#aemond x original character
Text
The Fall from the Heavens (24)
[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]
[ warnings: kissing, angst, anxiety, a lot of half-truths ]
[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]
The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.
Characters & Series Moodboard
Lady Strong Moodboard
Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard
Author note: For the purposes of this story, Lord Rodrik Arryn had a son and an heir, who in turn has a son of his own, to whom our Lady Strong was betrothed.
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Next chapters: Masterlist
_____
After Alys' words and her warning, she ran out of the fortress feeling her heart pounding fast, a cold sweat on the back of her neck − it occurred to her that every servant she passed could be someone who would end her and her husband's lives.
Do not return here.
Look after yourself.
Trust no one.
As she left the walls of Harrenhal she noticed Larys Strong standing at a safe distance from her dragoness, propping himself up on his staff, a smile on his face that was sure meant to seem heartfelt and comforting.
"My Lady. I wanted to say a proper farewell to you and your husband." He said in a calm, gentle voice, which, however, only made her more uncomfortable. She looked over her shoulder as she heard someone's footsteps and was relieved to see the figure of her husband walking towards her through the gates of the stronghold.
For a moment she felt wonderfully relieved to see him, but then she noticed the expression on his face, how pale he was, his gaze blank, his lips tightened, his gaze directed towards the Lord of Harrenhal.
"− Aemond − I must −" She muttered, grabbing his arm, wanting to speak to him before they flew away, wanting to pass on to him what she had heard from Alys.
"− not now − we are leaving immediately − my Lord −" He said in a cold, matter-of-fact tone that sent shivers through her.
She knew something had happened, something that frightened and angered him, but she didn't know for what reason − his silhouette did not even stop at her words, his eyes did not even bestow a single glance on her.
He was afraid.
Had Alys warned him too?
Was that why he wanted to leave Harrenhal as soon as possible?
Somehow comforted by this thought, she nodded in front of Larys Strong, heading immediately towards Larax, who was watching them vigilantly from afar, anxious and tense. She climbed up onto her saddle and, not wanting to stay there a moment longer, had her head high into the sky.
It wasn't until the wind blew her hair tied up in a braid and she sunk between the clouds that she felt relieved, the grim silhouette of the walls and fortress of Harrenhal fading away until it finally disappeared completely into the distance over her shoulder.
She swallowed hard as she caught sight of the mighty figure of Vhagar soaring upwards in the distance, higher and higher, approaching them like a giant, dark, flying mountain.
As she flew over them Larax was much calmer than the first time, having been used to her scent and presence after travelling for hours the day before.
Even though she was about to see her mother for the first time in months, even though she was flying towards hope she felt terrified, her throat squeezed in anxiety, for some reason a cold sweat ran down the back of her neck.
I saw in my dream a river of blood taking the shape of a dragon's head wearing a crown.
I saw red flooding everything around me.
She pressed her lips together, thinking of Helaena saying something similar to her then, after she wanted to take her own life.
From the mingled blood will emerge a dragon’s crown.
She wasn't sure what this words might have meant.
Who was this prophecy referring to? Was it about someone's birth, or perhaps someone's death? Her marriage to her uncle? Was something about to happen that would change everything?
It terrified her that so much depended on whether she could convince her mother that war might be avoided.
Their journey to the Eyrie was far shorter and more pleasant than the one from King's Landing to Harrenhal, the sun shining high above their heads. She, unlike her husband, who had to fly high over the peaks, could dash on Larax between the crevices of the mountains.
When she finally caught sight of her grandmother's ancestral stronghold in the distance she felt heat filling her chest, a premonition that what they were about to do would change everything.
She landed at the bottom of the valley among the fields, knowing that they both had a way to walk to the top anyway. Vhagar took a moment to take her place right next to Larax, her large paws hitting the ground, causing dust and ashes to rise all around them.
She moved towards her husband as soon as she saw him slip down the ropes from her back to the ground, ordering loudly for Vhagar to stay calmly in place.
"− uncle −"
"− we'll tell them you're expecting my child −" He said suddenly, looking at her at last, his gaze dark, grim, sharp, weary. She blinked quickly, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad, and shook her head in disbelief at what he was suggesting.
"− what? − Aemond, we can't lie, not now −" She muttered, moving behind him as soon as he began to walk ahead, towards the trail that led them up the hill to the fortress itself.
He avoided her gaze, for some reason he couldn't look her in the face.
Why?
"− they must agree to our terms − I will not discuss my decisions with you −" He said in a tone from which she felt rage and discomfort − she stepped in front of him and smacked his chest with her palms to stop him. He actually stood in a half-step, looking at her with furrowed brows, furious, his jaw clenched.
"− you will − you don't know them as well as you do − Daemon can sense the lie, he will see it in your eyes − do you think that once they understand that you are manipulating them they will agree to whatever conditions you set for them? −" She asked with anger and disbelief that he dared to suggest that they would lie to her family and destroy everything they had managed to build up to that point.
What was happening to him?
She saw that he swallowed hard at her words, as if something in what she had said had made him snap, his face even paler than when they had flown away from Harrenhal.
"− that fucking witch − what did she say to you? −" He muttered wearily, as if he could barely get anything out of himself. She swallowed loudly, not knowing what she should answer him.
What if her prediction frightened him even more?
What if it makes him change his mind at the last moment, make him say they were returning to King's Landing immediately?
She thought, horrified, that she could reveal to him only part of the truth.
"− that we should not return to Harrenhal − that I should watch out for myself and trust no one −" She mumbled, looking at him uncertainly; she saw that something had changed in his expression, his lips had pressed together in a thin line, his eyes had glazed over.
Wanting to soften her words and the tension that reigned between them she walked over to him and touched his upper arms, stroking them reassuringly with her palms, looking straight into his empty, dark eye.
That look frightened her, but she knew, she felt, that he needed her now − something in him was screaming that he was dying inside, but she didn't understand what was the cause of it.
"− husband, what happened? − if you have doubts, let's discuss everything − but please don't close yourself in the fortress of your mind −" She mumbled pleadingly, feeling for some reason tears under her eyelids, some strange conviction that he was distancing himself from her, when just at night his lips, his hands caressed her so wonderfully, so tenderly.
He looked at her as if hesitating, his lower lip trembling slightly, his nostrils twitching in uneven, accelerated breathing. His gaze softened as she took his face in her hands, his eyelids closed as her thumbs began to stroke his wind-cold cheeks.
"− uncle − look at me − I am your ally − I always have been −"
"You're your parents' child too. Just like me. What will you do when one of them demands the other's head?" He asked lowly and his eye opened; she saw something unsettling in his gaze, some glint that told her he was distrustful again, that he was hesitant again.
Why?
How could he doubt her after all this time?
"− I will never agree to this − despite what your grandfather and your mother did to me, I will not agree for them to be harmed if you assure me to do the same − you know that I am not driven by revenge − and you? − you are the one who constantly doubts me, however, ever since I appeared in King's Landing you have been the one to let me down − yet I remain faithful to you − I chose you, uncle, when will you understand it? − when will you understand that there is no other way for me but by your side even if I come to burn? −"
She asked in a trembling, breaking voice, angry and disappointed that although she had proved to him so many times the sincerity of her feelings, he still demanded more from her.
But what had he given her in return?
How had he proved that she could trust him?
Their nuptials had been an expression of his love and desire, but she had never heard from his lips what he himself had planned and whether he stood by the words of the letter he had written to her before he flew away to Storm's End.
She saw that his eyebrows arched in pain, his eyes turned red and glassy, his body tensed all over as if he was trying to fight what he felt because of her.
He looked at her as if some part of him was wishing he could see the shadow of a lie in her eyes, his face expressing the enormity of some kind of weariness and helplessness from which she felt her heart squeeze.
She drew in a loud breath as his large hand rose to the height of her face, as his fingers took the unruly strands of her hair from her face, his thumb running over her cheek down the side of her jaw.
"Can I kiss you?" She asked in a whisper, exactly as she had then, that day − she knew he felt something intense at her words, she could see it in the way he took in a breath, in his gaze that grew soft and hot, in his lips that parted in some subconscious reflex, betraying his desire.
Their lips clung to each other as soon as he leaned in, his hum of satisfaction echoing in her throat as she threw her hands around his neck, his arms embracing her waist. She pulled away from him with a quiet, soft click, combing her fingers through his soft, long hair, feeling her lower abdomen squeeze as the words he'd also said that day burst involuntarily from his lips.
"One more time."
This time her kiss was more greedy and wet, her lips pressed into his, parted invitingly, the tips of their tongues licking each other lazily making them both breathless. She felt something warm against her cheek and only after a moment, again and again sinking into the softness of his lips did she realise it was his tears.
He was crying.
"I love you." He whispered between one kiss and the next, stroking her hair and back with his wide, rough hands. "I've always loved you."
Something in the way he said it, in his trembling, broken voice, in the depth with which those words left her throat, and the fact that he had referred to her confession just after their first nuptials made her let herself weep quietly as well.
She didn't believe she would ever hear it from his lips and she had come to terms with it.
That was just the way he was.
So how scared must he have been, what was happening in the depths of his heart that such a confession had left his mouth?
"− I feel that some weight has crushed you, my beloved − it covers you like a heavy black cloak − but I am by your side − I am with you − trust me − I know how to speak with them, I know them −" She mumbled pleadingly, holding his face in her hands. She heard something between a moan and a sigh leave his throat, his forehead pressed against hers.
He gave in.
"− will you be by my side even when all is lost? − even if there is nothing left but darkness? −" He whispered in a helpless, low, trembling voice, and she felt his question and the way he said it deep in her heart, which clenched all over. Even so, she smiled, her fingertips running over his skin.
"− yes − don't go the path I could not follow − let me stay by your side − if I am to leave this world, I want to die in your arms −" She said softly, warmly, her words like a sigh. She felt his fingers tighten on the material of her leather coat, his hot, uneven breath framing her face.
"− so be it − fall with me −" He breathed out before his lips clung to hers in a deep, hot, sticky kiss filled with so many feelings that she felt her voice get stuck in her throat.
He had made a decision, whatever it might be, and her heart hoped that he had decided to trust her and follow her.
Wherever she would lead him.
They moved ahead, heading towards the fortress they could see in the distance − she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he threw her a surprised look when he felt her small hand slip into his, tightening on his fingers.
He pressed his lips together as he looked at her, squeezing her fingers in his before he let her go, not wanting any guard to see it.
They walked the path to the top of the mountain side by side in silence, escorted by the eyes of the guards standing over their heads. Only when they reached the fortress gate itself did one of them, presumably their commander, address them.
"Who comes here and with what matter?"
"Prince Aemond and his wife are coming to meet Prince Daemon and Princess Rheanyra." Her husband replied coldly; it did not escape her or the man standing on the walls above them that he had not called her Queen.
Only when she looked into the distance did she see the silhouettes of two dragons, blood red and gold, shimmering in the sunlight.
They had arrived.
Her mother and her stepfather were indeed ready to listen to them.
After a while, the gates of the stronghold opened before them, and they were led inside; she had only been in the Eyrie once before, in the company of her mother, and even then the place had made a great impression on her.
Unlike the Red Keep, the Eyrie was a stronghold built of mountain stones, making the fortress inside seem much cooler and more spacious, the windows in the walls much smaller, created for defensive purposes so that archers could not take them as their target.
The Eyrie was a defensive stronghold almost impossible to conquer even with dragons − its lords could defend themselves in it for months, hiding from the flames deep in the underground of the mountain with larders filled with supplies.
She was snapped out of her reverie by the figure of a man she recognised with difficulty, and at the sight of whom her husband stopped, furious, refusing to take any further step towards him.
The grandson of Lord Rodrik Arryn, the father of her grandmother, Aemma, Ronnel Arryn, heir of the Eyrie appeared before them in an ornate blue tunic reaching his knees, despite the smile on his lips, a coldness shone from his eyes.
She thought with pain that she barely remembered him as a child. He was weepy and angry whenever he lost when they played, so she and her brothers had to let him win once in a while to calm him down.
As then, he had light, curly hair, although as a child he had been slightly plump now he had grown, clearly choosing an attire that best emphasised his muscles.
Her would-be betrothed.
She saw the way her cousin looked at her uncle, the corner of his mouth lifting in a mocking smirk when he finally glanced at his black eye patch.
"My Prince. My dear cousin. My aunt and her husband are already waiting for you." He said in a soft, low tone, pointing with his hand in the direction they were supposed to go. She nodded, smiling warmly, feeling the enormity of the awkwardness of this meeting – she heard her husband move behind her, tense, not taking his eyes off him.
Ronnel led them to one of the chambers, which was apparently used for council. When he opened the door the first thing that caught her eye was a huge circular table, behind which stretched an entrance to the balcony, the entire room shaped like an ellipse.
An involuntary sigh left her lips when she saw her mother, Rhaenyra rose from her seat, looking at her and only her, her father's crown of pure gold on her head.
"My child." Mumbled her mother, her Queen, walking towards her, and she immediately ran to meet her, falling into her arms. She tightened her fingers on her back, feeling her familiar, wonderful scent, the smell of home and safety, of everything that was so close to her, and that she had lost and thought she would never regain again.
Her mother let go of her and took her hands in hers, uncovering her wrists, her thumbs began to stroke and trail over her scars, evidence of what she was trying to do.
"My only daughter." She muttered with regret and pain as she looked at the pale lines on her skin, clearly imagining what she must have felt when she undertook this desperate act.
"I'm well, mother. My Queen." She muttered and bowed to her, reminding herself of who she was, stiffly not bowing to Aegon or using the titles he believed were due to him as King.
However, he never punished her for this.
She remembered then with a rapidly pounding heart about her husband and turned over her shoulder – her uncle and father looked at each other from afar, standing on either side of the room, Daemon grinning in a way that was disturbing to say the least.
He was mocking him, wanting to provoke him, she knew that.
"I would like to express my gratitude to you for being willing to listen to us. I know the suffering and humiliation all this has caused you. I pray every night that the gods will welcome my prematurely deceased sister into the heavens." She said in a voice trembling with emotion, her mother swallowed hard, lifting her chin high, wanting to maintain her dignity and not lose her temper. She nodded, showing her that she accepted her condolences and the apology in her heart.
"Let's sit down." She said calmly and took her seat at the table first, she sat on the other side, however neither Daemon nor her uncle moved from their places.
They both had their daggers and swords at their belts, ready for whatever the conversation might bring.
Her mother grunted loudly, trying to remain solemn and calm, glancing at her half-brother then at her. She placed her hands in front of her on the table top, in an involuntary reflex playing with the ring on her middle finger that she had inherited from her mother.
"My husband has conveyed to me that my brother-usurper wants to pact over the succession of the throne he himself has unlawfully taken. I must admit that this is a quite ridiculous situation." She confessed in a trembling voice filled with grief, fatigue and the humiliation she had carried on her shoulders since that ill-fated supper.
She glanced over her shoulder at her uncle-husband, who was looking at her expectantly. She swallowed loudly at the thought of him not even uttering a word.
He was letting her speak.
He had decided to trust her.
She turned back to her mother and drew in a loud breath, gathering her courage.
"My uncle, Prince Aegon, had no choice. His mother is deeply convinced that her husband, my grandfather, and our King, revealed his final will to her before he died. She mentioned to my husband about the Prince who was promised, about Aegon's dream. I think she misunderstood him, mother, I…" She fell silent as she saw her Queen turn to Daemon, clearly shocked by something she had heard, her father looking at her with his lips clenched.
They knew something.
"Mother?" She muttered uncertainly. Rheanyra gave her a quick, uncertain look, her chest rising and falling in accelerated, heavy breathing.
"Aegon the Conqueror's Dream. A Song of Ice and Fire. This is the prophecy my father spoke to me about. Whatever Alicent heard, it did not apply to her firstborn son." She said with certainty and thrill, as if something had suddenly become obvious to her.
"You mean to say that our father only conveyed the contents of this prophecy to you, but you don't believe my mother that he could have passed on to her that he changed his mind regarding the succession?" She heard her husband's angry, frustrated voice behind her. She turned to him, looking at him pleadingly, but his black gaze was fixed on his sister.
Rhaenyra drew in a breath and twisted restlessly in her seat, Daemon standing at her side shifted from foot to foot, frowning an eyebrow at the sound of his tone.
"Calm down, nephew. You are speaking to the Queen."
"She is not my Queen." Her uncle hissed, looking at Daemon with a look as if completely overwhelmed by madness, her heart starting to pound like mad as her father's hand went to the hilt of his Dark Sister.
"That's enough. We have met here because Aegon realises, as you do Mother, that his and your children's rights to the throne will be challenged, and the war will not end with your death." She said quickly, her mother throwing her an anxious, chastising look, as if she were looking at a small child.
"Are you undermining Jace, my firstborn son's right to the throne?" She asked in an embittered, trembling voice. She swallowed hard, feeling she had to do it.
She had to force them to agree.
"He's a bastard, mother. Like me, Luke and Joffrey, he cannot inherit the throne. Will you cut off my tongue for those words? Will you deprive me of my head, father?" She asked drily, looking at her mother and then the father – their faces expressed shock and horror that she dared to say it out loud, her husband stirred behind her back, anxious.
"We just lie and lie and lie until in the end we ourselves don't know where the truth is, but it is there somewhere, always, and sooner or later none of us will be able to deny it even if we beheaded all the men in the Seven Kingdoms."
"How dare you say such a thing? Your father, Laenor Velaryon acknowledged you and your brothers as his heirs. He gave you his name, recognised you as his child in the eyes of the Kingdom." Her mother muttered with a voice full of disappointment, anger and regret from which her heart squeezed.
"But the whole Kingdom knows, mother. Even if Jace were to sit on the throne after your death, his lineage will not be forgotten. Are you prepared to die knowing that neither he nor his children will ever be safe? That, like my uncle's coronation, his coronation would also be challenged by lords across the Kingdom?"
She asked, tired and terrified at the turn this conversation had taken, the things that were leaving her lungs, but she realised at last that everything she had said was true.
"I know what humiliation you experienced, mother, and how much suffering you endured. Believe me that I did too. I, too, do not believe my grandfather would change his mind on his deathbed. I did not and do not recognise Aegon as King, nor have I ever called him that or given him the honour he deserves.
However, if we do not find an agreement, war will break out not only in the Realm, but in our family. This is what King Viserys wanted to prevent at the last supper before his death. Mother, after all, you are siblings. Your brother, though a traitor, extends his hand, he is ready to relinquish the crown he stole from you."
Rhaenyra looked at her with her lips clenched, pale, tears of pain, grief and despair in her eyes, for here was her own daughter trying to say to her that she should give up her inheritance, something she was entitled to by all rights, something she had been preparing for all her life.
She glanced over her shoulder at Daemon, who was looking at her impassively, frustrated – she knew that gaze and she knew he was furious, but he did not speak, making it clear to her that the final decision was hers alone.
This was her crown.
Her throne.
And he, as always, stood faithfully by her side.
Her mother swallowed hard, turning towards her, fiddling with the fingers of her hands, clearly nervous.
"I can consider the terms my husband has conveyed to me, but I also have my conditions. I will agree that it is your children who will inherit the Iron Throne, and you will be named as ruler-regents only if there are two kings, and you will be one of them.
You and your husband will share the power of the Kingdom equally and neither of you will sit on the throne or wear the crown. Aegon the Conqueror's crown and my father's crown will be kept in the treasury.
In addition, my husband and I will sit on the Small Council, and deprived of their seats will be your grandfather and Alicent. In addition, Otto Hightower will be stripped of all other functions and privileges and will reside under our oversight in King's Landing.
Jace will inherit Dragonstone as my first-born son. If no male heir is born to you, the official heirs will be the children from my and my uncle's marriage, pureblood Targaryens."
She looked at her mother in disbelief feeling her heart pounding like mad, a cold sweat running down her back.
I will agree that it is your children who will inherit the Iron Throne, and you will be named as ruler-regents only if there are two kings, and you will be one of them.
She wanted her to be not her husband's queen, but another independent ruler at his side.
In some subconscious, involuntary reflex, she turned over her shoulder to look at her husband's face – his healthy eye was open wide in shock, his figure all tense. She saw him swallow hard, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, and then he nodded uncertainly and slowly.
He agreed.
She looked again at her mother, who was looking at her brother with her lips tightened – a quiet sigh of relief left her lips when she saw her Queen also nod.
"Pass on my words to my brother. Let him know that this is not just about my pride, but about the welfare of the Kingdom and our family. That I respect my father's will and hope that he will do the same."
She said in a breaking voice, from which she felt a squeeze in her heart, a grief at the thought that her mother, her Queen, for her and her family's sake, had to give up what was rightfully hers, what she had dreamed of all her life.
In her eyes, it testified to her greatness, to her maturity, to her loyalty to the affairs of the Realm.
She would make a fine Queen, she thought with regret.
Her mother grunted loudly, trying to calm herself, and straightened up in her seat.
"You are surely exhausted. My cousin has prepared chambers for you where you can rest to set off on your return journey as we will tomorrow morning. Let us have supper together. I have been separated from my only daughter for too long." She said matter-of-factly, glancing at her brother.
She wanted to respond already, knowing full well that her uncle had no intention of remaining in this place for a moment longer, however, he was the first to speak, startling her.
"No." He said coolly. "We'll spend the night in Dragonstone."
#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond x oc#aemond#aemond one eye#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#aemond smut#aemond angst#aemond hotd#aemond x female#aemond x original female character#aemond x original character#aemond x niece#aemond x wife#aemond fanfic#canon aemond#dark aemond#dark aemond angst#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen angst#hotd angst#hotd smut#hotd fanfic#hotd fic#hotd fanfiction#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell fanfic
186 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Silver Dragon Chapter 1
The Bronze Bitch's Daughter
Prince Daemon Targaryen has grown tired of his Lady wife, the “Bronze Bitch” Rhea Royce. But he is not so easily rid of her. She survives not only his brutal attack, but his cruel violation of her. Though she remains broken and weak, she endures just long enough to deliver a child: a girl of silver hair and steely eyes.
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)
Warnings: Heavily implied rape
Author's Note: Here's the first chapter of my rework of The Silver Dragon! I'm keeping the old versions up, but they will be labeled "archived."
*Important Note* While he's not the villain of the show or book, Daemon is the villain of this story. We are seeing him through the perspectives of people he's hurt in various different ways. As such, he is not as morally gray as you may be used to. If you think this will upset you, don't read. Thank you!
Series Masterlist - Next Chapter
Rhea Royce lay prone on the earth ground of her beloved Vale. But she could feel neither the cold of the stone nor the dampness of the grass and stone as it seeped through her hunting leathers and onto her skin. As the heat of her body met with the chill in the ground, the runes of protection etched into her pauldrons became fogged over – rendered unreadable.
She knew she should hurt. The pain should be unbearable. Yorwyck was a mighty beast, like the Bronze King he was named for. The whole weight of the horse had come down upon her, so there was no doubt he caused her great damage in his fall. She had heard the sharp cracking of her own bones. Yet she felt none of it.
All she could feel was fear.
The cloaked man waited until her steed was out of sight. Rhea was well and truly alone, with only the distant ramparts of Runestone peering from between the hills as witness to whatever would come next.
He approached her slowly, casually, as if he couldn’t hear her desperate whimpers. She knew he just didn’t care. He ran his violet eyes along her body as he approached her head. It was not a gaze of lust. He looked on her with the same disdainful curiosity as one examining a woodland rodent crushed by a cart.
As he stood directly over her, he turned his eyes from her face – he had always avoided looking at the face he found so displeasing. Instead, he turned to her outstretched arm. He took another step, raising his foot above Rhea’s lower arm. The ghost of a wicked smile danced in the corner of his mouth, and he stepped down.
Nothing.
He raised and pressed his foot down again several more times. Not to be sure, but to emphasize to his victim that she was utterly helpless – precisely as he wanted her. Rhea knew the horrors his men had inflicted on the criminals of King’s Landing and the followers of the Crab Feeder. She knew the cruelty he was capable of and of his unparalleled creativity. He had hated her for years. In all that time, he must have imagined countless ways to torture her.
Rhea braced herself for what would come next. At least she would not feel the pain.
But his steps retreated.
All the fear in Rhea’s heart evaporated, swiftly replaced by rage. After these long nine years, this was all he had for her? For nine years, he traveled the whole of the Seven Kingdoms and beyond, slandering her and her family in the courts, then further insulting her with his brazen whoring. She had lost count of how often he had called her “Bronze Bitch” and accused her of ruining his life. She had been anticipating a reckoning from him.
But this?
This was an insult she could not stand.
Rhea knew she would be signing her soul over to the Stranger, but she would not let Daemon Targaryen have the final say.
“I knew you couldn’t finish,” she spat at her retreating husband.
He turned back, looking at her face for the first time. Rage twisted his face, but his eyes were wide with shock. He had not expected that. But she was, after all, his Bronze Bitch.
What he said next had Rhea’s blood running cold as she thanked all the Seven that she would not feel what was to come. “My dear, lady wife,” he said, breath heaving and voice dripping with hateful venom, “perhaps it is time we consummate our union.”
The Lady of Runestone was dying, nine months on from her “accident.”
The people of the Vale were told that it was a miracle from the Seven themselves that she had survived such a devastating fall from her horse. Even more miraculous still, her husband had swooped in on dragonback to rescue her before she succumbed. He had even used his mount, Caraxes ‘the Blood Wyrm,’ to find and dispatch the offending horse. A true Targaryen prince, rescuing his bronze damsel. It was no wonder when her cousin and heir, Gerold, announced to the court that she was with child. They cared little that their Lady’s rescuer had swept flown out of the Vale as swiftly as he had arrived.
Only her cousin, her Maester, and her ladies-in-waiting knew the truth. Maester Kerith had spent countless hours binding the broken bones that could be saved, and those he could not, he promptly removed. When Lady Rhea next sat the Bronze Throne, she made sure her ladies dressed her in her riding leathers rather than a gown that would hide her injuries. She wanted her court to see what she had survived, even if they could not know the truth.
When it became clear that the consequences of what her husband had done extended beyond mere injuries, Maester Kerith offered her moon tea, but she refused. With her health still declining and her body struggling to overcome the trauma she had faced, she knew she would not survive long. But again, she refused to let Daemon have the final word in their hellish marriage. He had insulted her, paralyzed her, and raped her, but she would not let him forget her.
She would leave him with an Heir of Bronze.
The babe was born as the sun rose, though the day remained dark beneath the clouds that so often surrounded Runestone.
Rhea wept for the first time, having felt no pain throughout the birth, when she saw that her daughter had the silver-white hair of her father. She had prayed for months that her child would look just like her, to be a constant reminder of his Bronze Bitch. But the babe was just another silver Targaryen. Her final revenge had failed.
Gerold sat at her side, cradling the girl in his arms, as her mother could not. Then, as the babe began to cry, he held her out so Rhea could see her.
“Cousin, look at her eyes,” he whispered, all too aware of the grim looks on the Maester and Septas’ faces.
Rhea turned her head, lifting her neck as much as her weakening body would allow to try and glimpse her child through her tears. She looked past the white hair at the small but wide eyes that beheld her.
The slate grey eyes of Runestone, the Bronze Kings, and the First Men. Royce eyes.
Rhea smiled. Perhaps her revenge would not be as sharp as she would like, but so long as her daughter remained, Daemon would never forget her. He would always remember that he could not break her.
The Lady of Runestone’s breaths came slower, and though the Septas flurried around her, she paid them no mind. She had known all these months that she would not live to see the look on Daemon’s face when he first met his heir. She knew these were her last moments. But she did not want to spend them afraid. She wanted to spend them with her daughter.
Fitting, she thought, that Daemon’s heir should be a girl. His young niece had usurped his claim to the Iron Throne, and now his claim to Runestone was usurped by his own daughter.
And what a beautiful daughter she was. Rhea’s vision began to blur around the edges, and the voices of the others in the room faded as she beheld the babe. Her eyes were bright, even as she cried softly, and the silver-white of her gently curling hair seemed to bring out a metallic shine in her grey eyes. They complimented each other, as her parents never had.
This girl was not bronze.
“Arianwyn,” Rhea whispered, naming her child as the life, at last, left her broken body. Lady of silver.
It was not Prince Daemon who came to Runestone to receive the child on behalf of the Royal family, but the young Queen Alicent Hightower. She came with the unwelcome news that the child’s father had already remarried. Less than a month after he became a widower. He had departed with his new wife, Laena Velaryon, to Pentos without leaving instruction on the care of his daughter – or even acknowledging her birth.
Alicent, despite her reputation as a fierce supporter of her husband’s family, was more than empathetic to the child’s plight. It seemed to Ser Gerold that the young Queen held a similar opinion to his own regarding Daemon Targaryen. She commiserated with him on the pain the prince had caused his family, especially Rhea and her daughter. It seemed that As long as the prince had vexed the Royce family, he had been equally maddening to his brother.
But what was most shocking to Gerold and the court at Runestone was the offer the Queen brought: to bring the child to King’s Landing and raise her there. Despite her father’s indifference, the child was a Targaryen. It was her right to live amongst her people, to learn the traditions of Old Valyria.
And at the Red Keep, Arianwyn would not be alone. The Queen had three children, each young enough to be peers to their newest Targaryen cousin, and more were anticipated from both Alicent and the recently wed Princess Rhaenyra.
The King had already given his approval, both to the fostering of his niece at the Red Keep and of Gerold serving as regent of Runestone until the girl had come of age. Indeed, all the arrangements were already made. The Queen had even brought a small contingent of attendants for the child, from nursemaids to Dragonkeepers, who carried a great, steaming urn containing a silver dragon egg – supposedly chosen by the Queen’s infant son – to be placed in Arianwyn’s cradle.
Gerold had only one caveat before he agreed to the King’s plan: that Arianwyn would not venture to the capital alone. A handful of attendants from Runestone delegates would be sent with her to educate her on the history and traditions of House Royce. So that even surrounded by Targaryens, she would not forget why her eyes were grey.
Queen Alicent, herself clothed in Hightower green, happily agreed.
After a long journey from the Vale, Lady Arianwyn Targaryen arrived at Red Keep, cradled in the arms of her aunt, Queen Alicent Hightower. As her attendants, including one of her late mother’s most trusted Lady’s Maids, continued on to prepare her rooms, the newest Targaryen was brought into the Great Hall.
A hush fell over the gathered courtiers when the doors to the throne room opened, and they beheld the silver-haired babe. But the chatter that so often filled the capital quickly resumed when they saw the blanket she was swaddled in. A burnished bronze velvet, carefully embroidered with the same ancient Runes that graced the ancestral armor of House Royce.
It was a slight on the Royal House that, in another court, would have undoubtedly caused a scandal. But in this court, where the Queen herself so brazenly wore the colors of her own house rather than her husband’s, it was immediately relegated to petty gossip. So the Lords and Ladies quickly resumed their conversations as the Queen approached the Iron Throne.
“My King, may I present your niece, Lady Arianwyn Targaryen,” Alicent said as she bowed before her husband as best she could with a squirming infant in her arms.
King Viserys’ eyes brightened, and he dismissed the Hand from his side. The King, having lost so many of his own children by his first wife, was always cheered when he had the chance to meet a healthy babe.
“Hello, my dear niece,” he cooed, reaching out to hold her, “what a delight you are!” His arms strained slightly at the weight of the plump child, so he pulled her into his chest. She relaxed into his against him, fussing softly as she reached for his long white hair.
Viserys laughed, running his fingers through her own hair. The exact shade of silver-white that graced nearly every member of his family. Though hers held significantly more curls than any Targaryen he had ever known.
“She is indeed a beauty, cousin.” A familiar voice drew the King’s attention. His cousin, Rhaenys, approached the throne. “It is a comfort to see our families flourishing.”
The King smiled and nodded, allowing his cousin permission to approach. She ascended the steps to the Iron Throne and ran the back of her fingers along the round cheek of her new baby cousin. “It is a shame her father is not here to meet her.”
Viserys heart sank. In his joy at meeting Arianwyn, he had momentarily forgotten the circumstances under which she arrived – without her father. Once again, his brother had shamed not only himself, but his family and the Crown itself. At least the child’s hair had put to rest any rumors that Rhea had been unfaithful.
Suddenly, the sight of the babe made his heart ache. “Alicent,” he called to his wife, “take Arianwyn to her rooms. I am sure she is tired from the journey.” He handed his wife the child and slumped back into the throne, readjusting himself to try and remain comfortable. Then, when Alicent was out of earshot, he again turned to Rhaenys.
“What has my brother done now?” He said, running his gloved hand over his face.
Rhaenys grimaced. “I am loathe to speak against him now, as he has so recently taken my daughter to wife,” she sighed. “But I feel confident in saying that none of us can ever say exactly what your brother is doing, much less predict what he may yet do in the future.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Viserys said, “I just pray that poor girl won’t suffer any more than she already has.”
When she arrived, the Queen’s three children were waiting inside the solar of their cousin’s new rooms. Aegon, now four years old, ran from his nursemaid, cackling as he swerved precariously between the servants attempting to arrange the room. Helaena, approaching her second nameday, stayed in her nurse’s arms, hands clasped tightly around her ears as she took in the unfamiliar space. And Aemond, only a few months older than his new cousin, lay peacefully in his maid’s arms as he watched servants haul numerous sparkling bronze trappings into the rooms.
“Come and meet your new cousin, darlings,” Alicent called to Aegon and the nursemaids bearing her other children, “She’s come a long way to be with us.” The Queen sat on a plush chair near the west windows of the room, gently lowering the babe into her lap.
Aegon reluctantly approached, sneering slightly at the child in his mother’s lap. “She doesn’t look like Daemon.”
Alicent sighed. “Nor did you look like your father when you were so young. Indeed, even now, I wager you look more like me. You have the Hightower nose.” She tweaked the tip of his soft nose – the same as hers - to drive her point home.
“I am a Targaryen prince!” Aegon insisted.
“Of course, my boy. How could any of us forget it with this on your head,” she said, ruffling his unruly mop of white hair.
Aegon grunted, looking back down at the baby. He gently reached out to touch her silver hair, both neater and curlier than his own. “What is her name?”
“Arianwyn.” The Queen responded.
“Ari…” Helaena started, her hands finally coming down from her ears. Alicent nodded for the maid to set her down, and the young girl approached her mother and the babe.
The Queen spoke slowly and carefully as she repeated, “Arianwyn.”
Helaena listened intently, then repeated the name several times, struggling with the pronunciation. “Ah-ree-an-win.”
“That’s it! Very good, my sweet,” the Queen said, placing her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, though the young girl winced at the touch.
Aegon continued fiddling with his cousin’s curls, “It’s a weird name.”
“Her cousin Sir Gerold Royce told me it is of the Old Tongue,” the Queen said, motioning for one of the nursemaids to bring her youngest babe closer, “it has some meaning, though I am afraid I forget what it is.”
Releasing Arianwyn’s hair, Aegon made a noise of quickly waning interest and stepped away, eager to resume his perpetual torment of his nurse. Had she not been holding her young niece, Alicent may have chased after him. But for now, she lifted the child babe to face her own.
“Aemond,” she said softly, “meet Arianwyn.”
As he beheld his bronze-wrapped cousin, he smiled, cooing and reaching a squirming fist toward her. A smile appearing across her own face, Arianwyn reached back toward him.
I'll be starting a new taglist for this, so if you'd like to be on it, please reach out to me or comment on this post.
#aemond#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond imagine#prince aemond#aemond x oc#house of the dragon aemond#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd aemond#aemond fic#hotd fanfic#aemond xf!oc#aemond x original female character#aemond x original character#the silver dragon
239 notes
·
View notes
Text
I never knew daylight could be so violent.
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female reader
Warnings: angst, spoilers for Fire and Blood, canon typical behavior, oral (f receiving), smut
Word count: 1.4k
Summary: Fear weighs heavily the night before Aemond is to set out for the Riverlands.
A/n: beta'd by @sapphire-writes tyty and ilysm 💙💙💙
Taglist: @bottlesandbarricades @black-dread @orcaunionleader @arcielee @helaelaemond @artyoms
"I don't want you to go."
Even to her ears the words sound weak, and she has the inkling that her voice is much the same. Threadbare and worn, her nerves frayed to almost nothing but ragged edges. Her voice trembles as she speaks, staring up at the canopy over their bed blankly. Her heart thuds, pounding like a drum behind her ribs, all but betraying the fear she's tried to hide in the hours it's been since the words left her husband's mouth mere moments after he returned from the Small Council, brow furrowed and bearing an unreadable expression on his face just as the sun had begun to set, casting an orange glow to his spun silver hair.
She fails though, almost pitifully so, when she feels the all too familiar sting of tears begin to form in the corner of her eyes. She blinks furiously as she raises one hand to drag the back of it across her eyes in an attempt to hide her tears from him. Not that it'll do any good, when even the thought of it makes her stomach churn sourly, bile rising in her throat.
The tears fall despite her efforts, trailing a path over her cheeks in a way where she can almost taste them on her lips. Salty, but not entirely unpleasant. She half hears Aemond’s barely half exasperated sigh, a long, slow breath that makes strands of her hair flutter around her face. She feels his arms tighten around her almost to the point of crushing, but she doesn’t care, wishing for nothing more than to stay like this with him, childish as it is.
"But I must." He murmurs the words quietly, sounding almost as torn as she does, but she hears the resolute note lurking just beneath the surface, his thumb stroking a mindless pattern over the skin on the inside of her wrist. She half turns in his hold, the best she can anyway, tilting her chin back to look at him. His hair frames his face like a halo, a curtain of silver fire laying flat against the pillows beneath his head.
"Why?"
The question sits like a stone inside her, adding on to the worry churning roughly in her belly. She holds her breath as she watches his nostrils flare and the corners of his lips tighten. "We've talked about this, ñuha jorrāelagon. I rule in my brother’s stead. Du-"
She grumbles something irritably under her breath at that, frowning as she turns her head in the opposite direction. Duty. Duty. Duty.
She loves Aemond, she does, more than anything, but his sense of duty is one of the things she has grown to dislike the most about him in the almost year they have been married. As is his urge and his desire to prove himself, whether by the time he spends in the training yard or flying on the back of the largest dragon in the realm. To step out of his brother's shadow and make his own way in this world.
She tangles her hands in his hair, her nails scratching against his scalp, the motion drawing a sound that teeters between a groan and a whine from his mouth. She shifts her body as she draws him to her, pressing her lips to his, pouring all the things she cannot say into it. I love you. I need you. Stay. Please.
"Don't make me watch you leave," she ends up pleading instead, panting softly as she slides one hand from his hair to under his jaw, his skin hot and near burning under her fingertips.
"Mine own wife would not see me off?" He breathes almost tauntingly, his hand shifting to settle over hers as he kisses her again, once, twice and a third time, subsequently swallowing her protests. His knee slips between her thighs, the broad width of his hand withdrawing from her face to spread wide over the expanse of her lower back, the heat from it scorching through the thin fabric of her shift.
"I could n-" she croaks, digging her fingers into his shoulder blades without a care, moaning against his mouth as she tilts her head to the side to grant him further access. He groans something unintelligible against her mouth when she makes a faint noise of protest as he pulls away, his attention shifting lower.
"Will you let me taste you?" he rasps, his hand curling around her hip, delivering a sharp nip to one collarbone that has her letting out a yelp, her body twitching at the brief flare of pain that forms under her skin. He eyes her unabashedly, the look in his eye as heated as she's ever seen it, an intoxicating mix of unconcealed want and lust that has the ache between her thighs growing. She stares up at him, lips parting involuntarily in surprise.
"You have to ask?" She half whines the question, her voice cracking on the last word. "Aemond-"
He smirks in response, his eye darkening as he hums something under his breath. His eye darts down a second later, no doubt feeling the bumps that rise over her skin as she shivers beneath him. "Let me give you something to remember then," he says roughly, his smirk only seeming to grow wider as he speaks, gaining an almost smug edge to it.
His eye never leaves her face, his touch bordering on reverent as he slides his fingers under the straps of her shift, pushing it down her arms, bearing more of her body to the chill of the room. The bed creaks as he shifts, looming over her on his knees as he blindly tosses the garment to the side without a second thought. She bites her lip, tugging it between her teeth as the smell of him all but invades her senses, potent and rich and more than a little addicting.
His grip on her hips turns almost bruising as he slides down the length of her body before settling between her thighs, his eye flicking from her cunt to her face and back again. "I've barely touched you," he croons, and she can practically feel his smugness now, emanating from his every pore as he withdrew his finger, wiping it along the skin of her thigh.
He wedged his arm underneath her hips, bringing his eye to be level with her cunt, the hunger within his pupil growing. She moans then, cannot help it really, when the sensation of his breath fans over her already oversensitive cunt makes her hips buck, back arching at the feel of his mouth on her. It feels like an eternity of overflow of sensation after sensation, a too pretty form of torment that she would not change for the world.
Aemond replaced his mouth with his hand, slipping one finger inside her, crooking the digit in such a way that dragged yet another wave of moans from her. Her mouth falls open as she grips the bed linens tightly, her knuckles standing out starkly under her skin, a twinge of pain shooting up her arm, a faint, pulsating throb in her upper arm. She relaxed her grasp almost immediately, the pain fading more with each flex of her hand.
She murmured his name again, extending her hand outward blindly in search of him, exhaling a low breath when his fingers twine with hers, watching him press his lips to her skin through half lidded eyes. His cock pressed against the inside of her thigh, his fingers brushing over her mussed hair, his previously smug expression fading as the events of the past day seemed to finally catch up with him. The fear she had felt earlier felt as distant as one of the Free Cities now, something she could easily cast from her mind without a thought.
"I meant what I said, you know, that I will not watch you leave," she said softly, dragging one hand mindlessly up and down his arm as she spoke, feeling the dusting of silver hair beneath her fingers that was nearly invisible in the dark. "I will be here waiting when you come back," she added, dropping her hand as she returned her gaze to his face.
#my fics#house of the dragon#aemond fic#aemond x original character#a song of ice and fire#hotd fics#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond the kinslayer#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond smut#aemond targaryen fan fiction#ocappreciation#aemond oneshot#aemond#prince aemond
221 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Taming of the Dragon, 1 ✷ Aemond Targaryen
PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen / F!OC
SUMMARY: One evening, Aemong, in dire need of clearing his head, catches a Dragonkeeper on the beach tending to Vhagar. The Queen of Dragons doesn't seem bothered by the stranger's presence. Quite the opposite. Aemond is immediately intrigued. Even more so when he discovers that the stranger is a girl who comes from the North and bears the name Snow.
-ˋˏ following chapter ✶ ao3 ✶ my inbox ˎˊ-
Aemond Targaryen was on the verge of going mad. Everyone around him, from his mother to his grandfather and even his failing father, had only one word on their lips: Rhaenyra. His half-sister, who lived in Dragonstone, haunted the Red Keep. Her ghost wandered the corridors and manifested itself on their lips. He no longer wanted to hear that cursed name, which brought with it bad omens and curses.
“She'll do anything to usurp the throne! Even if she knows Aegon is the rightful heir!’ Alicent Hightower shouted.
Her brown curls bounced with every step she took. Her incessant to-ing and fro-ing along the Small Council’s table was making his head spin.
His mother had summoned him—as if Aegon wasn't the first son—to this secret meeting where her, his grandfather Otto, Criston Cole and Larys Strong would discuss stratagems, politics, and manipulations: three things he had started to loath. His love for his mother and his sense of duty had kept him from leaving the minute she made that request.
His expression revealed his true opinion of this ridiculous spectacle which he was watching with a distracted eye. He had stopped listening a long time ago and was waiting patiently—as was expected of him—to be dismissed. These discussions had a way of boring him. They went round in circles, nothing more than paraphrases of a previous meeting. A constant déjà-vu fuelled by obsession and a thirst for power.
“Viserys will come round,” her father reassured her.
The Queen laughed, a mundane, almost inelegant, gesture that was incongruous with her status. Rhaenyra had the gift of unearthing his mother’s inner ugliness. She could turn the most important woman in Westeros into the common little girl full of rage she had once been.
“She has his favour. She is the favourite child! He won't change his mind, not even about his first son!”
And what a son! Unsurprisingly, Aegon was nowhere to be seen today. His brother had never taken to politics. He was probably busy fucking some whore in the Silk Alley or some maid in his rooms, happy to let Aemond take over the responsibilities he left vacant.
Although it pained him to admit it, Aegon was the first son and he belonged on the Iron Throne. Aemond would much rather see his brother sit there than his whore of a half-sister. Aegon wasn't evil, just a misguided soul that his mother and grandfather would set straight. He was sure of that. Leaving the kingdom in Rhaenyra's palms, on the other hand, was tantamount to condemning the inhabitants of the Seven Kingdoms. Her reign would only bring calamity.
He tilted his head back and looked up at the ornate ceiling. His fingernails beat against the wooden table as the minutes ticked by. Slowly. Much too slowly. He held back a yawn.
The tone had been raised, words had been shouted, orders, given, and in the midst of all this racket, Aemond felt like screaming. He couldn't care less about Rhaenyra, his uncle, and her brown-haired bastards.
Aemond didn't want to suffer what his birth had spared him—responsibility. The second son was merely the replacement, the forgotten one. He would only appear on stage if Death came too early.
He wanted to be left in peace until then.
A futile desire for someone bearing the Targaryen name. No ancestor of the blood of the Dragon had known peace and he certainly wouldn't be the first.
The sun had been down for at least three hours when Aemond finally escaped from the clutches of his mother and grandfather. He mourned a wasted day and headed for his rooms.
On the way, he came across Aegon, his eyes reddened, and his eyelashes still stuck with sleep. His fist itched. He felt a visceral need to bring it down on his brother’s face. Why wouldn’t he grow up? What would become of Westeros if his grandfather and mother succeeded in making him king? Aegon was an immature fool and Aemond was expected to pick up the pieces. What did he gain by doing so? No recognition, no respect, and certainly not power. He was asked to do it because it was expected of him. An unspoken rule he learned to obey from an early age.
Aemond Targaryen would forever remain the second son, obscured by the shadow of Aegon’s unworthy glory.
“Brother.”
Aegon nodded, but the sly smile on his lips threw off any semblance of politeness. Aemond remained unmoved. He would not play his game, not tonight, although a few insults came to the tip of his tongue. He clenched his jaw.
“I assume the council was as interesting as usual. I'm sorry I couldn't be there but, you understand... A pretty servant was waiting for me. Couldn’t disappoint her, you know?”
Aemond didn't reply. He had not even deigned to leave the castle, not even his rooms. His hands began to shake, and a stabbing pain seized his sapphire eye, as it did every time he was upset. Lazy bastard.
When Aemond was mastering the art of sword fighting, Aegon was swilling whole jugs of wine. When Aegon was thrusting his cock between the thighs of a whore, Aemond was immersing himself in the histories of Old Valyria.
They couldn't have been more different.
Aemond continued towards his chambers, his face tense. Behind him, his brother burst out laughing and tried to talk to him, but he quickened his pace. Tonight, he had no patience for conversation.
Soon, the large wooden doors of his rooms appeared at the end of the corridor. The relief he felt was dulled by a weight in his chest.
At the last moment, Aemond turned around and hurried back. He felt as if he were suffocating within the gigantic walls of the Red Keep. The vast corridors were no longer so. They closed in on him and whispered hissing words. They slipped into his ear and snaked into his mind to unearth his worries. Stories of legitimacy, inheritance, the throne and responsibility—everywhere he went, his duty followed and plagued him.
Aemond needed to see Vhagar. He usually avoided disturbing her in the evening. His dragon was no longer in her prime and slept more than the others. Tonight, he would allow himself to be selfish. The need was too great. He had to clear his head, or he would go mad like many Targaryens before him.
He continued walking until he came to a darkened alcove. Aemond slid his hand over the cold stones. Eyes closed, he savoured the sensation. Click. He pushed open the wall, revealing a long and abandoned corridor.
The secrets of the Red Keep were no longer unknown for him. Aemond had spent his youth wandering up and down the corridors of the building in search of them. The stories said that Maegor the Cruel had beheaded the architects, the masons, the carpenters... all the brains and hands that built this fortress. They took these secrets to their graves, secrets that only the blood of the Dragon could recognise.
After the loss of his eye—thinking of Lucerys Strong made him cringe—Aemond had redoubled his efforts to find them all. These passages had offered him the ideal refuge to escape from the gaze of others during the most difficult period of his life. This tradition had survived.
Aemond didn't even stop in front of Balerion's skull—not when his own dragon, alive on top of it, was waiting for him—and he rushed through the corridors, down some stairs, up others, turned left and then right, down some stairs again until he finally reached a door which he pushed open.
The fresh air whipped across his face. Immediately, all his worries evaporated, although his hands continued to tremble—a vestige of his wrath. He inhaled the smell of the shore, a delicious mixture of salt and air.
Aemond made his way down the stairs and onto the beach. He relished the sensation of walking on the white sand. It crumbled under his leather boots. Aemond found this instability reassuring. Nature could be unstable too. The wind had picked up and was blowing thousands of grains around. These whirlwinds, small storms of matter, calmed him and the proximity of Vhagar finished off the hurricane rising in his heart.
With a slight smile on his lips, he walked over to the dunes where his dragon had taken refuge since he brought her back from Driftmark, eight years ago. A mountain of green scales stood among the other mounds of sand. It moved with every breath. Aemond could almost feel the warmth of her breath, the hardness of her scales, and could already imagine himself riding her, hair blowing in the wind, free in his mind.
His joy was short-lived. The gods did not like to see him happy.
Aemond stopped dead in his tracks. Next to the gigantic figure of Vhagar, a small silhouette stood out. It was fidgeting and tormenting the dragon’s sleep. The short distance between the two made him clench his fists. They were close, far too close. Aemond had forbidden anyone to approach his mount. He had never had to repeat his request before. Who would be foolish enough to approach a sleeping dragon? Those who had risked it were no longer around to tell the tale. They had been burnt to a crisp and their loved ones had had to mourn an unrecognisable pile of ashes.
The stranger must have been unconscious or just mad.
Aemond stomped over to them.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” he growled rather than asked.
He knew he was protective of Vhagar. Everyone around him had noticed. He had exchanged her for an eye, and this suffering had only redoubled his murderous impulses: Vhagar was his. Anyone who dared touch her would face his rage.
The latter rose in his chest and accelerated his heartbeat. It coursed through his entire being, leaving no part of his body untouched. His nails dug into the palms of his hands. His muscles quivered, waiting for just one thing—for him to attack.
He stepped forward, ready to confront the stranger, who jumped and turned but did not reply. This silence made him even more furious. Who dared ignore their prince?
Moving a little closer, Aemond recognised the gleaming black armour and scaled helmet of the Dragonkeepers.
A breeze of relief blew over his heart, but it didn't completely calm the agitation that had been building up inside. At least this person knew what they were doing.
Worry and anger gave way to curiosity: what were they doing here? Aemond had never come across a Dragonkeeper outside the pit. They lived there to ensure the well-being of the creatures. Like monks, the pit was their sanctuary, and nothing could keep them from their duties.
Normally, at least.
He couldn't see their face. Vhagar's massive form cast an equally colossal shadow over their body, which was further darkened by the night. It was only when he was close enough to smell the smoke coming from their uniform that he realised it was a girl and, worse still, that he didn't know her.
The last time he had ventured into the dragonpit, he had been only ten years old and had two eyes. Back when he was still Dragonless-Aemond, the place had seemed unreachable yet idyllic—the embodiment of impossible dreams. Eight years ago, he would have easily been able to name the seventy-seven keepers with the time he spent there. He came every day, waiting for the moment when a dragon would accept him as a rider.
The Dragonkeepers’ faces had clouded over with time, reduced to vague memories that the satisfaction of having claimed Vhagar had swept away. Far too large to fit in the pit, his dragon had made her home on the dunes of King's Landing and, in doing so, had made the dragonpit a bygone era of his childhood.
“State your name. Now.”
She dipped into a clumsy curtsy, perhaps the worst he had ever seen. She almost tripped on air and fell face-first into the sand. He winced. This girl was cruelly lacking in grace. No doubt the keeper’s profession had damaged her manners, which already left a lot to be desired.
"Lucella Snow, yer ‘ighness.”
His eye twitched.
A bastard from the North.
The shamelessness made perfect sense now.
These people were nothing but barbarians, made savages by the cold and their proximity with the Wildlings. They prayed to their strange, faceless gods, remnants of a primitive past, and still clung to superstitions dating back thousands of years which bore witness to their backwardness. Too limited for the political intrigues of the South, they retreated into their icy fortresses and only left them to defend themselves.
Northerners were strange and even the Starks, although not the worst of their species, were no exception to the rule.
Add to that the absence of a father to beat her and train her like a lady, which she could have become with a little effort, and you had the bastard in front of him. She was not unpleasant to look at, Aemond decided. Her pale skin, hidden under the ashes smeared on her cheeks, and the few strands of black hair sticking out of her helmet leaped out at him. If she had been born in wedlock, many suitors would have fought for her hand in marriage.
“And what on earth is a Winterfell bastard doing here?”
“I’m sorry, yer ‘ighness, but I’m afraid ‘am just a bastard frum White ‘arbah.”
Her accent struck Aemond's ears and made him wince. Syllables here and there disappeared as the vowels struggled to make themselves heard properly in this gibberish. Her voice was deep, deeper than his mother's or his sister's—the only women of his life—, and dragonfire smoke had taken the evenness out of her tone, leaving it hoarse.
He didn't like the way she avoided his question or her undeniable lack of politeness. She looked at him with jaded eyes as if he were the one who shouldn't be there. He thought he saw a flame dancing in her amber irises. A strange colour for someone from a Northerner. In these lands, eyes were only blue, grey, or black: bland colours for a land saddened by the blizzard.
“Winterfell... White Harbor... Northern towns all look alike.”
“I suppose yeh won't mind if I call you Velaryon, then? Yeh understand... Valyrians… They’re all th’same.”
His indecency irritated her. A mouth like hers belonged in a dilapidated tavern, not in a place like the Red Keep.
Northerners didn't belong here. They weren't like them.
“What is your concern here?” he asked her again.
Why isn’t Vhagar killing you? he thought.
Next to Snow, the Queen of Dragons looked peaceful. His companion was used to the presence of the keeper of the North, Aemond realised. The thought worried him. How long had this stranger been roaming around his dragon without him knowing?
The bastard pointed her gloved fingertips at a sheep carcass, no doubt ready to be charred by Vhagar, judging by the hungry look on her face. Aemond had not seen it until now.
The presence of this woman was upsetting his plans and troubling his senses.
“I’m bringing her food.”
Her 'r's rolled off her tongue.
“I already feed her.”
“Not enough. Obviously,” Snow retorted without hesitation, pointing to Vhagar's visible ribs. “Age tends t’work up their appetite. Ain’t tha’ right, sweetheart?”
She tenderly stroked the dragon’s muzzle, who let herself be petted under Aemond's hallucinated gaze.
His mount, reduced to a common pet.
His nostrils flared. He abruptly grabbed her hand and pulled her away from Vhagar, ignoring the grimace of pain on the Dragonkeeper’s face. Good. Perhaps she would understand that lurking around his dragon was not without consequences.
Vhagar, the Queen of all dragons, ridden by Visenya, had fought and survived Aegon's Conquest. She embodied the glory of House Targaryen and would not be touched by a commoner. A Northern bastard even less so.
Without a glance at her, he climbed the rope ladder and settled into the saddle.
"Sōvēs," he commanded.
Vhagar, lethargic, took her time shaking her wings before flapping them and taking flight. She sent grains of sand and stones flying. Soon, the beach was nothing more than a pale speck drowned in the thick clouds bathing in the twilight’s silver light. The icy air invigorated him, but he couldn't find the comfort he had come for. His thoughts remained stuck on the Dragonkeeper.
When Vhagar lost altitude for a moment, when the two of them broke through the cloud barrier and the beach was visible once again, Aemond saw that she had not moved and that her eyes were riveted on him.
Aemond didn't understand her expression but decided he didn't give a fuck.
#aemond fanfic#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond fanfiction#aemond x oc#aemond x fem!reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x oc#hotd fanfic#hotd aemond#house of the dragon#aemond fic#aemond x original female character#aemond x original character#aemond x female#aemond targaryen angst#aemond angst#hotd angst#hotd fanfiction#ewan mitchell fanfic#ewan mitchell
147 notes
·
View notes
Text
My Lady Strong (III)
Aemond had always been protective of his neice, obssessed even, insiting on keeping her sheltered, and purley his, he never let her stray far and following the incident at Driftmark, Aemma was rarley without Aemond as her shadow. How will the kind, sheltered girl fair in the dance of dragons?
word count: 2613
CW: Mentions of death, violence
Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen can be read as x reader)
Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part
disclamer: i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC
A/N sorry i haven't posted in a while I've been ill and busy will college, hope you enjoy, I don't really like how this chapter turned out, but next chapter their will be a little time skip
Two months following her and Aemonds betrothal, grief struck Kings Landing.
First was the death of the Strongs, ser Harwin and lord Lynol. Then came the news of her Aunt Leana’s death.
They had travelled to Driftmark for Leana’s funeral, a morbid affair she did not wish to attend, especially after receiving all those nasty looks from her Veleryon kin. Her father had been lost to the world of grief, the death of his sister taking over, and his days spent wallowing in the sea. Her mother was better, though isolated. Focusing all her attention on the new babe.
She, as always, stood beside Aemond, few things had changed between them since their courtship began, Aemonds possessive nature towards her had come out tenfold. Though the general rules of courtship dictated they remain an ‘appropriate distance’ from one another and must always remain accompanied (a fact her septa had constantly reminded her), they instead broke every rule, acting as if they were already wed, they even shared a bed every night (which Aemond insisted had to remain secret), Aemond claiming it was then ‘practising for married life’. Though Aemma was not too sure what the fuss was about. People had begun to treat her like a grown woman, even her mother, acting as if she were not a child who had yet to reach her tenth name day.
She had decided grown-up life seemed incredibly dull, even her lessons changed, now focusing on new responsibilities, such as sewing and running a household.
She hated the whole thing, hated that her lessons with Aemond were now few and far between.
Her brothers had too changed since her betrothal, namely Jace. Though it was more recent, (mainly due to the strong departure and death, why that seemed to greatly affect Jace’s behaviour she was not sure) He had insisted on being her and Aemonds chaperone, though they usually managed to escape him, he would follow them around, breaking them apart whenever they did something ‘improper’, she had begun to refer to him as septa Jace, though not out loud, she even began to think allowing her septa to chaperone them may be better than his company.
Aemond himself didn’t seem to care, he had never liked Jace and seemed to act up more in his presence, becoming more possessive of her, even manhandling her (not that she knew what that was). If she was anyone else perhaps, she would have been worried over his possessive nature, But she did not, she loved it. In truth, there was nothing wrong with it as far as she was aware.
Her mother had been the same. So protective and controlling of her life that it felt right.
With Aemond though it never felt like he was controlling her, she felt it was normal, he would protect her from the mean words and looks from others (not that she knew they were even happening), and he would even take her out of septa lessons were she was being taught ‘nonsense’, an action both her mother and Aemond partook in.
Aemond was a constant presence that she could rely on, he was the one by her side as she heard the news of each of the deaths. He had instantly sought her out after the news of Ser Harwin, she may not have been as close as Jace and Luke were to him, but he had always been there with a kind smile and open arms for her. As for her aunt, she had never met Laena, but her father always told her stories of her, she had wanted to, and now she never would.
Aemond gripped her hand tightly as she sniffed her tears.
“We have nothing in common!” Aegon whined next to them.
She had decided to stand with Aemond and Helena, having had enough of the stares she received from the Velaryons as she stood beside her mothers and brothers. Heleana was on one side, crotched in the dirt playing with some new insect she had discovered, and on the other stood Aegon, already deep in his cups.
“she’s our sister” Aemond reminded, following their betrothal her grandfather saw fit to preserve the Valyrian bloodline once more and betrothed Heleana and Aegon.
“You marry her then!”
“He is to marry me, uncle” Aemma replied, naively, moving to crotch near Heleana “Perhaps he should have betrothed Heleana and Jacaerys, Helena would be a good queen!”
Aemond and Aegon shared a look.
“She is to be your wife, brother, show her some respect” he replied, choosing to ignore her words. He moved to pull Aemma back up from the ground “You’ll muddy your dress”.
“Heleana already has, what does it matter if I do!” she replied, kneeling, and looking at Helena’s newest bug, “what is that?” she asked, but instead of an answer, she was met with Heleana muttering about a hand and spools of black and green.
“Aemma” she heard her mother call her, pulling her away from the ground and Aemond.
“Mother? What is it?” she asked,
“it is time to bed sweet girl,” her mother spoke, caressing her face.
“But it’s early!” she whined, Aemond would not wish to go to bed yet, she was sure to not find any sleep.
“just go.” Her mother sighed.
Aemma was woken to the sounds of shouts coming from the great hall. The whole family had gathered in the dead of night, the hall was silent when she reached it, her mother comforting her brothers, receiving Alicent’s disapproving stare.
The Hall was split in two, the whole of Driftmark in attendance. On one side stood her mother, brothers, cousins and Veleryon grandparents, on the other her grandsire, Alicent, Heleana and Aegon. Someone was sitting in a chair facing away from them all, maesters surrounding them.
“Muña?” she questioned confused as to what was going on “What happened? Where’s Aemond?”
“Oh, my sweet girl” her mother ran, pulling her to her and her brothers.
“What happened? Where’s Ae-“She was cut off, a sob leaving her mouth as his head popped around the chair. His eye gashed out and his face was swollen.
“Aemond!” she gasped, moving from her mother’s grip, “what happened?” she cried, reaching for his face.
He hissed, pulling back, “They attacked me!” he shouted pointing to her brothers and cousins.
“What! Why?” she sobbed, burying her face in his chest, “why? Why would they do that to you?”
“He attacked Baela” she heard Jace shout back.
“He broke Luke’s nose!”
“He stole my mother’s dragon!”
“ENOUGH!” her grandsire demanded; his anger apparent.
“He was going to kill Jace!”
“I didn’t do anything!” Aemond insisted, pulling Aemma’s face closer into his chest, finding solace in her presence.
“ENOUGH!” her grandsire demanded once again.
“It should be my son telling the tale” Alicent insisted, moving her hand to rub Aemma’s back.
Her grandsire hit his cane to the floor, demanding silence, “Aemond, I will have the truth of what happened, now!”
“What else is there to hear? Your son has been maimed…Her son is responsible”.
“It was a regrettable accident” her mother spoke.
“How was taking his eye an accident?” Aemma questioned, moving her head back to look at her mother, “what could he have possibly done to deserve his eye being taken?” she questioned, glaring at Luke as he shrunk back behind their mother.
Alicent nodded her head, agreeing with Aemma, “The prince Lucerys brought a blade to an ambush. He meant to kill my son!” she insisted, causing Aemma to gasp and continue her teary glare at her brothers.
“It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves… Vile insults were levied against them” her mother declared.
“What insults?”
Her mother hesitated “The legitimacy of my…son’s birth was put loudly to the question”.
“What?”
Speaking up, Luke said “he called us bastards!” sending her a pleading gaze, trying to prove his innocence, but Aemma only saw his guilt, he took her Aemonds eye, and whatever Aemond did she doubted had cause for his eye to be taken.
Looking at Aemond, she whispered “What’s a bastard?” with confusion written on her face, Aemond only shook his head, guilt shimmering in his eye.
“My sons are in line to inherit the iron throne, your grace. This is the highest of treasons…. Prince Aemond must be Sharpley questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders”.
“He just lost his eye, and you want to… to interrogate him, over an…” Aemma lead off, confusion clear in her tone, but Alicent continued for her.
“Over and insult? My son has lost an eye!”
Her grandsire moved towards Aemond, Aemma was ushered off Aemonds lap, moving to stand near Heleana. “You tell me, boy, where did you hear this lie?” her grandsire demanded.
Alicent was quick to respond, coming to Aemonds defence, (perhaps even her own) “This insult was training yard bluster, it was nothing”. But her grandsire paid no attention to her, only moving to question Aemond again.
where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? The children’s father? Perhaps he might have something to say on the matter.”
“Yes, where is Ser Laenor?”
“he’s at the beach” Aemma interrupted, “ he has not left the sea since we arrived,” she looked around the room, her move gaining some sense of confidence from Aemma’s interruption.
“yes, he nor I could find sleep, we took a walk on the beach, where Laenor chose to remain” Her mother nodded, a smug smile gracing her face as Alicent kissed her teeth.
Her grandsire spoke, stopping Alicent from changing the subject once again “Aemond, look at me. Your king demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”
Aemond shifted his gaze to his mother, “It was Aegon” he answered, moving his gaze to his brother.
“Me?” Aegon asked confused, she had never heard him say it before, then again until today, she had never heard the word at all. And seeing how uncomfortable the word made everyone, it made sense for Aegon, he seemed to thrive on the discomfort of others.
“And you, boy? Where did you hear such calumnies?” her grandsire spat “Aegon! Tell me the truth of it!”
“We know, father. Everyone knows. Just look at them” Aegon sighed, eyes turning to her brothers, Aemma herself was pulled back to Aemond, who hid her from everyone’s gaze.
“This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it.” Her grandsire demanded.
“That is insufficient. Aemond has been damaged, permanently, ‘Good will’ cannot make Aemond whole” Alicent demanded.
“I know Alicent, but I cannot restore an eye,“ a deep sigh left her grandsire.
“No, because it’s been taken!”
“What would you have me do?”
“There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return” Alicent declared, gasps filling the hall.
“My dear wife-”
Her eyes watered, her son, their sons’ eye had been taken and he does not seem to care “he is your son, Viserys. Your blood”
“Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment”
��If the king will not seek justice, the queen will. Ser Criston… Bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.” Alicent ordered.
Luke let out a nervous shout for his mother, moving to hide behind her.
“he can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son” Alicent spoke, Ser Criston stared down at her, unsure of what to do.
Turing to Ser Cole, her grandsire demanded “You will do no such thing… Stay your hand”.
“No, you are sworn to me!” she shouted at Ser Criston, as he stood unsurely “As your protector, my queen.”
“This matter is finished, do you understand?” her grandsire spoke to Alicent, moving away before declaring “And let it be known, anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s children should have it removed!”
“Thank you, Father” her mother spoke, relief clear in her tone. But Alicent was enraged and moved towards grabbing the dagger from her grandsire and moved to charge at her mother and Luke.
Shouts filled the hall, trying to get Alicent to stop, but she continued.
“you’ve gone too far” her mother spoke, grabbing Alicent’s arm, preventing the dagger from diving into Luke’s eye.
“i? What have I done but what expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, and the law. While you flout all to do as you, please” Alicent spat in reply. “Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? And now you take my son's eye, and to that event, you feel entitled”.
“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness” her mother replied, seeing Alicent face drop and her grip on the blade began to loosen. “But now they see you as you truly are,” she said lowly, the dagger slipped from Alicent’s hand, down her mother’s arm, blood dripping to the ground.
“This proceeding is at an end”
Aemma had not left Aemonds side since that night. She took over from the maesters, changing Aemonds bandage, and applying the ointment. She refused to let others near him, to leave him. Even when her mother tried to carry her out of the room herself, she would scream and protest. She only left once her mother came and told them they were leaving.
“I will not” she shook her head, ripped her arm from her mothers “I will not leave him, you can not make me!” she screamed.
“dōna riña” her mother begged, “please, my sweet girl, for me and your brothers they miss you, you will see in in a few years when you are to wed.” her mother sneered the last part, the maids had whispered about how her mother had pleaded with her grandsire to end the engagement, but only a fool would think she herself would let anyone but Aemond be her husband.
“I do not care! Alicent has said I can stay in Kings Landing, in my home, Mother please!” she begged “I cannot leave my Aemond, especially after what they did, stay Muña, please”.
“I cannot, sweet girl, it is for the best” her mother continued.
“For whom? For you? Mayhaps, but for me it will be nothing but pure torture, I will scream if you make me go, I will bring you nothing but hell if you take me there, take me away from MY AEMOND!” She shouted, streams streaming down her face.
She noticed the man then, he had silver hair like her mother’s family, she remembered who he was then, Aemond had mentioned him, their uncle Daemon, rider of Caraxes. He stood against the wall, his lip quirked and laughter leaving his lips, “leave her, let the Hightower cunts have her” he spoke up.
“Do not-“ her mother began, a sigh leaving her lips. She looked at Aemma, defeat filling her features, “Please, sweet girl, please”
“I won’t, I can’t leave him, Muña”.
Her mother sighed “ok, but if you ever, and I mean if for a second, a minute second, wish to come to Dragonstone, come. You are my daughter, my dōna riña, and you always will be my favourite girl” tears filled her mother’s eyes.
“of course, Muña, I love you” she whispered the last part, looking down “I’m sorry, I’ll miss you”.
“I love you too, I’ll miss you, sweet girl, I’ll visit whenever you ask” her mother promised.
Though that would soon become a lie, as Aemma would not see her mother for years to come.
next part
Taglist (bold means could not tag)
My lady strong: @aemondssiut @idonotknowenglish @sydneyyyya @wondergal2001 @whitejuliana1204 @meowtastick @bellaisasleep @tinykryptonitewerewolf @sarahkimtae @winchesterfamiliebusiness @iiamthehybrid @zzz000eee @spookydaddy01 @melllinaa @ateliefloresdaprimavera @aelora-a @aleemendoza2425-blog @chittakii @gghoulzz @ryiana @duckworthbean @cynic-spirit @may-machin @Gianinaa19
Hotd: @targaryenmoony @theanxietyqueen17
Aemond: @blossomedflowerofluv @violet-potter
#aemond fanfiction#aemond targeryen#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond#dark aemond targaryen#yandere aemond targaryen#yandere hotd#possessive aemond#aemond targeryen x oc#ewan nation#aemond targeryen x fem!targeryen#prince aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond fic#aemond x oc#aemond x original character#house of the dragon aemond#aemond x targaryen! reader#myladystrong#aemond the kinslayer#aemond one eye#aemond x original female character#aemond stannies#aemond x targaryen oc#dark aemond x oc
569 notes
·
View notes
Text
“I knew you’d come.”
#aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x you#aemond fic#aemond targaryen x reader#prince aemond#aemond one eye#prince aemond targaryen#aemond#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond x reader#aemond smut#aemond x oc#aemond x reader smut#prince aemond x reader#aemond x original female character#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x original character#aemond x y/n#aemond targaryen x fem!oc#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x original character#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond the kinslayer#aemond fluff#aemond targaryen fluff#Squishy’s Aemond quotes
79 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Song of Flames & Fury ~ Masterlist
pairing: Aemond Targaryen & Baratheon!OC
summary: Elyse Baratheon is Princess Helaena’s childhood companion and closest friend. Jacaerys Velaryon has loved her since childhood. Aemond Targaryen loathes the idea of love. A Baratheon in the capital changes the Dance of Dragons, and the realm holds its breath.
rating: mature/explicit/18+
status: 20/20 (COMPLETE)
this can also be read on AO3
link to ao3
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11 🥵
Chapter 12
Chapter 13 🥵
Chapter 14 🥵
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
#aemond x original character#aemond x oc#aemond fic#masterlist#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#oc: elyse baratheon
571 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐
Warning: Angst, spoiler for episode 10 (I promise there will be more Aemond after this chapter) (Part 1 - Part 3) Masterlist
Summary : You are content in Dragonstone, until the news of the King's death reaches the Fortress. You have no allies, and so you go to the only place where you don't expect to find him.
You were happy at Dragonstone. You were absolutely delighted by Rhaenyra's children, both old and young. The babes were incredibly sweet with everyone, and you felt the loving family radiating inside the castle walls, love that you did not feel in the Red Keep.
Jacaerys and Lucerys were both quite busy but they still found time for you, inviting you to some of their activities, tending to their dragons… You were intimidated by both Rhaenyra and Daemon, but it passed quickly as you remembered how considerate Rhaenyra was, and how much the Rogue Prince liked a good joke. The only thing unplanned was the length of your stay. You've been in Dragonstone for far longer than you and your father had intended, not for the displeasure of Ser Lorent Marbrand who was your only close family inside the great walls of the fortress. You had asked several months ago to extend your journey, and everybody had agreed. You missed your family a bit, Helaena and your friends, but you were dreading your return. The return to him.
You shivered from your thoughts as you entered the great hall. You had just come back from the library down one of the towers, having finished studying healing properties of seaweeds when you heard that the Princess Rhaenys had just landed in Dragonstone by one of the guards. You stumbled upon some lords and Daemon all standing around the table as you advanced further into the hall. Feeling like you were not in your place, you tried to sneak away as graciously as possible, maybe go to the beach where you knew the princes were sparring, but a horrifying scream froze you into place.
You rushed toward the screams, crossing the room and not bothering about what the Rogue Prince and the lords there might think. You found Rhaenyra in agonising pain, clutching her belly, maids feet away from her, as lost for what to do.
You ran to her, trying to steady her, "Princess, what happened? Why is this happening?" You knew it was too early for the labour to begin.
"King Viserys, my father, is dead," she announced through gritted teeth when she was able to look at you properly. You froze as she grabbed your arm for support. She cried of pain once more before keeping on. "Prince Aegon has been crowned today. In the Dragonpit."
You said nothing as images went through your head. The grief of the Queen, Aegon with a crown on his head before the people, swinging his sword above his head... His grandfather, protector and wife at his side, as well as Aemond.
Aemond who always found Aegon not fitted for the throne, but supported him nonetheless. Aemond who was fierce, wiser and more willing to be crowned, but always took his duty as the second son to heart, no matter his opinion on the matter. Aemond, who rose higher and higher as the years passed, surpassing his brother in everything aside from debauchery. Aemond, who was certainly standing at his side as his brother was crowned king, standing tall with his usual stance, arms behind his back, eye scanning the room.
You were not feeling well. All of the implications of such an event dawning on you. You were separated from your family, and you had no idea what would happen to them, as they have always been loyal to King Viserys, and always found Otto Hightower manipulative enough to achieve his dark schemes. And there you were, with the true heir to the throne giving birth month too early, and no means of action.
The new Black Queen gave birth to a stillborn, and was crowned during its funeral. All went fast. Lords were demanding war as Rhaenyra tried to slow them down, preferring diplomacy. When her sons volunteered to be messengers for the lords who had pledged loyalty to her, including Lord Borros Baratheon, you couldn't help but intervene. The Baratheons were some of your kin, your aunt married one of their lords and have lived in Storm's End ever since. So you required of the Queen to be sent there with Lucerys to be mainly an asset in the negotiation, but also because you wanted to be with your family in order to better step out of this fight. You wouldn't do anything until you had news of your father. Ser Lorent, ever protective of you, did not succeed in changing your mind.
You learned that you were to fly on dragon back, and you weren't enchanted per say. You enjoyed flying, but the only dragon you have ever ridden was Vhagar, and there was much more room than Arrax offered. However, you arrived in Storm's End several hours later.
"It is best if I enter alone," Lucerys said at first. You wanted to argue but a roar echoed through the courtyard. You turned and saw Vhagar lifting her head above the walls. You swallowed.
He was here.
Part of you wanted to run into the hall, hoping he'd be right there, but the other part of you feared the moment you would see him. You could not allow yourself to give up all the hard work you had done while you were away from him. Not at a moment of such crisis. Your head told you to stay put, but your heart was longing for just a sight of him, a glance, a word.
You stayed outside as the rain started to pour and Lucerys entered the hall. Vhagar seems to recognise you from afar, as Arrax became more and more agitated. You tried to soothe him but you weren't his rider and failed to even approach him. You took shelter under the porch when the rain started to blur your vision. After a while, the doors opened again, the guards revealing a Lucerys as agitated as his dragon. You struggled to hear him above the loud thunderstorm.
"Y/N, you must stay! Find your aunt, I must warn my mother as soon as possible, it's-," he quickly looked at the doors behind him, tension emanated in waves from him, and you were starting to be scared. You wanted to know if he had seen Aemond, though you felt like you already knew the answer.
"It's too dangerous on dragon-back!" he continued over the rain, "I'll come back for you, meanwhile, if you have affection for my family, please try to convince Lord Borros to take our side!"
You wanted to argue once more. Too dangerous on dragon-back? You just arrived this way, why not depart the same way? He feared something, and you felt it. But how long will he be gone? What had happened?
However, your wishes were becoming true: you were exactly where you wanted, you had the opportunity to stay away from the halls of Dragonstone where battle strategies were surely planned, as well as away from the halls of the Red Keep. Your desire to step away from the boiling conflict achieved. Although it seems here, in Storm's End, you were running toward another diplomatic disaster.
Lucerys hugged you briefly, at your own surprise. You reciprocated his affection before watching him speaking to Arrax and mounting him, flying away with haste. You looked over the wall. Vhagar was invisible to you now. Was Aemond gone too, or was it just too blurry for you to see?
You announced yourself, and the guard let you in. Lord Borros was surprised by your presence. You thought it best to exclude the fact that you came with Lucerys at first, because if you were right, the meeting between the Prince and Lord Baratheon did not go well. If you were to appear as a guest and not demand alliances away, it would be smarter. So you settled to only ask to see your kin.
At first, you dodged the questions of your arrival with ability, but when your aunt arrived you were finally able to relax. You learned that Lord Borros has refused Lucerys' demand to honour the oath his father made to the Black Queen, and that shortly after, Prince Aemond, who had arrived the day before, had demanded his eye in return for the harm he caused him all those years ago. You were expecting to see him appear in the hall at any moment, but you were told he left. To chase the younger Prince.
Panic took you at that announcement. You barely managed to admit that it was Lucerys that brought you here with the calm demanded of your position, and finally you were able to take your leave. Your aunt was glad to see you, but looked very worried. But it didn't matter. You wanted to rush outside and scream into the storm for Aemond to return, not to harm his nephew.
You were useless, dragon-less.
Hours passed. You were settling in your aunt's apartments, tormented, the storm still raging outside. You thought you heard a roar several times over the raging sea, but you saw nothing from the window of your tower.
Then you heard it, a thud over the storm. Vhagar had landed. You rushed out of the room, and started to descend the many stairs that led to the great hall. You barged in. Aemond was standing there, soaking wet, head down, facing Lord Borros still seated on his throne.
"What happened out there, boy? What did you do?" he demanded.
Aemond was still staring at the floor, his expression was unreadable, but not for you. He didn't have his usual smirk, his eye weren't focused on his surroundings. You haven't seen him like this, ever. You dreaded what he would say next. You didn't want to hear it.
When the Prince looked up at the Lord on his throne, he let the silence linger a while longer before talking, "Lucerys Velaryon is dead. Slain by Vhagar."
The room went silent, and the world twirled before your eyes. Seconds later you were on your knees, clutching your chest for air, as cries of despair escaped you as well as a flow of tears.
"No!" You didn't hear yourself scream, but at that he finally saw you. You were there, on the floor, still wet from the weather, now surrounded by ladies of the court who tried to steady you. What in the seven hells were you doing there? You couldn't be, not now, not after what he had done.
His legs instantly moved toward you, he wanted to reach you, to touch you, "You murdered your own kin?" Lord Baratheon roared.
He stopped in his steps at the question, still too far from you for his taste. His heart was heavy. He didn't look away from you as he answered, "I searched for his remains, in vain," He was not sure if you were able to follow anything that was happening around you now, but his words were meant for you. "I never intended for it to happen. It was an accident."
The rooms filled with whispers, and after a deep breath, Lord Borros announced; "You are still our guest, my Prince. I expect you to honour the promise you made to me and my daughter, and my loyalty shall not falter."
You struggled to open your eyes, you had no idea of how much time had passed since you collapsed. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? When you came to yourself, you were still in the hall, people of the court looking at you and Aemond much closer than he was before. You didn't hear anything that was said, and the ladies around you finally managed to make you stand, your aunt among them, worry written all over her face.
The room was dismissed, your aunt immediately advised you to rest in her apartments, and Aemond who finally had the opportunity to come toward you, was afraid that you would once more escape away from him.
And indeed you were faster. Ignoring your aunt, you freed yourself from the hands keeping you steady and rushed for the door, to the rain. You needed air, and your heavy breathing didn't help calm yourself. He wanted to protect you, that is why he didn't take you on Arrax. And now he was dead. Because of Aemond, because of the man you always wanted.
You felt dirty, empty, and the pouring rain was hurting your skin. You felt something on your arm, almost like a caress, a hand grabbed your elbow for you to turn around. Silver hair entered your vision and you saw an eye watch you with worry. You escaped from his hold at once, and the next thing you knew, you had slapped him.
He didn't say anything at first, slowly looked back down at you with a lazy eye. His silence was louder than the storm above your head and it annoyed you. It annoyed you and you were angry. So you began hitting his chest with your fists, repeatedly, weakly, almost screaming in rage. He didn't flinch, he let you harm him for a moment, eye boring into you before clasping your hands into his, putting a stop to your doings. You struggled, begging him to let you go, but he didn't. He pulled you close, waiting for you to calm down, to be still.
"You killed him... Your own nephew," you cried. "How could you...?"
He just stared at you, sadness filling his eye; "I never meant for it to happen," he stated.
You watched him, taken aback. He looked sincere. Or were you still this weak?
"Nevertheless, he is gone. Onlt the Gods know where he lies. And you didn't want this? I've been told you demanded his eye, I see you settled for far more," you said bitterly.
"What is done is done!" he said, angry now. "My mistake can never be redeemed as his own never was. My only solace is in the fact that I did not want this, Y/N," he shook your arms as he continued; "I don't care what is said about me now, but I never wanted for you to be in pain."
You barely held a sneer from escaping your lips; "This is all that matters to you? My pain? Then you should have thought of this years ago, before you-"
"You abandoned me!"
A loud thunder came at the same time. You were silenced by his words, your ears ringing from the pain. You were exhausted.
He took a deep breath and his voice became firm.
"You abandoned me. How long were you planning to stay away in that damn fortress? Months? Years? All of your life? The very castle I could not set foot into, and you never returned. Ravens forgotten, friends as well," he talked louder now, "Do you know how many times I thought about flying there to steal you away? You had no right, no right to go away like this. The thought of you, happy, away across the black water bay made me-," he stopped himself, and the next moment he softened your grasp on you, as his shoulders relaxed.
"Now it's different. You are to return to the Red Keep, with me. Your father misses you, it is long due you take your rightful place," he continued coldly, like he hasn't snapped moments before.
You watched him with narrowed eyes, tears still coming down on your cheeks. You saw his eye look at your lips briefly, then back at your eyes. Even if you were momentarily taken aback by the movement, you let nothing appear as you slowly manage to free yourself from him. You gave him one last look, lifted your dress up and walked away. You needed to be alone, where he wouldn't be.
-0- Part 3
@let-love-bleeds-red @crazylokonugget
#aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#fanfiction#oc#aemond x original character#aemond one eye#house of the dragon#imagine#aemond targaryen x reader#romance#house targaryen#aemond kinslayer#ywawm#mygif#aemond 1x10#usermyfandomprompts#hotdedit
759 notes
·
View notes
Text
Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Contents Page
Part One (Prologue- Chapter Fifty-One)
Part Two (Chapter Fifty-Two-)
Aemond POV (Chapter One-)
Extras: Moodboards, Lore and Dragon Eggs
Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines
Summary: Following the crowing of King Aegon, second of his name, Lady Maera Wylde, eldest daughter of Master of Laws, is called to return to the capital to assist her old friend, Helaena, in becoming accustomed to her new role as Queen. As well as navigating the complexities of court and discrediting the accusations previously made about her, Maera must also face Prince Aemond, having not seen him in three long years. Once allies, their relationship is no longer what it was when they were children, and they must find a way to live together for the sake of the Crown.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Writer
#aemond x reader#prince aemond targaryen#jasper wylde#enemies to lovers#slow burn#hotd#aemond fic#ewan mitchell#maera wylde#house wylde#house of the dragon#house targaryen#aemond smut#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#aemond x oc#chapters#hotd aemond#hotd fanfic#smut#alys rivers#aemond x original character#aemond fluff#aemond targaryen fanfiction#house of the dragon imagine#hotd x reader#aemond#house of the dragon season 2#aemond fanfic#ewan nation
123 notes
·
View notes
Text
Grow Forever, Never Yield (Aemond x Reader)
This was actually the easiest one to write, I loved writing this character and wanted to write a slightly enemies to lovers type of thing, this was requested by @aegvn I hope this is what you imagined and you enjoy it as much as I did
“The prince has surpassed me in his sword fighting skills I am no longer a worthy opponent to him, I would like to invite another skilled warrior to court”
“Whom will that be Ser Criston?”
“The lady (y/n) Phoenix”
“Of firebend? They would never allow their own to join our court”
The house of Phoenix at the firebend land was amongst the last of the rebels and as allied themselves with the Dornish during the age of Aegon the conqueror, inevitably they came to a treaty of peace with the Targaryen king that allowed them somewhat freedom if they agreed to acknowledge Targaryens as the true kings, in retaliation they decided to make the words of their house be
“Grow forever, never yield”
The lady (y/n) was the second child of Nevan Phoenix, she was known for her skill at yielding a sword amongst all of 7 kingdoms, the girl was young, mayhaps a year or two Aemonds senior still she had established herself to be a legend and a name that could install fear to any knight with a mixture of the men wanting to meet this legend that came from the far lands of firebend.
“Who would be better at preparing a prince for any battle other than what they call “the strangers' daughter”?”
The house of Phoenix had been in battle when she was just at the age of 14, thankfully the girl seemed to scoff at death, (y/n) had come victorious and led her brothers' army better than any man would have, to gaze upon her stallion as she held her sword and waited to give the signal to charge was a sight only a few could witness,
“If you die, die with honor”
(Y/n) would often say to her soldiers, some even whispered that even though she got injured she kept on fighting, hence the nickname of her being a descendant of the God of death.
Otto leaned back in his chair, it would be a great opportunity to remind the Phoenix of their treaty, with Viserys getting weaker and Rhaenyras claim shaking if Aegon had Phoenix on his side then others would follow only out of fear of facing her in battle.
“I suppose sending a raven would not be so bad”
“I will arrange it, thank you, lord hand”
-
(Y/n) was already bored of kings landing, the place reeked of piss and the common folk is starving, she had opened the window of her carriage and she could already count dead bodies that lay on the streets.
“What is the purpose of dragons and glory if you cannot even take care of your land and people?”
“Unfortunately some kings do not see past their noses and tall castle walls”
Her father responded he was not pleased with the visit either, howbeit he had given up his seat as the lord of the land to his firstborn son Henley since Nevan had phrased it as
“I am too old to support my family, I shall pass the torch and legacy to a mind full of ideas and a heart full of zest for life”
Henley was a noble and wise young man, peaceful and certainly diplomatic, he could talk his way out of anything before his opponent could even comprehend what had happened.
(y/n) was close to her dear brother and was immensely proud of the man he had grown to be, Henley’s first decision was to announce (y/n) as the First Lady commander of the knights, she was the reason he was alive.
“Why did we even agree to this? I do not wish to train a spoiled brat of a prince”
“Aemond Targaryen is a prince and mounts a very large dragon, as much as we are rebels at heart we must pick our battles wisely”
Her father advised her making her blow bubbles out of boredom mixed with denial of his words standing true, they could have easily found a way to deny the invite, she was certain that her brother hid behind this act of kindness, to keep their end of the bargain and appear as a pacifist leader to avoid conflict.
Before (y/n) could utter another smart remark and ridicule the name “Targaryen” even further she was interrupted by the carriage coming to a halt, she took a deep breath as a way to steal time and gather herself along with restraining her attitude.
“Let’s get this over with”
She spoke in a gritted tone before she got off their carriage to stand next to her father, before she was standing at the queen and lord hand, along with a young girl and boy, the queen did her best to hide her surprise at the young lady’s appearance, however (y/n) picked up at the widen eyes and clench of the fists which only made her smirk.
“Queen Alicent, I must thank you for the invite to your court”
“Welcome to kings landing lord Phoenix, it is an honor to have you and your daughter here”
(Y/n) chose to stay silent, her demeanor was cold and stoic as she held her head high and her chest puffed out, she mirrored her father down to his core, a true warrior.
Her copper hair was pulled back to one thick braid making her scar that overtook almost the entire left side of her face even more intense and visible, it was quite ironic since Aemonds had lost his right eye whilst the lady was missing her left.
The scar she held was twice the size of Aemonds, whoever did it wanted to cause pain and even craved to disfigure her, Aemond thought that not only did that person fail but since the lady was standing and had created a legend out of her name the person was unsuccessful, she was the most interesting person Aemond had ever seen, he never thought he would say a such thing but “she wears it well”
Her clothing was a dark dress but if you took a close look the detail of it was marvelous, you could even observe the drawing of a Phoenix at the hem of it, it was certainly eye-catching yet it embodies her character.
“Is this why you asked us to train the prince? You believed I would be best because of our similar injury?”
(Y/n) was visibly offended by this coincidence, it was truly not Ser Coles's intention nor reasoning behind his choice of a teacher, it all came down to the tales of her talent that he had heard amongst other soldiers.
(Y/n) spoke in a calm tone yet her voice was stern and demanding, she stared at Aemonds soul with fire in her eyes, Aemond was also taken back by the lady, it was the first time he had seen someone as young as him that has suffered the same fate as him.
“No, my lady, we do not wish to offend you, we merely admire your accomplishments”
Ser Criston took a step forward as he was the one responsible for (y/n)s arrival to court, silence overtook the group as Nevan was also skeptical now that he was present, he also did not want to intervene since it might make the matters worse knowing his daughters' temper stops at nothing when she feels disrespected or threatened.
“We have heard tales of you but you are beyond our expectations, my lady, we just wish for our prince to learn from the best”
“Very well, I think we had enough pleasantries, we are not here to sweet talk one another, I shall rest for the rest of the day, I will see the prince on the morrow at your training yard, I do not want to be disturbed by anyone unless it is my father until then, whom will escort us to our chambers?”
-
(Y/n) had whipped the prince to shape, she was resilient, cunning, and tireless, Aemonds entire body ached so bad that he had to sit in a bath of scorching water just to ease his muscles for at least an hour.
(Y/n) had once barged in and laughed at him, she ridiculed him with her words as Aemonds face showed no emotion as she spoke, well mostly as she laughed at him from her high horse “Was she also in pain? Probably too stubborn to admit that the practice also took a toll on her” he thought as he watched her go back and forth in front of him, though he was filled with rage from her little stunt, how dare she walk in at a such vulnerable hour.
“What type of lady walks in so shamelessly when a man is bare? I take it as a sign of you not being a true maiden?”
“Is that all you got? Your pride is so bruised that you cannot think of a better insult than one of my virtue? I suppose it suits a man, still, I would take not being a maiden if I had to choose to be that or laying with my brother or uncle”
Aemonds next move was something that she did not even expect, he rose revealing every single part of him, to Aemonds surprise (y/n) was unfazed and just eyeballed him straight in the face, she did not even glance for just a minute past his neck nor was there any sign of her being uncomfortable.
“I understand that in your land you have different customs but you are in kings Landing now, Vhagar is quite peckish around this hour and you would surely be a delectable snack to her”
“You can do as such that is true, are you sure you want to face the wrath of my family? We did not name our land firebend for nothing”
(Y/n) had a way of pushing his buttons, sending him to madness, and forcing him into losing his cool was her favorite hobby, one would suppose it is befitting if you take into consideration that her family's entire legacy was to oppose the Targaryens and remind them that they would always be the thorn that bled their reputation, even going as far as to making their sigil a Phoenix with its wings spread, the animal that is known for rising amongst the ashes, the ashes of dragon fire in this situation.
Aemond relished walking in the garden upon the hour of the ghosts, it was the only time this forsaken castle was quiet, Aemond had lived almost his entire life in solitude, not a child that made friends naturally and that worsened after Driftmark, the silence brought him comfort as the breeze went through him was refreshing.
“Incoming”
A voice erupted as someone attacked him from the back, luckily Aemond was quick on his feet and ducked just in time to miss the spike of a sword only by an inch, Aemond was unharmed and forced to defend himself with his bare hands.
“You sneaky bitch”
He spat as he went into defense, he could barely see her from the darkness that surrounded him as she marched at him with full force, you could hear their grunts as they had a go at one another.
“You think every war will be in broad daylight and fair? Some bastard can attack you even when you take a piss”
She taunted him, (y/n) did not hold back nor empathized with the prince who was put in a situation that wasn’t beneficial to him whatsoever, on the contrary, she was thoroughly enjoying seeing him struggle.
Aemond had suffered from attacks ever since the incident, in this moment he was pulled back into the time he was a boy and had to come out alive after his nephews resorted to violence over Vhagar, his breath was short and sharp as his eye squinted and had started to sweat.
Aemond grew vicious, not caring for precautions or if he made some serious damage to her, in his delirium he was placed in a death or life situation and he would be damned if he did not come out of this alive and well.
(Y/n)s laughter was replaced by a loud grunt and a thud once her back was forced against the wall and Aemonds hand was by her neck, his fingers clenching her airway making it harder for her to draw a breath.
“Yield”
He commanded in a low tone at her as she struggled under his grasp, he detected the struggle in her eye, even then her pride was strong, visible since she refused to make a sound and did her best to keep her composure, she did not want to give him the satisfaction of taking her as weak.
At that moment something in him changed, instinctively his chest collided with hers, the warmth of her body was inviting and her scent of vanilla was mouthwatering, he didn't even realize how close he had come to with his nose tracing her neck.
(Y/n) grew goosebumps at the strange sensation though she was thankful that Aemond was distracted enough to loosen his grip, she remained still as she took a few breaths to relax her system and regain her strength.
“What are you doing?”
“I was imagining a blade gracing this gorgeous neck of yours”
“Strange, I would love to do the same to you”
Aemond let out a sound of pain at the sudden move of (y/n) kneeing him in his stomach, she wanted to go for the crotch still she decided it would be best to spare him this one time.
Aemond took a step back however he laughed between his agony at her stubbornness of not wanting to admit that she enjoyed the intimate encounter as much as he did, his arms hugged him to soothe his stomach from the pain while she looked down at him, her hands were shaking and for a minute she wanted to run away, hide after being caught like a little girl that was eyeing the stable boy.
“It was silly of you to ask me to yield, you have forgotten I am a Phoenix, a word of advice for next time, never lose focus”
“I never lost focus my lady, I had no weapon, so I used what was available, my charm”
“Well judging by the fact I only kneed you and did not draw my sword from the belly button to your shoulder then never do that again”
“Was it truly that repulsive or are you just so prideful that you do not crave to admit that you liked it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous”
“Am I? Sweet (y/n)”
His voice was melodic as he got closer to her once again, now it was her that was defenseless and she was back again to the wall, the eye contact between them never broke as Aemonds hands found their way to the sides of her waist, (y/n) was frozen, for once in a life she did not know what to do.
Aemond was in full control when his nose brushed against hers and (y/n) closed her eyes letting out a breath that parted her lips ever so slightly.
“Seven hells, let us not do this”
“Why? The sweetest bite comes from the forbidden fruit”
“Mayhaps, but I am no fruit, I am a warrior and you are a stuck-up, obnoxious, little prick”
“A little prick that has you blushing, it is alright, I am a gentleman, and I will not expose you if you choose to take a bite”
Requests are open!
#aemond smut#aemond fluff#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond x y/n#aemond x you#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x fem!oc#aemond imagine#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x original character#aemond x original female character#aemond targaryen x original character#hotd fanfic#hotd#hotd fic#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#house of the dragon#house of the dragon imagine#house of the dragon x reader#hotd season 1#hotd aemond#prince aemond#aemond fanfiction#house of the dragon aemond
240 notes
·
View notes
Text
Object of Desire (1/3)
[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]
[ warnings: dubcon, hate sex, sex content, smut, angst, domination, violence, swearing, humiliation, hard chauvinism ]
[ description: Aemond is forced to marry a widow from House Arryn as part of the alliance and support of his brother in the war against the Black faction. This story is an Anon Request, sorry it took me so long. I know anon wanted it to be a softer and sweeter story, but it didn't fit Aemond's character and what I think would be going on in his head. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. Lots of humiliation, violence and chauvinism. ]
Part 2 − Object of Despair
Part 3 − Object of Delight
Epilogue
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
My other works: Masterlist
______
He thought the greatest humiliation of his life was behind him when he lost an eye, when his brother and nephews gave him a pig instead of a dragon. He thought that now that he was a man, rider of the greatest dragon walking the earth − he would finally get everything he deserved, a wife from a dignified, respected House, and with her an offspring, his inheritance, an extension of his lineage.
He could not hide his expression of disappointment, disgust and bitterness when his mother informed him that instead of one of Lord Baratheon's daughters he would be marrying Lord Arryn's niece − his grandfather, intent on strengthening his brother's position on the throne felt that depriving Rheanyra of the support of the Eyrie, her mother's kin, would greatly weaken her in the ongoing war.
He would have endured this change without a word were it not for one thing.
The woman was a fucking widow.
Already intimate with another man who had taken her virginity, she was worn, marked, like an overbitten apple that now someone had to eat to the end to keep it from rotting.
He imagined in the back of his mind how the court, which both feared and mocked him, would spread rumours that the One-Eyed Prince was not only crippled but must marry a woman devoid of value and her greatest virtue, for no other lady would agree to be his wife.
However, he knew what duty was and intended to fulfil it.
Despite his mother's suggestion, he did not want to see her before the nuptial day. He felt that he did not want to further exacerbate her bad enough appearance in his eyes; he feared that she was not only worthless but plain ugly, her mind empty and shallow.
Although the nuptials were to take place in the noble family, knowing that this would not be her first wedding it was decided that the whole ceremony would be modest, only the most loyal lords and relatives who supported their cause were invited.
Looking at his reflection in the mirror in shame and disgust, at his emerald tunic adorned with golden threads swirling in embroidery reminiscent of dragon's heads, he thought it seemed too refined for such an occasion, for such a woman who could offer him nothing.
He knew that there was no fault of hers in her husband's sudden passing from this world, that it was pure politics, but he could not help thinking that it would have been better if she had died with him.
Waiting for her in the Great Sept, he felt nothing − he had not even bestowed a single glance on her when he heard the sound of trumpets, indicating that she and her father had entered the temple and were heading towards him.
As he felt her presence beside him he immediately noticed out of the corner of his eye that she was dressed in a blue gown, flowers of the same colour in her hair − curiosity forced him to at least glance at her and he swallowed loudly as his gaze met her violet eyes.
The colour of the Targaryens.
He froze, feeling his heart suddenly begin to beat faster, unable to look away from her irises, from her long, dark lashes and eyebrows surrounding her eyes like a sky surrounding the sun − unintentionally his gaze studied quickly her entire silhouette and face.
He swallowed with difficulty, turning his head away, realising that her figure was pleasingly girlish, she was young, too young in his eyes to be a widow − her dark hair was tied back, myosotis tucked into her curls at the sides of her head, her gown made of some thin, smooth, shiny material shimmering blue and purple at the same time.
He couldn't focus on what the Septon was saying; he only glanced at her again when Daeron handed him the cloak with which he was to cover her − her gaze fixed on him, her eyebrows arched in sorrow as if she was in pain, her eyes gleaming, slightly reddened, as if she was barely holding back tears.
He felt like asking if she was so disgusted with him, but no sound came out of his mouth.
With a stony face expressing indifference, he threw his cloak embroidered with a three-headed red dragon over her back and then took her hand in his, small and surprisingly smooth.
She didn't look at him when, in a trembling, soft voice, she repeated the words of her vows with him. He tried to remember her doing it for the second time in her life, that she was someone else's, warming someone else's bed, but he couldn't.
She seemed so innocent.
They hadn't exchanged a word during the wedding feast; he watched from the corner of his eye her demeanour, her face − she seemed to him absent, sad, ashamed.
He thought with a squeeze in his throat, filled with jealousy and envy, that she was a beautiful young woman, and someone had her before him.
He took a loud, impatient sip of wine from his cup, its tart, slightly sweet aftertaste spilling over his tongue, dulling his mind.
He felt like his head was going to burst.
They both tried to put it off for as long as they could, however, eventually his mother suggested that his spouse was surely tired and should retire to bed.
He pressed his lips together at her words, rising silently, looking at this strange, frightened girl out of the corner of his eye, her face turned towards him, her eyes open wide in terror.
"Come, wife." He hummed coldly, without emotion and heard her swallow hard − she followed him quietly as he left the hall, heading down the dark torch-lit corridors to his chamber.
He watched indifferently as her servants helped her undress from her beautiful gown, slowly untangling the curls of her hair, one of them wanted to remove the flowers from them, but he protested.
"No. The flowers are to stay. Let at least some semblance of innocence and purity remain." He sneered, saw that the corners of her mouth twitched, her eyebrows arched in pained humiliation.
He cocked his head, intrigued that she endured his words and what was happening with such humility.
He thought that if she behaved like this, perhaps he would take pity on her and actually put his child inside her, so that she could somehow regain her dignity, to be the mother of his heir.
"That's enough." He said at last, when she was left only in her nightgown, from under which he could see the outline of the pleasing shapes of her womanly body, waiting patiently until they were left alone.
She was looking somewhere far away, sad, tired, humiliated, her face, although pale, as if filled with mourning, was smooth and pleasant, the shade of her eyes seemed to him more blue in the firelight.
Proof that they shared ancestors, a common heritage.
For some reason he felt some kind of affection for her at the thought.
He got up from his seat with a loud creak of wood, walking with a slow, lazy step towards her − he saw that she twitched but did not look at him, her lips parted slightly in an accelerated breath, betraying her nervousness.
He walked around her, looking at her as if she were an object, assessing her figure, the shade of her hair, the shape of her face from every angle. She swallowed quietly and lifted her chin, looking at him with some kind of challenge, a decision that she would accept what was about to happen and give him no reason to mock her.
He hummed at the thought, stepping behind her, feeling her flinch all over as she felt his large hands touch her waist and then slide lower, to her womb − he felt surprised, licking his lips with his tongue, that his manhood swelled hard in his breeches when, in some sudden, involuntary reflex, her small hands grabbed his wrists, yet not stopping his movements, just trying to maintain some semblance of control over what was happening.
She let the air out of her lungs nervously, closing her eyes for a moment as his nose sank into her sweet-smelling, smooth hair, his hands stroking her lower abdomen trailing over it in tender, slow movements as if he imagined she was already carrying his child, his reason for being proud and pleased with her.
"This poor man, whose name I can't even remember, died without an heir. Why?" He whispered in her ear, a note of menace in his voice, his fingers digging into the fabric of her nightgown and her stomach, forcing her to take a step back, bumping into his throbbing manhood pushing against her buttocks. He heard her gasp softly, swallowing loudly, her body quivering in his embrace.
"The will of the Gods." She replied softly, her voice melodious, warm, pleasant to his ear. He hummed again, acknowledging her answer, his hands again beginning to stroke her womb in an unhurried, tender gesture.
"Why would I need a wife who won't give me an inheritance? Hm?" He asked in a tone as if he was curious and intrigued − he felt her whole body tense up in fear knowing that he was mocking her.
She drew in air loudly, suddenly tightening her fingers on his arm as his hand slid lower, between her thighs, the tips of his fingers began to brush her there with calm, steady strokes.
His free hand rose higher, to her neck, tightening around it warningly when he felt her buttocks begin to rub against his length, feeling a pleasant wave of heat surge through his spine and lower abdomen. He looked down at his fingers between her thighs, even through the material feeling the moisture leaking through it.
"A wife is a gift. Like a sword, a book or a horse." She cooed softly, responding with a rocking of her hips to the touch of his fingers. He involuntarily chuckled at her words, charmed that she understood exactly his approach, that her mind was not obscured by bottomless female fantasies, but stood in reality.
"Why would I need a chipped sword, an empty book, or a blind horse?" He asked lowly, his hand from her neck moved higher − his fingers cupped her cheeks, forcing her to turn her head towards him, to look at him, her violet eyes misty, bright, beautiful.
She smiled and giggled softly, startling him completely, bringing him out of his thoughts.
"It's amusing to hear you speak about blindness, husband. I hope the lack of your eye doesn't bother you anymore." She whispered with a satisfaction that made him snort in fury − she squealed quietly and closed her eyes as his fingers dug into her cheeks and shook her, as if he wanted her to come to her senses and remember who she was standing in front of.
"You are nothing, whore. Do you understand? Nothing. A worn-out cup to be filled with seed. I don't have an eye, but I do have a fucking dignity that my mother deprived me of by forcing me to marry a creature like you." He hissed, shaking her head violently once in a while, wanting it to get into her little empty head what he had just said.
She looked at him with hatred, her gaze seeming darker, more dangerous to him, her tongue hitting her palate with a quiet click of her saliva as she whispered a single word in his direction.
"Pathetic."
He didn't even know when his hand tightened in her hair, slamming her head against the table that stood in front of them forcing her to lean forward with a violent gesture − she squirmed loudly and cried out, clenching her fingers on the tabletop as she tried to catch her balance − he kicked her ankle with his foot forcing her to spread her thighs wider.
"You like it rough, hm? You find yourself better at being a whore than a wife? Very well then." He growled, his free hand undoing the buckles of his tunic, untying his breeches quickly, releasing his throbbing erection, giving it a few sure squeezes at the base, for some reason what was happening, their quick, rapturous breaths aroused him even more.
"Fucking male pride. Take what you want, you won't break me." She hissed with such hateful envy that he chuckled out loud, somehow impressed by how brazen she was.
"There's a little dragon burning inside you, isn't it? We shall see. I'm a man full of patience." He sneered, lifting her nightgown up in an impatient motion, exposing what was between her thighs, her rosy, puffy folds glistening with her moisture.
She pressed her lips together, struggling to hold back the sound of discomfort as he pushed against her, forcing the fat, pink head of his cock between her tight walls. He sighed heavily, feeling how wonderfully she clenched around him on all sides, hot and surprisingly soft.
"− fuck −" He gasped out, spreading her thighs wider with his leg − she cried out loudly as he sank all the way into her with one sure thrust, her fleshy muscles throbbing againt him in panic.
They both began panting loudly as, in some subconscious, natural reflex, he began to pound into her with the impatient, aggressive stabs of his hips.
"− fucking whore −" He growled angrily, clamping his hand painfully tight on her hair, her mouth parted wide in a helpless moan as he suddenly quickened his pace, looking down, feeling a wonderful thrill of elation at the sight of his manhood opening her slick folds wide again and again with deep, brutal thrusts of his hips.
"− bastard −" She cried out, responding however to the pushes of his hips with a fierceness from which his voice stuck in his throat. He was no longer sure, groaning low with pleasure, feeling the way her walls squeezed him wonderfully, sucking him inside, whether what they were saying was true or just a test of strength and dominance, an attempt to establish who would have the last word.
"− shut the fuck up − to think you still have the strength to babble − shall I put it in your mouth so you'll finally be quiet? −" He snorted through clenched teeth, gripping his free hand over the soft, smooth skin of her firm buttocks, slamming into her like mad.
It seemed to him that they were both moaning and panting too loudly, as if they were in some kind of frenzy, his thighs slapping against her bare skin with a sticky smack again and again, barely sliding out of her.
"− fuck − o-oh fuck, stop −" He gasped out as he felt her muscles suddenly clench greedily against his manhood at his words, intensifying his sensations. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as he heard sweet, loud moans of fulfillment begin to erupt from her throat, her body trembling all over − she whimpered when he didn't slow down, chasing his own fulfilment.
"− I know − fuck, just a moment longer − shhh −" He hushed her and groaned low, sighing in relief when he felt that wonderful, relaxing feeling, bliss in his mind and whole body, delight as his seed spilled deep inside her, right where it belonged.
His hips rocked inside her a moment longer with her mumble of displeasure, her eyes closed, her breathing ragged, her fingers trailing over the table top as if she couldn't calm down.
"− it's alright − easy − it's alright −" He whispered, panting heavily, stroking her soft hair with slow, tender gesture, her eyebrows arched in pain as she wept loudly, tears one after another began to run down her face.
He wasn't sure if she was crying from relief that she had it behind her or from grief that she had to go through this again.
"− I know − I know −" He hummed, running his fingers over her smooth, dark curls, for some reason feeling the need to reassure her, fulfilled and content after what had happened between them, his half-soft manhood still twitching deep inside her, all slick from their shared moisture.
"− I don't blame you, wife − that man was weak, as was his seed − you will soon bear me a son −"
_____
Aemond Taglist:
(bold means I couldn't tag you)
@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar
#aemond fic#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell fanfic#dark aemond#dark aemond targaryen#dark aemond smut#dark aemond angst#aemond smut#aemond#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond x oc#aemond x female#aemond x fem!oc#aemond x original character#aemond x original female character#aemond targaryen smut#aemond kinslayer#aemond the kinslayer#aemond angst#aemond targaryen angst#hotd angst#hotd smut#targaryen smut#aemond fanfic
513 notes
·
View notes
Text
These Aemond and his wife fics are too much for my heart. Had to contribute
#house of the dragon aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond fanfiction#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x original character#aemond fanart
366 notes
·
View notes
Text
Diamonds on the water
Summary: As one of Queen Alicent's ladies, she went undetected, a shadow at the back of the Green Queen. Most of the time. That is until she caught the eye of the Queen’s One-Eyed son.
What happened after, well no one would ever truly know, would they?
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x unnamed
Word count: 4k
Warnings: NSFW 18+, oral (m receiving), smut, slight age difference, sub!Aemond, minor spit kink, praise kink, overstim, teasing, fingering, use of she/her, angst, spoilers for Fire and Blood (A Song of Ice and Fire)
A/N; just a little something i came up with at 4 am, and i hope whoever reads it likes it :) ty ty ty to @valeskafics for putting up with me ILY
The sun began to lower, dragging a slow trail down the sky as it was obscured behind the clouds, but not before it cast a glow onto the stones, rising just far up enough to catch on the Queen’s rich auburn hair, igniting the curls into a halo that framed her face.
Alicent let out a sigh of relief, the tension plaguing her fading bit by bit. “You have a healer’s hands," she said gratefully, the furrowed lines of her face smoothing as her eyes closed, a deeper sigh leaving her mouth.
She had quickly risen to the coveted position of being the Queen’s confidant and main handmaid after Talya had vanished in the dead of night. Her past was of little consequence in this place, and despite the curiosity of the other servants, she intended to keep it that way.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured, placing the bottle of scented oil back down after rubbing it into her temples and stepping away. Alicent smiled at her, brief and half-distracted, as she was more often than not, ruling the kingdom in her ailing husband’s stead. "Is that all, my Queen?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, thank you, my dear. You may go." Rising from the chair, Alicent Hightower nodded, that same distant smile on her mouth.
“Of course, Your Grace.” She bowed her head, snuffing all but one candle on her way out. She had barely taken a step or two past the door when the faint taps of the heel of a boot sounded behind her.
"Wait," a voice rang out behind her. Her skin prickled as she froze, skirts twisting around her legs as she spun around, eyes alighting on the tall figure of the Queen’s second son.
“Prince Aemond,” she acknowledged, brow furrowing, curious as to what he was doing out here at this hour, more often than not breaking his fast with his mother, before or after he trained with Ser Criston.
Anxiousness slithered up her throat, knowing full well what happened if someone were to stumble across them. The knowledge that despite her status as the Queen’s lady, her word was nothing compared to his. The scores of other serving women who had left, all after having an unfortunate encounter with the Queen's eldest son proof of this.
His good eye focused on her, unsettling enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
“You are attending my mother late,” his voice reverberated off the stone walls as he spoke quietly. “Is she well?” She nodded, glancing backwards.
"She is," she said, carefully keeping her voice low. He hummed in response, casting his eye over her head as he scanned the corridor behind her.
She stiffened as his eye locked on her once more, the previously impassive expression he seemed to wear day in and day out changing to something a hairsbreadth more smug.
Her uneasiness returned the longer he stayed silent, searching her face for something. She blinked in surprise as instead of speaking, he slid past her, the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes, wafting under her nose as his arm brushed hers, letting out a sigh of relief as she watched him slink into his mother’s chambers.
A day passed. Then two, her days a loop of the same over and over, their encounter slipping from her mind as she attended to the Queen.
The ratty, worn book slithered from her grasp, falling to the side as her head jolted, a pain forming in her neck, gaze fixed on the door, another rap sounding, a low muffled voice slipping under the bottom. She was thankful for the lateness, the darkness obscuring the color in her cheeks as the guard led her through the empty corridors, the directions he took as familiar to her as the back of her hand.
Dread began to coil in her, settling like a stone low in her stomach. She didn’t look twice at the nameless guard in Targaryen heraldry as she stepped past him into the bedchamber, the lock of the door as loud as thunder as it closed behind her.
"You summoned me," she said flatly.
His head turned towards her as he let out a hum in the back of his throat but made no move to stand, turning his eye back on the flames dancing in the hearth, “I did.”
“At the Hour of the Bat,” she retorted, the tension in her back loosening slightly as the fear of discovery lessened. "Could it not wait?'
"No," he said, letting out another low noise. An amused twist formed on his lips, fingers spread wide on the pages of the book balanced on his leg.
Her ire grew, his silence only making her more agitated. She clasped her hands behind her, eyes moving around his chamber curiously. It was richly decorated, the walls covered by tapestry after tapestry, all of them having a dragon somewhere. Bookshelves sat along one wall, filled with the spines of books in a multitude of darker colors. Her eyes flicked lastly to his desk, situated halfway under one of the wide windows, the full moon illuminating the items scattered across the surface.
“What do you want, my Prince?” she gritted out, subtly shifting on the balls of her feet.
“I have a request,” he finally spoke, his tone short and clipped. "If you would hear it," he set his book to the side, unfolding himself as he stood.
She watched as he moved closer, a gleam in her eyes, feeling like a cat did after trapping a mouse underfoot. Her eyes slid over him, taking in the painstakingly carved dragons pinned to the high collar of his tunic, going lower and lower till they fell on his boots, just as richly made as the rest of his clothing.
“Oh?”
He swallowed, drumming his fingers against his legs, a flicker of something igniting in his eye. Self-doubt, most like.
"I know of the acts," he started, drawing her attention back to his face. “Between a man and woman, but-”
"But not the act itself,” she finished, wariness returning. “You want to learn," she said calmly, keeping her expression blank, “And you want me to teach you.”
A small part of her, one that she had pushed and buried in the deepest recesses rose again, her shame clashing with her pride and her disgust battling with her curiosity.
“Yes.”
Her face betrayed nothing of the thoughts whirling inside her head, knowing full well the consequences, “My position-”
“Will not be affected,” he assured solemnly.
Her eyes darted over his face, not believing him for a second.
“Of course,” she swallowed, moving the few quick steps needed to reach the jug of wine that sat on the table situated in the corner, pouring the dark liquid into two separate cups, "Tell me,” she said as she handed one to him, her fingers brushing his, “What do you know of a woman's pleasure?" her gaze centered on his face, studying him.
“Very little,” he admitted stiffly, biting his cheek. He clenched the cup tighter, knuckles going white around the base of it.
He didn't lift his head, eye focused on the contents swirling in his cup.
"It is an art, the pleasure a woman can bring to a man. And a man to a woman," she murmured, letting out a low hum as she reached out to run her fingers over his hair, the firelight outlining him in bright tones of yellow and orange and red.
“You only have to know where to look. What books to leaf through,” she dragged her hand down the length of his arm, the leather of his tunic soft and well worn and supple under her palm. The warm tones only added to his almost otherworldly beauty in a way she was wholly unaccustomed to. His bright silver hair draped over his shoulders, pale as snow against the black of his overcoat and a sole violet eye that tracked her movements with an unnerving, almost predatory precision.
His eye widened, a flush rising along the ridge of his cheekbones, disappearing underneath his collar.
"I've no taste for depravity-" his sharp protest faded when she nipped at the shell of his ear, slowly unwinding his belt from around his slim hips.
"Is that what you think it is? Depravity and sin and lust?" She burst into laughter, unable to help herself.
He clearly was not amused, face twisted in fury as he stared at her, taking her laughter as nothing more than a mockery of him.
"On the Street of Silk, yes, but here…." she batted his hands away when he tried to redo the belt loop, the back of her hand brushing against the front of his breeches; she let his belt fall to his feet, "There is more to it than that. Much more."
She left him at that, seeing the first flickerings of dawn beginning to push past the dark, not wanting to get caught in the rush of servants who would be rising soon, sending a wicked smile his way as she glanced at him from over her shoulder, his eye boring into her skin as she slipped out the door.
Like a spider that had ensnared some hapless insect in its web, the Prince seemed drawn to her by a nearly invisible string. As if the gods themselves smiled down at them, his nightly summons went unnoticed, always at the time when the castle was pitch dark, those who resided behind the red stones laying asleep and oblivious in their beds.
Alone in his chambers, the tension that seemed to radiate throughout him during the times he stood with his mother and his siblings all but disappeared, snuffed out like a blown out flame as he let her have control over him, their roles reversed in the quiet darkness of his rooms.
"Do you trust me?" Prince Aemond nodded, jerking his head up and down, "Good," she praised, moving with a languid, easy grace, she reached behind her and curled the laces of her gown around her finger, pulling them till the garment pooled around her ankles.
Her chemise followed, leaving her bare to his gaze. He let out a low noise in the back of his throat, the color that had been in his cheeks spreading to the tips of his ears. He swallowed thickly, shifting on his feet, his discomfort plain at the praise, not knowing what to make of it.
“Pretty, pretty boy,” she crooned, making his breath catch and his eye widen.
She stepped closer to him, hearing the halt and catch of his breath. Color flooded his cheeks, rich and dark against the paleness of his skin. She pressed her mouth to his softly, tangling her fingers in his hair, her grip gentle yet firm.
He groaned against her mouth, his hands rising to dig into her sides.
"Ah, ah-" she chided, pressing her fingers against his mouth, "I did not say you could touch me yet, did I?"
His eye narrowed as he bit his lip, chest rising and falling rapidly, his eye nearly black with lust, eye as wild as she’d ever seen it.
Barely a minute later his lips sought hers again, his other hand sliding up to tangle in her hair.
His cock lay against his thigh, already half-hard and weeping, drops of pre-cum beading at the tip of it, "Will you listen to me now?"
His breath grew heavier as he gasped, eye squeezing shut, "Yes," he gasped out, pupil blown wide.
He cursed, some half rasped phrase that she knew without a doubt would leave his mother horrified.
"Good boy," she released him, trailing her fingers up his body; curling a hand around his jaw, she tilted his head up, "Open," he obeyed almost instantly, throat bobbing as he swallowed, unraveling further under her. She tilted her head, teasing him more as she dragged her cunt over his cock. “Do you pray?” she rasped, dragging her hips up and back down against him, the sharp lines of the bones flush under his skin digging into her flesh.
“Kessa-” he gasped, slipping into Old Valyrian effortlessly as he bucked his hips upwards.
She had never heard the language before. It tumbled from his mouth, low and rasping and breathless, pretty, even, when he spoke it.
“What do you pray for?” she grinned down at him. She could feel everything, from the sweat that dripped down the back of her neck to the ache between her thighs. “Her Grace, the Queen? Or your sister?” she rolled her hips, pleased at his reaction.
The noises he made were just as lovely as any music a bard made, if not prettier, a plethora of keens, moans and unrestrained whines coming from the back of his throat.
"Tell me."
She began to draw random shapes into his skin, watching as the muscles of his stomach jumped under the featherlight touches of her fingers.
"Louder," she crooned, pulling her fingers away. "I want to hear you."
He whimpered at her words, but obeyed her nonetheless, drawing a sharp inhale in through his nose as he twitched, his eye nearly rolling back into his head as he watched her, “Kessa, kessa, please-”
His mumbles suddenly stopped as he fell from Old Valyrian back to the Common Tongue, desperation on his face, “Shh,” she hushed, pulling away from him far enough to slide one hand over the curving line of his jaw.
She brushed the hair that wasn’t sticking to his skin back, the pale strands curling slightly. She’d tended to Alicent Hightower’s hair enough to see the only evidence in him and his siblings of her Hightower blood.
He moaned, back arching off the bed as his fingers scrabbled uselessly for purchase, chasing a relief that hovered just slightly out of reach.
It was intoxicating, this game of cat and mouse she played with the rider of the largest dragon in the realm, watching him turn to putty beneath her attention as the days passed into weeks and months.
“What are you doing in here?”
She whirled, the book in her hand falling to the floor at her feet, her eyes widening at the sight of Alicent hovering in the doorway, a bewildered look on her face, “Your Grace, I’m-”
Dread pooled in her stomach, stronger than anything she’d felt before. Clothed in nothing but her shift, she felt exposed and vulnerable.
“I set half the Keep searching for you when you weren’t in my chambers at dawn.”
Displeasure coated her voice, her nerves stretched and drawn thin. The entire keep had been on its toes the past few days, the arrival of the Princess Rhaenyra and her husband looming over everyone’s heads.
Whatever she had meant to say next died on her lips, her eyes following her son as he came around the corner. She could feel the warmth of his lean frame flush against her back as he looked at his mother over her head, one hand settling on her hip.
“Mother.”
“Have you-” her voice got shriller and shriller as her composure shattered, eyes staying on her son and her handmaiden, “I ought to have you dismissed for this-” she snapped.
“Mother. That is enough,” Aemond said back, his gaze sharp as he stared down at her, said sharpness bleeding into his voice, softening slightly when his mother flinched, “You will do no such thing.”
"And yet she is in your chambers," Alicent's gaze raked over her, eyes full of anger. "Half clothed too. Are you bedding her?"
"I am."
He refused to say more, the long line of him at her back as stiff as a board. The Queen pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, fighting back a sob.
“I expected this from Aegon, but from you?” Alicent began to wring her hands, picking at the skin of her fingers anxiously, “The shame of it-” she muttered under her breath, beginning to pace, skirts near silent on the stones, “This does not leave this room,” she hissed, raising a slightly trembling finger to be level with her son’s face, “I will overlook this,” she said, frowning, “But if I hear so much as a whisper, I will not hesitate to send her away.”
“You won’t. I am not Aegon.”
It was the only promise he was willing to give. Alicent looked at her a final time, the anger that had been on her face before now gone, the only tell of her displeasure was the subtle tightening of her mouth before she swept out past the door.
A new stilted stiffness arose between her and the Queen after that day. Where conversation had once flowed freely, silence reigned. Silence and the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something was coming. What that was, she knew not.
She supposed she should’ve been grateful that her arrangement with the Prince had not changed. She, if she was being truthful, had grown quite fond of having him a writhing, moaning mess beneath her as he pleaded and begged and demanded for more, more, more.
She would know half a moon later when the King dies.
She didn't so much as flinch when the familiar telltale creak and groan of the door opened, dim light from the torches spilling into the dark as Aemond stepped further into his chamber. She glanced at him, taking note of the incensed expression on his face, and the labored rise and fall of his chest as he breathed and the vein ticking in his clenched jaw.
"What is it?"
“My brother,” he said mulishly, his mood sullen.
She waited for him to say more, turning back to dragging a comb through her hair when he didn’t. She could practically sense the annoyance and the irritation in his voice, only speaking again when he didn’t.
“What of him?”
“He is King now, the wretch,” bitterness dripped from his every word, so potent she could almost taste the rage and the fury that coated his insides like honey, “King of the Seven Kingdoms,” he continued tersely, shucking off his tunic and tossing it over the back of a chair, "And he would rather squander valuable coin on whores and wine instead of rule,” he grit his teeth, fury bright in his eye.
"Ah."
She knew of Prince Aegon's proclivities, of course, for who didn’t? The prince, King now, had three children by his sister-wife, and yet he still ventured into the city to sate his urges.
The sound of him coming closer got louder, stilling inches behind her, “I need you,” his hand settled like an anchor against the back of her neck, heavy and unpleasant.
“No,” she kept still, sitting frozen on the chair, feeling his hand slide away.
She mustered up enough courage to turn around. She tilted her head back, meeting his eye, unyielding in the face of his anger.
“No?” he blinked, taken aback.
She doubted anyone had ever denied him, going by the look on his face, his disbelief slowly giving way to anger. And not the loud kind, either. No. It was the quiet kind, the kind that thrived in the dark. In harsh inhales and even harsher exhalations of air.
“You heard me,” she could see it, the rage slowly beginning to simmer beneath his skin, “Do I need to repeat myself?”
If she were anyone else, her head would have decorated the city gates by now, daring to speak to him like that, but she wasn’t.
"You dare-" he snarled, glaring at her.
Every inch a dragon, his fury should have frightened her, but it didn’t. She kept her eyes on his, tempted to raise an eyebrow at him, unimpressed as she was, filled with bravery or stupidity as she spoke.
"I do dare," she breathed against his ear, lowering her hand between their bodies to wrap her fingers around his cock, making his angry hiss turn into a low moan, "Out there," she made a gesture towards the door with her hand to signify her point, "You may be Prince Regent, but here, you are mine," she grinned slyly.
His breath hitched at her boldness, the anger in his eye shifting to lust he kept his gaze on her.
"The question that remains," she murmured, touching his arm lightly. He leaned into it, a ragged breath leaving him as his eye closed, "Is if you meant to kill him?"
He had not been back from Storm’ End for more than a day at most, his return met not with pleased faces, but horror and a herald of what was to come. The shadow of the Stranger loomed over all of them, slipping closer and closer before striking at the heart of them.
The murder of Aegon II’s heir. Jaehaerys had been quiet, the little six fingered boy speaking as little as his twin, if not less, the grief of it sending his mother spiraling into madness, withering away.
He bit his lip as a flash of horrified realization danced across his face. He hesitated, mouth opening as if he meant to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
"I don't know," he stared down at his hands blankly, as if there was blood on them that only he could see, "I taunted him," he croaked out, "Told him to cut his eye out as payment for the one he took from me. That I'd make a gift of it to my mother."
He swallowed, curling his hands into fists.
She chose her next words carefully, standing next to him warily, "What did he do, Aemond?"
Too locked within his mind to care, he didn't notice her slip up, "He refused," his face twisted, agonized, "He refused, and I named him a craven and a traitor. Chased him through the skies," she rounded on him, her breath faltering in her chest as she dreaded his next words, “I fought to control Vhagar, but-” she grasped his shoulders, briefly meeting his eye before drawing him to her.
No matter what they did, war and death and blood would always be an outcome, attempts and hopes for peace scattering like flower petals on the wind.
Aemond was dead. The words rang in her ears as hollow as a drum.
Disbelief, as potent as a sword buried hilt deep in her belly, edged its way through her, the pain of it dragging and scraping at her insides. She heard the talk of the smallfolk that had drifted from mouth to mouth until it reached the city of his death at the hands of his uncle. He’d wanted her to come with him, the manner of how he tried to convince her failing as she refused over and over to leave the Queen, just as bound by duty as he was.
And now he was dead. He and the dragon he had lost an eye for, doomed to a watery grave unbefitting for a son of House Targaryen. In the eyes of some, it was a more than fair exchange, a son of Alicent’s blood for the one Rhaenyra had lost.
“Stay. Please.”
“You loved him, as I did-” Alicent lunged forward, clutching at her hands tightly, her rich brown eyes glittering with tears, “I know it in my bones. Tell me you did. Please.” Grief and bereavement clung to her like a shroud, the loss of three of her four children having all but broken her, leaving her a withered wraith of the woman she’d been, "I remember the sickness that took my husband and my child from me."
There was an ache inside of her, one that had never truly gone away. It rose up again, bringing with it the half-faded memories of a child’s laughter and the smell of flowers and newly tilled earth.
“That is the grief of motherhood, to love our children as best we can,” she turned around to face Alicent head on, carrying the same grief that lingered in the Dowager’s eyes.
“I did not love him,” she admitted, stilling feet from the entry, “But I did care for him in my own way,” her vision blurred, hands trembling as she remembered the night before he’d left, choking as she remembered the words he had said.
And the ones he hadn’t.
She had reveled in the control she’d held over him at the beginning, the way it had morphed and changed and shifted into something different as he came to her again and again. Something deeper that she couldn’t name.
There had been a desperation to him as he’d touched her, a fervent near feral wildness in his eye as he’d kissed her, dragging his hands from her thighs to her hips to her breasts, squeezing her flesh hard enough to leave marks in some places.
She had returned it in kind, scratching her nails down his back, watching with glassy eyes as his back arched. The pained moan he let out when she bit his shoulder. His grunt as she dug her heels into his back, holding him as he lay in the cradle of her thighs, ears full of nothing but the loud, lewd sounds of his skin against hers, panting as she fell apart under him.
Later still, after the dust had settled in the ashes of the war, she reflected. Day and night she had sat at the bedside of the dying Queen, feeling the beginnings of winter fever crawl into her bones and settle into her lungs, the room silent except for the hoarse whispers of Alicent Hightower as she whispered the names of the four children she had birthed and loved and lost over and over and over.
She hoped she would see him again, If it were possible, raised as she was to believe in the Seven, her experiences as she grew proving nothing to her but the knowledge that they were known more for their apathy than they were for kindness.
249 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Taming of the Dragon, 3 ✷ Aemond Targaryen
PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen / F!OC
SUMMARY: One evening, Aemong, in dire need of clearing his head, catches a Dragonkeeper on the beach tending to Vhagar. The Queen of Dragons doesn't seem bothered by the stranger's presence. Quite the opposite. Aemond is immediately intrigued. Even more so when he discovers that the stranger is a girl who comes from the North and bears the name Snow.
-ˋˏ previous chapter ✶ following chapter ✶ ao3 ✶ my inbox ˎˊ-
How ironic for the House of Fire and Blood to concern itself with Water.
Driftmark and its succession haunted everyone's thoughts. A blue thorn in the back of those who held the kingdom together.
Aemond’s last vision of Driftmark had been one of blood and pain. Crimson waves had washed away his admiration for the endless sea and the sunny horizon. The only cherished memory he held close to his heart was Vhagar. The rest, he preferred to forget. His eye, hidden under his leather patch, seemed to burst into flame. The pain, petty and merciless, reminded him that he would never be able to get rid of this evening.
Lucerys Strong deserved neither Water nor Fire, and certainly not Driftmark.
The blood fever that kept Corlys Valeryon bedridden cured Aemond’s eternal suffering. Boiling water calmed the dragon's fire which, for ten years, had never stopped dancing and burning those who got too close. He was already looking forward to seeing his nephew's shoulders slumping, his chin drooping and his brown eyes glistening. The only sea he would rule would be that of his tears. Aemond had no regard for the succession of the island—the affairs of the Valeryons had long ceased to interest him—but the prospect of seeing the sadness and disappointment painted on his bastard nephew’s childish face would bring him more joy than any present.
For Lucerys Valeryon would not win, not when Otto Hightower sat on the Iron Throne in his father’s stead.
His half-sister, armed with her usual gall, would parade her bastards around shamelessly, proclaiming loud and clear that Driftmark was rightfully theirs. He laughed, alone in his quarters.
Lucerys Valeryon was not a leader and certainly not a lord. He remembered the little boy who always hid behind his older brother, always involved in Aegon's tasteless pranks. Lucerys Valeryon—no, Strong—was just a rag doll with no backbone, given life and the desire to rule by the stupid words his whore of a mother had insisted on pounding into his head.
“Your Highness, your mother the Queen asks that you join her at the gates.”
Aemond dismissed the servant with a nod and took one last look at his mirror. His violet eye lingered on the piece of leather that crossed half his face—the continuation of the scar on his cheek. No. Lucerys Strong didn't deserve Driftmark.
He turned and stomped off towards the entrance, leaving behind him the glimmering shadow of a blade which, that evening ten years ago, had blinded him as much as the blow.
The prince left his chambers. He could already see himself in the throne room, tired of listening to the pleas of people whose blood was supposedly as pure as his own. Vaemond and Rhaenyra would strut into the Red Keep and then into the throne room, chins up, shoulders straight—the very image of pride—to fight for a bloodline that was doomed. The dynasty of Old Valyria, tainted by the vices of a woman and the obsession of a man. The blood in their veins did not bleed red; their wrongs had blackened it.
Like many other houses, the Valeryon dynasty would kill itself, leaving behind only bastards and stagnant water. Aemond would feast on their demise in silence but with a certain jubilation.
“Do you know why I have been summoned?” he asked his sworn protector.
“Your sister the princess has arrived, Your Highness.”
His only eye twitched with anger. Of course she had. He took a deep breath but continued walking. The corridors of the Red Keep flashed by with his hurried steps.
The sooner he greeted them, the sooner he could leave.
Aemond soon reached the great doors. They alone separated him from his past. The swollen skin of his eye throbbed. It seemed to boil. Water had defeated fire once. He clenched his fist. Sometimes he felt like ripping off half his face. The pain had never subsided. It lay dormant, waiting for the right moment to leap up and paralyse him.
The sapphire in his eye socket had done nothing to appease his sorrow nor his pain. It was just a way for his mother to forget her son was now just a crippled. Its colour would always remind him of Driftmark. He carried the sea in his eye and, when he dared to face his reflection in the mirror, was reminded of it daily.
At the sight of him, the soldiers posted on either side of the doors opened them. He held his breath and rushed outside. The cool wind whipped across his face, calming for a few seconds the storm that was growing inside him. A few soldiers were training here and there. Others were making their rounds.
Aemond looked around but didn't see his mother, his grandfather and certainly not his father, confined to bed by illness and old age. This impotence had brought them this far. Vaemond Valeryon would never have dared contradict the King if he could still defend his beloved child.
Viserys was the cause of many things.
A roar made him raise his head. The long body of Caraxes twisted to land in the courtyard. Its red scales reminded Aemond of the flags his mother had had removed and replaced with the symbols of the Seven. His uncle, Daemon Targaryen, as proud as ever, dismounted nonchalantly, Black Sister swinging from his belt. Aemond dreamed of touching, even brushing his fingertips against, the legendary sword.
A relic of the Conquest.
Aemond did not feel the same visceral hatred for his uncle that sometimes paralysed him. Admiration and respect for Daemon mixed with rage to create an intoxicating concoction.
He only felt that way with another person, whom he preferred to leave to the beach and the night.
Syrax's yellow scales sparkled in his field of vision and tore the thin smile that had so far tugged at Aemond's lips. Vermax and Arrax, small as they were, enraged him to no end. One by one, the dragons landed and shook the ground. A dust storm whirled around and reached Aemond at the top of the steps. He rubbed his black tunic with his hand and gloated when he saw that none of their mounts compared to Vhagar, not even the Blood Wyrm. The prince felt a deep sense of satisfaction at this. It ran through his veins and soothed him.
Aemond, in a rare childish whim, refused to pay the slightest attention to Luke. The pain in his eye seemed to intensify at the mere proximity of the boy. He resisted the urge to cup the left side of his face and straightened his shoulders. The rustle of a cloth drew him from his thoughts. His mother stopped beside him and gave him a thin smile. Worry deepened the wrinkles that, over the years, had multiplied around her eyes and her lips, which were always pursed.
Jacaerys dismounted his dragon. His nephew, though still plain-looking, had grown. His build had thickened and reminded him of a certain Harwin Strong. He chuckled. His mother placed a hand on his forearm. A warning. He didn't care. No one could deny that his sister's first three children were bastards. Even a blind man wasn't naive enough to believe the sweet lies that his whore sister's angelic face spouted.
“Embrot.”
“Inkot!”
“Jātās! Jātās I said!”
Orders in High Valyrian rang out.
A horde of dragonkeepers, covered head to toe in their black armour, surrounded the newcomers and busied themselves around the restless beasts.
Dragonstone, carved out of cold stone, was warmed only by the fire of the wild dragons that populated the island. There were no keepers in this fortress. The dragons knew only their riders and would kill anyone who dared approach them. Arrax tried to char one of the guards, completely ignoring Luke's panicked cries.
If he couldn't control his dragon, how could he hope to rule Driftmark? The Blacks’ nerve could not erase reality—they were undeserving.
Aemond's eyes feasted on this spectacle of incompetence, but his smile soon faded when he spotted a female figure, a whirl of pale skin and brown hair, among the guards.
Snow.
He frowned and watched her walk towards Vermax. She raised her arms towards the dragon, palms outstretched, to calm it down. Beside her, Jace, instead of following his family as they gradually drew closer to Aemond and his mother, began to talk to her. Their heads came closer together. Aemond watched Lucella throw her head back and laugh, all under his nephew's satisfied gaze.
The prince clenched his fists. Why was she there? Wasn't she his dragon's appointed keeper? Vhagar needed her more than that miserable Vermax.
As if she could hear his thoughts, Lucella suddenly met his gaze. She frowned and turned back to Jace, who noticed the exchange and raised an eyebrow. An unpleasant sensation lodged in Aemond's chest and made him itch.
Two bastards together. He laughed at the thought, but his hilarity painfully hit his throat. A lump had got stuck there and was choking him. Why did he feel the need to come between them, to pull Lucella away from his nephew? His hands tingled. Thousands of small needles were screaming at him to do something, not to let the snow be contaminated by water.
The dragon's fire blazed in his chest, burning away any sense of sanity.
He wanted Jacaerys to perish in the flames of his rage.
Aemond hadn't seen her for a week. Yet her face and the contours of her lips had never left him. She haunted him. In the evenings, her accentuated voice echoed in his thoughts.
Since their eventful meeting, Lucella and Aemond had crossed paths several times on the beach. Their shared love for Vhagar prevented them from killing each other, although he often felt like doing so, for Lucella Snow couldn't keep her mouth shut. The few times they spoke, her sharp words, as sharp as a blade, cut into the cage around his chest.
This cordial understanding soothed his senses and prevented him from dreading his visits to the beach. He had given up going out alone at night, for Lucella Snow never left his side, even when she wasn't there. He couldn't ride his dragon without thinking of the keeper.
She kept looking after Vhagar. The carcasses of charred sheep and game piled up on the beach, staining the white sand with their blood. The dragonkeeper avoided him. He didn't know why. Nothing had changed in their exchanges. Their duels of words, the winner of which always varied, had retained the same tenor, the same intelligence.
What had made her run away from him?
Lucella Snow had blended into the background, disappeared into the shadows, and escaped his blind spot. Aemond should have been happy. No more northern bastard with an unpleasant accent raging in his ears and insulting him at every turn. Yet something prevented him from rejoicing at this absence. He felt he was losing control and hated it.
Across from Jacaerys, Lucella burst out laughing.
He had never made her laugh. His insults sometimes drew a smile, though it was always tinged with resentment, and, more rarely, a snort. Lucella Snow didn't laugh. She would glare and insult you.
Lucella Snow was no laughing matter. You had to decipher her Nordic gibberish, which— intermingled with the insults and stubborn retorts to always have the last word—became particularly irritating.
And yet, Lucella Snow was laughing out loud with his nephew. His plain nephew. Aemond railed against the bastard who, like his mother, stole everything that didn't belong to him. Driftmark, the Iron Throne... And now Lucella Snow and her laugh.
That melodious sound, so clear, so different from her hoarse voice, stayed with him all day. He nodded absent-mindedly to his half-sister and her bastards. Neither Vaemond's nor Rhaenyra's plea echoed in his eardrums. All he could hear was her laughter, and all he could see was her face, her pink, stretched lips revealing astonishingly white teeth. Her hair went round and round in his mind.
He closed his only eye and prayed for a moment's respite, but the Gods turned a deaf ear to his plea.
His father burst in, reaffirmed Driftmark's succession to Lucerys, Vaemond dared to say what everyone else was thinking and lost his head in the process. His sister yelped; his brother turned his head; Aemond remained motionless for that damned laughter never left his thoughts and drove him mad.
He clenched his fists as his eye stared blankly at Vaemond's decapitated head.
Lucella Snow was driving him mad, whether she was there or not.
That evening, she still hadn't left his thoughts. He kept seeing the image of her, head back, smiling. Happy. Happy to talk to Jacaerys. Jacaerys, sitting next to Aegon—who was already drowning in wine—and his betrothed, was talking as if nothing had happened. As if he had not encroached on Aemond's territory. This made him furious. He sank into his usual silence but felt flames dancing in his chest. He waited and waited.
It was Luke's sneer when the roast pork was served that made him snap. His hand came down on the table and shook the glasses. Aemond took hold of his, still full, and raised it in the direction of the only two brown-haired boys, yet another example of their difference, their defect.
“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews. Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… hm… strong.”
“Aemond.”
“Come... let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys.”
“I dare you to say that again,” said Jacaerys, whose cheeks had become flushed.
The echo of a laugh resounded in his skull. The ghost of his nephew leaned towards Lucella. Aemond’s eye twitched. His thoughts darkened.
“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?”
The bastard dared to punch him. Aemond threw one back and was delighted to hear his jaw crack. Their mothers stepped in as Aegon grabbed Luke by the hair and slammed his head against the solid oak table. Aemond could not contain his chuckled. He was reborn in the chaos and the pain of his nephew. His nephew who had dared to speak to Lucella, his dragonkeeper. Who had dared to make her laugh.
His mother dismissed him. He happily complied. Another second in Jacaerys' presence and he would have had to deal with much more than just a punch in the cheek. The fire that was burning every inch of his flesh—and whose first spark had ignited in the remnant of his eye—was not subsiding.
The flames intensified. They would consume him if he didn't get out of here.
Once outside, Aemond automatically headed for the Dragonpit. Fight fire with fire. He would feed off the dragons’ chaos and rejoice in their hot breath.
The prince didn't dare dwell on why. Why hadn't he headed for the beach, where he was sure to find Vhagar? Aemond kept quiet about this question—the answer to which he knew but didn't want to admit—and rushed into the pit.
His heart missed a beat and seemed to speed up at the same time.
Near the stairs where the Pink Dread had appeared years before, Lucella, staff in hand, was leading the dragons of Rhaenyra's clan forward. The eminent departure of the heiress to the throne had been quickly made known. The decision had been taken in haste. Rhaenyra would return to Dragonstone, where she reigned over her vices. King's Landing would no longer be contaminated by bastardy and manipulation. His grandfather and mother had made sure of that.
“Lykirī, Caraxes,” Snow's husky voice drew him from his thoughts. “Calm down. I don't want to use that.”
She shook her long wooden stick. Aemond had never seen Lucella use one. The other guardians never parted with it. They pricked the dragons' sides shamelessly and hit them when the creatures dared to rebel. Lucella did not stoop to such barbaric techniques. Her voice alone was enough to tame the most savage beasts. She had, after all, managed to bond with Vhagar.
Dragonkeepers forgot that the creatures in their care deserved respect and admiration. Only Snow understood this.
She grazed rather than poked Caraxes' rib.
Reluctance to hurt.
Without being able to explain it, Aemond felt a certain satisfaction in knowing that she didn't need a stick when she was looking after Vhagar. The bond between the Northwoman and his dragon was unique. The first non-Targaryen to be able to touch her without dying.
A Northern girl who could tame dragons. She would inspire the minstrels of Flea Bottom, whose songs would overflow with metaphors about snow and fire. Lucella was a conundrum that Aemond couldn't decipher.
He hated not knowing. He had prided himself on his intelligence ever since he lost his eye. Luke had taken away his beauty, he would shine with his mind. Philosophy, science, nothing held any secrets for him except Lucella Snow, who symbolised everything her native land was not.
The first time he had seen her, he had put her relationship with Vhagar down to luck. Perhaps his dragon, just as curious as he was, had become attached to this mongrel from the North. The days had passed. They had met again and Aemond had had to admit that the keeper knew what she was doing. He even dared to use the word “gift”, for no other dragon keeper possessed such an ability to tame beasts as she did: with love and respect.
For the first time in the history of Westeros, snow resisted fire. Ever white and strong, it extinguished flames.
Aemond did not move. He remained at the entrance of the pit and watched from a distance as Lucella calmed Caraxes with great gestures. The red dragon twisted in all directions to avoid her hands, but she was not discouraged. Her voice became firmer. He stiffened as he heard her order Daemon's dragon not to move.
“Lucella!”
The woman turned her head. One of the keepers appeared on the staircase. She was reluctant to leave the Blood Wyrm in the hands of one of the Elders. He had to pull her arm away from it. The Elder grabbed her staff and struck a clean blow into Caraxes' side. The dragon roared. A few waves of smoke escaped from his snout. A warning. Lucella clenched her fist and looked as if she wanted to say something to the Elder, but the other keeper called to her again. She joined him, shoulders tense, eyebrows furrowed.
Aemond watched them talk. From here, he couldn't tell what they were saying, but it seemed serious. They whispered urgently and glanced at the staircase. The keeper pointed to it. Lucella nodded. Aemond watched the girl disappear down the stairs. Something urged him to act. He pushed against the unpleasant memories—a winged pig and a dragon ready to char him— and followed.
Aemond could not see a thing. The dragons' only source of light was their fire. The guards armed themselves with torches to navigate this labyrinth of great galleries and endless corridors. Lucella strode with disconcerting ease in the complete darkness. A few torches here and there illuminated their surroundings, but he had to squint to make out Lucella's silhouette walking at a hurried pace.
Seeing that dragons were condemned to darkness, Aemond was glad that Vhagar didn't have to live in there. His gaze remained fixed on Lucella. She walked without hesitation. The pit held no secrets for her. She knew exactly where she was going and why. His guide in the dark.
“I have not seen you on the beach for a long time. Are you not supposed to be tending to Vhagar? The dunes and the fresh air are probably more pleasant than this… rat hole,” he glanced around wearily.
Lucella flinched, as she did every time they met. A small smile stretched Aemond's mouth. She was almost cute, startled out of her wits. He instantly chastised himself. Lucella Snow was not cute: she was an angry and sarcastic woman who constantly made inappropriate remarks.
The keeper rolled her eyes.
“What are yeh doin’ ere? Don't yeh ‘ave princely duties to attend t’?”
She had quickly abandoned all politeness. Had she ever had any? Their first encounters had exuded a certain reserve that annoyance had swept aside with a wave of its hand. The North and its lack of manners had quickly caught up with her. Aemond still couldn't understand why she spoke to him as if he were a commoner and not the prince, son of her king. The North may have worshipped their Warden, the Starks, but the Targaryen monarchy and power did not stop at the Neck.
“Vhagar don’t need me all th’ time,” she finally said when she saw he wouldn't answer. “She ‘as a rider. Would be good if he remembered. ‘ave neither t’ desire or t’ patience to carry dead sheep on me shoulder every day.”
“You are a dragonkeeper. The crown houses you, feeds you and gives you money to look after dragons.”
“Aye! Dragons. Not just one. Vhagar can look aftah ‘erself for a few hours. She survived Aegon's conquest, she'll survive three hours withou’ a pat on t’ ribs. Sunfyre needs me, Dreamfyre too. ‘nd wi’ Rhaenyra... Four more dragons is nah mean feat, let me tell yeh tha’. Not tha’ it matters anymore. People say you've lightened me workload. I thank yeh for tha’. I don't s’ppose dinnah went well? Was the meat not cooked to yer liking, yer ‘ighness?”
Lucella curtsied ungracefully. Her favourite mockery. Each time, she reminded him that she didn't care about his royal title.
“It concerns you not.”
“Hm… Well,” she shrugged. “I guess wine will loosen yer brother's tongue soon enough. Th’ Street of Silk is t’ best place t’ learn royal business. Everyone says so.”
She turned left into a seemingly endless corridor. He didn't know exactly how long they had been walking or the reason for this expedition.
“Just wish I could’ve looked after Vermax a litt’ longer. Tha’ an interesting character right ther’”
He laughed. It sounded bitter.
“His rider as well, I suppose?”
She turned and stared at him but said nothing. Lucella continued to advance into the pit. Aemond followed. An unpleasant feeling weighed down his shoulders. He opened his mouth several times but could not come up with something satisfactory to say. The image of her laughing at Jacaerys flashed in his mind. How had he done it?
“Do you not miss working in the pit?” he finally asked.
“Nay. It's not healthy t’ be so immersed in the dark. Some o’ t’ guards ‘ave gone mad. Even the North ‘s more welcoming. The dark always passes. Not ’ere. I prefer t’ beach, even if it means yeh’re there,” she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Vhagar is happier than any o’ those dragons. It's awful, t’ way they're treated. If I ‘ad me way, they'd be flyin’ free over King's Landing. A dragon is no slave that can be chained up in t’ dark ‘nd taken out when its rider wants t’ get some fresh air. I've always– Look out!”
Lucella pulled him out of the path of the flames. A dragon, illuminated by the blaze, appeared in his field of vision for a few seconds and disappeared into the darkness just as quickly. His heart pounded against his chest. His hands trembled. He saw himself again, ten years earlier, in the same position. He closed his eye.
“Fuck!”
Lucella screamed in pain. The distinctive smell of charred flesh rose to his nose. Aemond looked down. In the darkness, he could make out the keeper’s burnt arm. She yelped. The sound tore at Aemond's heart.
A rumble sounded, followed by a second. One by one, the dragons awoke. Lucella swore.
Despite her injury, she pulled the prince towards the exit. He followed her like a puppet, with no resistance in his limbs.
She was touching him.
For the first time.
They left the darkness behind them. Aemond's violet eye fell on Lucella's arm. Her armour had taken the brunt of the attack, but leather was no match for the Dracarys of an enraged dragon. Iron, dragonglass, Valyrian steel... The fire nibbled at everything, leaving nothing but ashes. The usually pale flesh of the female keeper was now nothing but a jumble of black and pink. Melted leather had mixed with the raw wound. He grimaced. It would leave a scar. Only now did Aemond notice that, unlike the other guards, Lucella's face and body had not been marred by the flames.
Before him and his careless mistake, a small, petty voice whispered to him. He did not try to quiet it. It was right. Because of his stupidity, she was suffering. A lump caught in Aemond's throat.
They went out of the pit, onto the open arena. Lucella grumbled under her breath. She berated him for having followed her and distracted her.
“Princes ‘ave no business in the pit! Yeh always want t’ play great lords… saviours… Whatevah! And yeh expect people t’ pick up the pieces yer idiocy caused! The nerve of yeh!”
Hatred took over and soothed her suffering. He let her scream. Perhaps that was the best remedy, for, no doubt, the adrenalin would soon evaporate and leave her weak and feverish.
“We must treat the wound as quickly as possible. I will summon Maestre Mullynn. He'll know what to do. He's the one who stitched up my eye, so he'll probably be able to–”
“Leave me be. Yeh’ve done enough. Go do what princes do. Fuck a whore, play knight, whatevah... I don’t give no fuck. Go.”
For once, he didn't comment on her vulgarity and simply repeated what he had just said. If she didn't see a Maester and treat her burns immediately, she risked much more than a simple scar. Aemond dared to put a hand on her shoulder.
The feel of her skin against his made him lose his train of thought. In his heart, a flame different from the others ignited. He leaned into this pleasant, softer, warmth.
Lucella jerked away from his grasp and stomped on the flame, leaving him cold as stone. She held back a cry of pain through clenched teeth and pressed her arm against her chest. One eye wasn't enough to hide the tremors that shook her arm. He clenched his fist. He would carry her all the way to Maestre Mullynn if he had to. Lucella had to treat that arm.
“I must insist... He–”
“Get lost, for fuck’s sake!”
Aemond stood still, surprised by the explosion. He was not facing a Northern bastard, but a dragon. A dragon ready to destroy everything in its path. In her amber eyes burned the flame of resentment. She had become the Stranger and promised death to anyone who dared stand in her way. Aemond had come close to Death many times. It had never looked so frightening.
He watched her walk away helplessly, her hand trembling on her fragile arm.
His eye itched. He didn't understand why.
As he passed through the gates of the Red Keep, Ser Criston Cole summoned him to the Small Council Chamber. His mother told him that his father, the King, had died and that Aegon was to be crowned.
A tear rolled down his cheek. He was not sad.
#aemond fanfic#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond fanfiction#aemond x oc#aemond x fem!reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x oc#hotd fanfic#hotd aemond#house of the dragon#aemond fic#aemond x original female character#aemond x original character#aemond x female#aemond targaryen angst#aemond angst#hotd angst#hotd fanfiction#ewan mitchell fanfic#ewan mitchell
66 notes
·
View notes
Text
Manipulate, Manslaughter, Malewife
Pairing: Modern! Aemond Targaryen x OC
Genre: Fun, fluff, tiny tiny tiny angst.
Warnings: language, mentions of sexual relationships, suggestive.
Words: +2.5K
A/N: So, I know a lot have been waiting for Part 3 of my other story...I've been waiting too for the ~~inspiration~~ but, meanwhile, I had this idea yesterday and thought "why not share it?" Hope you like it!
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Like every day at 8 AM the mothers of the kindergarten stood against the entrance of the institution. Some were on their phone, some were talking among themselves, and others admired their expensive manicure, but they were all waiting for the same.
Aemond Targaryen.
Finally, the silver and expensive car parked, and from it descended the Valyrian God, as many liked to call him.
Others called him a variety of names that wouldn't be appropriate saying it out loud.
Aemond went to the back door of his car and from it jumped down a small kid with his same hair color and a wide smile.
The sight made some hearts melt.
(It made some panties damper too but, let's not pay attention to that.)
Father and son walked holding hands from their car into the kindergarten, the little Rhaegar happily following his dad.
When they disappeared behind the doors, a collective sigh could be heard.
"Did you see it?" "He's so loving!" "His kid is just like him." "He only smiles when he's with Rhaegar, I saw them the other day in the supermarket."
"I'm going to ask him on a date," suddenly announced Brianna, the recently-divorcee-who-had-undergone-breast-surgery-and-a-lipo.
Every mother turned to look at her, some with disgust, some with surprise, some with admiration.
Marie finally spoke, "Sorry, but he's married. Didn't you see the wedding band?"
Brianna rolled her eyes but the one who answered was Rebecca, one of Brianna's friends who was the 'live, laugh, love' type, "No he's not! Another friend of mine works in the Civil Registration Office and tells me that there's no Mrs. Targaryen!"
Marie thought it was ridiculous how grown-up women were making little jumps like teenagers.
Obviously, Rebecca couldn't contain herself and kept talking, "Girls, he's a widower, I'm sure of it. He never mentions someone-"
"He barely talks…," Marie cuts her.
"- nobody has seen him with anyone and he doesn't have a big social life! He's perfect and, if you search, his family has millions and millions!" Rebecca stated, ignoring Marie's attempts to interrupt her.
"Shut up! He's coming," muttered Brianna, walking to the front of the group of women.
As on cue, Aemond Targaryen walked out of the building, stern face and dark glasses on. He noticed the group of women and greeted them with a slight tilt of his head.
"Ladies," he spoke, with the deep and soft tone that Marie imagined some of her favorite book characters had.
He got inside his car and, in a matter of seconds, he was on the road.
"I'm doing it, I won't die before getting a taste of that dick," Brianna announced with a face full of determination, while she adjusted her new breasts inside the tight blouse she was wearing.
Run, Aemond Targaryen, run. Marie thought.
—------------------------------------------------------
The ritual repeated at 1 PM.
There were a few differences though: the mothers and fathers awaited their kids, the kids ran outside to greet them and Rhaegar Targaryen was picked up by his nanny.
Marie could tell that the woman was nice and really cared for Rhaegar, but the truth was that they had never really talked beside the occasional greeting and chatting about kids. She also knew that the group of 'Cool moms', in which Brianna and Rebecca were part of, liked to treat the nanny as if she was a handmaid, and women of money didn't talk to the help.
But today was different, she thought while watching how Brianna talked with the nanny (who was looking at her interlocutor skeptically) and tried to be friendly.
She moved closer to them, to listen to their conversation and so that she could interfere in case Brianna acted like her usual self and insulted the poor woman.
"So, I was thinking, maybe we could arrange a play date with Logan and Rhaegar," suggested Brianna, in an overly sweet tone.
The nanny smiled, "Oh, I'm sure Rhaegar will love it."
"It could be this Thursday, at five? In my house?" Brianna said a little too quickly.
"Damn girl, you're a viper," Marie thought. "The only day that Aemond Targaryen picks up his kid."
"Oh," the poor woman was a little overwhelmed, she noticed. "I think it'll be fine-"
Brianna interrupted her by putting a hand on her arm, "Tell your boss, darling, and tell him to call me so we can arrange the play date." Then she handed the girl a card with her contact information, "Please, tell Mr. Targaryen to call me, I'll be awaiting his call."
She was distracted by her kid running towards her but, as she walked to her car, she could see the poor nanny having a dumbfounded face.
—------------------------------------------------------
Are you sure?
Yes! Why would I lie?
—------------------------------------------------------
Turns out that the play date, according to Brianna, had turned out "excellent, I have him wrapped around my finger".
(Marie thought that Brianna had misunderstood Aemond's good manners as flirting, the girl was so desperate that she was blind in her judgment.)
Anyway, she had announced that during Trivia Night at School, her plans to conquer the Valyrian God and drag him into her bed, she had also shared how she had gone to get a brazilian wax in preparation for "her great night".
Meanwhile, her husband, James, and she had dressed up for the occasion. James was particularly interested in how almost every single or divorced mother was pursuing the widower Aemond Targaryen.
Marie spotted Aemond Targaryen in the crowd of parents, talking to some other men, she pointed at him discreetly, "That's him, babe. Be discreet…no! I told you to be…don't look, don't look…now, I think he's distracted."
She loved James, but if she sent the man to spy on someone, he would end up ringing the bell. He had stood there looking at the Targaryen directly, trying to see a glimpse of his face, and, finally, when he did, the idiot had softly whistled, "Damn, he's hot! I'm doubting my sexuality."
Marie nudged her husband's shoulder, "Shh! You idiot!" Still, she couldn't deny that her husband was right.
"Oh, man! I'm hoping that when he rejects Brianna I can be close so I can watch the exact moment her face drops," he had said while they were waiting for their drinks. James wasn't too fond of Brianna after how she had cheated on one of his friends in college. "Oh, I can't wait, love! I need to get another drink in advance to celebrate."
"How are you so sure that he's going to reject her?" she was genuinely curious. Besides the plastic surgery, Brianna was pretty, any man would find her attractive.
James turned to look at her, "Honey, I have a feeling about this, trust me."
She took a sip of her margarita, "Good or bad?"
James stared at the back of Aemond Targaryen and nodded, "Good."
—-----------------------------------------------------
A few hours had passed and every adult seemed a little drunk, the drinks were free so…Why not?
Why not? Marie cursed her earlier self as she entered the bathroom, turns out that the side effect, that nobody mentions, of having children is that your bladder will never be the same, that's why she was on her third trip to the bathroom.
Great, only one is occupied.
She did her business, which never seemed to end, and got out of the cubicle. As she's washing her hands and checking that her makeup and her hair aren't too ruined, the door of the second cubicle opens and a familiar face appears.
"Hi, Marie! How are you?" says the nanny of Rhaegar Targaryen.
Marie is confused. You see: the nanny she's used to is a tall woman who usually wears cargo pants, a t-shirt, and sneakers. Not a drop of makeup, sometimes she wears glasses, her brown hair in a ponytail and she believes the nanny has green eyes.
But this…woman? She's the nanny her grandmother advised her daughter's not to let her enter their houses or they would find their husband balls deep in her pussy.
Gods, she's intimidated by her looks...
This nanny reloaded is gorgeous. She's tall, like really tall, and she's wearing heels which make her even taller! She's wearing a gorgeous dark blue dress that's barely above her knee and it also has a neckline that shows her full breasts (if I had tits like that I would be naked 24/7). Her hair is mid-length and light brown, her lips are full and painted a glossy red and her green eyes appear to be shining thanks to her makeup.
Marie has a hard time finding her words, but she still tries, "Um…hi." Great Marie, now you're being rude. You're also being rude by not knowing her name.
Oh shit, what was her name? Something…Italian? Spanish? Maybe?
To her surprise, the nanny reloaded laughs, "I know it's not my usual attire, I know I look a little weird. My name's Fiamma, by the way."
She felt herself blush in embarrassment, "Oh! I'm sorry, I'm terrible at remembering names. You look beautiful, by the way…"
Wait, why was she here?
There are no kids here…it's just parents and teachers.
But she's no parent…and no teacher…who invited her?
She watches as Fiamma AKA 'The Nanny' checks her makeup in the mirror and then grabs a big purse.
They exit the bathroom and start walking towards the 'party'. Marie can't contain herself and stops.
"I'm sorry Fiamma, I know I'm being rude but, why are you here? Are you…dating a parent or a teacher?" she asks and immediately regrets doing it because the look the other woman gives to her is one of disdain.
But…she's a nanny! She shouldn't be here, the school is very strict to let anybody enter their grounds and she's-
"You know Marie, I know women like you, even men. They think they're so 'liberal' and 'inclusive' but when they're finally facing someone who doesn't act or look or even dress like them…well, they show their true colors," expressed Fiamma, clenching her hands but still maintaining eye contact.
She was sure she hadn't been this embarrassed and ashamed in a long time.
"I'm…I-I don't know what you're talking about-," she muttered.
To her disgrace, Fiamma raised a hand, signaling her to stop talking, "You and your lot of 'Mom friends' never treated me well, you barely even talked to me, never asked for my name. Hell, nobody asked or gave me their number when I asked!"
"Why would we want a nanny's number?!" blurted out Marie.
Oh, fuck. I shouldn't have said that. I can't say things like that.
Clutching her purse tightly she realized how disrespectful she had been, "I'm sorr-"
But Fiamma was already climbing up the stairs, she tried to follow her (to do what? Apologize? Ask for forgiveness? Ask her to don't tell anyone?) but it was in vain, Fiamma was already walking towards…
Oh, my fucking God! How old is she? Was she going to tell on her to Aemond Targaryen? How could she believe that her employer would listen to a mere nanny-
Wait…he's hugging her.
And now he's…kissing her?!
She quickly moved through the crowd and found a more secluded place where she could sit and process everything that had happened.
—------------------------------------------------------
For a few minutes, she sat there, on the small bench, trying to understand what had happened.
What the fuck is going on here?
The sound of the gravel alerted her of the presence of another person.
Great…she's back to fight some more.
"You know, Marie, of all the vipers…I thought you were…different," said a low voice.
She didn't have to raise her head to know that Aemond Targaryen was talking to her.
Still, she was proud (and dumb enough to fight him back).
She raised from her seat and muttered through clenched teeth, "I'm not the one who's fucking the nanny and showing her around here! I don't know how is it in Westeros, but things here-"
"She's my wife, you dumb bitch," he deadpanned. He stared at her dead in the eye and continued, "You thought you were being nice and courteous to someone 'lower' than you when the truth is that you are a snobbish fucker that thinks that she's above everyone."
Her pressure dropped, "I-I-I-I'm…n-n-not-"
Aemond interrupted her again and, she could swear, she saw fire in his eyes, "Now, I think you owe my wife an apology. If you're quick, you can be after Brianna and Rebecca… there are more people in the line and those two have lengthy apologies for believing me a horny widower."
Her mouth was agape and her hands and legs were shaking, she hadn't been in so much fear in…her life. With all the energy she could muster she nodded, and that seemed to please the man because he turned into his heel and walked away.
She had to sit down to calm herself, but couldn't contain her tears. She had been humiliated and even scolded like a brat and while every bone in her wanted to keep fighting, deep down she knew that she had been a bitch on purpose to a person only because it didn't fit the wealthy environment.
Suddenly she heard quick steps and a panting breath, "Honey, you won't believe this! The Targaryen is married! You should have seen Brianna's face when he told her in front of his wife, the bitch even started crying for 'giving her false hopes' and the wife told her to 'assure yourself that your conquest isn't married before a brazilian wax'! It was a-ma-zing!..."
"Wait, why are you crying?!"
—------------------------------------------------------
Fiamma walked down the stairs after checking her kids were fine and sleeping and searched around the house for her husband.
She found him in the kitchen, apron on, sleeves up, and hair tied, washing the dishes. Pouring herself more wine, she took advantage of the fact that he wasn't facing her to admire his back.
"Thank you for defending my…honor, as you nicely put it," her voice was velvety, filled with love and gratitude.
He chuckled, "I had to, love. One thing is being rude to me, I can handle it but, when you came with that card? I wanted to strangle her."
"And not in a good way," she teased him and, in response, he splashed some water on her a playful smile on his face.
"What I still don't understand is…why they thought you were the nanny? And how the fuck they thought I was a widower?"
She takes a deep breath and starts explaining to him what Rebecca had said in her apology: that they had never seen them together, that there wasn't a Mrs. Targaryen, that he wore his wedding band (duh), and how the group of mothers had never thought of her as his wife.
"In a way, I can understand because Rhaegar always greets me in Valyrian and I was always in my working clothes, which aren't the fanciest. Also, it doesn't help that both my kids look nothing like me, they're copies of you," she suggested, her hand caressing his back.
Aemond "mmmm-ed" to her and nodded, "Still, they were rude to you. Nanny or not, they should have acted like adults and asked if they were so curious."
"Aemond please…they think that they're too important and that people should seek them," she pointed out. "They're fucking crazy, love, just spending their time drinking expensive wine, doing their nails, getting botox, and ordering the "help" around."
"I too drink expensive wine, does that mean I'm a "desperate housewife"?" he joked with her while he cleaned the last plate.
"Oh, shut up," a laugh came over her. "You do so much more: you take care of the kids, you manage the US branch of your family company from home, you cook, you clean. Need me to keep going?"
"I also cleaned the pool," he pointed. "And I managed to close a big deal for millions."
She rolled her eyes but kept going on, Aemond loved being praised and she was delighted to give it to him, "You cleaned the pool and closed a deal. You do too much for us, love, you're not a "desperate housewife", in any case, you would be a 'malewife'."
He could barely contain his laugh at the term, "Wow. Can I put it on my resume?"
She walked to him and hugged him by his waist, her face against his back, "If you want to…although I doubt it would help you." Her hands made their way under his black shirt, which was covered by the ridiculous apron, and started caressing the soft skin of his abs.
She gave his ear a soft and teasing bite making him take a deep breath, "You know…I've been neglectful with you, Aemond. You do so so much for me and the kids and I never tell you how thankful I'm for being yours. You decided to leave the life you had worked so hard to get only for me to get my dream job, how many husbands do that?"
He turned around, pupils were wide from the desire. His hand softly wrapped around her throat and she took a deep breath through her nose, then his lips finally settled over hers.
As their lips finally made contact, his tongue made its way through her lips, deepening the kiss and swallowing every whimper and moan she made. Her hands went to his soft and long hair, her nails barely scratching his scalp which made his hips snap against hers.
But then he pulled apart, his hand still on her throat, and looked into her eyes, the dominant side of him taking control of the situation. She could already feel her panties getting damp.
"On your knees, sweetheart," Aemond demanded, the grip on her throat tightening a little. "Be good and I might give you a reward, mmm?"
She obeyed, mouth already open in expectation.
After all, her sweet and devoted husband always needed a reminder of how much she loved and needed him.
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond x fem!reader#hotd fanfic#hotd imagine#aemond x reader#mine#aemond targaryen x original character#aemond x original female character#aemond x original character
204 notes
·
View notes
Text
“I’ve only ever been yours.”
#aemond x you#aemond smut#aemond targaryen#Aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond fic#prince aemond#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#aemond x reader#aemond x oc#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x y/n#aemond x original female character#aemond x original character#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x fem!oc#aemond targaryen x original character#aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond fluff#prince aemond targaryen#squishycheekanon#asks are appreciated#squishysneekpeaks
71 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
andreduff-blog1
Duff para Sempre
miiiraaazh
GucciToochie
marigabyart
*Insert Gaby's Drawings Here*
olivialily144-blog
Untitled
vermashreya-blog
Untitled