#aemond targaryen x original female character
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Refinement (Oneshot)
[ canon • Aemond x little sister • female ]
[ warnings: incest obviously, oral sex, smut, angst, sexual tension, obsession, mention of arranged engagement ]
[ description: During her Name Day, his younger sister wants to run away to the city. Things don't go according to plan, however, and he, as her older brother, wants to comfort her. Anon request. ]
Part 3 of the Appearances, can be read as standalone story.
My other works: Masterlist
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To his delight, the months before their nuptials he and his younger sister spent in each other's constant company, growing closer to each other. At first she would shyly visit the places he usually frequented, the library or the courtyard, and he was content to interrupt his own affairs by having at least a short conversation with her.
Although he resented discussions about nothing, usually tired of them, with her he could have a light conversation all the time − her questions and answers were always thoughtful and balanced, sometimes filled with a sweet naivety or curiosity from which he felt the heat in his lower abdomen.
"Today is my Name Day, lēkia (big brother)." She cooed sweetly, grasping his fingers in hers − his hand against hers seemed rough and large to him, hers, on the other hand, smooth and delicate as silk.
He murmured under his breath, looking at their intertwined fingers thinking back to the evening the day before, when he had guided her hand under the material of his breeches again, as usual demanding relief, which he then reciprocated with his characteristic devotion.
He wanted her to be convinced that he would make a good husband.
"I know, dōna hāedar (sweet little sister)." He replied calmly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, thinking of the gift he had prepared for her, a beautiful necklace created especially at his command. A girlish, happy smile appeared on her face, a kind of excitement and anticipation emanating from her that intrigued him.
Something was going through her mind.
"There's one thing I've been dreaming about." She whispered, and he leaned back, stretching comfortably in his chair; they sat together under a beautiful, ancient arbour surrounded by a garden, opposite them only the view of the sea, spreading low beneath the walls of the keep, the sound of wind and leaves all around them.
"What is it?" He asked lowly, fiddling with the small ring on her finger which he had given her just after their father had officially confirmed their betrothal.
A symbol that she was meant only for him, the sapphire eye surrounded by a frame of intertwined golden stems and leaves shone brightly in the sunlight.
He heard her twist in her seat, delighted apparently that he had asked the question. She grunted quietly.
"I wish to escape to the town tonight." She said lightly. He looked at her with a smirk full of amusement and indulgence, convinced that she was teasing him.
"On the dragon?" He asked mockingly and pressed his lips into a thin line, swallowing hard when he felt her take her hand from his grasp, her gaze clouded, her brow arched in pain of humiliation and disbelief.
She stood up from her seat and, shocked, he watched her silhouette disappear between the tall shrubs with his lips slightly parted, wondering what had happened. He moved behind her immediately, sighing impatiently − as he got closer he grabbed her arm and forced her to stop. She looked him straight in the eye, tears of rage in her eyes.
"− forgive me, I didn't wish to −"
"You can leave the keep whenever you desire. You can fly on Vhagar whenever you desire. But I can't. I am a prisoner of these walls, our mother does not allow me to travel anywhere. Is that what amuses you so much? Is that what you mock?" She asked in a shaky, embittered voice, wiping the tears from her red cheeks with her free hand, her lower lip quivering with nerves.
He touched his fingers to her cheek, but she rejected his hand, making him put more strength into pulling her close − she hissed in discomfort when his fingers tightened on her waist covered only by the thin material of her soft gown.
"I would never mock you, sister. However, you know it is not a matter of our mother's bad will, but of your safety." He replied slowly, trying to say each word with reason so as to explain to her that he did not intend to offend her.
He understood what she desired, but he would have gone mad at the thought of her leaving the keep only in the company of the guards.
"What danger would I be in if my betrothed accompanied me?" She muttered with a bitterness from which he felt his throat squeeze, only now understanding what she was trying to convey to him.
She wasn't complaining to him.
He swallowed loudly and hummed under his breath.
"Is this what my future wife desires?" He asked quietly. She looked at him with a pained expression and nodded, looking into his eyes with hope.
Having no other choice, albeit reluctantly, he agreed.
They made arrangements to meet at one of the side passages that were rarely patrolled by guards − both of them sneaked down the narrow stone steps clad in grey robes and cloaks under the cover of darkness, the sky above them cloudless and full of stars.
"You are to stay close to me. Understood?" He asked warningly, and she nodded quickly, looking up at him happily, her plump cheeks red with excitement and joy.
He murmured low, delighted when her warm, soft lips clung to his in a tender, sticky kiss − he locked her in the strong embrace of his arms, cupping one of her cheeks in his palm, her fingers stroking his neck and jaw making his manhood throb hard in his breeches. He pulled away from her and sighed heavily, tense.
"Let's go."
It seemed to him that as they stepped out into the main courtyard of the town, lit only by torches and bonfires kindled by night merchants and bards, she was intrigued by everything that was happening around her − his fingers entwined with hers as they walked arm in arm around the crowds of shouting, noisy people. She looked up at him with a wide smile and hugged her cheek to his shoulder when she noticed his anxious, grave face.
"− I am grateful to you for your dedication, my love −" She said softly and he sighed heavily, kissing the top of her head.
He wanted to return to the keep as quickly as possible, fearing for her safety, but she insisted that they move towards the various stalls, watching intently as the men roasted meat over large fires, which they then sold. They stopped hearing a theatrical play from a distance, men dressed as women pretending to be his mother and their stepsister, Rhaenyra.
"You will not take the crown! My son the drunkard will sit on the Iron Throne!" Thundered one of the men in a too-tight green gown, his voice pretending to be high and feminine − a third actor appeared on stage, a blond-haired young man who was apparently supposed to be Aegon.
When the man began to pretend to vomit while clutching their mother's breasts, loud, mocking laughter echoed all around them. He saw that his sister looked away, her lips pressed together, her eyebrows arched in confusion and embarrassment.
"Let's go." He said lowly, regretting that she had seen this, but believing on the other hand that even if he had wanted to, he could not keep her unconscious forever.
The kingdom had no love for them, and their safety was apparent.
"I regret asking you to do this. Forgive me." She muttered as he escorted her to her chamber, the joy and contentment gone from her face, replaced by sadness and disappointment. He lifted her chin with his finger for her to look at him, recognising that he should better prepare her for what awaited them.
"The kingdom is divided. The only thing that unites our family now is the person of the King. Nothing else." He said lowly, and she blinked, thinking about his words, swallowing hard after a moment.
"And our blood? Our heritage?" She asked uncertainly, and he involuntarily snorted at her words, shaking his head.
"If our sister had our heritage, dignity and the future of our lineage in mind, she would not have made her bastard son her heir to the throne." He hissed coldly, looking her straight in the eye − he knew something had changed in his face, from which she twitched all over, in her expression something he recognised well.
She was afraid of him.
"− sister −" He whispered softly, stroking her soft cheek with his thumb, wanting her to understand that although filled with anger, he would never harm her.
"Against good customs, will you stay by my side? Will you let me fall asleep in your arms?" She asked quietly, and he swallowed loudly, feeling his manhood momentarily swell and pulse in his breeches, betraying an overwhelming desire to comply with her request.
He hesitated, wondering what their mother would say, but seeing her pleading gaze and her need for closeness, he decided that he could not deny her his presence when she articulated that she needed him.
He was to be her husband and she was to be his wife.
His place was with her, always.
That was why he agreed and followed her into her quarters, looking around beforehand to make sure no one would disturb them. They both pulled off their cloaks − his sister turned her back to him, startling him completely when she untied her breeches and the simple grey tunic he had brought her earlier, staying only in her snow-white nightgown.
He looked away, embarrassed, feeling his heart pounding like mad, not knowing what to do with himself.
He had never seen her in such a negligee before, and although his whole body screamed to look at her and admire her beauty, he wasn't sure it was appropriate and worthy of her honour before their nuptials.
"Come, brother." He heard her soft, warm voice once she had laid down on the bed, extending her hand to him.
He moved towards her, pulling his boots off his feet, laying down beside her with his heart in his throat, involuntarily noticing the outline of her sweet breasts under the thin, translucent material of her shirt.
He sighed quietly as her whole body snuggled into him instantly, seeking protection and comfort − unwittingly his arms locked around her waist, his hands sinking into her hair and buttocks, his lips placing a warm, lazy kiss on the top of her head.
It was her Name Day, and she was distressed and frightened, to which he had unwittingly contributed.
He swallowed hard at the thought, feeling involuntarily guilty, not knowing what he could do to comfort her, to turn her thoughts again from what the future might have brought.
He, her husband, was supposed to protect her and their future children − it was his role to worry about what fate would bring, not hers.
He shuddered when he heard her quiet voice, combing through her soft dark hair with the tips of his fingers.
"If I am to become your wife, why do you treat me like a little child?" She asked regretfully, and he felt his hand stop in mid-motion, the air stuck in his lungs.
"I do not follow." He replied lowly, feeling discomfort in his chest hearing her words.
She raised herself up on her elbow, looking up at his face − her eyebrows were arched in sadness and uncertainty, her full, shiny lips clenched into a thin line. He dared to touch his thumb to her cheek, wanting to soften whatever was about to leave her mouth.
"If war is coming, you may need me and Saraxes. Just because bloodshed is not my desire does not mean I am blind. Do you think I'm not a true dragon because I don't have your white hair and violet eyes?" She asked in a trembling voice with a reproach and pain from which he felt a squeeze in his throat.
The thought that she had felt rejected and left out by everyone all this time like himself made him quickly lift himself up on his arm, pressing his nose against her soft face, her hot, trembling breath enveloping his face.
"No. No, my love. You must understand that it is my weakness towards you, it is my fear that makes me wish not to endanger you." He muttered, horrified at how she perceived the whole affair and his actions, that he, gods take pity, thought her foolish or incapable of understanding such complicated, male matters.
She read the same books as he did, spoke to him as an equal on subjects from which he would never have expected a woman to have extensive rhetoric, not because he thought them incapable of it, but because they rarely delved into it.
Yet here she was, well aware of the importance he attached to sword-fighting, knowing as much about his history of the various weapons, their parts and how they were used as she knew about poetry or philosophy.
She swallowed quietly, her eyes shining in trust, in hope, as his mouth brushed hers encouragingly, her lips parted invitingly, allowing his tongue to slide deep into her throat.
She moaned sweetly, innocently as the tips of their tongues licked each other tentatively with a quiet clicks again and again − she sighed as he gently pushed her to lie on her back, trailing his fingers over her soft face, the wonderful scent of her oils filling his entire lungs, her lips fleshy as sweet fruit.
"− brother −" She murmured between their loud, tender kisses, her fingers entwined in his hair, one of her hands removing his eye patch from his face with an impatient, confident motion.
He looked at her, at her pretty face without fear or shame, sure for several moons now that the sight of his scar, his sapphire eye did not frighten her, that she loved him whole.
His sweet, tender, devoted sister.
She pulled him to her by the neck, her lips, impatient that he had pulled away from her for so long demanded another warm caress, his slick tongue ran over her palate making him, though he tried to control himself, completely hard.
"− take me −" She whispered and he felt the air stuck in his throat − he broke the kiss, looking at her with eye wide open in shock, panting heavily, her cheeks flushed with shame, her gaze pleading, full of desire. "− please −"
"− I − gods, you know, you know how much I crave you − but we can't, not before our nuptials −" He muttered wearily, once again seeing on her face that cruel expression of embittered disappointment that was breaking his heart.
He suddenly remembered what Aegon had once told him about, how a man's tongue was capable of giving a woman wonderful pleasure, and though he was ashamed to ask him for details, he decided in an act of desperation that perhaps it would help.
His gift to her, proof of how much he cherished her.
"− let me do something else − do you trust me? −" He asked in a trembling voice − something in her gaze changed and she nodded quickly, her fingertips ran over his cheek in a gesture so tender he felt his throat clench with emotion.
She was perfect.
"− spread your thighs − do not fret −" He added quickly, seeing that her whole body had gone breathless and tensed at his words, uncertainty in her eyes. He heard her swallow hard as she obediently followed his command, she drew in a loud breath as his hands lifted the material of her nightgown higher, above her hips.
"− ah −" She mumbled, in some subconscious, innocent gesture trying to cover herself back up, horrified that he wanted to expose the most intimate part of her body − his hands stopped her, his gaze fixed on her face flushed with emotion.
"− let me, my sweetest − let me take care of you − I won't hurt you −" He whispered, and she pulled her hand back, placing it beside her face, her puffy lips parted slightly in an accelerated breath.
She trusted him.
She trusted that, as her future husband, he knew perfectly well what she needed.
He let out a loud breath through his mouth, trying to hide his own nervousness, his trembling hands gently exposing her swollen, leaking womanhood that he had caressed so often with his fingers.
He involuntarily licked his lips at the thought that her folds looked like the flesh of a fruit and indeed when he ran his thumb over them, they were as usual wonderfully moist and warm to the touch.
Her body arched backwards as he began to gently tease her puffy bud with circular, slow motions of his thumb, in some subconscious involuntary reflex her thighs spread wider in front of him, making his aching cock pulse hard in his breeches.
Gods, how much he wanted to take her now, to sink deep inside her, to feel how tight she was.
"− close your eyes −" He commanded, knowing that if she looked at him he would never do what he wanted out of shame − he heard her swallow loudly before closing her eyelids a moment later, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
She trembled when she felt him lean in, his warm breath enveloping her now swollen folds, glistening in the starlight from her own wetness − something about the sight, the smell of her made him run the tip of his tongue over her slit, her hands clenched in his hair, her body arched back, wanting to escape, a loud, surprised moan escaped her lips.
"− g-gods − brother − what are you −" She whimpered and cried out as the fingers of his free hand tightened warningly on her plushy hip, pushing her back to him, his thumb squeezed and rubbed her pearl making her squirm before him in pleasure and disbelief.
"− be quiet −" He ordered impatiently, sinking his face into her soft, warm womanhood, his tongue ran over her folds again, invading between them for a try, teasing her swollen bud with his finger.
He sighed loudly as he felt how hard her legs trembled in his embrace, heard her tighten her lips and stifle the moans that wanted to escape her throat, felt his cock twitch hard as her fingers pressed him closer to her bare flesh.
She wanted more.
"− brother −" She mumbled, spreading her thighs wider, wanting to feel him deeper − encouraged, he forced his tongue inside her, invading the very tip of her upper wall and the spot where he usually dug his fingers in, teasing her pearl with strokes of his thumb. He felt her fleshy, hot, tight core begin to throb, the wonderful taste of her moisture spreading across his palate, making him gasp in delight.
He could already understand why Aegon had spoken of it with such enthusiasm.
She tasted wonderful, like the flesh of a ripe fruit, ready to sink in and bite into it.
His sweet sister.
"− mmm −" He gasped out, pushing his tongue all the way into her, feeling her hips begin to respond to his movements with rocking of her hips, reaching out to meet him. He licked and sucked her pearl, rubbing it with the tip of his nose, still pressing it with his thumb, a quiet, lewd sound of slurping and clicking of her wetness all around them.
At last she fell apart, a long, intense fulfilment shook her lovely body, sweet, girlish, innocent whimpers erupted from her lips − she begged him, babbled his name, calling him, pressing his face against her leaking cunt, delighted that he was licking devotedly everything that spilled out of her.
"− my sister's sweet nectar −" He gasped with devotion and delight, again and again rubbing her opening with his rough tongue. His hand slipped down to his breeches, sliding under them, grasping his swollen, aching cock, squeezing it at the base, not stopping his caresses, intending to pet her like this all night and come on his own hand.
"− brother − no more −" She mumbled out, terrified that he wasn't stopping, her over-stimulated, sore insides clenching greedily around nothing, her hands trying to gently push him away but to no avail − he only hummed under his breath, stunned by the warmth of her flesh, her closeness and her scent.
She smelled like sin.
"− I'm afraid I intend to fall asleep tonight with my face between your soft thighs, my love −"
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The Lost Dragon Part 2
I - Unity
II -
#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction#hotd fanfic#aemond fic#aemond x oc#hotd fic#aemond one eye#aemond x original female character#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#hotd smut#hotd#jacaerys velaryon
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Darkly, delicately
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Character
Warnings: Minor character death, mentions of period typical crimes and their punishments, prostitution, implied smut.
Word count: 4.7k
Summary: All her life Meynara has struggled to belong. Captured and taken to a land far away she's made her place in the world of Westeros with allies she can count on one hand. With the siege of Duskendale by the army of King Aegon II, she finds herself facing odds that change the course of her life once again, weaving her fate to the tune of the dragon in a dance hidden through time, as the war between the blacks and the greens rages on.
Link to read on ao3: here
She hears the bell ring twice as the castle erupts in chaos. “Noom, Narrah, Nyel” she chants to herself as the third dong reverberates through the wind drowning the screams around her before she's shoved hastily to the safety of the dingy cellars below. The scent of sweat fills her nostrils as she navigates the musty cramped quarters, filled to the brim with anxious ladies clasping their hands in prayer as they kneel together trying to stifle their whimpers. Lady Meredyth wrings her hands nervously as she stares into the distance, somber in demeanor. A moment of recognition seems to pass through her eyes as she spots her near the hastily barred door, before she turns abruptly to question her ladies maids’ who bow their heads in response. She finds her place near one of the walls, turning away from the woman reprimanding those around her to assess the scene in silence. Ever since the war began she knew the siege was inevitable. The family of the dragon had torn themselves in two embroiling most of the realm in their chaos and it was about time they too were hit with the consequences of their support. One of the dragons would soon grace their skies, she only hoped it wasn't their queen. Rumors of the kinslayer had wafted through Duskendale these past few moons. Round the winding harbor and the cobbled streets, onto the market square threatened over a bargain gone wrong, passed around taverns along with a drink in hand all up to the Dun Fort and it's gates in hushed whispers carrying over inwards to the pale walls enclosing winding threads weaved together for their lady, his name had evoked fear, disgust and surprising wonder alike. As the clashes of metal drew nearer to them she wondered how long it would take for him to finally reach his mark.
Seven blows was all it took to bring down the giant gate of the Dun Fort. The irony of the number isn't lost on her as they are rounded up in the central courtyard by noon. Captives surround her in haphazard lines along the posts and below the outer gate manned by armed men in green, their banner of the three headed dragon glinting maliciously in the sun. Some of the women struggle to stifle their sobs as they watch their husbands and sons being rounded up for slaughter before being hushed with a shove and a sharp word. She cranes her neck to see an older man at the head flanked by two heads of silver around a familiar face kneeling in chains.
“People of Duskendale, you face the price of your betrayal! Lord Darklyn has condemned you all but the King is just and merciful. Whoever wishes to make good on their vows again and pledge allegiance to the true heir to the Iron throne need only speak it now and his grace shall consider their folly pardoned” booms the older man, his tanned skin streaked with the blood of the burning ports. She hears a few whispers of indignation and fear before a handful of knights step forward to pledge their allegiance. It is a meager number which she realizes dissatisfies them deeply.
“Very well then” murmurs the King before they hear a shrill roar near the top of the castle. There in all his glory, perched atop the highest parapet, she sees a beast so beautiful, unworthy of the carnage it has wreaked, yet as it growls and makes its way towards them with its scales of shimmering gold she feels the true power that the men before her yielded. More of the folk around her now rush to bend the knee, hastily murmuring their pleas and apologies as the men in green smile haughtily. A lone eye, stern in its gaze, catches her unmoving. She suppresses the shiver that runs through her as she curtsies in response. The urge to live has long outlasted whatever moral code runs through the heart of the realm and it does not fail her today. Somewhere to the side she hears a familiar scoff of distaste. “It won't be my head on a spike when they're done with us” she thinks as she stares at her rival in defiance. Lady Meredyth scorns her in response as she's dragged off to witness the event of the day. Lord Gunthor kneels a few paces before her, locking eyes with their captors before turning to face her with hurt and disdain. She sees him gaze at her for a moment before offering a few words of comfort to his wife along with affirming his allegiance to the Queen with pride. She feels a quiver of fear pass through him, a cry of anguish a few feet away and an unrelenting stare on her as he's beheaded. A hush falls over the courtyard as the deed is done and the guffaws resume their way to the main hall shoving all in their path. Somewhere in the distance her heart leaps, far away across the fishing villages dotting the skyline towards the ruins of Hollard castle near the fork of the Crownlands. Duskendale would face a similar fate tonight.
She wastes no time in making herself scarce. She trains her ear on the whispers clinging to the walls as she makes her way downwards. They have been sacked by a little under three thousand men amassed during their journey through Rosby and Stokeworth that are to stay on till further word from the King. The lower kitchens and the halls are filled to the brim and are easy to blend into as she hurries towards her destination. She finds herself taking the familiar flight of stairs past the makeshift bakery to wind down to a hidden door below. Exactly three knocks later it opens to reveal a harsh face staring right at her.
“You are late”
“Forgive me for trying to stay alive” she huffs in return.
“Did they hear you?”
“Not yet”
“Let us keep it that way then.”
She knows he means to assess the threat before them both before feeding her to it. That is how it has always been, her body for the price of their safety. For all her bravado she hasn't been able to escape the clutches of home and the thread that ties her to it remains the one that cuts her the most.
“I know what I have to do”
“You move on my command Meynara, not before, nor after. We've made a decent life for ourselves here, do not go ruining it now.”
“I suppose the head of the lord staring at us as we walk through the hallways is enough of a hurdle in our path” she retorts shakily.
“As if you were ever fond of him”
“No, perhaps I wasn't. Doesn't mean I wanted him dead either”
“Life and Death are right around your corner”
“Faith shines the ability to prevail in both” she finishes turning away from him. Those were his father's words, ones that he'd told her on the boat to Westeros as they lay together shackled and starved. She remembers his eyes shining with a promise in the dark, willing her to forgo her fear. It seems a lifetime ago yet the man before her stares at her just the same. It is her gaze now which is filled with apprehension rather than the faith she's long left behind and no feelings of ardor can bring back the naive trust she has lost.
There is a feast to be held in honor of the King as Duskendale had yielded with ease, unprepared and caught off guard. Perhaps if Gunthor had insisted on better fortifications and riders rather than her religiously mounting him each night, his head wouldn't be hollow and unattached at the moment. She finds herself slinking into the shadows, with that thought, trying to keep an eye on the party at hand. The ale flows freely in the lower halls with the men getting handsy with the serving girls despite their indignation. Her only option is to reach the upper halls unnoticed hoping the stronger wine would dull them long enough to be done with her faster. She spots him in the distance as she makes her way up. He stands still near a burly man, eyes as empty as the dead hanging outside. A brief flicker of warning passes through to her before he's consumed to his farcity. Faith shall have to suffice for both of them tonight.
The main hall is decorated with banners of gold yet much sparse compared to the mess below. Anyone with a title should occupy the benches ahead of her, some newly appointed lords and generals, who all sit jesting and drinking below the dias as the men of the hour watch on. She watches the King engrossed with the head cook’s daughter fully partaking in the merriment. She sees her blush and smile coquettishly turning a lock of her hair as she entertains him and wonders how much persuasion it took for her to be offered up on a platter. Freshly plucked and naive, innocence was always coveted first at the altar, of worship and sacrifice alike.
Next to him sat two men with equally stern faces. She recognised the first with the booming voice, still in his armor refusing woman and drink alike, surveying the crowd for an imminent threat yet the man flanking the King's left drew her attention the most. To see him in person after their loss at noon made her skin tingle and the rumors had not done him justice. He sat poised, with his hair still braided for battle, eye lazily surveying the crowd like the elder man next to him, sipping from his chalice at ease. His gaze seemed unfocussed, unwilling to seek out anything in particular yet she saw through the haze. A predator responds only when it spots a worthy threat.
“What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone” she hears someone say before being grabbed by pudgy hands. The man near her reeks of nauseating sweetness. Arbor red she discerns as he leers close to her.
“Apologies my lord, I was on my way to serve the King” she lies promptly.
“Perhaps you might serve me first then. His grace would not refuse his loyal subjects tonight” he spoke earning a few jeers.
“Wait” she hears a crisp voice break through the crowd. “That one is mine”
There is no room for argument as she's pulled by two armed knights towards the dias, under the eye of the dragon.
“My my brother, you've caught a pretty one. A shame she's too old to be plucked” smirks the King playfully biting the girl on his lap.
She sees the prince ahead of her regard her with interest before beckoning her forwards with his finger. It isn't long after his appraisal that he takes her by the arm retreating to the sounds of muffled cheers. She feels him make his way around the castle assuredly, neither in haste nor at leisure, before he pulls her into the nearest chambers he can find.
“What can you do for me?” he asks abruptly, leaning against the door as he surveys her again.
“Whatever you desire my prince” she responds, as demurely as she can muster.
“I do not wish for pleasantries”
She balks at his refusal as she stands before him, tilting her head to observe him closely.
“I meant what I said”
“Are you a whore?”
“I am what you want me to be”
“If I wanted a whore I'd find one more willing, you may quit your farce”
“And what if this isn't one” she finds herself saying.
“Then I have wasted my time and I do not wish to be proven wrong”
She stares at him in bewilderment and defiance meeting his gaze as he turns to pour himself another cup of wine.
“I can entertain you to your heart's content”
“I am not a man who revels in the pleasures you seek to offer”
“You are hard to please, as any prince should be, yet I am not one to yield. Allow me to show you instead” she says confidently walking towards him. He looks at her skeptically, before his eye widens slightly upon hearing the clinks that follow her. He lets her lead him to the chaise nearby, raising an eyebrow at the sound that clings to her while she smiles at his astonishment, ready to finally play her part.
She keeps her gaze on him as she begins her routine, serpentine and sinuous, twisting her arms above her head with precision entrenched in her bones. She feels his eye take in her form, the flow of her wrists twisting like waves to the swell of her breasts rising and falling with each turn, moving in tandem with her hips all while the room jingles with the ring of threes; Noom, Narrah, Nyel. He continues his trail along her frame trying to match her pace and she sees him relax through her lids, taking in his enraptured face.
“Is this to your liking, my prince” she smirks as the ringing comes to a halt, the chanting of her soul, awake at the appraisal in his gaze. She finds her answer soon in the nights to come.
“You move to the sound of the gods” he says as they lie together, sweat clinging to them as the wind wafts through the open windows. It is the second night under the new command of Duskendale and all seems to be at rest, lying in wait for the bells to strike.
“Do you believe in them?” she whispers back, turning to regard him with mirth “I thought the Targaryens fashioned themselves as gods”
“The blood of Old Valyria leaves little to imagination.”
“But Valyria is gone and all you have left in this strange land is the power you wield through the skies” she continues stroking his bare arm.
“Which strange land should I thank for gracing me with such beauty tonight” he whispers, turning a lock of her hair between his fingers as he gazes into her eyes.
“Norvos, across the narrow sea”
“Norvos” he repeats, rolling the syllables around his tongue regarding her with awe. “Are all Norvoshi so,”
“So?”
“Quiet”
“I thought you found my chatter incessant”
“I never heard you” he stops her, “Not once as you crept around the castle all the way into my bed”
“You wish to know my secret?” she asks him playfully “Perhaps my blood is as special as yours”
He scoffs in turn earning a crease to her eyebrows which does not go unnoticed. “We are not so different, you and I. We both seek to soar far beyond what fate plans for us”
“Your riddles can exhaust a man far more than your movements” he huffs petulantly.
“You are only displeased because you cannot decipher this one” she hums thoughtfully earning her a pinch to her hip which she swats away promptly.
“Careful, I am not fond of that wayword tongue of yours” he warns her with a smirk.
“Why when it has given you such pleasure? What is the use of depriving yourself of such an investment” she finds herself giggling in return to the bashful pout of his lips.
It has been long since she's been so enamored with a man. There have been a few, young and beautiful, not immune to the charm she summons at will but none so rigid yet tender that makes her heart want more.
“Dance for me” she hears him say as he lies back, hair splayed around the pillows like a halo.
“As you wish your grace” she responds devilishly, slinking away from his embrace to twinkle under his eye.
Their nights continue with well practiced rhythm as their days stretch on. She finds herself at the precipice of good fortune, confined mostly to his chambers as his prize, content to stay hidden till she's displayed with pride. The King she learns takes offense to her growing presence in his brother’s life yet is dissuaded to take action by his elder hand, his disapproval making itself known in its own way.
“My lady, the prince is betrothed to Lady Baratheon of Storm's End and is to be married in a few moons”
“With the tide of the war changing ever so often I feel it best to practice restraint Lord Hand. I'm playing my part just as everyone, as a loyal servant to the crown won't you agree?”
“As I am certain you are” he responds with distaste.
“The prince seems quite sated does he not? What then I wonder, merits such growing concern. As long as your plans come to fruition I am sure a woman such as me should hardly pose a worthy obstacle” she bites back eager to send him away from her new chambers. Victory in the face of adversity tastes almost as sweet as the dreaded wine she brings to her lips, sipping at it with mock delight as she watches the commotion enfold out her door. As he walks to give way to someone, she hears a familiar scream of anger grace the threshold. Lady Meredyth barges in, red faced and fuming. She finds her predicament almost hilarious were it not for the state she's in. Dressed in mourning for a neglectful husband who managed to give her a daughter too young to give away for the dwindling power she now tries to hoard, she tries to muster whatever pity she can find for the woman, before she opens her rotten mouth.
“You seem mighty pleased with your situation, finally living up to your true potential as the whore you are”
“Widowhood suits you my lady. The black brings out your eyes” she responds back sarcastically.
She sees her spit at her feet before she's escorted away, spewing curses through the halls. There is no greater joy in watching the old crone claim her late husband's chambers where she rode him to death while she lounges on her very own bed waiting to be taken in the arms of pleasure at night.
“What did I tell you about that tongue of yours” he retorts as he pulls her into an alcove at midday.
“To use it more often” she whispers, running her lips along his jaw. The walk she'd managed to take away from her confines had proved to be a welcome change after that harrowing ordeal in the morn.
“You wanton thing. Do not vex me outside of these walls”
“You have my word” she says flightily resuming her course along his neck.
“And much more” he breathes, palms burning through the blue she's clad in. She finds herself smiling as she pulls him closer, enjoying his proximity during the quiet of the day. Perhaps nights are not the only thing to look forward to anymore.
She feels his presence in the hallways later, long before she turns the corner, trying to rid herself of the evidence of her dalliance.
“You've lost your faith” he remarks somewhere behind her.
“I've simply found it around another corner” she replies, turning to face the judgment in his dark eyes. There are bags underneath them, weary with doubt and the wisdom he seems to wield like a weapon.
“He is a dangerous man to be around. Someone who kills his own is not one to be trifled with”
“And yet we've faced far worse”
“Worse than treason?”
“Tell me you don't mean to support yet another foreign queen”
“You've grown slow” he states glaring at her. She finds herself at a loss of words. Her old self would have caught on to what was spoken almost instantly with an equally sharp retort in tow. Shame creeps up on her at being caught off guard, vulnerable and at his mercy.
“I will not fail you” she says, turning to avoid his eyes, tears glistening amongst her own. “I am only doing what I think best”
“And therein lies the problem”
“Lady Meynara” a voice cuts through the silence suffocating her as she turns to face the source of her shame. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back regarding her companion with distrust only for her to turn around to find him gone.
“Do all of you possess such talents of evasiveness” he questions her as she sighs and makes her way towards him.
“It has served us well”
“On the contrary, it makes you noticeable. The very thing you are ever so keen to avoid”
“I think you happen to have a keener eye than most, my prince. Do not fault the entire realm with the same flaw you possess.”
“I would hardly call it that”
“A flaw?”
“More of skill honed and fortune bestowed” he smirks leaning towards her.
“Something that earned you your birthright” she questions back impudently. “I've heard the rumors”
“I didn't think you'd put much stock in them”
“One tends to learn a lot through tales, true and false alike. Besides aren't rumors as such keeping your plan afoot”
“You know far too much to be jesting as such. Do you not fear for your life?” he asks her, eye glinting in the light.
“You'd have me hanging near the gate by now if I was such a threat”
“By your feet” he replies, watching her face darken. “You needn't worry as long as you serve me.”
“That is a threat my prince, far worse than what I'm accustomed to”
“Good, my intentions must be made clear then.”
“And what exactly might they entail”
“Your faith for a price” he says regarding her in earnest. The promise of more lingers on her lips as he leaves her wondering what it is she plans to do about it all.
“You mean to leave” she asks him on the third night they're together, with the moon at its height bathing them both in its embrace. He's reclined on the bed, one arm resting behind his head as he listens to her, eye closed in sequestered bliss.
“Rumors can only serve their purpose with cause to back them”
“You are to leave at dawn then?”
He hums in response as she fidgets with the sheets around her.
“Do not fret, I shall ensure your safety for your word”
“That is a hefty promise”
“And one I intend to keep”
“You will tire of me soon enough.”
“Perhaps,” he says, opening his eye to look at her. “Yet I'm certain it won't be so soon”
She feels the sheets pool at her feet as she rises to sate him for the night, eyes trained on him as she watches him cock his head in piqued interest. There is an unspoken understanding between them as she glides by the bed, running her fingers over the wood to stand in the center of the room, the light from the candles illuminating everything she wishes for him to see.
“Not tonight” she murmurs, running her hands over her hips.
“You'd deny the man who holds your fortune” he asks incredulously.
“I'd offer him something far sweeter”
“And what is sweeter than your company my lady”
“Joining me in ways a man would take his woman”
She sees the bed dip with his weight as he rises, moving with agility to stand before her. She cranes her neck to see him peer down at her, eyebrow raised at the game she wishes for him to play.
“In Norvos, we move like this to show our feelings. For emotion sometimes is best expressed through something tangible” she says reaching forward to steady his arms.
She feels him follow her movements with ease, twisting and turning with surprising accuracy never letting her out of his sight.
“You are a trained warrior”
“So are you, it seems. This is much like swordsmanship”
“All art is said to be inspired”
“What inspires you tonight little soldier” he rasps as he spins her around, arms enclosing her as she stares ahead. She feels his breath against her neck, her back pressed against the ridges of his body leading her to exhale before she writhes in his embrace.
“I do not wish to be a piece in the war you play at”
“We are all pieces to be moved about, each for a different purpose”
“It seems you've mastered my tongue in these past few days”
“I've only claimed what's mine” he says running his hands along her waist.
“Your plan will only work on trust, something the people here lack in abundance. Faith, which you scorn me for holding on to, is only meaningful if adhered to in earnest”
“I don't begrudge your faith” he whispers, turning her around to face him. “Just who it's tied to”
She finds herself mesmerized by the blue of his eye, so still yet violent, unrelenting yet open to the words that spill from her lips. “He is what connects me to who I am”
“To cherish something so deeply is a suffering in itself that I've come to accept. I think you understand that very well, Aemond.”
She feels him stiffen at the mention of his name, fingers clasping her arms tighter before he turns her around in a pirrouette, bowing before her as he ends their performance.
“Always your way, yes” she responds breathlessly.
“I do not wish to mold you Meynara, only to make you realize how well you belong. I can offer you something far more than the life you wish to subject yourself to”
“Wealth and power?”
“Purpose” he says with finality.
“Then I ask one thing of you. Bare yourself to me, in good faith” she whispers, watching him carefully “and I shall do the same.”
“Haven't I seen all of you?” he questions, removing the barrier across his face.
“Not without adornment” she says, reaching down to remove her restraints. “They are as much a part of me as this is of you” she finishes reaching up to cup his face. The sapphire glistens brilliantly as she stares at the angry scar accompanying it, intensifying his beauty.
“Is this what you've heard of” he remarks, gritting his teeth at her request.
“Indeed” she replies, reaching up to stroke his face. “We wear our shame and pride on our sleeve. It is time to embrace it together for the purpose you so wish to achieve”
“It will require much more than I've since asked from you”
“I think it is time I left the chains that bind me my prince, yours will have to suffice for now”
They wake again at the crack of dawn to the domestic bliss of togetherness. There in his chambers she experiences what it means to be a wife at last. The euphoria of nurture, she'd long dreamed of since she was a girl, envelops her in a sense of longing and nostalgia. As she bathes and readies him for battle, she finds herself gazing at him wistfully.
“I shall return soon”
“I am aware. I did not forgo my bindings for a lie”
“You wished to soar did you not.”
“You know, the Norvoshi do not trust a man without a beard. They say one as such lacks the honor to defend and the foresight to lead” she responds by running his blade across his face as he turns away from her.“You have your own honor though”
“Many would disagree. I am said to be cursed ”
“One man's curse is another's blessing. You shall return a King”
“Because I've given you the freedom you desire?” he jests “Your faith is truly boundless”
“As is your routine. Hold still while I finish or they'll have to wait the whole morn for you to ride out with glory”
It is an hour later after she meticulously braids his hair and secures his armor, over his eye and body that she finds herself truly bogged down with the weight of his departure. He kisses her temple as he leaves, the act too chaste for her to protest before he's gone. As she sits ruminating on her time spent with him, she hears the flap of the great wings of Vhagar, leathery and forceful as she rushes to spot her out of her window. A shadow falls over the Dun fort as she flies past, giving way to three rings of the great bell of Duskendale, thrice for the sound of freedom that soars through her heart.
Taglist: @arcielee @succnfuccubus @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy @paprikaquinn @witheredoffherwitch
#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen x fem!oc#aemond targaryen x ofc#fyeahhotdocs#aemond x oc#aemond x fem!oc#hotd fics#zae's fics#aemond fics#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen x original character#aemond targaryen x original female character#hotd fic#fyeahgotocs
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❥⌈ Diagnoses of the Heart Masterlist ⌋
⌦Summary: Student loan debts, mother in an induced coma, no other family to rely on but herself. When options are running thin, sex work is the last and desperate choice she must make to ensure to keep medical payments afloat, until he becomes a sudden constant. Aemond Targaryen might just be her last hope to not lose the last person she holds dear.
⌘Rating : 18+ Minors DNI
⌦Story Type: Series
⌘Fandom : House Of The Dragon
⌦Pairing : Doctor!Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character
⌘Warnings : mentions and depictions of sex work, mental health exhaustion, {poorly portrayed} medical diagnosis, money trouble, p in v, mentions of drug use, family drama , soft dom!aemond
❥each chapter will hold their own warnings and have a more in depth list of what the chapter warning's intel.
⌈ ❥ ⌋ Index ⌈ ❥ ⌋
⇲Chapter one . . .
⇲Chapter Two . . .
❥Collection | Navigation | Inbox | Aesthetic | Taglist | Divider By : @ firefly-graphics
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen oneshot#aemond one eye#aemond fanfic#hotd aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond kinslayer#aemond targaryen x original female character#aemond targaryen x female character#dark aemond targaryen#Dark!aemond targaryen#prince aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen headcanon#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd smut#hotd fluff#hotd angst#hotd fanfiction#hotd imagine#hotd headcanon#hotd drabble#hotd oneshot#Diagnoses of the Heart
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the next right thing
Chapter 2
aemond targaryen x original female character , aemond targaryen x wife!oc
summary: Aemond takes care of his wife through the audience; Myria and Aemond attend a volatile family dinner.
warnings: little fluff, lots of angst, vulnerable aemond, aemond discusses his trauma
****
Myria had been instructed by the Maester to remain in bedrest for as long she could, to avoid any stitches from opening up and help them heal faster. That meant she hadn’t been able to greet the Velaryon upon their arrival, despite how much she desired to. She had met Rhaenyra before, since she had attended her and Aemond’s wedding, but they hadn't spoken that much.
She glanced down, towards the baby feeding on her chest, and smiled. She started stroking his little legs with her fingers, occasionally tickling his little feet, just to earn a heartwarming coo from the baby. But for every smile, she got an angry frown as well, as her teasing prevented him from eating. Sure, Max had her looks— but he had inherited his father’s temper. Aemond’s.
She turned her head, to stare at the painfully empty place beside her. He wasn’t around as much. He was either sparring in the patio, or teaching the boys how to care for their baby dragons, or reading them stories and teaching them High Valyrian, all for which Myria was grateful. But she missed him. And she couldn’t help but to think her endless foul mood, complaints and her always picking on fights had something to do with her husband’s absence. Maybe he had finally grown tired of her.
The baby coughed against her chest, forcing her attention back to him and thankfully preventing her from diving into even sadder thoughts. At any other time, she would’ve been happy to stay all day in bed, with no other responsibilities but to take care of him, while the boys are under the safe care of their father, but with so many things happening at the castle, she dreaded the idea of being confined in her room, ignorant of everything outside the doors.
So she dragged herself out of bed, grateful that Aemond wasn’t around to scold her, and left the room, with little Max on her arms.
“Princess? Where are you going?” Yago, the bodyguard assigned to watch her door, asked, concerned. “Prince Aemond gave me strict instructions to not let you out of this room, you know?” He insisted, while grabbing her arm so he could ease her pain. Myria looked over at the man and grinned. Yago had been her sworn guard since she was a young girl in Dorne, and was specifically chosen by her father to protect her. When he agreed to accompany her to Westeros, to keep on looking after her, she was thrilled. He was a good friend, and an even kinder man.
“Since when do you answer to my husband, instead of me?” She joked, letting a grunt of pain escape her lips. The man chuckled, and kept on strongly holding her frame, making sure she wasn’t putting too much pressure on her feet. Each step claimed a groan from her lips, but she didn't mind. She wouldn’t die out of exhaustion, boredom on the other hand…
“I’m only loyal to you, Myria. Always.” He declared, switching his grin to a serious frown. “The moment things inevitably take a dangerous turn here… you simply say the word, and I’ll take care of everything. You, and the children.”
“Yago… what have you heard?” She asked, looking at him with disbelief.
“Whispers, my lady.” He explained. “Bad ones— corrupt ones. And your father is just as concerned as I am.”
“You’ve talked to my father, how—” Myria mouth was shut, by him placing a gentle finger on her lips.
Yago restrained himself by lending her a knowing look, and cleared his throat. Myria had failed to realise they had already arrived at the King’s door, and talking about such matters in front of the realm’s bodyguards wasn’t a very clever idea.
“I’ll be here when you leave, Princess.” He said.
“Thank you, Yago.” She smiled, putting on a nice smile. She then turned around, and looked at the guard outside the room. “I wish to pay a visit to the King.” She asked.
“It’s been requested that the King receives no visitors.” The man grunted.
“I only wish for him to be introduced to his new gransire.” She said, holding the baby closer to her chest. “I think the King will very much enjoy it.”
The guard gave it another brief thought, before nodding and motioning for her to come inside. She thanked him, and walked across the room towards the bed, where a very ill Viserys laid. Judging from the bandages he had around his face, Myria could only assume the disease had progressed from the day before, and finally claimed his eye. And yet— as sickly and feebly as his body was, his mind remained unharmed in a way Maesters couldn’t quite explain. And Myria intended to enjoy what it could possibly be the last few weeks he had left of such awareness.
“Is— is that who I think it is?” Viserys asked with a smile, doing his best to sit himself up, after spotting the young woman walking towards his bed.
She sat herself next to him, and shifted the baby in her arms so he could get a better sight of him.
“Hello, father.” She smiled. Upon meeting him, Viserys had been very adamant on her calling him father. He said he would have no daughter of his refer to him under formalities such as your grace, or my king, and for that, Myria was very grateful. She liked Viserys, and he had always made her feel very welcomed. “Meet your new grandson.”
“Another boy?” He wheezed, showing a smile so big part of it disappeared behind the bandages.
“His name is Max.” She chuckled. “Trystan named him.”
“Oh,” he simpered, caressing the baby’s head. Visery’s face light up as Max grabbed one of his fingers, and strongly got a hold of it. “Max. He looks like you, dear.”
“He really does.” She giggled.
“He’s one precious little boy. Well done, Myria.” Viserys muttered, and squeezed her hand, looking at her with pride in his eye.
Maybe it was at that moment she realised there were only a handful of stares like that one she would ever get from him, or maybe because receiving such affection from him made her realise she missed her own father so dearly, but Myria didn’t find the strength in herself to avoid tears from filling her eyes.
“You’re a kind King, father, and an even kinder man.” She bubblered. “And all of your children and grandchildren love you very, very much. Your own daughter, Rhaenyra arrived here this morning, and I’m sure she will be visiting your chambers any time now.”
Just as she said so, she heard a grunt behind them. Myria turned around and saw a scary looking man standing still, holding his hands behind his back. He had an eerie feeling to him, sinister enough that Myria felt shivers down her spine. Daemon. She had crossed paths once with him, and that was all she needed to realise he was not a man one could afford to be on his bad side.
Besides him, Princess Rhaenyra stood, listening with a gloomy smile to Myria’s words. Myria took their entrance as her cue to leave, assuming Rhaenyra probably wanted to spend time with her father alone. So she squeezed Viserys’ hand, and got up from the bed. She fought a flush of lightheadedness away, not having realised how much of a toll the walk towards the room had taken on her.
“Princess, Rhaenyra” she bowed her head as she reached her side, “Prince Daemon. I’ll leave you to it.” She smiled, before starting to walk away.
“Sister,” the Princess called her, before Myria could leave. She turned around, to find her grinning at her. “Congratulations,” she said, motioning towards the baby in her arms, “I hear it is a boy. Please extend my congrats to my brother.”
“Yes,” she chuckled, “his name is Max. And I will.”
“He’s lovely,” she said, tickling the baby’s feet, “you have three boys, just like Ser Laenor and I did.”
“We do indeed.” She agreed. “I can only hope to be able to raise such nice and kind men as you did, Princess.”
“Please call me sister, Myria, I insist.”
“Sister,” she smiled, “I was told you became parents yourselves to two little boys recently. Aegon and Viserys, is that correct?” Of course she knew she was correct. The very night they got the news, their Aegon got drunk as ever, and joked about Rhaenyra finally ‘breeding Targaryen looking’ children. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Myria.” Rhaenyra answered, with a genuine smile. As much as Myria wanted to understand Aemond’s family feud with them— she couldn’t. The woman seemed kind and sweet, and a loving mother as well.
“Well I better leave, I’m sure you’re eager to see your father. I hope we run into each other again, Rhaenyra.”
“I hope so too.”
After one last bow of her head, Myria finally left the room. Yago was waiting outside, as he said he would.
“Are you ready to go back to bed?” He asked, worried at the sight of her pale face, and the weak grip on his arm.
“Yes please,” she whispered, handing him the baby, “could you please carry him, too? I’m afraid I don’t think I have that much strength left.”
“Of course, princess.” He said, holding the baby with gentleness. He was great with children, and Myria felt very lucky indeed her sons got to regard him as not only a protector, but as family.
They were walking with leisure and in silence throughout the castle’s hallways, when an angry voice called her from behind.
“Myria?”
Myria stopped in her tracks, recognising that voice as her husband’s and dreading the upcoming discussion. She slowly turned around with a grimace, only to find a very irritated Aemond striding towards her.
He stood before her, and fixed his gaze on hers, without saying a word, as if she were being silently scolded. “I will carry my son and escort my wife from now on, thank you very much Yago.” He hissed, and then turned around to grab the baby into his arms.
The man handed the child to him, and then glanced at Myria. She vaguely nodded her head, and Yago carried on with his way. Only after he had disappeared from their sight, did Aemond deign to look at her again.
“What were you thinking?” He taunted her, still offering one of his arms for her to hold on. “The Maester gave you strict orders to remain in bedrest.”
“I wished to introduce Max to your father.” She explained, naively following his steps.
“You could’ve asked me to do so.” He said, with a strained voice.
“You weren’t around.” She argued, in a repproaching manner she didn’t actually mean.
“I took the boys for a ride in Vaghar, so you and Max could rest, is that so bad of me?” He sneered, turning on a hallway Myria knew didn’t lead to their chambers.
“W— where are we going?” She asked.
“I’m going to leave you with Helaena and my mother’s company, as you can’t seem to be trusted enough to look after your own well being.” He grunted. “If I can’t keep an eye on you, I want them to do so.”
“Then do keep an eye on me, Aemond.” She exhaled, pulling on his arm so he would turn towards her. “Stay with me, and the baby.”
“The boys—
“The boys are perfectly content to play with the twins, under the care of your sister and the Septa.” She snapped, putting an end to her husband’s excuses. “I know you think I’m angry at you, for it seems as of late we can not help but to get into an argument every time we speak, but I’m not.”
Myria delicately placed her hand on his face, and the other one on his chest.
“And I know it’s my fault, as I’m the one always picking fights,” she continued, “and for that I have no explanation. Maybe it’s due to the lack of sleep, maybe it’s simply because being with child gets me into a foul mood, but one thing I know is that it’s not because of you.”
“For every feeling of annoyance I might have towards you, I promise there’s twice as many loving ones. And I apologise if that has made my presence dreadful to you. But I don’t want you to drift away from me, Aemond.” She pleaded, resting her face on his neck.
He gruffed, letting the rest of his exasperation leave in that exhale, and lowered his gaze towards her.
“Don’t ever worry about that again,” he muttered, leaving a kiss on her forehead.
• • •
The following morning, when she woke up, Aemond was by her side, holding her hand against his chest, as he always did. She turned around to make sure Max was still sleeping, and was relieved to find the baby soundly snoozing on his cradle.
She then swirled to face her husband once again, and placed a gentle hand on his face. Even in his sleep he didn’t look peaceful, or vulnerable.
Myria delicately trailed her finger throughout his scar, wishing he would open up more often about the story behind it. She so deeply wanted to be understanding of her husband’s ever lasting quarrel with his nephew, but she couldn’t think of it as any more than that— a childish fight, if he didn’t tell her what had truly happened that night. Sure, he had explained to her how he lost his eye, but the way he narrated it led her to believe it had been more of an unfortunate incident rather than an intentional offence. Aegon had also comedically filled her in about the pig incident, over a few too many cups they had shared, but she thought there was more to it. There had to be more to it. Among the many things Aemond was— childish wasn’t one of them. He wouldn’t be so resentful of the boy unless something more meaningful than what he told her had happened.
As gentle as she ensured her caresses remained, perhaps she had been thinking too loud, because next thing she knew, Aemond was sleepily opening his eye.
He reached for her hand on his chest, and drew it towards his lips, so he could leave a kiss on it. “Good morning.” He said, in a raspy voice. He then noticed her fingers trailing his scar, and chuckled. “What are you doing?”
“Good morning, dear.” She whispered, bringing her face closer to his. “I was just fawning over my handsome husband.”
“Hm.” He hummed, as a flustered smile stretched on his lips. Even when a tiresome frown covered her face, skin pale and frail product of a hard childbirth, he still thought she was the prettiest woman he had ever seen. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, than to have her, but above all he was a gentleman, and his wife’s comfort would always be a priority to him. He knew it would take time before she could endeavour in such activities, and was fine with that. He was perfectly happy with simply admiring her. Admiring the way her swollen breasts pressed against his body, the way her nightgown enhanced the soft curves of her hips, or the way she bit down on her lips, leaving a faint shade of burgundy in them.
But Myria must have noticed his gaze fixing on her lips, or maybe she just felt the very obvious arousal in his pants, because she then brought her face to his, pressing their foreheads, and hummed.
“You can kiss me, if you want.”
“I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
“A kiss won’t hurt me.” She whispered, closing the gap between them, and left a peck on his lips.
He didn’t reciprocate at first, still unsure about it; he didn’t want to make her feel as if she owed him that. But he was convinced by the way his wife didn’t seem to care about that, and kept on passionately deepening the kiss.
He then grabbed her waist and moved her body above his, to both avoid crushing her and letting her be the one in control, and hungrily took on her mouth. His soft, gentle kisses turned into greedy ones, agonising as he couldn’t get enough of her.
It was when Myria realised how much she had missed having her husband. She yearned for his touch, for his kisses, for his love. But it was a bittersweet feeling— she desired her husband, although she didn’t desire intimacy. She still felt sore, uncomfortable and weak because of the baby. But Aemond knew that, hence his lack of any sort of following advances. He felt entirely content with being able to just hold her, and kiss her.
They were interrupted by the soft cooing of a baby who had just awakened. Myria laughed into the kiss, and then turned around, to pick the baby into her arms. “Someone wants some attention too.” She chuckled.
“Greedy.” Aemond joked, straightening up. He reached towards her, so he could take the baby into his arms. He placed his head on both his hands, as to let his little legs kick against his chest.
Myria sweetly smiled at the sight, since it wasn’t common for Aemond to take that sort of initiative. He was never one to refuse holding his children, whether it was because Myria needed some help, or because the boys demanded him to, but he didn’t usually ask for it. It warmed her heart seeing him get more comfortable in that role— he wouldn’t have dared to carry Trystan with such confidence when he was born, and yet there he was, picking up Max from her own arms, not even asking before.
She bent towards the baby, so she could leave a kiss on his temple, and with a groan got up from bed, and started to get ready for the day.
“What are you doing?” Aemond asked, when he saw her change into a lavish, lavender dress.
“I’m getting ready, we have an important audience to attend today.” She explained, struggling to do the buttons on the back. “Could you come help me button this up?”
Aemond remained still. “Yesterday you said you didn’t wish to pick on fights, and yet it seems you do everything in your power to make me start an argument.” He hissed.
“Don’t use that voice, I don’t want the baby to get upset.”
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you should go, dearest.” Aemond faked a smile.
“Well, I’m going anyway, so I don’t see the point in—
“The Maester said you should rest, an audience where something is bound to go wrong is hardly the place you should drag yourself to.”
“Then thank the Gods I have a caring, loving husband who will keep me company at all times, ensuring I’m alright.”
He simply huffed at her, and returned his attention to the baby. “You will never be as troublesome as your mother, right Max?” He asked, tickling the boy’s feet. “She’s certainly proficient at keeping me on my toes.”
“Otherwise you’d be bored.” She smiled, sitting besides the both. “It’s important that I go, Aemond.” She added, in a serious voice. “My father is the ruling Prince of Dorne, and my sister will inherit that title after him. I’m the only person here at court that can keep them updated on such politics. I don’t wish to be ignorant of them. Please understand.”
Aemond stared at her for several moments, before answering. “I do.”
“Thank you.” Myria smiled. “Now, help me get this dress buttoned up, or else I will make a spectacle of myself at court.”
Aemond placed the baby on his crib, and stood behind his wife. Seeing her bare shoulders brought lustful feelings to the depths of his stomach, but he ignored them.
“For some reason it doesn’t seem to close.” She complained, as he put his hands on her back, struggling to pin the buttons together.
“Yes, because it doesn’t fit.” He said, innocently.
Myria turned around, and glared at him with so much fury, he wished he could confront a dragon instead.
• • •
“What do you know of Velaryon blood, princess?” Vaemond asked, with a smug expression on his face. “I could cut my veins and show it to you, and you still wouldn’t recognise it.”
Myria discreetly clenched her fist against the blue fabric of her dress, her other hand tightly around Aemond’s arm. She couldn’t believe the nerve of Corlys’ younger brother.
Although she could understand where he came from, and his desire to protect his house, Myria would never condone the way he so obscenely disrespected a Princess of the realm, especially in front of her children, who most certainly weren’t at fault for their lineage.
“This is about the future and survival of my house,” the man continued, “not yours. My queen, my lord hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation and survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor. The Lord of Driftmark, and Lord of the Tides.”
“Thank you, sir Vaemond.” Otto said, from his seat in the Iron Throne. Myria glanced around her, entirely surrounded by people who most certainly rooted for Rhaenyra’s downfall, and thought it was not fair for her. “Princess Rhaenyra,” he then called, “you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”
The Princess retracted her hands from her swollen stomach, and trudged towards the centre of the room. “If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding that nearly twenty years ago, in this very—
The Princess' speech was interrupted by the loud noise of the throne room’s door being opened. Myria looked up towards her husband, to see if he was aware of what was happening, but she found him to be as ignorant as she was.
But her obliviousness was accounted for by the voice of one of the guards. “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.”
Myria let go of Aemond’s arm in order to get a glimpse of the King. She positioned herself between Aegon and Helaena, and got a better view of the hall. Her heart clenched at the sight of him, ill beyond any cure, dragging himself across the room, with nothing but a cane to support him. His walking was erratic, and sickly, he seemed as if he were about to collapse at any second. She reverently bowed her head as he lumbered past them, worried Viserys would not be able to walk up the stairs.
“I will sit the Throne today.” He told Otto, stopping before him.
“Your Grace.”
A few guards bolted towards the man, in order to aid him, but he refused the help. He then slowly tumbled towards the throne, losing his crown in the process. The piercing noise with which the symbol clattered against the floor was one Myria would never forget. It would forever remind her of the lengths the man would go to protect his first born daughter.
Daemon was the one to approach him, and placed a steady hand on his lower back, to help him to the seat. With a groan, the King sank into the throne, and Daemon was quick to place the crown on his head. He directed one last nod towards his brother, and returned to Rhaenyra’s side.
“I must… admit… my confusion.” Viserys said, between heavy breaths. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’ wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.”
“Indeed, your Grace.” The woman, who had remained silent and still for most of the audience, confidently walked towards Rhaenyra’s side. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son… Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, and nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”
Myria looked at Vaemond, and could almost see the smoke coming from his nostrils. He was shivering in fury.
“Well…” Viserys sighed, “the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”
And then it was turmoil. Such words from the King were enough to make Vaemond forget about any kind of protocol, and started accusing the King for breaking centuries long laws and traditions, and condemned Rhaenyra for adultery.
“Her children are… bastards!” He yelled. “And she is… a whore.”
The whole crowd, Myria included, gasped in shock that Vaemond would dare say such a thing. Predicting the inevitable, Aemond worriedly reached for Myria’s hand, bringing her closer to him. She clumsily stepped back, until she was by his side, and clutched on his arm.
In an agonising gesture, The King got to his feet, with all the fury his sickly body allowed him to. “I…” he breathed, reaching for a dagger within his clothes “will have your tongue for that.”
But Viserys didn’t need to claim any more threats, because quicker than a heartbeat and stealthily than a whisper, Daemon grabbed his sword, and swiftly cut Vaemond’s head in half.
Myria choked in horror, as Aemond stepped right in front of her, to avoid such unpleasant sights from reaching her eyes. She clenched on his shoulders, starting to feel dizzy.
Everything following that happened in a blur, and next thing she knew, she was being led by her husband outside the room, towards the gardens. Only when they were both leaning against the terrace, looking at the sea, did he open his mouth.
“I thought you could use some fresh air, my lady.”
“Indeed,” she inhaled, trying her best to forever remove the images of Vaemond’s head flying through the air from her brain, “I can’t believe that happened.”
“I do.” He scoffed, rubbing her back with a reassuring pace. “That’s why I didn’t want you to go. Vaemond was bound to lose something for daring to speak in such a way. You” he added, pointing a reproaching finger towards her, “have too reckless a mouth sometimes as well.”
“I would never go as far as calling Rhaenyra’s children illegitimate outside of our bedroom.” She complained.
“But you would take the risk of yelling in this very garden, for everyone to hear, that you think a deposition against her is being planned.” He said, grabbing a strand of hair the wind had blown against her face and putting it behind her ear.
Myria closed her eyes at his touch, and inhaled. “You’re right.” She admitted, dropping her shoulders. “It was foolish of me.”
“The yelling was foolish, the speculation not so much.” He said, lowering his voice, eye fixed on the ocean. “I apologise for dismissing your worries that day, truth be told I share them too. But there’s nothing we can do about it, Myria. And there’s nothing we should do about it, especially since we are clearly on opposing fronts.”
Myria hummed, the feeling of apprehension tightening her chest. “I am never in an opposite front to you, Aemond.” She whispered, forcing him to meet her gaze. “I am by your side, always. I might not agree with… some of your family's doings, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t stand by you, in every possible scenario.”
“Even if my brother were to be crowned?”
“I am loyal to you.”
“What if your father took Rhaenyra’s side? If it came to a war, and you were to choose between us or your family?”
“That’s unfair.” She muttered. He simply shrugged. “You are my family, Aemond.” She said, holding his hand, more than anything hoping the time to make such a choice would never come. He nodded, and pressed a kiss on her forehead.
“Let me escort you to our chambers, you should rest before dinner with our family tonight.”
“As you wish, my love.”
• • •
Myria watched as her husband got ready, while gently rocking the baby in her arms. She had already put the boys to bed, after getting on a nice dress and doing a simple hairstyle. Max had finally fallen asleep, when she heard a soft knock on the door. She glanced at Aemond, who left his buttons undone, and pulled the door open.
“Hi,” Myria greeted the Septa with a whisper, “I just fed Max, and I’ve rocked him to sleep, so I think he should be down for the night. The boys are also in their beds, they shouldn’t be that much trouble. Prince Aemond made sure to tire them out by sparring with them, so they should be snoring already.” She explained, as she placed the baby in the woman’s arms. “Although, Griffin has been having some night terrors, so he might wake up at some point.”
“Don’t worry, Princess, I know a lot of stories.” The older woman spoke softly, with a soothing smile.
“Great, he’ll love that.” Myria said, escorting her to the boys’ room. “I’ll fetch the baby when we’re back, thank you.”
She returned back to her chambers, and promptly helped Aemond get ready. After that, the two of them bolted towards dinner, with Myria walking as fast as his sore body allowed her.
“We would get there earlier if you carried me.” She asserted, with a condescending pout.
“I’m not doing that.”
By the time they reached the room, everyone except for the King had already arrived, and they were either talking or already sitting down. Aemond guided her towards the left side of the table, where his family was, opposite to Rhaenyra’s. Two steps into the room, she could already feel the tension between the two families, especially between the Queen and the Princess.
“Oh, Myria!” Alicent said with delight, when she spotted her. “It’s so nice of you to join us, we weren’t sure if you were coming.” She then turned towards Rhaenyra’s side of the table. “Princess Myria gave birth to a healthy baby boy two nights ago.” She explained.
“I know,” Rhaenyra smiled, “we crossed paths this morning. The baby is darling. Congratulations, Prince Aemond.” She added, staring at the man.
He hummed in response, and looked down. “Thank you.”
Alicent stared at her son for a moment, before returning her gaze to Myria. “I hope you’re not overburdening yourself. You shouldn’t have come, darling, given your condition.”
“Dear mother, my sister is much too nosy to do such a thing.” Aegon cackled. Myria not so discreetly nudged him in his ribs, earning a groan from the man.
“I would never miss out on such an opportunity to be with family, my Queen.” She said, with a pleasant smile. She then turned towards Aegon, and stared at him with anger.
Truth be told— she got along with the man, and she thrived on their quarrels. “That hit was pathetic, dear sister.” He whispered to her ear.
“My apologies, I’ll make sure to carry a dagger next time. Is being stabbed enough for you?”
“You could stab me in the face and I still wouldn’t look as wretched as you do as of now.”
Myria stared at him in disbelief. She knew childbirth had taken a toll on her, and that she no longer looked the vivacious, charming woman she had been before. “Too far.”
“Too far.” Aegon agreed.
Their bickering was interrupted by the King’s entrance; four bodyguards carrying him in his chair only to place him between his wife and daughter.
“How good it is… to see you all tonight… together.” He said, once everyone had taken their seats.
“A prayer before we begin?” Alicent suggested.
“Yes.”
Myria glanced towards Aemond, and saw him close his eye and press his hands together, respecting his mother’s wishes, so she did the same.
“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love.” Alicent started. “May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the Gods give him rest.” Myria had her eyes shut, and was on the opposite side of him, and yet she could still sense Daemon’s smug expression. The cackle that came afterwards was embraced with quietude.
“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems.” The King broke the silence. “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further straightening the bond between our houses.” Myria was happy to see both couples smiling fondly at each other. Happy marriages should always be celebrated, she thought. “A toast to the young Princes, and their betrothed.”
“Hear, hear!” Daemon chanted, as everyone raised their cups.
“Lets toast as well Prince Lucerys…” Myria noticed Aemond tensing up by her side, so she searched for his hand under the table, and squeezed it, “the future Lord of the Tides.”
“Hear, hear.”
Viserys then pushed on his cane, to give him strength to stand up, and continued his speech.
“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.” He then used his one hand to take the golden mask off, which fell with a thud on the table. Myria chugged down at the sight. “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… walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown can not 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.” As if talking had drained his remaining energy, the King plopped down on his seat, with Alicent’s aid to put back his mask.
To everyone’s surprise, Rhaenyra then stood up, and raised her cup. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen.” Alicent turned her gaze towards her, with a sorrowful expression on her face. “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 honour. And for that she has my gratitude… and my apology.”
The room waited unusually quiet, as whispers of truce wandered around the table. Neither Myria nor the rest had any way of knowing, but it was more than truce. Friendship, once forgotten, ruined by the vile strings of destiny.
“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess.” Alicent muttered. “We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common that we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you… and to your house. You will make a fine Queen.”
Myria reached once again for Aemond’s hand below the table, as Alicent’s words filled her body with warmth, and peace. She wouldn’t have to pick. The future she so dreaded, the one she and her husband had discussed that very morning, slipping away, leaving nothing but sour feelings, the kind a bad dream left. Frightening, but comforting by the fact that they would never become true. She brushed his hand, but her gesture wasn’t reciprocated.
She glanced towards Aemond, who looked as calm as the next person, but Myria knew him better. He was angry, trying his best to prevent his emotions from breaking out. She couldn’t help but to think one last apology was overdue. How different things would’ve ended up otherwise.
Everyone then sipped on their cups, and the feast began. Myria saw Aegon get up from her side, towards Jace, but didn’t think much of it. Only after getting startled by Jacaerys’ strong fist against the table did she look towards them.
“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 be friends and allies. To you and your families’ good health, dear uncles.”
Myria raised her cup to that, and gave it a sip. She didn’t catch the look of betrayal her husband sent at her.
Helaena was then the one to stand up, and raised her cup. “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.” Myria looked up towards her, and lovingly grabbed her hand. Above everyone in Aemond’s family, Helaena was the one Myria loved the most. The girl had become a sister to her, and she regarded her as one. She resented the way Aegon treated her.
Myria didn’t realise, but both she and Helaena became targets of pitiful stares from the other side of the table. If only they knew what a wonderful husband Aemond was to her. Truth be told— she was prepared for someone not even half as great as he was to her.
“Let’s us have some music.” The King asked, and instruments started playing. Both Jace and Luke rose from their seats, and walked towards the two girls at the other end of the table.
Luke offered his hand to Myria, in an invitation to dance, and she couldn’t help but to take it. She knew her husband would feel betrayed by her doing so, but not accepting it would’ve been taken as a gesture of hostility… and she really loved to dance, an activity which Aemond rarely granted his company for.
She accepted the boy’s hand with a shy smile on her face, and joined the other two on their dance. Her movements were sluggish and erratic, given that she still felt pretty sore, but Luke seemed to catch up on that, and corresponded with her pace. Helaena and Myria beamed and laughed at each other each time their paths crossed, excited for being able to endeavour in such a diversion.
Only when the room went still as the King being taken away by guards, did she notice how carried on she had gotten. She looked towards Aemond, and found him staring at her, with a fervid glare tracing her frame as she danced.
Guilt set on the depths of her stomach, and so she thanked Luke for the dance, and returned to her husband’s side. She tried grabbing his hand, not daring to look at him, but her advances were, rather painfully, rejected by him. She then raised her gaze, only to see him intensely staring at Luke across the table, as a pig was placed in front of them. She saw the boy’s grin, and knew that would be the last straw.
She tried stopping Aemond from getting up, after he smashed an angry fist against the table, but he cruelly pushed her hands down. “Final tribute.” He announced. “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… strong.”
“Aemond.” She whispered, scared of the outcome his reckless words were doomed to have.
“Come,” he continued, “let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys.”
“I dare you to say that again.” Jace threatened him, threateningly walking towards him.
“Why?” Aemond cackled, approaching him as well. ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?”
Jace slapped him in the face, and Myria gasped in terror. Aemond stood still, rather amused at the boy’s effort. She tried grabbing one of his arms, but he gently shoved her backwards.
Chaos broke in the room as Aegon pushed Luke against the table, and Rhaenyra and Alicent yelled for everyone to stop. Aemond knocked Jace to the floor, and turned around chuckling. Myria was petrified at the sight of her husband apparently enjoying all of it.
She froze in panic, as her gaze reached his, and showed no remorse whatsoever in his semblance. She looked at him, unintentionally staring at him appalled, which she then regretted upon seeing his hurtful expression. She had done the one thing she had promised him she would never do: not being on his side. And for that, Myria could not forgive herself.
Alicent ran past her, to approach him. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?” She whispered, with anger.
“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” He replied, rather loudly, not reciprocating his mother’s attempt to keep their discussion away from everyone’s ears. “Hm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs!”
Jace bolted towards him, as to start a fight again, and he would’ve done so, if it weren’t for Daemon stepping in between the two.
“Wait, wait.” He said, calmly. He stared at the man he believed to be the root of the chaos, and Aemond held his gaze for a couple of seconds, until he awkwardly looked away, and left the room.
“Wait, Aemond!” Myria called him, but he didn’t turn back. He wasn’t running, but he was walking at a pace fast enough she couldn’t keep up with him, hard as she tried. “Aemond, wait for me.” She whined, earning no response from him. She kept following him across the hallway, until she couldn’t.
The Maester had been right, she was in no condition to handle all of that. She should’ve stayed in her room. That way, she wouldn’t have caused that mess. Most importantly, she wouldn’t have caused her husband such pain. She leaned against a wall, heavily breathing, and closed her eyes. She was busy trying to calm her racing heart, when she felt a hand lay on her lower back.
“Come on.” He said, grabbing her by the waist, and effortlessly raising her in his arms— yet refusing to meet her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” She whimpered, a lump full of unspoken emotions choked her throat, as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. “Gods, Aemond, I am so, so sorry.” She threw her arms around him, burying him in a hug. He instinctively embraced her back, resting his cheek against her head. Her face was laying on top of his shoulders, and he could feel her relentless sobs on his neck. She didn’t deserve such kindness from him.
He always savoured seeing those who he felt had wronged him in pain, but his wife could never possibly do wrong enough for him to enjoy her anguish. He felt as if he were the one being tortured instead, which wasn’t fair at all given the situation.
“Shh.” He calmed her, tenderly rubbing her back. “I am not angry at you.”
“I—I know.” She hiccuped. “But I am m—mad at myself.”
Aemond figured there was nothing he could do about that, so he simply kissed her forehead, and kept on carrying her towards their shared room. Once they reached it, he decided to drop on the plush chair by the bookshelves, with Myria still on top of him.
She kept on quietly tearing up on the crook on his neck, while he reached towards the chair arm, from which her legs were dangling. He took each of her shoes away, letting them fall with a thud against the floor.
“Why aren’t you mad at me?” She cried, finally lifting her gaze towards his.
“I am upset with you.” He had no trouble confessing that. “But not as upset as you seem to be with yourself. Why?”
“I danced with Luke. Wasn’t that the reason you got so furious?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t enjoy that, but I’d say I’m more angry at Lucerys because of it than you.”
“That’s exactly what upsets me!” She sobbed. He stared at her in confusion, and disbelief. His wife’s erratic emotions weren’t that much of a thrill to him. “That I don’t know how you feel, or how you might feel. That I fail to understand why a childish quarrel that’s over ten years old enrages you so much! And I’ve come to realise it’s my fault. That I’ve never tried enough to force it out of you!”
He drew his lips into a line, and stared out the window.
“Did you get angry because of the pig, then?” She asked. He abruptly looked at her again, visibly bewildered. He had never told her that story. He was about to ask her where she had heard such a tale, when— Aegon. Of course. Myria wasn’t one to drink that much, but she did rather indulge in a few too many more cups than what she could handle when enjoying dinner with his brother. Most of those times Aemond didn’t pay attention to their blabbers.
“Of course it wasn’t about the stupid pig.” He snapped, angry, and certainly not desiring to discuss such a topic. He tried to move her aside so he could get up, but she placed a hand on his chest and softly pushed him back.
“Aemond… what really happened that night?”
He looked at her, and grunted. He didn’t want to talk about it, not then, not ever. He didn’t owe anyone the reasoning behind his grudges. They were there. They stood there, as the angry, newly red scar crossed his face, and blamed him for it. Rhaenyra herself asked for him to be tormented for simply stating the truth. What everybody already knew.
As she reached for the buckle behind his head, lovingly undoing it to then leave a kiss above the sapphire in his eye, he realised his poor wife didn’t deserve his cold temper. She hadn’t been there, she had no way of knowing. She didn’t understand it was more than a childish grudge, because he had never let her believe otherwise. Perhaps he was too afraid of being vulnerable. He looked up towards her, and found that if ever there was a moment to be such a thing, it was with her. His adoring wife. The woman who kissed his scar each time she caught a glimpse of it. The woman who put up with his temper with a loving smile on her face. The woman who had never, not even once, rejected any part of him, and instead embraced the whole of him, bad and worse. The woman who had honoured him with being the mother of his children. And then the words came flooding.
He told her how the rest of the kids had ganged up against him, for claiming Vaghar as his own. He explained how he had never been serious about hurting them, and yet he still lost his eye. He told her how his mother had been the only one who had actually cared about him getting irreparably hurt, and the embarrassment everyone put her through that night.
“I got angry because my father dragged himself from deathbed today to defend what my sister brought on herself and yet he couldn’t care less when I lost an eye.” He explained. “I am mad that my mother, the only person who stood by me, was put to shame that night, being treated like a crazy woman. I am mad that my nephews seem to thrive on it. And I am mad that no one seems to understand that.”
“I understand, now.” She said, tearing up. “You deserve an apology, Aemond. Both you, and your mother. It’s not childish to want one, it's what you’re due.”
He very simply stared at her, softening his sharpened features as the sight of her tears, and kissed her hand.
“I am sorry I didn’t understand before.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yes it is.” She said. “I am your wife. And I promised you I would always be by your side, but tonight I wasn’t. And I apologise for that.” She inhaled, bracing up in courage to say her next words. “I love you, Aemond. And I want my actions, all of them, to be a testament of that.”
He wasn’t crying, and he wouldn’t cry, such a gesture didn’t even cross his mind. Crying was a reaction long lost in him, it took too much of an effort. But he was moved— he wouldn’t deny so. He very subtly nodded, and buried his head against her chest, gripping on her back. They remained like that until Myria fell asleep, and Aemond carried her to bed. He laid down next to her, holding tight onto her body, and for the first time in a very long time found sleep with his mind at peace.
****
a/n: i hope you enjoy this! and i hope it's not too long lol. just a few notes on the chapter: Aegon is not as shitty as he is in the show, and also Viserys' illness doesn't progress as quickly. Thank you so much for reading!
@cherryaemond
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x wife!#aemond targaryen x original female character#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond fanfiction#aemond imagine#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond x oc#aemond hotd#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon#ewan mitchell#dad!aemond#aemond x original female character#aemond#aemond targaryen headcanons#aemond headcanons#aemond targaryen imagine#father!aemond#aemond targaryen x wife!oc#aemond has a family au#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen smut#prince aemond
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flame lilies • aemond/lannister oc
story masterlist ──★ ˙ ̟
summary: "Dyanna was lucky. Or at least that was what everyone around her seemed to think. A Targaryen prince, her mother said, the most powerful man in Westeros, second only to the king himself. Then why, as he kisses her dryly on her lips and the Septon declares them wife and husband, does she not feel like it?"
or: The daughter of Johanna Lannister is married off to the vicious and cold-hearted Hand of the King and she couldn’t be more miserable.
tags: arranged marriage, explicit smut, grief, mourning, angst, politics, fix-it of sorts, war aftermath (the greens win).
chapter 1 (soon) | ao3 link (soon)
#myfics#nypha: aemond#oc#original female character#hotd#hotd fanfiction#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x original character#arranged marriage#fanfic#house targaryen#nypha: masterlist#nypha: flame lilies#aemond targaryen x female oc#aemond targaryen x original female character
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𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 … chapter one
𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄 . a council of snakes
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 . here
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . no warnings
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . here is chapter one of still of the night--cross posted here as well as on ao3. this first part is give a little insight on aemond and his small council, next part will be keeley's intro and first glance of baby aerion! please let me know your thoughts and make sure to leave a like to show your support.
𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 a time, in his youth, where Aemond Targaryen would have given anything to be King of the Seven Kingdoms. He had been an envious child–a second son–constantly longing after what he could not have–whether it be a dragon, a father, a birthright; none had ever been given so easily, and so Aemond Targaryen had learned how to take. It was he who had claimed Vhagar at the mere age of ten, it was he who took his revenge against the bastard Lucerys Velaryon for cutting out his eye, and it was he who had won his brother’s war when he killed their sister’s greatest weapon, Daemon Targaryen. And yet it was Aegon who had been crowned all the same, it was Aegon the Greens had fought for, and Aemond had been nothing more than a weapon to be wielded–a means to an end. For no matter his years of training and studying and dedication, no matter if his elder brother had never been suited for duty, Aemond would never have been anything more than a second son–a spare to an heir, until Aegon had solidified his rule by having children of his own.
And yet none of it had mattered by the time the dust had settled on the battlefield and the poison had taken root in Aegon the Elder’s body, for there Aemond Targaryen now sat at the head of the small council table–king, and hating every second of it.
The monarch sighed in disinterest, poorly feigning paying attention as the men around him once more discussed what they believed to be a most pressing subject–the potential future arrangement of his second marriage. One might mistakenly believe that there were far more important things to set the crown’s attention and resources to; the debilitating poverty in Flea Bottom to begin with, or mayhaps the areas of the realm still in need of repair after the dance had left them decimated and in some cases unlivable, or even the ever persistent fragile state of the realm, that still found itself torn asunder by the fracturing of the house of the dragon. Yet, it was the misguided belief of Aemond’s small council that all could be fixed with the right marriage–one that would see the seven kingdoms once more reunited, and begin an era of prosperity under his rule.
Though, Aemond saw the prospect of his rule being ‘prosperous’ rather unlikely and in fact laughable in the face of all that he had done; so many still saw him as cursed–
A kinslayer.
They would never see him as anything but a monster, and maybe that was what Aemond was; but, at least it was his blood that would sit the throne, the price that had been paid in blood and fire had seen to that–
He had seen to that.
“--it would be the most practical choice, your grace, if you were to marry Lady Rhaena, ” Lord Edric Reyne, Master of Law, pressed once more to regain Aemond’s attention.
“However,” Lord Hendrik Lannister, Master of Coin, added, “there are other choices we may consider that would be just as advantageous.”
“Still trying to see your niece as queen, Lord Hendrick?” Ser Garth Swyft, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, snorted.
“Gentlemen,” Oberon, the Grand Maester, hummed disapprovingly, quieting the playful squabbling; he turned his attention back to the king, whose indifference continued. “My king, I understand that this decision might be a difficult one, however without a queen we fear some might begin to question your–”
“My what, Grand Maester?” Aemond interjected finally, his voice sharp like the Valryian dagger he kept strapped to his side at all times; his singular pale eye was piercing as he stared down the older man. “You fear they might question my rule if I do not take another wife? Yet it is so soon after my beloved Floris’ death.”
He used the term beloved loosely, as there had certainly been no love between Aemond and his wife. They had married not long after the war had ended, his mother the Dowager Queen pressing for the ceremony as a way to raise spirits and appease the Baratheons; the latter of which had still been reeling from the loss of their patriarch on the kingsroad. Floris herself had been apt enough to do her duty, and had taken to the title of queen rather well when her husband had ascended the throne; and though there had been nothing in regards to affection between the pair, Aemond had admired her loyalty and determination. He would not say he truly mourned the loss, but her presence in his life would be missed, as she had never bothered him for love or tenderness, but simply loyalty and respect in return for her own. Theirs had been a mutually beneficial partnership, and he doubted he would find that so easily in his next marriage–hence why he was so hesitant, among other reasons, to remarry so soon.
“I have no need for a queen by my side to be able to rule,” Aemond frowned, continuing, “nor do I feel the need to solidify my claim more when my late wife has already given me our son. Now, I do not know why you all bother me with such trivial matters when I have already made my opinion quite clear–I will marry no one else as of right now, and I will certainly not be marrying Lady Rhaena.”
He fixed his singular eye on the crux of the issue–Lord Alyn Velaryon, his previous Master of Ships and his newly named Hand; though he was greatly beginning to regret bestowing the honor upon the ruler of Driftmark as the man had done nothing but press his own agenda much like the previous Hand before him. Aemond had believed extending this olive branch to the only other remaining Valryian house in Westeros would see the matters of the dance finally put to rest; however, it appeared he had allowed the Velaryons too much leeway, as they were beginning to become a thorn in his side. If it was not Alyn scheming to marry his wife’s twin to the king, then it was his cousin Baela testing the bounds of his mercy as she made no attempt to hide her hatred and was constantly finding ways to impede his ability to rule–primarily in her control of the Velaryon fleet.
“My king,” Alyn shifted in his chair, attempting to make himself look bigger under Aemond’s scrutinous stare, “although we may understand your stance on the prospect of a marriage arrangement so soon after Queen Floris’ passing, we must insist that this is what is best for the realm. A marriage to Lady Rhaena will finally unite our families once more, and if you were to have a child together, any bad blood that remained would be squashed. The people of the Seven Kingdoms can once more rest easy knowing the royal family is at peace, with no fear of further warring tearing the realm asunder once more.”
“I agree,” Lord Edric nodded. “Lady Rhaena would make a suitable choice for the next queen. She is of Targaryen blood, she is a dragon rider, and from what I have heard an intelligent and dutiful girl. A marriage between the two of you could restore House Targaryen to its former glory, and bring rise to a new generation of dragons.”
“If we can somehow manage to get the few eggs that do remain to hatch,” Lord Dagmar Greyjoy, Master of Ships, snorted before downing the rest of his wine; slamming his cup on the table, he gestured for the cupbearer to come forth, “more boy!”
All it took to silence the drunken man was for Aemond to turn his gaze on the Lord Regent of the Iron Islands, who only held his position simply to garner support of the Iron fleet; and even then, when the time came for the young Lord Toron to take his helm finally as his peoples’ leader, Dagmar would find himself out of a title–if he managed to even survive that long.
“Lord Velaryon, Lord Reyne,” Aemond hummed, turning his attention back to the matter at hand, “your words have been heard, and although I may understand some reasoning behind why you would want to see Lady Rhaena and I marry, I must disagree. There is much history between the pair of us, and not much of it good at that, and I fear that that has irreparably damaged our opinions of one another. I have no desire to see us stuck in a marriage where neither of us can rest easy for fear of what the other might do, as I know I would not be able to find it in myself to trust her after everything that has transpired between our families. That in of itself would cause great complications in fulfilling our duties as I am sure a marriage between the both of us would bear nothing of fruit, of that I am certain.”
Silence stretched out across the long table of the council, the king’s advisors sharing looks–as if to ask one another if anyone else had any other ideas.
“Besides,” the king chose for them, breaking the silence as he continued on, “it was my understanding that Lady Rhaena was entertaining suitors even as we speak. Is that not correct, Lord Velaryon?”
“My king?” Alyn feigned confusion.
“Come now,” Aemond rolled his eyes. “What was the name of that Corbray knight I have seen my cousin speaking with as of late…Collin?”
“....Corwyn,” Alyn sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in barely concealed frustration. “But I assure you, your grace, nothing untoward has transpired between the two. I have certainly not given Lady Rhaena leave to marry, nor do I intend to.”
“And why is that? Last I saw of them they seemed rather taken with each other,” Aemond hummed. “She will surely be happier with him than she ever would with me.”
“I have already spoken with my good-sister on the matter,” the Hand admitted, at least having the good sense to look uneasy under his king’s accusatory gaze. “That is to say, she would be amicable to a marriage if we are able to reach an agreement as a small council.”
“How kind of you to include us in this arrangement, Lord Alyn,” the Master of Ships quipped, paying more attention to his wine than the conversation.
“I agree,” Lord Henrick supplied dryly.
“Your grace,” Lord Edric came to the rescue, a voice of reason among the rising tensions between Hand and King, “let us at least hear what Lady Rhaena had to say to her good-brother in regards to the match.”
Snakes, the lot of them, Aemond could not help but think to himself as he assessed the men that surrounded him at the long table; there was not one among them that would do anything that did not benefit himself, that did not elevate his position in some way. He knew ambition when he saw it, had seen it etched across the cold and calculating plains of his grandsire’s face many a time growing up; and had felt it most viscerally himself the night he had claimed Vhagar–the night he had lost his eye. No one knew ambition better than Aemond Targaryen, especially how dangerous it could be when fed improperly.
“Very well,” he conceded with a stiff nod.
“My king,” Alyn began, saying the words as if in an attempt to reassert his loyalty to Aemond’s crown, “I have spoken in great depths to Lady Rhaena in regards to a potential match between you and her, this is true; and during our talks, my good-sister has expressed of course the same hesitation that you do, however she understands that if we as the small council can agree that this marriage is what is best for the realm then she will do her duty. However, she does ask that certain demands be met before doing so….”
“Aye, of course,” Aemond sneered in response, “and might I ask what my cousin would have of her king?”
“She asks that she be allowed to spend her summers on Driftmark, with my lady wife,” Alyn responds, unwavering under his liege’s burning stare, “and that the rest of the time will be spent here in King’s Landing. And even though we had already made plans to rebuild the Dragon Pit, she requests that it be completed post haste so that Morning may live in greater comfort if she is to live in the capital permanently.”
“Is that all?” The one-eyed monarch raised a pale brow.
The Hand of the King fell quiet for moment, for the first time showing unsureness before answering, and quickly the reason for such hesitation became clear as he continued, “Lady Rhaena would also see that her half-brother, Prince Aegon, be returned from his wardship in the North and instead be allowed to foster under the both of you.”
The other members of the small council exchange uneasy looks even as Aemond’s remained locked on Alyn, singular eye unwavering as if he could somehow fell the man with simply his gaze. For all he wanted to do in that moment was be rid of Lord Velaryon, and his cousins, once and for all so they may no longer plague him with any mentions of Aegon the Younger’s existence. The boy was an all but forbidden subject in the Red Keep, most if not everyone knew not to breathe his name in the king’s company for fear of reprimand–or worse.
After the war, the eldest son of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen had only been spared execution after barely surviving the sword the first time under Aegon the Elder due to Aemond having no desire to feed the title of kinslayer any longer; that did not stop him, however, in essentially banishing him from the capital with the threat of dragon fire in the North if Lord Stark attempted to raise the boy for usurpation and revenge for his fallen mother. Along with the boy’s exile, Aemond had also put a stop to the ill-arranged betrothal between Aegon III and his remaining niece, Jahaera; he could not stomach the idea of his sister’s only living child being forced to bear the burden of reunification of their fractured house, as it was not her responsibility to fix what she had not broken. To marry the blood of her twin brother’s killer was not something Aemond would allow his niece to be subjected to, no matter how much his small council pressed him to see reason.
“Well,” he cleared his throat finally, “I suppose it is good that I do not intend to marry Lady Rhaena then, as I would not see my nephew return to King’s Landing so quickly. The envoys I receive from the North tell me the child seems agreeable to the arrangement, and that Lord Stark is a firm but fair warden. What reason would I have to bring him back to the keep?”
“Your grace–” Lord Edric began.
“I grow tired of these discussions,” Aemond interjected with a sigh, leaning back in his chair as he assessed the men of the council. “Have I not made myself clear in regards to my intent–or lack thereof–to remarry? My late wife–your queen–has given me a son; I have my named heir–for now that is enough.”
“My king, I am afraid we cannot guarantee the prince’s continued health,” Oberon stated boldly if not foolishly, “we must ensure the security of your bloodline by procuring a spare as soon as–”
“My son shall live!” Aemond asserted loudly, finding himself standing from his chair, planting his hands loudly atop the table as he glowered at the older man. “He is my blood, the blood of the dragon! He is my heir, and he shall be king when my body no longer draws breath.”
The Grand Maester tried not to quack under the king’s anger, looking to the other council members for help but there was none to be had as they avoided his gaze.
“It is my fault really, as I have allowed you all to bicker and to plot for far too long,” the king laughed without humor, “but no more, I am afraid. I will hear no more of this nonsense–no more about marriage–”
He slammed his fist on the table, startling the men of the council and even the guards who stood at attention.
“No more about my son–”
He fixed a cool stare on the Grand Maester, who bowed his head under the pressure of the Targaryen’s pale gaze.
“And no more about Aegon,” he finished, turning the look onto Lord Velaryon, who sat still as a statue as he returned the king’s glare with one of his own.
Sinking back down in his chair, Aemond never broke Alyn’s stare as he continued, anger leaving his body as quickly as it entered,
“Am I understood?” He only broke away from the Velaryon to ensure he had the men in the council’s agreement to his newest commands; he would leave no room for doubt on how serious he was, even if he had to draw blood to get his point across. He would no longer suffer their ambition or their defiance, as he had for years under his grandfather and mother’s whim; he was king now, and though she had not flown for many years, he was still the rider of Vhagar, the Queen of Dragons–his word, at this current moment, was law–
And it would be obeyed.
“My king,” his title rang across the group of men, who bowed their heads in acquiesce until they got to the Hand, who sat stoically across from Aemond, still looking upon him unwaveringly.
“Lord Velaryon,” he pressed, “do you wish to say something?”
For a moment, Aemond welcomed the idea of the man’s resistance–even if it were a singular quip once more asserting his desire to see Rhaena wed the king. That was all he would need truly to rid the Lord of the Tides of his title as Hand of the King, and see him far from the council room–let that be a lesson when one’s ambitions stretch beyond the realm of propriety.
“No,” the man gritted out, “no I do not, my king.”
Like the others, Alyn Velaryon bowed his head to King Aemond’s demands, and with that the small council’s gathering was brought to an end.
As they left, Aemond remained seated, eyes trailing after them coolly until the last man disappeared through the double doors of the council room and they were once more closed. Left with only the guards and the cupbearer, Aemond picked up his own forgotten chalice of wine and took a sip, humming,
“Boy.”
“M-My king?” The cupbearer stepped forward, holding the pitcher of Arbor red; he had remained quiet as his position requires during the whole council meeting, and he was not often used to being addressed directly by the king himself.
“See to it that Lady Rhysling is made aware that I request her presence in my chambers after dinner,” Aemond instructed, “and inform the servants that I require a hot bath to be brought up afterwards as well.”
“My king,” the boy repeated, this time more sure as he bowed his head and set the pitcher once more on its pedestal, hurrying to leave the room and fulfill Aemond’s requests.
As the door clicked once more closed, the king downed the rest of his wine, taking a moment to himself–now all he had to do was make it through dinner with his niece.
#˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 :#/still of the night#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x original female character#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen fanfic#house of the dragon#hotd#house of the dragon fanfic
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Abandon All Hope - Prologue
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character
Summary:
A dream has King Viserys making an olive branch of his granddaughter and son in a bid to bind together the two halves of his family, torn asunder by love, whispered lies, and daggers in the night. But dreams are fickle things. One missed step in a dance, and a new path to madness enters the game.
Her mother once said she named her for the dreamer, out of a hope that she'd bring a new dawn upon their house just as their ancestor did so many years ago. Daenys the Dreamer, who dreamt the Doom of Valyria and led House Targaryen across the narrow sea to spare them.
Daenys does not dream of things yet to pass, and she rather thinks herself destined for her own doom. Her Uncle Aemond will make certain of that.
Rating: M, minors I will throw rocks at you if I find out you read this
Word Count: 3.6k
If one were to ask Daenys who amongst the men in her life she loved the most, she might have answered her eldest brother Jacaerys. For he was a man by all the laws of the realm, and had always chased away her tears and kissed her scraped knees. She might even answer that her grandfather, Lord Corlys Velaryon, was the man she loved most. He was always gentle with her and delighted in showing her the treasures he’d collected from his many voyages, and he always had time for her when others didn’t.
Above all Daenys might have answered that her father, Laenor Velaryon, was the man she loved the best. Her father and his laughing eyes, his gentle hands and bone-crushing hugs; he always told her he loved her best out of all of his daughters, and though Daenys was his only daughter, she clung to his words all the same. Her father always stuck up for her in the face of her brother’s teasing, and he always drove away her nightmares with soft songs or old legends of the sea, passed down from Velaryon to Velaryon.
Even now, she fiddled with the necklace her father gave her on her tenth name-day. She wore it more oft than not, even when it didn’t match the dress she wore. It was, at the time, the finest of all the jewelry she owned, and it was the first necklace that made her feel like a proper lady. A necklace for a woman, not a child. It was a delicate thing of silver, with five, sparkling, aquamarine gemstones that reminded Daenys of the sea.
“Silver and aquamarine,” her father had said when he gave it to her. “So you might never forget our house. Or me.” She’d thought her father silly to say such a thing, to think she could ever forget that she was a Velaryon or that he was her father. Daenys was proud to be a Velaryon, and she was proud to call Laenor Velaryon her father.
But Daenys could not answer that her father, Laenor Velaryon, was the one she loved best out of all the men in her life. For her father was dead and had been for almost a year now. And she couldn’t answer her brother Jacaerys, as he was barely two years older than her, and if Jacaerys was a man then she must certainly be a woman, and Daenys did not feel like a woman grown. Nor could she answer that her grandfather Corlys was the one she loved best, because he’d left them all to go fight in the Stepstones once more.
She most certainly could not answer that her other grandfather, King Viserys, was the man she loved most. He had decided to be the king instead of her grandfather, and Daenys did not love the king.
Continue on AO3
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen x original female character#abandon all hope#my writing
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𖦹. 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 *𖧧₊‧ In an effort to reconcile his family, King Viserys decides that his granddaughter, Jaehaena Velaryon, and his secondborn son, Aemond, shall marry and, with hope, mend the old grievances and rifts that have torn the family asunder for too long. Although they abide by His Grace's desire, Jaehaena and Aemond are reluctant and hesitant about this marriage, having grown up amidst the hostility and the bitter rivalry between their mothers. Yet, despite their prejudices and qualms, it appears that Jaehaena and Aemond were truly meant to be.
𖦹. 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ Aemond Targaryen x Jaehaena Velaryon (Original Female Character), Aegon II Targaryen x Helaena Targaryen, Rhaenyra Targaryen x Daemon Targaryen, Haenar Velaryon (Original Male Character) x Daerys Baratheon (Original Female Character), Jacaerys Velaryon x Baela Targaryen, Lucerys Velaryon x Rhaena Targaryen,
𖦹. 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 *𖧧₊‧ Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Non-Canon Compliant, Fix-It of Sorts, Original Female Characters, Original Male Characters, The Dance of Dragons Does Not Happen, Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Arranged Marriage, Marriage of Convenience, Targcest, Multiple Smuts (Ratings Specified In Concerned Chapters), Multiple Graphic Descriptions Of Eye Socket, Multiple Semi-Graphic Description of Childbirth, Way Too Many Banquets And Feasts Descriptions, Touch-Starved Aemond, Protective Aemond, Possessive Aemond, Aegon Is Not A Rapist, Helaena Needs A Hug, Helaena Is the Sweetest Of Sweethearts, Alicent Deserves Better, Rhaenyra's Redemption Arc, Old Valyria And Valyrian Culture, Myths And Customs.
𖦹. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 ₊̇*⸼ 2,171k.
THE MEADS MENU. + French Ver. + Archive Of Our Own. + Playlist. ₊‧
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐈. 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒 & 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐈. 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒 & 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･
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𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 .𖦹 To be added !
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 & 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 & 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 & 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 & 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 & 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐀❜𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐀 & 𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃❜𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･
𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍 & 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐀❜𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. ⊰‧₊˚･
©TheThyri. All rights content belong to @thethyri. Do not repost, translate or plagiarize my works in any way or on any other platform without my permission. Gif rightfully belongs to @notalicent.
#˗ˏˋ — the green dragon and the black wyvern. 🐉#˗ˏˋ — the meads.🍷#house of the dragon fic#hotd fic#house of the dragon fanfic#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon x original character#hotd x original character#house of the dragon x original female character#hotd x original female character#house of the dragon x oc#hotd x oc#aemond targaryen fic#aemond fic#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen x original character#aemond x original character#aemond targaryen x original female character#aemond x original female character#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond x oc#house of the dragon oc#targaryen oc#velaryon oc
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you drew stars around my scars. | aemond targaryen
canon divergence. | x ofc (lady nymeria dayne) | multi-chapter | coming soon
“You certainly know how to make a spectacle, Ser,” Rhaenyra called, good-naturedly. The knight nodded his head, still quiet, and at her side Daemon arched his brows. “May we know who you are, before you crown your queen of love and beauty?”
The knight straightened his back, resting Helaena’s crown in front of him on the saddle to free both his hands and then reach up to his helmet. As he lifted it, the sun caught against the silver, temporarily blinding them - long, dark brown hair tumbled down; a soft, narrow face crossed by a scar over the right cheek, inner corner of the eye to jaw; full lips bent in a soft, satisfied smile; dark blue eyes, one slightly lighter than the other, cast up towards the booth.
A gasp rose from the stands, the people as one while taking in the true nature of the knight, just as Daemon chortled, short and loud, perhaps a little surprised as they all were.
“Lady Nymeria of House Dayne, your Majesty,” the lady-knight called, her voice soft as chimes singing in the wind. At the corner of his eye, Aemond saw Aegon sit up straighter, and their mother reaching up to her chest with her hand, unblinking.
Nymeria, like the beautiful, strong-willed and indomitable warrior queen of Ny Sar and Dorne, Lady Dayne seemed to wish to live up to her name.
#you drew stars around my scars#redahlia#aemond x oc#aemond x ofc#aemond x original character#aemond x original female character#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x original character#aemond targaryen x original female character#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x reader
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Wylla Karstark is content with her life in the far reaches of the North, happy to be so far from the brewing war that threatens to tear apart the country. She has everything she ever thought she needed - her brothers, her mother, the land she loves. Then Aemond Targaryen tumbles from the sky, abandoned by his dragon and left at her mercy, pressing at her every nerve and opening her eyes to the possibility of life beyond Karhold.
But what happens when the tables turn and it's Wylla who finds herself under the thumb of the One-Eyed Prince and thrust into a war she has little hope of surviving? Can a fox endure the attention of a dragon?
You can find they say I killed you (haunt me then) on ao3. Updates every other Sunday (ish).
And all of my love to @emilykaldwen for making this incredible gif
#aemond targaryen x original female character#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x oc#allaboutocs#ocappreciation#house of the dragon fic#wylla karstark#my fic#they say i killed you (haunt me then)
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A Love Forged in Fire
https://archiveofourown.org/works/42584898/chapters/108352435
Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character
A girl destined to die in the snow with a boy who is forged from fire.
Evalina Snow is a bastard who is a lowly handmaiden in King's Landing. She catches Aemond Targaryen's eye. They become friends, and then eventually, something more.
Part Five
"Come closer I can’t hear you,” Aemond says.
I have been standing rigid by the entrance to his chambers as if the physical space will help steady my heart. I gulp, moving forward.
“I had—”
“I still can’t hear you.” Aemond holds out his hand, beckoning me towards him.
I go to move the books that are stacked on the other chair, but he stops me.
“Here,” he says, urging me to grab hold of his hand.
#aemond targaryen x reader#Aemond Targaryen fluff#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#prince aemond#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x y/n#Aemond Targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen ao3#ao3#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen x original female character#game of thrones#hotd fanfic#hotd Aemond#hotd angst#hotd
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ao3 fic rec!
black suns and golden spears written by @beaconofthehightower
hello folks, this is a fanfic published on archive of our own which i very highly recommend so go and check it out!
fandom/s: House of The Dragon, A Song of Ice and Fire
summary: Two Martell Princesses of Dorne, Ysilla and Merisa, are sent to King's Landing to maintain the relationship with House Targaryen and find themselves attracting two of the pale-haired princes
pairing/s: ofc (original female character) x aemond targaryen,
ofc (original female character) x aegon targaryen
length: 3/? chapters, 8,952 words
chapter one:
Orange turns to black and the leaping tongues of fire in the night can only be a sign of the end and the beginning, the fragility of life and death.
oooOoo i love this description
The King forgets
Otto Hightower does not.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
by the howling, whirling sandstorm that is her twin.
okay side-step but i really love twins in fiction cause the dynamics are always really diverse and interesting
Unbowed in the way she stands before him, spine stiff and head high, dark eyes burning.
martell through and through i love it
If Merisa is the spear, steadfast and true, then Ysilla is the sun, bright and unafraid to burn.
i love how while Merisa is dutiful she is still strong and doesn't fall into the stereotype that quiet dutiful women are weaker than more extroverted types
“You’d know this if your head constantly wasn’t in the clouds with your horses and your books.”
hey hey hey leave my bestie alone i'm already attached
and already as much of a terror Ysilla was at that age.
HAH
"The princess Helaena
MY LOVE
It is not the King who welcomes them, but the Queen in a gown of Hightower green.
MY WIFE
Merisa gapes at the sight of her.
as she should
"Who're you?" he demands.
"Aemond!" Alicent admonishes.
pfffttt
Viserys I, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men and Protector of the Realm is almost a nightmare in the flesh. Bile rises in the back of her throat.
DRAG HIMMMM
She doesn’t notice the violet eyes that are burning into the side of her head.
"Your brother is odd, Helaena." Ysilla says after she’d caught Aemond staring at her yet again.
i love Ysilla so much, she never fails to drag these royals like damn
Aegon’s eyes slide over her in a cursory glance before falling back to his brother. Ysilla’s eyes jump between the two, book forgotten.
“You're like an angry little cat, princess. Aren't you?" Aegon says.
this bitch
The Queen’s eyes are blank as she sweeps past Helaena and Ysilla. Aemond’s eye focuses on her, as if he knows she stares at him. There is a look in it that practically goads her, begs her to say something, anything. I dare you.
She says nothing.
WOO SMART BBY
chapter two:
The king who paid little to less attention to his second wife and maimed son in favor of his eldest and the insult to her and her bastards.
poor babalaroo but also lets not use that word babs
A debt unpaid; Rhaenyra winning all over again. The favored child. The firstborn.
it hurts to watch but it's true, i'm glad you're giving aemond a voice here
His sister emerges first, her lilac eyes clear as they flick hesitantly from face to face before brightening almost instantly as she ignored the hisses of her septa and darts towards them. He gawked when she pulls up short for a second, bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet as she hesitates before wrapping her arms around Ysilla.
AWWWW
Alicent said, pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger in exasperation.
wifey let me run you a hot bath, get your champagne, yeah?
Ysilla thinks he does it simply to gain her attention; whether bad, good or something else entirely. A mechanism of sorts.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
trying not to squirm from the caterpillar she held in her hands.
CATERPILLERS ARE SO CUTE, FIGHT ME
by in the blink of an eye of Aemond
i had a little giggle i can't l-eye
of Aemond purposefully trying to avoid her. In the gardens. In the halls. In the library.
Everywhere he can think of.
sigh
The tentative friendship, or whatever it was that had built between them after that day in the library shattered and withered, as if it had never existed in the first place.
"The younger one," Alicent murmured. "She's flowered." Otto smiled slightly. "An opportunity, this might be. To further bind Dorne to us through a marriage. Prince Qoren can do naught if one of his sisters is to marry your son.." Alicent leveled a flat look at him. "And what of the elder one? Princess Merisa?" she asked sharply, pushing against the table as she stands. "Hmm?"
"You are of age now. Old enough to find a husband."
Sunlight glimmered against the darkness of her hair as Ysilla sat with her back against the bone white tree, Aemond's silver hair sliding like water between her fingers as her nails scraped lightly against his scalp.
DEVELOPMENTT
Annoyed now, Ysilla tugged a little too hard on his hair. Aemond yelped, craning his head backwards to glare at her. "I'll feed you to Vhagar if you do that again." he grumbled.
bro really now? oml it's going to his head
but the king
ooo the little details, like not calling him father but by his title
as she felt him tense stiffly before pressing her mouth tentatively to his, then more firmly.
“I don’t think your sister likes me that much,”
pfffttt that's one way to put it
A look of distaste settled as dark as a storm cloud on his face. "In a sept, Aegon? Really?" He demanded, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Have you no shame?”
he??didnt??do??anything??yet?? (have since been told that he was drinking but babe this is aegon are we rlly that surprised?)
Merisa watched them, almost hazy, as if she was looking through glass. Something churned in her gut at the look he shared with Ysilla. Was this how it felt to lose a sister?
chapter three:
Otto Hightower had no love for the Dornish girls; that much is obvious in the purse of his mouth and wary eyes every time he saw them.
welp
"Treat them with caution, Your Grace. A snake may strike when we least expect."
literally children but go off ig
She walked closer and tentatively set her hand on his back, nearly pulling it away when she felt him stiffen and his shoulders tremble as he started to shake under her touch. “I know,” she whispers as she moved in front of him, smoothing her hands over his hair as his head fell against her neck, hands grasping her waist. "Aemond…" He let out a low choked sound in the back of his throat, his fingers sliding over the fabric of her sleeves, the calluses catching on the fine material. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his breath warm. Ysilla pulled away sharply to stare at him in bewilderment and shock. "Why are you apologizing?"
your honour i love them
"They are nothing but lickspittles and weaklings
oop
"Stop being so sullen, Aemond.” Ysilla kept her voice flat. "You're nothing but a frightened sullen boy who lost his eye to claim a stupid drag-"
His fingertips dug painfully into her sides when he yanked her closer to him, catching her mouth in an intoxicating kiss that almost makes her forget how to breathe; feeling it deep in her bones and all the way down to the tips of her feet. "You're infuriating." She snapped, pulling back and tangling her fingers into his nearly shoulder length hair. "And you're maddening," he mumbled, kissing her again and again and again, chasing the wild feeling that was her pressed against him, the wood of the shelf hard and painful at his back.
"You look lovely, daughter," King Viserys said to Helaena absentmindedly. "If only Aemma could see you now."
THIS BITCH DID NOTTT
His nostrils flare. His eye narrows. A game almost; poke a dragon. Taunt it over and over until it snaps. Aemond's face was still, one corner of his mouth slowly curving upward, wine forgotten as he moved around the elongated tables to stop in front of her. "Princess. Might I have this dance?" His eye focused solely on her face; extending his hand out palm up. At four and ten now, Aemond was a far cry from the scrawny boy he’d been; growing leaner and taller under the watchful eye of Criston Cole in the tiltyard.
simp and he doesn't even know it
“You kicked me. Why?”
i don't know why this made me laugh as hard as it did
"You're practically my mother’s shadow these days!" he protested. "What else was I going to do to see you?" he said, falling quiet, the tips of his ears pinkening a little.
wait that's cute
Sunfyre is absolutely beautiful.
the prettiest
he prince is standing at her shoulder, the barest hint of a grin stretching his thin lips upward.
i knew he'd love that jesus
"I want you, need you like the sun needs the moon,"
THAT'S SUCH A CUTE LINE JAKSKODOOSM
“It has no place in your future, dearest.”
UMMM THIS WAS WONDEFUL???? IM OBSESSED
#original female character x hotd#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd x oc#oc x hotd#house of the dragon oc#martell oc#ofc#aemond x oc#aemond x ofc#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen x ofc#aegon x ofc#aegon x oc#aemond x female oc#aegon x female oc#aegon targaryen x ofc#aegon targaryen x original female character#aemond targaryen x original female character#aemond fanfic#aegon fanfic#black suns and golden spears ff
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A fall from grace
Chapter 1
Word count: 4.5k
Masterlist
Next>
Melissa knew what she wanted ever since she was a girl. She wanted a place, utterly her own, to escape to when her father would come back drunk or her mother would fuss over her to the point of exhaustion. Something far away and high up so she could see the clouds and their fluffy borders shining around her through the daylight vaguely obscuring their familial beacon of green. She also knew didn't want to leave home. Oldtown was too embedded in her for her to want to part with it willingly.
She'd been told that she'd have to wed some day and being shipped away to a land further away from whatever civilization she'd come to know hardly seemed exciting, especially belonging to someone who'd try to lock her up for his own gain.
“It is time for you to grow up dearie” her septa had reminded her on many such occasions. “You’re to be a young lady of an important house someday. Better start by acting the part”
“I am already a lady of an important house” is what she always replied with and that was that.
“What are you dreaming of, cousin? Is your head lost in the clouds again”
She turned to face her companion for the day, half reclined on the lush settee nearby with his arm dangling off at an angle, restlessly trying to procure something just out of reach. “I thought you were sent here to look after me” he said mischievously.
“Does the prince have any more complaints that he wishes to enumerate” she found herself replying with a huff.
“Only that you haven't been paying close attention to him. I think you're far more interested in Tessarion than me” he said conspiratorially, leaning towards her.
She found herself shaking her head slightly, just enough to be polite rather than deny the accusation outright.
“You've been hurt your grace, you should be resting”
“And I'm tired of it”
“My father wouldn't approve of you further exerting yourself” she teased before they both broke into laughter. Her father was too lost in his own world to notice.
Gwayne Hightower was as eccentric as they came; brash, bold, foul mouthed and exciting. When she was younger, he'd taken her on his shoulders all around the city whenever she pleased, till her mother had screamed her throat raw and she'd giggled with delight throughout the winding cobbled streets. Her childhood had been full of fun, of colors so bright and laughter at every corner all till it wasn't. Being a maiden wasn't so bad, she just couldn't live the way she wanted to, in front of the eyes she wished to be free the most.
“You’re being sent there in my place Melissa. Try to look more cheerful”
“I'd hardly call it that. You'd be joining us in King's landing soon enough and I doubt Tessarion would do well without your presence for too long”
“We'd stick closer to home than venture out any soon”
She didn't miss the way his eyes wandered to the window, seeking her out wistfully. Prince Daeron had been a resident both of Oldtown and her father's shoulders, since as far as she could remember. He was the only one who had held the title of being equally spoiled as her. Her brothers came later on, much to their chagrin for his beloved sister's son, with his bright eyes and cheeky smile was far too cherished to be scolded. Besides he was a prince and despite being brought up in the same way as them and their cousins his name held more worth than all of them combined.
Daeron had been brought up in Lord Hobert’s household as a cupbearer for her uncle Lord Ormund. He'd eaten the same bread and served his family just as any of her cousins yet was awarded for all of it with a greater show of appreciation. The most however came from their cousin Bethany, the youngest and most capricious of the lot. She'd clung to him since childhood, always trailing behind him as his noisy shadow. She'd seen him go from encouraging to disparaging to enveloping her in his grace throughout the years, both delighting and irritating of her company at times yet always seeming to come back for more. As for Bethany, the word “besotted” was far too demure to explain what she felt for Prince Daeron.
“Help me up cousin, I wish to be free of my shackles” he asked, breaking her reverie.
“Not on my watch”
“I just need to sit upright Melissa”
“If only you'd been so careful on your mount”
He tutted in response, flicking a lock of silver falling on his face with a tilt of his head. “King’s landing has seemingly affected my young cousin before she's even stepped foot there. Where are your manners, young lady? You'll send any dashing lord running with them” he jested.
“What is it like?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her as she helped him sit up with assistance ignoring the jape at her countenance.
“You won't like it”
“In three words then”
Describing things they hadn't seen in three words was Gerold’s idea. Her little brother had come up with it one evening when he'd been upset at father not being able to tell his tale with the liveliness he usually mustered. It was a quick and easy way to know what the other meant when they were too irritable or distracted to make proper sense.
“Crowded, foul and family”
“That isn't saying much. I'd think it quite similar to Oldtown”
“Perhaps I'm not as descriptive as you'd like me to be, considering the position I'm in”
She laughed despite herself.
“You'll be fine, contrary to what I've said before. You have the courage of the Hightowers to make up for your lack of genteel”
“And you have the mouth of a sailor to make up for your lack of agility. Serving wine all day has dulled you up cousin”
“May the Gods pity the man you wed” he said with a huff plopping down again.
She laughed as she helped him settle back in before making her way to her own chambers, willing to enjoy whatever semblance of familiarity her home would offer till they departed soon.
-x-
Dinner was a lively affair. Most of the members of their house had been assembled in the giant hall of the High Tower for the occasion of sending them off in a grand way before they departed at noon on the morrow. She was to accompany her father on his journey to King's landing, which was more of an afterthought, hastily decided, given that she was now of age and was to be introduced to the highest and most influential bidder. Perhaps tonight was her last night of merriment before she faced her own war ahead.
The hall had been illuminated with flame, the lit candles and chandeliers casting green shadows which reflected through the stained glass of the seven around them, observing all that was happening with hidden wisdom of her own. It seemed more somber and foreboding than the guffaws which could be heard in between, almost as if the laughter of the lords held a tinge of insidiousness.
Things had been amiss ever since the incidence of Driftmark. They would get word from across the realm days after whatever incident had taken place yet its effects were almost always prolonged in this part of the world, predisposed to more speculation and over-thought. The crown and its allies were in shambles. That was what she concluded from all the murmuring around her. She wasn't often prone to exaggeration, only ever a bit when it came to matters more trivial but that is what appeared to her as she passed by animated whispers and indignant outbursts over chalices of wine.
She had also discerned that many of her elders thought her father to be incompetent for whatever they were being sent there for. The wrinkles of their noses and their vacant smiles of encouragement being passed around freely were proof enough.
Her eyes wandered to Daeron soon, propped up on one of the chairs surrounded by her own brothers and cousins equally engaged in an animated discussion with Bethany lingering nearby, long enough till she caught sight of her.
“Are you excited Melissa?” she asked, skipping over to her as she took her by the arm.
“Hardly” she responded distractedly, trying to focus on the talk around her.
“I would be if I were in your place but Lady Sam thinks I'm too young to be sent to the capitol. Father and her shall contemplate my own prospects closer to home” she replied with a giggle.
Lady Samantha was Bethany’s tactful step mother. Young and sharp, she always had a clever word to say, often ending even the most animated discussions with her quips. Her father, Lord Ormund had remarried years after their mother's death and was seemingly pleased with his new bride, as were most of the men of their house. It was the women who were far more wary of the charms of their sex, all except Bethany of course. For someone who contained equal parts naivety and wit she was all the more ignorant of the challenge in her way, something that lay much closer to home.
She knew the girl considered Daeron to be a suitable husband and he was in truth, dashing and charming as any prince she'd wager yet the dreams of her cousin were far too large for her. She couldn't blame her though, ambition had run in their lineage for generations.
“And how will you manage to secure prospects as such. I'm sure you've got something up your sleeve already dear cousin” she said as they continued meandering through the hall.
“Nothing much in particular just using my natural charms and talent of nursing”
“He doesn't need much of it”
“Well I shall help with it regardless. A kind gesture goes a long way”
“I'm sure it does Bethany yet he's no fool”
“I never took him to be one. I would hardly be interested if that were the case”
“They're planning much more for him” she said, suddenly willing for them to stop their promenade across the hall. “I know what you intend to do but I feel we're all embroiled in something far bigger than what is let on”
“Something you'll soon know once your visit bears fruit” she replied back delightedly.
“I don't think you understand cousin”
“I understand very well Melissa and I'm sure you'll keep me informed of all the interesting developments that take place.”
“I'll be frequent with my writing” she huffed back annoyed “You know I will”
“Well as frequent as I can be” she remarked sheepishly as Bethany gave her a pointed look. She could very well be imposing for someone so short.
“Everything shall work out well for us, you just need to be patient”
She hummed in response as they continued their walk slinking to the corners before getting engrossed in matters of triviality once again. Patience had never been one of her virtues.
-x-
She was woken up unexpectedly around the hour of the wolf. Her maid walked in with apologies on her tongue as she helped her with her dressing gown before presenting her to her mother and septa.
“You must greet the day with a smile Melissa” her mother said, hastening her towards her dresser to try and tame her hair.
“It is dark outside,” she remarked with a whine. “And we shan't leave till daybreak. Why must I make haste then?”
“She is not ready” her mother said, turning her head towards Septa Abigail who tutted in distaste.
“You must hold your nerve my lady. She is always disagreeable in the morn” she replied before disappearing into the shadows around her chambers.
Through her sleep-addled gaze she noticed a few of the candles nearby, almost close to being extinguished, indicating the early hour of the new day, bathing her chambers in their diminishing glow. She huffed impatiently as her mother got to work on her locks, teasing them into the elaborate hairdo of her own house. House Redwyne was known for their Arbour as well as their beauty although she supposed she hadn't inherited half of what her mother owned. She'd gone more after her father and was always told she made up for her lack of exceptional comeliness with unique charm.
“I've made sure everything is in order” said Septa Abigail, re emerging just as she had begun dozing off again.
“Thank you Septa,” her mother remarked. “There! You look much better Melissa. Now begin dressing while we go over what you've learnt”
“I am to not slouch or slump, to curtsey deeply bending as far as my knees can go without creaking, whenever I see someone above my station which is almost everyone there” she said earning a glare from her mother.
“And I'm to almost always greet everyone with respect and be polite even if I feel like stabbing them with the nearest fork I can find” she finished pirouetting to admire herself in the mirror ahead.
“And?”
“To address the Queen as befits her station before thinking of her as my aunt”
“And?”
“To be on my best behavior with her children?”
“And?”
“To beware of the dragon” she laughed with a mock roar as her maids finished helping her with her petticoat.
“It is a serious matter Melissa” her mother sighed, already exasperated with her answers.
“I won't involve myself with them unless absolutely necessary, mother. You worry too much. It is not good for the babe” she remarked, walking to hug her from the side before sneaking in a glance at herself again.
She had been dressed in emerald green silks with sleeves floating around her like the wings of a bird, reaching the middle of her stature. The middle of her bodice and skirts were a lighter green emerging through the silks in crepe, like the tower of their house, before fanning out in green swirls around her square neckline. Her attire was surprising as it was sure to wrinkle throughout their journey but she supposed her mother wanted her to look her best as a representative of their home when she was presented. She felt too much of a present in truth, waiting to be unwrapped, despite the fact that she did indeed look quite pretty.
“Only because you're too curious for your own good and seem to court trouble at every instance. Why must we leave her alone again Abigail?”
“Because you're in no condition to travel my lady and I'm tasked with looking after you. Besides you’ll be free of your troubles soon enough” she replied back winking at her.
“Jesting at dawn won’t do you any good Septa. What would the Mother think of your lack of mercy?” she said with mock indignation before turning towards her own “I'll be alright, don’t trouble yourself too much. You’ll have another little one to do so soon enough”
“Not as sweet as you my sweetling. There’s no one quite as lovely as my little flower” she replied, kissing her cheeks.
They were soon bundled up in the courtyard around the hour of the nightingale after a few grumbles from father. Gerold and Gilbert had been woken up to bid them goodbye and Prince Daeron had even gotten in a word of good luck before dozing off again. He'd soon be moved back to his old quarters, near Lord Ormund before joining them in a fortnight.
“When will you be back, father?” Gerold asked solemnly as he stood next to mother.
“Before this one is born boy” he replied, bending to kiss his mother sloppily. She could see her smile through it and wish him well.
“Take care of her Gwayne” her mother spoke with a sigh.
“You know I will” he replied back cheekily kissing her again. “She and I are going to have the most splendid time,” he responded merrily “And I'll be back before you know it” he finished kissing her belly.
She heard Gilbert roar a goodbye before circling around her like a dragon and attempting to stab father with a small, blunt knife.
“By the Gods boy, looks like there won't be any trouble for your mother while I'm gone”
“It's good I didn't give him a real one” he whispered to her as they mounted the carriage for their journey.
The last thing she heard as their retinue left was a chorus of “bye sister” “take care my love” “don't let your father drink too much” and declarations of care trailing behind as she stared wistfully out the window.
-x-
The journey to King's landing was far from eventful. Her father was drunk nearly an hour after they'd left, guzzling through his hidden stash of arbour red as soon as they'd passed through the city gates.
“Is this how you're going to be for the entirety of our journey? Cheer up sweetling” he said, slumping forwards in front of her.
“Pass me some of your wine”
“Your mother told me to keep you in check”
“I think that was meant as advice for me more than you” she responded. “Please I'm sick of sitting like an ornament. This dress crinkles even if I move an inch and I'm stiff already. Let me bear this price with ease”
“You make good arguments for yourself,” he said after a while, ignoring her complaints.
“Grandfather would be proud”
“Pissed more likely. Then again since you aren't his own child, he'd very likely approve of your wit”
“Is he that demanding?” she murmured, wringing her hands.
“More than Septa Abigail when she used to strike your knuckles for your awful recitation” he snorted.
“As if you were any better. Do you even remember a passage of the seven pointed star?”
“This isn't about me,” he retorted rather sheepishly.
“Can you recite one drunk as you are?”
“Perhaps if I put my mind to it”
“We have all the time in the world”
“And I'd rather not waste it on the seven” he huffed.
“They may hear you,” she said teasingly.
“Then I'd toast to their health and spend heartily for their cause from one of our coffers in abject penance” he mocked.
“What awaits us there?” she asked after a long pause. Her father had taken to staring out the windows and shouting a few slurred orders to the coachman in between, urging him to take another route to their next destination.
“Adventure” he replied with gleaming eyes and upon noticing her dissatisfaction he continued “You are to meet a few suitors arranged by father, whenever possible and we'll decide who's most suitable for a match”
“And then” she asked impatiently.
“And then you'd be wed, probably in a few moons time”
“So I'm to be auctioned”
“Exactly”
“You are not helping my nerves” she bit back irritated at the turn in conversation.
“Want some of this now” he said ignoring her remark.
“Please”
“At our next stop then. We should be reaching Highgarden soon”
She caught the scent of roses long before they were wheeled into the city. The sweetness as pleasant and aromatic as it was to her induced a bout of rather wretched sickness in her father who ordered the carriage to be stopped for him to empty his gut. Unlocking the lattice window, she peeked her head out to notice they'd stopped near an inn, obscure and at the outskirts of the main market.
“We're stopping here for a break my lady. Your father has ordered some refreshments for you”
Nearly an hour later they were on the move again with bellies full of a batch of cheap lemon tarts and flowing arbor red.
“You didn't think I'd stop just to vomit. These are the best tangy ones in town.”
“Bethany plans to marry Prince Daeron” she said suddenly. Perhaps the wine had already gone to her head or she just needed a better distraction. It worked either way, her father's ears had perked up pretty fast.
“What? Oh, you do not jest? Well she's well beyond herself.”
“Because he's a prince?”
“She isn't half as comely to be a princess.”
“Not all princesses are comely”
“And how would you know that?”
“Id assumed there was much more than beauty”
“She's too lazy to be one or perhaps that's a good start for her”
“That's what Lady Sam says and is entirely untrue. Since when do you fall for what is being gossiped about”
“She has a sister doesn't she?” he continued distractedly.
“Lady sam? Yes, her name’s Sansara”
“Hmm they plan to arrange another alliance with our house”
“With another Tarly?”
“I know! As if one wasn't enough” he replied excitedly.
“And here you were raving about her judgment moments ago”
“That tart?”
“Father!”
“It is only true”
“She's said to be the sweetest in Oldtown”
“The sailors have lost their taste at sea, if that is what's going around. Perhaps we ought to check on them more often”
“I thought you enjoyed a certain sweetness to things, like arbour red?”
“Sweet smiles and sharp tongues, yes, ones much closer to home”
“You're very charming, but too drunk to tell the difference”
“Perhaps that's a charm by itself. Your mother fell for it anyway” he finished. “Your husband shall not be such a drunk though. I'll make sure of it”
The rest of their journey passed in bouts of sleepiness, dozing off at awkward angles and swings of more wine. The nights and days often blurred together with the same monotony till they reached the edge of the capital.
“What is it now?” her father asked impatiently on the fifth day of their trip.
“The wheel on the back appears to have busted my lord. We'll hurry up and be back on the road in time” one of their guards replied.
The problem with traveling long distances however was that something almost always came up towards the end of journeys as such and often when one was wholly unprepared. The wheel took longer to be fixed and there were not enough horses to carry them to their destination.
“They've sent for the royal carriage. We just have to wait it out” her father said, pinching the bridge of his nose in distaste.
“How long will that take?” she asked nervously.
“A little while more. You needn't worry. I for one need a jug of cheap ale to get me through this fateful morn”
“Grandfather?” she asked, raising her eyebrows earning an exasperated huff in return.
Nearly an hour later, when the sun was the highest in the sky, she heard the sound of strong hooves nearby. Her father had ordered her to lock the windows lest someone unsavory caught wind of their cargo. She had long accepted that she was one over the journey, it was much easier that way. She heard a couple of murmurs outside spotting a man in armour of the kingsguard near the gate before it was flung open in haste.
A middle aged man, dornish by the looks of it, opened the gate for her and offered her his hand.
“Apologies for the delay my lady” he spoke with an accent, a grim and unfaltering expression on his face
“It wasn't much trouble Ser” she responded putting her lessons to practice.
As she descended the steps of her busted enclosure her eyes caught sight of two new horses, black and white adorned with the drapes of the three headed dragon with her father busy in conversation with a taller head of silver nearby.
“Ah there she is, hurry up into our ride Melissa I'll be with you soon” he exclaimed.
Despite her father's instructions she found it hard to tear her gaze from the man ahead. He looked sharp and lean, standing with his hands clasped behind his back as he caught her gaze, his lone eye piercing into her own. She saw it leisurely take her in as her father rambled along oblivious to his surroundings before he looked behind her and gave a sharp nod.
“Prince Aemond Targaryen my lady, the second son of King Viserys and Queen Alicent Hightower, rider of Vhagar, the queen of dragons” the knight of the kingsguard boomed next to her.
Her father looked behind him sheepishly and she fought the urge to roll her eyes as she was formally introduced.
“Yes, and this is Lady Melissa Hightower my first born daughter and your cousin”
She saw the prince step forward at her introduction giving her a swift nod in acknowledgement as she remembered to curtsey in time.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance my prince” she spoke not taking her eyes off him. Up close she could see the eye patch obscuring a jagged scar running through his left eye and the chiseled planes of his face, quite unlike his brother, as he regarded her in silence.
“Well now that the children have been introduced let's move ahead shall we?” her father said merrily “Ser Criston, take me to the best inn in the city before we make our way back” he continued walking towards the horses.
“Father?”
“Worry not sweetling I'll join you in the keep. The prince shall be much finer company instead” he said, mounting the black horse in a hurry.
Her companion whipped around to object and she saw Ser Criston frown before making his way to his own horse with a sigh.
“Let the children get to know each other Cole, come on. Do you not have any fun in the city? Is Alicent keeping you locked up with herself these days?” he bellowed, galloping away.
She saw the prince frown, eye narrowing in distaste as she looked ahead mortified. It was perhaps best to be done for the day she thought, rushing to the carriage, away from the embarrassment before tripping on the steps herself.
“Careful” she heard a smooth voice next to her. She felt a hand steadying her back and another holding her by her arm preventing her fall as she made her way inside with help.
“There's another step to be taken when entering a royal carriage” he remarked as he followed her in.
“My apologies, your grace” she murmured, earning a hum in response.
The journey to the city passed in silence. She found herself wrinkling her nose as they entered, hit by the unfamiliar stench of sweat and something undeniably foul.
“How is my brother?” he inquired as they neared the gates of the keep.
“He's well your grace. You should be expecting a raven from him soon” she spoke and was met again with a solemn nod.
As they halted at the outer gates and were announced again she felt the familiar rush of nervousness run through her.
“Remember the step” he spoke before leaving and breaking her reverie. She found him at the base of the steps staring up at her with an intensity she tried to shrug off as she clasped his extended hand to descend.
“Thank you” she whispered before being faced with a sea of green, unable to focus on the change in surroundings so unlike home yet familiar all the same. A flutter of warmth crept into her as she stared ahead and thought “Did all Targaryens have hands that made one tingle?”
Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @barbieaemond @succnfuccubus @watercolorskyy @paprikaquinn
#house of the dragon#aemond x oc#aemond x fem!oc#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x fem!oc#aemond targaryen x original female character#aemond targaryen x original character#hotd fic#zae's fics#aemond fics#fyeahhotdocs
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reveries ~ aemond targaryen
Mirabelle Targaryen only had one friend in King's Landing and when she flew on her back, high above the clouds, her troubles always appeared smaller than they did on the ground.
So, naturally, Aemond had to ride his dragon at the same time and remind her of all of them.
[READ IT ON AO3]
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character
Word Count: 57,781 and counting
Rating: Explicit
#aemond targaryen x original character#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x original female character#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen#hotd fanfiction#less enemies to lovers and more rivals who begrudgingly respect one another#house of the dragon#my writing#reveries
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the next right thing
Chapter 3
aemond targaryen x original female character , aemond targaryen x wife!oc
summary: Aemond and Myria need each other just as much, but one of them is bound to make the first move
warnings: smut , aemond is a tease, a TEASE , fluff.
****
Myria opened her eyes, as she felt a warm beam of sunshine glimmering on her face. She stretched an arm to her right, and found the space empty, as always. She had a dim recollection of Aemond kissing her good morning, but she must’ve been asleep at the time. More often than not he started his day hours earlier than Myria, but he always made sure to kiss her before leaving the bed.
She rolled over, sighting in loneliness. It had been three moons since Max was born, and they still hadn’t spent a night together. Sure, they slept in the same bed every night, but they had yet to endeavour in an activity Myria had been particularly yearning for quite some time. She knew Aemond was just trying to be respectful of her, and she knew how lucky she was for that, most husbands weren’t that thoughtful; but she was growing relentless, and wished he did something.
Myria shook her head, deciding she would not let her day be ruined by such bothersome thoughts, then looked towards the window, and smiled. The weather was clear, the sun was shining and only a few clouds covered the sky. It was warm, and she was already feeling like her old self. No pain whatsoever, no excessive tiredness, not feeling utterly bloated anymore, and she wanted to take advantage of that and spend time playing with the boys once again.
So she hopped out of the bed, and put on a nice, rose dress that she had brought back from Dorne. It was made out of silk, and was tight on her waist, where a small knot tied the dress closed over her chest. It elegantly fell to just below her knees, and only covered her up to her shoulders, showing her bare arms. She guessed it could be seen as a slightly indecorous gown by the people in Westeros, but the day was unusually warm, and the dress made her feel like home. She was a Martell, first and foremost, which meant she thrived in the heat.
After leaving Max with a Septa, Myria strolled towards her children’s room and gently shoved the door open, smiling with fondness at the sight of the two boys sleeping. “Good morning, my sunshines!” She whispered with love, as she kissed each of them awake. Trystan started to sit up on his own, while Griffin remained in bed, snoring deeply. She bent down once again, and started tickling him, which managed to make him open his eyes in a smile. “Do you want to go with me to visit Rhaexar and Maelar?”
The boys sheepishly agreed with happiness, and jumped out of bed. Myria was fast to dress them, and then bolted across the castle’s hallways, as she pretended to chase after them. As much as they loved their little brother, the boys had missed being able to play with their mother, and she had missed doing so just as much. Myria complained sometimes about the wild souls the boys were, failing to admit both of them had certainly inherited such a trait because of her.
They reached the entrance to the castle, which also happened to be the training patio, and Myria helped the boys into a carriage, so they could all be taken into the dragonpit. She was more than happy to simply hop a horse and take them herself, but Aemond insisted on such precautions.
“Alright darlings, stay here,” she instructed them, after settling them down, “I am going to look for Yago, I’ll be back in a second.”
The few times the man wasn’t outside her door, he spent training, as she very well knew, so she figured he had to be somewhere around the patio. There was only one problem: the place was so cramped, Myria was having a hard time spotting him.
There was a big crowd near a corner, gasping in awe and cheering about something that was happening within the circle of people. Myria recalled Yago liked to get into practice fights, so she approached the multitude, hoping to find him. She gently pushed some people around, and stood behind two women, who were very openly blushing and rallying.
Myria then realised the crowd was franticing about two people duelling, and she was surprised to see her husband as one of them. Aemond was sparring against Ser Criston Cole, and quite dangerously as well. They were striking at each other with all of their strength, and she couldn’t help but feel her heart leap each time Aemond narrowly ducked one of the Commander’s attacks.
Myria knew she was supposed to look for Yago, but she couldn’t draw her eyes away from Aemond. She was aware of her husband’s impressive skills with the sword— his reputation preceded them everywhere they went, but she never knew how good indeed he was at it. She rarely saw her husband fighting, given that Aemond didn’t like to participate in tourneys and she wasn’t one to usually have incentive to go down and watch him, since she thought watching men sparring wasn’t that thrilling a diversion. But that day she stood corrected.
The way Aemond swirled the sword with his fingers, the hostile scowl that tightened his jaw, the grunts that left his lips each time he bolted towards Cole, and how easily he dodged all of his strikes, had Myria feeling a certain type of way, and her brain started to rush through a torrent of thoughts no honourable lady should have in public. She thought about his muscles, all very well known to her, flexing under his shirt; about him shoving her into bed with the same strength he pushed Cole, and him muffling his groans on her bare shoulders—
Before she could realise what she was doing, Myria found herself on the edge of the circle, watching with a much too improper gaze at her husband, if not openly ogling him.
The fight seemed to be reaching an end, since Aemond clearly had the upper hand. On a clever move, he aggressively hit Cole’s shield with his sword, making it snap in two, one of the parts landing just before Myria’s feet. With a kick, Aemond knocked Criston over, who fell to the floor with a thud, poked his neck with the tip of the sword, and smirked. Victory. People all around her cheered, the two women at her side maybe much too enthusiastically, but Myria was awfully entranced by him to notice.
“Well done, my Prince.” Cole smiled, as Aemond extended his arm to help him on his feet. That’s when the Prince turned around to search for the broken shield, and spotted her, his wife, gaping at him, eyes sparkling and cheeks faintly blushed. His eyes travelled to the hand she was pressing against her breasts, covered only by a thin, impossibly tight fabric, and heat ignited in his core, as his heart fluttered at the sight. He had to bite an arrogant smile away from his lips, proud about the fact that he could stir up such an improper reaction from her, away from the intimacy of their shared room.
“Be careful, my lady,” Aemond said out loud, pointing at the shield next to her feet, while strolling towards her. As he reached her, Aemond looked around, to make sure everyone was distracted, and drew his lips close to her ear. “I could see you drooling from six feet away, princess,” he whispered, subtly smirking at her.
“Mmm.” She dopily hummed, eyes fixed on the heartbeat on his neck, still much too entranced by her husband to understand the words coming at her. “Oh!” She gasped in embarrassment, once her brain catched up with her hearing. Myria looked down at her feet, as shame flushed her cheeks a bright, rose tinge. He was rather fond of that colour.
Aemond gently grabbed her chin, and lifted her gaze up, forcing her to meet his. “You don’t need to hide your arousal from me, dear wife.” He murmured against her ear. Myria felt the burning feeling of desire travelling down her stomach, and couldn’t help but to exhale a little whine as her husband dropped her face, and backed a step away from her, bending down to pick the broken shield.
“What is it, then?”
“I— I’m sorry?” She asked, face scrunched up in confusion.
“I assume you didn’t come here to indecently stare at your husband, or has lust simply made you bolder, dearest?” He sniggered, with a mischievous grin.
“O—oh,” she stuttered, “I was looking for Yago, so he could escort me and the boys to the dragonpit.”
“I’ll come with you.” He instructed, throwing the sword and broken shield on a table by their side. He then placed his hand on Myria’s lower back, and guided her towards the carriage.
The trip towards the dragonpit was loud, Myria thanked the Gods, as she spent most of the time struggling with keeping the boys away from jumping from one side to another, which distracted her from the butterflies her husband’s teasing had left fluttering on the depths of her core.
“Come on, boys!” She pulled them apart, as the carriage came to a halt. “Let Yago help you get down, that’s it.” Myria called, as she made sure the little boys jumped into the man’s arms safely. She was about to hop from the carriage herself, when a hand grabbed her waist and pulled her back inside. Aemond then pushed the door close, and gently shoved her against it. He placed a hand against the wall, right next to her face, and drew his face near hers, his hot breath making her tremble under his touch.
“W— what…”
“Do you want something from me, my lady?” He whispered, letting his lips brush against her cheek. “Is that why you put on that gown…” he added, trailing the edge of the dress with his fingers, around her shoulders, collarbone, cleavage… “and why you stared at me with such an insolent blush on your cheeks?”
…breasts. Myria slightly whined at his touch, at the delicacy with which his fingers rubbed against her chest, wishing he was rougher. She knew he was playing with her, but Myria wasn’t strong enough to resist. She was a pawn on a game he had already set the rules to.
Her body and soul became entirely his the moment he looked at her; her clever, witty and bold character surrendered before Aemond’s touch, like sand melts under fire. Myria fixed her gaze on his lips, with an almost famished expression on her eyes.
He placed a hand on her nape, gently pulling her towards him. “All you need to do is ask, my sweet wife.” His lips were so close, he might as well be already kissing her, and so she closed her eyes, and slightly opened her mouth, waiting for him to just take everything from her and then—
Agony.
Before she could realise what had happened, Aemond had stepped away from her, opened the carriage door, and was forcing her impossibly clumsy feet into the floor, as his steady hand rested on her lower back. Her heart kept on racing as they followed Yago and the boys towards the massive doors of the dragon pit, trying to pull herself together quickly.
She jogged towards her sons, as the sound of steps coming at them from a lower platform reached their ears, and soon enough two dragonkeepers were approaching them. Rhaexar, Trystan’s dragon, was four years of age, so he had to be brought in chains to avoid any problems, whereas Maelar was so small still, he was perfectly happy to cling on the man’s shoulder. Griffin wasn’t yet being fully trained to master him, since he was far too young still.
Maelar was the first to spot them, opening his wings and flying towards them. He landed on Myria’s arm, and started to softly screech, red scales fluttering with content.
“He missed you Mama!” Griff giggled.
“Rytsa, Maelar,” she chuckled, “I missed you too.” She gently patted his head, and then kneeled down to place the dragon in Griff’s arms.
While the two of them were playing with the small, harmless dragon, Aemond took Trystan by his hand and guided him towards Rhaexar. He motioned to the dragonkeeper to step away, since he wished to be the one to teach his son how to bond with his dragon.
“Alright, byka raqiros,” he sighed, bending down so he could match the toddler’s height, and very gently held his chin with his hand “as always, don’t make sudden or harsh moves, and don’t try to approach him unless you know he is in the mood for that.”
“Yes, papa.” Trystan nodded, squeezing his arm, and then started walking towards the dragon, nervous of letting his dad’s hand go, but Aemond wasn’t worried. Rhaexar was still a pretty small dragon, and he was one of the gentlest he had ever encountered. He had never even roared at the boy, much less tried something dangerous. He could be a bit of a rough player, sure, but he was simply matching Trystan’s character.
“Come on, ask him to serve you.” Aemond whispered, following close the steps of the boy. Although the dragon still kept a friendly demeanour, he was thrilled about seeing his soon to be rider, and couldn’t help but to move around, happily pumping his pale blue scales up, golden eyes shimmering with excitement.
“Dohaeragon, Rhaexar.” His little voice commanded. The dragon stood still in his place, with a pleasant semblance.
“Sȳrī,” Aemond smiled, “now go on, get closer.”
The toddler confidently closed the gap between him and the dragon, and placed a small hand on its back. Rhaexar amiably grumbled at the gesture, and started gurgling nonsense.
“Sȳz valītsos, Rhaexar, sȳz valītsos,” Trystan giggled, confidently petting the dragon. With a chuckle, Aemond took a step forward, and stroked the dragon’s neck.
“Papa,” the boy said, lifting his gaze, “can I say it?”
“Say what, ñuha zaldrītsos?” He asked, with a fond, loving expression on his face.
“You know what.” The toddler mischievously grinned.
Aemond looked around, to ensure his wife and son were far enough, and returned his gaze to the boy. “Go ahead.”
“Dracarys, Rhaexar!” Trystan instructed.
The dragon stared at the boy, and Aemond could swear he saw the toddler’s grin reflected on its face. Rhaexar lifted his neck, loudly screeched, and then spat the biggest flare his young body allowed him to.
Trystan returned to his father's side, jumping from excitement, and clutched on his leg, while laughing. Aemond instinctively lowered his hand and rubbed the toddler’s back, with a proud smile on his lips. Trystan might match his father in looks, but his laughter was all Myria’s. The wide smile, the way his eyes turned into half moons, the hiccups, and how effective it was in spreading joy for everyone else around. Aemond adored seeing his wife reflected on his children.
“Well done, ñuha valītsos.” He chuckled, sharing his laughter. “Soon enough you’ll be riding him, Trystan.”
“And will we go on rides together with Vaghar?” The boy asked, eyes sparkling with hope.
“Everyday,” Aemond nodded, “you’ll see.”
The whole show catched Myria and Griffin’s attention, and they started walking towards them. Excited, Griffin let go of Myria’s hand, and bolted towards Rhaexar, but Aemond catched him in his arms because he could reach him.
“Never run towards a dragon that is not yours, Griffin.” He scolded him, with a soothing voice. Not even if the situation demanded it was he able to yell at his children. “It could hurt you.”
“Yes, papa.”
Myria reached their side, and ruffled Trystan’s hair. “Mama, did you see that?!” He asked, bouncing with happiness, and a sweet, so heart—wrenchingly adorable smile on his lips.
“It was amazing, sweetheart!” She cheered, bending down so she could hug the boy. She caught his face with her hands and left, one, two, three kisses on his cheek.
“Mama, why do you always kiss us so much?” The boy complained, with a little giggle nonetheless.
“Because I just love you both so, so much!”
“How much?” Trystan teased her.
“Like this much!,” Myria took the toddler by the armpits and threw him into the air.
Trys giggled in delight as his mother caught him back, and hugged her head with his little arms. He suddenly turned his smile into a scowl, and stared at her with seriousness.
“Can we bring Max next time?” He asked.
“He’s far too young to be here, sweety.” She explained. “Maybe when he is older.”
“But his egg will hatch in no time, I know it!”
“We’ll see about that.” She smiled. She lifted her gaze towards Aemond, and catched him staring at her, lovingly. He wasn’t one to show affection like that so openly, so Myria guessed he must’ve been too distracted indeed. And then her mind, already wired to participate in Aemond’s game, realised his distraction provided her with a chance at coming back at him.
Myria noticed Trystan had dropped one of Rhaexar’s chains, and slowly bent down more to grab it, knowing the dress would hug her in all the right places. She placed the chain on Trystan’s hand, and instructed the boys to guide their dragon towards the dragonkeepers.
Myria turned around, and looked at Aemond with a smirk on her lips. Her husband simply stared at her, lips drawing into a fine line, “Hm,” and then raised his voice. “Boys!” He yelled. “Go with Yago, he’ll take you back to the castle.” He then placed a hand on Myria’s back, and softly pushed her towards the exit. “Your mother seems to be the one in need of a few lessons on how to behave in front of a dragon.” He added, with a whisper.
Myria couldn’t help but giggle, as she placed a hand over her mouth, heart fluttering like a teenager’s who is about to flee away with the boy she likes to give him a kiss. Little did she know Aemond had much more than a kiss in mind.
“Where are we going?” She laughed, as Aemond attentively guided her through a rough path in the mountain.
“You’ll see.” He replied, tightening his grip on her abdomen, making sure she wouldn’t do as much as tripping under his hold.
A few minutes later, they were reaching a cliff near Rhaenys’ Hill, where Vaghar liked to nest, since she was much too big for the dragonpit. A gasp escaped her lips as they approached her, feet coming to a halt, and Aemond turned around with a cocky smile on his face.
“Are you scared?”
“I—It’s just been so long since I last went for a ride with you.”
“She won’t hurt you.” He reassured her, holding her hand. “Now come on, it’ll be fine.”
Vaghar lifted her head in curiosity as they got close to her, but there were no aggressive gestures in her whatsoever.
“Gīda, Vaghar.” Aemond called, placing a hand close to the dragon’s mouth. He then turned towards Myria, who had remained a few, safe steps away, and extended a hand towards her.
Myria took a hold of it, and cautiously walked towards the dragon. The beast let out a timid growl as she laid a hand on her.
“Told you,” Aemond grinned, “she still likes you.”
“Nyke hae ao tolī, Vaghar.” She smiled, confidently stroking the dragon’s scales. No matter how many times she saw the beast, Myria would never grow past the feeling of utter astonishment. Vaghar was magnificent.
Aemond let them bond for a bit, before grabbing Myria’s waist to help her mount her. She climbed her with a strong hold, with Aemond following closely from behind, resting a hand on her back just in case. They reached the top, and he positioned himself behind Myria, and helped her get settled. He grabbed her hips, and pulled her as close to him as their bodies allowed them to, pressing her back against his chest. He let his fingers linger around her body for much more time than he needed to, which made Myria’s cheeks flush in arousal, a gesture that thankfully went unnoticed by him.
Aemond rested his chin on her shoulders, and brought his lips to her ear. “You say it.” He whispered, lusciously licking his lips.
Myria slightly tilted her head towards him, confused. She caught a glance of his gaze, eye laced with lust, before he stretched his arm to grab her chin, forcing her to face forward. “Hm. As you heard.”
Myria cleared her throat, and spoke with a small voice. “S—sōvegon, Vaghar.” But the dragon didn’t move.
“Louder, ñuha ābrazȳrys.” He whispered, as his hot breath on her nape sent a rill of heat between her thighs. “I want to hear you screaming.”
“Sōvegon, Vaghar!” She commanded, this time with strength on her cords. The dragon shifted below them, like an island coming out of the sea, and after a few large leaps, she jumped into the void, as her gigantic wings stretched across the sky. With a holt, Vaghar faced above, and started flying into the clouds.
Myria was sure she would’ve fallen straight into the ocean, if it weren’t for Aemond’s strong grip around her chest. She closed her eyes in fear, as Vaghar roared towards the sun. Once the initial shock passed, Myria dared to open her eyes, and turned around to find Aemond chuckling against her shoulder. By the Gods, he just loved riding on Vaghar with her.
She joined him in his laughter, as the wind and droplets of water against her face reminded her once again how much she enjoyed flying, few things in the world could compare to the feeling of freedom she found up there. Myria sighed in content as Vaghar finally stretched across the clouds, and lowered her pace, as she started hovering under the sun. She fixed her gaze nowhere in particular, enjoying the feeling of nothingness around her. No noises, no heaviness, no sights beyond the endless sky, just her husband behind her.
Myria shifted on her place, to get closer to him, and had to swallow down a moan when she felt his very obvious arousal against her ass. She unclenched one of her hands from the dragon’s mount, and placed it on Aemond’s leg. She then lifted her other arm, and caressed Aemond’s cheek with her fingers. She shifted her face so she would leave a peck on his lips, but that wasn’t enough for him. No. Dragonriding always gave him an appetite.
He hungrily took on her lips, biting on them, occasionally kissing her neck as well. On a bold move, he unclasped the one hand he was using to hold the reins, to rub against her bare arms. His touch went higher, and then lower, as he snuck a hand through the opening on her chest, and softly started trailing her collarbone, down to her breasts.
“Aemond…” she whined, closing her eyes at his touch, and placed her hand above her dress, just on top of Aemond’s, forcing him to tighten his grasp on her body.
“What is it?” he implored, letting go of her mouth, leaving wet kisses all around her nape and shoulders, “Show me what you want, my love.”
Myria snatched his hand from her chest, and guided below the fabric of her dress, towards her thighs, against the wetness in between. That was all Aemond needed to decide they should cut their flight short.
• • •
Aemond kicked the door to their shared room open, as he carried Myria in his arms. He dropped her gently on the bed, and leaned above her. He greedily kissed on her neck, leaving red marks all around it, until he found her lips again. Her smell was intoxicating for him, and she was warm, so damn warm. Myria brought her hands to the back of his head and hastily removed his eyepatch, throwing it into oblivion.
“There,” she nodded, out of breath. Aemond muffled a roar with her lips, pressing down on them, feeling as though he simply couldn’t have enough of her.
Invigorated by her gesture, Aemond grabbed one of her legs and started raising until it harshly pressed against his back, urging her to pull him closer. He didn’t remove his hand from it, instead, he started trailing it down her leg back to the hem of her dress.
With one hand, he tore the frail fabric of her dress, as she worked on removing his shirt. She whined in sheer deprivation as his hand finally reached her cunt, and she dug her nails into the skin on his back. His muscles tightened at her touch, as the sweet, electrifying pain brought a smirk to his lips.
“Do you want me, my sweet wife?” He grinned, as a malicious smile claimed his lips.
“Mmm.” She whimpered, biting down on her swollen, flushed lips.
“How much so?” He teased her.
“Please, Aemond…” She whined. In any other time, he would’ve enjoyed teasing her more, tormenting her until she pleaded, praying to the Gods for him, but that would’ve tormented him just the same.
To say that he had been yearning for this moment would be an understatement. He had been a gentleman, thoughtful of his wife and what her body went through for their child, but he would’ve been lying if he said he hadn’t thought about having her for moons now.
“As you wish.” He kissed her, eager to feel her moans on his lips, as he introduced two fingers between her tight, wet walls.
“Oh, Gods…” Myria cried.
“Not a God,” he smirked, “just your adoring husband.”
As always, Aemond made sure his wife’s pleasure was attended to, before he even started to think about his. After a loud sob left her lips as she reached her orgasm, he started to undo his belt, while taking her lips with his once more.
Myria noticed her husband undressing, and hummed in pleasure as she caught a glimpse of the enlarged shape under his clothes. She stretched her hands to help him get rid of his pants, and he couldn't help but to groan, as his jaw clenched in desire.
He hastily started to tear the rest of her dress, and at first she was helping him do so, until she changed her mind.
“Wait, Aemond,” she said out of breath, “you shouldn’t…”
“What is it?”
“I—I just don’t…”
“Are you in pain?” He asked, concerned, resting both his hands on the mattress, as he stared deeply into her.
“No, no, not at all it’s just…” she lowered her gaze in embarrassment, “my body has changed since the baby, Aemond. I’ve got… scars around my belly…”
Aemond lowered himself to leave a sweet kiss on her lips, and delicately kept on opening her dress, as a shameful blush covered her cheeks. He threw the dress away, and stared into her eyes with a loving expression, before reaching down to kiss the marks on her stomach.
“You always tell me I should wear my scar with pride,” he hummed, “you should do the same. They’re marks of courage, marks that you’ve carried my dragons. I cherish them with awe, Myr.”
She sighed in adoration as he bent to kiss her lips, low enough that she felt his hard cock press against her thigh. She whined at the feeling, and pushed his hips even closer to her.
“Please, Aemond…” Myria whined, and her voice was like honey to his ears. So warm and sweet, he had to bite down on his lips to avoid a loud groan from escaping them.
“What do you want, my love?” He cocked his head, voice raspy.
“You,” she whined, as her lips turned into a pleading pout, “I need you, Aemond, now.”
He simply groaned in response, too aroused to mumble any words but a grunt. Aemond grinned at her, and gently opened her legs, so he could slide into her.
The moan that left her lips as he entered her, sent shivers of embarrassment to her face, and a shameful, burgundy blush covered her cheeks, as she was sure no honourable lady should ever make such a sound. Myria opened her eyes to stare at him, foolishly expecting to find a grim on his face. Quite the contrary. If only, her obvious, almost irrational yearning for him had but managed to make him even more aroused, were that even possible.
“Had I known you were this needy for me…” He grinned at her, as another loud sob escaped her lips. “Your unsatisfaction falls on me like as veil of shame, my lady. Don’t ever let me leave you this unattended.”
Myria pressed her leg even harder against his back, forcing his hips closer to her, which managed to snatch that oh so provoking smirk away from his lips, his usually vexed expression softening in utter bliss, as he muffled a moan against her neck.
“D— did you miss me?” She somehow managed to ask, deciding it was her turn to taunt him.
“I couldn’t possibly find the words to express how much.” He hummed, letting a groan escape his lips each time he thrusted into her.
“Then show me.”
Aemond's pace came to a halt, and a cry escaped her lips. Gods, she shouldn’t have gotten so cocky.
“My sweet wife…” he teased her, out of breath, pushing himself inside her in an agonisingly slow motion, “I couldn’t possibly show you how much so and remain a gentleman by the end of it.”
“T— thank the Gods I didn’t marry a gentleman, then” she grinned with difficulty.
Aemond tilted his head, overcome with devotion at the sight of his wife’s mien. Her cheeks, covered in the sweetest, most shameful blush; her brown eyes, wrinkled in pleading under her frowned eyebrows; lips, pressed in an insolent pout.
Had Aemond truly been the root of such a display of imploring, then by all means declare the game over, for she was the winner. He was forever hers.
• • •
How long he had spent claiming her dignity, Myria couldn’t possibly tell. The only thing clear on her mind, as she felt her husband’s heartbeat against her lips, was how much indeed she loved him.
She loved what a great father he was, despite how neglected he had been by his own as a child; she loved his sapphire eye and the butterflies such sight brought to her gut every time she got a glimpse of it; she loved how mean and taunting he was towards everyone except for her; she loved how sharp his features were, and how soft they became when he looked at her; she loved how much he couldn’t say he loved her, so he always made sure to express such feeling with actions. She so deeply loved him, she felt as if she could burst out of it. If feeling so flamingly were a sin, then she prayed to the Gods they took mercy on her soul.
And so Myria turned around, and sat on his lap, pressing her breasts against his bare chest, her lips against his own.
“I love you,” she whispered, in a serious voice, staring deep into his eye, “I love you so much, thinking about what might have happened if your father hadn’t suggested we get married always manages to bring me to tears. I can’t live without you, Aemond.”
Aemond couldn’t but stare back at her, knowing his gaze matched his wife’s, loving and full of adoration. He felt as though his body was being torn open. His whole life he had succeeded in keeping such a thing locked, key thrown into the ocean, to where no soul could reach. But Myria had somehow managed to make her way through it; and he felt entirely defenceless to her. Every smile, every laughter, every touch, every word that came from her pierced through his chest, leaving his heart in the open, all for her to take if she desired so.
She didn’t want a world without him, but the inverse cut his ability to breathe. He couldn’t live without her.
“We will always burn together.” He promised her, kissing her knuckles. “Avy jorrāelan, my Myr.”
That wasn’t the first time Myria had heard him dedicate her such words in Valyrian, but that was the first time she could tell, without a single doubt, what they meant. She grabbed his head with both her hands, and left a kiss on his lips, sealing their promise.
****
a/n: okay so smut is not my fort at all so i hope this wasn't too bad ahah. i didn't really do a proof read so it might get slightly edited within some days. as always, thank you so much for reading!
@cherryaemond
#aemond targaryen#aemond smut#aemond imagine#aemond targaryen x original female character#aemond targaryen x wife!#aemond x original female character#house of the dragon#aemond has a family au#aemond fanfiction#aemond headcanons#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen x wife!oc#aemond fic#aemond fluff#dad!aemond#aemond hotd#aemond x oc#aemond targaryen x original character#father!aemond#husband!aemond#ser criston cole#ewan mitchell
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