each corridor stood, barely hanging onto life.

As the moon slowly ascends, the sun goes down to rest. It was the same with those who resided in the kingdom of Westeros. The Queen Mother and her children descended to their bed chambers. As the servant girls followed the second-born daughter, she loosened her shoulders. The day was tiring as her mother demanded more of her time and assistance. Tedious and time-consuming.

Hence when the bubbling bath finally simmered, all of the maids huddled over the tub. One sprayed essential oils of lavender - another scattered small rose petals. The three remaining girls assembled around your body and began to unbind your laces. The dark crimson (almost velvet) dress hung down your hips luxuriously. It was one of your more favored dresses, gifted from the fine maker in Essos. The stitching of the swirls was intricately sewn, highlighting your curves.

It brought your title as a princess to the highest order. No man or woman could defy such beauty. The Targaryen characteristics only accentuated your playful charm. And those violet orbs that can pierce any living creature with a single stare. It glows between the moonlight like embers of a volcano. From the neck down, you remain poised. But on the occasion of a full moon, you loosen the tension between your shoulders.

Stripped down to your garments, you slipped out of them. There was a sense of comfort in these domestic times alone. You felt at peace as you climbed into the tub. The soft sizzling eased your body as you moved further down. The heat never harmed the Targaryens - it sympathized with you. The fireplace behind you was the only light source in the room. It chaotically twinkled, burning through the logs beneath them. The smell of incense lingered - like sweet wine waiting to be drunk. After a long day regarding your mothers' necessities, you wanted to disappear from the world.

You should no longer exist.

However, that dream will never come true, as the doors breached open - your train of thought with a dreadful visitor. “Princess, the Queen,” You sigh and gesture to the maidens. As soon as the doors open, your mother waltzes in hastily. She looked like she was in a hurry to get here. Alicent's brows were full of tension, and her mouth was slightly open in exasperation.

“Leave us,” She said, looking down at you. The doors suddenly closed. The room was hers to initiate. “I have some news to share with you.”

“What is it?”

“Well—“ Her breath staggers as she stumbles towards the nearby couch. Your eyes linger down at her clammy hands. Your mother, the Queen Mother, was anxious about what she was about to disclose. “Your grandsire and I have settled to wed Aegon and Helaena.”

Alicent had to flip a coin every time she spoke to you. You could explode, like a firework - if it displeased you. Or become soft and docile like a dragon - lazily resting in the Dragon's Keep. But both alternatives can be bittersweet. So when she made the decision, you had to be the first one to know. Not even Aegon or Helaena were aware of the news. If not for Viserys as king, she would’ve appointed you onto the counsel if she wanted. Alicent relied on your morals and decision-making.

But sometimes it came with a price.

“What…? Why—?”

“It was inevitable - but now, we have chosen a date,” She clasped her hands together, preventing herself from shaking. “For the ceremony.”

“Why have you come to me first–?”

“Because I trust you, sweet dear, more than anyone,” The last part was a lie. Alicent wanted to assure you that she still does have faith in you. “Aegon will be king - Helaena will be queen—“

“No… she shouldn’t!” You grimaced at her, dragging your knees to your chest. Even in the haste of rage, your disheveled state looked beautiful. “Why would she marry that twat? Their marriage will cease to exist the moment it is declared.”

“She is the most suitable. Helaena has shown devotion to her duties and will not fight against it.”

“Then I will!” Your slouched back straightens. “Why would you let her be married off to our cunt of a brother—?”

The slip of your name hangs on her tongue. With a sharp inhale, her lips narrow. “Hold your tongue.”

“Do you have no respect for her?! When she marries that idiot, he will treat her with no respect and love! Without devotion, their marriage will crumble. Her children will suffer the same fate!“

“She will be performing her duty!”

“What duty?!” You cried, face filled with burning rage. There was a contortion of emotions on Alicent’s face. Anger makes you look more beautiful. Because when your patience is at its peak of erupting, chaos debuts. “Why would you sacrifice your children for duty? Why is duty more important than your children?”

Sacrifice for duty? You were speaking nonsense, Alicent deciphers. She was more than willing to face you herself after dinner. All of the preparations have concluded with a check on a pamphlet. The Queen Mother had known the wedding would not be triumphant if not for her children’s well-being. You were the first she had to console - let you understand why she must accept this proposition. But the claims you made disbanded her attempts at peace.

“Why? Because duty is sacrifice!” Vice versa, your mother's fury had just begun. It was as if the two of you wanted to add more firewood to the burning fire. “To uphold the Targaryen bloodline is to maintain its course.”

“Then you don’t care for your children,” You ridicule back with a sneer. “Helaena should not marry him! She should have the freedom to do so!”

“Then who would you let her marry?!”

“Someone more kind and considerate. More attentive than our brother because she deserves far more than all of the suitors in Westeros. She is the righteous figure of beauty. She should at least be happy! I want her to be happy!” Angry tears sprung out your eyelids, blinding you to your mother’s shattered face. “Aegon doesn’t deserve her… She should have the right to do so….”

A minute passed, and all Alicent could think of was the look on your face. She has seen you broken down before but never torn to pieces like this. Your protectiveness over your sister was something she envied. The two of you had each other, never to be alone. She tries to clear her throat but fails.

On the other hand, silence offers you a moment to ponder. You felt shameful of your outburst, of shouting at your mother over a trivial matter of love. But you wanted Helaena to be free and content. It was an impossible justification as arranged marriages were more political arrangements. It pained you to envision how your sister would feel. Dressed in her wedding gown, she would have the most pristine and painful smile. It should be you in the Citadel, offering your freedom to the gods.

Your better half deserved that much.

“I understand your doubts, darling… I really do,” The Queen’s watery eyes trail back to you - and hesitantly rose up from her seat. Your body felt chilly even in the hot boiling bath. “But this is the only way. Rhaeryna had once asked for Helaena’s hand for her son, Jacaerys. I could not let her son have it her way…”

You hummed deliberately. She had mentioned Jacaerys proposal once before - it did not bother you. Jacerys always had a kind heart and was quite fond of you and your younger sister. However, the Queen Mother was grudgingly displeased with Rhaeryna’s children. Her sons and their dark curly hair and lack of Velaryon qualities.

You looked up at her, unaware of how close she was to the tub. “Then wed Aegon to me.”

It takes a second for Alicent to process what you just said. “W-what—? Dear, I don’t understand—“

“Wed him to me.” Sorrow filled your eyes. You lifted your head to meet her with a bitter smile. Your blonde hair posed carefully on your shoulders, slightly skimming the water. “I will deal with him right. He will obey.” Your mother acknowledged the strange fondness the two of you had. The two of you had a familiar sense of humor and danger. He would waste his ways with his whores. While you distracted yourself with old men about philosophy. Aegon tolerated you, unlike Aemond and Helaena - who did not stand for his despicable banters.

“You’re right…” For once, the Queen agrees with her daughter. Perhaps Aegon was the ideal match for you. However, she recalls the harsh critiques her father had of you.

She is far from a lady. Her redundancy to those ferocious beasts is beneath her. The princess is unbecoming of her maiden’s duties.

Your mother brushes a few strands of hair behind your right ear. A single teardrop ran down your face, taking in the shape of your face - she takes in the cruel truth.

“It’s too late for that… Your grandsire expects the preparations in a few days…” Your expression drops slightly, a habit you picked up from Alicent. Viserys protectiveness and her witted mouth - you brought out the best of the Hightowers and worst of the Targaryens. No longer should she demean your judgment - the truth that could’ve saved her children from years of torment and isolation.

“My cunt of a grandsire is as demanding as ever….” And for the first time, she didn’t mind you calling her father a cunt. She softly chuckles, taking in the heat and light from the fireplace.

THE SMALL rubbles of sand leaped back and forth as the royal carriage came to a stop. The Kingsguard in front of the entry of King’s Landing did not flinch, bearing on their duties. The frigid weather did not suit Westeros. The air was tense as the doors opened to reveal Princess Rhaeryna and her family.

Residing in Dragonstone was a calculated conclusion for Rhaeryna. Kings Landing only brought awful memories from her childhood. As she stared at the castle, disappointment shielded her eyes. Westeros’s King’s Landing did not change — it was like steel, lingering for the rust to overwhelm its bare roots. She did not miss the people or the nostalgic conformity. She ignored her thoughts and stepped forward, carefully holding her swollen belly. Her husband, Daemon, and sons came out after her. And her niece, Rhaena stood beside her, sensing her distress.

They all knew arriving here would be uneasy. But for Lucery’s claim to the Driftmark throne, Rhaeryna was determined. No one should challenge her children’s claims and indirectly spit in her face.

Ser Vaemond Velaryon should’ve rotted in the Stepstones a long time ago.

“Have you spoken to the dragon keepers about this predicament, Princess?”

“Not quite, though I’m sure they won’t have anything to say,” You worriedly march towards the desk full of scrolls and parchments. Trailing your fingers over all the papers, you search for the particular piece about dragon scales. “Gaelithox grows weary day by day. And there’s nothing I can do.”

You inspected all the dragons in the Dragon’s Pits during your study. You relished learning their manners and habits. But one of the unknown, not even the Seven could deduce, was the changes your dragon had. Gaelithox was ill, or so you thought. A cold? He wasn’t in severe conditions but was consistently troubled and did not desire to fly like usual. His albino scales were slowly flaking off like the skin of a snake. One by one, his scales fall off, revealing a darker shade, a dusty gray.

The dragon keepers could not come up with an explanation for this mystery. Anyone knowledgeable about dragons was gone - very few were in the presence of these giant beasts. Your dragon, your sole companion, was fighting an unknown condition. Yet you could not do anything about it. Gaelithox nuzzled against your frame - every time you spoke to him. He sighs - reassuring you it is not as painful as you feared.

“He’s as stubborn as a mule,” Sighing discreetly, you did not see your lady-in-waiting, Kiara. She patiently pauses and allows you to finish your conversation with the maester. “I cannot continue my research if he’s unwell.”

“You have more than enough time, Princess. His sickness will pass. Many of the maesters - including myself - will look into this predicament and let you know if we discover anything worthwhile.”

“Princess,” Kiara carefully voices. Your head turns, raising your brows in question. “The Queen requests your presence.” The maester beside you intertwines his hands and bows. You nod and steadily remove yourself from the library. Kiara smiled as you walked with her swiftly. After becoming your lady-in-waiting, she has become your trustful friend. It was rare to have a friend in King's Landing. Kiara took pride in herself - to have gained your trust.

And she knew you were troubled. The news of Ser Vaemond’s ridiculous assembly disturbed you.

After the loss of Aemond’s eye, some part of you changed. You did not understand why, at the time, Lucery's had a knife when nobody else had. He was the only one who held a weapon. Why was it fair for Rhaeryna to claim it as self-defense? In the process, Aemond’s claim about Vhagar angered Laena’s children. The night became more disastrous as the distance between Alicent and Rhaeryna's relationship faded. You held onto your dear sister protectively that night. Your mother was spiraling down in panic while your half-sister stood her ground. Even your father had to intervene and scold the two women. You had never seen him as outraged as he was that night. Viserys never yelled unless regarding his family.

And when he turned to Aegon after Aemond's accusation, you quickly held onto your older brother's arm. Out of fear of Viserys screams and the following events.

Perhaps you would have done something differently if you had more courage. You stare at your mother's back - worriedly pacing back and forth in front of someone's chambers. “Mother,” She jumps in shock. “You wished to see me?”

Queen Alicent flattens her dress. “Yes dear, I would like you to welcome our guests. Rhaeryna and Daemon are already in your father's chambers.”

Your eyebrows rose in immediate anger. “Why have you not informed me sooner?”

“I apologize, sweet darling,” Your mother rubs your arms consolingly. “I was… caught up in a council meeting.”

You thought about making a hasty remark but denied it. Nodding with a soft smile, you stepped back. “I will greet Rhaenrya and Daemon accordingly. It has been a long time since we last saw them.” Before your mother could say anything, you headed to the king’s chambers.

Alicent saw it coming. She failed to inform you of your half-sister's return. But you knew it was inevitable - no one was pleased for the heir to the Iron Throne to return. Many of the residents in King’s Landing were not fond of her from the start. Your steps speed up. Kiara, behind you, desperately tries to catch up. She calls for you to slow down - but you ignore her.

Entering the chambers of King Viserys, you notice your sister’s posture. She was stiff - standing beside her husband, sitting on an armchair near the fireplace. Both their expressions were in surprise to not be greeted by the Queen, but her daughter.

“Princess Rhaeryna, Prince Daemon,” You bowed with a genuine smile. “Welcome back to King’s Landing. I hope the trip was not as tedious as you anticipated.”

A playful chuckle erupts from Daemon. Despite your similarities, you two never spoke to one another. Though there are times - you hoped he would reach out and bond with you. His dragon, Caraxes, was exquisite, adorning itself in red blood scales. Stories say that when he arrived at the Step Stones, Caraxes burned hundreds of their enemies on the shoreline. Millions of burnt bodies lay on the sandy floor. You thought his efforts were admirable.

Your sister’s face morphs in relief. Her furrowed brows no longer tensed in thought, she returns the smile. “Thank you,” She breathes your name in hesitation. It’s been many years since the two of you spoke. You hoped she had fond memories with you when she still lived in King’s Landing. “It’s good to see a familiar face. None of the others dared to greet us at the gates.”

Your bitterness towards your mother was boiling.

“I do apologize. The council members were occupied, discussing regional matters —“

“You seem to have decorated the place quite nicely. Why is that?” Daemon’s tone stunned you. He sounded aggravated, more so teasing. Your lilac eyes trailed back to his like magnets. With his head slightly down and slumped posture, you felt intimidated. “You allow the Hightowers to plunder in with their pretty lights and stars. Did they remove the Targaryen flags as well?”

You felt as if he was pointing the blame toward you. Even when you had no control over which sigil to display in King’s Landing - it was as if you were playing a game of chess with him. He had just taken one of your pawns.

“Due to the King’s sickness, the Queen has taken matters into her own hands.” Your lips draw a narrow line. “And the council members do as they please.”

You wanted to block his attacks - to prevent checkmate. If you wanted to insult him, you would have - but the company of your dear sister was present.

“And have the maesters been able to deal with our father's sickness?” Her tone is more delicate than Daemon’s, more promising. Rhaeryna has always tried to maintain mutualism between her family but forever failed. You applaud her for her attempts. “Does he sleep all day in bed? Moaning like a dying dog?”

Her last sentence made your heart jump. You would have expected her to smile again - but she doesn't and holds Daemon’s hand.

“His sickness is inevitable,” You sneer lightly, shielding your hands behind your back. “The maesters tried everything even before you left for Dragonstone. It is an unrecognized sickness no one has witnessed before.” Daemon tightens his grip on Rhaerynas hand. “The councilman and Queen do as they see fit. Regardless of what they do, I have no part in their decisions. You must understand Rhaeryna - the councilmen have firm beliefs for the realm."

“And what do you know about the realm?” Daemon took your last words as an insult. “You, the daughter of my brother's second marriage with a whore of a mother. Tarnishing the Targaryen name with outlandish banners and statues!”

“Daemon enough—!” Rhaeryna snaps, releasing his grip. She steps forward with a stern look.

You glare at your uncle, and the sharpness of your hues brightens. “The maids will escort you to your rooms. I thank you for your patience today - I hope to see you again in the Red Keep… for your son’s illegitimate claim.”

Your eyes meet again mockingly. The rumors of Rhaeryna and Daemon are far more than true. In front of you, their gazes darkened. They were one of the same. Both held more than cruel intentions, glaring holes into your body. You knew you had stepped into the dragon’s pit, two voracious dragons snaring their teeth at you.

You had just lost Rhaeryna’s trust.

That late evening, you harshly plucked at the jewelry adorning your ears and neck. The small candles on your vanity table flickered as your eyes glanced at all the luxurious accessories, then at yourself in the mirror. The radiant blush on your cheeks lightly flushes under the candlelight, lashes carefully fluttering with ease. Your lips lacked tension, the adorning color of roses.

Between the pearls and rubies, you chose the custom-made silvers from the Narrow Seas. The pearls enhanced their diamond edges. You gracefully clipped them onto your ear lobes and unlatched the necklace that came with it. The chain somewhat resembles sea coral. The gold molded into a sea fan, the center representing a large pearl.

Kiara stepped beside you and gave you an approving smile. “They’re beautiful, Princess.”

“A talented jewelry maker gifted this on my fifth and tenth nameday.” You pleasantly reciprocated her smile. “He was a fine man.”

“He certainly had a keen eye,” Your lady-in-waiting teases with a mischievous tone. You couldn’t help but recall that day. It was hot and humid in King’s Landing. Fine carpenters and others stumbled upon your home to offer gifts. You and your sister did not favor extravagant parties. Yet it amused you when men came flocking in with boxes that required more than five men to carry. The man from the Narrow Seas was more than generous as he offered his entire stock. You knew he only did it for the crown. Yet out of all your gifts, his treasures caught your eyes the most. “Are you ready, Princess?”

You hum in approval and lift yourself from your chair. Dinner unexpectedly became a dreadful thing to look forward to. You wished you were flying on Gaelithox instead of being forced to converse with relatives. But then Kiara leads you out of your room and down the corridors. The night had already begun its course.

And when you first entered the dining room, none of your family members had gathered by the dinner table. Everyone was disassembled and socializing with each other. Rhaeryna admires the tapestries alongside her husband while Alicent whispers to the Hand. Aemond and Aegon seem to be chatting away about unknowns to you. And your nieces, Rhaella and Baela, were beside Jacaerys and Lucerys by the fire.

Helaena was chatting with a servant girl when you arrived beside her. “Be sure to feed them after their baths,” The maid nods and heads out.

You took her place and reluctantly snickered. “Have the twins been restless playing with their mother?”

“Quite, actually,” Helaena laughs, adorning her sweet smile you adored dearly. “We had to replace a servant girl in the morrow. It was a sudden request - they weren’t happy about it.”

“They are energetic when they are young.” You sarcastically sigh while Helaena nods similarly. You dearly cherished her twins - they both had the same curious look their mother had. Jaehearys and Jaehaera shared many similarities with Helaena - which made you relieved for many reasons.

A bell rings suddenly - everyone walks to their selected seats. You guide yourself next to your sister’s seat. Beside you, Aemond sits at the end of the table. However, across, your grandsire, Otto Hightower sits in front of you, already observing you as if critiquing your posture. The shuffling of footsteps echoed throughout the room as the Kingsguard carried King Viserys on a small carriage. Your eyes follow his arrival, never breaking eye contact. Everyone stares at the king.

When he sits between his wife and daughter, Viserys groans in pain. Your father stands and brings attention to him. It was a heartwarming speech - one that almost brought you to tears. For the longest time, you never had family dinners with your father. He was often too ill - converging with your siblings was already a daily occurrence. Your mother tries her best to involve everyone in the conversation. It’s awkward - her efforts are rewarded whenever you pitch in at someone's interest. Your small family is not as close as people expect you all to be - but you manage with the time you have with each other.

The king’s words remind you that family issues are unavoidable and tiresome. Steep wounds had damaged your family, those evident of your mother. Yet here you are with all of your family members in peace. For a moment, you relished their faces, all bearing the same characteristics and traits. House Targaryen is at its strongest when they are together. For centuries, your house stood as the most powerful, sitting on the Iron Throne. Without your disputes, you would have all stood together in King’s Landing.

When King Viserys removed his iron mask, you could feel your heart tremble. He jokes about his appearance - it makes your eyes water. Your father was a kind-hearted and generous man. Out of all the Targaryens, he was the few that cherished your heart. You loved him, you thought as you wiped your tears away.

Queen Alicent drapes her hands around his shivering form. She looks at her husband with tenderness. And for a moment, Rhaeryna was hesitant to speak. Yet she does it anyway and raises her cup. Viserys's words resonated through all of your minds. He wanted his family to stop fighting. Alicent and Rhaeryna sense remorse in their words, knowing their actions impacted many of their past accounts. You listen to your half-sister and your mother toast. Raising their cups to one another felt like a mutual victory.

And with a murmur, you hear Aegon’s obnoxious sniggering. It irritated Jacaerys much more to have him suddenly stand. All eyes abruptly rested on him as he nervously lifted his cup. Aemond suddenly stands as well - you skim at him with suspicion. He eyes down at you with a long empty stare.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond,” he starts, awkwardly punching Aegon’s shoulder. You feel a smile grow on your face. It felt amusing to witness. “We have not seen each in years. I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, uncles.”

Aegon clears his throat. “To you as well.” Alicent’s eyes flicker slightly in relief. And as if sensing your stare, your older brother glances at you. You mischievously quirk your head side-ups to mock him. Nothing to say? His eyes twitch in confusion.

Reluctantly, Helaena slowly rises to raise her cup. She salutes her nieces on their engagement to Jacaerys and Lucerys. “It isn’t so bad… Usually, he just ignores you… except when he’s drunk.” The crowd lightheartedly chuckles. Helaena was innocent in every way. She was endearing and lacked the malice many others had. You drink to her toast, gleaming at her with pride. She never deserved him. You can only guess your mother felt displeasure at her speech. When Queen Alicent declared their wedding, you had no power to veto it. What satisfied you now was the look on your brother's face - ashamed.

Yet they would have to refill one last time.

When Helaena takes a seat back down, you stand up. “And a final toast to those sitting beside the King.” All eyes dart up at you as you raise your cup again. Your arm was unnecessarily sore from raising your glass too many times. “Without you, the realm wouldn’t have been able to prosper. In a time of peace and tranquility, you have captured the hearts of the people of Westeros,” You nudge towards your father, partly. “And to those who stand beside him... Your deeds have not been forgotten. Those who are devoted to the crown will see it prosper. House Targaryen is thankful for all of your sacrifices and hardships. Long may we reign!” Daemon’s faint chuckle likewise makes you scowl slightly. The words you spoke of felt like molten lava. It didn’t feel right for the tongue to speak. Yet when you finished and looked at your mother, everyone cheered. She beams wholeheartedly at your speech, alleviated that you’ve harmonized with your father’s words.

Bitterly, you sit down and consume the last of the wine. It clings harshly down onto your throat. Like poison, it strips you of your senses and numbs you of your surroundings. Luckily, you feel Helaena’s hand wrap around yours with ease. She knows you didn’t mean what you said. The way you spit out your words like venom to everyone. You are not one to please others - it was not in your nature. You despise dinners more than ever.

“You did not have to do that, dear sister.” Helaena hums, plainly lets go of your hand, and starts eating. “You could’ve said something out of hand.”

“Yet I did not.” You respired, refilling your cup. “Do not underestimate my ignorance, sweet sister. If I wanted to humiliate them, I would have.”

“Mind your tongue.” She harshly whispers your name. “You shouldn’t. Not here with mother and father present.” You can tell by Helaena’s jittery hands she's uncomfortable. Is she afraid you will grow brash? Even if she fails to admit it, Helaena is afraid of you. It does not matter if she denies it. You see it in her lilac pupils whenever you’re about to snap. Her eyes quiver - her hands shake as if shaken from ice. Your dear sister did not want you to explode — make a fool of yourself.

You pity her compassion. She shouldn’t care as much for you. Helaena should not worry for you because you are capable of the consequences. Therefore when Jacerys asks for Helaena’s hand for a dance, you’re glad you see her jittery hands fade away.

The musicians near the doors began to play a playful tune for the two young dancers. The atmosphere felt festive with all of the food brought out. Queen Alicent felt relaxed, talking to her father. For the first time in many years, she's able to enjoy a delightful conversation with him. It felt right for her. Her heart flutters when she meets Rhaeryna’s eyes. They constantly beam at each other. They were together again — as a House and family.

Rhaeryna giggles at a comment Daemon says to her in her ear. She hasn’t laughed in years. Amused at his wife’s reaction, Daemon mischievously sips his wine. He's not one to mingle and apply useless conversation. Yet when he hears his lady wife giggle, he feels content. While beside him, Lucerys happily talks to his betrothed cousin. At first, he was nervous to speak but Rhaena was the one to reassure him. Together, they were an adorable pair Rhaeryna always thought.

In the corner, Aemond eyes his younger nephew. Lucerys mindlessly does not look at him but gleams at what Rhaella said. His right eye squints, wanting to pierce his nephew's head on a spike. Aegon, diagonally mumbles something unrecognizable. The wine is getting to him, he thinks. A glimpse, he believes he can see the teenage boy's eyes glance at him nervously.

“Scaring the poor child will do you no good, dear brother.” Your voice tunes him out of his gaze momentarily. He clenches his hand on the table at your sudden comment.

However, his gaze did not falter as he continued to look forward. In his perpetual, his eye senses you continue your pursuit, leaning closer to his chair. Your lips were a breath away from his ear - as your hand shields your mouth.

“Foolishness does not suit you. And please do not summon Vhagar, you'll frighten our guests.” You snicker aimlessly. Aemond’s glare now directs at you. Yet he does nothing and leans back in his chair. When he looks at his mother and Helaena, gracefully dancing with Jacaerys with the biggest smile on her face. He feels the urge to smile — at least they are happy. Yet when his eyes land on you, it feels unjust. You were chit-chatting with Aegon, both drunk to the core from the red wine. The two of you shout with slurs and boisterous laughter.

He ignores the pit in his stomach. “Final tribute.” He says when the Kingsguard escorts the king to his chambers. “To the health of my nephews, Jace… Luke and Joffrey.” Jacaerys released his hold from Helaena’s. “Each of them… handsome, wise…” he hesitated, yet rage fueled his words. “Strong…”

Alicent calls out his name nervously.

“Come, let us drain our cups for these three…” You glance at Rhaeryna’s expression, which displays disappointment. Grinning in delight, you raise your cup while Aegon follows your pursuit. “Strong boys…”

“I dare you to say that again.”

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourselves strong—“ Jacaerys punches Aemond with a forceful blow to the face. Your brother barely flinches as he backs away, laughing. Reluctantly, Aegon reaches for Lucerys and slams him down on the table.

Pure madness was overtaking dinner. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of your family fighting. Alicent quickly strides towards Aemond and questions him about his foolish action.

And with a simple curt, he says. “I was merely expressing how proud I was of my family, mother.” He turns back to Jace, “Though it seems as though my nephews aren't as proud as theirs.”

“You—!”

“Stop, stop.” Daemon steps in between the two and urges his son to let it go. His son obliges and goes to his mother hovering over Lucerys.

“Go to your rooms, all of you.” Your sister’s motherly voice reached your ears. The silence between the youngest sons of kings stared down at each other. Aemond is the one to break and leave.

You hastily follow behind him.

King's Landing was not the most pleasant place to be at night. The only moving figures were Aemond’s black coat and your laced dress. The clattering sounds of your footsteps only made Aemond’s pace quicken. It was until you see him reach a dark corridor you stop. The moon was impatient tonight as it illuminates lustrously upon your arrival. Your steps were slow and concise, not wanting to provoke his rage. You called out his name.

There was no answer.

The closer you come to the corridor, the snappier your heart beats. The enjoyment you deemed back at dinner was fading away. The adrenaline you had from your family’s gathering was now pumping through your veins. You called him out again, facing the dark wall of the cold entrance. You could see his figure standing in the shadows. His hair - even though covered by the darkness - is still beautiful. He enjoys the lack of light the night gives him. You can tell by his posture, leaning against the wall he was studying you. “Are you satisfied now, brother?” You are met with silence, encouraging you to continue. “Your foolishness truly exposed our family's differences.”

“And yet you spoke of unity tonight.” He breathes, and the vapors of his words flow into the night sky. His tone was ice cold, wanting to puncture your beating heart. He snaps in disgust - you guess by the change of his posture. “You said that House Targaryen united us all.”

“Yet I rose my cup to your tribute.” Your slow strides unnerved him. Your shoes - that can clank roughly against the cold cobblestone - made your presence stern. You were like a water serpent emerging from the depths of the ocean. Your expression - cold makes his heart beat faster. “You know I despise lying, Aemond.”

“Must you always fiddle with your lies?” He sneers, nudging his face fully at you. Your silence alerted him to your uncertainty and confusion. “Why did you toast to them?”

“Is it not respectable of me to congratulate our sister and uncle?” With a raised eyebrow, you felt a strong sense of rage. “Despite my distaste for Rhaeryna and her family, it does not demean my respect for them.”

“Respect is the last thing they deserve.” He releases himself out of the darkness and towers over you. His annoyance was like ticking a time bomb.

You can see his eyes flicker toward your lips. “It wouldn’t be fair.” Eyes colored in the darkest purple trail up to meet one another. You two stare at each other, too tense to move. “To you included.” Aemond freezes for a moment. It was as if he didn’t catch what you said. “How hypocritical of you to deem them without respect while you do the same.” You can feel a devilish grin come to your lips. “With a bastard.”

And like a scared animal, your brother jumps back. He doesn’t look frightened, mostly troubled — in his mind. Yet before you say another word, he brushes past you and dashes back into the darkness.

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sapphire-writes · 1 year

Text

The Things We Do For Love

pairing: Aegon x Velaryon(Strong)! Reader request: hiiii I wanna drop this idea about a secretly in love Aegon Aegon is engaged to Rhaenyra's daughter, she is sweet and has always been in love with him, although Aegon doesn't seem to see her in the same way,he is always considerate of her since they're childrens. Until one day when an old suitor of reader asks to fight for her hand and Aegon doesn't answer anything, he just makes a joke and leaves,reader doesn't show it but she feels sad about it and thinks that Aegon will never be able to love her in the same way and When she is on her way to ask Rhaenyra to dissolve the engagement Alicent stops her and takes her to the secret place where Aegon was training with Aemond, she tells her that Aegon asked her brother to help him train so he can defend her hand since he is in love with her, only he doesn't fight that well and he didn't want to lose the fight because of her hand and she eventually talks to Aegon and he jokes about it and reader tells him that he doesn't need to fight for something he already has, confessing that she's in love with him, even when he's a bad fighter. note: love this request it felt very soft i love soft Aegon 💚 warnings: language word count: 2.2k masterlist

You could remember the exact moment you had fallen in love with Aegon Targaryen. Down to the very position of the sun in the sky, the feeling of the summer breeze on your skin.

When you were little, the majority of your childhood was spent in King’s Landing. Eager to ease the tensions between both sides of his family, King Viserys quickly announced your betrothal to Aegon when you were both still babes in the cradle.

It was not an arrangement of love, merely one of duty. Aegon and you grew up beside each other knowing you would be wed someday. It was a fact you felt fairly comfortable with until feelings of love began to blossom.

“She is not frightening, (Y/N), I promise,” Helaena told you, holding a rather large spider from her fingers. It dangled from her delicate fingers, long limbs stretching towards you. You could count every single one of its black beady eyes, looking up at you.

You adored your aunt Helaena, but her strange fascination with long-legged insects was not a passion you shared. Aegon spotted you both from across the garden, noticing your pale face and coming to your aid.

“(Y/N) doesn’t like spiders, Hel,” Aegon said, putting his hands on your shoulder, “she’s just too polite to say so.”

Helaena hummed to herself, smiling softly before turning away from you both. She crept deeper into the garden to release her friend.

“Are you alright?” Aegon asked, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. Your cheeks turned pink at his chivalry. Aegon was not often outwardly kind. You forced a nod, which caused him to grin.

“Good,” he said, patting your head, “can’t have you dying on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you told him, nearly breathless.

That was the end of it. You were suddenly thrown into adoration for the silver-haired prince.

“Fetch me another cup, Y/N,” Aegon called, at the funeral of Laena Velaryon. You nodded, eager to please your betrothed. Aemond scowled at this, distraught at the way Aegon treated you.

“She is not a servant,” he told his elder, “she is a princess, your future queen.”

“She’s a sweet girl, she does what I ask,” Aegon tells his brother, watching you depart, “and she will not be my queen for many years.”

Aemond rolled his eyes.

“I am sorry for your loss, Lady (Y/N),” Willas Follard said when you returned to the Red Keep following the funeral.

His cheeks turned red whenever he spoke to you. Willas was a kind boy and a ward of the crown.

“Mayhaps someday we shall be wed,” he had told you once as you strolled through the training wed.

You had looked at him with a confused expression on your pretty face, though his eyes were hopeful.

“I am betrothed, my lord,” you told him, causing him to frown.

“We shall see, my lady,” he promised before taking his leave.

Years later you were still eager to please your betrothed, at his beck and call. You had hoped love would grow in his heart as the years passed, but it seemed that Aegon was destined to see you as only a child. Only someone he was pleased with, nothing more.

When he became a man, Lord Willas decided it was time to ask Aegon for your hand. He saw how your uncle was with you, treating you not as a lover nor a wife. He believed Aegon would hear him out.

“Were you dropped on your head as a child?” Aegon questioned, face scrunched up in confusion.

“N-no my prince-”

“(Y/N) is a princess,” Aegon said, enunciating the words, “what on earth would she want with you?”

Your ears perk up at the sound of your name. You had been lounging on the steps leading to the sunken courtyard, nose buried in a book. You hadn’t noticed when Willas had passed you, making a beeline toward Aegon. The two men are lost in their conversation, not paying you any mind.

You close your book and stand as the conversation appears to take a turn for the worst. Lord Willas has turned rather red in the face as Aegon laughs in front of him.

“Then I wish to challenge you!” Lord Willas says, voice shaking.

Your breath catches in your throat. Aegon tilts his head to the side, an incredulous grin breaking out across his face.

“Prepared to meet the Stranger so soon, are you?” Aegon teases, a laugh rolling through him.

Willas’ face flushes a darker shade of red as Aegon tilts his head back, continuing his laughter. Your stomach churns. Surely Aegon cannot be serious. Surely he would not risk losing you?

“I wish to challenge you, to a duel for Lady (Y/N)’s hand,” Willas says, this time with more confidence.

Aegon’s laughter dies down, he suppresses the giggles that still flow.

“I’m shit with a sword,” Aegon confesses, the smile never leaving his lips. He is like a madman in that way, always smiling.

Lord Willas does not answer him, his glare speaks for itself.

“Very well,” Aegon says, opening his arms, “it shall be a quick duel then.”

He turns and continues his leave.

“When, then?” Lord Willas calls.

“Give me a week, lord,” Aegon says with a groan, not turning around.

Your cheeks are flushed, with embarrassment and hurt. The entire thing was a joke to him then. Your worst fears are coming true. Aegon will never love you the way you did him. He was willing to lose you so easily, you could already feel yourself slipping away from him. Tried and hurt, you retreated to your chambers for the rest of the evening.

Your mother Rhaenyra could sense something was wrong when you had your food delivered to your chambers for the second day in a row. She brought it upon herself to visit you when you could not be coaxed from your chambers by any of your brothers, or your stepfather.

Rhaenrya rapped her knuckles against the wood of your door, hearing a soft ‘enter.’

You lay curled up in your feather bed, where you had remained the past couple of days.

“Daughter,” Rhaenyra called, “my sweet love, let us fetch you a bath and get you dressed.”

You cried the entire time your mother helped bathe you. It was as though you were a small child again, as she poured the warm water on you, and stroked your smooth hair with sweet-smelling oils. Your mother’s comfort released all the emotions you had desperately tried to hide.

“He does not want me,” you sobbed, “he has never wanted me and I have been so blind, so naive all these years not to see it.”

“Shh, my sweet girl,” Rhaenyra said, helping dry your hair, “come, let us get you dressed.”

As your mother helps you dress, another knock comes on the door and Queen Alicent makes an appearance.

“Princess Rhaenrya,” she says, nodding to your mother, “Princess (Y/N).”

You only hope Queen Alicent does not notice the red that rims your eyes.

“I wondered if you might accompany me on a walk, the gardens are quite lovely this time of day,” Queen Alicent asks, much to your surprise.

You had hoped to continue the conversation of dissolving your engagement with your mother. Lips trembling, you nod. You need some fresh air, being cooped up inside for days is not good for your head, no matter how sad you are.

As you walk through the halls of the Red Keep you make up your mind.

“I wish to dissolve the engagement,” you tell Queen Alicent. She squeezes your arm, a concerned look on her face.

“Do not be rash with this decision, my love,” she tells you, smoothing some hair from your face.

“I have thought long and hard about it,” you insist, “Aegon shall never love me the way I love him. It would not be fair to either of us.”

Alicent purses her lips, leading you further towards the gardens, down a narrow path. The hedges were tall around you, roses sprouting from them hiding you from the rest of the palace.

“OW!” you heard Aegon’s voice from over the hedges. You frown, looking towards Alicent who has a small smile on her lips.

“Did you hear that?” you ask, with a confused expression on your face.

“I told you to keep your guard up,” Aemond’s voice called from the same direction Aegon’s was heard.

You peered around the corner watching what was going on. Aegon was shaking his wrist, his sword on the ground, and a pained expression on his face. Aemond was shaking his head, adjusting the grip on his sword.

“This is barbaric,” Aegon said, grabbing his sword.

“This would be quite easier if you paid any mind to our lessons as children,” Aemond scolded, motioning for Aegon to hold up his sword.

“I did not imagine finding myself in this situation,” Aegon grumbled, as Aemond launched towards him.

“Your right side Aegon,” Aemond said roughly, before slapping his sword over Aegon’s rib, knocking the wind from him. The sword clanged to the stones once more.

“The Mother, have mercy,” Aegon gasped, doubling over. Aemond smirked, clearly enjoying this, wiping some sweat from his brow.

“What are they doing?” you whisper to Alicent as the brothers continue to fight. Alicent smiles softly, bringing a hand to stroke your hair.

“Aegon has been training for the duel that Lord Willas demanded,” she tells you, causing your heart to swell.

“What?” you whisper.

“He has been practicing all week,” Alicent tells you, gazing fondly at her son. You give her a confused look.

“Why?” you ask.

“Men do strange things for the women they love,” she tells you, causing you to scoff.

“Aegon does not love me,” you assure her, eyes flickering back toward him. Alicent smiles and follows your gaze.

“Oh?” she questions and you give her a quick nod.

“Come on, quickly now!” Aemond says as Aegon rushes to pick up his fallen sword once more, “do you believe your opponent shall wait for you to pick up your sword?”

“I expect him to be less of a twat than you-OW!”

You stifle a giggle, and Alicent grabs your arm.

“Quickly, lest we be found,” she says, urging you towards the castle.

You wait for Aegon in the training yard, hoping to spot him when he goes to return his sword. He is bruised and bloody when he finally appears, silver hair wet with perspiration. Though you hate to see him groaning with pain, it sends a thrill through you to see him so roughed up.

“Aegon,” you softly call and he drops his sword once more. He truly is careless with the blade.

“Princess,” he says, scrambling to grab his sword.

“Whatever has happened to you, my prince?” you ask, feigning confusion.

Aegon smiles, then winces as it tugs on his split lip. He has a nasty bruise appearing on the top of his cheekbone as well.

“I fell,” he tells you, releasing a breathy laugh. Your eyes fall to the sword in his hands, and he follows your gaze.

“With my sword,” he continues, “I fell with my sword.”

“You fell with your sword,” you repeat as he returns the blade to its place with the other training swords.

“Mhmm,” he says facing you once more, lips tightly pursed together.

You nod, slowly walking closer to Aegon. He sticks his tongue against his cheek as you approach, nervously shifting from one foot to the other.

“I saw you,” you tell him, causing his violet eyes to widen. You smile at his surprise.

“Why do you train with Aemond?” you ask, “why the sudden interest in the sword?”

Aegon opens his mouth, then closes it again. He brings a hand up to his chin, as though trying to think of a witty response.

“Aegon,” you say before he can think of something clever.

He sighs.

“Lord Willas was serious about your hand,” he tells you, a blush beginning to form on his cheeks.

Your face softens as he continues.

“I am no knight, but,” he bites his lip, trying to find the right words, “I do not wish to lose you, (Y/N).”

You step closer, placing a hand on his chest. Aegon meets your eyes.

“You cannot lose what you have always had,” you tell him, heart beating erratically. You laugh softly, shaking your head.

“Aegon, I have always been yours.”

Aegon brings a hand to your cheek, caressing the smooth skin, before bringing his lips to yours. The kiss is soft and sweet, sending butterflies from your stomach all the way down to your toes. You sigh as he pulls away.

“I am pleased to hear that,” Aegon murmurs, mouth so close the words brush against your lips, “for I have loved you far longer than I care to admit.”

You giggle against his mouth, the sound swallowed by another kiss, his free hand snaking around your waist.

“And I you,” you tell him, breaking away for a breath. His lips move to your neck, as he chuckles.

note: hope you enjoyed it 💚

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darlingofvalyria · 8 months

Text

❝I am going to make him bow to me, brother. Mark my words.❞

[ Jace does not yearn for you. Does not wish for you. Does not want you. But oh, lies are bitter and brittle under a tongue that yearns to taste. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 4,753 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), might be small aegon ii x reader but it's one sided on aeg's behalf, sorry.

contains— manipulative reader, targarcest, mild nsfw, angsty - CANON DIVERGENCE - use of bastard, mentions of alcohol and slight phys. abuse (otto's a dick) - sort of non canon compliant, timeline is loosey goosey; in the books, rhae & dae visit kings landing frequently even after moving to dragonstone, so im going by that - nsfw: male masturbation, strong allusions to sex but no actual woohoo, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas. unedited.

a/n— for my boy jace, the prettiest dark haired prince there is. simp!jace you will always be loved by me. comments, reblogs & like at will! + dividers by @danowh0re + accompanied song: SWEAT— HAYZ.

Aegon, under the guise of weighty cups and half-mast eyes, slides beside you, following your gaze as you appraised the entrance of the Strong bastards into the courtyard.

"Are you sure about this, sister?"

"Does wine taste like heaven under grandsire's scolding, brother?"

Aegon snorts. As your twin, the difference between the two of you are more stark than people might think. Though you share the childish, almost babe like features that usually got women to bow down to Aegon— with your doe eyes, the soft cheeks, and the curled pout — where people think Aegon is a horrible mess of a git, your shared grandsire the forefront of this slander, you are quite the opposite. Beloved, dutiful, and innocent in the eyes of many.

It didn't matter that you wore green as prettily as your mother, or that your twin is a mess of wine and women— you were different. You were kind, pretty, and enticing.

A precious flower among green thorns, the smallfolk whispered.

People had even commiserated how, despite the typical Valyrian looks of silver-gold hair and lilac eyes, your Hightower lineage softened your edges. Your looks.

Your personality.

Snort.

"You know Aemond would rather see you insult the little bastard in half, than whatever it is that you are thinking of doing."

You hum as you don't remove your gaze from the dark haired prince, making jokes with his younger brother, Lucerys. From the corner of the courtyard, you and your twin could see Aemond sparring with Ser Criston with more vigour than he usually did, especially at the time of day. Occasionally, he spared the younger Strong bastard a glance that spoke of trying to unearth his insides from his body, no doubt imagining the very same as he swung his blade.

Aegon and you shared a look, stifling laughter, before you focused back on your prey. Jacaerys Velaryon. A name he uses like a shield despite having not a single drop of the sea in his blood. All you had to do was look at the dark hair, the skin and the nose of the First of Men before him.

How your half-sister Rhaenyra can say he was a Velaryon with a straight face is beyond you.

Your gaze might be searing as Jace looks up at the balcony from where you had been idly staring at him for the better half of the time, and you give him a wry sort of smile. A soft sort of smile. An acknowledgement. Just as he makes a nod of hesitant acknowledgement— unlike your brothers, you had not join in on the hostility and mean-spirited comments — you had already turned fully to Aegon as if you are enraptured by conversation.

"It's a contingency plan, my darling Aeg," you say softly as you brush the back of your hand to his face. You are aware of Jace's gaze now focused on you and your twin and you make it good for him. You make a performance. You follow the steps you've practiced so eagerly.

And eager for your soft touch, Aegon's eyes flutter in response. Ever since you were young, and seeing how harsh everyone is of Aegon and his failures, you decided you would be the kindness to him.

Though you do like him, another contingency plan for him wouldn't be so bad, would it? After all, you can bet on a lot of things, but your grandsire's award-winning thirst for power and your mother's malady to anxieties are good tidings to see them planting Aegon on the throne and usurping everything from your dearest, oldest sister.

Aeg didn't need to know that, of course.

What he can know and what he can help with, is making sure Jacaerys was looking as you smiled softly at your brother, your gold and silver spun hair bathed in morning light, and in one of your favourite dresses— a white silver dress lined with black lace and green embroidery of dragons — you were angelic personified. The Maiden come to gather and soothe your dearest brother.

You capture Aegon's face in your hands, ever soft, ever sweet, as you smile at him. He's so deprived of physical touch that doesn't harm him that he sighs against your palms. You do feel a little bad, but you need this plan to work.

"I am going to make him bow to me, brother," you whisper, giving him a soft kiss to his temple. He shudders, hands placing them on your waist, enunciating the kind curves you sport. "Mark my words, that boy king will stifle under my hand and foot. Mother's fears will not come to fruition. All will be well."

"I am older than you," he says softly, half smiling.

A gaze sears at the side of your face, as strong as the concussive heat radiating off a dragon's maw as your thumb brushes across your twin's cheek.

There is that, you think amusedly. No one can deny the little heir is his mother's child. Bastard he maybe.

"And I am better," you whisper, snickering.

"That you are." But his gaze is past you, back at the courtyard, at the reason for the heat in your skin. A spark of jealousy is quick in his mulish blue eyes but you only laugh. Light but loud, echoing.

"Come," you say with finality, taking a step back and offering your hand as you make the conscious choice of not daring even a peripheral glance, and heading back inside the keep. "We shall see them at dinner. The king's orders."

Your brother makes a sound crossbred from a huff and a groan, and you are already making plans to ensure his wine is controlled for the night, lest he makes a fool of himself in front of the King— or gods forbid, your grandsire — and mayhaps ensure the seating arrangement once again with your mother.

But everthing else is background noise; your schemes and your plots, your facades and faces, because a faux Velaryon has made it known that he cannot keep his gaze away from you.

Everything else is moot.

Jacaerys Velaryon, firstborn son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, soon to be Heir to the Iron Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, does not understand himself.

Perhaps you are just eye-catching. Your hair is more gold than silver, but it shifts like a mirage against sunlight. You yourself seem to change under shadows and light, as if you're casting a new spell again and again. Your eyes, your lips, the slivers of presented skin (have you really shown this much skin, all this time?), and your hips.

They sway, like a panther's.

Like a dragon's.

Jace has always known you to be pretty; Helaena has always been his favourite aunt with the fact that she's quiet and doesn't antagonise him like your brothers. Because Helaena simply cared little for him not because he was Rhaenyra's son, or that he didn't look like his father, or because he was a prince of the realm set to become heir once his mother was crowned.

Helaena simply just didn't care about him as a human not as hisn ame or his blood, her thoughts lingering more in her bugs and the fat babes she had with her brother, humming nonsensical under her breath. Not insults.

You were different. You looked. Jace knew you looked but he had never caught you before. It's a dance, he later realises come dawn he is awoken and there is a weight on top of him in rings of gold and silver, breathing softly— alive and so very warm, and from that moment, his — but for now he doesn't know.

Doesn't understand.

Your gaze is weighty, leaving searing imprints like a dragon marking it's favourite horde. But it's so hard to catch.

It started at the training grounds. As if his Uncle Aemond's wasn't enough, there was yours. He knew but could only see once, and even that felt like it was deliberate, a mere nod. As if you controlled how he worked around your sphere, and by gods, were you beautiful. Then you had turned to your twin brother as if he was nothing to you— really, he was, in the scheme of things, you were the secondborn daughter of the Queen, no matter how pretty your visage or blood is, you are a woman and a third child (right after the firstborn daughter and son), and in the other end, Jacaerys was the first son and heir of the Princess of Dragonstone, soon to be Queen. In fact, you should be nothing to him.

He was to become King, and you to be offered to a lord. To be someone's wife, to relinquish your surname and become someone's mother. Rear your new lord husband countless of babes and live your life having fulfilled your sole duty.

It is a fact that tasted brittle and bitter in his tongue, like soot and ash, and he doesn't understand it. You had crossed his mind, idle as it maybe, from time to time, but nothing concrete. You are pretty, you are kind, mischievous at times, playful, and you purposefully don't keep him long in your orbit.

You were just another aunt. Aegon's Twin Flame.

Misbegotten to not even marry your brother.

It was at dinner that night, amongst clinking goblets and fat foods spilling the edges of the table, his grandsire having arrived, even Aegon, rumpled hair and sunken eyes but dressed and suspiciously sober— and you, your mother's favourite, her most affectionate daughter, late.

"Where is she?" Jacaerys heard the Lord Hand asked, but the Queen had no reply, as confused.

And then you arrive, not ten more minutes later, and Jace's entire body had locked.

Though he did not know why or what, he knew you were up to something. You arrived in a new dress from this afternoon— close to it's style, nothing like the Queen's or Helaena's, conservative high necks and pious ever green— no, you came as a surprise with a flutter of a silken hand and an embarrassed laugh, tipping to your father a kiss on the side of his good face.

Even as you sat, it took a good, long while before the chatter would arose again (from your gracious laugh at your father's compliment no less), before everyone's eyes— even Criston Cole's, ever loyal rat — would lift from your visage.

You were ethereal, simply put, in a dress that is not of pious ever green or high collar trim; but in a flutter of what Jacaerys remembers as his mother's gown when she was pregnant with Aegon, and the days got too hot. When the babe inside her, made of pure dragon, had made her a furnace burning from the inside out.

It was the same lightweight material draped over your skins, a thin material bunched up several times so it is not too sheer. Not too inappropriate. Jace doesn't know what the fabric is, doesn't care to, but it looks like flowing water against your body. It moulds to your movements. Your shape is obvious, so are the expose arms, collarbones, your chest dipping low, too low sometimes when you lean over and laugh, eyes alight— Jace's eyes cannot stay away, they are glued to your necklace, to the top of your smooth breasts — and the dress is held together in links of golden dragons, your hair made up in braids, in pearls and small emeralds, with curled strays framing your cheeks and smile, your exposed neck.

It was meant to garner looks, compliments.

But it was the colour that Jacaerys knew it was meant for him.

At the centre of your chest— your bosom that dips, two mounds, so soft looking and the urge to reach over and press his fingers down, see how soft and pliant you really are, hear the kind of noises you make, in pain or pleasure, his thoughts make him hiss, tightening his hold on his wine, pinching nails to skin to ground himself — it starts off a darken green, shifting, blending to a winter green, a bluer green, a seafoam that he is more than familiar with, before escaping the edges in deep water blue.

The colour of his father's house had never looked so good, so charming, so sinful before.

He tears his eyes away from you because it is improper to be staring so, to be looking at you and feel like he is feasting when he is rooted in his chair and still so hungry, especially with the plans of betrothal with Baela, his mother had already asked him if she is ever in his thoughts.

Baela who sits beside him, ramrod straight and keen-eyed, respectable Targaryen lady, a confidant and a good friend. She would make a good queen in the future, he had thought so before. Respectable and fearsome, the best parts of his stepfather and the late Lady Laena.

He shakes his head, swallowing down his slice of veal before he kicks Luke's leg under the table.

His brother yelps, a mournful irritated sound for his eyes had ogled far longer (just like he, but would never admit) on you than was proper, reminding him, and yet when you look up at the sound, your eyes— have they ever been so violet? — lands on him. Again.

When your gazes meet, he is enraptured, but he clears his throat and nods. "You look good, aunt." And because he cannot step, because his thoughts are cloudy and you are looking at him as if you know he can't stop looking at you, as if you can read each filthy thought he tries to stifle, as if you like it, he continues, "The sea green is a nice colour on you."

He can feel eyes on him, even the Lord Hand's. Even Aegon, goblet pressed against his lips, hiding a smirk. He burns, but he doesn't burn as bright when your smile stretches, your lids lower, and he burns so bright he fears he might be on fire.

The flames are licking him and he does not mind, so long as you keep your gaze.

"Thank you, nephew," you hum. "That is so very sweet of you to say."

And Jacaerys blushes, coughing once when he notices his lady mother giving him a look. Knowing. Curious but not probing, not yet. What he doesn't notice is the Queen's perceptive frown as she gazes at her daughter, the Lord Hand's raised eyebrow, or Aegon trying so very hard to stifle his laughter, turning to Helaena as if he is saying something to her.

But what Jacaerys does see is Aemond's intense glare, sharpened and rekindled and suspicious, and Daemon... The Rogue Prince is eyeing you differently. No longer just another Targaryen bleeding Hightower green, no longer just another offspring of the Hightower cunt.

No, Jace can almost see inside his stepfather's brain and see the Valyrian looks. The body of a woman freshly sloughed off the body of a child.

You are pretty and young and Daemon Targaryen is looking at you.

It shocks Jace how much he despises it.

It is for my mother, his thought persists even as he looks at you again and his insides whirl. I am upset for my mother.

Daemon Targaryen can see plainly what you are doing.

You've always hated that about men with good insight, who do not care for what is between your legs, only for your actions. For what it might do for what he cares about.

And Daemon cares for Rhaenyra, for Viserys, for the Targaryen legacy, pure and untainted.

(As if the blood of the First Men is okay to bastardise his bloodline but gods forbid the oldest and greatest of the Great Houses).

And he is now looking at you as if he has noticed the steps and webs you have spun around for his stepson, the direct legacy, and he is amused.

The dinner comes to a conclusion to a small dancing, and your twin, dutiful to you and your orders you had told him as you cleaned and prepared him for dinner; stood up, brushed himself off, and politely asked Baela for a dance— the latter looking so surprised he was fully sober, much less asking for her hand — that she found no excuse, and reluctantly accepted as they pivoted to the centre.

As Daemon continues to look at you, to unravel you as if you are an enemy in a battle map, you stand up quickly and turn to Aemond, smile wide and fake.

Jacaerys won't ask you to dance. He had drawn looks with his compliment, suspicion. Grandsire was right, they are planning to marry him off to Baela to strengthen their cause. Jace will not entertain anything anymore publicly.

Duty bound, honour bound.

But, but, but.

you are not a fool, you know men and their pissing contests. You are a daydream hiding a nightmare.

For the past few minutes, he had noticed Daemon's inquisitive, amused appraisal of you, and his brown eyes (pretty for a bastard's; Ser Harwin's lashes must have been long) had burned a different fire and it gives you an idea, an exhale of relief.

Jealousy can salvage anything.

You just need to push him.

And Aemond is beautiful, a true Valyrian King in visage, the Warrior come alive. You look so much softer when you are beside him.

"Sister?" Aemond looks up at you, curious, confused since the beginning of the night. There is a plot he isn't privy to, and he has been spearing glances at you, at Aegon, at his grandsire just in case he knew anything.

You were unmarried while Aegon had married Helaena. Your time is coming, and he loathes the idea of a betrothal to the Strong Bastard. He had made his complaints known when the missive came from your sister, asking sweet Helaena's hand for your son thinking your mother would have surely betrothed you to your twin.

Neither side knowing you had almost sent back your name, offering your hand.

"It has been a while since you had asked me to dance, little brother," you say, hands behind your back, framing yourself soft and playful. There are so many gazes on you, you play with it well.

"I was ten and one then, mandia sister, a boy."

"Too long," you tease. "Kessa ao daor lilagon lēda aōha mandia, valonqar? Will you not dance with your sister, little brother?"

He hums, acquiescing easily, and standing up. You peel a laughter that attracts a chuckle from the king. This is how you dance around the palm of Viserys I. Men like it when you play a part. Not to cost trouble, not to step over the line.

You aren't the elder sister, the firstborn child. You are means to further a line, not to have any important position. Rhaenyra is the exception only from the womb that bore her. You, like Helaena, are likened to fall in line and act like you like it. Like being a fat, old lord's wife has always been your dream. Bear his babes and suffer the trauma of hanging your life in the balance to produce them into the world.

It makes you burn with rage most days.

"What are you doing, mandia sister?" Aemond whispers against your cheek after having brought you close, dancing through the steps swiftly, keenly. It truly is a shame that Aemond doesn't dance oft.

"Won't you just believe and put your faith in the sister that you adore?" you snipe playfully. It's easy to use Aemond's hair to hide the glance you drop Jacaerys and see the seething glare he burns through your baby brother's head. Lust, yearn, jealousy— they dance and cook in his gaze. You giggle despite yourself.

"Grandsire will not allow you to marry that bastard," Aemond hums, unable to hide his irritation. You roll your eyes. Clever little brothers.

"As much love as I can grasp from my heart for our grandsire, valonqar, I am a dragon. I will take what I want. A tower is nothing to dragonfire. Grandsire oft forgets I am a princess of the realm and he is only a lord." You step back and bow as the song ends, as your father tires and wishes to go to bed. He only stays this long, or even leaves his chambers, when Rhaenyra decides to deign Kings Landing with her presence.

Always more for the heir. More effort, more love, more care.

And what is left for the other daughters of Viserys I?

He remembers Helaena's existence less, and if you do not make it a point to visit him everyday— to entertain him, read to him, laugh at being mistaken for Rhaenyra — you are sure you will be nothing more than a faint dream to him.

Your anger licked dark and green. Inside, it rages.

You watch as Jacaerys Velaryon says something to his mother, a rushed farewell, an excuse— a press of your fingers against your lips as you catch his breeches are tight, that his jaw is clenched — you step closer to Aemond once more, Aegon now drifting away from Baela and back into your orbit.

"Don't worry, little brother, I do not actually desire the Strong bastard. I want his crown."

Aegon giggles breathlessly, eyeing as Aemond's eye widen a fraction before he composes himself. "And what do you need now, sister, to accomplish such a beguilingly easy task?" Aegon snorts softly. There is only a faint scent of alcohol on him. You take it as win. "He's like a green boy from a quick flash of your chest. What more your tits in full display?" He leans close, mean and adorable. "You do not want a husband who is too quick for your own pleasure."

You swat his arm, pinching the soft flesh of his stomach before Aemond fully throttles him.

"Watch your tongue," Aemond hisses, fists clenching.

"It is okay. I take no offense, he is just being silly to rile you up," you placate him, pulling your twin closer to you just as Helaena approaches, shuffling close to your other side, burying her head against your collarbone. You hum, letting her quietly choose which physical affection she can take from you.

The four Green children, missing one. Scales of the dragon they may have, green fire burning from their maws. The four Green children, miss one. Sons and daughters of Viserys I. Nothing more than wombs and seeds for his legacy.

You finally turn to Daemon's probing stare and you keep it. "Keep his family away from him," you whisper to your siblings. You do not care if he understands. At this point, even your grandsire may have an idea for your plots.

And for the crown, for his lineage, no ambition is too small.

If he can send your mother to an old, grieving man after he had butchered his first wife, what ease it is to send a granddaughter willing to dance a scandal?

"I need him alone tonight."

You do not come to him immediately, more than knowing what he is doing. Maegor's Holdfast is a fun little place, with its secrets and tunnels. You had already studied the path to his apartments beforehand, and you are there, against the hidden way, hearing him fuck his fist to the vision of you, your name dripping and spitting from his pretty red lips.

You catching him after the high, chest up and down breathing hard. There is a self-loath, a disgust. You can just read his thoughts. When you enter, he is alarmed, a sword in his hand, guarded replaced to shock at the sight of you.

"Aunt," he whispers, appalled. Lustful. Righteous.

You tilt your head, unsmiling. You guard your thoughts as you approach, hands behind your back, voice soft. "Do you always reach to completion with my name in your tongue, nephew, or is today an exception?"

Jacaerys Velaryon flinches, sword hand dipping. "I—"

You are close, a hair's breadth away. Amusingly, he is struggling with himself. His honour in one hand, his desire in another. He wants to leap away from you and pull you close.

His choice is still open.

You answer for him.

"Would you like to know whose name falls from my lips when I reach completion?" you whisper against his lips. So close but still so far. Your fists are clenched behind your back, nails drawing blood. You cannot fail now. The Rogue Prince might be wandering now, ready to yank you or kill you.

You are a viper in a vipper's nest, and Daemon Targaryen is too late to realise you only want one true victim.

Jacaerys is drawn, the shock of your words melting to make way for the flutter of his eyes and the full shudder of his body as you lick a strip across his bottom lip, staining him.

Break yourself for me, Strong Boy, you think as he opens his eyes and stares at your lips. Break your oaths, your promises.

"Whose?" he asks, voice hoarse.

The surrender is at the hands he has brought first to your hips before he rose it slowly up and up, until his warm palms cupped your jaw, your face, swallowed in his hold. It is a delight to know his hands are bigger than your face, that he is told to tower over you. A boy king grown.

"Yours."

He groans but does not let you go. "I am betrothed."

You still. Such a Good, Strong Boy, resisting until the very fucking end. "I have not heard of such announcements, nephew."

"Mother will announce soon."

"Is that what you want then?" You grip his hands and stride forward until your are chest to chest. Until he can feel every outline of your body against his, until you can feel the hard line of his manhood against your stomach. Until he feels his own body breaking his oath.

"Please, Jace," you whisper, you beg. Your eyes begin to water. "I want you to take me... Only you. I have longed for you for so long. Your mother— my sister betrothed you to me first." He leans back, surprise flitting. "Yes, my love. But my mother had refused. I— I thought you would see it nevertheless. The affection in my gaze, the smile I give only to you. That I am offering my heart, my soul, my body to you. Only to you, Jacaerys."

Your tears are running down now, your voice so soft and so desperate. Where lust had clouded him, it is now tinged with a flattered adoration.

Men are so simple. Boys far simpler.

"I thought you knew," you say at last in a voice as broken as your heart. You take his hands away and step back. He grasps but you turn away, a sob wracks from your chest as fake as when you were a child, trying not to get in trouble with your mother so she can fire the septa that you hated. She had sneered at Aegon's drunken folly and was disgusted by Aemond's fresh wound.

You wanted her gone.

"Aunt, I—"

"It is alright," you cut him off. You turn back slightly, your smile watery, your gaze to the floor. "Aegon did not choose me either, unlovable as I am. Men only want me for my body and nothing more. I-I'll leave you be. Good night—"

You never finish your spiel because he had yanked you, hard, against him, his lips moving against yours— clumsily, not enough practice but aggressive in its desire — pressing you against him as if he is trying to swallow you whole.

Jacaerys is not bowing, not yet. But that night with his seed warm and full inside your womb, his body encased against your own, tightening whenever you made a movement, as if in fear any step you take away from him would slip you so freely from his fingers— his mouth, his lips, bruised by your own making, pressing featherlight soft against the side of your head, your hair — it is not too soon to think the boy king will bend the knee to you and only you.

And maybe the babe you bear him, but there is no need to rush. These steps are delicate but sure.

After all, he has only just cemented the thought that he will whisk you both to Dragonstone at first light, a traditional Old Valyrian wedding.

He will bow soon enough.

For now, you will enjoy your glowing win.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x oc #jacaerys smut #targaryen reader #jacaerys fanfiction #jacaerys fanfic #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#manipulative reader #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #jacaerys angst #₊˚ପ⊹ hightower green 🕷

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multific · 9 months

Text

Padam Padam

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Your father wished for you to marry Prince Aemond to strengthen the bond between your and his family. What your father didn’t know is that you heard about the Prince before, and you were very interested.

You swore your heart stopped and then quickened up the moment you saw him.

Aemond Targaryen.

You heard the rumours about his eye, yet all failed to mention the handsome face, the tall figure and the built muscles.

Your father wished for you to marry Prince Aemond to strengthen the bond between your and his family.

It was purely political and yet you couldn't stop staring at him. His handsome face, his beautiful hair, his tall frame and his long fingers, which you were sure could be used for other things than holding a sword.

You didn't say anything during dinner. You mainly observed his family and fantasised about your future husband.

You could faintly hear your father talking to the Queen about the details of your wedding, but your senses were mainly focused on the man sitting across from you.

After dinner, you were ready to head to bed. Sleep off your sinful thoughts, but as you rounded the corner, the same man stood in your doorway, waiting for you.

"My Prince, how may I help you?" you asked as you walked up to him, not looking into his eye.

"Am I truly that repulsive that you refuse to look at me?" his voice was filled with venom and anger.

You should have known that he was cautious about his lost eye.

"Quite the opposite, My Prince." you answered honestly and hoped no one else was there to hear.

"You dare lie to me?!" he almost yelled, but he did raise his voice, which was not appreciated by you. Your eyes met his.

"I will have to ask you to not raise your voice at me. I am to be your wife, not your slave, it is not my fault you don't believe my words. And now, I would like to go and sleep, excuse me." you said as you rounded him.

He just stood there, too stunned to speak. By the time he gathered himself, you already locked yourself into your chambers.

He could only stare at the closed door before he turned to leave.

---

The next morning you woke up, you recalled the events before you got into your bed and you felt both relieved and bad.

You were glad you stood up to Aemond and didn't let him yell at you. But you also feared he might want to call the wedding off.

You felt like you should apologise, but at the same time, you didn't want to.

You didn't want for him to know that it was okay to yell at you. You were not about to have a relationship where you would go insane much like your aunt did.

You entered the hall for breakfast.

"Daughter! Sit next to the Prince." your father said and you obliged.

Sitting down next to Aemond and to your other side was his sister.

After breakfast Aemond's mother asked you to walk you through the castle with you.

Now, you have spoken with the Queen before so you didn't feel as nervous.

You had a feeling that she liked you. Or she really wouldn't let you marry her son. You assumed.

Later that day, you were resting in your room when there was a knock.

"Come in." you looked up from your book and your eyes met with the Prince. "Prince Aemond, how may I help?"

"I came to apologise for my behaviour. Yesterday, I wasn't myself, please forgive me."

"I forgive you, but I will not believe that it wasn't you, My Prince." Aemond looked at you, confused, so you continued. "I believe everything you said you meant, I believe you are holding back always. I can see in your posture. You have some deep regrets and anger inside you. A huge fire is burning inside you, My Prince."

"And you will be the wife of such a man. You might end up getting burnt."

"I sure hope so. If it means the fire is who you really are, Aemond, I wish to see it. All of it."

"How can you say that? Most women run from me, scream even just by the thought of me."

"I suppose you can say, I am not most women." you stood up from your chair, your book on the floor, long forgotten. "I always admired fire, I heard of you, when my father told me, I am to marry you, I felt joy. If what you are saying is true, if women are truly scared of you, then excuse me for admitting this, but at least I can be selfish and keep you all to myself."

"You want me?" he genuinely sounded surprised.

"With everything I have. Anything you are willing to give me, and I will give you myself." for a moment his eyes went over your figure. "I believe that everyone is born to find their pair. I trust my instincts that you, Aemond, are my other half."

"You are speaking nonsense." you smiled softly as you watched the light hit his perfect face. Oh, how you wished to run your fingers through his beautiful white locks.

"It is okay if you won't believe me now, I am sure you will soon realize I do not lie."

"Did your father put you up for this? Forced you to speak such things?" he was getting angry, you took a step closer and placed your hand on his chest.

"My father would marry me to a goat. I am speaking the truth." his eye searched yours.

But you were no liar.

You meant every word.

You deserved him as much as he deserved you.

You wanted him as much as he wanted you.

And soon, he would realize that he was destined to be yours as much as you were destined to be his.

His lips hang open as he thought.

He looked ever more handsome when he was thinking.

Soon, he moved his head, letting his lips rest on yours.

He wasn't skilled, but neither were you. It was okay.

More than okay.

It was perfect.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Padam padam.

Yes, you were ready to get burnt.

A/N: This piece was inspired by a song with the same title from Kylie Minogue. Hope you enjoyed it!

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#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x pregnant reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen x fem reader #House of the dragon #House of the dragon imagine #House of the dragon imagines #House of the dragon story #House of the dragon x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones au #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader

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ladythornofrivia · 19 days

Text

Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part Two)

word count:

author’s note: writing more chapters of a sad dragon family series. I’ll be on a Norwegian cruise line for Italy and Greece for 2 weeks. I’m gonna be seasick, I already know it. So I’ll be writing this series before I leave. Please enjoy and have a good day.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts).

The preparations for the celebration of King Viserys has reached closer whilst you accompanied Alicent into the corridor, corridor after corridor of a long tour within the Red Keep. Servants bowed as you all passed. Cold bows and cold eyes lingered, despite their bare minimums of smiling graciously at your direction, as Alicent presented the halls with lavish decor. However, mostly it was green and gold. But others blended it with black and red.

As always, you’re marveled by the exquisite lace and embroidered patterns and a clear structure of its final design of artwork is invigorating. The stitching is what you’re most impressed of.

As all Targaryens and Hightowers strolling, Alicent parted ways with her children, unbeknownst to you, the one-eyed prince had his hands behind his back, violet shade of eye looming over your new gown designed by the seamstress, all soft-shaded periwinkle, strapped with gold embroidery and green and red, streaks of iridescent shun upon sunlight, your manes healthy and glowing, maintained through and through.

You knew he was watching. With his precious one violet eye gleaming at the back of your head, your body shivered in an alien sensation. As for Aemond, a dragon’s hunger is anything but stable or sane. A dragon’s hunger is like a breath of wild fire casted to the torch of the wondrous nature and life itself. The fire eats and leaves the bones of ash, dwindling in midair.

Aegon I altered the history and thus, House Targaryen must stand with unity and strength and blood.

Still parted aways after an idle chat, for Alicent to task with decorations, as her children were long gone, back into your large chambers, you were unpacking your materials for the completion on a quilt, a quilt with colorful dragons and mermaids and ships, various shades of sews and needles unpacked, as the back of your neck tingled with goosebumps as you felt a hot breath stroking.

Before you turned around, large and slender hands travelled over your clothed waist, nearly close to your chest above. A writhe of hot tingle rushing in your coils and chest. A quiet breath strained, lax down to a low hiss, a hiss nearly tickling your skin. No servants were around, no Alicent or Gwayne.

Aemond, a one-eyed prince has lurked and captured you. A princess sent by a Maiden herself. The fiery dragon must seize the princess.

You thought he has gone back to training yard with Ser Criston, as Alicent mentioned once at the entryway within a prolonged conversation.

“Aemond—”

His face inched close to yours, his supple and pretty lips touched your cheeks, trailed down to your jawline, whilst his left hand grasp your face to stay still. The pool between your legs gradually strengthened its warmth and slick, easily for the prince to prance and insert into your tight hole. Under the layers of silk dress, Aemond bunched the layered fabrics to your waist.

You never had a noble taken an interest in you. The only that interests them is the brightness of your teal eyes.

A mesmerizing glow of your hues has yanked his curiosities. His mother never mentioned him about you—not even once in a dubious talk.

Better late than never.

With his hand, fingers strapped, and his trimmed nails clutched the fabric of your corset, the laces loosener it in smooth motion, loosening around your frame, breasts ached as his hand—his cold hand—brushed and pinched your nipple while his other hand found his way your thigh, grasped as Aemond’s tongue flicked and his lips pressed a chaste kiss to your clit.

A moan escaped, your mouth shielded, you face drowned in flush, as Aemond’s heart leapt in satisfaction. Humming, he stood up and inserted his fingers into your cunt, thrusting the fingers in with doubled speed as your moans grew louder, but restrained the pleasure into your chest, holding it. The walls in the Red Keep are dire; servants and nobles and guards walked passed and patrolled through wall and doors. Even the highest nobles strolled by.

“Fuck,” is all he said, as if it was a prayer. “Your cunt might be as Holy as the Maiden herself.”

His lips sucked your swollen tit.

“My prince,” you cried softly. “Please. The guards, my brother and sister will see us.”

“I do not care of their pious thoughts.”

“I’m your aunt, my pri—”

“Don’t fight it, my sweet,” he said, giving a sensual flick on his warm tongue to your swollen flesh, “I might give you a reason to have bruise on you, ones that they’ll never find on your skin.” His hands grasped your waist, trailing with soft strokes. “You’re humiliated. Maybe there’s more than meets the eye.”

Based on his words, you never thought you found it attractive, considering the soft spoken voice, hoarse with arousal.

“Don’t fight it. If you fight against this, this subtle encounter between us, you’ll never forgive yourself,” he whispered, his wet lips brushed yours. “If you have been, you would shoved me away. Would you like that, princess? Shoving me away?”

His voice ragged dampened your cunt and clit twitched at his sound.

“Seems you enjoy it. You’re a good princess. But alas,” he pulled himself afar, the warmth on your body began to turn a chill.

“I shall see you at the feast. Enjoy your stay.” His neck went for a stiff bow, but his eye glued with plea for your consideration of his statement, whether you accept his offer or not, and departed your apartment—a once organized structure is now filled with clutter and oozing sex and the arousal groans you shared has imprinted in your head, you find yourself still with embarrassment.

In a way, a blessing in disguise when no one, not even Gwayne, saw or heard your affairs with a young dragon prince.

You have seen the arrival of Rhaenyra and Daemon and the children, you had a short introduction to all Black faction.

The dinner celebration for Viserys’s nameday celebration has been all but cumbersome. You felt a subtle hostility, but to due your presence, it has lessened but somewhat guarding up—all due to pettiness.

As you, making a progression with your father, it was all but cold distance even you and Otto were near. Not once he looked at you with adoration like he shared his adoration with Princess Helaena, showing her teal beetle. The Green children are all strained; Aegon had his fair share of capable stupidity to throw down a nasty comment of his cousins and nephews.

Daeron was disappointed with Aegon’s perversions, but Daeron veered at you with a kind smile and made a polite conversation with you. Once again, Otto did not acknowledged of your accomplishments. You felt sick in the stomach, and it’s not your bright gold and yellow dress you have finished making. Tears behind your eyes was arising, and your throat budged with hot and parched sting.

Aemond clenched his fist, for his anger was directed at his grandsire for not noticing you. That damnable old fool—if only Otto sees how your talents. When Viserys disregarded Aemond, even his siblings, he wanted nothing more than to see him dead. But alas, with your existence, it’s almost as if Viserys’s existence just naturally died out.

You pardoned yourself, and Alicent thereby dismissed you, you bowed and left to your chambers, spent the rest of the night weeping, thinking what have you done wrong.

As you exited, the tensed feeling withdrew, and Otto was happy again. And so, without a doubt, Aemond gave a good jab on Otto, which caused a disastrous supper for everyone. The music stopped. As for Aegon and Daemon, they found it amusing while Alicent ordered the guards to escort Aemond way back to his chambers.

For Aegon, this was a win for him. He’s not in trouble for once.

~~~

In dreams, you have never seen your mother, what she appears like or what she sounds like or how her personality was. The only thing that is closest to being a mother to you is the wetnurse or the servants or the Septa who provided you with assistance on your daily appearances and wisdom. Whenever a servant brushes your hair, you often think of what it feels like to have a mother brushing your manes with care and doting manner, a soft voice to soothe your aching heart, where doubts and fears would go away.

In times of sleep, you often thinking of ending your life, just to see your biological mother on the other side. Or perhaps more than just seeing your mother. There are times where you hated your life, and you want nothing more but to end it.

People have often told stories of your mother, though it felt it was a grave mistake. Some say she fled away to Free Cities, some said she ended her life from the highest tower of Oldtown and fell down to the sea. There are rumors where Otto took you because you’re adopted, or perhaps he had a secret, illicit affairs.

The cold feeling rushed in you as your eyes pricked with tears. With somebody telling you stories of your late mother, it brought no peace. Only the enigma of your shadowed doubts and an endurance of chaotic insanity, to question whether your life is real, if you’re real in this world with purpose.

The servants have been kind to you more than the nobles, the more everyone pointed out your flaws and the insignificance of your existence, you lead to believe that you’ll never be loved.

And cried once more. Each night, your tears flooded in pillows and blanket, as you embraced the closest object, pretended that it’s your late mother. An endless of an anguish thought has been a hazard.

Only the echoes of the walls could hear you and the pillows has stained, under your hug squeezed the material as hard, wishing for the pain to go away.

In his awake, he’s a perfect prince, but in his dreams, he’s a beast.

A beast kept within a shell of a noble man.

He has dreamt of your teal eyes basking in his dark dreamland, your voice, how it was yearning so much more. A dark dreamland filled with scornful memories of his nephews and Aegon, and the pink dread. He had kill all of them in his dreams, even the fat pig.

With a scolding from his mother, he couldn’t care less. He wanted your presence to be acknowledged by your father, but how can Otto be so cynically dimwitted and more offensively calculating against you?

When the servants spoke over how you’re not related to Alicent, chances are why Otto was pretending that your presence is nothing more than a useless and meaningless substance of meaning to exist.

Others said that they haven’t seen you gone out from your apartments—and that was recent.

Aemond visited you, presented you with a gift, but the word from you not leaving the apartments has concerned. Thus his mind came up an idea.

You have several servants entering the room with stack of your favorite meals and drink—including lemon cakes and Dornish wine.

One knows someone’s best interest. Whoever did it, your heart is elated. As soon as Aemond came in, you hadn’t known whether he knew something that you don’t. Somehow, his intimidating presence softens your heart, prickled in relief.

For some reason, when Alicent paid you a visit, although shortened, she was concerned of your health, you hadn’t formed a proper conversation; Alicent hasted when the Council has called for her summon, but gave her regards.

Aemond accompanied you for a while in your apartments, and chat whatever discussion came up. Each minute and each hour, the two of you became close, became so close that you or him hadn’t open your hearts, despite what he did to you days ago. With your cunt coiled at his face, his voice and neck, his waist, you find yourself crossing your legs, aroused and squirming beside him. You wondered and imagined of Aemond’s tongue guiding and gliding your soaked cunt. At this moment, you wanted tackle him and suffocate him with your legs wrapped around him, taking in of your nectar.

“I’m glad you are doing well, princess,” Aemond said to you. “For I have been concerned of your well-being. A delicate flower such as you does not deserve the cruelty of my grandsire or anyone in the matter of your visit.”

“He’s always been difficult,” you explained. “No matter how much I’ve improved with my skill, he’ll never sees as his or my sister’s equal.”

“In ways my mother and grandsire are more intolerable. Though I respect my mother, I find myself with bore with my grandsire has to say. If anything, I’m glad your presence has casted a light into the dread.”

In Aemond’s case, however, found you as exquisite as gentle as the blooming flower. His one took a longer glimpse at you and notice the difference—how your eyes glinted in glee while your cheeks adorned with youthful flush and enamored smile. Oh so pure and harmless. He hasn’t seen his mother and his siblings. As for Otto, he hasn’t spoke to him since supper at Viserys’s nameday after sending a jab across the face—out of character for a self-assured prince.

Oh, to ruin you.

“Thank you for the meal, Prince Aemond. You don’t know how much I’m relieved to say this,” you said as you finished the embroidery on your unfinished dress you sewn.

Aemond found your gowns just as otherworldly as you.

Consequences won’t matter; Viserys nor anyone else in the room care for his presence. Perhaps it is a blessing, perhaps it is for the best for you to be settled here in King’s Landing, as long you’re in content, nothing else matters, but if harm does come, he shall smite the immoral act. Aemond is no perfect, but with you, he’d be at his best behavior.

“Then I shall relieve you,” he proclaimed.

You find yourself halted at his declaration and glimpsed at his resolved expression.

Something has stirred in your heart that you wanted more than the civil interactions, wanted more than having someone to converse with you.

Tossing and turning onto your bed was all but a doozy. Dizzy from pivoting and switching positions, you had enough. Dreams had come again. This time it’s Aemond calling out to you, feasting on your wet folds and pumping his lithe and graceful rugged fingers in you. Ever since the day before Viserys’s nameday, with Aemond’s thirst, your legs ached.

For a Hightower, it’s a sin to self-pleasure one’s body—a selfish immoral act.

Somehow you found it odd. If a man does self-pleasure, no court would turn the eye, but a woman does self-pleasure with hasting fingers and naughtiness is considered dire.

Faith of the Seven had their own laws, but you knew that men and women had their fair share of illest secrets. Lucky for you, Alicent and everyone in the Red Keep does not know your impure thoughts. The room became hot, then cold, then all at once, the breath in your lips became ragged and desperate. You wanted someone to hold you, treasure you, seduce with sweet nothings and sweet promises with adore.

For your years of not having a partner, you have begun to fear of not having pleasure. In the heating moment, you thought of what’s like losing your maidenhood to someone with a big cock.

You wanted a cock.

His cock.

Oh, a dragon prince. If Aemond hears your thoughts, you’d run away and never to return Westeros and give yourself a new name and fashion.

Damn the consequences and the punishments from the Lord Hand and the Queen themselves! Damn the Faith of the Seven and their laws!

With your fingers circling your clit, no climax arrived. Thus, you casted your blankets aside with a huff, setting out to see him.

Trudging through the dark halls, the guards were nowhere to be found, assuming the guards went elsewhere. As you made your way to the doors, you approached and entered the chambers where you have found Aemond on his bedside.

Your breath held back, taking in at the sight of Aemond. With his porcelain skin and his long silver-blond hair, it gleamed under moonlight, appearing paler compared to daylight. His eye had an old scar, and his eyepatch was placed elsewhere.

Watching his body rising and falling within breath, you approached him and kissed his back, planted your light kisses, feeling the smooth surface of his skin.

Aemond awoke and turned, found you kissing his back.

“My lady,” he whispered, one eye widened, as you stare at his sapphire. It was beautiful like him.

You placed your finger on his lips.

“Have you come to made a decision?” he asked.

Your lashes fluttered under his gaze. “What do you think, my prince?”

Then your lips collided with his. Aemond was taken aback of your sudden act. Eventually, his consciousness fell; with his lips shared an illicit chaste kiss, his hands uncloaked you, and roamed on your womanly body, caressing you, until you began to undo his trousers, his cock hardened.

“This won’t take long,” you promised, slowly pinning him down onto the pillows, unstrapped yourself naked and sat in between his legs. You didn’t expect for his cock to harden.

Your eyes darted to his, awaiting. And thus, you yanked his trousers downward, unveiling his hardened cock. You eyes widened at the sheer size. Your maidenhood hasn’t been taken yet. Your future prospects of marriage hasn’t arrived, but it feels as the more you wait, the more your chances of marriage dimmed. With your body descended, the maidenhood had met his engorged tip.

Aemond lay still, watching you. His sapphire eye gleamed at its victory.

Your voice moaned aloud; your maidenhood slammed down, his engorged cock tightened on your damped walls. Gradually, the pace on your hips sped. You have never felt anything as good. Prayers in the sept are insatiably helpful compare to the prince’s cock.

You have never felt so alive.

Aemond knew you’re a virgin; your hips bounced all thanks to the guidance of his hands.

He pleasured a woman in the brothel in the Street of Silk at the age of three-and-ten. As a young boy, he regretted making a decision by making himself a fool to go along with Aegon and his shenanigans. He was expecting Viserys to guide him gently into the world, but the Driftmark incident has left Aemond concluded that Viserys, his father, did not spare a single kindness or thought and only spared it Rhaenyra and her sons.

All hope was lost until he saw you—a radiant maiden.

You reached your high, as Aemond clutched your hips, spurring down the hot semen bursting the inner walls—a divine conclusion.

Gasping for air, your legs stood achingly, leaving white traces of his semen dripping down on his balls and thighs. When Aemond tried to assisted you, but instead his face met your open legs and slammed your went against his chiseled face and nose.

Fuck my maidenhood, you thought, desperate, as your hips gyrated, feeling his warm tongue and the sharp line of his nose encouraged your arousing sense to further the climax, as your right hand found its way at the back of Aemond’s hair.

Aemond find himself humming against the warmth of your cunt, mingling with his semen. It was a divination, nothing like the brothel. If only his virginity had taken by you instead of a woman who hasn’t live up to her beauty and standards of gentile and grace. Streets of Flea Bottom aren’t to be trusted. His lips kissed your inner thighs, gliding his tongue, and pumped it in between your walls.

Groaning, almost feral-like, your hips paced, your tits bouncing as your walls grew hot again.

“Relieve me,” you said to the prince, hoarse. A soft squeak caught into his ears.

I shall relieve you, my sweet. Just as I promised, he thought.

Your hips gyrated harder, until the spurring had come close; hot liquid squirted on his face as Aemond’s tongue lapped on your cunt faster than last. Your head threw back with his languid strokes on his warm tongue.

Gods it was a miracle.

He has taken your maidenhead.

“Good boy,” you cooed, your breath rasped, your hand still placed on the back of his long silver-blond hair, gyrating your tired hips against his face.

Both you and Aemond found yourselves in elation.

“Good boy.”

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