#hotd aemond targaryen
Text
Unbearable
Warnings: Angst, smut
Words: 3.5k
Summary: Your marriage to Aemond Targaryen is a political one, to strengthen the bond between both your houses, or so it seems. You’ve loved Aemond from afar for as long as you can remember, but now find yourself trapped in a marriage where the feeling, in your opinion, is not reciprocated.
The feeling of butterflies fluttered in the pit of your stomach, as your handmaidens intricately braided your hair. It was the morning of the day you’d awaited for so long; your wedding to Aemond Targaryen.
You’d grown up alongside the Targaryen children. You’d learned to tolerate Aegon, were firm friends with Helaena and had always admired Aemond from afar, despite his rigidity and aloof nature. As you’d grown, admiration had quickly blossomed into love. You saw past Aemond’s injury. You adored his pursuit of knowledge, his mastery of combat and respect for tradition. To you, Aemond could have a thousand more scars than he did already and would still be the most handsome man in all of Westeros.
With this in mind, your heart had soared when your father had broken the news to you that you and Aemond were betrothed. A strengthening of the bond between your houses, he’d said, but to you it was so much more. Aemond was seemingly less excited, but you were unsurprised by this. He’d never been one for outward displays of emotion. Much of your life you’d wondered if he even liked you. He’d never said more than a few words at a time to you, but you’d accepted that was just his way. Surely things would be different once you were his wife.
Aemond’s eye did not meet yours throughout the ceremony and he sat next to you in stony silence throughout the wedding feast. You supposed it must be nerves. The bedding would be next and he may open up to you once you’re alone as husband and wife.
You were jittery with excitement as you entered your bed chambers, eagerly turning to face Aemond once the door was closed firmly behind you.
He cut you off before you’d had a chance to speak. “I suppose we should get this over with”, he said stoically, nodding his head towards the bed, “On your belly”, he instructed.
“What?!” you gasped, heat flooding your cheeks. This wasn’t the romantic end to the evening you’d envisioned.
“We’ll be expected to produce heirs. It’s only right we fulfil our duty”, Aemond explained, avoiding eye contact.
You stared at him, wide eyed in astonishment.
When you made no move to say anything, he sighed, clearly vexed. “Please, my lady, while not ideal, let us make haste so that this can be at its end. On your belly.”
He gestured once more towards the bed and this time you complied. Crawling with trepidation on top of the blankets before laying flat on your front. You felt frightened. Where butterflies had once danced, dread now gnawed its way through your guts. While you had no experience of anything romantic - you’d never even kissed a boy before - surely this was not how it was supposed to be? Where were the gentle touches, the sweet kisses and the lingering stares you’d heard so much about?
Before you could ponder on it for too long, you felt your skirts being lifted above your waist. You anticipated the soft feel of long, dexterous fingers caressing your thighs, but were shocked when you were grabbed roughly by the hips and held in place.
“Forgive me”, Aemond said matter of factly, before roughly forcing himself into you in one thrust.
You buried your face into the soft down of the pillow, muffling your loud scream as he entered you. Tears rimmed your eyes as you fisted the blankets. The stretch and burning sensation between your legs was excruciatingly painful, exacerbated by Aemond’s harsh thrusts. While the pain dulled after a few moments, it never fully subsided and you cried silently waiting for it to be over.
Aemond finally came with a low grunt, pulling himself out of you as soon as he was able.
You remained still, not daring to move, as he composed himself. You didn’t dare to look at him, too shocked by what had just transpired to do anything but lay prone on the bed.
“Hopefully my seed will quicken and we will not have need to repeat this”, Aemond muttered. While trying to keep his tone formal and respectful, you detected a hint of strain to his voice. He was holding something back, but you were unsure of what. “If your moon’s blood does arrive then be sure to tell me, we will need to try again.”
You hadn’t heard him retreat, until the click of the door closing confirmed you were now alone. It was then that the intensity of the pain between your legs, the chill of the air on your bared skin and the feeling of utter loneliness all collided at once.
No longer bothering to stifle the sound, you let out an anguished, almost feral sounding sob. Your husband did not love you. He was so disgusted by you that he’d insisted upon not looking at you during the consummation of your marriage. There was no tenderness to the act, like your vows it was purely political; to produce an heir. Your body shuddered with the force of your crying until finally, exhaustion overwhelmed you, and you fell into a fitful sleep.
The following morning when you awoke your eyes were puffy from crying. The prospect of being trapped in a loveless marriage weighed heavily upon you. You hissed as you lowered yourself into the steamy waters of the bath your handmaidens had drawn for you. The heat of the liquid hitting the soreness between your legs made you wince, and brought fresh tears to your eyes as memories of the previous night came flooding back to you.
You’d never dreamed that you’d awaken the morning after your wedding and find yourself alone. Yet it had never occurred to you that you’d be married to a man who apparently couldn’t stand you. Your heart ached. In spite of the mistreatment you’d suffered at his hands, you were still desperately in love with Aemond.
Upon being seated at the breakfast table you were disappointed but not surprised when you noticed your new husband’s absence. You struggled to conceal your sadness when informed that Aemond had awoken early and was out riding with Vhagar. You didn’t see him for the rest of the day and, finally, after finding yourself dining alone once more at supper your sadness turned to anger.
If Aemond wanted this marriage to be a mere formality then you’d maliciously comply. Over the coming weeks you both avoided being alone in the same room together, hastily retreating when the other would enter. In situations that required both your presences in a group setting you barely looked at each other and only spoke to each other if it was absolutely necessary.
Each fresh snub was like a dagger to your chest and yet, as heartbreak bloomed, the fire of your anger was further ignited. You wondered if this would go on indefinitely. Little did you know you wouldn’t have to wait long for things to finally reach their boiling point.
You were roused from your slumber by the dull ache in your lower belly and stickiness between your thighs. Peeling back the bedclothes and finding the crimson stains upon your nightgown and the sheets confirmed what you suspected - your moon’s blood had arrived.
A mixture of relief and regret washed over you. On the one hand, it would have been nice to carry a small part of Aemond. Proof of the only time you’d ever experienced the touch of the man you loved, painful as it was. On the other, you were grateful not to be bringing a child into such a strained and loveless environment.
After you’d bathed and your bloodied sheets and night clothes had been taken away to be laundered, you settled yourself in the library to read. This was the most likely room in which to find the prince, however, after a month of trying your best to avoid him you’d learned his routine quite quickly. He was in the habit of taking Vhagar for an early morning ride each day, which meant you could peacefully have the library to yourself until at least lunch time.
After a couple of hours of comfortable reading, you were returning your selected tome back to its shelf when the creak of the door to the library opening caught your attention. You turned, expecting to address a servant alerting you that lunch was ready but froze when you saw who it really was. Aemond.
He hovered by the door, regarding you quietly. The expression on his face was unreadable. In spite of your anger, you still found him devastatingly handsome and silently cursed yourself for it.
You stood, wide eyed with shock as you struggled to regulate your breathing. You kept a vice like grip on the book you held, in an attempt to ground yourself, your knuckles were white with the effort.
Aemond’s eye fell to the book you were holding, he appeared to be about to say something, before thinking better of it and looking back to your face.
“You have your moon’s blood”, he stated simply.
It wasn’t a question. A servant had obviously informed him. He knew. Annoyance bubbled in your throat. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you answered with a curt nod.
Aemond inhaled deeply, looking down at his feet before returning his gaze back to you. “I am sorry to hear”, he spoke softly, appearing to choose his words carefully, “I will give you time for your...blood...to be over and then...we will try again.”
Unable to hold back your annoyance any longer, you slammed the book onto the table in front of you as he turned to leave.
Aemond looked back at you, clearly shocked by your outburst.
“Don’t trouble yourself”, you spat.
“Excuse me?” Aemond whispered, his violet eye narrowing.
“I’m saying no!” You practically shouted, “I don’t want to try again. Whatever this is, I don’t want it! I don’t want to bring a child into this!”
You were on the verge of tears by the time you finished speaking. Your chest heaved with the effort to keep your wits about you.
A look of something akin to hurt flashed across Aemond’s face as you spoke, but vanished as quickly as it appeared, so you were certain you’d imagined it. He stood statue like for a moment before responding with a quiet “mmm”. He exited the library, closing the door softly behind him.
You collapsed into a chair, burying your head in the crook of your arm against the table and sobbing, not for the first time, about the shattered state your husband had left you in.
A week passed without any further incident or any word from Aemond. You were beginning to think he had forgotten and discarded you following your altercation in the library. That was until a rolled up note was passed to you by one of your handmaidens as they readied you for the day.
Your fingers plucked open the knot in the string holding the roll together and unfurled the scrap of parchment. What you read filled your veins with ice.
Written in High Valyrian the note read: “I will petition my mother to dissolve our marriage. I hope this is pleasing to you - Aemond.”
You stood abruptly, the girl brushing through your hair jumped back in shock. You stormed from your chambers, you thin nightgown billowing behind you as your hair swung loosely around your shoulders.
“Princess, you are not dressed!” the girl called out after you.
“I don’t care!” you raged, as you carried on down the hallway, parchment clenched in your fist.
You burst into Aemond’s chambers, startling him as he was donning the last of his riding gear.
“Aemond, what the fuck is this?!” you demanded, brandishing the note.
His eye went wide, taking you in, before turning away. “You are not dressed, my lady” he muttered.
“So people keep telling me”, you snapped, “Can you not put aside your disgust for me for even a moment to explain the meaning of this?!”
“Disgust?” Aemond questioned, turning back to you, the shock on his face more than evident. “Why ever would you think you disgust me?”
“You want to dissolve our marriage”, you said meekly, the last of your fight leaving you.
“I’m doing what is best for you”, he explained softly, “I cannot bear to see you this unhappy. I will tell my mother your virtue is still in tact, so your chances of a more appropriate match will not be affected.”
“This doesn’t make any sense”, your voice wobbled, “Don’t you want to try?”
“I have tried!” Aemond snapped in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he paced, “I’ve kept away from you, I’ve given you space and yet still you are miserable. There is nothing more to be done.”
“Why would you think I want space?” Confusion settled over your features.
Aemond scoffed. “I am not my brother. I should be wed to a plain faced sow from the North. Your beauty is other worldly. You are scholarly and kind, you deserve a husband that is whole, not disfigured as I am. You should not be forced to look upon me and feel resentment at the match that has been made for you.”
“Aemond...” you breathed, your heart hammering in your chest.
He held up a hand to stop you, before he continued speaking. “I have tried my best to make this work. Avoiding you, so you would not have to look upon me or endure my presence. I had hoped you would be with child after our wedding night. I know how the people at court love to whisper. It pained me to touch you when you clearly did not want me to, but I could not bear the thought of people suggesting that you were barren or worse. I heard your sobs after I left your chambers. I hated that I had hurt you and that you were so horrified by having lain with me that you would cry so.”
“Aemond”, you interrupted, this time with more conviction, “You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on.”
He shook his head, chuckling drily as he turned away from you.
Not having to look at him made it easier to press on with the rest of your confession. “I have loved you from afar since we were children. I do not wish to be wed to anyone else. All I have wanted since we were married was to feel your touch. I’ve longed for you for what feels like an age. Instead you have broken my heart.”
A single tear tracked its way down the alabaster of Aemond’s unmarred cheek as he finally turned back to you. “Can you ever forgive me? We could start again. I promise to make you feel every bit as cherished as you deserve.”
“I would like that”, you sniffled, shedding happy tears of your own.
He approached you, wiping them away with his thumbs as his hands moved to cup your face. “May I kiss you?”
You responded by stepping up onto your tiptoes and pressing your lips against his. His mouth was warm and soft, better than anything you’d ever imagined. Aemond’s tongue probed against your bottom lip, requesting entrance as he deepened the kiss, moving his arms around your waist to pull your body flush against his.
Emboldened by your husband’s sudden display of passion, when you finally broke apart you pushed your nightgown from your shoulders, standing bare before him.
This time when his eye went wide it was lust, not shock, that ruminated from its depths.
“If it is agreeable to you, husband, I would like to properly consummate our union.”
Aemond swept you into his arms, kissing you fiercely and manoeuvring you towards the bed. “This time I will treat my wife with the reverence fitting of a princess”, he whispered, long fingers roaming the curves of your body as he drank in the sight of you.
When he turned you around and moved to press you onto the bed, you realised he meant to have you from behind again.
“No” you protested.
He froze, immediately halting his actions, doubt and worry creasing his brow.
You were quick to reassure him, climbing off the bed and stroking his sharp jawline. “I wish to look upon your face when we make love.”
A tint of pink flushed his otherwise pale skin and he glanced away from you. “My scars...”
“Have you not been listening to me, husband? Scars or no scars, there is no one in the Seven Kingdoms whose face I’d rather look upon than yours. Please...”
This seemed to convince him and he allowed you to push him back towards the bed, he sat on the edge as you straddled his lap, his large hands coming to rest on your hips.
With a delicate touch, you reached behind his head, removing both his eye covering and the tie that held his hair fastened in place. His long mane of silver hair fell around his face and shoulders, framing his sharp features. The sapphire that sat within the socket of his missing eye glittered. He was a vision of radiant beauty as your smiled upon him.
“Iksā vok”, you whispered. You are perfect.
Aemond’s previously shy demeanour suddenly transformed as he captured your lips with his possessively. You took the opportunity to push gently on his chest, laying him down as you sat astride him.
You broke the embrace to unfasten his tunic, placing gentle kisses on each part of his skin as it was revealed to you. You repeated the action with his trousers, until finally he laid naked beneath you.
“Iksā vok” you repeated. You are perfect.
He held his aching cock in his hand, looking at you through hooded eyes. “I need you”, he all but moaned, “Come here.”
You giggled, straddling his lap once more and grabbing hold of his erection. Aemond hissed through his teeth at the sensation, throbbing at the grasp of your hand as you positioned him at your entrance.
You both groaned in unison as you sank down upon him, stretching and filling you to the brim. You stilled as your body met his where you joined, your face contorted with pleasure and adoration for your husband.
Aemond’s hands moved lazily to palm at your breasts, before brushing his thumbs across each nipple. You squirmed, wiggling your hips at the heady sensation.
“Avy jorrāelan“ he confessed, no trace of hesitation in his voice. I love you.
You whimpered, finally gaining the confidence to grind your hips against his. Pressing your hands against the planes of your husband’s chest, you rocked against him harder and faster, moaning at the sensation of the feel of him.
“You are exquisite”, Aemond whispered, pulling himself up into a seated position and meeting you thrust for thrust.
You clung to his shoulders, hair cascading down your back as he placed open mouthed kisses to the column of your throat.
You squealed as Aemond flipped you suddenly, your back making impact with the mattress as he continued to rut into you. His weight on top of you and being able to gaze up at the mask of pleasure that was his face felt heavenly.
Instinctively your legs moved to wrap themselves around his waist, your ankles crossing behind him. Aemond let out a breathy gasp at the sensation of being pulled into you yet deeper still.
“Harder, Aemond...please.” you begged, arching into him.
“I love hearing my wife beg”, he rasped, complying with your request as he snapped his hips into yours at a bruising pace.
You could feel something begin to build within you, quickly reaching its peak. You had no idea what this sensation was and you wailed piteously, clinging to Aemond for reassurance.
“I am bringing you pleasure, my love”, he cooed, “It’s okay, let go. I have you.”
“Aemond!” you screamed, as the peak finally fizzed over and you felt your body shake with the intensity of which you were clenching around his cock.
He fucked you through your orgasm, nearing his own as his pace began to falter. “Beg syt ñuha nūmo” he commanded. Beg for my seed.
The filthiness of his tone made you whine. “Kostilus! Kostilus!” you cried out, “Tepagon nyke aōha nūmo!” Please! Please! Give me your seed!
You felt Aemond’s cock pulsate inside you as he filled you with rope after rope of his warm, sticky seed. He came with a low groan of your name, before collapsing on top of you.
Your hand stroked idly through the silver strands of his hair as he held you close, sweaty and panting.
“I meant it, I love you”, he finally spoke.
“I know”, you smiled, “So you won’t go back to ignoring me?”
“No”, he replied, propping himself up on his forearms to stare down at you, “I will not push you away again. It was unbearable.”
You smiled, leaning up to peck his lips. “Iksā vok.” You are perfect.
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⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ THE STORM ༻♱༉‧₊˚.
aemond targaryen x fem!reader
summary: restless nights come with revelations.
warnings: 18+, tully!reader, mentions of death, descriptions of death, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of childbirth, a small bit of angst, an even smaller amount of fluff, ( should be everything but if something is missing please let me know )
a/n: not much to say except a big thanks to @aemondtarqaryens for beta-reading this for me, I appreciate you friend <3 enjoy!
Soil often had centuries of stories to tell; laying dormant beneath blades of grass. Tragic tales that weaved themselves deep within valleys, grasping the roots of trees, and twirling around death to keep themselves nourished. A realm stained with maroon liquid that would seemingly rejuvenate the earth; feeding it flesh and carcass as an offering for those who had conquered, who had built on such sacred lands and birthed destruction.
In turn, erde would lap the harsh waters that sat at Blackwater Bay, raising the tides, angering the gods — old and new. It devoured those whose hearts palpitate under the scrutiny of the sweltering heat, falling victim to the ball of fire in the sky. It clawed at the remains of sanity, erasing any and every part of one’s being until flesh peels away from bone.
For the lives erde took, less was given.
The greater the loss, the greater the greed.
That was something your mother had whispered near the shell of your ear, her voice lilted and as smooth as honey — becoming equally sticky when it finally stuck itself between lumps of tissue that made up your brain.
She had told you to be cautious, for she would not be around much longer. Within the crevices of your soul, you knew that to be true, as she had sacrificed her entire being to keep you gentle, and strong — something she could not be. Though young, pale skin and sunken cheeks were what you gazed upon when the thinness of your fingers would swipe across her face in tender affection, you were always doing your absolute best to keep the tears at bay.
Sickness flourished in her lungs soon after; blooming from the inside, withering her away little by little until you had nothing else left to cling to. Her skeleton became fine flora and fauna on your ten-and-fifth name day, sprouting stems of green, budding willows and small clusters of lavender blooms.
Your bones had ached with growth as the years grew harsher, and war crept close in the form of those a part of the City Watch, donned in the finest of armor and longswords sheathed at their sides when they’d march about back within the walls of safety. Imagining the blood dripping down the sharp, curved edges of their blades came easy, as you had witnessed such brutality and heard it with your ears.
And once you were married off by your father, serenity became a craving. An itch in your gums and esophagus exceedingly stuffed with savagery so grand, the familiar taste of copper would pool in the middle of your tongue. The foreign feeling would not fade until it was acknowledged, welcomed with warm arms and an equally warm heart — somewhat naïve — just like you.
At first, it had been bearable. Starting as a tingle on the bumped expanse of the spine, inching in every way possible, a certain desperation in how quickly it spreads, how it consumes you whole in something mildly familiar. Delusion — something you’d come to realize you would happily tangle yourself in if the soles of your bare feet weren’t absorbing the vibration from woodland grounds, greenery tucked between your toes.
Moonlight descended upon your skin, trickling up the stretch of your arms in a dim warmth you were sure that none else would bring you. The lids of your eyes were screwed tightly, a dull throb forming in the sockets as you balled your fists at your sides.
If there was one place you should not be, it was here, out in the open and shaded by nothing but leaves of the weirwood tree in the Godswood, the looming towers of the Red Keep filling your veins with a sense of dread.
Misery has become you; sealed in your fate the minute you were bound to your husband — a Targaryen man with a temper as hot as coals. Though you have never been on the receiving end of his murderous wrath, you were no stranger to his sharp tongue and hasty decisions. Aemond was clouded by his loyalty to his family and the crown, and in the end, it would surely be the thing that would kill him.
A reoccurring dream would appear behind your lids on eves such as this, when the night grew colder and the violence you had grown accustomed to faded with the crickets' songs, becoming a solemn lullaby. Most nights, you’d have no qualms, resting your mind once you were cradled in the arms of your lover. But this night, sleep had yet to find you, and without Aemond’s presence looming over, scarpering was as easy as taking a breath.
A light wind swept through the air, ruffling the already creased fabric of your nightgown even further as you stared at the face carved into the tree, corners of your lips downturned in a slight frown. By now, you had committed every single piece of chipped wood to memory, eyes growing watery and skin bumpy with gooseflesh the longer you stood atop dead leaves, hearing them crunch beneath the soles of your feet as you shuffled somewhat.
Perhaps you were waiting for a beam of lighting to strike down upon you, to scorch your insides and eviscerate every single cell in your body until you become one with the earth. Either that or whisked away into the air. As of now, you had no arguments as to which one would be your fate.
Cold had nipped at the pads of your toes, a sure sign that it was time to retire to your chambers and retreat underneath the comfort of your sheets. Yet, no matter how tempting that fleeting thought was, it felt as if you were cemented to your spot, slightly swaying in place to get rid of the chill.
“What are you doing out here alone?” His voice made your spine stiffen, teeth gritting together at the low, patient tone of his voice. The clatter of his shoes reverberated throughout your ears, turning light as he joined you on the grass, shoulder nearly pressed against the left side of your back.
Aemond’s lingering presence brought you some sort of comfort, even if it was just a ghost of a touch covered by clothing, and you found yourself longing to be in his arms. Ultimately, you kept your distance, fingers numb as you tried flexing them at your sides.
“I received a raven earlier in the evening,” your murmur came quickly, lips barely moving as your gaze blurred slightly, eyes glistening with a sheen of unshed tears. Although he does not answer, you can feel his violet eye cautiously peering at the side of your face, lips slightly pointed downward.
“Grandfather is ill. Elmo will be lord soon.”
Not a crease embedded itself in the muscles of his face as he continued to stare — only for a second longer before averting his eye to the weirwood tree. “We’ll make him see reas-”
Shaking your head, you finally cocked it in his direction, crossing your arms over your chest to self-soothe as you took in the sharp angles of his face shadowed by the moon.
“He is still keeping our house banners in Riverrun. I know Elmo well enough to know he has already chosen. He’s always looked at Rhaenyra as the sole heir to the Iron Throne, and when grandfather takes his last breath, he’ll surely pledge allegiance to the Blacks.”
Your elder brother was stubborn. His skull was as thick as the fattest lords in all of Westeros, and even if it was indeed your grandfather’s dying wish to join the Greens in this war, Elmo would rather take a blade to the skin of his own throat than obey. Perhaps, that was one of the many reasons why you did not get along as well as siblings should have. Where you were meek, he was bold. Where you were sharp and quick-witted, he was dull and slow-minded. Choosing opposite sides when it came to the facet of war, of life and death, further broke a bond that was already weakly stitched together.
Deep within, you were confident your words would fall on deaf ears, and Aemond would eventually take to the skies with Vhagar, only to find himself in Riverrun and surprise Elmo Tully with an unwanted and unexpected visit. He was married to you after all. What good of a husband would he be if not to check on the wellbeing of your kin?
Aemond sighed, momentarily closing his eye before turning his body to face you, hands snaking up to circle your forearm. “You should be resting. The maester requested that you not walk much.”
Huffing, you swat him away, practically ripping your hand from his grasp before turning sharply on your heels. “I just need a minute, Aemond, please. I do all you ask of me, just grant me this.”
Salt-ridden were your tears as they cascaded down your chin, dripping onto the linen of your nightgown when you clutched your swollen belly, anxiety rumbling with your little one. A throat full of sand and a broken heart was what you carried when he nodded reluctantly, taking small steps toward you until his arms snaked around your hips, coming to rest at your stomach.
He smelled of dragon; the faint scent of rose and citrus from his earlier bath still clinging to his clothing just as you are, the back of your head pressed to his chest. You focus on the low thrum of his heart, the stiffness of his body as he hums lowly.
“He spoke to me about your dreams as well.”
Blinking, you press your lips together thinly before responding. “Now I’ll refuse to utter a word to him.”
“Hm, yes, I would rather my wife tell her husband what troubles her.”
“I am worried the babe might be suffering.”
Aemond’s chest caves below your head, crisp, night air all but knocked out of his lungs at your vague concern. However, he does not move, not even when you crane your neck to stare at his clouded eye as best you can.
“When I finally find rest, blood decorates the sheets. It all starts the same. I reach between my legs and the smell of copper sours in the air, and everything feels wrong.” You shake your head, ridding your mind of such an ugly, yet recurring thought.
There’s a fearful movement in your fingers as your nails bite into his covered arm, eyes blinking rapidly as you nonsensically continue. “Fire spreads, setting me ablaze and I watch as my flesh burns.”
Aemond says nothing, only pulls you as closely as he can manage, thumb bending to trace shapes over the clothed, stretched skin with his nail.
“It’s merely the stress, sweetling.” His dismissal has you scoffing, warm breath hitting soundless air, eyes rolling far in their sockets when he continues. “A lot has happened within the past moon, I’m positive it's taking hold.”
Your hands curl inward under his warm palm, the other moving to clasp over the fingers that itch your skin. “No, Aemond.”
Foreign to your ears is your voice, laced with annoyance and fearfulness at the darkness consuming you entirely. Even in a state of unconsciousness, you weren’t safe, and as long as this babe grew bigger inside of you, you’d never be.
Turning in his loose grasp, you clutch at the collar of his tunic, lower lip trembling as his brows furrow in concern. “Then what is it?”
In the short time you’ve come to know Aemond, you’ve always made it your goal to at least try and understand him in ways none could; whether that be through a slow blink of his eye or a quick twitch of lip, his expressions weren’t as concealed as he hoped to keep them. You could tell it peeved him to no end — having someone recognize what emotions were harbored in the center of his heart, unprotected by the rest of his shielding exterior. In truth, it would’ve been all too easy to lie and say he was quite satisfied with the way things currently were. In his mind, what little claim to the throne he had in the palm of his calloused hands amounted to nothing, especially when he had offered to seek out his brother the second word had passed that his father, King Viserys, first of his name, had succumbed to the Stranger.
It was a striking reminder that anything, and anyone he’s ever held dear in his heart, could wither away before his very eyes.
Including you.
His wife. The mother of his unborn child. Someone he had sworn his entire life to protect and cherish as if you were a part of him, a missing piece he had the pleasure of rediscovering.
Your revelation had hushed the dragon fire burning in his veins but emboldened the tragedy materializing in his psyche. Aemond Targaryen would never win, and that was something he would not swallow even if it had been poured into a chalice of wine.
“Helaena speaks in riddles, as if her tongue is twisted.” Tugging the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth, you wrack the mess that is your brain of how to word your next sentence. “Death amid a storm.”
It rolls off of your tongue, malice laced between her spoken words that have yet to leave you. Helaena was peculiar — in a sort of way, one would either deem her mad with the words that left her mouth as quickly as they had come.
Her lavender eyes would fall cloudy, hazed with something unforeseen to anyone else but her, mind miles away, and never in the present.
“The sun rose and fell three times, and what has yet to leave with it, Aemond?”
The man before you can only part his lips, skin creasing in the gap spacing his brows, shaking hands now resting at either side of your waist as his sole eye scans the distress etched in your features. He knows.
He can smell previous rainfall in the air, inhales it, and lets it repose his lungs with freshness he can only compare to the feeling of your skin against his.
“The rain.”
You nod curtly. “Exactly. And with these dreams destroying my sanity, draining the blood from my very being, how can I not believe her words to ring true?”
The safety you had hoped the weirwood tree would bring, has not reached you, nor will it tonight as he pushes you toward the Red Keep, thin-lipped and jaw tight. “We’ll further discuss this in our chambers.”
Aemond clenches his teeth together; not out of vexation, but out of consternation. He hopes, and prays to the Seven, that everything you uttered was merely due to your worries of the babe’s nearing birth as he guides you up the steps toward one of the many halls.
And when his lips press against your temple, right hand coming to rest on your swollen belly once again, the clouds continue their crying.
#house of the dragon aemond#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen angst#aemond x reader#hotd aemond#aemond targaryen x female reader#hotd x reader#hotd aemond targaryen
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The babiest of babygirls
#i did a thing#my first contribution to the fandom and its this lmao#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon aemond#house of the dragon#house of the dragon meme#hotd#hotd meme#hotd aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond fanfic#ewan mitchell
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Letters Perished in Dried Ink (18+)
Pairing: Aemond x Reader;
Warnings: vivid descriptions of male masurbation, slight angst, a lot of lousy grandpas who have and will continue to butt into your situationship with Aemond;
Word Count: 6.5k;
Author's Note: I struggled with major writer's block this month. I suppose it happens to the best of us :") While I'm still working on the three fics I promised you guys, have this tiny one-shot to make up for the lack of updates ♡
I tried to be poetic. Alas, I miserably failed. See you in the next update (which is going to hopefully present much better)!
How could a misunderstanding ruin everything seven years of love has built?
Her steady hand reached for the quill, and the girl settled her feather over the small and modest piece of paper. For two, mayhaps three seconds she paused, thinking well on what she would like most adherently to convey.
Her eyes glossed over with the swirl of mischief, and the Lady smiled to herself, while expelling a tantalising and brisk breath.
To my dearest, Aemond
While I was afraid that my time in King’s Landing would change the perception I had of my homeland, I must admit that I was wrong. I might push as far as to say that everything remains the same; not a change since I last saw it. My chamber, with the dolls I left on the goose-stuffed pillows, the training grounds – none the grander as the ones in the Red Keep, mind you –, and the large halls of Riverrun… all seemingly frozen in place.
Albeit the doors feel smaller now, and I can reach without the help of a stool where I once could not, I find that I am underwhelmed, and dangerously melancholic over the time I spent in your company, which accounted for so much of my early girlhood.
Grandfather has taken to my return quite well. He is still bedridden, but somehow more vivacious that his blood is nearer yet.
I look at the portraits that adorn the walls of our darkened castle, and sometimes think back to my elder brothers. I think grandfather does so, as well.
But such terrible quarrels have no place in my dull writings! This new life isn’t as tedious as I make it out to be. I was acquainted with my Septa, though much of my education will be taken care of by grandsire now. Yesterday I walked the grounds for hours on end, and managed to spot some old and familiar faces. I had forgotten how kind the riverlords can be.
One thing that must be noted – and recognised as drastically peculiar – is how quiet it is here. Naturally, there is no active Court to gossip and flaunt back their wealth and actions.
You would like it here.
And I’ll say this much: I’d like it better if you were here, too.
I end my musings with burning questions, that you simply must answer in your next correspondence:
First and foremost, how have you been? Secondly, how are our good Queen and King? Word reached the Trident that your father’s fallen sick, and so I pray piously without stray that he recovers well and quickly. Thirdly, how is sweet Helaena fairing? Last I heard of her, the babe was close to being born.
I readily await for your reply, and urge you to make haste with it!
Until then I remain, as always,
Your inquisitive and loyal friend
His eye trails over the slight curve of her writing. And the Prince catches himself smiling, humming in admission at her carefully picked-out words.
He notices, with great perplexion, that despite his hardest efforts of stifling such impropriety, the ache inside his chest arouses. His heartbeat hammers out of him, granting a slight tremor in his lax and calloused hand.
And he stands this way, hovering over the pristine parchment, whilst bringing his hand out to pinch the bridge of his nose – rub his throbbing blinder with the back end of his hand. His broad chest heaves with every laboured exhale, and Aemond sighs with proper longing.
To my good friend,
I hope this letter finds you in good health, and in higher spirits than the day you wrote to me. It is very unlike you to barely fill a page. I expect your next communication to hold greater details of your life in the Riverlands.
King’s Landing is the same as you remember. Smells like shit and feels like shit, especially now, as I'm denied from the raptures of your company.
My routine too, remains identical. I am seated next to Aegon when we break fast as of late, and I must stress how greatly I preferred my view beforehand.
I report with great sorrow that hardly any intelligent conversation has been had since your swift departure. I'm left longing at the dinner table, for your calculated thoughts, for your sweet melodic voice, and for our elbows to be lightly touching.
Mother is overwhelmed with higher duties of the Court. I try to help her as best I can, with whatever tasks she may yet entrust me with. I lack the patience to sit idly, and so I’ve taken to Aegon’s share of duties. I fulfil them better than he ever could, and the exercise proves itself useful: for I scarcely find the time to think of you throughout the day.
The nights and morrows are harder yet, as my thoughts reach out to you, wondering helplessly how you spend your better days, so painfully far from me.
A dozen maesters tend to Viserys, each saying he will get better as time has its murky say. Yet ‘til that “eventual better” makes itself known to us all, he nurses his body with milk of the poppy, and lets mother do all his work.
Helaena is well. She dreamt the babe would be a boy, and already settled on a name for him. She wishes to call him Maelor, something that hasn’t been rebuked by Aegon.
She misses you greatly. As do I.
As does Vhagar.
The Red Keep feels empty without your fits of laughter.
Beckon your reply quickly.
Your most dutiful servant,
Aemond
A little over a week had passed since his Lady’s last reply. One week and four full days, to be exact... though Aemond would never own up to counting.
His sour mood grew to exceed all expectations, and the Prince bit his tongue through most of dinner, barely uttering a single word. His quiet nature wasn’t something to be troubled of, but even his drunk-out-of-his-mind brother noticed something had been irking him.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so brooding, brother.” Aegon voiced out his concern, after another hefty gulp of alcohol. An impish grin spread across his puffy face, and Viserys’ first-born son leaned over in his chair to soothe him. “Am I right to assume that this has something to do with the lack of reply from a certain lady of the Riverlands?”
A low growl etched from deep within the youth’s throat. Aemond regarded Aegon with a cutting look, and extended his arm forward to grip the base of the wine pouch. He took a moment to ponder on the gaucherie of getting drunk, but settled on thrusting himself to the momentary relief that a hazy mind could offer.
Briskly, he took a swing of the burning liquor, and disregarded the way in which his mother absent-mindedly glared at him.
A loud snicker echoed through the quiet room, and Aegon clasped his hands together, pouting acutely at his brother's actions. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”
A knot of heartfelt disregard tightened in Aemond’s throat, and his fist clenched painfully right above the wooden table. His free hand gripped the handle of the knife with a knowledge untoward, and the Prince shared a look with his elder brother, while rotating the blade about.
“Careful, Aegon. There are plenty of sharp objects around this table. And you haven’t been spotted in the training yard for quite some time."
His purple eyes widened to rounded specs of unreliant fear. Still he put on a lazy smile, and merely shrugged his shoulders. Aegon’s mouth opened again, threatening to spew out words that would grant no happy ending to their cosy dinnertime.
Eventually, it was Alicent’s glacial tone that interrupted their clash of wits.
“Boys,” She warned them both, not even bothering to look at them, “That is enough.”
Aegon’s mouth slouched childishly, and the man scoffed in rebuttal, while pointing at his rowdy sibling. “I was merely expressing my concern for Aemond, mother. He’s been very affected, now that his lady love abandoned him.”
Immediately Aemond rebuked his cutlery, and in the span of a single second, the Prince latched onto his berating brother. A dangerous look drew across his Targaryen features, making them all the sharper and unforgiving. Woefully he gripped his collar, hoisting him off the ground with an unnatural and vexing ease, and settled on squeezing Aegon’s gorget as he muttered to him darkly. “Either keep quiet on your own accord, or I’ll gladly silence you.”
Four white cloaks swarmed around them, and Otto Hightower nearly screamed, but the brawl reached an early end as the elder nodded rapidly at Aemond, and the latter loosened the hold he had over his bouchered vest.
“Seven Hells…” Aegon had cursed, mumbling lowly whilst feeling his neck for any sores, “Didn’t know it was such a delicate subject.”
Throwing a jaded look around the table, the One-Eyed Prince clenched his jaw.
He frowned deeply, and let out a tired hum at the notion of his sister’s face, so shocked and confused by his sudden outburst. As he felt his own grow numb, no doubt reddened by the scene he’d single-handedly played out, Aemond’s lips pursed to a tight, embarrassed line.
Whilst his hands itched him in shame, and his eye desperately avoided his mother’s, the young man instead focused on the erotic tapestries that adorned the stone-hedged walls.
His lone orb remained fixated on their arched positions, but, as his brother laughed again, Aemond begrudgingly returned his stare.
“Pardon me.” He muttered coldly, whilst giving a slight bow to the silent gathering, and, with one elegant but hurried movement, grabbed the full cask of wine, as he turned tautly to retreat to his chambers.
He swallowed thickly at his swift undoing, and chastised himself for losing touch with what was proper and allowed. His long fingers clasped painfully behind his back, digging at the flesh of his calloused palms, making him click his tongue in disarray; he notices, mayhaps too late, that all his blood had run elsewhere – thus the man takes wider steps to reach the confinements of his room, and lets out a choked-out breath, as the clogged air of his chamber finally hits his nose.
Methodical, aware and present, he sets the wine aside from him, pouring himself a generous cup, and fiddles with the expensive sheets that lay across his wooden table. His hand stumbles over the ink bottle, and the Prince levels out his rapid breathing, preparing himself to write again.
To My Lady,
A gulp of the liquid courage is all he needs to decidedly settle his red feather over the wilted paper.
Your lack of response to my latest confession irks me to no bitter end. I am a patient man, but I will not be denied entrance to your life. I will not have you refuse me the candour of communication.
Not when I spent my entire life waiting submissively by your side.
If your perpetual silence is owed to something I said, or something you’ve heard about me, I demand that you scorn me for it. Write a lengthy paragraph of all my near and far shortcomings, as you so often did when we were children. I promise to make a praying altar of that letter, grovel over it and at your feet, until my indiscretion should be forgiven.
Do not attempt to drive me away with petty ignoring. Such a feat is beneath you.
Another gulp of bitter wine is what allows his hand to flow more freely.
I confess that days and nights I have spent laying restlessly in bed, praying to the Seven to grant me passage to a single thought of yours. I ached to hear your words and feel your voice touch me so deeply. I am afraid I became brazen and unkind in the tortures of your absence.
I lest conclude that this should be a leisure letter to write – words should come easily, and in short, it should be simple for me to tell you how desperately happy I was to open your communication, and see your sweet and narrow writing.
Aemond halts his hurried musings, and encouraged by the hotness of the room, thinks back on the sinful indulgence he’d committed with her letter.
How he kissed over the parchment a million times thereafter, and how he licked at its bent corners, shuddering at the thought that her hand had ghosted over – perhaps even rested on – the marginal and flimsy paper.
He abjures his thoughts to the back of his mind, and lets out a low curse at the throb that forms over his missing eye.
A Prince should never bow, nor beg, nor relent. Yet here I stand, forever obediently at your beck and call, begging you to write again.
His patch fell heavily upon his skin. The nerves of his face stung the stimulated bit of skin, and Aemond huffed out an exacerbated breath, as he decidedly yanked the blinder away from his handsome face.
My duties at Court make it such that it is impossible for me to leave the proximities of King’s Landing. But should you make the mistake of not replying to me again, I’ll have no choice but to mount Vhagar and fly over to you myself.
… So reign your anger on me, should you need to. And just grant me with a quick reply.
Aemond.
Not even bothering to read it over, the man reached for the stamp she gifted him, inspecting its sapphire hilt with a scorned look over his face, and an angry furrow to his brow. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, as he passively set the hilt aside.
His next movements were slow, methodical – Aemond folded the paper in half, and poured the hot wax over it; grabbing the stamp, and lowering it on the paper, allowing the Targaryen seal to leave its mundane mark behind.
Harsh thoughts swirled inside his head, and the Prince lowered the parchment, promising to send word out on the morrow, and personally deliver his Lady the much-improved, insistent letter.
‘The best of friends for seven years,’ he scoffed bitterly to himself, recalling the oath they’d made each other.
He wouldn’t allow her to walk away. He wouldn’t allow her to forget about him. And he would force her to look at him, and explain the means of her reaping silence.
The gentle rays of morning wash themselves over his handsome features. The heatwaves of summer lick over his translucent skin, and the golden rays of daybreak thread themselves into his silver hair.
Aemond groaned in roaring anguish, as he ran a calloused hand up and over his throbbing cheek.
The discarded eyepatch, now resting on the floor. The littered parchments, still laying on his table. The lone letter, which had been written so angrily, just to be resentfully abandoned as his ire simmered down the night before.
Each object served as a dull and pained reminder of his lack of princely conduct, of the effects of the wine… of her brazen and determined silence.
The Prince bit over his lower lip, and fluttered his eyelid tightly shut. Enwrapped in his fine silks, and under the comforts of his chambers, he allowed his mind to lead to her again. To the image of her sprawled-out form, waiting for him inside his bed.
He sighs deeply, and questions his sanity – or lack thereof –, his patience, his virtue. What he wrote in his confessions was the fair and honest truth – In the few moments of solitude that he grantedly took for himself, the riverlander scarcely ever left his thoughts.
Aemond writhed into the mattress, and peeled the cover away from his heated body. He needn’t have looked down upon him to see the quaint trailing effect that his friend had had on him; but he did, and in the process, hastily pulled his throbbing cock out of his breeches, to begin to pump himself – mayhaps relieve the stress and anger that ruled over his very being.
A tender hiss escaped his lips, as his movements sped up in pace. The Crown Prince bit over his lower lip, and a shaky hand came to rest over his parted mouth, to dull the shameful and alluding sounds that escaped his burning throat.
He ran his thumb over the leaking tip, gathering up his seed in singular and striking swipes, guiding the clear droplets of liquid to trail towards his aching stones, and coat over his impressive length.
A low grunt slipped past his hand, and Aemond sank his teeth into the tender flesh, stifling down any further moan or laboured breath.
"F-Fuck… my Lady…"
His back shuddered from the blinding pleasure, and his free hand came to rummage under his pillows in the most desperate of searches.
His eye opened but for a moment, as his digits grazed the bent edges of the first letter she'd addressed him – the one he'd cherished with ample reverence, and secretly carried with him to every place he went.
His lilac orb trailed over the contents of the wilting parchment, which by then he knew by heart, but stopped at the very beginning of her scattered and bereft writing.
'To my dearest, Aemond' – either by crude mistake or heinous design, she'd flicked her wrist right after dearest, drawing out a bold and elongated pause, that hence consumed his wakened days.
It must have taken her no more than seconds to descend her quill upon the page, yet for Aemond, the mundane piece of calligraphy became his most burdensome slither of hope.
Before he could catch himself in his lustful daze, the Prince brought the letter to his lips, and kissed over the dried ink with devotion untoward, accelerating his ministrations as he pressed into it harder.
He pictured her alone and writing, enraptured by the dead of night, dressed up in her modest nightdress, and her hair loose from her bun. She must have made some able pauses, to glance up at the moon, perhaps, or sigh in puckered concentration.
Had she shared with him everything that was on her mind back then? Or did she hold her secrets in, choosing instead to only hint at all that they had left unspoken?
Did she also think of him, as he nightly thought of her, and in her attempts to clear her head, brought her hand out to her ruddy pearl? And did she dare to rub it gently as sinful fantasies of him emerged?
Did he plague her every thought – visited them, at the very least, nestling inside her mind, as she so oftenly did to him?
His unanswered plethora of questions only fed into his fire. His hips began to move languidly against his hand, and the familiar licks of release beckoned in his tired loins. But fucking his hand would never come close to how he envisioned fucking her would be like. How tight and welcoming her cunt must be, how she herself was so untouched, so pure, unaware of the pleasures he alone could make her go through.
How breathlessly she’d gasp against him, and leave her lascivious mark over his skin, in the form of clawed-out patterns, adorning his pale and muscled back. He would return her favour in kind, pressing himself deeper inside her, molding her warmth to the shape of his cock, leaving bruising kisses over her breasts and neck and claiming her – over and over, again and again.
His. His, his, his and his alone.
Propriety be damned, he’d have her. Ensure she’d never leave his bed thereafter.
She’d make for a fantastic mother, he caught himself thinking with abhorrence, and a new heat wave of pleasure enveloped his arched, unyielding back.
His despair reached new peaks of torture, as his mind led him to the memory of her crouching form, playing with Helaena’s twins, with such a pliant and kind smile upon her agonizing lips. How she’d chase them through the royal gardens, how the sun would catch her hair aflame…
Often during the long nights of winter, he’d shut himself inside his chambers, and touch himself repeatedly with the oils gifted from Aegon – with only that specific recollection playing tricks inside his mind.
Whilst elating her as his wife inside his head, the man slumped further into the bed, focusing on working his shaft up and down in blinding delight.
Her voice, her laughter, her handwriting and eyes – so wide and curious and always ready to look upon him, to really see him for who he was. She’d been the only one who never glanced directly at his scar. She’d focus in on his remaining eye, and listen to what he had to say. Intently. Remarkably so. She would remember his favourite book, the passages he’d read her last, and would partake in conversation – urging him to share his thoughts.
His climax neared him closer still, and Viserys’s second son focused on fucking his fist at a wilder pace than done before. Droplets of precum rolled down his cock, as forming sweat coated his brow. A final swipe of his rough thumb over the tip of his manhood, and a tender caress of his tightened stones was all it took for the man to drive himself over the edge, and feel the warmth inside his chest spread across his lower body.
He hissed painfully into the open letter, spending all over his chest and stomach and spilling her name from his parted lips.
He heaved out one breath after the other, and gingerly ran his hand over the written testament of her thoughts. He wanted to curse the Gods for making him so, for giving him the thirst for knowledge of a man fitting his station, but the crass bashfulness of a ruddy stable boy.
For the first time in his life, Aemond wished he were born different. A softer and more patient man, who’d find himself worthy of her; one more handsome, courageous and outspoken – a man who could express his feelings, without so much as a second thought, who didn't allow hesitation and carelessness to break his strengthened up resolve.
He ached to tell her all the things he’d left unsaid, when he saw her leave his sight. That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong – but not so wrong that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without exactly meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near.
That love within him laced with doubt. Longing with predestined pain. That he prayed night after night, obsessively, tentatively, that she’d grant him passage into her life again – that whatever held her from speaking to him would absolve itself with time, and he’d finally be free again.
Free to love her from afar, to revel in the bottled hope she’d grant him with the lightest touch, the faintest smile, and the most mundane of glances.
To delve further into the sweet delusion that mayhaps she'd learn to love him. That somehow he’d be deemed to be enough.
As he stood there, unmoving in his very bed, his warm seed rolled off his stomach, staining onto the silken sheets. A long sigh escaped his lips, and Aemond propped himself onto his elbow, cleaning the mess he’d left behind.
His want for her ran hard and deep, and the Crown Prince tensed once more, feeling his stomach tighten in such familiar hot knots of pleasure, that his cock went stiff again. He hummed in admission of his solitary fate and reached for the sinful oils with a shaky and extended hand. Through the musings of a quiet moan, he aligned his hips to his waiting hand, preparing to grant himself the second peak of his cursed and debauchered morning.
Alas, a lacklustre knock put an end to his self-indulgence, and Aemond stifled back a groan. He swallowed up his lust with haste, pushing himself back into his linen breeches and off the ruined satin bed – running a hand through the forming mats of his silver hair, to make himself seem more presentable.
Frustration and madness welled up within him, but he merely sucked in an irritated breath, whilst grabbing forth a shirt to adequately front himself.
“Yes, what is it?” His shaky voice barks out for him. He listens intently for any noise outside his door, and a great displeasure settles in his gut, as the voice of a servant boy echoes through the quiet walls.
“A letter for you, Your Grace. I beg your pardon for disrupting you –”
Readily he jumps out of his bed. And as if burned, as if possessed, Aemond opens the door with a readiness unperturbed, descending his anger onto the poor, expecting boy. The letter rests upon a silver platter, shaken with the messenger’s panicked voice. The Tully emblem that seals over a vast calligraphy drives the Prince to the brink of hysteria, and the Targaryen grabs a hold of the boy’s bouched shirt, pushing him further down into the hall.
“When.” He questions breathlessly, “When did the letter arrive.”
“L-Last night, Your Grace – near the hour of the wolf –”
A feral scowl settles over his sharp features. Aemond takes a step forward, tightening his fist over the cheap material, and calmly professes to the whimpering boy.
“For waiting so long to bring it to me, I should have you flogged and executed.”
The child's blabbering reaches deafened ears, as Aemond reaches for the letter crassly presented to him, and offers the youth a pressing look.
“Get out of my sight, before I should make the call of feeding you to my dragon.”
A clumsy courtesy is followed by a tantalised “Your Grace”. The echo of footsteps gets lost through the depths of the narrow hallway, and the man hums absentmindedly, before shutting himself inside his room again.
He wants to rip the envelope in a violent and perusing fashion, but his first instinct is to trail over the paper gently, to run his digits where her hands had been, to touch the edges of her writings with such a desire to be close to her that it scared him.
In a slow and gentle act, he peeled her seal away from the pesky parchment, and sucked in a hectic breath, as he scanned the contents he’d so longly dreamt about.
His hope shattered as rapidly as it came. And Aemond nearly ripped the letter, as his heart clenched painfully inside his chest.
To Aemond,
I thought about what I might say, and word it out in such a way that won’t leave you perplexed or angered.
I think it’s best for us to move along, and stop with these childish musings, that have hence occupied our time since I moved from the Red Keep.
I will forever cherish our acquaintanceship and hold your friendship in the highest regard. But I am a woman grown now – you, a man in all his right –, and we must both start to think about the survival of our families.
Please do not send me any more letters, as I won’t reply to them, and focus instead on your best interests.
The Lady Tully of Riverrun
His feet carried him close to his bed, as he grabbed a hold of her first note. Desperately, he began searching for differences – in the means that it was written, in the handwriting he’s known since his early adolescence, in the marginal and flimsy paper.
The sting of rejection fell heavily over his shoulders, but rationale trumped his crushed spirits – for there must have been something, anything inside the new communication, that would explain its fabrication.
It was impossible those were her words. She’d never been a jousting woman – never regarded her tens of suitors as less than wanting, for the simple fact she didn’t desire them. She would have let him down more softly. She wouldn’t throw away his company.
Contentment can emerge in the quietness of separation, but their friendship endured years of scorn from the gossips of the Court. Her good opinion of him just couldn’t have changed so suddenly.
A final reach entered his mind, as he folded the paper roughly, and settled it atop his table.
If those were truly her words within that letter, and she wanted him to keep his distance, she’d have to tell him to his face.
More than a week had passed since she’d sent him her first letter. A week since she’d awaited his reply, inquiring every messenger within the castle on the arrival of a straying raven, all the way from the Red Keep.
In spite of her avid efforts, each day repeated the same encounter without so much of a hitch – the scrawny boys shaking their heads, as they ceaselessly informed her that nothing addressed to her has reached the tower of the West Wing.
Since then she’d sent out two more hurried manuscripts, despite never once being graced with a reply. All hope seemed lost when she’d woken up that very day and was still met with livid silence.
Through all their years of rapid friendship, Aemond had never ignored her so. As she cut into her plate, the Lady gnawed at her bottom lip, thinking hard on what possibly could have happened to make him turn so cold towards her.
If her status quo were any different, she’d have taken the Red Fork road on horseback, to reach King’s Landing, and confront her oldest friend on the reasons for his dreaded silence.
But her grandsire had fallen ill, and little to no progress was made on his state of brittle health. Her duty thus assigned her to the Riverlands, despite her need of seeing him.
“You have been very quiet, sweet girl.” The husky voice of Grover Tully echoed through the silent chamber. The girl’s cutlery stilled upon the half-full plate, and her eyes raised from her lap, clashing with the stilling blueness, the knowing assessment of his own.
“Apologies, grandfather,” She uttered rapidly with a forced smile upon her face, “My mind was otherwise engaged.”
“As it has been for the past week.” He concluded with a quirked-up brow. The softness in his gaze enveloped her, giving her a rapid sense of security, and her grandfather coughed in the back of his hand, drawing a pattern over the motifs of their tablecloth.
“I suppose I miss some aspects of King’s Landing. I have spent most of my youth there… – though the Riverlands are just as beautiful.” She was quick to intervene.
“Is King’s Landing all that you miss, or is it a certain boy from there?”
Her bright orbs widened with her grandfather’s suggestive tone, and her cheeks reddened in place, as her voice denied it brashly, “Certainly not, I – Aemond and I are friends.”
“It might seem like a long while has passed since then, but I’ve also been young once.”
When her reply was met with sarcasm, she swallowed thickly and drove on, “We are… really good friends, but that is all.” Once again, her stare dissolved, “Though… I’m not sure we’re exactly friends anymore.”
A knowing look adorned his face, and Grover turned his attention to the family crest above their heads. He took a while to pounder, thinking longly on a vast reply, but he eventually nodded to her, and graced the child with an unperturbed, brilliant smile. “I’m sure the Prince is very busy – as are you, my sweet child. Men, and young men especially…” He muttered the latter of his teachings, “Aren’t exactly prone to sentimentality. Not in the way that women are.”
Her lips pursed into a tight line, as his words rang in her ears.
But not Aemond, she wanted to say. He was hardly like the other men she knew – he could be kind and good and comforting. He cared for her, and for their friendship. He wouldn’t just ignore her, just for the sake of not being overly attached to writing.
Although she couldn’t possibly say such a thing – for then her grandsire’s teasing would have been a certain. The girl made herself busy cutting up a piece of meat in carefully drawn-out halves, until she beckoned a reply.
“Indeed. … You’re right, I should stop being so concerned.” She strained herself to answer him. The older man hummed disconcerted, and returned upon his plating. They continued eating in silence, till he mauled himself to tell her.
“... I know how hard this is for you. But our family depends on you. I had to bring you back to Riverrun, to get the other Lords used to the image of a woman in our ancestral seat.”
“Gods, of course, grandfather – and for that, I’m more than thankful.”
Grover raised a shaky hand, and cut her off with a gentle smile, “You do understand… as much as we both hate the idea, I’ll have to soon match you with someone.”
She gripped the goblet of wine before her, and wet her lips with the bitter liquor. “... Of course I do. It is my duty.”
“Your claim will be stronger with an able man around. And if the Gods are good and you also bear a son…”
“I know.” She sighed into the ample cup, “My claim would be thus undisputed.”
“Aemond was not the right match for you.”
The girl bit over her lower lip, wanting to both negate her feelings, and contest upon his honoured values. But she simply nodded to the greying Lord before her and offered a lacklustre smile.
“Perhaps a change of scenery will do you good. I was thinking that you might like the Reach better than the Riverlands... Lyonel Tyrell is an especially kind and thoughtful host.”
A relocation was the last thing on her mind, no doubt, but the Bliss of Riverrun turned her attention to the latter of his eversion.
“Visit the Reach? You think of marrying me off to the boy of Highgarden? … He’s not yet fourteen.”
Silence washed over their council.
“Boys grow swiftly into men. I'm assured he'll be a good one for you."
“He’s a child.”
“You’re seventeen.”
“It still makes for quite the difference.”
“You won’t have to mother children until he’ll also come of age. It gives you three more years of freedom – other ladies would kill for a faction of what you have.”
“I don’t like the finality of your words."
A long and pressing breath beleft his pale and tired lips.
“I couldn’t send you to the North. Jason Lannister has no sons. The Greyjoys are ghastly savages.” As he presented her his trail of thought, Grover Tully shook his head, “And the Targaryens…”
“You’re childhood friends with King Viserys. A match would not fall outside our rank." She slipped and added restlessly, much like a frail and foolish child. Even before he could answer her, his granddaughter raised her hand, as she brushed off her latter thought. “A succession crisis will ensue.” The young woman muttered in his stead.
“I’m old – I’ve seen disputes start for much less. But here we’re talking of the Iron Throne.”
“You think a war is in its midst.”
A cutting silence washed over them. Grover lifted first from the dinner table and breathed in an anxious breath.
“I pray for the sake of the Realm that such a thing will not take root.”
The languid fires of their threshold illuminated her conflicted face.
“Then it’s a good thing Aemond didn't bother to reply to my letters.”
For but a second, Grover’s face was etched with guilt.
“We all have to protect our own.” Sometimes the means to do it are less honourable than we'd wish to.
For all that was worth on that rousy and portentous night, her fate had been agreed upon. And ever the loyal and oppressed servant, the young lady of the Riverlands left with the first callings of dawn, for the impetuous and striking gardens, which were smugly kept inside the Reach.
She would then leave, with her soul and heart all torn to pieces – yet still completely unaware that she’d never see Aemond again.
Never, at the very least, to how she’d known him to always be.
His wide and calculated steps led him to the stronghold’s gates. So easily it came for him to pass the cluttered training grounds, and disregard Ser Criston Cole with a mere shake of his head.
Above all else, he thought it then, he needed to feel his love again. He needed to hold her near once more, and ask all the outlandish questions he endured inside his head, counting for so much of his weakened days. He needed to reach a resolution, after being disregarded for so long. He needed the closure that her voice could offer him, that her mouth would utter out – that this had all been a grave mistake on her behalf, that the note never belonged to her, that she loved him as he loved her, and had merely been scared of it.
His morning session could very well await him, as he so viciously awaited the perfect chance to get away.
Two days away from the arrival of the pesky letter, Aemond had finally managed to slither unperturbed from his neat and tidy prison. Neither his mother nor grandsire had caught him in the act of it, Aegon had been too drunk to notice him dress up for a morning ride, and Helaena had solely clicked her tongue and scowled at him.
As he anxiously secured the belts of his dragon’s saddle, the man hummed in disarray – Riverrun was but a short flight away, but the despair he felt to hold her inside his arms again trumped over his better senses.
With any luck, he figured, she should still be found in bed. His love had never been an early riser, and she loathed getting out of bed in the damning morning light.
He didn’t waste time figuring out pleasantries to share with Grover – much less the words needed to explain his unprompted visit.
His sole purpose was to get to her, ask for her hand, make her his wife and forever be done with it.
He had the biggest claim to her – a Prince bonded with the largest dragon in the world, the one who’d seen and grown with her so many years inside the Keep.
The command of flying was given to his formidable dragon, and the Prince took off for the Trident's three heads.
Hopefulness emerged with unforsaked determination – but as his actions would dictate him from then on out, his efforts would be all for nought, torn apart in stinging vain.
Perma Tag-List: @welcometothelioncage
Specific Tag-List for the Fic: @howyouloveyourdragon @diamantesprincess @carriellie
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Who do you belong to?
Character: Aemond Targaryen (HOTD)
Requested? No
Warnings/notes: female reader/afab reader, omegaverse au, alpha aemond, NSFW MINORS DNI, spitting, chocking, daddy kink, breeding kink, jealous aemond, oral f receiving, knotting, unprotected sex
The feeling of kisses being placed on your thighs brought your body back to consciousness. Looking down you saw a smirk on your husbands face, his lips trailing wet kisses along your thighs. You let your eyes close enjoying the feeling gasping breathely when he took a long lick from your hole to your clit.
He lets out a throaty grown as he does, your taste making his dick twitch you feel yourself clench at the sight.
“F-fuck baby, gonna make me cum before I fuck this slutty pussy” he grunts leaning down to rub your clit as he licks and sucks at your heat.
You cant help moan as you hold his head there, feeling him suck harder the lewd slurping and groaning he makes only driving your over the edge further.
“A-em, please fuck me. Fuck my slutty pussy”
“Such a whore” he practically groans pulling away and teasingly licking your clit taking the moment you throw your head back with a moan to push three fingers in without a warning. Cutting off any protests by sucking harshly at your clit.
He pumps his fingers, curling and scissoring then inside you as her sucks your clit. He cant help grind against the bed, pr beading at the tip smearing against the sheets the more her humps them. He feels you clench around him whimpering his name as he picks up his pace never slowing as you cum hard on his fingers pulling them out to lap at your pussy. He sucks at your heat tasting every last drop of your cum hands gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise as he holds your legs open.
Now satisfied with his work he pulls back, grabbing his cock he jerks it slightly, spreading his pre all over your pussy a breathy moan escaping when you clench against his tip.
“You gonna let daddy fuck a baby into you? Gonna let me fill you with seed like the breeding slut you are?” He groans thrusting against your pussy feeling you get wetter and wetter every thrust, his tip almost slipping in every time.
“Y-yes daddy, fuck…” he pushes in giving you no time to adjust, hips slapping against your as moans and the sounds of your wetness fill the room.
He picks your legs up higher, pinning then to your chest to fuck you deeper. Your moans getting higher and higher in pitch as he goes. Grunting as you squeeze him tighter your orgasms hitting together and he releases spurt after spurt of cum into you. Your walls milking his cock.
“M-more fuck give me more” you groan, feeling his hips start thrusting again his cum still spurting into you.
“Who do you belong to?” He grunts, finally ending his orgasm he chases another hips fucking faster.
Your too fucked out to answer, clenching around his dick begging him to go harder, faster and deeper.
He growls deep, gripping your neck hard cock twitching as he reaches the edge of his orgasm. So close go falling over the edge. His hand chokes you as he whispers low in your ear, “I asked you a question slut”
You moan, “Y-you daddy. I belong to you” he smirks then, a cocky look in his eye. “Open.”
You open your mouth straight away feeling his thrusts puck up again moaning when he spits in your mouth. His hand round your throat moving to strokes your cheek as he fucks you balls slapping against your ass as he grinds into you.
“Swallow” he grunts nipping and sucking your neck as you do, the feeling of you swallowing his spit sending you both over the edge another load of hot sticky cum shooting deep inside youas he pops his swollen knot. His tip pushed against your cervix half pushed in as he cums into your womb.
A/n: Was jus thinking unholy thoughts… decided to share 😏😵💫✌️
#hotd#hotd omegaverse#hotd smut#hotd imagines#hotd x reader#hotd fic#hotd aemond#hotd aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#house of the dragon imagines#house of the dragon smut#house of the dragon x reader#aemond x reader#aemond imagines#aemond amur#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen imagines#aemond kinslayer#aemond the kinslayer#aemond one eye#house of the dragon aemond#aemond smut#aemond targaryen#aemond fic#aemond imagine#alpha aemond#omega x alpha#alpha character x omega reader#omega reader#omegaverse au
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STRONG BY NAME - Chapter 1
HOTD Masterlist - STRONG BY NAME Masterlist
NEXT
Warnings: mentions of death, explicit language, mentions of childbirth
Before the Greens and the Blacks went to war, King Viserys Targaryen, the first of his name, intends to keep his family united with a marriage between his second son, Aemond Targaryen, and his granddaughter, Alysanne Velaryon.
Chapter 1 - ALYSANNE
Aemond could not comprehend what he was looking at. A boy of nearly four, his light eyes stared down into the makeshift cribs in the nursery. Two babes bundled up so that all you could see was their pink cheeks, their soft brown eyes, and their tufts of black hair. He had heard his elder brother, Aegon, who was nearing seven, remark that these children could not possibly be true Targaryen's or true Velaryon's. Though he wasn't sure why, he was listening to the words his brother repeated from their mother. The one that had been born first was a boy, named Jacaerys as Lord Corlys had desired it, and was said to be the heir after his own mother. The second-born child had been a daughter. After all, twins did run in the bloodline.
She was Rhaenyra's own heart. A girl to cherish and love. Her own daughter. Within just mere days of greeting her, the Realm's Delight had noticed she hardly cried, she barely bothered anyone. She was happy and content, slept like a dream, and stared up at the person who held her. Rhaenyra was almost sure that her first daughter was always to be named Visenya, after the Queen who was more warrior than lady, a fierce fighter, and a steadfast woman. When the Queen, that is Queen Alicent, had asked to be presented with the children, Rhaenyra was asked what the child's name was. "My wife has chosen Vis-" Ser Laenor began and was interrupted by said wife. "Alysanne," Rhaenyra corrected. She had a feeling that the little Princess was much like her great-great-grandmother.
There the Prince was, staring into the cradle of the young Princess, not even a week old. He felt nothing as he looked at her. Why should he? The baby was unremarkable, nothing special at all. In the corner of the cradle, he spotted the dragon egg that had been placed inside. A tradition set by Queen Rhaena, the eldest sister of King Jaehaerys the First, had been ongoing ever since she placed an egg in the cradle of her brother. The egg had a burgundy shell with bright golden marbling throughout, the gold alive against the red. The bumps over the egg heavily resembled scales. It was yet another reminder to him that his own dragon's egg did not hatch.
The King had surprised the entire room when he announced it was a good idea to betroth the young twins to their first two children, a son named Aegon and a daughter named Helaena. "It will unite our family," Viserys had announced, "Jacaerys to Helaena, and Alysanne to Aegon. In time, Helaena will be a Queen,". Aemond had heard this notion but did not know what to make of it. It did not bother him. He did not understand marriage or much of the Kingdom he was born to. All he knew was that he, as he was now, did not like babies.
As Alysanne grew, she was joined by two more brothers: Lucerys and Joffrey. Like her, they each sported the dark eyes and curls that prompted them to be known as "Lord Strong" and "Lady Strong" by many. It was speculated that all four of Rhaenyra's children had been fathered by Ser Harwin Strong rather than Ser Laenor Velaryon. They resembled nothing close to a Targaryen or a Velaryon, but more to someone of common birth. That being said, many regarded Alysanne as "pretty". She had an oval face, unblemished, with round cheeks and a porcelain complexion. Her lips were naturally full and with a pink hue, her eyes almond-shaped and such a dark shade of brown that they almost looked black. Her dark black hair reached the small of her back and was relatively straight like her mother's, pulled back into many intricate braids while the rest flowed freely. She was slim at the waist with a small frame and standing quite short.
She had learned to read at such an early age and was completely fluent in High Valyrian by the age of six. Her favourite pastime was reading books on history and lore, she could play the harp with ease, and she was graceful in her dancing. She could be both wilful and timid, knowing exactly what to say and do and when and where to do it. Alysanne was gentle and kind. But most of all, Alysanne loved to fly on the back of her dragon, Veraxes. Her charcoal grey dragon, burgundy red wings, black as night claws, all speckled with the same gold the egg once had. If you could not find the Princess, she would be found by the edge of Dragonstone with her dragon, or flying high in the sky above the fortress.
She had become motherly to her youngest brother, Joffrey; directing him during feasts and dances and other occasions. It was always said that Alysanne would become such a wonderful mother when the time came, though the prospect of childbirth frightened the young Princess after seeing her mother's sixth child born. She had been beside her mother at both Aegon's and Viserys' births on Dragonstone.
Before she had left for Dragonstone, she had lived an uneventful life in the Red Keep. Though her Aunt Helaena was five years Alysanne's elder, the former would teach the latter all about the insects she caught, and they would dance together in the evenings. In truth, she loved her aunt but had little love for her uncles. They refused to sit near her, to converse with her, to dance with her, to acknowledge her. While they openly mocked her brothers with bastardy, only Aegon would say the same of Alysanne while Aemond simply nodded his head. He didn't like girls but Alysanne was always kind, no matter what. When Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Aegon had gifted Aemond with the "Pink Dread", the Princess was sympathetic and stated that he would have a dragon one day. She felt it in her bones.
And then the year 120 AC came and with it, tragedies. The Lord of Harrenhal and current Hand of the King, Lord Lyonel Strong, had perished in a fire at his fortress along with his firstborn son and heir, Ser Harwin Strong, the man rumoured to be the father of Rhaenyra's first four children. Jacaerys confided in his sister that their mother had admitted the truth of the matter. The young Princess refused to believe it to start with before she finally saw how different she looked compared to her supposed father and her mother. Secondly came the news of her aunt's death in Pentos during a difficult labour which produced a stillborn son.
Thirdly came the loss of Aemond's eye after he had claimed the late Lady Laena Velaryon's dragon, Vhagar. Alysanne had seen nothing of the fight but later had been told that it was Lucerys who had taken a blade to Aemond's eye, that he had been defending Jacaerys and their twin cousins, Baela and Rhaena Targaryen. The Prince remained adamant that it was worth losing the eye for such a mighty dragon.
And lastly was the death of her father, Ser Laenor. It had come unexpectedly after the funeral of his sister. Alysanne had been distant from her father over the years, considering he would rather be in the training yard with his squires or on the seas on an exciting voyage. Though she loved him dearly, she began to feel more angry that Ser Harwin was gone rather than Ser Laenor.
By the end of the year, Rhaenyra had moved her four children to Dragonstone and married her father's brother, Prince Daemon Targaryen, who had been the husband of the late Laena Velaryon and was the father of Baela and Rhaena. It was declared from Dragonstone that Jacaerys was to wed Baela and Lucerys was to wed Rhaena, that the once agreement of Alysanne and Aegon being wed was void for he would wed his sister, Helaena, two years later. Princess Alysanne thrived on Dragonstone, thinking fondly of her uncle, Aemond, and her aunt, Helaena, and her grandsire, the King.
Mere months after gaining her fifth brother, Alysanne and the entire family received the invitation to attend the wedding of Aegon and Helaena soon, and with an announcement to be made.
Banners/Dividers credit @firefly-graphics & @cafekitsune
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I'm seeing a lot of fanfiction depicting Aemond as a cruel, callous, uncaring man...while that might be some people's cup of tea I really balk at the idea.
He's not Daemon.
It's the same reason I get so feral anytime someone compares Aemond to Ramsay Bolton or Joffrey Lannister. It's just not him. It's how the maesters portrayed him in their skewed histories, making the Greens seem like a bunch of cartoony, two-dimensional villains. I know he's a fictional character but I'm still very attached and protective probably because I see a lot of myself in Aemond's character and the way the show portrays him.
He's not cruel or sadistic.
He cherishes the few people he loves and trusts.
I mean, cmon, the guy looks at his mother like she's the best thing since sliced bread.
Bye!
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- a dance with ancestors: prologue
summary: Every night, nestled within the silk sheets of her bed, Balenyra Targaryen dreams of the long-gone dragons and the one future she so hopelessly yearns for.
The first dance doomed her noble house through bitter and civil strife, but this second one might be its saving.
pairing: aemond targaryen x ofc!balenyra targaryen
chapter warnings: none.
notes: here is my rework and repost of my "last of her house no more" series, except now it takes place through my sweet girl balenyra's eyes. it will coexist with lohhnm but just differ in the title.
main masterlist
Greens
The Red Priestess was an unexpected sight for the family.
Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, had recently been crowned King by the High Septon within the dragonpit, followed by his queen consort Helaena, only several hours back. Spirits were still high, and the Greens hailed this small victory through cups of fresh wine, a feast, and dancing. They toasted to the health and reign of the new king and the memory of the old. And although they knew that the Princess Rhaenys would bring her word of the crowning to Dragonstone, all thoughts of the war and retaliation would wait till dawning.
Something doesn’t feel right. . . . Alicent Hightower thought to herself, her stomach in a roil. She was nursing a cup of honeyed wine while eating in silence, listening to her family’s bustling talk and the jests they threw about amongst each other.
“Are you happy, dear daughter?” came the voice of Otto Hightower. Alicent’s lips curled into a tight smile as she turned to her father, who placed a heavy hand atop her shoulder with a smile of his own. “Aegon is King now, as the gods’ will always meant. Helaena, his Queen. And through Aemond and his betrothal, House Baratheon will remain strong allies. Have no worry- things are now how they should be.”
As they should be. . .
In all truth, it did not feel that way, but she simply nodded. “Yes, father,” she murmured before excusing herself from the dinner table, needing to clear her mind. She caught Helaena’s attention as she left, but the young girl soon lost interest and glanced back to her plate.
The realm is going to rise in madness.
Alicent recalled the Princess Rhaenys before the coronation. You are wiser than I believe you to be, Alicent Hightower. She did not feel any wiser nor better about her earlier decisions. “Aegon is King,” she told herself as she made her way through the dimmed corridor, empty of the servant folk. “He is King, as Viserys wanted. . . As the gods permitted. . .”
And it was Alicent Hightower, Queen Dowager, that came across a Red Priestess standing alone in the Keep’s Great Hall, a silent and still statue shrouded in an elegant blood-red gown that pooled around her feet. Around her slim neck was a thick necklace with a large, blackened jewel that rested across her collarbone. The queen sucked in a deep breath at the sight. Both her late husband and father spoke of the Red Priests and Priestess, the sacred clergy in the faith of the R’hllor. The Lord of Light. Their presence was both rare and only for a reason.
The hall remained quiet, with both women just staring at each other. Then the Priestess unclasped her hands apart. “You were awarded a fine victory today, Alicent Hightower,” she spoke in the common tongue, “How might you feel?”
The queen did not know what to say to that. “Good,” Alicent answered, unsure. She could feel her heart quickening within her breast, and her father calling out for her outside the room, asking where she had gone. “You are a Red Priestess,” she then said, swallowing thickly, “-mind my tongue, for I have never had the pleasure of meeting one before; I have been told you appear for reasons only you know of. . . Dare I ask why you grace my family with your presence, especially on a night like this?”
The Red Priestess took a short step towards her. “I am as old as the waves of the sea, and the midnight stars you gaze upon in the sky.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled, pale eyes sparkling. “I have lived so many lives. . . seen many things. I witnessed the reign of Aegon the Dragon and that of his successors- both good and bad, kind and evil. . . And from your borne children shall come new kings. . . but you seem to know that already.”
“Do I?” Alicent prompted, her tone weak and soft.
She simply strode closer to the queen, who hid her trembling hands behind her back. The Priestess’s accent was thick and strange, unlike any voice she had ever heard before. “You would sacrifice everything you have to ensure the lineage is of your blood. It is an admirable thing until it isn’t.”
ALICENT! Otto Hightower shouted from outside. But Alicent could not answer his calls. She could also hear her sons asking for her as well, their footsteps growing louder, closer. Had she been gone for that long? It felt like it had only been several minutes. . .
Do not come, she wanted to scream. Please. . ! Stay over there. . .
“Admirable, one might say. Or perhaps even foolish. I cannot help but wonder what might happen if you were granted a chance to see the future,” the Priestess paused shortly, her lips quirking, “Do you believe in it, the future? Many men do not, but alas, did they not say the same about the dragons?” Alicent opened her mouth, but the words fell stuck in her words. Suddenly she felt as if she was back in Rhaenys Targaryen’s bedchamber.
Alicent!
Mother?
Soon the hall’s massive doors slammed open. “WHAT IS GOING ON?” Otto yelled, entering the throne room. He was followed by his three grandchildren, two of whom were clutching longswords and daggers in their hands. “Alicent, my daughter, I have been calling for you to rejoin us-” his voice fell as he soon took notice of the Priestess standing but a few feet away, his hand dropping to the hilt of his own sword. He then turned to his two grandsons, bidding them to sheath their own.
“What has happened?” Otto caught her arm. “Are you troubled?”
Alicent shook her head, draping a hand over his. “No, father,” she told him gently, “but we have a guest.”
“Yes, I can see that. Red Priestess,” Otto nodded through a slight bow. “With that do we owe this honor? Are you here to bless the new king, perhaps?” he asked.
The Priestess shifted her shoulders towards the newcomers, breathing deeply. “I’ve come to spread the word.” Along the stone hall walls, the draperies swayed back and forth in a wash of ebony and crimson silk.
“The word?”
“Yes. A new king has been crowned today, it seems. . . and because of that, the future shall pay the price.”
Her eyes met Alicent’s and Otto’s, who stared her way in sheer disbelief. “The world is the way it because of Dragons. Dragons are gifts from the Lord of Light, sent to purify the non-believers and sinners. And the Lord of Light fashioned the Targaryens to control such. This world has known only the Targaryens. The smallfolk and the high lords, they have all bowed to the Targaryens and their dragons. To the fire made flesh. . .” she paused, frowning, a tiny crease appearing between her eyes, “-what would happen if there were no more to submit to?”
“Dragons?”
“No. Targaryens.”
The Priestess eyed the Hand and the Queen Dowager first, then drifted her sharp gaze to the newly crowned King, and his Queen Consort, and their future Kinslayer brother. Three of them, Targaryen blooded. Silver crowns and soft violet eyes. Dragon riders. Highborn and beautiful.
All will be dead soon, a pity. Their deaths will speak poetry to the lives they lived. Her features grew sympathetic, and her tone softened with kindness and mercy when she said, “While I come to spread the word, I am here to show it to you as well. Your family is doomed, and this is your one chance to save it.”
Targaryens
Her queen mother, above many things, is a dreamer.
The young princess cherished hearing stories belonging to the long days before her birth on the Dothraki Sea. According to the maesters, who already began writing the histories down in their scrolls and books, Daenerys Stormborn, in her early months of being a Khaleesi, dreamt of dragons every night in her tent. All her dreams played out the same- that if she braved the fire, her eggs would hatch. Such sounded nonsensical, of course, until it finally happened beneath the black midnight sky.
Her mother did say the Targaryens possessed the strange ability to do things normal men could not.
Sometimes, in the later morning hours, she would join her mother underneath the shade of their lemon trees and ask if she had dreamt any new dreams. Daenys Targaryen saw the doom of Old Valyria in her sleep, and the ill-fated Helaena prophesied her kid brother, Aemond One-Eye, losing his eye in the claiming of his mount, Vhagar. History remembered all of them; she often wondered if her mother would continue to foresee the future like them, and if she did, would anything change in their house’s fate.
Alas, to her dismay, nothing has changed. Her beloved mother has dreams, but none of the kind she pines to hear.
As of right now, she is her mother’s sole heir to the throne, the proclaimed future queen of the realm. Balenyra Targaryen, first of her name, born to Daenerys Stormborn and her Khal Drogo. The youngest in their dragon brood. Her shoulders ache a terrible lot, bruised and swore from the heavy burden she carries, knowing the dragon dynasty perishes with her death. But she refuses to sink beneath it.
The living maesters claim there are bits and pieces of Rhaenyra Targaryen in her face; perhaps that is why the white stag chose her as well, and why she is this Seven Kingdoms’ Delight. The last Valyrian She-Dragon. In the Keep’s courtyards, she trains with Valyrian-steel swords and spell-forged arakhs; tucked away in one of the little libraries, she studies her history and philosophy, and flies across the bright-blue seas on the backs of the largest dragons in the world.
If her history is to include the fall of her House Targaryen- the true and goldenblood dragonlords of Old Valyria, Balenyra vows to herself to make it the greatest regal reign the maesters shall ever record.
#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond the kinslayer#aemond fanfiction#hotd aemond#hotd aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen fanfic#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd fanfiction#hotd fanfic#vic writes 🧸
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Real borgias in hotd wd be the love traingle of Aegon,Rhaenyra n Aemond....
Imagine scenario where there was a sudden change of decision by Rhaenyra that she would marry Aegon n both of them would rule together. Aegon slowly starts to love n enjoy Rhaenyra as she provides him freedom and support both which Alicent never did. Meanwhile Rhaenyra was just playing with Aegon so that she could keep them under her control and attack with daemon when right time would come.
On the other hand Aemond fuming on this decision as he hates Rhaenyra. Him having whole another level of obsession with Rhaenyra and wanting crown increasing every day seeing Aegon and Rhaenyra together while having a keen eye on Rhaenyra's every move. Rhaenyra teasing n mocking Aemond daily that only she is going to rule actually and she is just keeping Aegon as her love puppet. Taunting him that he will never get the crown and his revenge. Threesome with hatred and passion would have been so 🥵
Imagine the whole game( I would have been 10 times more interested in the show if this was storyline honestly 🌝😑)
#house of dragons#aemond targaryen#hotd fandom#rhaenyra targaryen#hotd rhaenyra#hotd aemond targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon the second#king aegon ii targaryen#aegon ii#king aegon#queen rhaenyra#hotd aemond#hotd aegon#hotd imagine#aegon x rhaenyra#aemond x rhaenyra#rhaegon#hotd#rhaenyra x aemond
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Hi I have a request I’d like to make ^_^
Can you write something where Aemond is a bit shy when he cums, so he’s always burying his face against her neck, but this time reader really wants to see his expressions when he climaxes so she’s on top for the first time. He’s a little taken aback but he can’t deny the view is great. When he almost gets to climaxing he’s like “w-wait! I’m close..!” And she just grabs his jaw, making forced eye contact and proceeds to ride him even harder until he cums.
I LOVE it when people reach out off of anon. Very brave. Much courage.
ANYWAY, your wish is my command. Pls enjoy.
Warnings: As if this needs any. You know there will be smut. NSFW. 18+
Word count: ~1k
Aemond had always been a generous and attentive lover. Despite not having much in the way of sexual experience prior to your marriage, he was a perfectionist and eager to learn. He had spent hours poring over every tome that the Red Keep’s library had to offer on the act of pleasure, and plentiful practice had meant there was never a day that you were left wanting physically.
It had taken a while to convince him to remove his eyepatch in front of you. His claim of “I have no desire to frighten you, my love.” had made your heart ache. He was clearly self conscious of his disfigurement, but you were desperate to see all of him. The night that he had finally relented and allowed you to lift it from his face had been a tender moment for you both. You had pressed gentle kisses to his scar and reassured him that you loved all of him, he didn’t need to hide any parts of himself from you.
Despite this, one of those frustrating factors for you in your marriage to the One-Eyed Prince was that during the act of love he would always hide his face from you at the point of climax. Either by burying his face in the crook of your neck if you lay below him or throwing his head back if he took you from behind. You knew it was fuelled by his insecurity regarding his eye and it bothered you that there was still an element of discomfort for him in your relationship. You were determined to fix it.
You’d tried to outsmart him one morning, sliding down the bed to take him into your mouth, watching his face carefully as you’d bobbed your head back and forth along his thick length. However, as he’d reached the apex of his pleasure, he’d turned his head away into the pillows, leaving you with a mouthful of his spend and an overbearing sense of exasperation.
A week later the two of you lay together in your marital bed, each of you on your side, facing each other. The ever increasing passion of your kisses and the way Aemond’s hands roam the curves of your body make it explicitly clear where things are headed. An idea strikes you.
Hooking a leg over Aemond’s hip, you roll him onto his back, sitting astride his hips.
A slight raise of his eyebrow, that would have been imperceptible to anyone else, lets you know that your actions have shocked your husband and you grin down at him.
“What are you doing, dōna ābrazȳrys?” He asks curiously. Sweet wife.
“Just trying something different, my dragon.” You purr back.
His right eye watches with keen interest as you reach between your bodies, positioning his hardened cock at your entrance before sinking down slowly.
You gasp at the stretch of him and the unexplored depth and angle. This is a new position for both of you, but it is not an unwelcome sensation. From the sharp inhale through his nose that Aemond takes as he grits his teeth, you can tell that he’s enjoying it too.
Gingerly, you begin to grind your hips back and forth against his. Unsure of what you are doing, your lack of experience causes you to hesitate, so you are grateful when Aemond grasps your hips and helps your movements along as he thrusts up into you.
His right eye drinks in the sight of you appreciatively as you ride him. From the contorted expression of pleasure on your face, to the bounce of your breasts and the roll of your hips against his. “Vok.” He whispers, as you move above him. Perfect.
His praise instills you with renewed confidence and you move your hips faster, harder, until Aemond’s grip on you tightens, his breathing becoming ragged. The familiar tensing of his abdominal muscles and pulsating of him inside of you are all you need to feel to know he is close to his end. You smirk down at him.
Panic washes over his features as he attempts to turn his face away. “No, no, I’m close!” He groans.
“I know.” You breathe out, taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger to turn him back towards you. “I will look upon your face as you fill me.”
You continue to ride Aemond. The beginnings of his protestations die on his lips as his release takes hold. Your lips part, eyes wide with both wonder and enjoyment as you take in the sight of his pleasure drunk features as he pumps you full of his seed.
His brow is furrowed. The blue iris of his right eye is no longer visible from the dilation of his pupil. The bridge of his nose is scrunched ever so slightly, distorting the positioning of the scar that runs along the left side of his face. His mouth hangs agape as an almost feral sounding grunt escapes him.
You have never seen anything quite so beautiful as your husband in the throes of ecstasy. You cannot quite believe that this is what he has been hiding from you all this time. Your own pleasure is long forgotten to you as you gaze adoringly down at him.
Suddenly he pushes you off of him with a force that causes you to collapse onto your own side of the bed.
“I’m sorry you saw that.” He mutters, turning away from you, clearly distressed.
You reach out a tentative hand, stroking his shoulder. “Aemond, we’ve spoken about this…”
He sighs. “I know, ñuha jorrāelagon, but it is one thing for you to flatter me during idle conversation. It is another entirely for my disfigurement to rob you of your pleasure.” My love.
You pull him gently onto his back, looking down at him with concern. “What do you mean?”
“You saw my face when I…when I- and you didn’t peak.”
Your features soften as you chuckle slightly. “Aemond, you were so breathtaking to me in that moment, that I quite forgot that that was the intention.”
Aemond eyes you suspiciously. “Really?”
You nod. “Aemond, my words to you are not just flattery. I mean it when I say I think you are perfect. Please never hide your face from me again.”
He appears to consider this for a moment before speaking. “Okay, dōna ābrazȳrys. But you must allow me one exception.”
“And what is that?”
Aemond smirks wickedly at you as he lowers himself on the bed. “My face will be hidden when it is between your thighs. No wife of mine will go to sleep unsatisfied.”
#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#aemond one eye#aemond stannies#hotd#pro aemond targaryen#prince aemond targaryen#hotd aemond targaryen#aemond#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fluff#hotd smut#hotd fluff#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fan fiction#aemond targaryen fanfiction#hotd fanfic#hotd fan fiction#hotd fanfiction
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false god
Aemond pulled away from her. He studied her features, her longing doe eyes locked on his own. "Forget that any of this happened." He said. Her face was forming a frown. Their lips were swollen, their chocolate and platinum hair shriveled, and their eyes darken with torment and desperation.
"I thought I was changing your mind?" She asked in confusion. She placed her hand on Aemond's cheek, but he striked it away, making her step back a little from him.
"Oh, naive youth. Nothing was ever going to change my mind." Aemond kept his distance while still looking closely at her. "You let your blind faith lead you?"
"I know you, uncle, we both know each other! We've shared time and moments, intimate moments. Are you denying me?" She was choked up, and her eyes were tearing up. "Do you deny what we have? Did I do something? Have I wronged you?" Aemond knows she was about to cry. He hated hurting her. Furious at himself for letting someone so precious and close to him go. Hurting and pushing away the one who holds his heart. The one who got him wrapped around her finger.
"You are a child!" he shouts as the silence that follows deafens their ears. Aemond wanted to comfort her. Battling the urge to wrap his arms around her and kiss her to provide her comfort. He looked down before speaking again, "You must leave for Dragonstone now, my sister awaits you".
"N-no Aemond no, please don't do this to me. I need you, I burn for you, we burn together. We are gods, we are fire, we are meant to be with each other, we are meant to burn together." She sobbed as she begged. Aemond's heart ached at her confession. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close to his face.
"Do not mistake lust for love, niece. I do not see you the way you see me. I am not at fault that you chose to confide in me. Leave now, or I'll hurt you. You disgust me bastard." Aemond hissed. Agony was in her eyes as tears continued streaming down her cheeks.
She gently pushed Aemond's hand away from her arm. She leaned forward, her lips about to touch his cheek, but she resisted, not wanting him to hurt her any further, making her step back and stare at his eye, and scanned his harsh features before turning her back on him and walking away. Leaving their yearning hearts broken.
#ewan mitchell#house of the dragon#hotd#house of the dragon aemond targaryen#hotd aemond targaryen#aemond#aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond one eye#aemond kinslayer#song of ice and fire#aemond targaryen imagines#aemond x reader#aeemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen angst#forbidden love#prince aemond targaryen#aemond the kinslayer#the one eyed prince#sapphire eye#aemond targaryen fic#hotd imagine#hotd season 1#tainted faces#yovrstruly23
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Sic Transit Gloria Mundi (8)
Masterlist
[Modern!Aemond x Fem!Reader]
[Warnings: Death, gore, aftermath of animal attacks]
[Summary: Let's gather 'round the campfire and sing our campfire song. Our C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E S-O-N-G song!]
Word Count: 4.6K
Chapter 8
Small cursive lettering filled the pages of the journal, and intermittent doodles marked the page, words overflowing around all of it. A discordant look at your inner thoughts, Aemond mused.
Dear Dad,
I met my fiance today and he is the absolute fucking worst. You would have kicked his ass. I wasn’t expecting him to sweep me off my feet but the first fucking thing he did was shove a prenup in my face. Nice to meet you too, asshole.
He couldn’t have been that callous, could he? He had to have given you some form of acknowledgment. Was his first impression that bad? Aemond frowned as he skimmed over the pages, looking for mentions of his name until landing on the next passage.
Dear Dad,
Today has been the worst birthday I’ve ever had. Aemond started my day off by barging into my room at five in the goddamn morning to interrogate me about Sunspear. He apparently saw my post and demanded to know why I was spending “his” money taking vacations. He literally just stood there bitching until I walked into the bathroom. I don’t think it ever occurred to him that I have my own fucking money and my own means of travel. After that the Kazoo preacher was back on the subway screaming about 'the children', and if all that wasn’t enough fucking Jaydee didn’t put the boiling chip into the test tube and it blew up on my goddamn arm. I wanted to take Vaeryx for a quick flight but the wheels were too chewed up after my last landing. Your jacket doesn’t smell like you anymore. I really wish you were here.
Aemond swallowed suddenly. He didn’t even remember doing these things, but the pen marks dug into the page afterward. Another wave of guilt hit him at the realization that he didn’t know when your birthday even was. The journal hadn’t been dated, and he never asked.
Dad,
I got accepted for a summer workshop at Storm’s End Tech!!! If that isn’t exciting enough we’re studying bacteria at the thermal vents off the coast of Cape Wrath!!! Professor Webber really pulled through for me, she was saying that this will really help me when I apply for grad school. Do you remember the house we lived in when you were stationed at Qaehrys? The one with the big window that led onto the roof? I really miss laying there and looking at the constellations with you. I took your telescope out tonight and searched the moon until I found Vaegon’s Crater. Dr. Lee said that’s the most likely spot they’d put a base and it’s apparently less than a decade away. When it goes up I’m going to be there, and I’m bringing your telescope.
Wait, what? Aemond knew that you were a student, but he always assumed you were pursuing business or something. Guilt crashed over him at the realization he had never taken the time to ask you what you were studying. He had never taken the time to ask you anything about yourself, really. He never really had much interest in microbiology, but maybe you were like Helaena and her entomology. Beyond that, never in a million years would he have guessed that you were planning to become an astronaut. You? Did they even send microbiologists to space? Aemond sighed as he put the journal down. He told himself that he was doing this to get to know you better. To support you. But he felt like he knew even less than before and at the cost of your privacy.
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The trilling of insects was the only source of noise, save for the torch. A melancholy silence was cast over the circle surrounding the pyre. Aly held the torch, dried blood and tear tracks staining her face. Silent sobs started to erupt from her as the kindling beneath Sabitha’s feet sparked. She next lowered the torch towards her girlfriend’s knees, following it with her shoulders. Aly wiped globs of snot off her face with one hand, using the other to cast the torch into the burning base of the pyre. Tears fell as you squeezed Nettles’ shoulder. She turned her gaze towards you, her massive brown eyes brimmed with tears. Your gazes shifted back to Sabitha, and the sight of teeth peeking through her torn cheek. “Mother above,” Myri exclaimed, her gaze fixed on Sabitha’s twitching hand. “She’s alive.” Panicked looks shot out across the group. “She’s alive! She’s-”
Aly ran towards the pyre, repeated “No’s” being exclaimed as she wrenched Sab off the pyre by her belt loops. Sabitha fell with a heavy grunt, and Aly immediately set out to put out the flames that had cropped up on Sabitha’s jeans. The redhead just lay there, intermittent grunts and gurgles emerging. You lowered yourself to the ground as quickly as you were able, lifting her head so that Myri could rest a blanket under it. “I got you,” Aly whispered, grasping her girlfriend’s hand.
“Really?” Sabitha groaned, “Fire?” The gurgle couldn’t suppress the sarcasm in her tone. She let out the smallest chuckle she could manage. The rest of you were still too keyed up from adrenaline to do anything but pant and stare.
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Just one more, Aemond told himself. He stared at the journal ahead of him and pulled it back onto his lap. One more, and that was it. He would put the journal back and he would leave it this time. His fingers brushed over the indents in the page, smudges bleeding out to the right.
Dad!!
I think I met somebody recently.
Happy doodles filled the margins of the journal, little flowers crammed into each individual corner.
She’s in my lab. She’s Westerosi, but I think you would really like her. R’hllor, what do I even say? She’s so fucking smart, Dad. She’s kind of shy but it’s actually really adorable. She’s just… a ray of sunshine. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say something mean about anybody else. Just really, really uplifting. Gods, it feels so good getting on the train knowing I’ll see her dorking out over S. aureus with that adorable ass grin on her face. I don’t know if her being so different from Aemond is what makes me like her, but it’s such a breath of fresh air.
Aemond stopped reading the entry after the last mention of his name. While his stomach turned at your Hallmark-worthy descriptions of Emerson, he was grateful it provided a natural stopping point for him. He felt a small pang of pity. Here you had written a dissertation about how much you liked her, only to have it repaid with a whole two months of devotion. No more. Aemond put the journal back into the nightstand and shut the door behind him.
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Your teeth grit as your foot hits the ground. Rhaena shot you a comforting smile, and you responded with a brief one before putting one foot in front of the other. Sabitha grunted from behind you, leaning against Aly. The two of you paused for a moment so the pair could catch up to you. “When we get back we’re gonna need clean water and thread to stitch them up.” Aly nodded while you shifted your weight onto your left leg.
“Leave me.” Blood was soaking through the bandage Rhaena had wrapped around Sabitha’s face, her voice coming out muffled. Between that, and the eerie sound of her sucking air in through the hole in her face it was a wonder anybody could understand her.
“Sab, stop it.”
“It’s-” Sabitha’s head lolled into Aly’s cheek, her auburn hair stiff with dried blood. “Not… Safe.”
“Don’t say that! We’re almost there!” Aly looked like she was about to start crying again, her powder blue jacket darkened with brown stains.
“Let them go,” Sabitha said, one hand coming up to weakly clutch at the vertebra around her neck. “Let them go.” She turned her gaze towards the rest of you then, grunting quietly before Aly acquiesced.
“Go back to the cabin as fast as you can.” She turned towards you, Nettles, Rhaena, and Myrielle. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but you had kept a decent pace so far. Thankfully it seemed like the wolf didn’t fuck up your muscles. There was still a mottled wreck beneath the cloth bandages, but it was superficial. It would heal. You would be fine.
“Aly?” Nettles whispered, worry furrowing her brow.
“Go.” Aly ordered.
The four of you got back to the cabin after what felt like an entire day, pain slicing through you with each step you took. For your part, all you could really do was be grateful that you could walk. This godsforsaken place put a lot of things into perspective. The four of you finally stumbled onto the porch, as panicked gazes took in the massive bloodied bandage on your thigh. “By the seven.” Sara got up off the porch as you moved to sit. “What happened?” Looking around the group, the blonde’s eyebrows wrinkled. “Where are Aly and Sabitha?”
“She… she told us to leave them.” Rhaena panted out. Floris took her hand and Baela scrambled to your side, tears brimming in her eyes.
“We were attacked by wolves.” But with how big they were, they might just be direwolves. Who knows, maybe a snark would cuntpunt you next. Anything was possible in this shit-ass forest. Fuck this country. Barba rushed out of the cabin, her icy eyes widening in panic. A hand clapped over her mouth as she looked at you, her jaw trembling for a moment. Gathering herself, she grabbed Rhaena by the arms. “Show us where to go.”
You grunted as the hot needle punched through your skin. Exposed to the open air was a horrifying sight. The flesh of your right thigh was mottled with black bruises, puncture marks on multiple spots. The cherry on top of it was the massive chunk of skin that had been wrenched from your leg when you kicked the wolf off you. Clenching your jaw, you hummed through your grit teeth. Seasick Sarah, had a golden nose. Hobnail boots, wrapped around her toes. The needle pierced through each layer of gored skin, fiery pain erupting as it happened. The parts of the wound that could be sewn up were. The chunk of skin that had been torn off could not be sewn shut. So as of right now, you were biting down on Floris’s belt, preparing for Nettles to press the heated knife onto your wound. You looked away, staring off into the darkness outside the window. The first burn lasted for a few seconds, and you bit into the belt hard enough that your jaw ached. After that, the next session started. You started to feel hazy about what seemed to be halfway through, and when she was done you were drifting in and out of consciousness. Sara sat at your side, stroking your hand. You pulled the blanket up more tightly over yourself, shivers wracking you. “You hanging in there?” She questioned, her tone soft. “Need another blanket?” You nodded abruptly.
“I thought it’d be warmer.” You murmured as her face drifted in and out of your field of vision. Her silvery hair flickered in the light, darkened roots showing at the crown of her head. When she placed the blanket over you, you curled into it. Turning away from her, you sank into the warmth of the cot and the blackness of sleep.
Muffled screams roused you, and you turned to the source of the noise. Disorientation clouded your mind until you caught sight of Sabitha lying on the table. The same hooked needle that went into your thigh was currently being plunged into her face. Baela’s expression wavered as she held Sabitha down. Please pass out. Sabitha continued to writhe in pain, thrashing against Baela. Please just let her pass out. Muffled shouts echoed through the cabin, and you found yourself covering your ears. Barba stared at Sabitha, a conflicted expression on her face as she grasped the weirwood pendant around her neck.
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Aegon sat across the table from Aemond, one arm on the back of the booth and the other dipping a fry into ketchup. He ate that, chewing for a moment while grabbing the massive, greasy burger and dunking that into the pile of ketchup afterward. Aemond held back the urge to physically cringe. His brother’s disgusting eating habits had always irritated him, and Aegon weaponized that. “So.” Half-chewed burger rolled around in Aegon’s mouth, and Aemond clenched his fist under the table for five counts before releasing it. “Moat Cailin?” He grinned, taking another slobbering bite of the dripping burger.
Aemond rolled his eyes. He cut into his chicken vesuvius carefully, picking up a piece of chicken and potato before properly chewing it, placing his silverware down, and staring Aegon in the eye while doing so. When he finished chewing he finally spoke. “I’m going out on one of the search rafts.” He said flatly, cutting another piece of chicken. “Maybe you should come.” A pointed stare was shot Aegon’s way, and he shrank back at the retort. It was no secret that he moved on from Sara a while back, but something shifted in Aegon’s gaze. His brother fidgeted in his seat. Aemond narrowed his eye as he ate, what was he hiding?
“What do you think they’re doing right now?” Aegon asked suddenly, taking another bite of his burger.
Aemond sighed. What would you be doing right now? He hoped you were dipping your feet in the Greywater, laughing with your friends. “I don’t know, trying to culture swamp bacteria,” Aemond said with a shrug, spearing a potato. “Whatever microbiologists do.” He finished.
“What?” Aegon said, his head quirked to the side like a puppy.
“Microbiologist. Somebody who studies ba-”
Aemond was cut off by barking laughter from Aegon. His brother set the burger down with a gross slap. Aegon leaned back in the booth, one arm cocked over the top of it. “She’s not a microbiologist.” He let out another guffaw.
Fury rose in Aemond as he clenched his fist. “She’s not an astronaut yet ei-” Another round of laughter cut Aemond off as he slammed his fist down onto the table, a couple across the restaurant shooting them a nervous look.
The action did nothing to faze Aegon, who continued laughing as he popped another fry into his mouth. “You’re guilting me about not going to Moat Cailin and you don’t even know your wife is an astrobiologist. Oh fuck, I knew it.” He lifted the burger back up to his mouth and took a messy bite, smacking it around. “I knew your marriage was bullshit.” He cackled, shaking his head before swallowing.
Aemond paled, looking around suddenly, grateful that nobody seemed to be paying attention to anything other than their own meals. His eye narrowed as he took in Aegon’s smug face, his fist aching as he clenched it. “You don’t know anything.” He hissed.
“Aemond.” His brother sat up for a moment, setting his burger down. “I’m a fuck up, but I know people.” His usual candor came back to him again a moment later, taking a loud slurp of his milkshake. Aemond stared off to the side, angrily following the insipid breathing exercises Dr. Greenwood had given him. “Is that what this is about? You feel guilty because you were a dick to her?”
“I just want her to be happy once she gets back home.” He stated flatly, hoping his idiot brother would finally drop the question.
“So when are you moving out?” Aegon needled. “Seriously, what makes you think she’d want anything to do with you when she gets back? You don’t even know what she's getting her Master's in.” When Aemond tensed to get up he paused. “Wait. I shouldn’t have said that.” He admitted. “Hey.” Aegon made eye contact with him, an uncharacteristically serious look flashing over his face briefly. “I have a secret too.” Aemond stared back at him, nodding at him to continue. “Me and Floris have been fucking for the past year or so.”
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“I have an announcement.” Said announcement fell on deaf ears, with most people turning over. Barba grabbed a metal ladle, clanking it on the wooden table. “Hello!” She banged it repeatedly, and you groaned as you sat up. “Hi! Excuse me!” Rubbing your eyes, you looked around the cabin. “Thank you,” Barba said quietly. “In light of the expedition having ended how it did, I’m going to take the dead guy’s plane and fly south. I’m going to find us help and I’m going to get us out of here.” She nodded as if hyping herself up.
Fuck. “You’re gonna fly that thing?” Barba nodded at you, and you shook your head. When you talked back in your clearing you didn’t think the expedition would end this way. This shit was still crazy. No. There is no fucking way. “You don’t know if that plane is operable.”
“I’ve been looking over it for weeks, and the gas tank is full.” She threw her hands up suddenly. “I’m a pilot, I grew up watching my Grandpa fly. I have two-hundred flight hours. I know that I can do this.” Your heart sank, throat clenched tight as you stared at her pleadingly. “You can’t deny that Sabitha doesn’t need serious medical attention.”
“She’s not the only one.” Sara piped up, her gaze flickering over to her best friend emotionlessly. “Floris, tell them.”
“I- I really don’t.” You shot a glare at Sara, in disbelief that she really just derailed this so she could force Floris into telling everybody.
“Tell them.”
“What is it?” Luke asked, his doe eyes confused.
“Yeah, what is it?”
You gave Floris the most supportive look you could muster, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m pregnant.”
Rhaena immediately stood up, bounding over to Floris. “How far along are you?”
“Wait, did you get knocked up out here?” Myrielle asked, an eyebrow quirked in Jace’s direction. Baela’s eyes bored holes into the back of Myri’s skull.
“No, I…”
“It doesn’t matter when it happened,” Sara said, a sanctimonious look on her face. “Okay? It just matters that we get them both help.”
Rhaena tried to grab at Floris’s stomach, and she swatted her hands away. “Rhaena, not right now.” She snapped.
“Alright, can everybody just.” Ser Criston ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Barba, you can’t do this.” He commanded. “No. It’s not even close to safe.”
“There is no ‘safe’ anymore, Ser Cole.” Barba retorted. Her face was hard, different. “It’s going to be winter soon. If I don’t do this, we’re…” She paused for a moment, shaking her head. “We’re all gonna fucking starve.” You fidgeted with your hands, holding back tears that pricked at your eyes. It didn’t feel right. There was something you were missing.
“Alright, well, I’m still the oldest here, so, no.” He flatly responded, gesticulating with his one free hand as he leaned on his crutch. “I’m not gonna let you do it.”
Barba’s face hardened even further. You barely recognized this person, icy eyes narrowed to a point. She took a step forward. And another. “What are you gonna do to stop me, Ser?” Her face twisted into a sneer as she gave him a once-over. Tension filled the cabin as the two of them stared off.
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Aemond thought that he should feel more nervous. He sent you on a plane that crashed, it seemed only right that he should be subjected to the same fate. But he didn’t and he wasn't. Shockingly enough he felt freer than he had in months. He told Dr. Greenwood everything. Everything that Aegon told him, everything he himself had done, everything he could think of in the session came directly out of his mouth. He thought that another person knowing his sins would destroy him, but Dr. Greenwood hadn’t judged him. All she did was give him a plan to avoid the urge to do those things again. The only thing that weighed on him were Helaena’s words. ‘What if you’re looking too far south?’ When he told Dr. Greenwood about it, she had simply stated that everybody was bound to have their own theories and that he should trust the experts. Logically he knew she was right, but he still couldn’t shake the lingering worry that Helaena was. What if they were wasting their time down here and you were up near Winterfell? The plane ride was uneventful, and Aemond spent the entire time catching up with some work. He technically had until Tuesday off, but today was only Thursday and he wanted less to catch up on. The ride to his hotel was… interesting given that it was essentially a private hut floating on the water. The boat sailed through choppy gray water, and insects flew at Aemond from every direction. When he finally got to his hut, he was relieved to find that his secretary hadn’t booked a hovel. Setting his things down, he moved to enter the shower. When he got out he set about his usual routine. He opened his laptop to get some more work done before shutting it and turning the TV on before eventually settling on a documentary series about Valyria.
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You set about helping the best as you could with your leg still in the condition it was. Mauling or not, work still needed to be done if Barba was going to fly the plane out of there. You tore up another plant as you watched Sara and Floris talk. There was obvious tension there, but Sara played coy and watched while Floris yanked roots out. Eventually, Floris walked off in a huff, and you set your gaze back downward. You would find her later tonight.
When a runway was cleared and all vines were taken off you all stood in front of the plane as Barba arrived. You crossed your arms over your chest and tried to suppress the feeling of dread that grabbed hold of you. She had her backpack on, tugging on the straps as she smiled nervously at Jace. Jace in response pulled her in for a hug. They stayed for a minute before she embraced Nettles, and then Sara. “Be safe, okay?” Barba nodded at Sara’s request. She smiled as she pulled Floris in for a hug, and a few more crowded around her in a group hug. All you could do was watch, a sense of foreboding stirring off in the distance.
When she reached you, you pulled her in as tight as humanly possible. You tried to burn everything about her into your memory, down to the scraggly feeling of her black hair against your face. Squeezing her for a moment more, you pulled your lips over your teeth. “Stay.” You whispered pleadingly. It didn’t feel right, and Barba was the one who had encouraged you to follow your gut.
“Remember your vision,” Barba murmured in response, “Fire and light, it’s a blessing from the Gods.” When she pulled away an austerity had passed over her. You recoiled, increasingly uneasy as you pulled your arms back over your chest. Barba stepped back and opened the door to the Cessna, climbing in and unzipping her backpack.
As soon as she sat down, Criston wrenched the door back open. “By the Gods, Barba. Please, don’t do this.” You hadn’t seen this side of Ser Cole before. Desperate. The last ditch effort of a man who knew his days of authority was behind him.
Barba shot him a nervous smile, swallowing before she spoke. “Thanks for worrying about me, Ser, but…” The sternness flashed back over her face like a mask, her icy gaze flattening. “This is my purpose.” She reached a hand out to pat him on the shoulder before she pulled it back and shut the door with a heavy clang. Barba ran her fingers over the weirwood pendant, her gaze emotionless as she placed her stuffed bear into the copilot's seat. Her gaze passed over to you quickly, before she locked eyes with you and smiled. Discomfort arose in you, as you watched something stir in the very back of her eyes. She held your gaze long enough to make you squirm before the propeller started to spin. Wheels squeaked through the dirt as cheers rang out, you stepped forward and prayed to whatever Gods there were above that your vision was a blessing. The plane was flying as it should, and Barba successfully lifted off. A relieved smile broke out across your face, but you knew she wasn’t out of the woods yet, quite literally. The landing was the hardest part of a flight, and you didn’t entirely trust the brakes on it. The Cessna soared clear over the lake, and you ran forward with eyes pointed to the sky.
“Oh my Gods, she’s doing it!!!” Laughter sounded, Sara clapping as you all ran to the lakefront. She shifted the plane to face due south, and you let out a sigh of relief. It had been a blessing from the Gods. Tears brimmed your eyes as you silently thanked them for seeing her through this. The plane grew smaller as she flew further away, shrinking in the mountains off into the distance. You began to cheer with the others, turning to grab Baela’s hand in excitement.
“Is that smoke?” Sara asked suddenly. Your gaze snapped skyward, and your heart dropped into your stomach. The fuel line. Angry fumes shot out of the bottom of the plane, and it started to shake. A bright flash of flame balled out as the explosion shook the treetops. A halo of light shone, a second sun in the bright sky. Sara screamed and clapped her hands over her mouth. Your body moved automatically, tears streaming down your face as you sank into the water of the lake. Rhaena tried to pull you up, saying something about your leg. Your body went limp as the sobs wracked your body. That fucking vision. And you had been stupid enough to trust it. A banshee’s wail rang out, but it didn’t register as being yours. You stared off into the distance, where sunrays broke through dustclouds and smoke.
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Fuck, this chapter was really really hard to write. I had no idea I would become so attached to Barba when I started writing this wtf. R.I.P Barba.
Taglist: @chainsawsangel @neenieweenie
#aemond x reader#hotd x reader#aemond x you#hotd imagine#aemond fic#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond imagine#aemond the kinslayer#aemond one eye#house of the dragon aemond#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#hotd aemond targaryen
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❥⌈ Diagnoses of the Heart Masterlist ⌋
⌦Summary: Student loan debts, mother in an induced coma, no other family to rely on but herself. When options are running thin, sex work is the last and desperate choice she must make to ensure to keep medical payments afloat, until he becomes a sudden constant. Aemond Targaryen might just be her last hope to not lose the last person she holds dear.
⌘Rating : 18+ Minors DNI
⌦Story Type: Series
⌘Fandom : House Of The Dragon
⌦Pairing : Doctor!Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character
⌘Warnings : mentions and depictions of sex work, mental health exhaustion, {poorly portrayed} medical diagnosis, money trouble, p in v, mentions of drug use, family drama , soft dom!aemond
❥each chapter will hold their own warnings and have a more in depth list of what the chapter warning's intel.
⌈ ❥ ⌋ Index ⌈ ❥ ⌋
⇲Chapter one . . .
⇲Chapter Two . . .
❥Collection | Navigation | Inbox | Aesthetic | Taglist | Divider By : @ firefly-graphics
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen oneshot#aemond one eye#aemond fanfic#hotd aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#aemond kinslayer#aemond targaryen x original female character#aemond targaryen x female character#dark aemond targaryen#Dark!aemond targaryen#prince aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen headcanon#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd smut#hotd fluff#hotd angst#hotd fanfiction#hotd imagine#hotd headcanon#hotd drabble#hotd oneshot#Diagnoses of the Heart
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HELP??
This scene would have been too powerful if the showrunners left it as it was intended. We were so robbed :")
Still, this is HUGE. How much was Aemond supposed to regret Lucaerys' death at Storm's End, and how much of it did we just overinterpret?
Was what we saw on screen, during those last moments, even regret? Or was it more shock of the situation he'd created, and realisation of what's to come?
I love this. This is amazing and I won't be shutting up about this.
#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond targaryen#aemond stannies#pro team green#pro team black#house of the dragon aemond#hotd leaks#is it really leaks?#idk i just found out about this#lucaerys velaryon#lucaerys strong#not a ship#hotd lucerys#storm's end#the battle of storm's end#dark aemond targaryen#heartless?? ayo??#hotd aemond#house of the dragon#jacaerys valaryon#jacaerys strong#just a clutter of tags tbh#jacaerys stannies#lucaerys stans#aemond x reader#just overly tagging at this point
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Finally got me the Aemond funko pop without the eye patch! Precious little war criminal 🥺
#hotd#house of the dragon#house of the dragon aemond#aemond kinslayer#prince aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#prince aemond#hotd aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen
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Conversation
aemond: i lost control of my dragon, it wasn't my fault
jake (from state farm): your insurance isn't going to cover this
#aemond#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#hotd aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#hotd text post#hotd shitpost#hotd meme#house of the dragon finale#house of the dragon spoilers
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