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aemndx · 1 year

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okay…. but imagine having aemond stuff his cum back inside you, loving to press his seed back inside your overstimulated cunt and breed you every day—

— 𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒.

gif credit.

author’s note: y’all betta know…… i just had to write something for this -- my imagination ran absolutely wild with this one. i didn’t wanna write a lot, just somethin mini for myself to get these sinful thoughts outta my head… im sorry in advance. ♡ if you enjoyed – please reblog, comment + leave ur feedback! thank u & happy reading. :)

warnings: minors dni. smut. breeding kink. p in v sex (slight). fingering. cunnilingus. female pronouns. possessive behavior. dark!aemond. wife!reader. overstimulation kink. pain kink. pet names. romance. fluff. any grammatical errors are my own – in advance, i sincerely apologize.

word count: 2,3k.

pairings: aemond targaryen x reader (f).

♡࿐ bliss.

true, undying bliss overwhelmed you, completely.

“you’re so perfect for me, my sweet girl,” aemond murmured, leaning down to press a loving kiss against your forehead, lingering there and closing his eye for a moment, breathing you in.

pulling back after a few seconds, aemond observed your face closely, feeling a warm sensation tugging at his blackened heart, feeling it crack into a million little pieces, watching you gaze back up at him in awe.

there was a soft look in your doe eyes, wide and innocent and full of love.

love for him, your husband.

aemond would never admit it, but he was almost certain that the very same look graced his face too, softening his sharpened features with equal amounts of–if not more–love.

with a deep groan, aemond thrusted his cock inside your cunt a few more times, feeling your inner walls tightening around him, wanting to keep him inside and milk him dry.

a faint, little mewl escaped your swollen lips, making aemond lean forward again and capture your lips with his, kissing you slowly and passionately. the wet, warm muscle of his tongue slipped out, licking your bottom lip, before tugging it gently with his teeth, causing you to moan.

you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, pulling him flush against you – his naked, hard chest was pressed against yours, constantly brushing over your sensitive nipples, a whine making its way up your throat.

aemond smirked, reaching one hand up and tangling his fingers into your messy locks of hair, his other hand holding on to your hip to stabilize himself so to not crush you with his body.

“…mmm – gods, you were made to take my cock,” aemond purred against your mouth, slipping his tongue inside, your tongues slowly caressing each other’s sensually, neither of you in any rush.

“i love you,” you whimpered, your mouths molding together as one – perfection.

with one last gentle thrust of the prince’s hips, he squirted his warm cum inside of you, his load entering your womb.

aemond stilled his hips, your fluttering cunt sheathing his cock, making aemond throw his head back with a feral growl.

with his cock still buried to the hilt in your pulsing cunt, aemond squeezed your hip that he was holding, digging his fingertips into the sweaty flesh as he felt his cock twitch inside of you, softening and feeling spent.

immediately, he collapsed on top of you, his face nuzzled into your neck. sleepily, he started leaving little kisses against the salty skin of your neck, sucking on your pulse point, feeling your fingers gently brush through his long hair.

aemond practically purred, the feeling of your nails scratching lightly at his scalp, always a sweet comfort. “sweet girl… ‘m gonna try something,” aemond mumbled, though he did not move for a few more minutes, completely relaxed in the safety of your arms.

however, you did not mind – especially the feeling of his large cock still buried deep inside you, making your insides begin to tingle again, your belly tightening at the thought of his royal seed settling in your womb.

gods be good, you prayed silently for a son of your own to give to your dear husband.

you loved aemond more than anything – more than life itself, all that you wanted was to give him everything he wanted… most importantly, you wanted to give him all the love in the world, including an heir of his own.

suddenly, aemond slowly pulled himself out of you with a sharp hiss, not hearing you wince slightly at the uncomfortable feeling of being empty overcame you. you tried to suppress it, making your face remain neutral.

the prince simply leaned back on his knees between your spread thighs, tilting his head back and releasing a deep sigh of satisfaction. then, his head looked back down towards you, his one eye sharp and observing you, as usual.

aemond always enjoyed watching you, he liked making you feel uncomfortable, especially when around him, watching the way you’d start to overthink everything about yourself, making yourself think – was there something wrong with you?

it amused him greatly, no matter how many times he’d done it to you.

however, no matter how much the prince could be cruel, he’d never intentionally hurt you. releasing a calming sigh, aemond’s large hands moved to grasp both of your thighs, squeezing them and then shaking them a bit, watching them jiggle slightly with a twitch of his lips.

he adored your thighs.

then, his head snapped back up to look at you, his eye piercing and observing your naked figure, admiring it without shame.

the prince looked at the soft delicateness of your pretty face, down to your neck and collarbones that were littered in love bites from him, to both of your breasts which were swollen from him sucking and biting on them earlier, until you cried out his name.

you watched him trail his eye down further until he stopped at your bare cunt, watching it with an amused glint in his violet eye, his seed dribbling out of you slowly.

smirking, the prince seemed to have thought of a idea.

aemond slowly looked back up at your face, the sapphire that rested in the socket of his missing eye sparkled from the massive fireplace – although, you did not look away from him. if you knew anything about your husband, you knew how he loved a challenge, and you were not going to be the first one to look away.

no, not this time.

chuckling softly underneath his breath, aemond clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, before raising an eyebrow at you.

“will you be a good girl for me?” he asked, his tone flat but there was that hint of amusement hiding somewhere underneath.

if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the prince was up to something.

you gulped, nodding your head and started fidgeting with your hands, making him tsk at you, slapping your hands away. instantly, you stopped – nervousness eating away at you as you dropped your arms directly by your sides, waiting.

aemond hummed, nodding once before shifting his body so that he was now laying on his stomach, resting comfortably between your spread, open thighs. your cunt glistened beautifully, making aemond’s eye dilate with need and a feverish lust.

as he laid down, he could feel his cock twitch underneath himself, no doubt hardening once again. he couldn’t control himself when he was around you, you drove him nearly insane with a need to have you – always.

“my pretty little wife..” aemond drawled, his hands creeping up to rub up the outside of your thighs, his hands warm and comforting.

“you’re even pretty here, too,” he murmured, no doubt smirking as he heard you take in a sharp breath, his lips connecting to your mound, peppering kisses along the skin and across your hipbones.

he rubbed his warm, large hands up and down the outside of your thighs, closing his eye as he was merely enjoying himself – kissing, sucking, biting your hot skin into his mouth, moving down until his lips wrapped around your swollen, overstimulated clit.

you cried out into your shared chambers, one of your hands reaching up and grasping hold of one of the many pillows–one that happened to have belonged to aemond, since you loved to lay on it since it smelled like him–fisting your small hand into the soft material.

you immediately wrapped a leg around his head, unconsciously pulling him closer against your cunt, wanting more.

always, always wanting more of him.

aemond had made you come so many times tonight–too many times–that you had lost count.

without warning, aemond removed a hand from massaging the meat of one of your thighs and brushed a finger up your dribbling slit, gathering his cum that was leaking out and stuffing it back inside you.

you whimpered, fisting the pillow and the silk sheets below you, your head thrown back and your eyes rolling into the back of your head, feeling him curl the finger inside of you.

aemond hummed, continuously sucking and sending vibrations through your sensitive, little clit – before adding two more long fingers, stuffing them inside and just leaving them there, not moving.

almost like a plug.

minutes had passed, with just him sucking and flicking your clit back and forth with his hot tongue, though he fingers did not move, only remaining plunged inside of you, causing your walls to tighten and flutter, endlessly.

“aemond..!? what.. w-what are you doing?” you heaved, your chest rising and falling quickly, feeling your belly tighten once again, painfully – your muscles sore and aching now as you could feel yourself about to come again.

“please, aemond – i am going to come again,” you sobbed, sweating profusely and your heart feeling like it was about to explode in your chest.

aemond nodded, not missing a beat, “go on, then.”

“no..! no, no, no – please, aemond.. i cannot. it hurts, it hurts so much…” you sobbed, tears now burning your eyes, falling freely. your throat felt like it was on fire, as well as like it was closing from you gasping in too much air, trying your hardest not to come again.

however, aemond continued his ministrations on your clit, not stopping for a moment and evening wiggling his three fingers that were inside of you–keeping his cum from leaking out of you again–and with his other hand dug his fingers into the meat of your thigh that he was still holding, making you yelp in painful pleasure.

you were exhausted.

“p-please.. please,” you sniffled, shaking your head and begging.

aemond growled, pinching your thigh and then slapping it harshly in punishment, feeling you wiggling around too much.

“be sweet, wife – stop moving and come for me again,” he commanded, his words muffled but you could still understand him.

you choked on your own saliva, “oh, gods..” you whined, feeling your muscles tense and tense and tense, before the band inside of you snapped like a violin string and you let out the most earth shattering screech.

you cried your husband’s name over and over again, feeling aemond quickly squeeze in a fourth finger, beginning to curl all four of them inside of you, feeling your walls clamp down around them.

you were honestly afraid – afraid that he would want to see how much you could take and shove his entire fist inside–(you had heard ladies of the court gossip that their husbands had done that to them, and it was the most painful experience)–you never wanted to find out for yourself.

luckily, for you – even in your blissed out mind, you trusted your husband, knowing he liked pushing you to your limits, but knowing exactly how much you could take.

your thighs were quivering, your orgasm washing over you in tsunami waves of endless pleasure, with aemond continuing to gently lick your clit now, barely applying actual pressure – though his fingers remained.

“so, so perfect for me.. you’d done so well for me, my sweet girl.”

a genuine, dopey smile tugged at your lips, feeling relieved that you had pleased him, again.

once your high had calmed down, aemond pulled his mouth away from your clit, resting the left side of his face on your thigh, glancing up at you with a small smirk on his handsome face, watching you try to keep your eyes open.

“enjoy yourself, did you?”

you giggled, nodding your head yes. “i thought i was going to black out,” you confessed, embarrassment flooding your veins.

aemond lightly chuckled, “wouldn’t be the first time.”

you looked down, pouting and making him laugh harder, giving a sweet kiss to your thigh, before locking his violet eye with yours once more.

gods, how he loved you.

“i’m just teasing, my love.”

your eyebrows furrowed, “no, you are not,” you said, knowing he was speaking the truth – in fact, you had blacked out before while he was fucking you, his love for overstimulating you overwhelmed you.. time and time again.

although, you did not mind so much.

nonetheless, you liked to tease him back and pretend you hated it when he teased you – both of you knowing full well that you secretly adored it, just as much as he.

aemond snorted, before lifting his head and leaning forwards again, giving your clit a kiss, feeling you tense up immediately. “relax,” he said, eyeing your face. “i think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

you flushed, feeling his fingers twitch inside of you, before pulling them out slowly and began observing them.. they were drenched in his cum and yours, practically dripping on to your sheets.

aemond felt the corner of his mouth tug up, before opening his mouth and shoving all four fingers inside, sucking both of your mixed essence right off, swallowing with a low hum of approval.

your eyes widened, but then you licked your lips, watching him suck and work his tongue between each of his digits, his eye locked on yours as he put on a little show for you, smirking playfully.

with a pop of the last finger, he smiled, “delicious.”

you didn’t say anything, you couldn’t – you couldn’t even begin to describe how unbelievably attractive your husband was… and he was all yours.

“i love you,” you blurted out, but meaning it anyways. you were always more of the sentimental one between you two, but you could see the softness settle over aemond’s face every time you told him those three little words.

those three little words held so much meaning to him, especially coming from you.

aemond didn’t respond – instead, he climbed up your body, being careful not to crush you and settled until he was hovering above you, his face only mere centimeters away from yours. “..i love you, my beautiful wife.”

fin

feel free to send in requests / thots here.

#◜ 𝗇𝗈𝖺’𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 ˚✧ ꜝ #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond smut #aemond fluff #prince aemond #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd s1 #hotd

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xthecaptainssaviorx · 2 months

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"There simply isn’t enough space for Rhaenyra to occupy the apartment alongside Laenor, two young sons, and a newborn baby. “ It showed her disorganization—not having her own space, really, and still living in her bedroom with her children. She couldn’t compartmentalize things,” Richards says. “Her room becomes cluttered, whereas Alicent’s becomes emptier.” (...) As Alicent grows to embrace her Hightower heritage, green begins to dominate the space—and the more devout she becomes, the sparer her chambers look. It’s a reflection of Alicent’s strong desire for order and control.

Rhaenyra's and Alicent's chambers in House of the Dragon throughout the first season

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #hotd s1 #hotd edit #dailyhotdgifs #hotdcentral #gameofthronesdaily #hotdedit #*mine: gifs #*mine: hotd #*mine #hotd production notes

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demigoddessqueens · 2 years

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He’ll commit war crimes but look cute doing it

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hayden-christensen · 2 years

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HOUSE OF THE DRAGON: SEASON ONE (August 21 - October 23, 2022)

#hotdedit #house of the dragon #targaryensource #hotdcentral #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd s1 #hotd spoilers #userconstance #usermali #*mine #*2022 #*gifs #[shows]#favewatched22 #2k #I liked it a lot more than I thought I would omg #colouring it tho...a nightmare

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gameofthronesdaily · 2 years

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Rhaenys Targaryen’s armor HOUSE THAT DRAGONS BUILT | 1.09

#hotdedit #house of the dragon #bts #rhaenys targaryen #costume #g #by mali #hotd s1 #hotd

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

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“ᴍʏ Qᴜᴇᴇɴ.” | ᴅ. ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

GIF by @fireandbloodsource

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader (OC)

summary: Being the oldest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Aemma was a blessing and a curse at once. But Visenya– as cunning, intelligent, and brave she was– prepared her very own path with the help of the one man who held her heart in his hands and kept her back at all time.

word count: 10.5k i don’t know what happened here.

warnings: canon typical incest (i’m sorry okay?), cursing, fluff, violence, mentions of blood, injuries, and a sword fight, threats, canon typical misogyny, more fluff, dragons, High Valyrian presented you by an online translator, conversations about death and stillborn babies, a bit of angst, slight HotD s1 spoiler

author’s note: I love Rhaenyra with all my heart, but I need to indulge in this one, sorry! This is my first time writing something GoT related and my first time writing for Daemon, so be gentle with me, thaaaaanks <3 This one got longer than intended. My Vhagar is inspired by the design for Rhaegal in GoT byyyyye

A decade ago.

With wide, curious eyes, the firstborn of Prince Viserys and Princess Aemma entered the smoke and fire-filled halls underneath Dragonstone, taking in the sight of the ancient mural paintings similar to those in the caves further down the beach. They depicted the history of old; showing how Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys conquered Westeros with their dragons and built what her family ruled over now.

Her fingertips softly stroked over the uneven wall of solid stone, reminding her of the strength laying within her family. They would rule as long as Dragonstone existed; she was sure of it.

“Visenya.”

Her father’s voice called her over, beckoning her back into reality and out of her dreaming mind. She turned, the edges of her charcoal cloak softly flaring, and the sound of her boots echoed through the grand halls filled with dragon eggs as she headed over to him and her waiting mother. The prince smiled down at her as she regained her place next to him, one of his large hands softly put on her shoulder.

“Your mother and I went her while she had bear you. It is a holy moment in our family to claim a dragon egg, and she knew which one to choose for you– because you chose Rhaegar,” Viserys explained to his daughter while her eyes settled upon her mother, who now stood in front of the bared eggs who would be ready to hatch in a handful of weeks. “How did I know which one to choose, father?” Her voice was filled with curiosity and wonder, not understanding how someone, who wasn’t even born, could make those life-altering decisions. Her father shrugged softly and smiled down at her. “No man knows.”

Visenya scoffed under her breath, not quite satisfied with her father’s answer but a movement behind one of the many pillars scattered through the grand halls distracted her. A flash of familiar silver hair and the last remnants of a smirk lingered in the air, and after Viserys had turned his attention back to Aemma, who now held an egg in her hands, Visenya slipped away to find the spectator of this moment.

With slow steps, she rounded the pillar at which she had seen him but was greeted by emptiness. Furrowing her brows, the princess walked around the next one, and frustration started to bubble up within her delicate body as she was greeted by an empty space again. Shaking her head slowly, the silver-haired girl opened her mouth in order to speak up and call him out, but as she turned, her breath hitched in her throat.

Daemon Targaryen stood awfully close to her, and Visenya had to take a step back not to have to look up to him at this horrendous angle. Sometimes she despised how tall the prince loomed over her and how her neck protested if she granted him one look too many.

“Daemon,” she greeted him, and the Targaryen prince smirked down at her. “Visenya,” he returned and bowed mockingly. She cocked a brow, not surprised at all at his display of… what? Mockery? Hatred? Envy? She wasn’t sure which one it was today, except for the hatred. She could ignore that thought because they never hated each other. They may quarrel and insult one another on a daily occasion. Still, she knew the meaning behind those lingering glances because she wasn’t stupid and felt how her heart started to race every time she felt those violet eyes lingering on her.

She may be young, but she wasn’t stupid. She had handmaidens and listened to their hushedly whispered confessions to one another when they thought the princess was still asleep in the early morning light. She knew about love and physical lust, about desire and heartache. With her six and ten name day on the horizon, she even was considered suitable for marriage by her uncle and his Small Council, but her father held objections against it.

And she was thankful for that; it saved her from a marriage with an old lord from who-knows-where ultimately– and she could spend more time with Daemon.

Who just had gotten a hold of her hand and gently– it surprised even him how tender he could be– the older Targaryen pulled her back into reality, to him. He always wished to have her undivided attention so that those eyes with the soft but sometimes mischievous glimmer lay on him and him alone. He hated the feeling always creeping up on him as soon as one of those lordlings tried to steal her away from him. Gladly, she never stayed long with them and always returned into Daemon’s line of sight, granting him the vision of the smile reserved explicitly for him.

He was a lucky man indeed.

“Come with me,” was all Daemon mumbled before pulling her further with him, placing her hand in the crook of his arm. The familiar feeling of it calmed them both, and Visenya followed him without objection, straight out of the sacred halls of their family and into the open of a partially clouded summer’s day. Compared to the capital, the summer at Dragonstone was bearable; the salty breeze was always present, and clouds hid the unforgiving sun. The volcano behind Dragonstone probably was the cause of it.

The breeze swept through her silver hair, and the few rays of sun kissed her skin. With closed eyes, Visenya enjoyed it while walking close to Daemon, who would never let her fall. She knew he observed her doing, as he always did, especially when they were alone, but she didn’t mind. It never had bothered her because she watched him as well but mostly without his knowledge.

It was a fun game.

But she knew that it would always stay precisely this: a game.

The heavy sensation of heartache settled within her chest, and the princess tried to shake it off, scolding herself silently for letting it happen again. Visenya knew that the Small Council– or her father– would never allow such a union, not until all Seven Hells were frozen. She had to keep her mind and heart realistically instead of pursuing a childish hope she would chase her entire life.

“Daemon, it is probably not wise to-…” But he hushed her while his long finger reverently caressed the hand still situated on his arm. “I know with shocking clarity that you were not able to ride Rhaegar all week long, so I thought I would accompany you. Steal you away from all the duties and lordlings to finally have you all to myself for only a handful of hours.” She couldn’t deny him if he continued to speak in that voice that always let her resolve crumble like mere stone walls in the face of the force of a dragon.

Visenya sighed deeply and glanced up at him, her brows still furrowed, and her heart still ached. “That is very thoughtful and kind of you, but I still don’t think it is a wise thing to do, uncle.” She had to make him understand from where she was coming, what her mind had to work through. But Daemon only chuckled and stopped to turn his body to her. He took her hand from his arm while also grasping for the other at her side and brought both to his face. He bent his head, silver threads tickling her skin, and kissed her knuckles as gentle as a butterfly’s touch. “I think it is the wisest thing we could do, niece,” he returned without a second or third thought, pressing another set of kisses on the skin of her hands.

Her heart ached so bitterly but beautifully at the sight of the Rogue Prince’s soft side, and a small smile began to tuck at her full lips. “Fine,” the princess spoke in a soft whisper, ignoring his victorious smirk, and drew back both hands out of his still lingering grasp. She turned again to continue their path, a full smile settling on her face at the sound of his following steps and the warm, heavy feeling of his hand at the small of her back.

She was lost; she knew it at this very moment as Rhaegar and Caraxes landed in front of their riders. The girl watched as Daemon softly greeted her dragon, who usually never let another soul near him except for his rider, but the prince was the one extraordinary exception. Caraxes eyed her intently as she stepped to Rhaegar and let her hand affectionately stroke over Daemon’s back; she was too weak, and everyone around her would soon realize it.

The hated prince looked down at the loved princess as she pressed her forehead against her dragon’s scales with closed eyes, her hand still resting on his back. He bent down to press a lingering kiss on the crown of her head; he was too weak, and everyone around him would soon realize it because he did not have the intention to let this jewel be married off to a different man than him.

She was his, and he was hers.

;

Seven years ago.

“Where is Prince Daemon?”

The princess’s voice echoed through the hallway, and in surprise, Ser Harrold turned around to bow before the eldest of House Targaryen. “My princess,” he greeted her and waited until she reached him. Her eyes observed his face intently before asking the same question again. “Where is Prince Daemon?”

He had promised her an hour of his time on this day, but he was nowhere to be found, not even in his most preferred places in the Red Keep she knew of. But she had a feeling that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard could know about the man's current location, and she couldn't shake off the certainty of her supposition. And she had been right because, at the sight of the barely visible twitch in Ser Harrold's brow, Visenya knew it had been the right call to find him and ask him first before heading to her father.

"Yes?"

She waited until the Kingsguard cleared his throat. "I was told not to interfere, my princess, and this would entail not telling you his current location." Ser Harrold knew her too well, but he must know too that she would never let go of it until she had heard a satisfying answer to her question. So all she did was cocking a brow and stand her ground, waiting for the older man to spill it out for her to chase after him. Visenya may have promised herself to stop chasing after Daemon Targaryen because it would only bring her heartache and a potential break of said organ, but she just couldn't keep her distance.

It was like a curse cast upon her.

"I won't leave until you are telling me what you know, Ser Harrold," she announced in case the knight lost his memories of all the moments of persistence from her side they had lived through over the years, and he sighed deeply at the realization of her perseverance. She would make a fine queen, was all he thought before sharing his knowledge with the princess he grew rather fond of ever since she had been born and lived under his protective watch. "He left after the first lights of day, riding into the Kingswood to conduct a duel between him and Ser Gwayne Hightower."

Closing her eyes, Visenya sent a quick, silent prayer to the gods because she knew what had led to this very duel which would cause more trouble than it would cause a truce. The memory of a drunken Ser Gwayne at the feast the night before sneaked back into her mind, remembering his warm, disgusting breath fanning over her cheek as he had leaned closer and closer, his hand resting too low to be still proper on her hip. He had pushed her into a dark corner of the hall, the sounds of the lavish feast still surrounding them but too far away at the same moment. He had trapped her there, and she had been frozen, which was so unlike her that it had scared her even more. Never before had a man dared to touch her this way, especially not without her consent of coming as close as he had done, invading her much preferred personal space, and the shock had settled into the princess's bones. She didn't dare to think about the possibilities of outcomes if Daemon hadn't found her in that dire situation.

She knew with shocking clarity that he did this for her– for her honor.

Staring up to her favorite Kingsguard, the princess decided her course of action.

She wasn't a scared little thing. She was the firstborn princess of House Targaryen. She was a dragon rider. She was not a mere silly girl who would fear the presence of a single man. And Ser Harrold seemingly caught up to her intentions because he was right behind her as Visenya spun around and left the Red Keep to ride to the Dragonpit.

—

Rhaegar raised his charcoal head as he sensed the presence of his rider, his gleaming eyes watching the silver-haired young woman coming closer with long strides, ignoring the words of the dragon guards.

"But, my princess, he doesn't carry his saddle!" One of them shouted over the rumbling of Rhaegar, who didn't like the sight of how close the guard stepped to her. "I do not need one," was all Visenya answered as her dragon had left the cave and stretched his wings before sinking down to the ground so she could climb on top of him. Ser Harrold watched the princess with worried eyes, not looking forward to her flying without the support of the saddle and reins, but he knew he couldn't stop her.

The charcoal beast, almost as giant as Caraxes himself, shook his massive head and bared his teeth while Visenya claimed her spot between his wings and held onto his scales. She didn't need to give him the command; instead, Rhaegar took off into the sky without a single uttered word from his rider because their souls were connected through the strongest bond a rider could acquire to his dragon.

—

The sounds of steel crashing against steel echoed through the Kingswood. Labored breathing was heard in the clearing between high rising trees and the grand river dividing the woods like a blue open wound. Nervously dancing horses with their equally nervous riders were scattered around the field of duel, their eyes watching the ongoing fight with worried expressions. Not because they feared the prince and their Commander could get hurt, but because of the repercussions following this act for either of the two sides.

Daemon gritted his teeth as Gwayne almost struck him with the tip of his laughable sword. He let the knight dance around him, Dark Sister securely in his hands, while his lilac eyes followed every move of his opponent before attacking him again. He roared as the memories of Visenya and him flashed before his eyes, and Dark Sister attacked the Hightower man with such force that he had to stumble backward, almost falling to the soft wooden ground.

“You deserve to be beheaded for what you did,” the Rogue Prince seethed, and the other man scrambled back up to counter the next attack. “Putting your hands on her is considered one of the worst crimes in the fucking Seven Kingdoms.” Maybe Daemon exaggerated because he felt sick to the core at the flashes of memory in his mind, but he didn’t care.

He touched her so he would get punished for it.

Gwayne scoffed before spitting out blood after the handle of Dark Sister had made contact with his jaw. “Don’t fool me, my prince, you only regret that it wasn’t you who had the idea before me.” His anger reached a newfound intensity. “Every bloody fool in King’s Landing knows about your preferences; that you’re lusting after pretty, silver-haired maidens,” the knight continued with an evil smile which soon disappeared as Daemon attacked him anew– a cry for blood leaving his mouth.

Dark Sister almost sang in his hands as the blade, made out of Valyrian Steel, tasted fresh blood, and he reveled in the sight of the crimson red liquid spilling out of a wound at his arm. He despised the events which ultimately led him to this point, but oh, how he loved to see the blood spill out of a man’s body.

“Utter a single word, and I will not leave it at a mere duel,” Daemon threatened the Hightower son, already imagining how he sent his head to Otto. It was a delightful thought. The blade of his sword was held high and pointing straight against the man’s throat, his intentions clear as day, but the sound of mighty wings and a looming shadow above them let Gwayne look up. Even Daemon seemed surprised, instantly thinking that Caraxes had somehow escaped the Dragonpit to find his rider, but instead, he watched how Rhaegar flew slow circles over the clearing before landing in the middle of it.

His fiery eyes settled upon the spectacle in front of him, growling loudly and scaring the horses– and Gwayne. The knight scrambled over the ground to get as far away as possible from the beast, but Rhaegar followed him, his head lowered to have better access to him if his rider spoke the words.

Daemon took one step back and looked up to Visenya, sitting on bare scales, hair despite the many braids out of perfect order, cheeks reddened from the flight, and eyes taking in the scene in front of her.

“Skoros istan ao otāpagon?” (What were you thinking?) She may speak High Valyrian with her entire family and even some people at court, but for him, it was entirely reserved for her. Visenya raised a brow at his words. “Nyke gaomagon daor gīmigon skoros ao nūmāzma,” (I do not know what you mean.) she returned, remaining on Rhaegar because she didn’t trust the Hightower knight anymore, not even with Daemon and some of his City Watch men at her protection. Rhaegar was her most trusted companion, after all, and nobody would dare to try anything with him at her side. “Nyke ivestretan zirȳ naejot lua ao konīr. Skoros gaomagon ao gaomagon kesīr, Visenya?” (I told them to keep you there. What do you do here, Visenya?)

The princess locked eyes with the prince before turning her gaze to Gwayne Hightower, distaste and hatred clearly visible in her gleaming eyes. “Nyke jeldan naejot ūndegon ziry nykēla.” (I wanted to see it myself.) But then she looked back at Daemon. “Nyke jeldan naejot mīsagon ao hen aōla,” (I wanted to protect you from yourself.) Visenya continued, and now it was for the silver-haired prince to watch back to the knight, but returning his gaze soon back to the woman he desired more than anything else. He smiled a small smile now. “Ao gaomagon daor emagon naejot gaomagon ziry. Nyke kostagon mīsagon issa hen nykēla,” (You do not have to do it. I can protect me from myself.) he spoke in the softest of tones before a shouting groan escaped Daemon at the feeling of steel piercing through the back of his thigh.

“Daemon!”

Gwayne Hightower couldn’t react fast enough as Rhaegar roared as if he was struck himself. He moved forward, eyes fixed on the knight, but Visenya didn’t care what would happen to this fool of a man because she slid off Rhaegar’s back and landed on both hands and knees. But she was quick to get up to her feet again, rushing over to where Daemon knelt now, the sword stuck in his leg. She fell back to her knees, not caring for her breeches, and her hands cupped his face, looking him over for other injuries, while his City Watch cornered the knight with a furious Rhaegar at their disposal.

“Skorkydoso kostagon nyke dohaeragon?” (How can I help?) Daemon laughed choppily between groans. “Nyke glaesagon rȳ tolī kempa ōdria,” (I lived through more severe wounds.) he promised, a smirk tucking at his lips. Visenya had to smile despite the situation. “Am I allowed to burn him now?” Now, Daemon laughed wholeheartedly but stopped as the sword moved in his leg. “If I were the one asking you this question, you would tell me I have to think with my mind and what it would bring over this bloody kingdom,” the prince reminded her, and Visenya sighed. Sometimes she hated that she most often was the more responsible one in their dynamic. “At least let me throw him into the Black Cells,” she tried again to distract him from the pain until two of his guards came and held him in order to remove the sword from his thigh.

Daemon groaned deep in his chest, and Visenya softly caressed his cheek while one of the men wrapped a clean cloth around the wound so that the maesters could see to it back at the Red Keep. “You have an evil mind, dear,” the Rogue Prince whispered as she helped him stand up and supported him with an arm around his back. She smiled devilishly up at him. “I have to match a certain someone if I want to keep up with him.”

Walking over to Rhaegar, who held his gaze fixed upon the knight, already preparing to kill him, Daemon chuckled. “You do not have to. I would want you anyway.” Those words were entirely meant for her ears only, and she almost blushed but kept her composure.

The dragon continued to growl, his fiery breath almost scorching the man in his armor and letting the sweat run over his face. “You can consider yourself lucky for the time being, Ser Gwayne,” the princess spoke, eyeing him with vivid disgust. “But do not start to believe it will be a lasting state. The king will decide upon your punishment after you arrive back in King’s Landing. Good luck, Hightower.” Ignoring his starting pleads, Visenya looked up to her dragon. “Rhaegar,” she called his name gently and with deep affection evident in her voice. The Shadow of King’s Landing, as her father liked to call him, moved his head and lowered himself back to the ground, so Daemon could slowly climb up. “No reins?” The princess shrugged and grinned widely. “I do not need them.” She followed after him, but Daemon pulled her in front of him, wrapping an arm close around her slender body and letting her bring them home.

;

Six years ago.

The battle was brutal, and Daemon defended himself with the utmost grace of a skilled swordsman. Somewhere in his mind, a voice was screaming; a voice telling him that something horrible would happen no matter how hard he would fight.

It was something inevitable.

He didn’t know what it could be because, so far, his troops fought bravely and loyally, even though the enemy was strong and had more men. But he had dragons. Caraxes roamed the skies above his rider’s head, killed enemies with the force of his flames, and pushed their troops to retreat for the time being. But the bright red dragon was not the only creature aiding the Targaryen fighters. The deafening sound of Rhaegar’s roar echoed over the battlefield of flames, and the charcoal beast with specks of gold and red broke through the thick wall of smoke and ash, his rider securely on his strong back.

The sight of a furious Visenya was a vision to behold, and his chest swelled with pride. He knew she would get to hear something after their return to King’s Landing because Viserys had explicitly forbidden that she would follow Daemon into battle, but they would push through and overcome this little obstacle.

Rhaegar spat another wall of fire and roared as loud as the first dragons, circling over the battlefield with Caraxes. The prince paused for a split moment to watch the girl who had become a woman practically overnight, a skilled warrior in the light of gods. But an approaching knight interrupted him, and Daemon killed the man with a few swift motions with Dark Sister in his hand.

The prince couldn’t revel in this next small victory because the distressed shriek of Rhaegar let him move his eyes back into the sky to watch helplessly as he lost altitude. His wings weren’t widely stretched anymore. Instead, they flattered useless in the air, not carrying the heavy body safely to the ground.

“Visenya!”

His shouting voice was filled with fear and uncertainty, and suddenly, the awful feeling from before crept back into his bones, the voice again whispering in his mind. His legs started to carry him in her direction, killing every single man who dared to get into his path.

The Dark Shadow, as the commoners had started to call Rhaegar, crashed into the ground, and Caraxes emitted a roar while slowly gliding to his dying companion. His massive flaming head searched the ground for the female rider and protected these two with a storm of flames while observing the area for his own rider.

Visenya coughed as she slowly and unsteadily emerged in the cloud of sand and smoke, her hand raised to shield her face from the bright flames surrounding her. Crawling, the princess reached her dragon’s head, and tears formed rivers on her dirty cheeks. She had felt it at the moment the spear had hit her companion, and she tumbled from the sky. It was almost physical; as if the spear had pierced her very own body instead of Rhaegar’s.

“Rhaegar,” she whispered underneath the escaping sobs, her hands caressing his dark and shining scales. She could feel his shallow breaths while his golden eyes were trained on the woman kneeling in front of his head. Pure agony filled her at the sight of the lack of life creeping in on them, and she pressed her forehead against his still warm body as his last breath escaped him.

A scream pierced through the thick atmosphere of battle and let several fighters halt their movements before the first few brave men dared to sneak up on the princess.

Killing her would be the greatest achievement of their entire life.

But she heard them, and with a cry for battle, Visenya rose from the ground, drew her sword, and killed the three men within a blink of an eye. Daemon stopped in his tracks at the sight of his niece, took in her tear-stained face, and didn’t have to know more. She raised her eyes from the dead bodies in front of her, her bloody sword dangling between the tips of her fingers, and looked straight into his own eyes. He could see her lips moving, and he knew she had called him.

Daemon reached her trembling form at the moment her legs gave up and couldn’t carry her any longer. His arms wrapped the young woman in the most protective embrace ever witnessed in the Seven Kingdoms and held her close while the sounds of dying men surrounded them.

—

The Red Keep was in turmoil at the news of the vanished princess and even more so as the red dragon returned to the pit with both his rider and their princess on his back. Viserys searched the sky for Rhaegar, but at the sight of his daughter’s distress, he knew what had happened. Aemma was quicker than him in her path to their eldest child and wrapped her in her motherly love after Daemon softly had brought Visenya to the ground. His eyes settled on his brother, and the Rogue Prince shook his head to confirm his thoughts.

“He is dead,” the King heard his daughter sob, and Aemma glanced over to him, dreadful worry etched into her beautiful face. “He is dead, and it is my fault!” Now, the sobs shook her body again, let her tremble in her mother’s embrace, and Viserys was quick to cradle her in his arms to carry her into the safety of their home. Daemon watched him with envy in his eyes but followed the procession nonetheless after bringing Caraxes back into the now empty den.

Even the blood-red beast mourned his long companion in the upcoming night, and Daemon situated himself in the corridor in which the princess had her chambers to keep watch over her.

—

Days passed within a blink of an eye.

The maesters had suggested giving the princess milk of the poppy in order to soothe her grieving and self-destructing mind and to offer her at least some hours of peace and rest. Aemma had sat by her side through each and every night, not daring to leave her, not even as Viserys almost begged her to watch after herself. Young Rhaenyra had sneaked into her older sister's room on the second night of her return; she had pressed her body against her side, just as she usually did when the older Targaryen princess told her stories each and every night. The queen did not object to her daughter's behavior. Instead, she started to sing softly for hours on end, always the same old melody and lyrics of an old Valyrian song about the ancient gods and goddesses of the lost civilization, which had been the only words to soothe young Visenya in her cradle right after she had been born. During the third night, even the king had accepted how things were now and had himself situated in his eldest's chambers, holding a watchful eye on her sleeping form. Only Daemon stayed out of her rooms, preferred his lonely watch in the dark shadows of the hallway, ignoring the hushed whispers of the servants and handmaidens seeing him every day and night sitting unmoving in his chosen spot, eyes closely settled upon the door of her chambers.

The tenth night was the night in which Visenya finally opened her eyes.

Uncountable candles softly lighted her room; the sound of their small flames let the agony within her heart appear again. Silent tears left her eyes and rolled over her cheeks, vanishing in her unruly locks of matted hair. A barely audible snore pushed her to move her head to the source of the sound - the movement alone was almost too much for her to bear - and the picture of a sleeping Daemon Targaryen greeted her still tired eyes. He had his head tucked away between his arms which lay on top of the soft blankets covering her frame, his face relaxed and bare of every deception and malicious thought.

It was a rare sight, and even though her soul screamed in agonizing pain, Visenya enjoyed seeing him more relaxed than ever. He was here, right at her side, and that was almost enough to soothe some of the dread constantly spreading inside her.

Slowly, the woman turned onto her side and stretched an arm to brush through his soft silver hair, but at the mere touch of her fingertips, Daemon opened his eyes and raised his head. His lilac eyes found her face immediately, and utter relief filled his handsome features.

“Visenya,” was all he whispered as his hand cupped her cheek. The pad of his thumb caressed her distinct cheekbone, and his eyes moved over her face to reassure himself that she was indeed awake and alright as much as she could be after everything that had happened. Her cold fingers closed around his wrist, and with a deep, long sigh, she let her eyes fall shut again. “It is my fault, is it not?”

Her question pulled him out of his almost frozen state, and Daemon shook his head even though she couldn’t see it. “No, it was not,” he assured her with certainty, and she opened her watery eyes again. “But why does it feel like it is?” A sad smile etched onto the prince’s face, and he continued to caress her cheek. “Because you, my love, always believe to be the epitome of wrongdoings. It is a horrendous habit of yours.” Daemon felt pride rising in his chest at the sight of the twitch of her lips. The smile didn’t want to show, but that was more than alright. It would take time.

Visenya scooted closer to the edge of her bed to be closer to him and sighed again as their foreheads found one another, and she felt his skin against hers. Their eyes locked into the respective pair and a pleading expression sneaked into hers. Daemon would give her everything she desired; they both knew it.

“I want to go home,” the princess whispered, and the prince knew which place she meant.

Dragonstone.

He nodded softly, propped his chin atop the soft blanket, and dared to steal a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “I will bring you home, issa jorrāelagon,” (my love) he promised.

And Visenya knew that he would hold his word.

;

Three years ago.

“Brother.”

Daemon forced himself to bow in front of the king and his Small Council, throwing Otto a glaring look but ignoring him after that. He had much more important matters to discuss.

Viserys raised both brows in wonder at his younger brother’s rare presence during one of the meetings. “How can I help you, Daemon?” He must want something from him– the Rogue Prince never bothered himself with unpleasantries if he couldn’t gain something. The older man knew that something certainly was coming.

And he was right.

Daemon’s piercing stare settled entirely on him, and the world most definitely had stopped at his following words the council would never have expected to leave his mouth willingly. “I intend to marry.” Grand Maestor Mellos almost choked on his own spit. Lyonel Strong’s eyes seemingly popped out of his skull. Corlys Velaryon cocked a brow and eyed him. “Which pitiful soul do you have in mind, your highness?” The master of ships asked curiously, with a hint of malice in his tone. Daemon couldn’t hide the slight smirk appearing on his face before looking over at his brother again. “I am asking you, dear brother, for Visenya’s hand in marriage. Technically, I do not need your blessing because I do not care if you approve of this or not and because Visenya already answered the apparent question. But in any case you decide to name her your official successor and heir to the Iron Throne instead of me or a possible male heir you still have to produce, I will not lessen her status by a union you do not know of. And-…” The prince stopped for a moment, remembering the way he had left the princess still tucked away in her blankets, before continuing. “-and she wishes for your blessing, brother.” And how was he to deny her such a request?

At least he would try to gain what she desired in this particular situation, and if Viserys was too stubborn or simple-minded, he couldn't change that. But no one could call him a coward after this meeting, and even these old bastards knew that with shocking certainty.

Yet...

"Are you out of your mind?"

Daemon slowly closed his eyes. He took one deep breath, followed by another one. He had to stay calm because Visenya almost begged the older Targaryen not to lose his temper. But his dear brother just made it too easy to forget about the given promise.

"Seven Hells, Daemon. I can't let you marry my eldest, let alone your niece!" The king’s voice roared through the Small Council's rooms. Everyone at the table flinched at the outburst, but the prince stood taller than ever. "It is custom in our family, brother, or do I maybe have to freshen up your knowledge about the marriage history of Targaryens?" Viserys scoffed, and his balled fist suddenly crashed against the massive table. His eyes almost spat fire in his direction. "You. Will. Not. Marry. My. Daughter. Don't try to fool me, Daemon. She would be the heir to the Iron Throne and maybe the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but you would move the pieces on this chessboard!"

The younger Targaryen now cocked an eyebrow. "You have a very low esteem of your daughter, my King. She has the strongest mind in all of Westeros, and if you think for even a second she will dance to another man's tunes, then you do not know her at all." It was quiet in the room; only the crashing sea was heard underneath the Red Keep.

But Daemon had one last card to play.

"She asked me," he announced and couldn't hide the pride-swelled chest of his. Visenya was an utter wonder in his eyes; a wonder he sometimes couldn't grasp with his mind. She was braver than anyone before her, and every other woman– the ones he had and the ones he only had considered– faded in his mind until nothing of their memories was left.

Viserys obviously forgot how to breathe in the short moments since Daemon's revelation. He wasn't sure if the king thought about his words or thought nothing at all due to the shock evident in his paling face, but whatever it was, Daemon didn't really care. The Small Council could go to all Seven Hells and let him marry the woman he loved more than his life and let her rule if the time comes. Yes, he would prefer it to be named heir to the Throne, but he could live with Visenya on that forsaken thing very easily. It would mean that he could continue his killing of enemies while always finding time to watch his queen in her doings.

It sounded like the perfect life.

Viserys furrowed his brows and observed him, acknowledged his presence finally with a seriousness he had never shown before. "She asked you? You did not pressure her to sa-..."

"No man nor god could pressure Visenya Targaryen to anything, brother."

Viserys slowly nodded, fingertips resting against one another, his eyes settled on his younger brother as to try to decipher him and his intentions. But he couldn’t utter another word because suddenly, hurried steps were heard outside the doors of the Small Council until they got opened for the eldest princess of House Targaryen. Visenya stopped at the three steps leading down to the council’s table, her eyes trained on her uncle and a brow slowly raising.

Daemon had turned to watch how this storm of a woman entered and almost helplessly shrugged at her disapproving look thrown in his direction. “I thought we agreed upon speaking to them together,” she spoke while stepping down the few steps and stopping next to him. He couldn’t stop his wandering hand from wrapping itself around her waist and pulling her closer. “You were still asleep, so I thought, why waste another meeting and day?” The princess rolled her eyes at him and shook her head before looking over to her father and the rest of the council.

“Is it true? Did you ask him for his hand in marriage, your highness?” Maester Mellos spoke up, and Visenya cocked her brow again. “You sound like it is so surprising for a woman to make her own decisions and not wait upon a man to finally find his courage, Maestor,” she countered, and the old man cleared his throat awkwardly. “It was not my intention to assume anything, my princess. My apologies.” She nodded shortly before turning her attention back to Viserys, who now focused his entire mind on his daughter.

His utmost joy.

The Realm’s Pride.

Upon these thoughts, the king decided to give her what she desired because he could never deny her anything – not since the day of her dramatic birth.

“Is it your truest desire to marry him?” After all, Viserys still couldn’t believe this, not with all the fitting suitors his daughter had trailing behind her ever since her ten and second name day. She nodded without hesitation. “It is, father. I would have never asked him if I were not sure of it,” she told him, voice full of sincerity and… he didn’t like to admit it, but certainty. Viserys sighed deeply and slowly shook his head. “With all those good men asking for your company and hand, displayed for your pleasure in front of you, and you chose him.”

Visenya knew that she had won, and softly shrugging, the princess started to smile. “They were after me for the possibility of a crown– not me as a person.” Otto scoffed loudly and didn’t hide his displeasure. “As if he would think differently,” the Hand of the king mocked before turning to the king, an urgent expression settling on his face. “You do not seriously consider letting them have their way, do you, your majesty?”

Daemon couldn’t react fast enough to beat Visenya next to him. She took the last steps to the table, the sound of her boots echoing through the room, and propped her flat hands on top of the massive wooden table, her violet eyes gleaming like a dragon’s breath.

“Do not dare and talk as if I am not in this very room, Lord Hightower. I am not a child anymore; I am your princess, so respect my rank and address me accordingly if you please to talk about something involving my very person,” she seethed, and the Hand had to swallow dryly at the sight of the furious princess. Everyone in this palace knew that she never recoiled from a battle– it was insignificant if that battle was fought by blades or words.

Corlys Velaryon grinned behind his cup of water– he never drank wine during the Small Council meetings– and watched the scene unfold while eying the Rogue Prince out of the corner of his eye. He may have misjudged the prince; he had to admit that at the sight of a sincere display of emotions on the Targaryen’s face as he observed the princess’s doings.

Otto Hightower bowed his head after a long exchange of unbudging stares. “Yes, my princess,” he mumbled but didn’t dare to speak another word. Humming approvingly, Visenya pushed herself back up, straightening her posture, and threw her father a questioning look. “So, this is settled, then?”

And Viserys nodded.

“For now, yes. We have to prepare everything accordingly, so it will give you more time to think about it.” Eye rolling, the silver-haired princess sighed. “If it makes you happy, father,” was her only verbal reply to it before spinning on the spot, charcoal coat flaring softly behind her, braided silver hair swaying over the proud scaled shoulder section, and leaving the room with Daemon right at her side.

Just where he belonged.

—

“If the situation occurs and the Queen and I will not produce a male heir, I want Visenya as my successor and heir to the Iron Throne.”

The Small Council almost roared in protest. Especially the Master of Laws, Lyonel Strong, held objections against it, directly followed by the Hand himself.

“Your majesty, first this outrageous proposal, and now this?” Otto dared to express his thoughts as first in the round, but Viserys raised a hand to silence them all. He didn’t know when this thought had occurred for the first time, but ever since that ominous day in the past, the king knew that the realm would be in good hands with her as their queen. “My mind is settled upon it,” he declared and rose from his chair at the head of the table.

“If the time comes and I will not have produced a male heir by then, I will name my firstborn daughter Visenya Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, as my official successor and heir to the Iron Throne. She is what the realm needs.”

;

One year ago.

The raven arriving at King’s Landing brought distress and turmoil into the Red Keep.

“What does it mean, she is gone?” Rhaenyra asked her mother after hearing her father reading the letter in question out loud. She knew the meaning of said words, but it didn’t make any sense. Her sister would never run away, especially not without her husband, who had just arrived after flying from Dragonstone back to the capital.

Her mother rubbed over her shoulders and sighed. “Maybe your uncle can tell us more,” the queen mumbled as Daemon entered the private chambers of the king, who now started to roar in frustration and anger. “You were supposed to keep her safe!” The Targaryen prince stopped and glared at his brother. “Do you think I witnessed her wandering off without holding her back?!” Viserys threw the paper scroll onto his table. “Well, it seems like it, does it not? What in the Seven Hells happened?!”

Daemon sighed deeply and let himself fall into an unoccupied chair, not giving a single thought to how he looked now. He didn’t care if he looked defeated.

“I do not know, brother. We ate dinner last night, as we usually do, and everything seemed fine…” Daemon recalled the past night, remembering her smile and her soft touches at the table before they ignored the food entirely, so he could carry her into their chambers and their bed. He felt as if he could feel her searing kisses still on his lips. “In the morning, she was gone without any trace.”

Aemma looked from one man to another. “Do you think she left you?” The prince’s head jerked up to watch the queen with an icy expression. “And why would she do that?” The entire realm knew that the newlywed couple was probably happier than any other in the Seven Kingdoms– a love match indeed. They had witnessed it first hand at the grand royal wedding in the Sept of Baelor, even though they had a secret ceremony in the Gods Woods weeks before the spectacle of the year. The queen sighed again and shook her head. “Where could she have gone? Did you receive any ravens? Viserys?” The question was asked for both men to acknowledge, but both shook their heads in unison.

Suddenly, Rhaenyra looked up after being deep in thought in the past moments. “She told me something about her dreams,” she spoke up, and everyone stared at the young princess. “Dreams?” Viserys asked and took place on the seat opposite his second daughter. The girl nodded. “Visenya told me about a reoccurring dream she had in the past two years. It never changes, only the intervals change. She said it would be more frequent the closer the days gets to the day Rhaegar died.”

Now, Daemon furrowed his brows, remembering how he sometimes woke up to an empty bed and found his now wife leaning next to the widely opened windows overlooking the city or the bay of Dragonstone, mind always sunken deep in thought. She always had told him that she just couldn’t find sleep and didn’t want to wake him with her tossing and turning because he sometimes tended to be a light sleeper. He never objected to it, never thought it seemed off, and now he wished he had.

“Did she ever tell you what those dreams contain?” Daemon asked the young princess, and Rhaenyra slowly nodded. “She once told me that she sees a dragon. Not Rhaegar, a different one. But she never gets close enough to see him or her clearly. It’s always only a looming shadow in the blue sky,” the girl ended and looked from one adult to another. “Maybe she is looking for it. Maybe it is her dragon that is calling for her.”

The queen wasn’t sure if it could be. “Rhaegar had been her dragon, Rhaenyra, just as Syrax is yours. But maybe you are right, and she is following her path.” She eyed Daemon and how he now clung to this new hope and Viserys, who had folded his hands. “We will see what the days will bring. Ser Harrold.” The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard stepped from his place at the entrance and bowed. “My king.” Viserys raised from his chair. “Let the guards patrol the walls at Blackwater Bay and the Narrow Sea. If there is any sign of Visenya, let the bells ring.” The Lord Commander bowed again before retreating out of the chambers and preparing the order.

“We will know when she returns home,” the king promised with a wary look outside the opened windows.

–

It took exactly two days full of worry and a gloomy cloud hanging over the Red Keep until something happened.

Daemon and Viserys had just left a Small Council meeting addressing the princess's disappearance– the meeting had ended in a quarrel between the Hand and the Rogue Prince– and walked over the palace’s wall facing the Narrow Sea. It wasn’t an often sight to see the two brothers side by side in almost something resembling harmony. But desperate times required desperate measures, and not knowing where his wife was, was most definitely a desperate moment in his life.

“She will come back,” Viserys spoke up, and Daemon almost flinched at the feeling of his older brother’s hand on his shoulder. “She fought bravely for your union, and that is why I am most certain that she will come back to you. Visenya could never abandon you, as strangely as I still find it.” Now, the prince had to chuckle under his breath because this sounded more like his brother. But then, he turned serious again. “I hope so, brother.”

His words only had left his lips as commotion caught the guards on the lower wall, and the change in winds signaled something coming. As a dragon rider, Daemon knew that feeling of anticipation lingering in the air, and his eyes traveled over the horizon to find the source of said feeling. Viserys felt it as well and rested both hands on the warmed stone of the Keep’s walls, face turned to the Narrow Sea.

There, at the horizon, loomed a dark shadow between white clouds and the blue sky. A shadow that grew larger and larger with every passing moment. The bells started to ring, just as ordered by the king, and Viserys shortly looked up to see Ser Harrold nod in his direction, holding a binoculars in his hand.

The mighty roar, shaking King’s Landing in its very foundations, echoed over the Narrow Sea and traveled even further into the Seven Kingdoms. The dragon grew even bigger, and Daemon shielded his eyes with a hand against the unyielding sun, staring up into the sky with a baffled expression.

The shadow soon morphed into the sight of the largest dragon this world probably has ever seen: sea green scales, peppered by red and blue, wings as far-reaching as seemingly half of King’s Landing, and Daemon knew that the creature’s eyes would be of the clearest green a man could ever witness.

The dragon soon reached the shore and roamed over the sky of the capital, another roar escaping it. The prince instinctively felt that Visenya was atop its back, securely tucked away between the mighty wings, holding onto the scales. And he was right.

Viserys stood in awe at the sight of the flying dragon– the last of the old ones. “Vhagar,” he spoke in wonder, eyes wide and not believing what they were seeing just now.

Vhagar closed her circle over the city and continued her flight to the massive building of the Dragonpit, to which Viserys and Daemon followed straight away.

—

The horses danced around nervously as they approached the landed dragon, but Vhagar didn’t move a single powerful muscle as the king and the prince landed on their feet and stared up at the beast’s head. The oldest of all living dragons– too big for the pit, so it had landed on the outskirts of it– looked down at them, unimpressed, but moved her head as a voice on her back talked gently to her.

“Ziry iksos ry paktot, Vhagar,” (It is all right, Vhagar) the princess calmed her, could she feel her tensing muscles underneath her body after all. Raising her head, it poked up behind the she-dragon’s shoulder, and Daemon hadn’t seen his wife this radiant in a very long time. She sure was radiant every day, but she held a different light to her after flying with her dragon. And ever since Rhaegar died, Visenya had stayed on the ground.

“Dōrī gaomagon bona arlī. Gaomagon ao rȳbagon issa?,” (Never do that again. Do you hear me?) Daemon shook his wife at her shoulders after she had climbed off the dragon and stood in front of him. Visenya softly cradled his face in the palms of her hands and pulled his forehead down against hers. “I am sorry, issa jorrāelagon.” (my love) The woman whispered against his lips and let Daemon capture her in his strong arms to lift her off the ground. She circled her arms around his neck and closed her eyes as the Rogue Prince buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent with the old but new smell of smoke and fire. “This was what was absent,” Daemon mumbled against her skin, and Visenya pushed silver strands out of his face and behind his ears after he had put her back on the ground. “Am I whole again, then?” Her words betrayed her smile, but Daemon nudged the tip of her nose with his and soothed her rising doubts.

“Do you feel whole again?”

Visenya looked into his eyes, shortly turning her head to watch Vhagar, who growled at everyone coming too close to her new rider, before turning back to Daemon.

“I believe I do.”

;

Present Day.

She missed the days when she was able to wear her perfectly fitting coats and breeches, laced boots up to her knees, and gloves covering her fingers as soon as she left the Red Keep. Well, those times may only be over for the next couple of days, but it was enough to put her already stressed mind into an even more anxious state.

Watching her reflection in the full-length mirror occupying the spot right next to the opening to the balcony in their shared chambers, Visenya let her hands brush over the soft fabric of the dark red dress one of her handmaidens had put her in and smoothed the flaring fabric over her lower body half, revealing the small curve which had made its appearance a few weeks ago. It had been hard ever since because even though she had been thrilled to be able to give her husband their first child finally, it scared her. She knew what had happened to her mother; Visenya had heard her screams echoing through the hallways of the Keep after the maesters and her father had pushed her out of her room without so much as a teary-eyed whispered Goodbye.

And now, she could be in the same position as her beloved mother, who was now dead– and her beautiful boy had followed right after. Daemon could have to choose between her and the babe, and Visenya never wanted to put him through this torture. She currently saw what it had done to her father.

Swallowing dryly, her eyes were settled unmoving on the curve of her stomach where a life had started to grow and she didn’t realizes the arrival of the prince. He entered their rooms slowly and silently, his eyes instantly resting on his wife. His fingers opened the sword belt to put Dark Sister on the top of their bed covers, and his feet carried him over to her still form. Daemon circled his arms around Visenya’s waist, propping his chin atop her right shoulder, and his ring-clad hand softly stroked the growing belly of the love of his life.

“Good morning, wife,” he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to her jawline, and pulled her back against his strong chest. Visenya looked at him through the mirror, a loving expression on her face, the fear gone for the moment. “How are the dragons?” She smiled at his chuckle; the smell of fire and smoke wafted through the air around them. “I think Vhagar misses you, but I am not entirely sure because she still is not my friend.” The princess now grinned and leaned her temple against the side of his head. “She will someday come around,” she mumbled and closed the lilac eyes as Daemon continued to stroke her stomach over the fabric. “And how is my prince or princess?”

Visenya swallowed again but softly shrugged. “Apart from the pestering sickness in the morning?” Daemon nodded, his eyes transfixed on her body, still wondering how he had achieved this miracle of turning his life into something resembling this bliss. “The maester said everything is how it is supposed to be,” she whispered, not daring to look into his eyes as the prince raised his gaze. “I did not ask what this old sucker with his wandering hands told you, issa jorrāelagon.” (my love) Visenya sighed and felt the fear rising again within her body. “I am scared.” The confession left her lips in a hushed mumble, almost too ashamed to confess. As if she didn’t appreciate and love the baby they had created together– the perfect combination of Daemon and her. But she just couldn’t shake off the feeling lingering since the day of her mother’s death and the discovery of her very own pregnancy mere weeks later.

Daemon now softly turned her around in his embrace and guided her to one of the two grand chairs facing each other in front of the balcony, the soft fur of a glorious stag on the stone floor in front of them. The prince coaxed the princess to sit down, even though she started to protest. “It is nothing, really. Only a silly thought. We must go anyway; we cannot let them wait on this particular day.” His stone-hard stare silenced her as he kneeled in front of her, and Visenya looked down at her tangled fingers, watched how the morning light let the stone of the ring Daemon gifted her on their wedding night shine. “I do not care a single fuck of what those bloody bastards think,” he murmured and let her play with the ring for a second. He knew that soothed her.

But then his strong pointer finger underneath her chin moved her gaze back up to him. “It is because of your mother, is it?” Visenya nodded, barely palpable, and Daemon sighed. He had suspected something, especially because the court still didn’t know about the happy news, but the prince didn’t dare to ask her when they would announce it. He knew she had to process everything– the grief over her mother, the fright over the traumatic birth he knew she had witnessed in parts, the knowledge that something so life-affirming could turn into something so dreadful.

But he could take one of her fears right here, right now.

“Issa jorrāelagon,” (my love) Daemon called her gently, his voice bringing her back into reality, back to him. Visenya lost the distant expression in her eyes and focused her entire being on the man on his knee in front of her. “Gaomagon daor zūgagon ziry,” (Do not fear it) he continued, and something very peaceful settled within her chest as he talked in Valyrian to her. It had always been their way of communicating. “Nyke jāhor daor iderēbagon se rūs toliot ao.” (I will not choose the baby over you) The princess swallowed thickly and leaned her cheek more into his palm as Daemon cupped it as soft as a breeze on her skin in summer. “Ao issi se sȳrje mirre isse issa glaeson. Daorun jāhor arlinnon bona. Daorys jāhor arlinnon bona.” (You are the most important/the best thing in my life. Nothing will change that. No one will change that.) She could see the heartache in his eyes; the fear of losing her to something he could never control because it was one of the few things the gods reserved entirely for themselves.

Visenya cupped Daemon’s cheek, her thumb caressing the skin over his cheekbone. “Yn ao jaelagon ziry. Ao jaelagon nykeā prince,” (But you want it. You want an heir.) she whispered, and Daemon smiled the smile entirely reserved for her eyes to witness; a smile so small but containing so much love, it always amazed her. “Nyke jaelagon ao tolī. Nyke jorrāelagon ao tolī,” (I want you more. I need you more.) he returned with a certainty she could live with. “Se īlon kostagon va moriot sylugon arlī. Nyke gaomagon daor mind se mirre.” (And we can always try again. I do not mind the work) His suggestively raised eyebrows made the princess laugh, and Daemon smirked.

“But I mean it,” he now changed back into the common tongue. He pulled Visenya closer to him at her waist, closer to the edge of the chair, so she had to spread her legs in order to make room for him. The princess settled her hands around his neck, carded her fingers through his silver strands, and played with the shorter hair at the nape of his neck. “I will not make the same choice– and mistake– my brother, did all those weeks ago. I will not sacrifice you in order to get a potential heir because we can try uncountable times– but I only have one Visenya.” Blinking, Visenya tried to hide the tears and prevent them from falling, but Daemon knew her all too well. “I may cannot take the fear over the birth and the upcoming weeks, but I will promise you that I will be by your side, protect you whatever might come– especially protect you from those wandering hands. It is as if I still can see them on you.” With that, Daemon gripped her hips tighter and pulled her face to him to finally kiss her.

But a knock at their chamber’s door let Visenya hold back. “Yes?” Daemon grumbled, and one of the servants opened the door. “Your highnesses.” He bowed shortly. “The court is gathered in the Great Hall and awaits your arrival, princess.” She sighed and nodded. “You can tell them their future queen will be there when she is ready.” Daemon stood tall in the room and strode over to the door to close it with much more force than was really necessary. The poor servant had to stumble back into the corridor with a baffled expression.

“Daemon,” Visenya scolded him and pushed herself off the chair. She softly rolled her eyes as the prince gathered her back in his arms and leaned his head down. “As I said: They can wait for their queen.” His voice rumbled low in his chest, and the princess closed her eyes as his lips made contact with her forehead, slowly wandering down over her temple to her lips. “My Queen,” he rasped before kissing her like a starved man.

;

I really don’t know where all these words came from, and I’m sorry for this shitty work, but I had to write it down to get it out of my head :x The next Daemon work will be much better hopefully!

But thanks for reading! As usual: comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated <3

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon daemon targaryen #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #oc!targaryen #hotd s1 #hotd spoilers

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mairoon · 21 days

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witheredoffherwitch · 1 month

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Missing Scene From HoTD

"King of the Narrow Sea" — Season 1 Episode 4

#hotd s1 script leaks #otto hightower #daemon targaryen #ottomon will always be a superior ship 🫶#can't believe they deleted this scene 😞#hotd s1 #hotd leaks #team green #team black #hotd fandom

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emynarnen · 1 year

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Rhaenyra Targaryen’s necklaces

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON Season 1 (2022)

#rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon #hotdedit #costume #mine #100 #200 #300 #500 #1000 #2000 #3000 #hotd costume #hotd #hotd s1

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aemndx · 1 year

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I love the way you write possessive Aemond in your work. I love the idea of a possessive slightly unhinged Aemond wanting something/someone for himself. Especially because he’s is intelligent and cunning enough to do low key wild and manipulative things to make sure he gets to be with the person he wants. I’m so excited when I saw you tagged possessive Aemond in the last few writings you posted

— 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘.

gif credit.

author’s note: …here we fucking go again. yea, i’m writing a lil drabble about my slut of a husband, aemond. do i regret it? no. i hope you enjoy & please reblog, comment + leave ur feedback..! it really helps me stay motivated to keep writing. thank you, babes. ♡

warnings: minors dni. light smut. dark themes. fingering. kissing. female pronouns. possessive behavior. pet names. romance. fluff. any grammatical errors are my own -- in advance, i sincerely apologize.

word count: 790.

pairings: aemond targaryen x reader (f).

♡࿐ aemond targaryen has always thought of you as his.

his to protect, his to care for, his to love. ever since he met you, he surrounded himself around you, keeping you close by his side and never letting you out of his sight – unless absolutely necessary, and one of his most trusted guards had to be with you at all times.

even then, aemond would be on edge, not trusting anyone else to protect you like he could.

you thought he was charming.

aemond would look at you like you’re the center of the universe, like you held all of the stars.

aemond thinks it’s cute when you learn something new in philosophy, excitedly wanting to share the new information with him – even if he already knows it.

on lazy days, the prince will sit with you in his lap, one arm wrapped around your waist protectively–(while his other arm would be underneath the skirt of your dress, softly caressing the naked part of your smooth inner thighs with the tips of his fingers, teasingly)–and listen intently while you try and explain what you’ve just learned to him.

nonchalantly, he’d nod along, though would be just as focused on your plush lips moving as well as the words pouring out of them.

although, halfway through explaining, you’d turn around in his lap and claim his mouth against yours hungrily, while his fingers would slowly fuck your dripping cunt in the secluded library, not stopping until you’d come harshly on his lap.

there would be times where aemond would sneak into your chambers to spend time with you, specifically at the late hours of the night, wanting to be as close as physically possible to you. he loves you so much, he doesn’t ever want you to doubt his love for you.

during those private evenings, aemond would claim you as his – multiple times until you were a shaking, sobbing mess beneath him, in his arms.

he’d leave all sorts of love marks behind, kissing every inch of your skin he could reach, before thrusting his long, thick cock into your sweet cunt with both of your moans echoing off the walls.

you’d be terrified of somebody finding out about you two, but aemond would always reassure you – whispering sweet praises in your ear, calming you by kissing your neck and jaw as you’d let out the most irresistible moans for him as he continued fucking into you, uncaring of who heard you both.

…besides, if someone did manage to find out about the two of you, he’d kill them without a seconds notice.

aemond is very possessive over you, to the point that some of the lords and ladies started to take notice, though aemond paid them little attention.

some days, when the weather was warm and the sun was shining, aemond would bring you on long walks through the gardens, just the two of you.

there was a secret hidden place, surrounded by various trees and gorgeous flowers, and aemond would press your back up against one of the many thick trees, kissing you so passionately that you’d see stars.

“marry me,” aemond begged, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your sensitive neck, causing a whimper to escape your pretty lips, your breathing coming out in short, little gasps.

“mmm.. no,” you drawled, though your tone is teasing. “my father is suspicious of all the rumors about us, but he doesn’t ask. i feel like maybe he’s afraid of you,” you giggled, batting your eyelashes up at the handsome prince.

the prince smiles, pleased.

“besides,” you continued, your voice saddened and your heart breaking into a million little pieces. “my father.. he will arrange a marriage for me someday and i must–“

“that'll never happen,” aemond cuts you off, confidently. “if your father tries to take you away from me, he’ll suffer a horribly painful death.”

your heart flutters, your cheeks heating up and your head beginning to feel faint. “you're so sweet.” you whisper, smiling.

“only for you, my sweet girl.” the prince says, tenderly brushing his knuckles along your cheekbone, before bending down and capturing your lips in his once more – he tastes of honey and strawberries.

you moan, high pitched and so needy for him.

gods, he loved you.

aemond grinned, continuing his assault downwards your delicate neck. “marry me,” he asked once again, sounding impatient. you wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him sweetly on his chin, making him squeeze your waist in equal affection.

“be my wife,” he says, tone commanding and sweet as sugar and death.

you sighed, pulling back just slightly so that your lips brushed softly over his, “i’d love nothing more.”

fin

feel free to send in requests / thots here.

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xthecaptainssaviorx · 27 days

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“The way we played it was essentially that Alicent is walking into this room thinking that she’s carrying this terrible secret, and she realizes that all the men in her life—including her father—have been secretly plotting against her husband to do this, knowing that he was near death. It infuriates her. It’s Alicent coming to the head of this table and finding the wheels of the conspiracy are already in motion. She’s behind, so she’s trying to come to grips with it and reel it in." - Ryan Condal

Olivia Cooke as Alicent Hightower in 1.09 "The Green Council"

#alicent hightower #hotd 1x09 #hotd s1 #alicenthightowerdaily #welighttheway #dailyhotdgifs #gameofthronesdaily #*mine: gifs #*mine #*mine: hotd

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written-in-flowers · 2 years

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After Tonight...(AemondxReader)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x plussize!reader

Genre: Smut, fluff, childhood friends to lovers,

Word Count: 4k

Warnings! :oral sex (m and f receiving/giving), fingering, gagging, slight choking, creampie, roleplay(?), multiple orgasms.

Summary: After a false compliment reignites tensions, you confront your husband about his actions. He confronts you about something else.

A/N: finally, a fic of my own design! Lol, it’s really just smut tbh. Hope you guys like it, and feedback’s always appreciated <3

****

“How could you say something like that? In front of those people? Are you mad?”

You rounded on him the moment you sent your servants away. Aemond stood on the other side of the room, pouring himself a cup of wine and taking a drink. You wanted to smack it from his hand. You took in your husband’s cool and collected demeanor from across the room. Long silver hair tossed back over his shoulders, a glint of amusement in his single pale blue eye made you even more upset.

“Is this amusing to you?” you asked, glaring at him. “Do you find it amusing that you’ve broken any form of peace we might’ve had with-”

“-Oh, what peace, Y/N? Those people have no desire for peace with us,” he said, continuing to drink and not looking at you. “Did you see their faces?” he asked in a chuckle, malice glinting in his eye. “Hilarious.”

“It was not hilarious,” you retorted. “Your father asked for all of us to sup together and make amends. It’s the only way to stop all this infighting and squabbling. Rhaenyra will be queen someday whether you like it or not. Your father named her heir to the throne. I think it’d be best if we started meding bonds with her instead of burning them, before she decides-”

“-My father named her heir before he had Aegon,” he replied coolly, standing by the table, firm and still with his feet apart. “He didn’t think he'd remarry until he married my mother. He had no choice. The realm forced his hand, so he named her his heir. Then he had Aegon, and Aegon should’ve become his rightful heir. Her and her Strong boys have taken that from us.”

‘Strong boys’. The two words that ignited the kindling fires beneath the table. You scoffed, shaking your head, “Do not pretend as if that is what made you act, Aemond,” you snorted. “All because the boy laughed in your direction?” you saw his pointed avoidance of your gaze. “Luke wasn’t laughing at you, Aemond. He was laughing at the pig.”

“No, he was laughing at you.” You heard the growl in your husband’s voice. “That little bitch Rhaena muttered something to him, looked at you, and laughed. I won’t tolerate it.”

You should’ve expected as much. Many boys at court poked fun at you for your size. You’d always had your wide hips, thick thighs, fatty arms and stomach since you were small. Your mother thought sending you to court might curb your appetite, but anxiousness made you eat more. You’ve tried. You honestly had, if not for yourself then for Aemond. Tough, strong, intimidating warriors like him should have pretty, slim wives who light up rooms with their smiles and are the envy of everyone at court. He never cared what other people said; you tried feeling the same, yet the creeping sensation that you simply weren’t enough came. Prince Aemond Targaryen could have his pick of any woman in Westeros, but, instead he married you. The girl Aegon, Jace and little Luke made jokes about behind her back. You pushed aside these feelings, poured your own wine and forced yourself to swallow it.

“The jests of a boy mean nothing to me.” You hesitated, brief flashes of memories coming to you.

You recalled the roasted pig the servants placed in front of you both. Yes, how witty. So witty. You rolled your eyes. It reminded you of the Pink Dread they’d presented Aemond with in their youth. A large pig they’d gotten from the pen with dragons wings tied to its sides, Aemond told you about it during a walk you took together. He’d initially had trouble taming a dragon to bond with. All the Targaryens ride dragons, and your husband suffered teasing and bullying for not having his own. You supposed the Pink Dread coupled with being betrothed to you caused double the damage.

A sinking feeling came through your chest as the realization came. How must it feel for you? Jace and Luke only laughed whenever Aegon made snide comments about you. They’d done worse to Aemond. They’d blinded him. You couldn’t imagine the pain it must’ve brought him seeing them again after so many years. Instant guilt filled your stomach, taking up any room your wine might’ve filled.

“I’m sorry, my love,” you said, looking into your cup. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. After all the cruel jokes and then what happened with your eye…” you shook your head, “I’m being so selfish.”

You felt his eyes on you as you looked away from him. People often stared at Aemond when he walked into rooms. They saw him as a sort of monster, to be feared and never approached. So, he played into that. He became a fierce warrior and battle tactician. You knew he overheard the men in the training yard: “Aemond would’ve made a great fighter, but that eye’s gonna work against him”. He hated the stares. He hated the whispers. You worried that dinner would set him off, but you’d insisted you both attend. You’d seen him grinding his teeth, and staring daggers into the two boys in front of him. Gentle squeezes of his hand, and reassurances did nothing to calm your husband’s simmering anger. He never forgave easily, and he never forgot a slight whether real or imagined.

“I’m sorry I pushed you to go to dinner,” you said. “I knew it’d be difficult for you, but it’s the last supper we might ever have with your father, and I knew it’d make him happy to have you there. I should’ve suggested we leave or use one of the children as a reason to-”

“-I’m not upset we went. I’m glad. You have nothing to apologize for, Wife.”

‘Wife’. The word still held sway over you six years and two children later.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he told you, softness and love behind his words. You heard him step over to you, stopping until he was inches away from you. “This dress…” you felt warm hands start at your hips and slide up your sides, kneading at the rolls there, “Did you mean to tempt me with it?”

A slight warmth came to your cheeks. You’d worn a dress of dark blue-green silk with gold embroidered birds, flowers and vines along the seams. You admitted it was a bit lower cut than you’d originally intended. Your bosom pushed against the neckline, but you managed to not let it spill over. Sitting on his good eye’s side, he would’ve seen you perfectly. You’d tied up your hair with the silver comb Aemond gifted you for your nameday. It matched the sapphire he wore in place of his missing eye. He said he liked it when your jewels matched his. Had you worn it hoping it’d stir desire in your husband? Yes. Always. You hoped in vain it might distract him from any rash actions he might make.

“You know how much I love this gown,” you said innocently. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Or,” he brushed his lips against your ear, “You wanted me to rip it from you and ravage you as I do whenever you wear it…”

You giggled, but simply stayed in his arms as he began kissing at your neck. Nimble fingers deftly untied your dress. “You better hope your father doesn’t hear what you said tonight,” you said, knowing he wasn’t really listening, “He’ll be so upset.”

“I only paid them a compliment,” he replied, pushing your sleeves down your arms. “It’s not my fault if they think they’re not strong.”

“That is not what you meant, and you know it,” you accused.

“It is no secret what they are,” he said. “You’ve seen them.”

Yes, you have seen them. Jacaryes and Luceryes should’ve had the dark skin of their Velaryon father or the coloring of their silver-haired Targaryen mother. Instead, the two princes had brown hair and dark eyes; much like that of Harwin Strong, the former commander of the city watch. The sworn sword and champion of Princess Rhaenyra. But, nobody dared to say it out loud; it was an act of treason. For your husband to say it, even laced in a false compliment, soured things quickly. You had no real love for their family, but you’d promised your mother-in-law you’d keep things civil. You congratulated Rhaena and Baela on their betrothals to Jace and Luke. You asked Jace how his Valryian lessons were coming along, and asked Baela about going on at Driftmark. You wanted to be friends with them, putting aside the bitter memories of your youth.

Once your dress fell at your feet, Aemond worked on the lacings of your undergarments. The thin layer of cloth kept Aemond’s hands from your delicate skin. You could feel every digit caressing your body, molding it and pressing on points he knew made you gasp. You turned to face him, staring into his face and seeing the lust in his eyes. Carefully, you cupped his cheek. Your thumb grazed over the scar peeking out from his eyepatch. He only wore it when at court, to not disturb the other ladies who might be more squeamish. It never bothered you. You lifted his eyepatch off. He flinched for a brief moment, but a gentle touch of your hand calmed him. In the eye socket where a pale blue eye should be, was a dark sapphire. The jeweler who’d made it rounded it to resemble an eye, but Aemond asked for it to remain its natural color.

“I remember thinking you’d die,” you huffed a laugh. “The wound was so terrible and bled so much.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” he said. “I got Vhagar in return.” He paused, “I got you.”

Heat came around your neck and cheeks again, bringing on a smile. You remember the moment vividly. The morning after his injury he'd come to your quarters at Driftmark. Unannounced, uninvited, the prince stood in your chambers, pale and silver with determination on his face. Claiming his own dragon brought out a fire in him that never went out. You recalled studying him there. You’d gotten wounds of your own, little scratches and cuts, but nothing compared to his pain. The stark contrast of the stitched wound on his ivory skin was more shocking in the morning light. You somewhat liked the effect.

‘My prince, you should be resting.’

‘There is something I wanted to tell you, my lady, before we depart home.’

‘What is it?’

“An absurd thing for a twelve-year-old boy to say,” you said softly, unbuckling his belt from his waist. You unbuttoned his doublet and lifted it off him. “‘I have my dragon’,” you quoted, “‘Now, I want my wife.’ I believe that is what you said.”

“And I got you,” he said, pecking your lips. “I told my mother I would never want another girl. No girl would do for me what you did that night.”

“Blatantly lie to the king about what happened in the tunnel?”

“No…defend me.”

You did recall tearing Rhaena off Aemond as she and the others began hitting him. The both of you tussled around on the ground, pulling at each other’s hair and scratching each other’s faces. You’d never fought before, but your weight and size certainly worked in your favor. Her sister eventually joined the fray, pulling you off to punch at you, but the three of you stopped once Jace pulled out his blade.

“I never thought I’d have anyone on my side,” he said, “But you were there. You always are. You tore at them. You hit them. You made them pay, in what little way you could. Then you told my father they attacked us. You defended me.”

“And I’d do it again, if I had to.”

Sliding his hand on the nape of your neck, he brought you to his lips. The taste of the vintage wine lingered on both your tongues, sweetening the already heated kiss. You untied the fastenings of his clothes, removing them piece by piece until nothing separated you. His hard body stoked a fire inside you. You ran your hands down his chest to his stomach, finally landing just above his cock. A low rumble from his chest beckoned you to keep going as he pressed himself to you. Warm, with the faint smell of violets lingering on his skin from his clothes, you fell further into your bliss as his hands slipped down your waist to your backside. Plump and soft, his hands kneaded them so that you whimpered against his lips.

“I liked it,” you said between kisses, running your hand over his member and feeling it twitch on your palm.

“Liked what?” he asked. He brought one hand up to your breast, palming it and squeezing gently.

You broke your lips from his, licking his bottom lip, “Watching you mock them. I liked seeing their eyes flicker with fear when you stood up, staring them down with that hard look of yours.” You grabbed his shaft just to hear him grunt, “Being the strong, clever, slightly intimidating man you’ve become. I’ll admit,” you slowly began pumping him, watching his head roll back, “It aroused me for a moment.”

“I know,” he smirked, eyes still closed. “I know it isn’t by chance that you end up in the training yard some mornings.”

“I quite enjoy watching you fight. I always have. I love my strong,” you pecked at his neck, “Handsome,” you pecked the other side, “Clever husband who fucks me like a whore and treats me like a queen.”

“Which would you like tonight?” he suddenly grabbed your hair and yanked it, “A whore or a queen?”

“You’re a smart man,” you brought him over to the bed and straddled a corner, “You figure it out.”

His cock at level with you, you carefully lifted it to your mouth and slid your tongue underneath. Aemond did not respond with anything except a soft sigh. You kept your eyes on him as you licked him from base to tip, and then back down. Veins pump blood into his member, which pulsates against the flat of your tongue each time you traced over them. Blond hair curtaining his face, the shade darkened his features leaving his sapphire eye standing out more. You didn’t focus on it. You focused on the pink, bulbous tip that gradually turned red when you swirl your tongue around it. By the time you slid him into your mouth, moaning softly, Aemond’s hands already grasped your hair. He did not force you down immediately; he let you start the pace, enjoying your lips sucking his throbbing cock. Hands grasping his muscled thighs, you kept yourself steady while you slid him towards your throat.

You only ever told one person where you learned the intimate art of love making. It was considered unbecoming and inappropriate for a noble lady to wander into a brothel disguised as a street urchin to watch the women there pleasure their customers. You never let yourself be touched, yet you’d observed at a hefty price. Aemond nearly choked on his wine when you revealed it to him on your wedding night. Yet, he quickly got over his shock when you laid him back and let you show him what you learned. You never fully mastered taking it to the back of your throat like some women did, but Aemond never pressed you. He stood there and let you practice on him sometimes after training or dinner. He gave a low groan when his tip pressed there, the groan mixing with your soft choking each time you did it. You massaged your thumbs into his inner thighs, close to his ballsack; his hips pushed into your face slightly at the new sensation. The longer you went on, the needier your husband became. Soon, he fisted your hair to keep you still so he stuck himself further into your throat. You let him guide you along his considerable length, your own sex beginning to ache for his touch. He saw you start to slip your hand between your thighs before he snatched it by the wrist. Without a word, he took both your wrists and held them at his sides to bring you forward.

“The only person,” he grunted, “Who touches your cunt is me.”

His words made your clit throb again. You slowly grind your hips into the bed, which he seemed to allow so you could whimper around his cock. You imagined him throwing you onto the bed, forcing your legs apart and taking you however he wanted. The strength and formidable aura he oozed at the dinner table came back to you. How he’d stared coldly at Jace when he stood up at the table, angry with Aegon for his crude comments to Baela. How he sparred with Ser Cole earlier in the day, moving quick and precise in each maneuver. You wished to feel him everywhere. You wanted to feel the hard muscles and lines of his body; feel his heart beating faster while you rode him. You tried saying his name with your mouth full, a thing you knew he enjoyed. He laughed when he heard your muffled words.

“I’m sorry,” he said, laughing in his tone, “What was that?” You pleaded his name again, rocking your hips more and more for some form of friction. “Is there something you need?”

He slid himself far enough that his tip laid on your tongue still, and you said, “Your tongue, my prince. Your tongue,” you licked the underside, “Your fingers, your cock. Please, Your Grace.”

“Hm, I don’t know,” he said, releasing your hands and taking hold of himself. You stuck out your tongue for him to rub overt, tapping his tip there before you sucked on it. “I quite like it this way. You look so pretty drooling and begging me for more…like a filthy whore who can’t seem,” he plunged back into your mouth, “To get enough.”

You moaned with him this time, continuing to rub yourself on the corner of the bed as he kept a slow pace. The light brushes of the soft sheets against your aching sex felt torturous. The right spot refused to be touched, so the same teasing feeling came each time. Eventually, seeing streams of drool and precum follow, Aemond withdrew from you fully and pushed you onto your back.

“Which part did you aim to please, slut?” he asked, the slur dripping from his lips with seduction. He trailed two long fingers down your belly to the top of your mound. You flinched feeling them trail circles down to the crevasse of your folds. “Was it here?” he traced them lightly over the slit of your cunt, dipping his finger only to graze over the hood of your clit. “Perhaps underneath then?” he brushed it back up underneath the hard nub, making you tremble. He chuckled darkly at your response and continued doing it with his thumb. You gripped the sheets under you as his thumb then slid over your clit, “But what about right here? It seems to please you the most.”

“Do not act as if you don’t know…A-Aemond…” you breathed, the slow movements driving you crazy.

“I only wish to educate myself on what pleases my whore the most,” he began making soft trails of kisses down your inner thighs, “Well enough that she’ll never want another.”

The wetness that leaked from you made his thumb’s movements slicker. He did careful circles around your sex, sometimes sliding towards your entrance before coming back up. He knew exactly what made your toes curl, and had you longing for him. A drastic difference from your wedding night. You brought one of his hands to your breasts for him to fondle while Aemond buried his face between your thighs. He worked his tongue in languid laps against your open folds while his fingers pinched your nipple hard. The slight tingle of pain made you raise your hips to his tongue again.

You yelped in surprise when he slid both fingers inside your cunt, dragging them along the walls in a soft, delicate pace. He kept licking your sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue while he focused on the fingers inside you. The sensations coupled together were too much to bear.

"Aemond…Aemond…" you muttered his name, the tension inside you building tighter and tighter.

"I know," he mumbled, kissing up your thighs, his thumb replacing his tongue's movements. "Let go for me."

Your body immediately obeyed. His fingers kept the same gentle speed as your walls squeezed them. You reached down to grab his wrist, keeping it in place for more. Smirking, Aemond let his fingers wiggle against the most sensitive of spots. You saw stars when you closed your eyes. Your body might've burst into a thousand and one pieces with every shuddering wave.

He didn't give you a single second. Pushing you further up the bed, Aemond forced your legs further apart and slipped into you. Hands pinning down your wrists, his lips found yours as he started rocking into you. Your juices still on his lips and tongue, you licked them clean. You pussy throbbed from being stimulated again, but you could not let go. You didn't want him to stop. You'd needed him all night.

"Such a good whore," he jeered, starting to slam his hips into yours, "Laying here like a good girl and letting me take it how I want."

"Only for you, Your Grace. Only…for…"

He knelt up, and you saw the sheer size of him. Long limbed, you gazed on the pale sculpted figure above you. Silver hair falling around him, dark sapphire glinting, he was otherworldly. You never thought you'd have a man like him. Women like you did not get what they wanted, it was plain and simple. Women like you took what they got and adapted, because otherwise, you ended up an old maid. You didn't want that. You began bouncing against him so your breasts moved, and his eyes immediately fell on them. Letting go of your hands, he bent down and grasped them. Sparks of pleasure coursed back through you as he kissed and bit all over them. You didn't think you could handle it a second time. It didn't stop when his thumb found your clit again, and he moved it in time with his thrusts. The oversensitive spot tingled throughout your body; his touch felt ten times more apparent than before.

"Your Grace," you mumbled, your thoughts forcing themselves together, "I think I might…I…"

At this, he angled you upwards and kept short strokes. The tip of his cock touched right on it again, your eyes rolling back to the strong sensation inside you. It felt like a knot being tightened and tightened until finally it snapped, and you were rutting up against him like an animal. Your second orgasm hit you hard, a strong force that made you lose control. You felt long fingers rest against your throat, not squeezing but simply holding you there. This new restraint, and the struggle of oxygen it brought, strengthened your climax instead of softening it. Your screams came slightly gurgled, but nobody else needed to hear. Your moans were for Aemond’s ears only.

Unable to withhold himself any longer, Aemond took a few more pumps before he came. The hot cum filling you brought on a blissful satisfaction. His held tilted back, eyes closed shut and lips parted, your husband resembled a sculpture. A beautiful one. You ran your nails down his chest to his stomach to feel his tense muscles spasm in every squeeze. He kept thrusting until he'd drained every drop into you. Would you feel soreness in your muscles tomorrow? Yes. Would you regret it? Not at all.

He fell onto his side next to you, blond hairs stuck to his forehead from sweat and a hazy sleepiness in his eyes. You tried your best to regain your breath and strength to even move. You turned your head to see him; you looked over his profile for every detail you can point out. Nobody ever made you feel so safe; so secure and comfortable in your own skin. You rolled onto your side and draped your arm and leg over half of him. He welcomed the cuddle and let you rest your head on his arm, so his hand fell near your hair, where he played with the ends of it idly. Neither you spoke as you basked in each other’s warmth; only smiling and sharing a soft kiss before a voice broke out into the room.

"Well, it's good to see my brother knows how to pleasure a woman."

“Aegon!”

“Aegon, you twat!”

With wicked quickness, Aemond grabbed the nearest object and flung it at his brother, who stood a few feet from your bed. The blond boy laughed as he dodged it. Seeing his brother’s flustered face and you scrambling to cover yourself with sheets, Aegon cackled.

“Mother sent me to come get you,” Aegon said through his laughter, “But, um, I’ll tell her you and Lady Y/N are indisposed right now.”

“You prick, Aegon! Don’t you know how to knock?!” You launched a pillow at him, which hit the man square in the face.

“I didn’t want to interrupt!” he laughed, cheeks red as he walked backwards. “You two seemed to be having a good time!”

“Get out!” you and Aemond yelled in unison.

You watched him leave. You both continued to hear him laughing even after he shut the doors. Aemond flung back onto the pillows in a sigh and you rested next to him.

“Seven Hells,” you cursed, “He’s never going to shut up about it now.”

“Well, if he does, I can just casually remind him in front of a group of people how I once found him in a brothel tied to a pole blindfolded with a woman and a sheep in the room.”

“I’m sorry, but you found him doing what?” you asked in pure disgust.

“Yes,” he nodded, “He claims that the sheep just happened to be there, but I don’t think anyone would believe him.”

The both of you met each other’s gaze and then laughed. You curled back up to him again, his warmth keeping the chill from coming over you, and rested on him. You felt his seed stick between your legs. You hoped. You prayed that, maybe, a child would quicken there. You worried about what tonight’s events might rekindle, and the fallout from that dinner. It was nothing; a snide remark that can be forgiven if done at the right time. Perhaps Alicent will smooth things over, and the king will never hear of it. He is so old and very ill. You hated thinking Viserys died knowing his last effort to mend his family was broken so carelessly.

“You worry too much,” Aemond’s voice broke through your sleepiness. “Don’t let it bother your pretty head anymore.”

“You don’t worry enough,” you replied, shutting your eyes and letting him pull the sheets over you both.

“I do worry. I worry about you,” you felt his lips peck the top of your head. “Now, sleep.”

And so you did in your husband’s arms, the place you were meant to be.

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