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flowerandblood · 1 day

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The Fall from the Heavens (25)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, tension, 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. I invented the lullaby in this chapter, so if you think it's weird, thank me, lol.

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After what he heard, he just vomited, unable to stop the convulsions that were squeezing his stomach, the rapid pounding of his heart or his terrified, ragged breathing. He could feel tears of despair and fear running down his cheeks as he coughed once more, panting heavily over the vessel − he felt like his whole body was twitching.

You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most.

You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He felt his stomach twist again in pain at the mere memory – he leaned over the bowl, feeling the gag reflex shake his body once more, but nothing left his throat.

He cried out loudly as if he were a small child, covering his face with his hand, leaning over the table, thinking about how much he needed his wife right now.

How much he wanted to snuggle between her soft, sweet breasts, to feel her smooth, warm hands stroking his hair, her heart beating beneath his cheek.

He drew in a loud breath, reminding himself that he had left her alone and that any moment spent in this disgusting place could have been her last; he reached for the cup of wine, rinsed his mouth a few times and spat the contents into the bowl, washing his face with fresh water, trying to calm himself.

This was part of their game, he thought, feeling his terror slowly begin to be replaced by fury.

He was sure Larys Strong had made her say it because he wanted him to believe that what was to come was destiny, not his and his grandfather's plan.

They wanted to manipulate him, to force him to leave her, to strip her of his protection, to destroy her.

No, he thought.

He was no longer a small child.

He left the fortress feeling that he had again unwittingly become the cold, empty stone he had been for eight years when she had not been with him, recognising that he had to keep a cool head.

He could not allow himself to be weak now.

He knew that if he just looked at her, if he just saw her face again and remembered what that woman had said to him he would simply burst into sobs, so to her disappointment he pretended not to see her.

The journey to the Eyrie, although spent in full sun and short, was unbearable for him and dragged on endlessly; he felt that waves of thoughts, suppositions and versions of events flowed through his mind one after another, causing complete chaos in his head.

What if Rhaenyra did not agree despite his lie?

What if she agrees, but demands the head of his grandfather and mother?

Whoever he was, his grandfather was his kin, his blood; all his life he had fought for them and their rights even if he himself often despised him.

How should he behave in such a situation so as not to let her down?

To fight? Declare war on them? Let her decide for herself once again which side she would stand on this time?

He pressed his forehead to the front of his saddle, clenching his hands on the ropes he held in his fist, feeling that he was descending into madness.

As they landed in the valley below the fortress he slid off his saddle, thinking that he had to share his plan with her, lest she accidentally say something herself that might destroy their credibility.

"− uncle −" She began, walking towards him, her face all pink and sweaty from exertion, unruly strands of her hair clinging to her skin.

His heart pounded harder.

You will come back here to face your nephew and you will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his vision was blank, his hands clenched into fists.

"− we'll tell them you're expecting my child −" He said coolly, sidestepping her, heading ahead, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible − he heard her draw in a loud breath as she moved immediately after him, terrified, trying to keep up with him.

"− what? − Aemond, we can't lie, not now −" She muttered, clearly terrified by this vision − he pressed his lips together into a thin line, furious that she was making this all even more difficult.

"− they must agree to our terms − I will not discuss my decisions with you −" He growled impatiently and stopped when her silhouette appeared in front of him – her palms slapped against his chest, a fury in her eyes that startled him.

"− 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 an irritation in her voice that he didn't like; he felt a cold sweat on his neck at the unbearable thought that she was partly right.

Fuck.

He stared at her for a moment, breathing heavily, feeling like he was about to faint, another disturbing thought flashed through his mind.

What had that whore said to her?

"− that fucking witch − what did she say to you? −" He asked uneasily, wanting to be sure she wasn't trying to manipulate his wife the way she was trying to manipulate him.

His Rheanys blinked rapidly and swallowed hard, as if his question made her uncomfortable − he felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach at the sight.

"− that we should not return to Harrenhal − that I should watch out for myself and trust no one −" She muttered, and he felt his heart stop.

That we should not return to Harrenhal.

That I should watch out for myself and trust no one.

She warned her.

Why?

He felt that he understood absolutely none of this; the woman's behaviour seemed to make no sense to him, but that wasn't the worst of it.

The worst part was the thought that perhaps she really believed what she said.

That perhaps she really did see his betrayal and what he would do next in her dream or in the fire.

He stood watching her like a small, frightened child who was afraid to tell a parent that he had stolen and destroyed their favourite book unwillingly, who was afraid to admit his guilt for fear of punishment and what it entailed.

She must have seen what was happening to him in his gaze because she walked over to him and touched his upper arms, her scent, the smell of vanilla reached his nose.

"− husband, what happened? − if you have doubts, let's discuss everything − but please don't close yourself in the fortress of your mind −" She muttered pleadingly, her voice warm and calm, soothing, as if she understood that he was afraid.

That thought, the realisation that she knew him well enough that he couldn't hide from her what was happening inside him made him feel even worse.

He thought she would loathe him forever.

He swallowed hard as she cupped his cheeks between her hands and closed his eyes, feeling himself tremble all over, focusing only on her closeness.

"− uncle − look at me − I am your ally − I always have been −" She whispered tenderly making another wave of heat and fear surge through his body at the same time, causing something inside him to crack.

"You're your parents' child too. Just like me. What will you do when one of them demands the other's head?" He asked coldly, feeling his heart pounding like mad − he felt like he could hear in his ears the fast pumping of blood through his veins.

His wife furrowed her brows, shaking her head as if she did not understand what he had just said to her.

"− 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 said in a trembling, angry, breaking voice from which a shiver ran down his back; he looked at her in disbelief feeling his body filled with guilt and shame.

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.

She was right.

She welcomed him with open arms despite the fact that he hadn't answered her letters for eight years; she didn't show him any kind of resentment, she didn't demand an apology from him, she lavished him with understanding and tenderness when he needed it, wanting to make things right.

It was he who betrayed her when Aegon became King.

It was his mother who forced her to drink the moon tea.

He was the one who made her try to take her own life.

He was the one who kept her locked up like a prisoner.

And yet, it was he who perpetually accused her in his head of the possibility of betrayal, as if he was just waiting for it.

For an excuse to decide that this was never going to succeed.

Despite this, she was now standing in front of him, being on his side, willing to fight alongside him for a future for them.

He felt a squeeze in his throat at this realisation, at the thought that there was never any other way for him than the one that would always lead him to her, to his beloved, to his friend.

To his Rheanys.

He lifted his hand, in some subconscious gesture of tenderness and closeness placing an unruly strand of her dark hair behind her ear, looking at her pretty face, at her bright, shining eyes, at her long lashes, at her swollen, moist lips − everything that belonged to him, that he could take every night.

He felt his manhood twitch in his breeches at the thought.

"Can I kiss you?" He heard her whisper and looked at her, seeing that she was staring at him exactly as she had then, that day when she had come to his chamber as a child, holding a small book clutched to her chest in her hands.

He leaned towards her without a word and closed his eyes, sighing in relief when her plump, soft lips pressed against his in a sweet, sticky kiss; she pulled away from him, stroking his cheeks and hair with her hands, but it wasn't enough for him.

"One more time."

He moaned into her mouth and locked her in the tight, strong embrace of his arms as her lips pressed against his again, this time as if she wanted to devour him, her wet, swollen lips sucking and licking him making him completely hard; he felt the lust, the hot feeling he shared with her shake his body as his eyes involuntarily filled with tears at the thought of what he had heard.

You will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing.

You will put your child inside me.

But he wanted her.

He wanted his childhood friend.

His lover, his companion, his joy.

She filled his heart with herself so much that there was no room in it for any Visenya.

"I love you." He muttered helplessly, feeling the words leave his throat without the participation of his free will. "I've always loved you."

He felt her gasp loudly at his words as her body trembled in his arms; his heart squeezed tight with pain as she wept quietly.

"− 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 out looking at him with a hot gaze full of affection from which he felt that nothing mattered anymore, that he couldn't fight himself or what only she could do.

He was completely helpless against her.

"− will you be by my side even when all is lost? − even if there is nothing left but darkness? −" He asked in a breaking voice, and she smiled, so sweetly, tenderly, joyfully that his hands clenched tighter on her body.

"− 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 whispered softly, and he felt that it was over for him, that whatever he had been thinking about a moment ago, it didn't matter.

"− so be it − fall with me −" He breathed out, before his lips pressed greedily into hers, his fingers digging into the material of her leather coat enclosing her in his tight embrace, their tongues colliding with each other, licking with their soft sighs of pleasure.

He thought, panting hard into her throat, caressing her with a loud click of their saliva, that he could take her now, on the grass, in front of everyone, and fuck her so hard that the whole Eyrie would hear.

This, however, did not happen.

The sight of her would-be betrothed was the last thing he wanted to see − Ronnel Arryn seemed to him to be a boastful and self-obsessed man, focused only on the tonnage of his muscles and how he presented himself.

His grin full of mockery which he threw back at him, looking at the left side of his face made him involuntarily think how pleasant it would be to just slit his throat.

He remembered why they were actually there when they walked into the circular chamber where his uncle and half-sister were waiting for them − he pressed his lips into a thin line seeing that his sister-whore dared to wear his father's crown on her head.

He said nothing.

As his wife threw herself into her mother's arms, he glanced at Daemon; his uncle stood back leaning lazily against the wall, his chin lifted slightly in some sort of challenge, a lazy, mocking smirk on his face.

"Let's sit down." He heard his sister's voice at last, but he had no intention of obeying her orders; so he stood, looking at his uncle, who also had not moved from his place, stroking the handle of his Dark Sister thoughtfully.

"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." Rheanrya began, and he rolled his eyes, feeling frustrated and impatient. His wife threw him a quick, frightened glance − he, however, just looked at her, letting her speak.

He decided that he would trust her.

His niece grunted loudly and looked at her mother, adjusting herself in her seat, tense.

"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 uncle about the Prince who was promised, about Aegon's dream. I think she misunderstood him, mother, I…" She paused as Rheanyra looked quickly in Daemon's direction − he and his wife exchanged quick, shocked glances between themselves.

He furrowed his brow, feeling discomfort in his pit, wondering what they knew that might have escaped his attention.

Her mother looked at her again, some strange glint in her gaze.

"Mother?"

"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 in a trembling voice, as if it was obvious to her.

He felt rage at the thought that their father had shared with his daughter some prophecy, a future that was to befall their lineage, but did not consider them, his sons, worthy of the privilege.

Humiliation, shame and anger surged through his body making his words involuntarily leave his lips.

"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?" He growled, his sister and uncle throwing him quick, warning glances.

"Calm down, nephew. You are speaking to the Queen." Daemon reminded him, and he looked at him with rage.

"She is not my Queen." He hissed, his hand sliding down to the hilt of his sword when he saw Daemon's fingers tighten around 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." His wife interjected, startling him as did the rest of those gathered, his heart began to pound like mad.

What?

"Are you undermining Jace, my firstborn son's right to the throne?" Her mother asked in a trembling tone, clearly not believing what she was suggesting.

Her daughter drew in a loud breath and swallowed hard before answering her.

"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?"

He looked at her with his lips slightly parted, feeling that his mind was not yet able to comprehend fully what she had actually done.

She continued, however, as if the words were pouring out of her like a river.

"We just lie and lie and lie until in the end we ourselves don't know where the truth lies, 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."

He felt a surge of satisfaction and warm affection shake his body at her words, at her proof that she understood him, understood his pain, understood why her brothers could not be heirs to the throne.

How could he ever doubt her?

Her mother and stepfather seemed as shocked as he was, unable to get a word out.

"How dare you say such a thing? Your father, Laenor Velaryon, has recognised you and your brothers as his heirs. He gave you his name, he recognised you as his child in the eyes of the kingdom." Her mother muttered, clearly heartbroken that her own daughter was challenging her words.

"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 in pain, as if she herself could no longer bear what was happening, how far they had gone in pretending what was the truth and what was a lie.

He thought that he himself would not have put into words better what he thought and acknowledged with pride that his wife was a great speaker.

That even he would have hesitated and reconsidered what she had said if he had heard the arguments spoken in this way.

"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."

An awkward silence fell; Rhaenyra looked over her shoulder at her husband, apparently seeking his advice. His uncle stared at her with clenched lips, clearly believing that she should fight for her rights no matter what − even at the cost of war.

His half-sister looked at her daughter again and swallowed hard.

"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."

He stared at her wide-eyed, feeling the cold sweat on his back, his heart pounding like mad as his mind tried to quickly analyse what he had heard.

I will agree that it is your children who will inherit the Iron Throne, and you will only become ruler-regent if there are two kings, and you will be one of them.

You and your husband will share power in 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.

She wanted the kingdom to be ruled by two kings.

She wanted him and her daughter to have the same title, the same privileges.

He saw his niece look at him, her eyes big with terror, filled with fear of how he would react.

No, he thought.

She was no longer her daughter.

She was no longer a bastard.

She was his wife.

When he had covered her shoulders with the cloak with his family crest she had officially taken his name, and who her father was no longer mattered.

Although he knew that the name her mother had given her was different, to him she was Rhaenys.

Rhaenys Targaryen.

His childhood friend, a woman he trusted, respected, loved, whose opinion and letters he had held deep in his heart for years, whom he would have consulted if he had become king-regent anyway.

The thought that she would stand by his side, that she would help him carry this burden, that she would be like a second, necessary pillar to support the whole crumbling structure that was their family, filled him, to his surprise, not with frustration but relief.

He nodded his head.

His wife sighed quietly, looking at him with hope, turning her gaze to her mother. Rhaenyra's eyes welled with tears of grief and sorrow as she nodded, sealing her decision.

She had agreed.

Gods, she agreed.

"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 dispassionately and he nodded, feeling his whole body quiver with emotion, his hands clasped behind his back clenched into fists.

"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 one daughter for too long." She said matter-of-factly and he swallowed hard feeling that he had completely frozen.

No.

None of them could stay here.

He couldn't propose that they fly to King's Landing knowing that they would surely disagree, so in desperation he proposed something that shocked everyone, including himself.

"No." He said coolly. "We'll spend the night in Dragonstone."

His niece beamed all over, her cheek blushing with happiness, as if she didn't believe his words.

"Do you mean it?" She asked sweetly like a little child to whom he had just given a wonderful surprise.

He felt a squeeze in his throat at the thought.

"Yes." He replied calmly, glancing at his uncle, who was squinting, watching him intently. "As an expression of my goodwill."

Daemon tapped the tip of his tongue against the wall of his cheek and hummed under his breath, a tense silence fell between them.

His wife was right.

He had the feeling that his gaze was piercing him to the core.

He muttered under his breath and looked at his wife − Rhaenyra, like his niece, seemed shocked by his proposal, but also pleased at the prospect of her daughter returning to her family home, if only for a while.

"Well…I see no objection. Daemon?" She asked her husband, who looked at his daughter. Apparently, something in her pleading gaze made him decide to remain silent for the time being, as he merely nodded his head in wordless agreement.

He closed his eyes and sighed quietly in relief, feeling a huge stone fall from his heart.

He stepped back, allowing Rhaenyra to leave, just behind her the room left Daemon throwing him one vigilant, mocking look telling him that he knew there was something more behind his words.

His wife, however, overwhelmed by excitement and joy, seemed not to notice it − she ran to him and snuggled into him, clasping her hands on his back, his arms immediately enclosing her in a tight, secure embrace.

He hadn't betrayed her.

He would never betray her.

So why did he feel so guilty?

"There are no words in which I can describe my gratitude to you. "She whispered, burying her face in his chest; he sighed heavily, pressing his lips to the top of her head, stroking her soft hair and neck with his fingers.

"I'm proud of you." He said calmly wanting her to know that he admired what she had done, the calmness in which she had presented his side's reasons while showing understanding and respect for her mother's rights and heritage.

He thanked the gods that he knew when to shut his mouth.

She looked at him and smiled shyly, as if his words surprised and embarrassed her. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, pressing her soft lips to his, and he murmured low, feeling a tightness in his throat.

He should tell her, he thought with pain, but he didn't know how.

He didn't want to spoil this beautiful moment.

So he kept silent, but the guilt, the fact that he was hiding something from her, pressed down on his shoulders like a huge burden, through which he could experience neither relief nor satisfaction that Rhaenyra had agreed to their terms.

He never expected to fly through the skies beside Larax, Caraxes and Syrax, to ever see Dragonstone, to propose a journey there of his own accord.

He felt shame filling him.

As he and his wife stepped inside their fortress, where their children were already waiting for them, an awkward silence ensued. Jace and Luke stood behind a large stone table that resembled the shape of all of Westeros, looking at him in disbelief and horror. He shuddered when he saw that Rhaena was the first to rush ahead, sidestepping him and her father, enclosing his wife in a sincere, tender embrace.

"I'm so happy you're alive." She muttered in a breaking voice – his niece stroked her back with a smile.

"Me too." He heard her whisper.

After a moment, Baela joined them, throwing him a cold, warning glance along the way, from which he only rolled his eyes. He looked again at Luke, who swallowed hard and lowered his gaze, clearly unable to bear his presence.

He felt disgusted at the sight of them, two boys with cheeks flushed from shame, who knew full well that they did not and should not have any claim to the throne.

He grinned involuntarily at the thought, seeing how pale Jace was, that he understood for certain that their presence meant he would officially cease to be his mother's heir.

Satisfaction as sweet as poison coursed through his veins at the thought.

Jace drew in a breath at the sight of his grimace, his hands clenched into fists as if he felt like lashing out at him − he flinched when Daemon stepped in front of him, standing between them and shook his head.

Jace swallowed hard, furious, lowering his gaze to the stone floor beneath his feet.

None of them came up to greet his niece; only little Joffrey ran up to her and burst into tears screaming that she had left them alone.

They resented her for the side she had chosen in their minds.

She was the only reason they were both still alive, he thought with a sneer.

His half-sister, seeing the look on his face and sensing the tension that reigned around them, decided to take pity on them and suggested that they make themselves comfortable in the chamber that had previously belonged to his wife.

He accepted her words with relief.

As they stepped inside he felt a squeeze in his throat − her quarters were modest, filled with her scent, the windows of her room facing the open sea, the sound of which he could clearly hear. He walked deeper in, looking around her chests of drawers and wardrobes, her wooden bookcases filled to the brim with books, before his gaze finally settled on an ornate oak desk.

He swallowed hard imagining her seated figure bent over parchment.

"− is this here? −" He asked casually, running his fingers over the table top, noticing with a pained heart that it was dusty.

A sign of how long she had not been here.

His niece looked at him surprised and blushed, as if the mere mention embarrassed her.

"− yes −"

He sat down in the chair she sat in every time she wished to convey her thoughts to him, to put them on paper, which then flew all the way to King's Landing to reach his hands. He glanced towards the windows, wondering how many times she had deliberated on choosing the right words while observing exactly the same view.

He thought he was touched.

"− we should rest, husband − if that's what you wish, we'll have supper alone −" She said softly, her voice trembling with excitement and joy.

She couldn't believe she was home again.

He nodded, not knowing what more he could answer.

He had felt the tension all evening; his wife had shown him various books she had read over the years, which she had told him about in her letters. He tried to listen to her and nod, stroking her arm with the tips of his fingers as she sat beside him, flicking through page after page of one of the volumes, looking for the quote she had mentioned to him. Her question pulled him out of his musings.

"− uncle − will you tell me what troubles you? −"

He looked at her horrified and swallowed with difficulty − he only grunted, not knowing what he should answer like a child caught in the act.

"I'm tired." He replied acknowledging that this was partly true. She nodded in understanding, he closed his eyelids as her hand gently stroked his cheek.

"Let's go to bed."

He wasn't going to fight her.

He wanted to leave this place as soon as possible and get away from Daemon's disturbing gaze.

His wife pressed her lips together, seeing that he had put a dagger under his pillow before he lay down − however, she said nothing, knowing he might trust her, but certainly not her family.

He lay down beside her, sighing heavily, and closed his eyes, figuring that perhaps when he woke up the next day and realised that tragedy had been avoided due to his decision, his conscience would have a little more mercy for him.

He murmured contentedly as he felt her arms embrace him, cuddling his face between her breasts, the warmth of her body, her scent filling his entire lungs. He tightened his hands on her back, trying to focus only on the touch of her hands, on her fingers combing gently through his hair, on the lullaby she hummed softly under her breath, and from which his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

When the moon rises

over the dark sky

When you hear from afar

my bitter cry

Know that I long

When the sun rises

over the bright sky

When you hear from afar

my joyful cry

Know that I'm home

And then sleep fell over him.

His lips clung to her soft, long neck, sweaty from exertion, heavy, drawn-out sighs full of pleasure left his lips as his hips with sure, deep, quick thrusts pounded again and again into her hot, fleshy interior.

"− forgive me − I've missed you − oh, my sweetest −" He breathed out, quickening his pace, sinking his nose into her dark curls, her moans muffled by the pillow she was cuddling her face into. Her body, though different, was just as warm, her scent, though different, was similar to hers.

It didn't matter to him, because she was there for him, because she had forgiven him.

"− I love you − oh fuck, Rhaenys −" He muttered, clenching his eyes, coming inside her at last, experiencing such immense relief that he cursed for another moment, rocking his hips inside her. He swallowed hard, worried that she wasn't saying anything, his fingers took strands of her hair from her face wanting to see her eyes and then he saw it.

Green irises, luscious as grass.

"− is it true? − is she carrying your child? −" He heard her voice as if from afar and suddenly he was standing in front of her in his chamber in King's Landing, feeling his heart pounding like mad, a cold sweat running down his back.

He felt a strong gag reflex and held it back with the remnants of his strong will.

He couldn't get anything out of himself.

What had he done?

"− answer me − is she carrying your child? −" His wife, his Rhaenys muttered in a voice breaking with pain and despair, her cheeks red from tears, her eyebrows arched in rage, in her gaze something he feared most.

Disgust.

"− I − I don't know −" He mumbled, trying to remember what had actually happened, how he could have done it when, after all, he had promised himself it would never, never happen.

He thought about how he hadn't touched her in so long, how he had missed her so much.

When she discovered that he had hidden the truth from her, what his grandfather had planned, that he knew what could have happened to them in the Eyrie but hadn't told her, she hadn't slept in his chamber, hadn't eaten supper with him, hadn't spoken to him or looked at him even though he had tried so hard to please her.

"− don't you know? − don't you know if you put your bastard inside her? −" She mumbled and burst out into a loud, miserable sob, hiding her face in her hands − he looked at her, panting hard, shaking all over, not knowing what he was supposed to say, what he was supposed to do.

"− HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!? −" She almost screamed, falling to her knees as if without strength, whining loudly like some kind of animal, her whole being trembling and twitching in convulsions − he approached her quickly, kneeling beside her, trying to touch her, but she pushed him away.

"− my beloved − please − I was possessed by madness, I swear − I − I thought it was you −" He muttered, not knowing how he could explain such a betrayal, such humiliation she suffered because of him.

"− you thought it was me? − you fucked another woman and thought it was me? − gods, Aemond, don't touch me! − don't touch me −" She howled, her voice at once enraged, full of pain, suffering and grief, her eyes red with tears, her whole body quivering.

He was the reason for this.

He had done this to her.

"− my Prince − my Prince, quickly, your wife! −" He heard someone shout – he shuddered as he sat by the fireplace, gazing in horror at the figure of the guard who had rushed into his chamber.

As he stepped out into the corridor he heard someone's loud sobs and screams tearing at his heart; as he ran inside he froze noticing the figure of Rheaenyra kneeling on the floor, covering her mouth with her hand − his wife, and her daughter, was hanging from a rope tied to the frame of her bed, which was tightened around her neck, her dark hair covering her bowed head, her feet not touching the floor.

He ran to her trying to lift her, trying to pull her down, but he knew, felt, that it was too late, her body cold, numb, empty.

His face sank into her flesh covered only by the material of her nightgown muffling his loud, desperate scream.

"Uncle! Uncle, please, wake up!"

He opened his eyes and pulled himself up to sit down, panting heavily, feeling his heart pounding like mad – he could see nothing through the tears that one by one ran down his face, his body twitching all over in convulsions as if it had gone into a state of absolute panic.

"− easy, my love − breathe −" He heard someone's voice beside him, her voice – he looked at her as if he didn't recognise her, her eyes wide in terror, her hand stroking his shoulder reassuringly.

"− Rhaenys − Rhaenys −" He mumbled out like a small child calling out to its mother, bursting into sobs of relief and terror that shook his body − he snuggled into her breast, clasping his fingers on her back so tightly that she hissed in pain – however, she did not push him away and her arms enclosed him in a tight, secure embrace.

"− I'm here, my love − I'm here −" She whispered, again and again placing warm, moist kisses on the top of his head, combing her fingers through his hair.

For a moment he merely wept and quivered, unable to catch his breath, trying to calm himself, listening to her whisper, breathing in her scent, enjoying her closeness, the touch of her hand.

It seemed to him that it was hours before he began to breathe normally, before he realised that all he had seen was just a nightmare, that he was lying with his wife in her bed in Dragonstone.

That all was not yet lost.

He swallowed hard and clenched his eyes shut.

"− there's something − there's something I want to tell you −"

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necr0tica · 3 days

Text

silly church au x)

#my art #house of the dragon #hotd #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd aegon #hotd aemond

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kckt88 · 24 hours

Text

Kickstart My Heart II.

Summary:

After getting married Aemond and Y.N decide they want to have a baby.

Warning(s): Language, Kissing, Smut - Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Edging, Teasing, Dom/Sub Understones, Unprotected P in V.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x Y.N

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 3524

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

“Are we sure were ready for a baby, Aemond?” asked Y.N quietly as she lounged on the sofa.

“I thought a baby was what we both wanted?” questioned Aemond curiously.

“It is, guess I’m just having a little panic over the responsibility and what type of mother I’d make” muttered Y.N.

“You will be a fantastic mother” replied Aemond as he reached forward and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind his wife’s ear.

“Aemond” whispered Y.N closing her eyes.

“I’d have a whole team of children with you if you’d let me, love, I’d fuck you every single day, filling you with my seed over and over again-” rasped Aemond, as he leaned over her and pressed a series of gentle kisses to her neck.

“Then do it-” whispered Y.N , finding herself aching between her legs at the thought of her husband taking her over and over. “We both want one, so why wait any longer when we’re both ready?”

Y.N held her breath as Aemond’s hands began started traveling up and down her body, slowly, like he was memorising every inch of her.

“If I get between your legs tonight then I am going to make you fucking beg for it, little bird and I’ll only fill you up when you’ve been a good girl for me-”

Y.N shuddered at the way the muscles in his forearms flexed as his hands explored her body, dipping under the black slip that she was wearing.

“Aemond, that feels so-don’t stop” groaned Y.N, as her husband’s hand inched up higher.

“I couldn’t if I wanted to, love. Just relax yourself and let me explore” he gave her a small grin.

Who was she to argue with that? Every place this man touched her turned her on more than the last. His hands were now , lifting her slip so that he could feel her skin. Like the rest of her, it was hot and ready and waiting for more.

His lips joined his hands over her belly button, placing small kisses up higher and higher until her slip was pushed over her head and off, showing her black lace bra and matching underwear.

“Fuck, Y.N, you are so fucking gorgeous-” growled Aemond. His lips continued their journey as he pulled the cups down, exposing her breasts. “What the fuck did I ever do to deserve to be able to touch you like this-”

As soon as her breasts were fully free, he bent his head down and began sucking on one, then the other, flicking his tongue against her nipples, which she had discovered quite a while ago was her ultimate turn-on.

Her hands were now in his long silver hair, pressing his mouth deeper into her chest and her head fell back on a groan. her hips were writhing underneath him, which she could not help. She needed some sort of release soon or she was going to explode.

“Aemond, you need to touch me-I need to come-”

“Not yet, love. Soon. Trust me-once I’m done playing.” There was a glint in his eye, the one she knew all too well. Her husband was in a playful mood tonight.

Y.N let her hands travel down to lift up his T-shirt. He broke away from his feast on her breasts for just a second to let her take it off. The feeling of his skin against hers only added to her want. He continued his assault on her nipples, and it was driving her fucking insane.

His tongue flicked out across her nipple and she mewled at the contact, her core tensing in anticipation of what was to come. Needing any kind of relief, Y.N positioned her legs around his hips, digging her feet into his arse, needing him closer so she could find some sort of friction to help with the ache in her core.

This seemed to snap something inside of him, because before she knew it, Aemond had lifted her off the couch and was then carrying her up the stairs and into their bedroom.

“You’re going to regret having this conversation with me, Y.N.” He panted into her ear as he carried her. “I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t walk straight for the rest of the week-”

Oh, he was so fucking wicked.

He placed her on their king size bed, and they quickly lost the rest of their clothing, needing to feel each other more than they needed their next breath.

Crawling on top of her slowly, their lips crashed together, and their hands were everywhere.

“Christ, love-so fucking good” mumbled Aemond against her lips as he pulled her hips flush against his for a second.

Slowly, one of his hands started to make its way down her body and she held her breath when she felt his fingers stretching out and eventually start to inch inside of her stretching her out, readying her for more.

“So, fucking wet,” He mumbled against her. “So, fucking good for me-if you’re good, I’ll let you come like this-” whispered Aemond hotly. “I’ll let you come around my fingers before I tease the fuck out of you with my cock.”

And then he added a second finger inside of her heat and crooked his fingers in just the way he knew how to.

“Oh shit-“ Y.N panted out, clinging onto his shoulders.

She couldn’t help it—she threw her head back and moaned his name as her centre clenched and a sudden orgasm from the tension and anticipation inside of her broke free.

“That’s it little bird-“ groaned Aemond.

“Fuck, Aemond-oh my god”

His fingers still inside of her, he brought her down from the high slowly with a triumphant smirk on his lips, but when she looked in his eye, she knew that they were not done.

Not by a long fucking shot.

“I want to play a little game with you, love” whispered Aemond against her ear, his fingers still stroking her clit lightly and she bit her lip, only able to nod as her answer came out softly.

“Yes” whispered Y.N against his lips, and before she knew it, Aemond had picked her up around the waist, sat her on top of him and was pressing his cock against her entrance with a feral look in his eye as he watched himself pressed against her folds.

“I fucking love watching myself inch inside of you-” He told her in a low tone, the hand at her back sliding down to grip her arse and then she felt the head of his cock opening her almost painfully, just like every other time.

It was a pleasurable pain, it felt so fucking good.

“Aemond-" Y.N managed to pant out, gripping at his shoulders as he entered her from below, the sensation causing them both to moan as she slid down further onto his cock.

Out of all the positions they had tried since their relationship began, this was one of his favourites. Aemond loved watching his formally shy wife bouncing on top of him.

Y.N loved it for her own reasons, she loved feeling close to him and loved the look of wonder on his face as he watched her breasts bounce up and down— she knew how much it turned him on.

Another groan erupted from her when Aemond finally flexed his hips, pushing against her and bottoming out completely. It was the most amazing feeling, him all of the way inside of her.

Y.N felt a fist in her long hair and her face was brought so close to his that their noses were touching. His eye were fierce-primal. Whatever he had planned for her, by the end of it she knew that she would struggle to walk.

"Do you feel that Y.N?" panted Aemond against her lips and flexed his hips into her again, the tip of his cock reaching that place inside of her that could make her explode if the right pressure was applied.

All she could do in that moment was swallow and moan as she felt herself continue to stretch around him, her body readying itself for whatever he had in store for it.

"I'll give you all of that," whispered Aemond, a small grin on his lips as his forehead rested against hers as he continued to press into her with his cock. "If you can be good girl for me and not move an inch, I’ll let you have it-I’ll put a baby inside of you” He grinned wickedly at her. “But let's see how much self-control you really have, first"

And then without giving any warning, he rocked into her so painstakingly slowly that she felt her legs start to shake involuntarily at the action.

Oh. He wanted to play this game; it was one of her favourites.

"Don't you dare fucking move, love" said Aemond against her lips as his grip tightened on her arse cheek and the one in her hair kept her pressed tightly against him. “I’ll let you come when you’ve kept still for me. I’ll fuck you so slowly that by the time I’m done with you your whole body will be convulsing with need.”

Y.N managed to keep her hips still, but only just. He was turning her on too much for this torture to last long.

Her pupils dilated and the rush of her scent into the air told him all he must have needed to know, but he was determined to hear it from her lips. He raised a finger and traced her bottom lip, and then the top before pressing his finger inside her mouth. She never broke her gaze as she licked his finger before sucking it deep into the wet heat of her mouth.

“Fuck, little bird”

But then Aemond reached out and pinched both of her nipples and she forgot everything else as she threw her head back and cried out.

“Oh, Aemond-”

He continued to play with one taut peak, but he released the other and lifted her breast in his palm. As he kneaded and squeezed, she reached out a hand to his chest for balance and her legs spread further around his waist. She needed to move, needed to ease the pressure, fuck, he was going to kill her.

“Shall I keep playing with your nipples, Y.N, or are you aching for me to touch you somewhere else?” groaned Aemond pinching her other nipple.

Y.N wanted his mouth on her skin, not just on her breasts. She wanted to move. She wanted him to move roughly against her, she needed more. She always needed more. Putting everything out of her thoughts, instead, she ran one hand down her stomach and rubbed her clit slowly as she looked him directly in the eye and bit her lip for him.

“I want you here” whispered Y.N, smiling as she heard the feral sound that was almost like a growl erupt from the back of his throat.

He leaned down and licked along her throat, seeming to revel in the musky scent and taste of her.

“You’re fucking unbelievable-” rasped Aemond flexing his hips again into her and making her groan loudly again.

Keeping eye contact and merely tracing down her body with his hand until it met hers, the seam of her slit was then encircled by his fingers and his cock was hard as steel inside of her.

“Don’t look away from me, I want to watch your face when you move on my cock.” He told her as his lips grazed along her jawline. “I want to see your eyes widen when you break for me and tell me how fucking much you want me to put a baby inside of you” His hips moved into her again, stretching her out and hitting the place she needed him.

“Oh, shit-“ panted Y.N breathlessly against him.

“Right there, Y.N. That’s where you want it, isn’t it?” His cock kept pushing to the back of her, making her legs quake with the effort to keep her body still. She wanted to rock. She wanted to bounce up and down on him and send them both over the edge.

She wanted to beg him for more and have him moaning her name as he came deep inside of her. She wanted all of that.

But she could only have it if she was his good girl-she had to obey, first.

Aemond’s fingers began to focus on her clit.

As soon as his digits made contact with her slick, hard nub, Y.N moaned and tightened her thighs around his waist.

“Stay still, or this will only take longer” growled Aemond roughly against her ear and his free hand grabbed at her hip, squeezing her to keep her still for him. He could draw this out, but from the sound of his moans whenever she moved even the slightest inch, she could tell that he would be close soon. Besides, she wanted to send him over the edge so he could then have time to explore the rest of her body later. His tongue swirled and lapped at her pulse point as his finger kept up the pressure on her clit.

Y.N instinctively tried to raise her hips again, but he held her down and squeezed them to keep her in place. Then he bit her over her pulse point. Hard. She cried out and Aemond rumbled in approval at how loud she screamed for him.

“Such a good fucking girl.” His tongue licked where he had just bitten down. “You always make the sweetest sounds for me-”

Aemond loved biting her, he always had.

Y.N moaned at the continuous touch of his fingers on her clit and Aemond moaned with her, feeling her muscles squeeze and release around his cock as she tried to keep herself calm and controlled for him. When she relaxed and stopped spasming, Aemond took one last lick of the juncture between her neck and collarbone and raised his head. Y.N’s eyes were half-lidded, her cheeks flushed, and her expression relaxed.

He nuzzled her cheek as she drew in a breath. She loved the feel of his stubble on her skin. Aemond growled and he ended her chance to moan for him further by taking her mouth in a rough kiss.

Opening to him, she savoured the feel of his hot, silky tongue against hers. He moved one of his hands to her arse and squeezed, his touch like a brand on her skin. She wanted, no needed, to feel more of his skin against hers. She wrapped her thighs even tight around his hips, grabbed his shoulders, and tilted her hips in invitation, causing them both to groan at the action.

“Be the fucking death of me, love.” Aemond panted against her and his hips flexed in and out of hers so slowly that he was shaking himself with the effort to not just fuck up and into her hard, making the torture end for both of them.

“Aemond, please” begged Y.N.

The waiting was torture. The stillness was agony.

“Shhh-can you take a little more for me, love?” asked Aemond as he grabbed her hair and pulled it.

Oh-he knew how much she fucking loved him pulling her hair.

“I-I’ll try-” Was all that she could say as she tried to keep her hips from rocking.

“That’s my good girl-” He rocked his own hips right into her, making them both hiss. “So, fucking tight-all mine”

As she rubbed against him slightly but barely moving, Aemond snaked a hand between them to pinch one of her nipples and then twisted. The pleasure and pain made her cry out. He took the opportunity to kiss her jaw again, her neck, and then her shoulder simultaneously.

“I need more” whimpered Y.N

Moving back up to her face, Aemond took her lips against his roughly as he finally thrust his hard, long cock right into her, bringing her hips against him with his hands to allow her the briefest of pressure against her clit.

“That enough for you, sweetheart?” asked Aemond as he brought her hips back into his again, causing her eyes to roll into the back of her head.

“Yes-more-” breathed Y.N, her nails digging into his shoulders as the sensation of him filling her over and over as he forced her hips forwards took over her and she felt herself needing more needing it harder and faster.

Something must have snapped inside of him then.

Growling, Aemond quickly moved their positions so that Y.N was beneath him and she moaned out loud when his lower body began to move in slow, long strokes, reaching deep inside her.

“You wind me up too much-need to fuck you like this” mumbled Aemond into her hair before looking down at her as she clung to him, her legs still wrapped around his waist.

As his pace picked up, she gripped his shoulders for dear life and moved with him, never taking her eyes from his.

“Keep going,” She panted against him. “Just like that-just like that”

“You like that?” The bed started to pound against the wall.

“Yes-yes Aemond” Her head started to bounce off the mattress.

“Fucking love you Y.N-my little bird, my wife” every thrust of his hips was forcing her further towards their headboard.

“Come for me, Aemond-fill me up-Oh, God!-“ She slapped her hand over her mouth as his hips crashed violently against hers.

“Gonna come so hard right where you need it – Right there – fuck! – Fucking going to love seeing you pregnant-“ He rotated his hips as he spoke, his forehead against hers as the headboard continued to assault the bedroom wall.

Y.N scrawled her nails down Aemond’s back hard enough to leave marks making him growl in approval and fuck her harder into the mattress.

“Mark me fucking harder” ordered Aemond as Y.N scored her nails down his back again.

“A-Aemond” shrieked Y.N.

“So, fucking good for me-Oh, shit-yes-my wife-little bird” moaned Aemond, his hips crashing into hers, babbling to himself and hitting all the right spots for her.

“Aemond I’m close-let me come, please-“ begged Y.N. She was so close, just a little more and she would be there. He was filling her, making her feel so tight as her walls gripped around him, needing the release.

“Making me come-” said Aemond against her lips as his thrusts started to become erratic, hitting her clit as he rounded down on her every single time.

“Aemond, yes-yes, give me a baby-I want your baby“

And then he was there.

“FUCK!” roared Aemond, the heat spreading across his abdomen as he exploded, spilling rope after rope of seed inside her.

“Oh shit – Aemond!” shouted Y.N as she clutched Aemond’s shoulders to ride the wave after wave of delicious, blinding pleasure that coursed through her body as her core clenched and released his hard cock.

Aemond collapsed on top of her just as she started to come down from her orgasm. When he lay fully on top of her, Y.N hugged his body tight.

“You are mine. Do you hear that?” whispered Aemond against her into her ear. “You. Everything about you. You are mine.”

“Yours Aemond. Always yours”

Aemond finally lifted his head after a minute or so, Y.N’s legs going slack on either side of him.

He fixed her with a wicked grin.

“You think we did it first time?” He asked her with a raised eyebrow as he glanced down at her stomach in meaning. “Because I think I put in a good effort there-”

Y.N giggled and rolled her eyes. “You never know”

“Well we will just have to keep doing it-practice does make perfect after all” muttered Aemond as he bent down to kiss her on the lips.

Y.N practically bursts with excitement as she holds up the home pregnancy test, her eyes sparkling with joy. "Aemond!" she calls out eagerly, her voice trembling with excitement. "Look, look!"

Aemond turns to her, his expression curious at first, but then his eyes widen as he realizes what she's holding. He steps closer, his heart racing with anticipation. "Is it...?" he begins, unable to finish his sentence as he sees the unmistakable result on the test.

Y.N nods vigorously, her smile radiant. "Yes, yes, Aemond! We're going to have a baby!" she exclaims, her voice filled with elation.

Aemond's face breaks into a wide grin, his heart swelling with happiness. Without hesitation, he reaches out and places a hand gently on Y.N's stomach, feeling a rush of emotion at the thought of their growing family. "I can't believe it," he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. "We're going to be parents."

Y.N's eyes shimmer with tears of joy as she leans into her husband's embrace, feeling overwhelmed with love and excitement for the new chapter of their lives. "I love you," she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion.

"I love you too," Aemond replies, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "And I already love our little one."

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond x reader #hotd smut #aemond targaryen smut

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huramuna · 2 days

Text

banshee's lament - chapter 9.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.0k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

so sorry for the long wait. ):

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, decapitation, death

story playlist

The sound of paper furling and unfurling were the only ones heard. Then the slam of a fist on a wooden desk. Then a sigh.

“This is ridiculous,” Rhaenyra hissed, reading over the missive stamped with the Velaryon sigil for the near hundredth time. “Absolutely ridiculous— borderline treasonous.”

The letter spelled out, in so many words, that Vaemond Velaryon was contesting Lucerys’ inheritance claim to Driftmark. Lord Corlys had apparently fallen ill in the Stepstones— damn that accursed place— which brought up the question of succession. There had been whispers over the years of Rhaenyra’s first three sons’ true parentage belied in the seed of a certain late Commander of the City’s watch. Such accusations have been unfounded and swatted away like flies if the argument was ever brought up in the small council chamber or throne room.

Upon looking at them, the three Velaryon boys were only such in name– that much was obvious. Their brown eyes and curled brown hair struck a decided resemblance to someone that was not Ser Laenor Velaryon.

Even if the rumors, as they may be, were plain as day truths, such things couldn’t be acted upon, much less said about the heir to the iron throne, could they?

“How can Alicent even entertain this… this mummer’s farce?” she continued to seethe, resorting to pacing now, twisting the rings on her fingers. Her throat felt a bit dry at the situation. Her and Alicent had struck a comfortable balance since returning. This felt… it felt akin to a slap in the face.

“‘Tis not just Alicent entertaining it,” Daemon muttered, swirling wine in his cup. He was lazed in the chaise, one leg over the other. He seemed particularly laissez-faire about the situation at hand, as if it were nothing more than a mere annoyance to him, like a leg cramp or an annoying bug. “That snake of a father she has has his fangs in every pot. Whatever suits him— and this would seem to be one of those things.” he glanced to his wife, wanting to say more about the queen, but thought better of it. Daemon Targaryen was, in all accounts, a man who spoke his mind– but he didn’t wish to ruffle his pregnant wife’s feathers by calling her ‘girlhood friend’ a cunt like her father.

“Otto Hightower is a conniving man, that much is true. What could he hope to gain by currying favor with Vaemond?”

“The Velaryon fleet. The Velaryon coin. The Velaryon connections. The well of opportunities for conniving cunts like Otto are endless.” he punctuated each point with a wave of his glass.

Rhaenyra’s mouth snapped shut. She was silent for a long while before finally speaking again. “Well, Lord Corlys is not dead yet. This will be fought and we will be heard.”

—

The morning after the gala was… eventful, to say the least. She hardly remembered going back to her room, it all felt like a hazy, dizzy dream.

Aemond had escorted her back to her chambers in (comfortable) silence, giving her another goodnight kiss before leaving her for the night. She had been reeling from it all, the adrenaline of their interaction.

She could feel his lips on hers and a delightful buzz on her face and… another unfamiliar sensation deep in her body, nestled behind her navel. It felt like a pulling sensation, like a thread connecting her and Aemond. Just the slightest tug on the string had her feeling warm and fuzzy— she wanted him. The implication of wanting him could mean a myriad of things. She was fond of him, of course, she always had been. His possessive declaration, to any normal person, could be deduced into one thing. But in Shera’s mind, there were many interpretations of such an action, it couldn’t be assumed to mean one thing!

He said she belonged to him— that didn’t necessarily mean he… loved her, he just wanted her near him. The kiss… she had started it, of course! It was merely… something of comfort between them, like a soft blanket or a favorite smell, right? Nothing so deep as… as one might assume.

But it was also… melding into one another with ease, like their lips coming together had been second nature, their feelings inevitable.

She kicked her legs in bed, spooking Moongeist slightly. Burying her face in her pillow, she gave an uncharacteristically loud squeal— to personify her current feelings. This was girlish and so very silly! Her face was red, she knew, feeling the heat radiating off of it.

No, no— ‘twas not love. It… Aemond didn’t love her, he couldn’t, it was a passing fancy. Yes, he was possessive and had mentioned marrying her twice. But that didn’t… mean…

She glanced over at the dozens of drawings and sketches they’d done over the past few weeks on her side table. Her eye immediately caught on the portrait she did of him in blue and purple pastels, fingers wrought over the etching as she thought back to when she presented it to him.

“I do not look like this, Shera,” he scoffed as he rolled his eye at her depiction of him. “You made me look like a child getting their portrait done for the first time. I look like I am being held at swordpoint.”

Her mouth opened, brows flying to her hairline. “What do you mean? This is what you look like to me,” she snatched the paper from his hand and put it up next to his face to compare. “And you wouldn’t sit still, you basically were a child. I thought you had more discipline than that– Ser Criston would be disappointed.” she tutted.

Of course, it was a stylized portrait– mayhaps overly stylized. It was lines and angles and he did look quite pointy in it. But it felt like him, harsh around the edges but there was a glint in his eye that was soft, something few people could catch in Aemond Targaryen. He had been agitated when she made him stand still and it was surprising that she didn’t capture that overbearing emotion– rather, she caught the softness reserved only for her that hung in the back light of his eye.

“You are blind.” Aemond huffed, turning away.

“Yes, we have established that,” she pushed his shoulder playfully.

Love. Love? Love!

She screamed herself hoarse again into her pillow until Moongeist tugged it away from her.

She loved him. She was in love with Aemond Targaryen and had been for a very, very long time.

She was still giddy about it, getting out of bed with a spring in her step, as if she were some sort of sprightly hare. She peppered Moongeist’s face in kisses, to which he returned sleepy chuffs and whines, cooing soft noises to him in lieu of words— her throat hurt from her girlish squealing.

She had almost forgotten about the incident. The warging. She wasn’t even sure it had been real, if not for the bruises where Aemond held her so tightly to stop her from falling to the floor, she thought it would’ve been a dream.

Shera knew of warging– every Stark did, every Northman did. It was a seemingly supernatural phenomenon told by stewardesses to children. It was a thing of wonder and utter horror. She remembers her own stewardess, the very fleeting memories she had before King’s Landing of Winterfell, keeping her afraid with the threat that if a skinchanger died while inhabiting another being, they would be trapped in said being’s skin forever.

“Some skinchangers are more beast than man, Shera,” the older woman said, wagging a finger in the little girl’s face, who was no more than four at the time. “If you keep up your antics, don’t be surprised if you wake up as a beast, you little hellion.”

Shera promptly bit the offending wagging finger.

Unfurling the paper left with her breakfast, a hearty plate of hot eggs and bangers (which looked ravenously appetizing), she skimmed it. The message was clear in its intent: the move back to Dragonstone was delayed. Biting into the sausage, she threw Moongeist some eggs.

One more thing to be delighted about– she felt like everything between her and… those who resided in King’s Landing was on borrowed time.

‘Twas a pity about the hearing for Lucerys’ inheritance. She didn’t care much for Lucerys– but she didn’t really know him. She wonders if he even remembers taking Aemond’s eye, and Shera subsequently shoving him into a wall where he hit his head.

She ponders it more over breakfast, even asking for a second helping of sausage before reporting to the throne hall. The maids that dressed her had brought a separate garment, one unfamiliar and most certainly not something she brought with her.

“Princess Rhaenyra wishes for you to wear this at the hearing,” one of them murmured.

Shera eyed the dress– it was deep, blood red with black and gold trim. There were embellishments of dragons and wolves across the chest and a sash belt that looked like it had wolf claws embedded into it. It was… nice in its own way, except for the ghastly color. The maids were relentless in the cinching of her waist and she shifted uneasily from foot to foot as she regretted her second helping of breakfast. The women didn’t say anything to her, really, but exchanged looks that said more than words.

As she slips into the throne room, she feels a whoosh of air beside her. “You look garish in that color,” a familiar voice sneered. Aegon blocked her way, brows raised. “Some little birdie told me that you prefer blue.”

“... mayhaps I do,” she murmured. “And how exactly do you know that?”

“Again, my little birdie. But also, I was at the gala and saw you and my brother eye-fucking each other. You two are seriously shameless, debaucherous almost.”

“That is truly rich coming from you, Aegon,” Shera cracked a small smile.

Continuing her walk, Jacaerys sweeps her up into his arm and leads them over to… their side. Rhaenyra, Daemon, Lucerys and Rhaena are waiting. Across the opposite side of the room are Aemond, Aegon, Helaena, Alicent and Otto. In the center, stands Vaemond, swaying ever so slightly to the Queen’s side. The room is so clearly divided that it's almost sickening. Just the previous night, they had been making merry without all of this division. She sees Aemond, who gives her dress a onceover– his expression is reserved and she can’t tell what he is thinking. He looks at her for half a second, nostrils flared, before looking away from her.

While the proceedings are happening, she swims within her own mind. She stands near Jace, who has his arm looped in hers in a protective manner. Scattered words of Vaemond come through her muddled thoughts, ‘Velaryon’, ‘Blood’, ‘Survival’, ‘House’. Her eyes were glazed over as she counted the cracks in the stones of the floor.

One, two, three… four…

She doesn’t really pay attention to what’s going on until the heavy doors of the throne room open with almost silencing impunity, quiet chatter and shocked whispers pulling her from her reverie.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!” the Kingsguard announced as His Grace, who still looked all the part of a royal corpse, hobbled into the room. He declined any assistance to walk and take his seat.

She gets a sinking feeling in her gut– something telling her that everything is about to explode.

“I must… admit… my confusion,” he wheezes, winded by the small walk. Shera feels a small twinge of sympathy at that, understanding the feeling. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.”

“You are of sound mind in that, father,” Rhaenyra bowed her head, unfurling another paper, walking to the King to present it. “This is a whit and declaration of betrothal between my son, Lucerys Velaryon, and Lord Corlys’ granddaughter, Rhaena Targaryen. It is signed and stamped by Lady Rhaenys, who upholds her husband’s declaration that Laenor’s son shall inherit Driftmark. This betrothal shall only strengthen his claim.”

Viserys gave a small smile. “Thank you, my daughter,” he skimmed the paper, obviously with some struggle. “The matter… is settled, Ser Vaemond. It has been and it will… stay affirmed… that Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon is heir to Driftmark… the Driftwood Throne… and the next Lord of the Tides… and the children… of him and Lady Rhaena… will inherit it after him.”

She feels the intensity in the air, it’s almost palpable. She feels sick as the voices raise, the blood in the room rises.

Vaemond looks like he is about to burst, his body shaking in clear anger. “You break law… and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me… who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon,” he pauses for a moment as if to consider his next words, “No.I will not allow it.”

“‘Allow it’? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond,” Viserys struggled to sit up, returning Vaemond’s vitriol with his own– as labored and unthreatening as it was.

“That,” Vaemond pointed to Lucerys, with a look that could raze an army. “is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… are no more than the second son of Driftmark.”

“You… may run your house as you see fit… but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this…” Vaemond looked back to Lucerys and Jacaerys. The rage in his eyes were palpable as a humid day, the anger emanating from him sticking in the room like cloying smoke.

“Say it.” Daemon whispered, eyes trained on the second son of Driftmark. The rogue prince was disarmingly calm, his voice like Caraxes’ hiss.

“Her children… are bastards!” Vaemond boomed, stomping his foot and pointing again at Rhaenyra’s sons.

Shera’s breath left her lungs. She remembered what happened the last time someone called them bastards. She glanced to Aemond, who was looking right back at her.

“And she…” Ser Vaemond turned his damning finger to Rhaenyra, “is… a… whore.”

The swing of a sword was all she heard.

It is silent, save for the hushed and shocked breathing of everyone watching. One would think that people would scream, would gasp. But no, it was quiet as a mouse, quiet as Vaemond’s head was removed from his body and the gentle seep of blood staining the stone floor.

Shera had never seen anyone die before– not like this. She can see into the passages of his skull, his eyes still open. Shocked, she looks at Daemon, who is wiping his blade against his doublet. Her eyes were glued to the ground, to the cracks she was counting before. They were soaked in his blood, the divots and fissures of the stone opening way for the blood to fall into, branching out into jagged rivers.

One, two, three… f-four…

This is what is he capable of, isn’t it? No one came to truly seize him, to arrest him for killing a man in broad daylight, in front of the King, in front of the Hand, in front of courtiers, in front of the Kingsguard.

Alicent’s mouth was opened, her eyes wide. Even Otto was shocked, his fist clenched. It was as much emotion as Shera had ever seen the Hand express.

Her saliva feels cloying in her mouth as she glances across the room. Helaena has her ears covered and Shera wishes she had done the same. Aegon was staring off into space, pupils dilated. The scuffle of blades and minds beginning to come to a sense of what just really happened.

Aemond’s face finally held some emotion: enamorment. For the power that Daemon held, the prowess, the act of brutality itself– Shera couldn’t parse which. All she knew is that it scared her. That darkness lying just beneath the surface that she’d tried so hard to ignore–

Her extremities feel numb, the sharp sting of icy needles crawling up her arms and legs. She began to sway, unknowingly clasping onto Jacaerys. The room was spinning and shaking, the intense smell of copper— Vaemond’s blood— tainting her senses.

A high pitched ringing overwhelmed her hearing as she slipped from consciousness into darkness.

—

Alicent held Rhaenyra’s arm, hand over the length of the scar she gave her so many years ago. It seemed like a fever dream; that night. Her thumb traced the raised skin as the two women shared a moment in silence.

“I— I will return, Alicent,” the princess murmured, her hand over her belly. “I will take the children home and return for Shera. We… we have overstayed our welcome.” her throat bobbed as they spoke softly in the corner of the maester’s room.

The queen’s eyes roved over Shera’s sleeping form. Her chest rose and fell softly and she seemed… troubled in her unconsciousness, soft whines emitting from her every so often. Her wolf stayed at the foot of the bed, standing at attention. Amber eyes vigilant, guarding.

“How… how shall you transport her? She hasn’t woken up yet, Nyra,” Alicent asked, tilting her head. “The maesters say she is fragile.”

“Syrax is a smooth flier— a makeshift cot is being constructed on her saddle as we speak. The flight wouldn’t be long and it would be much less taxing than a wheelhouse or horse.”

Alicent nibbled on her lip anxiously. She had never been fond of dragons, despite most of those closest to her connected to one in some way.

Targaryens and their queer customs.

“Is… is that wise?” she pressed, brow knitting. “They do not even know if she will wake.”

“I made an oath to her brother that I would keep her under my care, Alicent— we must go back to Dragonstone, our affairs cannot be put off any longer. I do not wish to birth my babe here, nor do I wish for Jacaerys to marry here.”

But I wish for you to stay. I wish for you to leave that ingrate of a husband. She punctuated her unheard thought with a meaningful squeeze to Rhaenyra’s arm. A silent plea— it was the first time in years that something had felt right.

But it wasn’t her place to say anything about it, the words were better left unsaid. “If you think that is wise, Rhaenyra,” the queen responded, her hand dropping from her skin as if it burned her. Mayhaps it did. “At least let our maesters monitor her for a few days— then you may take her.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched as she recused both hands to her belly as if to defend herself. “Very well, my queen.”

They were so close, yet so far.

—

It was hazy. Hazy and dreary— silent but all too loud. Her steps were calm and measured as her heart thumped in her chest. Shera felt light in her steps without any inhibition or reproach. Feeling no pain or vertigo, she flew down the staircase, skipping two or three at a time, giggling. This had to be a dream, didn’t it?

Descending, down… down…

She was in the Red Keep, she knew. But it felt different, somehow. Younger in its stones, in the bones of its foundation, there was still some give.

And yet, despite the airiness of the walls, there was a shadow looming

Two somewhat familiar figures were conversing near the skull of Balerion. She recognized them from portraits– young Rhaenyra and a much healthier, much more alive version of Viserys.

She had always been fascinated by him, Balerion. Despite her heritage being very non-dragonesque, she always felt a childlike wonder whenever someone would speak of Balerion. It was hardly fathomable to her to imagine a dragon that would blot out the sun– one that even rivaled Vhagar’s gargantuan size.

Viserys spoke softly but firmly to Rhaenyra, who was so young. She had just lost her mother and brother— the claim to the Iron Throne and named heir were up in the air.

“Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds. And whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living. When this Great Winter comes, Rhaenyra… all of Westeros must stand against it,” Viserys urged softly as the candlelight flickered against his features, fingers skimming atop the flames

“And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A king,” he paused, looking at Rhaenyra once more, “or queen, strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. Aegon called his dream ‘The Song of Ice and Fire.’ This secret… it’s been passed from king to heir since Aegon’s time. Now you must promise to carry it… and protect it. Promise me this, Rhaenyra,” the king looked directly to where Shera was standing, looking right into her eyes, as if he could see her, see into her. “Promise me.”

The metal of the Catspaw blade heated up atop the coals to a bright and almost fluorescent orange. Goosebumps prickled on Shera’s skin in tandem with the rising heat of the room. It was so warm, no, it was hot, scorching. The air vacated her lungs, replaced by flames licking at her insides, burning, consuming.

Young Rhaenyra had left the room, leaving Viserys to look at the skull of Balerion. He picked up a single candle, peering into the flame like it held the secrets of the world.

He spoke again, but his voice wasn’t that of the era of King that Shera was looking upon. It was old, weezing– just like in the throne room from earlier in the day. The form of Viserys slumped, hair falling out and skin graying as he held the candle like a lifeline. He fell to his knees and the sound of his bones shattering could be heard, breaking and splintering into nothing but dust.

But the candle was still lit. His hand, now nothing but bone and sinew, was fused to the wax.

“No… more,” he coughed and sputtered, blood leaking from his lips onto the stone. Wax dripped, mingling with the blood. Finally, he focused on the flame of the candle. “My… love.”

He blew out the candle with his last breath. With that, all of the candles in the room blew out.

Shera was left alone in the darkness and swirling smoke.

It was cold.

–

She awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. But she was still cold, shivering. The smell of smoke was still lingering.

Her chest was heaving as she sat up and tried to walk, wanting that same flighty weightlessness she felt before. Her body failed her and she crumbled to the floor, a broken doll once again. Arms wrapped around her and helped her up. The familiarity of sandalwood lulled her frantic nerves as she wholeheartedly buried her face into Aemond’s chest. She knew it was him. His arms laced behind her as he lifted her up easily as if not to taint her with having to stand on the ground. His nose buried into her hair, holding onto her as if he was afraid she would slip away.

There was the sound of a throat clearing near the corner of the room. The two of them were not alone– but she didn’t care. She clung to Aemond like her life depended on it, peering behind him slowly.

Aegon was sitting behind them, knee bobbing nervously. He looked… disheveled, more than usual. Even more so, he was wearing… the crown of the conqueror. He was wearing the crown of his namesake. “You’ve missed a lot, Shera,” he muttered, eyes dark.

“Aegon?” she croaked, voice sounding hoarse and broken from disuse.

“‘Tis ‘your grace’ now.” Aegon said bitterly.

#aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond x original female character #aemond x ofc #my writing #banshees lament

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fanficapologist · 17 hours

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Aemond POV

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

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.

Chapter Six

The Gods had a plan, that much was clear. He always knew there was more to him. More than just a second son, more than a scholar or a swordsman. From his blood would come the King of Kings, who would take over the world even more so than Aegon the Conqueror. Yet he knew the Gods would not simply grant him this honour, Aemond thought. No, they sought to test him, to put him on trial to see if he was worthy. And what better way to do so than to bind him to a person he could not stand?

Aemond was a devout follower of the Seven, his mother had ensured it. Dragons may have made the Targaryen’s Kings but there was a higher power all men must answer to, be they peasants or Princes. He would trust the Gods judgement for what they had in store for him, yet he yearned for their guidance in the face of adversity. The moment he returned to Kings Landing, he first visited the Sept, looking for answers. In the dark and stoney building, where the scent of incense filled the air, Aemond kneeled before an altar and lit a few candles.

To the Father, he prayed for strength to fulfill his duty, to uphold the legacy of House Targaryen, even in the face of personal anguish and resentment. To the Mother, he asked for patience and understanding as he embarked on the path set out for him. To the Maiden, Aemond pleaded for purity of intention, to be able to cast aside past turmoil in order for the marriage to bear fruit. When beseeching his chosen god, the Warrior, he asked for courage and valor, praying for the bravery to face the challenges ahead with steadfast resolve, even in the face of his own doubts and fears.

To the Smith, he prayed to be forged with resilience and fortitude, that he may withstand the trials and tribulations of a marriage born not of love but of necessity, and that he would be able serve the Realm justly. Aemond asked for the Crone to illuminate the path before him with her wisdom, that he may discern the lessons to be learned from this unexpected turn of fate, and that he may navigate the complexities of his future with clarity and insight. And finally, to the Stranger, he begged for guidance through the shadows of doubt and uncertainty, that he may emerge on the other side with acceptance and peace.

The Prince knew finding contentment with his great future, mapped out by the Gods themselves, would be easier some days compared to others. One such day that seemed easier was when he arrived back at the Keep and saw his sister, Queen Helaena, his nephews and niece, and Maera, laughing in the gardens. The lush greenery of the gardens provided a picturesque backdrop, with vibrant flowers blooming and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze lending a tranquil atmosphere.

Maera’s animated gestures and bright smile captivated Aemond’s attention, momentarily thawing the icy disdain between them. Despite their turbulent history, seeing Maera engrossed in conversation with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera stirred a small sense of warmth within Aemond. It seemed as though Maera was regaling the children with a captivating tale, her enthusiasm infectious and drawing genuine smiles from the young prince and princess.

As Aemond leaned against the cool marble pillar, his mind was consumed with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Despite his deep-seated disdain for Maera, he couldn't deny her natural affinity with children. Growing up in a House teeming with siblings, Maera's nurturing instinct seemed innate, effortlessly drawing the royal children to her side. It was no wonder they were captivated by her presence.

In his mind's eye, Aemond envisioned a future where Maera stood as a mother to their own offspring, silver-haired children destined to leave an indelible mark on the world. Though he harbored no affection for Maera, he couldn't deny the image of her nurturing her own children with unwavering love and dedication.

As he grappled with the realization of their intertwined fate, Aemond felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Their mutual disdain for each other seemed insurmountable, yet the prophecy foretold a future where their bloodline would shape the course of history. Despite the tumultuous journey that lay ahead, Aemond resolved to endure, accepting the weight of his destiny bound to Maera.

As Jaehaerys and Jaehaera rushed to greet him, their youthful enthusiasm brought a fleeting smile to Aemond’s lips. Their innocent energy provided a brief respite from the tension that lingered between him and Maera. Yet, as the Lady approached, her gaze locked onto his single violet eye, and Aemond couldn’t help but feel a sense of uneasy truce settle between them for the moment, if only for the sake of the children.

After the initial greetings, Jaehaera turned to Aemond with a serious expression. "Are female warriors as fierce as men, Kepus?”

Maera interjected before the one-eyed Prince could reply to his niece. "Absolutely, they are,” she declared firmly.

Aemond couldn’t help but smirk when he questioned her, watching the way Maera’s face scrunched up in annoyance, yet her eyebrows raised in intrigue, almost as if she was trying to hide the fact she too enjoyed the thrill of a challenge.

"Join me for training tomorrow in the courtyard, just like old times. I will fight for the young Prince and you can fight for Princess Jaehaera,” he requested as Maera folded her arms across her chest and furrowed her brow. Aemond would hate to admit it, but he was hoping with all his being that she would say yes.

Eventually she dropped arms and with a sigh, a small smile graced her face. “How could I refuse?” Maera replied, looking at the smiles beaming on the twins faces.

Aemond’s interest was piqued, and he couldn’t deny the allure of facing off against her in combat. The Gods may have bound them together, but Aemond refused to accept a weak partner. If Maera claimed to practice often, her skill with the sword must be honed and formidable.

And how delighted Aemond was to be right. A day later, as the Prince was practising with the Lord Commander, a sharp dagger flying through the air and hitting one of the straw dummies caught the crowd’s attention. Clad in a blue tunic and brown leather vest and trousers, she cut a striking figure, her brown and silver locks braided away from her face to accentuate her piercing forest green eyes.

Despite the intensity of his own practice, Aemond couldn’t help but steal glances in Maera’s direction. From the corner of his eye, he observed her swift movements as she engaged with the three squires the Lord Commander had assigned to her. With each clash of blades, Maera displayed a fierce determination that Aemond couldn’t help but begrudgingly admire. Amidst the clang of steel and the grunts of exertion, Aemond recognised Maera’s tenacity and skill on the training grounds as she beat all three men.

When the time finally came for the one-eyed Prince to spar with the Lady, their movements seemed to flow seamlessly, like dancers gliding across a ballroom floor. Their swords clashed with precision and grace, each strike and parry executed with fluidity and finesse. Their footwork was agile and precise, reminiscent of a choreographed dance, as they circled each other with a grace that belied the intensity of their duel. Their swords sang through the air as they hit each other, creating a mesmerizing rhythm that echoed throughout the courtyard. It almost came across as romantic.

As they continued their spar, Aemond felt a surge of exhilaration coursing through him. It was as if a piece of his old self, the youthful and carefree young boy of years past, was resurfacing amidst the intensity of their duel. Despite the weight of his responsibilities and the burdens of his past, in this moment, he felt alive, relishing the thrill of the fight. However, despite the Lady’s prowess, he sensed a momentary lapse in her focus. It was a familiar trait from their childhood days, one that he knew how to exploit.

With a calculated strike, Aemond breached Maera’s defense, his sword finding its mark and leaving a gash across her chest. He observed her wince, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that fueled his determination. seizing the opportunity, he delivered a swift kick, sending Maera crashing to the ground.With Maera lying beneath him, Aemond swiftly straddled her hips, his weight pressing down as he pinned her to the ground. His sword hovered dangerously close to her throat, a silent threat that demanded her submission.

Holding her in place, Aemond took in the sight before him. Maera's face flushed with exertion, beads of sweat glistening on her brow as she breathed deeply. Strands of her brown and silver hair had escaped their braid, framing her face in a wild halo. Her blue tunic bore the marks of their spar, torn and stained with blood from where his blade had struck her, revealing glimpses of her heaving chest beneath.

The Prince’s mind wandered as his breathing fell into a rhythm with hers. There was a strange and unsettling beauty in seeing her in such a vulnerable position, beneath him, her power stripped away. It was an intoxicating sensation, one that made his heart race and sent shivers down his spine. It was like a drug, addicting and irresistible.

When Maera finally yielded, Aemond smirked in victory, relishing in her admission of defeat. He knew how stubborn she could be, and forcing her to submit must have been a bitter pill for her to swallow. But oh, how he reveled in making her feel that pain.

That evening he could not help but stroke his cock to the sheer image of her defeated body beneath him, grunting softly as he slid his hand up and down repeatedly. His face twisted in pleasure as his mouth fell open, picturing her heaving breasts, her reddened face, her intense green-eyed stare before releasing into his hand. The image of her swollen with his child, the continuation of his bloodline foretold by the Gods, was enough to make him hard once more. And it made him angry, reminding him of the night of Aegon and Helaena’s wedding, when he desperately sought relief by his own hand because of Maera.

The Prince vowed not lose himself to depravity. He wanted to maintain some form of control, and whilst he knew Maera was a key part of his future, he would not allow himself to become ensnared by her. Not her beauty, not her wit, not her skill with the sword. He needed to remain sharp of mind, so he occupied himself with his duties, just as he always had. The dutiful son of House Targaryen.

For weeks he patrolled the Reach, Riverlands, and Westerlands tirelessly, his presence a looming shadow over the lands he traversed. He made it a point to liaise with the High Lords of each region, maintaining alliances and ensuring their unwavering loyalty to his brother, Aegon. Aemond’s commanding presence and diplomatic skills proved invaluable as he navigated the complex web of politics and power dynamics that governed each territory.

In addition to his diplomatic efforts, Aemond diligently sent ravens bearing news and requests back to the Capital, keeping his brother informed and up to date on the latest developments across the realm. His dedication to his duties served as both a distraction from his inner turmoil and a testament to his loyalty to the crown.

Yet he could not get returning to Kings Landing out of his mind. To face off against Maera once more brought him a strange excitement. The last time he saw her was the night the blue and black dragon landed on the beach—a moment that felt like an omen from the Gods, occurring as Aemond and Maera stood together, gazing up into the night sky.

During that encounter, Aemond took a perverse pleasure in verbally tormenting her. She stood before him in a thin cotton nightgown and robe, her curves accentuated beneath the white fabric, squirming uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Bandages adorned her chest, evidence of the wound Aemond had inflicted upon her during their sparring match.

And how he so looked forward to their fights continuing once he returned. In their battles of wit, the Prince found a peculiar joy—a satisfaction derived from the sharpening of his intellect and the thrill of outmaneuvering his opponent. With every exchange, he revelled in his victories, savoring each triumphant moment while carefully analyzing his missteps, always striving to improve his skills.

Beneath the surface of his desire for intellectual supremacy lay a deeper, more primal urge. He yearned for dominance over Maera in every facet of their interactions. He longed to exert control over her, to make her feel small and insignificant in his presence—a fitting retribution for what he perceived as her betrayal and the bewildering effect she had on his emotions. For Aemond, the prospect of facing Maera once again was not just an opportunity for verbal sparring; it was a chance to assert his power and assert his dominance over the woman who had unsettled him like no other.

One stormy day upon his return to the Red Keep, he intended to find his mother and sister. His usually sleek and straight white hair now clung to his face and neck, dampened by the relentless downpour outside, its ends curling slightly from the moisture.

Upon arriving at his mother's chambers, Aemond found them empty, devoid of the usual warmth and presence that he associated with her. Instead, he was directed by the guards stationed at the door to his sister Helaena's rooms. With a nod of acknowledgment, he made his way through the dimly lit corridors, his footsteps echoing against the polished marble floors.

As Aemond entered his sister Helaena's chambers, he found his mother, the dowager-queen Alicent, seated by the window, her expression fraught with concern as she watched the maids help her daughter out of the bath. The tension in her shoulders seemed to dissolve as Alicent’s gaze fell upon her second son, relief washing over her features.

“Mother…” Aemond began, concern etched into his expression. Before Aemond could utter another word, Alicent enveloped him in a tight embrace. Despite his usual reserve, he returned the gesture, his arms encircling her form.

When Alicent finally pulled away, she brushed a tear from her brown eye, managing a smile. “It’s fine, Aemond, we’re fine.”

Aemond’s gaze drifted to Helaena, now clad in her nightgown holding a millipede in her palm, her wet hair being gently combed by the maids. She seemed content in her own little world. “What happened?” Aemond inquired, his voice tinged with concern.

Alicent’s gaze turned towards her daughter, sadness clouding her features. “She’d been unsettled all afternoon,” Alicent began, her voice soft, laden with worry. “She asked to go outside for some air, and then we couldn’t coax her back in during the storm. She was hysterical.”

Aemond, standing by the door, felt a weight settle in his chest. Guilt tugged at him for not being there for his mother and sister in their time of need. Aegon, his elder brother, had once again proved of little assistance, and Aemond regretted being away from the Keep to attend to his duties, knowing his closer bond with Helaena could have offered solace.

His one-eyed gaze lingered on Helaena as she delicately lifted a millipede to her face, her expression serene yet distant. Their violet eyes met briefly, and she uttered cryptic words, her voice soft and ethereal. “It is not blind but it does not see.”

His brow furrowed in confusion at her enigmatic remark, but before he could inquire further, Alicent gently guided their attention back to her.

“Then Maera came,” Alicent continued, her tone tinged with a sense of relief. “And, well… they have always shared an unspoken bond.”

Aemond couldn’t help but feel a mixture of gratitude and frustration towards his foe. While he harbored resentment towards her, he couldn’t deny the relief he felt knowing that Helaena had been spared the anguish of being restrained or further distress, a testament to the calming influence that Maera seemed to possess. No one could reach Helaena like she could.

Lord Commander Criston Cole had taught the a prince that sometimes a truce was better than losing when facing an enemy. Despite their mutual disdain, they were bound by the will of the Gods, a fact that Aemond couldn’t ignore. With a hum, he acknowledged that perhaps it was time to bridge the gap between them, if only to make his own life easier.

Determined to confront Lady Maera and initiate this uneasy truce, Aemond stormed to her chambers, his steps echoing with purpose down the corridor. Upon arrival, he was met by her maid, who informed him that she was currently bathing. Despite the maid’s attempts to dissuade him, Aemond insisted on having an audience with Maera, his resolve unyielding.

There was a twisted pleasure in knowing that, as a Prince of the blood, he could demand to see her whenever he pleased, a small victory that gave him a sense of power over her. He enjoyed the idea of disrupting her routine, knowing full well that it would annoy her, yet finding joy in the knowledge that he held the upper hand in this encounter.

As Aemond entered the room, his gaze immediately fell upon the wooden screen that shielded Maera as she bathed. Despite the barrier between them, he wasted no time in inquiring about his sister's well-being, his concern evident in his voice. When Maera revealed the events of the storm and her role in bringing Helaena to safety, Aemond couldn't help but begrudgingly thank her, acknowledging her efforts in preventing further distress to his sister.

Seated near the hearth in Maera's room, Aemond suppressed a chuckle at the sight of her feeble attempt to maintain her modesty behind the screen. It struck him as ridiculous, given that any semblance of reputation Maera once held had long been tarnished, and therefore there was no need to hide from him. At least that was what he told himself.

The Prince remembered Helaena’s words from her wedding day, many years ago when he walked her down the aisle. Dragon fire melts the steel to bridge the gap between sky and sea. And what better way to bond with her than sword fighting like when they were children? It took some convincing but when she finally agreed, Aemond saw it as a step towards bridging the gap between them and potentially fulfilling the prophecy foretold by the witch of Harrenhall.

As weeks went by, Aemond couldn’t deny the exhilaration he felt. Despite their differences, they each possessed unique strengths with the sword that complemented one another. Through their training, they not only honed their swordsmanship but also coached each other to improve, fostering a sense of camaraderie between them. With each passing week, Aemond sensed a small part of his childhood self resurfacing, softening the cold and hardened edges he had acquired over the years.

Yet after each session, the Prince found himself grappling with newfound confusion and inner turmoil, leaving him unsettled and frustrated. He had always prided himself on his unwavering certainty and control over his surroundings, but the shifting dynamics with Maera left him feeling adrift and uncertain. When he was with her, Aemond experienced a sense of excitement and renewal, a departure from the stoicism that had defined him for so long. He couldn’t comprehend these conflicting emotions, and they gnawed at him like a relentless fire, consuming him from within. Despite his efforts to maintain control, he found himself burning alive. Burning for her.

“She has declared herself a virgin?” The witch’s tone was cool, her eyes glinting with an unsettling knowingness as she sat at her table.

Aemond sat in the dimly lit room of Harrenhall, visiting once again to attend to his duties, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the hearth. At Alys’s question, he turned his head and furrowed his brow, his voice laced with confusion and frustration. “She did not outright declare it, but it was something she said…”

His mind took him back to a day in the Godswood, having just returned from a trip to the Westerlands. The Prince immediately spotted Maera seated beneath the towering Weirwood tree, engrossed in the pages of the Seven-Pointed Star. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her lips moving silently as she muttered the words to herself. Aemond couldn’t help but find the sight endearing, a stark contrast to her usual confident demeanor.

Her dark brown curls, adorned with the distinctive silver streak, cascaded around her shoulders, framing her face as she looked up from her book to meet his gaze. However, instead of the usual warmth, Aemond detected a troubled expression in her emerald eyes.

“Nyke se mandia,” I'm the eldest she said, the words heavy with emotion. "Nyke yenka emagon issare idīntan ēlī . sytiotāpagon zirȳ va skorkydoso naejot sagon sȳz ābrazȳrys se muña. Y…” I should have been married first. So I could guide them, advise them on being good wives, good mothers, on how to navigate the wedding night. But instead I…

“Why would she not defend herself? Why keep silent?” Aemond muttered, more to himself than to Alys, his thoughts swirling with unanswered questions.

Alys’s grin widened, her gaze piercing. “It’s like wine on a cotton shift; a stain not easily removed once spilled,” she remarked cryptically before shrugging. “If she refuted the claims, it would not have mattered anyway.”

Aemond shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. “If she is proved a maiden in the eyes of the court, she will be free to wed, and therefore seen as a more suitable wife for myself,” he mused, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the thought of Maera as his wife, as well as the great life they would lead, if what the witch predicted was true. Quickly refocusing, he continued, “The King of Kings must come from our blood. Though coming from a minor House, her chances are still slim.”

“The scales can still be tipped in your favor, my Prince,” Alys stated calmly, rising from her chair with purpose evident in her movements. “If you'll allow me?” Aemond tilted his head, studying her with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded in reluctant agreement, though his expression remained guarded.

Alys proceeded to gather ingredients from various shelves, her movements fluid and deliberate. With practiced precision, she arranged them on the table before retrieving a knife from a nearby chest.

“Your blood, my Prince,” she requested, extending her hand toward him as if it were a perfectly ordinary request.

Aemond's frown deepened, his stance rigid with discomfort. “Blood magic is blasphemous,” he protested, the weight of his upbringing and values evident in his words.

Alys met his gaze steadily, her own unwavering. “And yet the Gods demand it,” she countered, her tone firm and unwavering. Seeing his reluctance, she added, “Blood mages have ancient roots, tracing back to the days of Old Valyria. Your ancestors had no qualms practicing it.”

Aemond averted his gaze, conflicted by the truth in her words. The history of his lineage was filled with tales of ancient magic and power. Could he dismiss it so easily now, when faced with a solution to his current predicament?

Alys's voice sliced through the tense air, snapping Aemond out of his contemplations. “If you wish to conduct your investigation without my help, so be it,” she declared firmly, her cat-like eyes boring into his with unwavering determination. “But time is not on your side.”

Aemond's jaw clenched as he wrestled with his inner turmoil. He knew the urgency of the situation, the pressing need to resolve the matter swiftly. The vision of the King of Kings seemed to slip further away with each passing day, and he couldn't afford to let that happen. Maera's fate hung in the balance, and he refused to let her slip through his fingers.

With a frustrated growl, he extended his hand toward the witch, a silent acknowledgment of his reluctant acceptance. “Just see it done,” he grumbled, his voice laced with impatience and resolve.

Alys wasted no time, and with a deft slice, she pierced through the Prince's palm, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. She then positioned the mortar beneath his hand, allowing the crimson droplets to pool within its depths. Retreating slightly, Alys placed the mortar on the table before deftly adding the tea leaves. With a measured hand, she began to grind the leaves and blood together, the sound of the mortar echoing softly in the room.

Once satisfied with the mixture, the witch retrieved a pot of boiling water, her movements deliberate and precise. Pouring the steaming liquid into a cup, she added the concoction from the mortar, stirring it methodically until the contents melded into a dark, swirling brew. After a muttering of some words, Alys raised the cup to her lips and drank the potion in a single gulp.

Aemond watched the ritual unfold before him, a mix of bewilderment and revulsion churning within him. The sight of his own blood mingling with the tea leaves filled him with a sense of unease, a stark departure from the teachings of the Faith of the Seven that he had been raised with. Yet, in the face of necessity, he found himself willing to set aside his reservations, driven by a relentless determination to seek out answers and secure Maera to his side.

Once Alys finished consuming the dark concoction, she hummed softly to herself, her gaze shifting from the cup to the Prince with a focused intensity. "I see a man hanging above a maelstrom you do not know. Upon the orders of two white feathers."

Aemond's brow furrowed in frustration at the cryptic words. "Riddles will not help me," he growled, his tone laced with impatience and anger.

Undeterred, Alys pressed on, her expression unwavering. "But this might. The ship known as the Bird of Thousand Colours," she declared, her voice carrying an air of certainty. "Find records of its departure from Blackwater Bay and any passengers on board. That will lead you to finding discrepancies in the rumours and clearing the Lady’s name."

Aemond's frustration boiled over, his anger evident in the sharpness of his retort. "You are sending me off to look for ship records? How will this prove she is a maiden to the court?!" he demanded, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"I can only tell you what I see, my Prince," Alys replied calmly, her demeanor serene despite the Prince's growing agitation.

With a huff of exasperation, Aemond stormed out of the room, his rage simmering beneath the surface. He was more frustrated than ever, his mind grappling with the seemingly futile task ahead. As he left Harrenhall behind, the weight of uncertainty hung heavy on his shoulders, his thoughts consumed with the looming challenge ahead.

The prospect of embarking on what he perceived as a wild goose chase only served to stoke the flames of his anger, and he vowed that if Alys’s words proved to be false, she would pay dearly for leading him astray.

Notes: Hey! I’m sorry I’ve been MIA, my health has been really shit. So doctor now thinks it’s ME (CFS) rather than PVFS because it’s been going on for almost five months. I’ve started new meds for headaches and nausea so I’ve been a bit all over the place. Uploads might be slower than usual but I’m writing when I can. And I see your asks and messages I’ll get to them soon but thought I’d upload a chapter while I get my shit together 🖤

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #house wylde #hotd helaena #house of the dragon season 2 #house of the dragon #aemond fanfic

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sylasthegrim · 18 hours

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The Gods are Prisoners ♢ Chapter 6

Aegon x Aryana Stark (OC) x Aemond

Tags ♢ arranged marriage, romantic tension, eventual polyamory

Wordcount ♢ 4,260

While touring the Seven Kingdom, Prince Aegon meets his intended, Aryana of House Stark. While he expected an austere woman, he instead finds a fiery young lady with an unexpected affinity for dragons. However, he isn’t the only Targaryen prince to take an interest in her…

In this chapter, Aegon confronts Aemond about his jealousy. Aryana and Aegon almost cross the line of impropriety...

Masterlist

Chapter 6 ♢ The Fire of Envy

As darkness fell over the camp, and some of the men were preparing to come back to Winterfell the next day, Aryana didn’t find rest easy. She had found refuge in her tent and laid upon her cot, which was covered in various pelts and furs—Nymeria joined her and Aryana relished in the simple comfort of finding warmth against her wolf.

Cregan’s words were still lingering in her mind, and she knew his mourning was legitimate. He was saying goodbye to his sister, the girl he had grown up with, and in a couple of months she wouldn’t simply be lady Stark anymore, but Prince Aegon’s wife.

The crown was the endgame, but the road before the throne would certainly be long, as King Viserys was still young. Before that laid many trials, she was sure, and years of serving in the wings rather than central stage.

This season of her life would be the time of discovery, of learning Aegon’s ways just as he would learn hers. She would discover the capital, get used to a castle far different than her father’s, ride around the Crownlands on Sunfyre if Aegon was still inclined to take her—if not, she would take advantage of the King’s Woods with Nymeria.

Then, when learning and discovery was done, a babe would surely be born, and the season of motherhood would start.

All she had trained for since she was a child would come to fruition. She had learned, prayed and learned some more—now, she would finally serve.

As Aryana mused over the future years of her life, a few tents away Aemond found similar preoccupation keeping him awake.

He had initially rejoiced in his brother’s good fortune, but now the joy was overshadowed by the bitter and painful burn of envy. He coveted what his brother was to have, not for the first time in his life, but for some reason this particular blessing unsettled him.

He had spent his young years training to be the best man he could, honing his skills and sharpening his mind, but never had he considered those assets regarding marriage.

He knew he would make a good prospect for a high born lady, despite his scar and taciturn disposition, but he found himself hesitant to approach ladies. He knew the game of courting was rigged from the start—no woman would see him for who he was, but rather his station and the comforts he could provide her.

He also knew his father wouldn’t let him court anyone or consider marriage before Aegon was well and properly wed.

As usual, he was the second son and therefore his prospects came after that of Aegon. He was used to it, and accepted it as the order of things, but he hadn’t expected the intense way he reacted to Aryana. She was an accomplished young woman and that was to be commanded, but in his admiration for her he also found a longing he had never experienced before.

He had had to swallow his annoyance when he had noticed the easy humor between Aegon and Aryana, the way they seemed to please one another effortlessly. One could only come to the conclusion that so far, the match seemed to be an excellent one, and it only highlighted the little chance Aemond would have to ever find such a match.

“Aemond,” he heard his brother’s voice outside his tent, but before he could send him away or call him in, the white-haired man had pushed the heavy flaps and taken a step inside.

“Aegon,” he replied with unconcealed annoyance. He carefully draped the doublet he had just taken off on the back of a chair, and hesitated to put his eye patch back on before turning to face his brother.

“I was only jesting,” his brother said, visibly unbothered by having barged in unannounced, and Aemond wondered if this was a rehearsed conversation, one that came after Aryana’s attempt at an apology.

He despised the idea, and suddenly realized he would surely have to adapt to it—his brother would have another person to share his mind with, and Aemond would always be left as second choice from now on.

“I am aware,” he replied coldly, hoping it would be enough to send his brother away. A tension was pressing behind his eyes and he wasn’t one to share his pain with anyone.

“I didn't mean to question your integrity in this way,” Aegon continued as Aemond finally turned to him, crossing his arms behind his back formally.

As much as Aemond wanted to blame Aegon for his heartache, he knew he only had himself to blame. It wasn’t the way his brother perceived him that worried him, but the fact that the jest had put his mistake into light.

“I crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed,” Aemond conceded, and he felt foolish for it.

He knew he had no right to seek a friendship with the woman who would become his brother’s wife, or to covet what wasn’t his to have. Marriage would come, he knew, but he wouldn’t be awarded much choice—with a bit of luck he would be allowed to choose between a few ladies selected by his grandfather, but he would have no true freedom in it.

For some reason, he had a hard time believing fate would be as good to him in that regard as it was to Aegon. Such luck would only happen to one brother, as it was often the fate of siblings. To crave what was meant for the other, and resent what couldn’t be shared.

Helaena often spoke of it, even more so in the months leading to the tour, and Aemond had suspected she could feel something but hadn’t dared ask. His sister’s gift could sometimes be a curse, as knowing in advance sometimes meant suffering twice.

“Nonsense,” Aegon protested, stepping closer. There was a lingering smell around him, one of wood and a more feminine fragrance that twisted Aemond’s stomach. “Brother, you know I trust you.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” Aemond held on to his bitter, defeating narrative.

Aegon regarded him strangely for a minute before realization dawned on him and his face smoothed, his eyes widening.

“You are jealous,” he came to the rightful conclusion, and before Aemond could say a word in his defense, Aegon’s smooth face creased once more, his eyebrows drawn together and his mouth pulling downward.

“Is it her, or…” he murmured, and Aemond could see the thoughts rushing behind his eyes. “You know father would happily marry you. I heard Borros Baratheon is eager to marry one of his four girls into the royal line.”

Aemond looked aside, his blind eye to his brother, and sighed. “I pray you realize how special she is, and how fortunate you are,” he said and he could instantly feel Aegon take a step back, closing himself off.

“I am aware, believe me I am,” he said, sounding defensive. He heard him swallow in the quiet of the tent, as the rest of the camp was slowly falling asleep, the merry feasting having come to an end not long ago.

“I’m sorry,” Aegon offered hesitantly, and it only served to anger Aemond.

“Keep your pity,” he spat out, closing the space between them, as he easily towered over his eldest.

“It is not pity to want you to have whatever your heart desires,” Aegon defended, uncrossing his arms and squaring his shoulders.

Despite his shorter stature, there was something potent in his eyes when he wished to summon it, a darkness that sometimes was arrogance, other times a twisted sort of hunger that Aemond wasn’t sure what to do with.

Those moments made him wish he could trade his one good eye with Aegon, only so his brother could see himself through Aemond’s lens, the potential that lurked beneath the surface, the dragon blood that pulsed in his veins but that he struggled to summon, as though he was scared he could not control it.

“You are my brother. Another half of me. My better half, if you ask me, but…” Aegon said with a mirthless laugh, and Aemond knew that the words to come would sting like a spear to the chest. “But she is mine. Or at least she will be, soon.”

Aemond’s mouth twisted and he found himself caught between his own self-loathing and the painful truth his brother had not hesitated to spit back in his face.

Aegon was selfish and possessive, Aemond had learned that fact the hard way, as despite their differences his eldest had never allowed him to stray too far—whoever he loved, he needed to control in some way, to keep at his side at all times. It didn’t matter that it stemmed from fear of failure and abandon.

“For once can you not be happy that I get some happiness,” Aegon defended as Aemond remained silent.

He was suddenly afraid that by finding this match would mean to lose his brother. He hadn’t lied just then; Aemond was part of him, they were two sides of the same coin, one polished while the other was eroded, but one coin nonetheless.

At the same time, another fear took root within his chest before he could stop it. He trusted his brother’s honor and integrity, but he could not help the terrible image that crossed his mind, that of Aemond and Aryana, side by side, and the sight was somehow fitting.

He knew he stood no chance compared to Aemond, who was educated, clever and wise, while Aegon struggled to stay afloat. He would not survive the comparison, and he did not want to try it.

“She is mine, brother,” he repeated despite fully knowing the pain he was causing. As eldest, he should have been gracious and generous enough to grant his sibling some sympathy, to accept that it was common for a younger brother to look with envy at his future sister-in-law, but in that moment he could not muster such sentiments.

“I am aware. I do not want to take her away from you,” Aemond assured, but the crack in the wall was there, letting doubt in.

As the hunting party returned to Winterfell, it brought back a merry atmosphere to the castle.

The celebrated couple danced through the night under the proud eyes of King Viserys and Lord Stark. Both of them knew this marriage could not be allowed to fail, as the future of the realm and the entente between the North and the crown rested on it. A few days of vigorous hunting and of enjoying the fresh air of the Wolfswoods had done both parties some good.

“It seems this match is a success,” Rickon Stark commented, and beside him, Viserys made a pleased sound.

“Indeed. It seems we are witnessing the premises of what will be a most harmonious marriage,” the king replied.

“Did you ever doubt it, your grace?” the Warden asked.

Far from their fathers’ preoccupations, Aegon and Aryana twirled and swayed among the other merry dancers, oblivious to the words being spoken about them.

Aryana had noticed a slight change in her betrothed’s behavior—his arrogance had returned, only with an intense sort of demeanor, and he seemed unwilling to let her out of his sight. She supposed he mourned the privacy the outdoors had awarded them, and there was hardly anywhere to escape as all eyes were on them.

Aegon seemed to thrive under the attention, under the looks of genuine admiration, even though he seemed to wonder about it.

“They are watching the future of the realm,” Aryana whispered to him as their hands met, palm flat, and their faces came closer before parting again as they twirled.

However as the evening turned into night and the wine flowed, they both allowed the merry atmosphere to seep into their bones and make forget about propriety, slightly. Aegon’s eyes were no longer glancing at the crowd, but looking straight at her, and she herself couldn’t look away.

Aryana found herself thriving under Aegon’s attention, secretly glad she had asked her maid to lower the collar of her dress slightly, pinning the lapels of the garment tighter on her corset.

She had chosen a deep green gown which she hoped was a nice touch, as it was reminiscent of the queen’s favored color, but she knew its greatest asset was how it served as a contrasting canvas for her fiery hair. She had chosen to leave her rich red waves free, keeping two simple braids taken from her hairline and laced at the back of her head, accentuating her features.

As they lost themselves to the rhythm of the music and the warmth of the room, she could gradually feel the tension between them mount, and the desire to kiss him had come back to her quicker than she had anticipated and now would not leave her. She regretted that they had not found another moment of privacy to indulge before returning to Winterfell, and now she mourned the closeness they had shared.

The dance ended abruptly and the crowd parted in two, cheering the celebrated couple. Aegon brought the back of her hand to his lips and held her gaze as he pressed a fervent kiss to her knuckles.

Aryana curtsied before she excused herself, quickly finding one of the few ladies in the assembly that wasn’t dancing—Arra Norrey stood on the outskirts, glancing at Cregan from time to time as she tapped her foot to the music.

“I need some fresh air,” Aryana indicated to her friend before slipping away as discreetly as she could.

She found a secluded corridor behind the kitchens, one that led to a cellar that was seldom used, her heart beating in her chest as she heard assured but quiet footsteps following her. She rounded a corner and turned on her heels sharply, delighted to find Aegon staring at her with the same dark expression he had worn on the dancefloor.

“Aegon,” she gasped as they came together, and the tension that had mounted between them all evening snapped.

She sighed in pleasure as he slanted his mouth over hers, their lips catching as their tongues curled together. Hands coming up to find purchase on his chest, she enjoyed the soft fabric and toyed with the intricate chain that decorated the collar as they kissed, long but unhurried.

“You look beautiful,” Aegon said as he pulled away for a breath, his hand warm as it cradled her jaw.

As she pressed herself up against him again, she was grateful for the fact that she didn’t have to push on her toes; still, she enjoyed the heady feeling of him taking the lead as he pressed her against the stone wall gently.

She went willingly, submitting to his eagerness and obvious confidence. He kissed her with a languid passion, with an abandon that didn’t exclude a masterful control of his lips and tongue, leaving a pleasant tingling in her stomach. She enjoyed his forwardness as it stoked the fire of her own curiosity and desire.

As he pulled away again she could feel a thrum beneath his skin, like a wyrm lurking beneath the surface and she was utterly entranced.

There was a darkness in his eyes she had never seen until now, and as he swiped his thumb along the curve of her bottom lip, she shivered. She sighed despite herself as he pressed forward, sharing a breath without touching her, then slid his nose along hers in a soft gesture—at least, it should have been one of tenderness, but in truth it incensed her.

“What has gotten into you?” she murmured, and for a moment Aegon thought he had overstepped, but the smile she pressed against his mouth soon reassured him that she welcomed his advances.

“I am simply measuring my luck, to be promised to you,” he replied, seeking the soft spot behind her ear and kissing it lightly, savoring her shiver.

He tasted the salt of her skin on his lips and she flushed under his attention, burying her hands in his hair. He sighed against her creamy skin, taking a moment to breathe her in and relish in the way she dug her fingertips into his scalp gently.

“This is a lovely gown,” Aegon praised, his voice gone rough, but they both knew what the compliment truly meant. Aryana’s cheeks darkened when she realized the line of sight he had, deep into the corset of her dress, and her chest rose with an elated breath.

“I am glad it is to your taste,” Aryana gasped as he lowered his hand that was still on her jaw, slowly tracing the line of neck and dipping lower, following the valley that led into her collar. She sighed in delight as the back of his knuckles traced the swell of her breast, and he pressed another kiss to her neck.

Aegon chuckled at the sound she made, his skin prickling with anticipation. He loved the thrill of that particular chase, and as slow as this one was, it still made his stomach burn. Acting on instinct and emboldened by the wine, he dipped his head and kissed the soft spot where the two swells of her breasts met, the tender place where all men dreamed to rest their weary heads.

Aryana arched her back and her breath turned shaky, which Aegon swallowed greedily and he came back up to slant his mouth over hers again. Her grip on the front of his doublet tightened as the tingling in her abdomen burst and a lick of heat ran up her core—the sudden desire between them was strong, and she hadn’t expected it to be so intoxicating.

She gently reached up and pulled him back by the hair; he went easy, his mouth red as if stained by cherries and she supposed she must have looked no less disheveled.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispered between them, not without regret. “My father wouldn’t take so kindly to improper intimacies under his roof.”

“Of course,” Aegon replied, nodding solemnly and taking a few steps back. His hair was wild, his carefully combed waves rendered unruly by her hands, which was a lovely sight, and his eyes bore the same wildness, a dark, rich depth that she wished to drown in.

“I’m afraid I rather indulged in wine,” she commented as reason came back to her for a minute and she realized the situation she had led them in, and the ease with which she had done so. She was not completely unfamiliar with desire, but never before had it guided her so.

“No more than I did,” he said, biting his bottom lip. “I should rest in my chambers for a moment, clear my head before I return to the banquet.”

Aryana contemplated his words for a moment, but she knew it was futile. Reason would not win this time, and she found she did not care.

“I could walk with you,” she offered, allowing the wild beating of her heart to guide her, setting aside the teachings of her Septa in favor of her instincts.

“Those corridors are dark, and we are in my father’s halls. I would be a terrible host if I allowed you to take the wrong stairs or crack your skull on the stones,” she explained as Aegon’s grin widened.

She took his hand, pulling him along and leading him to the guest quarters by an outer passage—the cold air of the night made them shiver and cooled the sweat on their skin slightly.

“One kiss,” Aegon offered as they arrived in front of his door and she agreed, following him inside after careful glances on either side of the hallway, looking out for any lingering eyes or ears.

Inside, the room was sparse and quite messier than she had expected—clothes littered every surface and she laughed at Aegon’s obvious lack of neatness. “Does wine usually have this effect on you?” she asked, distracting herself by picking at the seam of a cloak draped over the large armchair by the fire.

Aegon’s white hair looked golden in the light of the flames, and his eyes shone as he turned to face her, an amused grin stretching his pink mouth. “I could ask you the same,” he replied with that same teasing tone that made his voice glide smoother between his lips.

“It is not the wine,” she replied with mirth, enjoying how his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“What is it, then?” he crooned, approaching her with intent.

The soft material of his doublet glimmered in the candlelight, the dark red peeking through the black, and the gold seams standing out. His waves fell in his eyes slightly as he tilted his head questioningly, and she could only flush under the scrutiny.

“Surely you know,” she replied.

“I want you to tell me, please,” he asked as he reached for her chin, his thumb stroking her bottom lip again.

“Only because you beg so prettily,” she taunted him, but she found herself caught in her own trap. His eyes seemed to darken, and his smile turned sharper, with a slightly dangerous edge to it.

“I don’t beg,” he murmured. “I politely request.”

They both laughed into the next breath they shared, their lips hovering but never touching, and the sweet torture was enough to make them both shiver.

“You know how charming you are, surely,” she inquired as he dipped his head to chase the wild pulse at her throat, humming as he found it and pressed his lips to it, gently. His upper lip was soft and so was his chin, as he had shaved for the banquet, but she still wondered whether his kiss would leave a mark.

One press of lips, one humming breath against her throat and he was gone—she swallowed the plea that threatened to fall from her lips.

“I should go back to the ball. Leave you to rest a while,” she said instead, biting her lower lip.

Aegon took a few steps back blindly, then sat down when his knees bumped against the foot of the bed. With his feet firmly planted into the floor, he knew how easy it would be to take her, how good he could make it, and quick enough that hardly anyone would notice their absence.

“Yes, you should,” he said.

“It is already improper that I am here,” she said as though her mind had taken the same path as his, and he felt foolish for inviting her into his rooms.

He knew desire to be stronger than reason, and he had counted on her to be the voice of proper conduct, but it seemed she was just as inclined to follow the pull between them.

“We are meant to be married, how improper could it be,” he shrugged, curious as to what she would answer. Slowly, he reached for the laces of his doublet, starting with the knot at the bottom and working his way up, revealing part of his lap and abdomen.

“Perhaps it wouldn’t be for you, as you have the advantage of being a man. But a lady falling prey to baser urges isn’t to be praised,” she answered, but her eyes were no longer on his face and her breathing had gone ragged.

“Then allow me to use this advantage, will you?” he asked, just as breathless. Warmth spread in his stomach and his cock filled as she closed her eyes and bit her lip, nodding nonetheless.

“We said one kiss,” she breathed, her cheeks flushed a dark red as she stepped closer slowly, and Aegon found himself rooted to the spot.

He was so terribly curious of how far she would let him take it, caught between his respect for her and his desperation to prove himself a good lover.

This was one aspect he knew he could best his brother at, one crucial element in which she would likely prefer him to Aemond—he was skilled in the art of pleasing a woman, unafraid to explore a woman’s skin until he found the spot that made her quake, utterly unashamed of any act it would require.

“I would not do anything—” he started, quickly silenced as she planted her palms firmly on his thighs, using the leverage to her advantage as she pressed a passionate kiss to his mouth. He groaned and it only spurred her on, her grip tightening around his legs as he pressed the heel of his hand into his lap.

He wanted to rock into the pressure, to ease the desire that threatened to render him mad, and her presence while he slowly succumbed to his hunger only made it more potent. He groaned again, this time in frustration, when she took her mouth away—she breathed between them and he shuddered as she looked down, leaving no doubt as to what he was doing.

“I will see you downstairs, my prince,” she murmured, sounding as breathless as he was.

As she slipped back into the hallway, she smiled at him over her shoulder, biting her lip as she swallowed the elated laugh that was bubbling in her chest.

She closed the heavy door and hurried down the corridor, covering her mouth with her hand as she tried to calm the thundering of her heart. She had just had a peek at the infamous wildness of dragon princes, and she supposed her inner wolf was called to it; two wild beasts desperate to find their equal, their mate.

Dividers by @saradika

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hollyfreyjamesart · 3 days

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 6 months

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Pearl of The Realm

Aemond x wife!reader | HOTD Big Bang!

Summary: Duty meant a lot of things to Aemond. But he had hoped that it would not mean marriage. And when the day comes for him to confront it, he finds with his new wife, small, naiive and innocent, that there is some pleasure to be found there also.

Word Count: 9,240 (oops) | Warnings below the cut~

A/N: My fic for the HOTD Big Bang! Thank you to the lovely @solisarium for the artwork! 🥰 Please also support all the other lovely writers/artists over @hotd-bigbang, and thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for organising this event ❤

Warnings: arranged marriage, virginity loss, p in v sex, domination, corruption kink, oral (f receiving), fingering, canon typical sexism, aemond has a breeding kink (obvi), dark!aemond (ish)

Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.

To the realm. His title. But most of all, his family.

As a Prince of the Realm, he had many duties.

For most of his adult life he had trained relentlessly with the sword, striving to become better than his own teacher.

He had buried his nose in books, absorbing information from them, willing them to stick to the insides of his head to obtain intelligence unmatched by any other member of his family.

And, most of all, he had upheld his faithful relationship with his mother, whom he cherished dearly, and his sister equally.

He'd always felt close to the women in his life. But his mother had a special place in his heart. She had been through such hardships, such sacrifice.

And when she'd exploded that night in Driftmark, as inexcusable as she seemed the behaviour to be, he had felt such utter devotion towards her that she would be so angry on his behalf. At a time when he had felt so vulnerable, and felt that his own voice as well as hers had been ignored by the man in their lives.

A man who had so repeatedly, let them down.

He would never admit it out loud, but a part of him sought pleasure in the fact his father was largely bed-bound these days. Even more so that his own father had lost an eye as a result of his worsening condition.

It felt like the Gods were looking down on him and validating him.

But there was one duty he had yet to perform.

Taking a wife.

Unfortunately for him, that time was upon him, and he had no interest in it whatsoever.

As much as Alicent tried, and she really did try, she could not get her second son interested in courting the ladies at the Keep.

As soon as Aemond clapped an eye on the opposite sex, he would retreat in the opposite direction. Not even bothering to engage in conversation, surmising perhaps that he had little in common with them.

He'd never met a lady before who shared the same interests, why start actively seeking them out now?

Alicent's son was in his prime, rooted in adulthood, and she knew it was time, like it or not, that he was wed.

Aemond stood stock still, hands behind his back curled into fists, biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to show his mother the annoyance on his face. Her words were those of truth. He knew that he would eventually have to marry someone, but it did little to take the sting away from it. Often, while his mother talked at him, he looked down at his boots, shifting his weight from his right, to his left, and to his right, again, batting little thoughts in his head.

What his mother didn’t know is what those ladies at court said about him while they supposed his back was turned.

That he was of a violent disposition with a quarrelsome temper, one wrong movement or something as simple as a word spoken out of turn and he would dare not speak to the person in question for however long he deemed fit. That women thought of him as incapable of feeling something as beautiful as love, or even affection, given the sullen look he always wore, with barely-contained anger lurking beneath and an unexpressed pride in his position.

Aemond would never show that such words would have any effect on him with earnest. Sometimes it is better to not say anything at all, he concluded. This method had so often proven successful, it seemed little use to him to stray from it now.

He merely hoped that this woman his mother spoke of with such respect, was not one of the ladies at court.

And mercifully, Aemond sighed with relief that she was not.

Something struck deep within his chest. His mother spoke of her so wonderfully, as if she were a star plucked from the sky, and Aemond pondered if such attributes could be proven correct by simply meeting her once, as Alicent had. What woman, and of what standing, deserved such praise, after only meeting for a short time?

What would she look like? Her mannerisms, her stature, her smile? He found himself haunted by these thoughts without even knowing the woman’s name. Much less, her appearance.

He feared that she might share the same sentiments as the other ladies at court once they were due to meet, chaperoned by her ladies and tainted by their company. Perhaps they had their own opinions that they instilled on her also. She might be afraid of him, he thought. Maybe it is not so bad if she feared him, he allowed himself to think.

Aemond could not find it in his heart to expose himself so willingly to a stranger he was due to wed, and so when word reached the Keep that she had arrived and made her pleasantries, he thought to have mercy on the poor thing, stay clear and not dim her supposed ethereal presence with the darkness that followed at his back since the day he lost his eye.

There was some power in not allowing her to see him until their wedding day.

While a small part of him felt empathetic to the poor girl, that her betrothed chose not to greet her on arrival, another part of him was somewhat self-assured that he had made the right decision. It was the little power he felt he had.

When one thinks of a wedding, they might imagine the Sept beaming with joy, crammed with people all eager to feast their eyes on the new royal couple. But as Aemond stood before the Septon, with the extended feeling of nervousness at the fact she had yet to arrive, he could hear nothing.The Sept was dead silent. The people, the lords and ladies, as well as his family, were in attendance, watching with wide, curious eyes, too terrified to make a sound.

His hands were rigid behind his back, dressed in his finery, feeling the tightness of his clothes against his chest where his heart was hammering underneath.

For duty. For family.

He did not see her at first, as she was on his blind side, but once she’d well and truly stepped beside him, he spared a glance at her and felt his mouth go utterly dry.

Her dress, which he presumed were her house colours, was a light pastel, almost dream-like when combined with the translucent silky fabric graced atop it. He watched with curiosity as she let go of her father’s hand. Her gaze and almost undetectable smile was warm and inviting, as if the space around her was simply alight with her presence. Her father peeled the cloak from her shoulders, and it reminded him that he had the cloak with the Targaryen colours fisted in his grip.

Her hair was pinned up in a series of braids, all varying in size, and he was ashamed to admit that the first thought that came to mind was not that she looked beautiful with them, but that they must be uncomfortable. He was allowed to have his hair loose around his shoulders, whereas this woman, and he supposed others like her, were prodded and poked to look their best to the detriment of their comfort.

Aemond found it impossible to stare ahead and listen to the Septon, and he could’ve let a heavy breath loose when he was asked to cloak her. He swallowed over the lump in his throat that had formed and lifted his gaze to look down at her. Her bright, warm eyes looked up at him, revealing nothing about what she was really thinking, and her lips were full and looked soft, forcing him to think what they would feel like when they would sign their marriage with a kiss later.

He took a breath and placed the cloak on her shoulders, half thinking that such a heavy, large thing would swallow her whole, for her form was smaller than his, and therefore more delicate. Placing his hands on her, but not directly, still felt somewhat intimate, especially in a room of so many people watching. But something stirred deep within when he stepped back and observed that the colours complimented her, like she was meant to be his and belong to him.

They faced each other as the Septon spoke.

Aemond watched every micro-movement. The fluttering of her eyelashes, the deep intakes of breath through her nose and her thumb brushing over her hand, in what he could only assume was nerves, though she was hiding it well on her face.

It was only here that he noticed she wore a dainty pearl necklace, not at all gaudy in size, but small and delicate, like he perceived her to be.

A feeling he didn’t know hummed in his blood. And it showed when both of them were asked to conclude the ceremony with a kiss.

“With this kiss I pledge my love.”

Aemond had to be the one to lean down to meet her in the middle, and he felt his blood thrum when their lips met, excited to find that her lips were as soft as he had imagined. He could not help the lewd thought that passed through his mind, and wondered if the rest of her was as supple and luxurious.

Curse the wedding feast, he wanted to find out right after the ceremony.

He was not overzealous with the kiss, not wanting to frighten her. But he was equally delighted when they parted to the applause of the lords and ladies, to find that her cheeks were faintly bloomed with warmth. His lips pulled into an indistinct smile at the idea that he was the first man that would have made her feel that way, and it pulled a possessive string in Aemond’s body towards her.

He took her hand in his and led her away from the Septon, through the line of people, and relished in the fact that she was now his. Aemond felt somewhat ashamed when his manhood began to harden within his breeches at the mere touch of her hand, and wondered what hers would look like wrapped around it. If her fingers could barely encircle it, and if she would be good and pliant, do as she’s told, and please him.

The wine during the feast surprisingly did nothing to quell the hardness between his legs. He yearned so desperately for her, sat right next to him, posture straight and proper like a good lady wife, with her hands clasped so delicately in her lap. She had yet to say a word to him and he thought she must have been raised very strict, not speaking to her betters without being spoken to first, and now that person was her husband.

It was difficult not to look unimpressed when the various lords and ladies all queued up to provide their congratulations to the intimate little table he and his wife were seated at during the feast.

He watched his mother beam with joy, though he and his wife had not spoken. Aegon had snickered, clearly thinking something inappropriate. And Otto had bowed, offering congratulations as if he had not been involved in the match behind the scenes along with Alicent the entire time. Did he think he was stupid?

Not even his father had managed to pull himself from his bed to offer his congratulations. But, Aemond thought then, he was glad he didn't have to see his face.

At times he could suppress his sheer boredom and impatience, he wanted them all to leave him alone so he could fuck his wife and see what pretty sounds she could make. With the absence of her voice, it only made him more impatient to find out.

Surely, the girl might not have been afraid of him? He thought.

Aemond almost regretted hoping she was afraid of him, but there was some dull excitement in thinking she was, even now, with how beautiful she looked. When he takes her maidenhead, as he was sure she was entirely pure, would her soft eyes look up at him in fear, or in pleasure, or both?

He found his gaze wandering over her for several quiet moments, watching her profile as she scanned the hall, observing everyone else enjoying themselves. Whilst he appeared somewhat indifferent to her to anyone else’s untrained eye, he was otherwise calm and collected. Her lips glistened against the warm amber glow of the candles adorning the table, and he could not hide his delight in seeing how she swallowed nervously. She must have felt his gaze on her, he thought. And as he watched her throat bob, he was drawn to her chest, where the pearls lay, and watched as her breathing pushed her breasts somewhat over the bust of her dress.

He imagined those pearls dancing while he fucked her, her breasts moving with the rhythm of driving his cock into her sweet wetness. Her lips parted with hurried breaths as she struggled to gain it while she appeased him with the sound of her soft moans.

“Are the celebrations to your liking, wife?”

He smirked, testing the title on his tongue.

The insides of him glimmered in excitement when she turned, her posture still perfect and straight. Her wide, innocent eyes met his with curiosity, and also fright that he had spoken to her in such a way. She almost seemed to flinch at the new title he’d referred to her as.

She gave an almost indistinguishable nod, her grip tightening on her hands, “Yes, husband, thank you.” She replied with a wavering voice.

She studied him for a moment, watching as he gave a lopsided smirk, adoring the way she seemed so nervous in his presence, and speaking to her husband. He drank slowly, continuing to watch her squirm under his gaze. Her breathing had hastened, evident by the way she struggled under the tight confines of her boned dress.

Her voice was smooth, like the sweetest honey, and he couldn’t wait to hear how it would translate, echoing throughout their marital chambers, with his flesh pressed against hers.

He never imagined merely envisioning power over something so delicate could be so exhilarating.

Aemond had to hide how elated he was when their leave was announced. He stood, and therefore she did as well, like a delayed little shadow.

She was an obedient little thing, he surmised, as she followed quietly, willfully ignorant to the leering glances and smirks of the lords and ladies who parted a path for them. Every single one of them was curious, as to how such a quiet, soft girl could tame someone so fearsome and chaotic as a dragon prince, who could not be caged in as mere mortal men could.

The chambers seemed too grand, too clunky, to house such a perfect thing as her, he thought. She stood stock still in the middle of his chambers, which he would now share with her, and watched amused as she looked around and took in her surroundings as if she were in some kind of danger. Her pupils flitted about the darkened room, lit only in a warm glow from various candlesticks placed most deliberately.

Her pale dress cast a glow against the grey of the room, as well as her aura, which seemed to lift all the tension from his body and direct it to the place he had needed her the most since he laid his eye on her.

The glass decanter clinked as he poured himself a cup of wine, his back to her.

Aemond turned and extended the decanter only slightly, asking wordlessly if she would like one as well.

But she simply wringed her hands and shook her head, her body wracked with nerves.

Aemond only chuckled, cup of wine in hand and looked upon her, standing so diligently, where he’d left her.

“Wine might dull your nerves, my lady wife.” He mused, watching the way she looked down in embarrassment at being able to see inside her head so clearly.

Every now and then, she would peek over at the well made bed, like it was an inevitability, and not a place where she would share her most intimate and passionate moments with her new husband.

There was a dark red blanket held taught atop the pale sheets.

A warning.

There were never such dark, stark colours atop her bed sheets at home, and she wondered silently why they would choose such a menacing colour to adorn a place where you may lay your head to rest.

A peaceful night’s sleep. A moment’s passion. The birth of a child.

She thought, beds are where we are born, where we sleep, where marriages are made, where women give birth, which is often their last. And where we die. Not necessarily in that order.

Her husband may have thought a bed a peaceful thing.

But to her, many dangerous things may take place in a bed. And she had heard the stories of a dragon’s temper. Of lords, not necessarily of royal standing, taking their wives on their wedding night, whether their wives were willing or not. And this, is what she feared.

“You need not be so afraid.”

He tore her from her thoughts. And she blushed and felt warm all over realising he had caught her staring at the bed, her body betraying how nervous she felt.

When he looked at her, he felt his manhood throb. He wondered if the blood would rush to her cunny the same way it rushed to her cheeks, and how her flesh would cover her delicious curves beneath the softness of her gown.

He felt excited when she opened her mouth, forcing the air into her lungs like it took all her effort.

“May I ask for your assistance with my gown, husband?” She asked sweetly, with her eyes downcast.

Husband.

He felt his cock become impossibly harder.

He poked his cheek with his tongue in amusement, pushing himself off what he was leaning on and made towards her, watching the way she shrunk the closer he got. She turned slowly, showing him her back, where the laces of her dress were tied so tightly, he was surprised she had not asked him sooner.

While he worked on them, loosening the fabric around her middle, his breath hitched when he saw the shift underneath. She moved her hands to her hair, pulling several pins from it where the braids had been twisted together. She visibly shivered under his touch when the laces were undone and he pushed the stiff fabric apart across her back.

Her hair fell to her shoulders, and she used the sharpened tip of the pins to undo the braids into delicate wavy strands, all while unaware how her new husband marvelled at her out of sight.

She walked away from him for a moment to the vanity, never meeting the looking glass with her eyes, but simply placing the pins in a trinket bowl. With the gown loosened around her shoulders, the fabric lifted when she reached up to unclasp the necklace.

“Leave that on.”

She met his gaze in the mirror, questioning. Her cheeks alight with what he was suggesting.

But he didn’t say anything else.

So instead, she cleared her throat quietly, and pulled the heavy dress from her shoulders, folding it lengthways and draping it over an armchair. Her fingers clasped and unclasped, anxious. Aemond merely watched, his doublet feeling tight and hot against his chest. He could make out the silhouette of her form beneath the thin cotton, the candlelight illuminating her, as if her body was the soft and gentle morning sun, peeking over the horizon to set the day alight.

He heard her shuddered breath and allowed himself to think about what it would feel like against his neck while he rutted into her. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling him closer to her, to sink deeper into her hot insides.

“I do hope that…I please you…with my appearance.” She murmured, turning with her body to face him from a distance. She sounded embarrassed, and shy.

Aemond furrowed his brows.

“Why do you say such a thing?” He asked, colder than he had meant to sound. And it’s clear that the tone of it made her shudder more, which he didn’t intend.

“I only meant that…I hope I am pleasing to the eye…and that I shall be obedient and supportive, as a good wife should be.”

He fought the urge to smile, not wanting to embarrass her further. His silence towards her had clearly given her the wrong impression. That he didn’t approve of her, and perhaps she thought that she wasn’t suitable for him because of his reaction.

“Come here.”

She did as he asked, albeit slowly, until she stood right in front of him.

“Are you afraid of me?”

Does my appearance scare you, he thought with curiosity, and panic.

Does my ailment make you uneasy, as it does the other ladies?

She shook her head softly, “No.” She answered quietly, “It’s just… my Septa said…that the night of consummation would be…” she trailed off, speaking too quietly for him to hear.

“It is alright. Speak again, without fear.”

She swallowed as she looked at him, having to crane her neck.

“She said…the night of consummation would be painful…and that it must be endured. As wives are to be submissive and obedient to their husbands.”

She spoke as if she were speaking from a line in a book. And Aemond thought she must have had this idea stamped into her brain from a very young age. It both concerned and irritated him to think that a young child, forming into a young woman, would be forced into being so terrified of such intimacy by a caregiver who ultimately knew little about marriage.

“There will be some pain.” He replied simply, watching the way she flinched at his words, “But I do not wish for you to endure it simply because you have been told to.”

His fingers came to the tresses of hair that hung on her shoulders, threading his fingers through them and revelling in their softness. Her eyelashes fluttered and her lips parted, absorbing his words, and he could see behind them that he was challenging everything she had ever been told.

“If there is pain, you must tell me.”

She inhaled slowly, gathering her nerves, and nodded simply.

“Come. Lay on the bed.”

Though he spoke softer, there was still a coldness to the way he gave his demands. But nonetheless, she did as he said, and stared up to the canopy of the bed, feeling her heart going so fast she was sure it would burst from her chest.

All she heard was the rustling of leather, the unlooping of his belt, and the clinking of his silver clasps.

She felt the mattress dip at the end of the bed and saw her new husband, without his doublet, but with his breeches only untied halfway, so she could not see a thing. But even so, the sight of a man naked on his torso had her heart still in her chest, and warmth crawl up to her cheeks. Aemond chuckled slightly, not wishing to embarrass her.

“Have you seen a man bare before, little one?” He asked, laying down beside her. She tried with the utmost effort to not stare at him, fearing that in some way she would anger him. His chest was well-muscled and pale, shimmering in the low light of the chambers and littered with many tiny scars that had silvered with time. His hair ran like milk over his shoulders, so silky it seemed to stick to his smooth skin.

She shook her head, and mouthed ‘no’. His manhood throbbed in his breeches at the thought that she had not even seen a man beneath his clothes before, and that he would be the first.

“It is alright, there is no need to be embarrassed.” He gave her a soft smile, trying his best to appear comforting.

But it could not be ignored that they were strangers, and it was his fault that he had not gone to see her before marriage and get to know her better. And on top of that, she was afraid, not of him, but that he might hurt her and that it would define her expectations for the rest of the marriage.

She flinched noticeably in shock, not out of fear, but at not having been touched so intimately, when his palm ran softly up her leg, taking her shift with it.

“Relax.”

She tried to do as he said.

She was so jumpy and nervous, Aemond wondered for a brief, funny moment, if she had even spoken to a man before today.

So he asked a question which he thought was almost silly to ask.

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

His question was answered immediately when she flushed and her face went all warm, and suddenly she was unable to meet his gaze. She shook her head softly. And instead of feeling bad for her, a devilish grin split across his face, all the blood going south.

She was so pious, and so devoted to the Seven, that she had saved any part of her inner desires for her husband to be.

He would be the first to give her pleasure of any kind.

To touch her intimately.

To make her feel as beautiful as he thought she was.

“It is alright. I shall show you.” He added softly, his voice like the purr of a cat.

She dared to look back at him as his hand trailed higher, dipping beneath the hem of her shift to touch her smooth skin beneath, “How will it feel?...”

“It may feel strange at first,” He answered honestly, “But after that, it should be pleasurable.”

She seemed to accept his answer, but her legs were pressed together almost instinctively, like her body was telling her it needed to appear smaller. His sharp nose pressed into her hair, inhaling her pleasant, female scent. His breath against the shell of her ear, hot puffs of air landing against her neck, where he began to place one, and then two open-mouthed kisses.

His eye wandered over her from this angle. Looking down her body, he could see the shadow of what lay beneath her shift in between her breasts as they moved with her breathing, which was slow and calculated. He could see how her hands held the bedsheets below her in her palm, not tightly, but prepared to pull on them if she needed.

She shivered with a shuddered breath when he kissed her, trailing his lips lower to her collarbone, past her string of delicate pearls, and he could see that beneath the cotton, her nipples had reacted to the chill of the room, but he liked to imagine that it was because of the way he was touching her so lovingly.

His hand completely slipped past where her hip met her leg, not touching her womanhood just yet, but close enough to feel its warmth. He felt the gooseflesh on her tummy as he trailed upwards, the shift bunched against his arm when his palm slid over her breast. She gasped softly as he squeezed tenderly, testing the weight of it in his palm and kneading it, and when he looked up to her briefly, she had closed her eyes.

He would tell her to open them later, after he did what he planned.

Her hips moved towards the mattress when his deft fingers dipped between her legs, the tips parting her folds to her entrance first, where Aemond began to feel the slick, as little as there was, gathered around it.

She was beginning to feel aroused even if she didn't know it.

She whimpered, pressing her lips together when she felt his fingers in such a strange, forbidden place. Her eyebrows furrowed in discomfort.

"Shh…" He cooed, the air brushing against her cheek, "Relax, dear wife."

She swallowed thick, and relaxed her thighs so that they weren't pushed together as much. The title he'd given her making her head feel as if it were full of air and nothing else.

A part of her felt bad. For she was supposed to be an obedient, pliant little wife, and he was taking care of her so diligently and she was still afraid.

"I apologise-"

"Do not apologise." He replied quickly, and her eyes opened, glistening with a new expression of understanding, "Only feel."

Her breath quickened.

Feel?

"Feel how I touch you here -"

He drew his fingers from her entrance to her pearl, drawing little soft circles using her arousal for ease. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes glued to him, a near-indistinguishable gasp falling from her lips. She began to feel a sort of ache, deep in her stomach that felt strange. And her hips began to move in micro-movements.

"This is where you feel the most pleasure." He whispered, his fingers moving sometimes directly and then indirectly over her pearl. At others, the anticipation of them being close to it had her hips searching for the touch.

"How does it feel?" He asked.

She struggled to think of a word, having never felt this dull and yet pleasurable rush to her core.

"Strange…pleasantly so."

He continued to move slowly, not making a direct effort to make her peak like this, just allowing her to feel what the touch of a man, the touch of her husband, could feel like.

"I will prepare you like this, so that there will be as little pain as possible."

Maintaining eye contact while he said things like that, while he did things to her like this, felt so intimate and so painfully domestic. As if nobody had bothered to care for her so much in her life. Her eyes curiously flitted between his seeing one and his eyepatch, not in fear, but wondering what he might be hiding beneath it.

It would not be removed this night. Or perhaps many to come.

Aemond's fingers moved over her womanhood with ease, more slick began to pool there and lubricate her puffy folds, swollen with arousal. She was wet, but he thought not prepared enough for his cock just yet.

He shifted his body down, his cheek grazing over her still clothed form, as if he was teasing himself. He could easily have asked her to be naked for him. But there was still trust to be gained.

Her eyes were questioning where he might be going. And she truly had no idea.

Using his knee, he settled between her legs, seeing the gooseflesh still there. His hands rucked up her shift, just pausing at the point where it would reveal her womanhood, all slick and ready for him. Her cheeks bloomed as she looked down at him, but didn't have the courage to question.

"Keep your eyes on me." He whispered lowly, his fingers pushing the fabric up so that he could see her cunt, so close to his face. And he was hit right then with the invigorating scent of her, like the sweetest perfume. He felt ashamed that even the scent of her aroused little cunny made his cock weep with arousal.

She looked more embarrassed than anything to have her new husband's face so close to her intimate area she had been taught to keep hidden. And it was hard for her to keep her legs apart. But she couldn't close them for fear of clamping on his head, and his hands were tenderly keeping them spread, his fingers only slightly indented in her supple flesh.

He looked down upon her, his thumb grazing her pearl again and watching with delight as her hips moved again, accompanied with a breath. It was simply too tempting, the idea of tasting her and the sweet nectar that leaked from within.

Holding her thighs, he leaned forward and flattened his tongue against her womanhood, and something primal was awoken inside when he finally tasted his new, little wife. He moved around her folds, and whenever he had to take a breath he placed an open-mouth kiss to it. He spared a glance up at her, and he hadn’t even heard her hurried breathing or tiny whispers of moans, so engrossed in tasting her for the first time.

Her cheeks were alight, her eyes torn between settling on his gaze and what he was doing to her. He had already told her to keep her eyes on him, and Aemond felt pleased that despite how embarrassed she was, she was obeying him.

Aemond redoubled his efforts, using his tongue to part her folds and nuzzling deeper against her, his nose rubbing gently against her pearl and using his wet muscle to dip against her entrance. It’s here that she gave some semblance of a proper moan, slipping shakily out of her throat, her hands tightening on the bed sheets.

He all but moaned against her cunt, delving into the deepest parts of her and dragging his tongue against the top of her velvety walls, trying to find out why she was the way she was. What made her feel the best. How he could make more of those pretty sounds tumble past her lips. He thought he could have spent all his life between her thighs, lapping at her arousal, and he would die a happy man.

In his grip, her thighs began to shake, and her brows furrowed like she didn’t understand what this feeling coursing through her veins was, this fire ablaze in her blood. Pride flooded his head, and he dragged his tongue from the inside of her to her pearl, where he drew circles over it. She jolted in his hold, as if he’d scared her, but he knew that it was because of the overwhelming feeling that was beginning to crest over her, and the uncertainty of it.

With his attention and efforts on her bud alone and she was suitably wet, he looked up at her when he touched her entrance with the pad of his finger. He heard her gasp when he slowly sank one digit inside her, he himself struggling to keep his composure once he realised just how tight she was around his finger alone. And he could barely think straight thinking about how she would feel wrapped around his cock.

He could forgive for the time being that her eyes were closed and brows furrowed, for the new sensation must have been strange for her. Something akin to a strangled whine rumbled from her chest when he was sank all the way inside, curling upwards. And when he brushed against that spot at the top of her walls, gently caressing the slick ridges, her back arched slightly off the mattress, and he smiled against her womanhood.

It appears his little wife was becoming emboldened in her movements by what he was doing to her.

As he continued to please his wife in two separate ways, almost instinctively, her hand came to his bare shoulder. To pull him close? To push him away? She wasn’t entirely sure herself.

He could tell she was on the precipice of something she was unable to comprehend, and was embarrassed to show herself in such an open way.

“What is it, sweet wife?” he asked, drawing his lips from her, now covered entirely in her arousal when he licked at it.

Through her loud pants, she regained her breath as he continued to tease that deep spot inside of her, “What is…” She breathed, her grip closing around his shoulders. Her nails dug into his flesh, not meaning to, which made him smirk.

“Shh, it’s alright.” He cooed, pulling out slightly to slide a second finger inside, using the girth of his fingers to stretch her cunt around him, “I am just making sure you are ready for me.”

He began to pump his fingers inside her like he would fuck her, curling them up to focus his attention and pressure against the sweet spot at the end of her. She was so tight around him, already trying to suck him further inside and clenching hard. He felt his skin stretch around her grip on his shoulder, like she didn’t realise how hard she was holding him.

“ - Aemond - I’m - ”

Aemond.

The way she called him by his name.

There was no shame now in how hard it made him, and he felt as if he would spill right in his breeches and not inside her if she was going to say things like that.

A breathy whine made its way from her mouth, her eyes tightly shut as her face twisted in pleasure, feeling all the pressure leak into her limbs in bliss while Aemond kept pleasuring her, loving how her body was uncontrollably trembling with the force of her peak. He could feel the rush of slick coat his fingers and hand, so he slowed down the pace of his movements, allowing his sweet wife to savour the feeling she’d experienced here for the first time.

“That was your peak, little one.”

Her eyes opened to focus on him, feeling her body erupt in shivers as he pulled his digits from her and smeared her wetness over her thighs, thinking that as erotic and lewd the action was, that is excited her at the place where her husband had just been caressing with his fingers and tongue.

Her pupils were dilated only a bit larger than before, and Aemond felt pride in being the first to make her feel such things, awakening a part of her that had remained dormant for a long time. And while she had been emboldened by what he’d done to please her, her cheeks still bloomed with a faint embarrassment that he found endearing.

His hands traced her sides, taking her shift with it, and her breath hitched at the idea she would be entirely bare before her new husband, who had just given her the first experience of female pleasure. But alongside the trepidation, there was excitement.

Once he pulled her shift over her head and raked his gaze over every inch of her body.

It was a fucking crime that she’d been hiding herself under that gown all evening, he thought.

He thought she was perfection, with her soft and supple curves, and he hadn’t even realised his calloused hands had been kneading her breast until she let out a breathy sound. But she didn’t protest. She just appeared somewhat uncomfortable, as this was the first time she had shown herself so openly to the opposite sex.

“You are beautiful.”

She seemed to calm at least when he said that, relieved her husband found her attractive.

He saw her eyes flit from his one seeing eye to the eyepatch covered one, curious. But she simply swallowed thickly and didn’t say or ask anything. And he too was relieved that she hadn’t asked him to remove it.

He was not sure if he would be ready for that, for some time.

She still wore the little pearls around her neck, and now with her entirely naked with the exception of that, it felt erotic and arousing.

They were the same.

She wore the necklace, he wore the eyepatch, keeping a tiny piece of themself while they joined in matrimonial bliss.

He unlaced the rest of his breeches, watching her breasts move up and down as she breathed in anticipation of what was going to happen and the irreversible fact that she would never be the same afterwards.

“Remember what I said?” he asked, pulling his breeches over his hips. His achingly hard cock sprang free, standing proud and aroused against his stomach.

She took a moment to reply, trying not to stare too much at his member as he stroked himself slowly, the ruddy tip, weeping with arousal, poked out of his fist with every languid movement. She’d never seen one before. But all she knew was that she wondered how on earth it would fit inside her, he looked so thick and long, slightly curved to one side. Was there empty space inside of her she didn’t know about where he would place himself?

Her eyes met his, all glazed over, and she nodded.

“If there is pain, I must tell you.” She repeated what he’d said earlier. Her skin bloomed, for that moment was here right before them.

She tried to relax her body, numb from the force of her very first peak, as the mattress dipped either side of her where he’d leaned on his forearms, his knee brushing the inside of her legs as he nudged them apart so he could place himself there.

“Yes, you must.” He added tenderly, “It is not my intention to hurt you.”

The affection in his words made her stomach roll.

“You are my wife.”

She confirmed with delight that she was. And she nodded, not knowing what to say in response to his statement, but Aemond could see the subtle glimmer in her eyes.

He saw her glance at his manhood with something akin to a mix of fear and curiosity, and she took a sharp breath in as Aemond leaned forward, not pressing his weight on her, and placed several open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, neck and collarbone, teasing her with his teeth, while his cock kissed her puffy folds.

She felt his breath at her skin, her grip loosening on the sheets as he made her feel a little more relaxed.

When he leant forward, parting her folds easily with the aid of her slick, the first thought she had was that it felt strange, but nothing else in particular. It was only when his cockhead had disappeard inside her and he speared her upon his length that she began to tense up, her stomach tightening somewhat unpleasantly. Her hand came automatically to his chest, to try and push him away and make him stop.

He raised his head from her neck, his eye hooded down in concern. He felt her soft, almost-hummingbird-like touch on his chest and felt something fluttering inside of him at the tenderness of it. She was in some pain, not dramatically so, and yet her touch was so gentle.

Nothing was said, and only the utmost patience was offered. And it was difficult to do so for Aemond, with the way her core was holding him so tightly, to stay still and not move an inch. But for the sake of making her feel safe, he did it.

After a moment, she made an effort to relax her muscles for him. Her hand trailed over his muscled chest, as if taking this small window of opportunity to do so. Her fingers ran over the scars he’d gained on his lithe form, wanting to commit every ridge, every little piece of him to her memory as if it was the last time she’d ever see him.

Her eyes shifted to him once he sheathed himself inside her all the way, bottoming out with a low groan. He felt her walls fluttering around him, stretching her to accommodate this size, having not felt anything like this before. Her lips parted to let a soft pained sound past her lips, but that was all, and she felt the worst was behind her.

It felt only slightly uncomfortable, but she was willing to do it for this marriage. To please him.

It was intimate, looking right at her while he was deep inside her, and she gave the faintest of nods, telling him without words that she was alright. She thought she'd never felt more full in her life, nor more connected to someone as she was right at this moment.

It hurt at first, yes, but he had prepared her, waited for her and cherished her like she was precious. And the pain, the sting of losing her maidenhead, was a small price to pay for how full her heart felt, by giving a piece of her to him.

Closing his eye, as if to concentrate, Aemond moved almost entirely out of her to push back in as she gasped below him, the same feeling the second time had a spark licking at her insides that didn’t stop as he began his slow and careful pace. He wanted to tear his gaze off her, desperately, but couldn’t.

It was just as he imagined. With every soft thrust inside her, the pearls at her neck danced, and her cheeks were flushed, eyes shimmering. It wasn’t as animalistically lustful as he envisioned. Before he imagined an innocent thing like her, bending to his will, corrupting her in any way he saw fit.

But now more than anything as he listened to the gentle moans come out of her, he wanted to protect her, to nurture and watch her flourish. The pearls clicked against each other at her neck, her breasts moved, nipples pebbled with arousal, and she’d raised her legs only slightly to wrap around his waist, blinking slowly up at him.

The whore Aegon had gotten him to fuck on his thirteenth nameday was overzealous, large-breasted and older, perhaps more experienced. She had bounced on top of him, her loud moans bouncing off every surface in the room, her hands planted on his chest as she moved her hips up and down on him with loud slaps. He remembered feeling horrified that this is what intimacy was. That this is what men would desire so relentlessly.

It didn’t feel good. And he remembered feeling sick.

But here, with her, looking so lovingly up at him. No hysterical moaning, no pathetic whines to boost his male ego. Just unapologetically everything she was feeling, she was giving to him.

It felt like a gift. To experience real intimacy. And with the person he was due to spend the remainder of his days with.

As if realising he was daydreaming, his hips still moving against her with wet slaps of skin, her hand cupped his face, on the unmarred side, and her thumb stroked over his cheekbone. She touched him so softly he could have wept.

She had seen some kind of thoughtfulness on his face, and in the throes of consummation, was supporting him.

“Aemond.”

When she said his name with such sincerity and care, he blinked slowly and reached his hand up to hers, encircling his fingers around her small wrist, and turned his face into her palm, to kiss the inside tenderly. One kiss to her palm, and one to her wrist. And it felt more intimate than kissing on the lips, which he only now realised with shame, that he’d not done for her yet.

“I am alright.”

He looked at her when she said that. It was as if she could see all of his inner thoughts, and had been able to all evening.

She saw that he had been holding back.

He had been afraid of frightening her, and yet she was allowing him what he wanted.

Her breath caught in her chest with a kind of excitement as his fingers wrapped around her wrist and forced it down to the bed beside her head, his other hand joining her other to keep her pinned tightly under him to the mattress. Her eyes glimmered as she looked up at him, watching his expression change to something more possessive.

“Put your legs around me.”

She did as he asked and raised her legs around his waist, causing his length to brush that same spot inside her that he’d pleasured just moments before. And with an iron grip on her wrists and easier access to her, he dipped his head into her neck, her scent swirling around him and fucked her as he had wanted to the entire evening.

Skin slapped against one another with the moisture of her slick on his pelvis, his stones hitting against her repeatedly with every rough thrust into her wet cunt.

"Does my innocent little wife like to be properly fucked, hm?" He grunts, watching how she blushes and turns her head away out of embarrassment.

"I think you will continue to surprise me, little pearl."

She felt her insides clench at the name he gave her.

Little pearl.

Aemond smirked, increasing the intensity of his driving into her, constantly spearing her open onto his cock, and watching at the way he disappeared into her.

"I can feel you tightening around my cock. Did you like that? Little pearl?"

Her breath was sucked from her with each devastating thrust, and that same pressure was beginning to build in her belly, from when he'd pleasured her before.

"Answer me.”

"Yes - yes, husband - " She replied, breathlessly and gulping for air, throwing her head back against the bed sheets.

He smirked, leaning back and watching how his cock was being covered in her slick everytime he pulled out of her.

He pulled her hips onto his lap, and the angle had his cockhead bullying her tender and sensitive place deep inside of her. Her eyebrows furrowed with pleasure, feeling utterly at his mercy.

Feeling proud of the reactions he was getting, his hand slipped from her hip to her bud. Her pearl. A grin splitting across his face at the lewd thoughts he was having. He circled her sensitive bud tenderly, applying just enough pressure that she clenched around him again.

If she wasn't careful, he would cum right there and then.

"Does that feel good, little one?" He teased her in a low tone, not ceasing his endless pace, pushing himself as far inside her as he could.

"Do you like it when I touch you here?"

She couldn't deny she liked it. The way her back arched, being pleasures in two ways. It was nearly overwhelming. And it took her voice from her.

"Perhaps we should name you Pearl of the Realm." He smirked, increasing both his pace and pressure, "Prim, proper…a good little obedient wife to her lord and husband."

He leaned over, changing the angle yet again.

"But in here, with me, it is this pearl I shall be paying special attention to, dear wife."

His words made her tighten around him, coupled with the intensity of the pleasure he was giving her. She felt her entire body get hot, the pressure in her belly set to explode at any moment.

His delicate and careful ministrations to her bundle of nerves was almost too much, and her hips began to move forward towards his in rhythm with his cock stretching her open, meeting him halfway.

She didn't imagine such lewd words would have an effect on her.

"Husband - "

"I think I will keep you like this. All night if I have to. Paying special attention to this precious pearl you have been neglecting for so long." He mused, his words were strained, as if set to explode himself.

"I will give you my seed. Over and over. Until I am done with you." He breathed through heavy pants, his eye slipping shut, "I will watch you swell with my child. Would you like that?"

She could only whimper in response, fisting the bed sheets as she had nothing else to hold onto, her mouth dropping open as her climax began to crest.

"I would like that. To see these perfect tits all round and full."

The idea of bearing his children was only a fantasy that appeared right at that moment.

"Gods - you are so tight - such a perfect little cunt - fuck - "

She fell apart around him, her entire body filled with such eternal feeling bliss that she felt as if she were floating, her husband's deft fingers still pleasuring her bud.

Her limbs felt numb, her blood like fire under her skin and her lips dropped apart so that a shattered moan could escape her, the only proof that her peak was decimating every nerve in her body with blinding, white hot pleasure.

She tightened impossibly around him, and the pistoning of his cock into her sex was only stilled when he slammed inside her one last time. His length throbbed within her, his spend warming her core at the end and filling her, completing this sacred, intimate ceremony.

They both gulped down air desperately and when Aemond had caught a moment to himself, he spared a look down at his sweet wife, her delicate skin covered in a soft sheen of sweat, eyes shut, breasts shifting erratically with her breathing.

She must have felt his gaze on her, because she turned her head to look up at him. In her once innocent and naive gaze he once saw fear and trepidation. And now her pupils were blown wide and glimmered with lust and a kind of pride that she'd pleased him, and they'd done this together.

Aemond still had a grip on her hips, noticing the red marks where his fingers had been. Her body was littered with them, where he'd been too tempted to nibble at her, to make sure she bore the marks of his passion for her.

He looked down where they were joined, pulling out of her and watching with a lustful curiosity at his spend that leaked from her entrance. It was instinctual, the way two fingers scooped up what had come out, and he gently plunged it back into her as far as he would go.

Overstimulated and tired, she winced, bucking her hips slightly.

Aemond only smiled down at her.

"I can hardly wait to make you a mother, little one."

She laughed a little, exhausted, "You speak of children. We have only lay together once."

Aemond took her reply and smirked, pulling her thighs close to him again.

"In that case - might we try again? I dare say I have already forgotten the first time."

His little pearl smiled tenderly up at him. A safe smile. One of utter adoration. It was like he was being seen, truly seen, for the first time in his life. She had been so good to him in the short time he'd known her, and cared enough to let him see her as well.

He felt fulfilled in a way he never had before. Something exciting ran through his blood, like how he felt whenever he trained. As if a new challenge were upon him.

Challenging the notion that had been placed upon him his entire life, that marriage was about ownership. As a wife should belong entirely to her husband.

And while he felt that sheer possessiveness before he really knew her. Knew her properly.

Now, he questioned if marriage was more about respect than anything else.

The fabric covering his eye now felt so heavy. And one day, he thought, he hoped to be able to show himself so openly to her, as she had done for him.

Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.

And he would pay his little pearl all the attention she so deserved.

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Aemond Taglist (1): @asp3nxx | @avidreader73 | @bellaisasleep | @boofy1998

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spookydollyart · 25 days

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In honour of the return of house of the dragon 🫡

#art #i love my grandma #illustration #house of the dragon #hotd team green #hotd #hotd aemond #hotdvhagar #vhagar #aemond kinslayer #aemond targaryen #granny vhagar #visenya targaryen #hotd season 2 #hotd modern au #hotd meme

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fragileheartbeats · 4 hours

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Part 1

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queers-gambit · 8 months

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Mother Knows No Bounds

prompt: you are Rhaenyra's daughter, married to Prince Aemond, and the subject of Alicent's hatred. one day, she takes it too far.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader technically Velaryon!wife!reader, but you can pick and choose

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.7k+

note: 10,000 points to your Hogwarts House if you can find the Lord of the Rings quote

warnings: cursing, vilified!Alicent, Aemond needs his big brother. descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, toxic family being toxic; um is this technically neglect? abuse? potentially triggering description of medical phenomenons, i guess OC Aemond ?

please note again and do not proceed if you are triggered by any of the following content: descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, involuntary termination, depiction of medical procedure.

you are not missing anything by skipping this, please value your comfort!

The city had come to a screeching halt the moment extreme temperatures skyrocketed, citizens unable to bear the scorching sun during waking, working hours. It was only the brave, stupid, poor, or accommodated persons that dared venture about their lives when the heat index had tripled; silent, since the heat was so sweltering, nobody wanted to add to it by talking. Even the animals were quiet and scarce around the streets, most seeking shelter under any shade they could find.

Women skinny dipped. Children ran around without their clothes. Men forewent any and all armor, most even going shirtless.

The guards were on short patrols and constantly rotated to try and save them from heatstroke. The fishermen all left port to spend time on the water since it was cooler than being on land. Whores wore less than ever before. Vendors constructed makeshift fans for their own air current.

The temperature spike was truly murderous. At dusk, gravediggers traveled the city with a bell and horse-toted cart, announcing if anyone wanted their dead disposed of, now was the time. The heat caused any elderly to dehydrate, their hearts simply stopping; and for young children to overheat and catch too-high fevers.

It was a dreadful time to be alive in King's Landing because the city had next to no coverage, so, the sun beat down on citizens in a suffocating, unbearable, offensive manner. None stood a chance: the young, old, rich, poor, everyone was a target.

For some reason, the fat Lords of the Realm had demanded the King hold court to voice their complaints; temperatures making many operate on short fuses. However, due to his sickly, deteriorating state and wicked weather, King Viserys was unable to sit the Throne; the responsibility falling onto the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower. And because she was Queen, his daughter, Alicent was always in attendance.

Yet for some reason, she had sent guards and servants to retrieve her children - including you.

You'd been married to Aemond about 21 months, and while a seemingly short time, certain single days felt more like three when loved by a man you considered your best friend. You had known the One Eyed Prince back when he had no need for an eyepatch, sapphire, or silly nickname, and for years, you were decent friends before growing to attach at the hip. He was kind, sweet, intelligent, and best of all, he was a wildly good listener. Even as a child, he didn't talk too much, but still more than he did now; and all his life, he was simply a listener. It made for a peaceful and trustworthy marriage.

21 months of marriage, and now, (almost) 7 months pregnant.

Aemond was over the moon with pride, joy, and excitement when you told him the news. He was eager to meet the babe, and the moment he learned, Aemond started gathering whatever material and furniture he could. He commissioned 11 Septas to knit a series of baby blankets; most with Targaryen colors and / or design. Otto was happy to see his grandson looking forward to married life, and Helaena was elated for you both. She's always liked you like a sister, always thought you were kind, just, and fair, with a healthy balance of being stubborn - all topped off with heaping loyalty. To everyone's surprise, even Aegon sincerely offered congratulations to you both when you broke the joyful news, telling you and Aemond he was excited to meet his newest niece or nephew.

However, amongst the fanfare and triumph, two women remained permanently dismayed by the entire marriage that the prospect of a child genuinely angered them.

The first woman was your mother, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, but she was annoyed simply because she knew the Targaryen Curse was real and thought this was not something you should endure. You were her firstborn, her brightest star, her dearest love; she worried herself to the brim about you, and while she respected your marriage, she's never offered approval.

The second woman was Aemond's mother, Queen Alicent Hightower, who chose to silently seeth to herself (for a time) instead of voicing any opinion or emotion. Years ago, she and your mother were the closest of friends, and after she married Viserys, Alicent lost her friend and the tension has only festered from there. However, now that Rhaenyra was living on Dragonstone, you were the only person close enough to take the brunt end of Alicent's anger and she found new ways to project that. Simply put, she despised you - but she would've hated whoever "took" her (unofficial) favorite child "from" her; who became the leading lady in his life. Alicent's anger was justified, but only towards Rhaenyra - not you.

Yet communication and emotional intelligence was rare in this day.

Alicent knew you were innocent of everything. Yet somedays, she could not restrain her anger and would lash out like a dog chained-up; but you had thick skin. You always endured her quick jabs, sharp tongue, and snarling insults because you loved and respected Aemond too much to bite back at his mother. However, while most days, Alicent was amicable, some days, she was a downright bitch, and other days, she was absolutely diabolical.

Alicent's anger took over and when this happened, she was powerless towards impulse; resulting in usually terribly stressful events that honestly have no business being so fucking stressful - or even further, by becoming catastrophic. For example, years ago, when Luke cut Aemond's eye from his socket, she took the King's dagger from his person and tried to attack Rhaenyra. She ended up slicing the Crowned Princess' forearm, but far more damage was already done, and nothing would ever be the same.

Alicent's anger often blinded her and drove her to impulsive decisions or reactions, and this today, in this heatwave, she went too far.

You were sat in your bedchambers, Aemond at your side as you both listened to a sweating Grand Maester; both your hand and your husband's resting on the curve of your pregnant belly.

"Now, remember, Princess, in these conditions, it's important to lay low for the sake of your health and the baby's. Don't be on your feet in the heat too long, don't exert yourself, drink more water than you usually would, and rest as much as possible." He handed you a tea bag, explaining, "For the nerves before bed."

"Thank you," you agreed, taking what he offered. Aemond saw the Grand Maester out of your chambers as you sighed, using a handheld fan to wave cooler air over your face.

"It's criminal, this heat. Gotta get someone in here with a fan," Aemond mumbled to himself, leading you to a lounge chair to rest on. "Can I get you anything, sweet love?"

"Water, if you'd please," you smiled.

He agreed and stood, but just then, a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," Aemond permitted, moving to the table in the room to pour you a goblet of water. The guard who entered wasn't known to you by name, but Aemond greeted him casually, "Ser Mythos. What do we own this pleasure?"

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Do you know why?" Aemond grit.

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"I've asked you why."

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Fuck's sake," you snapped, "we heard you! Yeah? Gods," you cursed, head tilted back in annoyance; eyes squeezing shut as your child kicked your bladder.

"The Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Lady and my Prince."

Aemond glanced at you, sighed shortly through his nose, then turned to Ser Mythos to snap, "I will be along shortly, but my wife was told to rest in this heat for our baby's health. We'll need palms brought in for fanning."

"And the Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince, both of you. Both, my Prince, both."

Your eyes rolled, telling Aemond, "I think the Queen wants us both, my love." Then shifted your glare towards the messenger, sounding as tired as you looked, "All right, fine, fine, fine, fucking fine, give us a moment to dress and we will be there presently."

"My Lady," the guard accepted, turned, and left the room.

"What could Mother want with us both?" Aemond snipped at you when the door shut with an echoing-clang.

"Does it matter? She's called for us," you frowned.

"They can at least call you by your proper title - we are married now. You are a Princess of the City, they should address you as such."

You waved him off, "Who cares about that? C'mere. Help me up, my love, please. Your kid's sitting heavy."

You and Aemond dressed for court in thin clothing before fixing your hair so it didn't cling to either of your necks. It was already far too warm to even think properly, and surely, nobody would judge if you attended court with your hair pulled up, nor judge Aemond for the fashionably bun you convinced him to wear. No make-up was used, no heels; no corset, nor any pinch of leather. Aemond didn't like the last bit, but you were stern in your worry, telling him that leather would retain his body heat and today was already stifling enough.

When ready, you vacated your chambers and walked to the Throne Room, seeing it filled with a sizable crowd that surely would do nothing to help the sticky heat hanging in the air. Aemond held your hand tightly with his head held high to lead you towards his mother, who stood at the base of the Iron Throne. When close enough, Aemond asked, "You called for us, Your Grace?"

"I did," she eyed you both. "This is a good learning opportunity for you both, I thought it best we were all here."

"Mother, it's too hot for - "

"We are all suffering the same heat," she cut Aemond off.

"Yes, but my wife is pregnant, Mother. The Maester told her to rest, not stand in court with a hundred bloody people."

"You mean to tell me she has a higher priority than - "

"Yes. That is what I am saying, Mother. My wife certainly has priority over everything else as far as I am concerned."

Alicent shook her head, "For as long as we hold places in court, we will attend court. All of us, as a united family. Now, pay attention, you both will hold places here after King Viserys, best you know this all now."

So, you stood there like an obedient dog as slowly, one person after another approached the Throne to tell Ser Otto Hightower their grievances. They yapped up all the advice and court rulings; Aemond standing at your side, and while he was listening to what was being said, he also kept an eye on you out of sheer worry. There was no air to blow, no window to open; mediocre fans and palms brought in to manually wave by a few sets of servants. Yet it wasn't enough.

Sweat bulleted on brows. Pale cheeks flushed with heat. Legs started to shake from stress. Clothes dampened and clung to skin.

You were all of the above and then some!

The heat felt criminally offensive, and you knew you wore your displeasure on your face. Discomfort while pregnant isn't easy to hide, your hand smoothing over your belly as you exhaled a slow, calming breath that did literally nothing to aid your tangible anger. The common folk still reported to Otto, but you knew this was far from over, trying to blink back your discomfort as your stomach churned; twisted; started to cramp with increasingly stabbing pain. The heat festered a headache and soon, the nausea set in.

Taking another deep, long breath, you focused on the man complaining about his neighbor stealing his crops, his silver, and how the other man was fucking his wife - in his very own barn! The man asked for permission to sentence the neighbor to trial by combat, and for the life of you, you could not understand why you needed to be present for this.

Another farmer came up, saying there were too many maggots in his fields and needed the King's coin to bring in specialized mulch for himself and all the farmers in all of the Riverlands - who were plagued by this contagious maggot infestation.

Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place came up and asked for an increased patrol of "the King's Men", sell swords sent to "keep the King's peace." A group with radically different tactics than Daemon's Gold Cloaks.

This "Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place" even presented his daughter, saying she was fit to marry the Prince Aemond. Eyes turned to you and for whatever reason, you felt embarrassed by the sudden attention. So, you shied away from it, shifting slightly closer to Aemond as Otto spoke with a bored expression, "Prince Aemond is wedded already. As is his brother, Prince Aegon."

"What 'bout the li'l one?"

"Pardon?" Otto blinked.

"The Queen's last son?"

"With respect, my Lord, our son is still a child learning the ways of the world and is no way fit to marry quite yet," Alicent cut in, your feet going numb and making you sway slightly. "The Crown has learned from other marriage pacts to examine all offers carefully," but Alicent's sharp words flew over your head as something in your stomach pinched sharply like a severe period cramp. Your breathing came out in shudders; holding onto Aemond securely as he looked down at you with worry.

Your entire face, neck, and chest glistened with sweat. It clung to your hair, raced down your chest, and when he got a closer look, he didn't like the discoloration to your skin. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong...

"Then it shall be a long engagement so you might consider my daughter well!" The Lord barked, laughing gruffly. "She is not a disappointment, my Lord Hand."

"The Crown will consider your offer, Lord Peregrin, but the Crown must weigh other presented offers before marrying young Prince Daeron to anyone," Otto spoke diplomatically.

"Aye, I'll offer her dowry. Twenty thousand good men for your army, and I can spare about 500 Gold Dragons."

"Our army? Are we at war?" Otto faked a chuckle, your vision starting to blur but you refused to cause a scene. Your mouth had cotton in it; tongue sticking to your roof and your cramps were getting worse. You sweat so much, it was running down your neck, forehead, shoulders, lips, thighs, chest.

"Well, no, perhaps not in this moment, Lord Hand - Your Grace - but we know the rumors about the King's lineage," the Lord spoke boldly, making your blood boil, but the pain was over-powering your ability to speak. Tears actually coated your eyes. "Prince Aegon should be named the rightful heir to the Throne, so, if the time comes that he needs an army, my daughter's marriage to Prince Daeron would guarantee those men and swords."

Otto sighed as you gulped harshly, wincing in pain, a single tear rolling down your cheek. The cramping intensified, the bolts of pain setting your muscles on fire and radiating into your organs - or so it felt like. The Throne Room was too hot for you to withstand much longer; there was no water, and you'd been standing there going on three hours. Not to mention, you had been throwing up terribly violent in the night and mornings, meaning, you were probably (very likely) very dehydrated and that wasn't good for you nor the baby.

The longer you stood there, the sicker you felt. The longer you stood there, the more Aemond worried. The longer you stood there, the more time you had to develop a strong resentment towards Alicent. Your hand went to your belly, trying to regulate your breathing, but even your dress gave you away - sweat darkening the hemlines. Since finding out you were pregnant, you and Aemond agreed you would no longer wear corsets, and for a whole weekend, he took you to Highgarden to visit the tailors. They created a whole new "maternity wardrobe" that was loose but still womanly by being formfitting. They were made of breathable material, since Highgarden was tropical and often warm; and Aemond adored the sight of your bump.

"Aemond," you whispered, your husband looking down at you but so did Alicent. "I'm not feeling well, my love. I-I need to sit, I need water."

"We're almost done - "

"This is not the time to distract everyone," Alicent snapped quietly at you. "Focus, and let Aemond focus, too, he's the Prince. You don't need him for your every whim."

You only nodded and closed your mouth, clearing your throat of emotion, knowing something didn't wasn't right. It was more than a gut feeling now, you just inherently knew something was wrong. Disconnected. Short circuiting.

The hall was too hot.

Stifling hot. Suffocatingly hot. Stuffy sort of hot.

Overwhelmingly hot.

Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, so fucking hot!

Your nausea got worse to the point you were going to hurl at any moment. You know that feeling? C'mon, yes you do! You start to feel a little shaky, then your mouth starts "sweating" (or watering) and you even get a little clammy; maybe you even start to look gaunt? Maybe your skin changes color? That feeling? Yeah, that's exactly what was happening!

So, to keep calm, you just start taking long, deep breaths. The last thing you wanted to do was panic when surrounded by so many members of court... Then something that felt like urine raced down your inner thighs, yet you barely noticed it, too distracted with keeping upright. Blood puddled beneath your skirts on the stone but nobody noticed yet. More Lords came and went, some Ladies, more and more farmers with trivial disputes. Fathers, sons, uncles, neighbors, you name it!

However, to your earnest shock, when a particularly amusing man came to speak to the King('s Hand), Aegon had glanced at his brother with an amused smirk, but caught sight of you, requiring a double-take. "Brother," Aegon turned from his 'front row seat', showing a rare moment of emotion by looking concerned at your being. "Oh, Gods, fuck," he worried, looking ready to extend his arms to you.

"Fuck," Aemond breathed, turning you to face him. "Can you hear me, sweet love? Hey, hey," he spoke your name, "can you hear me?"

But it was as if you were in a trance. Waves crushed over your ears, sweat rolling down your skin, appearing clammy and as if not in your own body. Aegon jolted forward when your eyes rolled back in your head, knees buckling, forcing your husband to catch you before you began your descent to the ground. When he caught you, it revealed the blood from under your skirts, and when Aemond got you on the ground, he realized your legs were coated in slick, mucus, and both dried and fresh blood; indicating you had been bleeding for hours.

"Call the Maester!" Aemond barked. "Get the bloody Maester!"

"She's bleeding," Aegon pointed out.

"I have eyes to see, brother, I know she is bleeding!" Aemond snapped, his panic tangible. "Love! My sweet love, please, open your eyes, please. Fuck's sake, please, open your eyes - let me see them. Sweetheart, please, c'mon - FUCK! Brother! Brother, help, please, there's blood! There's too much blood! Aegon! What do I do!? Aegon, please! What do I do!?"

"Let her breathe, brother, the Maester's are coming, it's gonna be all right, I-I've heard this can happen. Okay? Just gotta wait for the Maesters, Aemond," Aegon nodded, reaching a hand to his younger brother's shoulder in comfort. Otto descended the Throne to get a closer look as guards surrounded your unconscious body and Aemond's panicked, kneeling form.

"What happened?" Otto demanded.

"She passed out," Helaena frowned in worry, looking as if tears would soon fall. "And there's blood - she's been swaying, I-I think she was ill."

"It's the heat," Aemond snapped, tears down his cheeks. "We were told she needed rest in this temperature, but no." His glare turned to his mother, "We were both expected here."

"You saw the Grand Maester?"

"We did."

"He told her to lie down?" Otto asked, looking and sounding confused.

"To rest," Aemond nodded, supporting your limp head and neck.

When the Grand Maester arrived, he wasted no time in demanding your limp form be brought to his chambers for monitoring and examination. Aemond picked you up and carried you, leaving everyone else behind - or so he thought. The Maester spent a grand total of 43 minutes conducting diagnostic tests, and when the last exam was brought up, he asked Aemond to step out of the room as the examination would turn more intimate.

When Aemond stepped out, he was surprised to see Aegon and Helaena standing there. Aegon instantly pushed off the wall, asking, "Well? How is she? What's happening?"

"One last test," Aemond answered in a low mutter. "What're you doing here?"

"We wanted to make sure you were both all right," Helaena, his sweet sister, answered.

"Mother didn't demand you stay?"

"No, Mother actually called an end to court," Helaena told Aemond. "Grandfather was very angry."

"He was?"

"Never seen him like that," Aegon agreed, telling Aemond of the words Otto raged at Alicent.

When the chamber doors opened, Aemond was invited back inside. He took to your side instantly, but there was a knowing look in your eyes. You never looked at the Maester, only at your husband, as it was explained that due to the heat, you had become dehydrated over time and then spending the day in court, it was just too long a time being on your feet without water or fresh air. You had toppled over the side of heat stroke, the lack of hydration causing you to involuntarily miscarry.

The child would not grow and for your safety and health, the Maester would have to preform essentially what is an abortion to eliminate exposure to rot. Aemond blinked in astonishment, feeling confused about the turn of events, but when he realized you weren't able to respond, he looked at you.

He made the decision, seeing tears streaking your cheeks and the dead look in your eyes.

You were prepped for the procedure and while the Master tried to escort Aemond out, nobody was able to move him from his place at your side. It took the better part of an hour, but when it was over, not only were you given an additional dose of Milk of the Poppy, but Aemond was also given several vials for you in the coming days. He was also given a plethora of herbs, spices, remedies, salves, therapies, and treatments; being given explicit instruction and detail about all he was given, being told when to use what to best help you.

Aemond stooped to pick you up, again, refusing to let anyone else touch you, and the Grand Maester held the door for him. Aegon, Helaena, Alicent, and Otto were all revealed, but Aemond didn't even so much as blink at them; whatever life might've been left lurking behind his eye being completely snuffed out. He made a direct beeline for your chambers with the intention to let you rest in a soft, familiar bed for however long you needed, but he was followed by his family and knew this would be anything but a peaceful time.

"L-Love?" You whimpered when your husband laid you on your marital bed. "Aemond? Aemond?" You asked a little more frantically, being soothed swiftly.

"I'm here, I'm right here, sweetheart," he hushed, ignoring the audience; one hand holding yours as the other pet your hair back. "Hey, just breathe for me, darling, I'm right here. I've got you."

"I-I might be sick," you complained in a whisper, eyes unable to open as sweat bulleted on your skin.

"'S all right," he assured, grabbing a basin to leave on the bed beside you so he could sit at your side. "'M right here, you're not alone."

Aemond watched the way you harshly gulped, a hand dragging up to press to your belly. "W-What happened?" You mumbled, making his heart clench. "I just... There was a lot of heat and then pain." Your eyes finally opened to meet his, "I remember pain, Aemond."

With a glance up at his family, Aemond told you stiffly, "You remember correctly, love. The, uh... The heat was too much for you to handle, sweet girl, and that wasn't your fault." He took a long breath, clutching one of your hands in both of his, "But it was just too much. We couldn't save them... We couldn't save her."

"I-It was a girl?"

"It was," Aemond confirmed, reaching for your other hand to hold tightly. "And you didn't do this. Hmm? You hear me? This is not your doing."

"But my body - "

"No," he refused with a harsh tone. Realizing you were not the one to take his anger out on, he cleared his throat, "Sorry, love, I just," he took a breath. "Listen to me, okay? No, my sweet love, we were told to rest - you and I were told this heat was too much for the babe and that you would need rest. We meant to, we had every intention to follow the Maester's orders, but..." Another pause as he fought off the emotion clawing through his chest. "But for some reason, royal obligation was more important than our family, and Mother refused to let us miss today's court appearance."

"Huh...?" You breathed, still relatively drowsy from the day. But the emotion was real, your husband saw your pain. "What're you talking about, love? Aemond? What's - What the hell happened to our baby? Where's our baby?"

Aemond's jaw steeled and a tear streaked down his cheek as he forced himself to explain, "The Queen demanded our attendance in court today. And standing in the heat for hours cost us our daughter's life. I am so sorry, my sweet love, but we do not have our daughter because she is... She isn't in your womb anymore," his hand laid over your belly, your own automatically following. "She can't ever join us, our family," he spoke slowly, then tearing his glare away from your tired figure to his mother, sneering, "because my mother can't let go of a decades-old feud with a woman no longer living in this very city."

"Aemond," you whispered, heart shattered in your chest but still managing, "do not take this out on her."

"No?" He snapped, still glaring at his mother but clutching your belly, "If not for her, our daughter would still be safe in her mother's womb and we'd still have the chance to one day hold her. But no," he spoke as slowly as he stood to his feet, pulling his hands away from you, "no, we were unjustly denied that chance."

When her (favorite) child faced her with such hatred, dread, distraught, soul-sucking eyes, Alicent frowned with tears in her own eyes. She had so much to say, but only managed, "I did not intend for this."

"This hatred you feel for Rhaenyra is literally costing lives! For the love of all the Gods, my wife is nothing like her mother! They are not one in-the-same, this does not make her your new target to unleash Hell upon - she has done no wrong and yet suffers these heinous consequences!"

"I did not intend for this! You must know that!" She repeated in desperation. "I only wanted you both to partake in your duties - soon, you will be the ones conducting business at court and you must be readied for what may come!"

"That does not give you the right to forfeit her health!"

"How was I to know - "

"The bloody Maester told us - but evidently, the word of the trained professional is not good enough for you!" Aemond raged, something in his heart snapping. "We are denied the right to meet our daughter because, what? What is it? You cannot reach Rhaenyra right now so you will take the closest thing - being my fucking wife!?"

"Aemond," Otto tried to step in, "perhaps this is getting out of hand."

"It was already out of hand," Aegon defended with a sharp snap, "the moment the Maester was ignored."

"You refuse to respect us," Aemond snapped at his mother, everyone silencing themselves when another tear fell down his cheek. "You refuse to respect us, to listen, and all for why? You think you know better than the Maesters? Or because she is daughter of Rhaenyra?"

"Aemond," Alicent warbled through her tears.

"You've gone too far," his head shook, devastation taking hold, "and I do hope you find deliverance from the Gods, because from me? I do not see how I can find a shred of ability to forgive such a sin."

It was quiet. Helaena's head was bowed, Aegon glared at his mother like Aemond; Otto frowned as he avoided all eye contact.

Imagine everyone's surprise when bare feet padded over the stone ground, two shaking hands raising to press into Aemond's stomach from behind. "My love," you mumbled softly, "please, do not speak so hatefully in this prolonged grief. We will do all we can do now and pray on this, but if we want to heal, we will need to learn to forgive. This was not a malicious, thought-out plan executed in partner with the co-conspiring weather; it was a terrible circumstance that the Gods have chosen us to endure. Your mother can pray for forgiveness, she's owed that right; and we will say our own, but I know that one day, we will be blessed and bring a child into this world. Because it's you and I, Aemond, and our child would be the full embodiment of the purest, truest love - and for something that perfect, we'll need time." You took a breath, looking sickly, gaunt; eyes full of tears as you ended, "But it is not this day."

Aemond turned to wrap his arms around you, insisting, "You should be resting." When he got you to turn to move for the bed again, he snarled at his mother, "She's the one who just lost a child and yet still defends you."

"Perhaps it's best we leave them alone," Aegon recommended. "We'll have meals sent for you both," he told his brother with a meaningful nod. "You both just take your time."

"Thank you," Aemond sighed, easing you back to the mattress; laying a single, thin sheet over your body. When Aegon had ushered everyone out, Aemond just stared down at you for a long moment, sighing sadly and whispering, "I'm so sorry, sweet love."

"Just lay with me," you requested.

He moved to strip himself of his linens, the heat still sweltering, and laid beside you; instantly cuddling you into his bare chest. Aemond knew you didn't want to talk, but this needed said, and he whimpered, "This is my fault."

"What?" You gaped, looking up at him in shock. You quickly pulled his leather eye patch off to force his full attention, holding his cheek and demanding, "What did you just say?"

"If you and I did not marry, if I had not pursued you - courted you," he shook his head, brows crinkled from restrained sobs, "we would not be in this position, you would not know this pain. We knew the tension in our family, we knew the hatred between our mothers, and still I wanted you. This is my fault, I shouldn't've done this - you should not have to endure this."

Your hand reached up to caress the side of his face; foreheads pressed together to breathe the same air, warm the same space, sweat onto one another, but never wanting to be apart. It was a sticky embrace but you both needed it, and you hushed, "I regret nothing about us. Nothing, Aemond. If I knew how this would play out, I'd do it all again because I know I love you beyond words. Beyond," you giggled lightly, "rational thought, even. Aemond, everything you are, I adore, and all we are together is... It's the greatest pleasure of my life. My greatest honor."

"I do not deserve a woman like you."

"Perhaps not," you teased, "but you have me anyway. And what do we do with rare women, my Prince?"

His lips found yours in a sweeping kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. When he pulled back, he whispered, "We love them well."

A week later, King's Landing would find relief from the unwavering, record-breaking heatwave - only to be blasted by a wave of dragon fire. It was only then the Prince Aemond was seen with his wife for the first time since "The Throne Room Incident", and both were dressed in the traditional color of funerals: black.

You were bestowed an incredibly small bundle of black cloth, and with the rest of the Royal Family following, ventured to a distant hill where a funeral was to take place. Because your daughter was still so very tiny, she was laid in a fiery basin with only you and Aemond to preside over; offering prayer in High Valyrian. He held you close, the wind from the coast whipping all clothing around, and just behind everyone, Vhagar landed with a distinct thundering thud.

You didn't move, staring into the flames.

Aemond looked back, and when Vhagar saw the tears in her master's eye, noting the way he turned back to comfort you and grieve over your daughter, the dragon roared. A roar so loud, it was heard from the Riverlands. A roar so powerful, it shook the ground they all stood on. A roar so terrible, it made a few throats swell in emotion. A roar so sad, ballads would be written about it.

King's Landing might've been relieved from the weather's temperature, but as Vhagar felt her master mourning his daughter, she released an angry flame into the air that the citizens all felt.

For years, on the contrary, the entire city would feel Prince Aemond's cold shoulder to his mother, Queen Alicent, but for now, the heat of grief demanded to be felt.

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