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rushtoprove · 4 months

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the deepest melancholy

pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader rating: mature (18+) word count: 5.9k+ summary: you wished you were strong enough to fight against the life that had been planned for you, but instead you cower at the thought of marrying the dreaded kinslayer, and you were sure he wished to be marrying someone else too. but neither of you could escape this marriage. duty always prevails. chapter summary: the realm was left a mess after the war between the targaryen kin. aegon may have won but the city despises those who almost destroyed the realm. the greens have become the most feared family in the realm, and prince aemond the most frightening figure of them all. that is why the townsfolk weep as your carriage passes them. they pity the sweet girl who is to be sacrificed to the kinslayer and his family. warnings: smut. arranged marriage. uncomfortably smut. forced marriage. angst. it will get better. beauty and the beast au (?) authors note: I have a bad habit of disappearing to remain mysterious. I see my flaws. But truthfully... I never left.

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It had been six days since your arrival on this foreign shore, but you were still consumed with the sickness that comes with travelling upon the sea. Your stomach seemed to tighten with every bump or shift of the carriage, and every jolt had your dress being pulled tighter into your fists. The echoing voices and cries made it known that your arrival to the red keep had gained an audience, so you slowly pulled back the curtain of the carriage and peered out to see the villagers who you would soon preside over.

“They have experienced hell little one.” Your brother sighed pitifully as he leaned over your shoulder to view the commotion. The folk looked solemnly on the moving carriage, shaking their heads and bowing towards your hidden figure. Some wept pitifully for you leaving the bile in your stomach no choice but to race upwards, and when you made eye contact with an old nun crossing herself in a silent blessing, you hastily tugged the curtains back into place and push yourself into your seat.

“You would leave me here.” You chocked out in anguish. He simply laughed. All he ever did was laugh at you.

Your brother would not support you in your sorrows. He would not weep, nor would he pity you, because it was he who was forcing you into this torment. He was the one marrying you off to the second prince of the realm. He was the one orchestrating your misery. Your brother will simply dump you at the feet of the most hated family of the realm and walk away with more land and title.

“You can thank father for your predicament sister. It was that reckless old man who fought for the traitor Rhaenyra. It was he who lost our good will with the crown. It is I who is simply trying to win back our favour and our riches.”

“They will think me a traitor like they think our father was. He fought for her because he made an oath to support her claim. They will not differentiate who was under our banner on the battlefield. They will take out their anger on me. He will take out his anger on me.” The chills that tingled your spine when you thought of your future husband should be familiar by now, but it still frightens you.

“Father was blinded. Being obligated to risk all our fortune over a pathetic oath forced upon him by the late King Viserys. He worked beside Otto Hightower that whole time. He should know better than anyone the power that man held. He should have known the battle was won before Viserys was even dead.”

“Our father was a loyal subject to Queen Rhaenyra and he fought for her because he knew she would be an admirable ruler. She would have ruled as peacefully as her father. Now we are left with a drunken fool who has started a war with the stepstones once more and his brother who is using his new position as Commander of the City Watch to use cruelty and violence on the folk of Westeros for his on pleasure.” Your father’s death was still raw and the slight against his name lit a dangerous passion in you. It was horrifying listening to your brother talk about your poor dear father so carelessly, but he simply clicked his tongue in mock shame.

“Careful now or you may lose your tongue. Aegon is King, and your dear Lord Commander shall soon control you for the rest of your life. You shall have to worship the ground he walks upon if you wish to be a dutiful wife and not anger the King’s Mother. Although I do not think you are in too much danger of him touching you as I hear you are not his type dear. There are whispers he prefers to fuck witches and hags.” You shook with rage at his condescending tone.

“He burnt countless amounts off innocent farmers and villagers and left nothing but ashes wherever he went. You would give your sister to a man who murdered his own family… twice. He is Aemond the Kinslayer and you would…”

“You should be proud sister. I’ve matched you with a prince! A disfigured, cruel man who reduced half the realm to ashes, but a prince no less. Just ignore the bloodlust and violence and I’m sure it will not be so bad. All you need do is bare his heir and look pretty.” His childish snickers as he cut you off had you seeing red, but you understood you could do nothing but seethe silently. How could he be so proud to sell off his sister to the notorious brute that had burnt cities to the ground and slayed anyone who got in the way of his family as they usurped Rhaenyra’s throne. His bloodlust had even led to the murder of his own kin. How could such an animal be expected to make a suitable husband?

The sound of the city guards yelling for the gates to be opened, and the grinding and rattling that followed meant that you had finally arrived at the red keep, and that your life was over at the meek age of one and twenty. Your brother wasted no time jumping from the carriage the moment the door was swung open, but you stayed for just a second longer. Hovering the tips of your fingers over the stitching of your family's sigil that was engraved in the cushions around you, you let out an unsteady sigh. You thought of your father, of his kindness and his love. His bravery and his wit. He would have let you marry someone you were comfortable with; he would have wanted you to have a peaceful life. Your brother was to throw you into the dragon den.

“May I present my sister to your graces?! She’s a shy little thing forgive her!’ You brother boasted with a joyous laugh. His hand reached into the carriage and grabbed blindly for you, leaving you no choice but to straighten yourself, and swallow the melancholy that came with remembering your past. You did not take his hand, but instead stepped slowly from the carriage with a bowed head, allowing almost no vision of what was in front of you. You let yourself fall into a graceful curtsey and remained low. There was large audience lined around the courtyard of the Red Keep, leaving you nervously tremble.

“Your graces.” You whispered, slowly letting your eyes raise. There were many figures that had lined up to welcome you, but it was the four at the very front who demanded your attention. King Aegon sat in his wheelchair; half his face taken up by the burnt scarring the late Princess Rhaenys had left him upon her death, looking bored by the entire meeting. His wife, Princess Heleana stood beside him, but her gaze was towards the empty spot to the left of us, and her incoherent mumbling seemed to be ignored by everyone around her. Her mother, Alicent Hightower, had a hand on her daughter's elbow but you could not decide if it was to support her daughter or herself. She seemed overcome by exhaustion and the lines on her face seemed to age her more than she was. Her hair had begun greying and the unkept strands made you think she had run her hand through it vigorously.

“Welcome to our court. We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.” The smile that the dowager queen forced gave you no source of comfort, but you took the welcome as permission to stand at your full posture, and you finally allowed yourself to gaze upon your future husband. You would be lying if you did not admit to letting your gaze be drawn straight to the ugly scarring that peaked out from beneath his leather eye patch. It seemed to match the tight leather attire that fitted his lean body. He was a true Targaryen prince, with his perfect white hair and bright purple eye, so you were not shocked by his beauty. After all, Targaryen's were closer to the Gods than men. His looming figure was so still you could mistake it for a statue but proving not to be only by the slightest bow of his head as he gazed at you. His blank expression gave you no hint of whether he was satisfied by you and the silence that followed his mother's greeting left much to be uncertain of.

“I am much appreciative to be welcomed so kindly.” You wish you had the prowess to stand tall, or the courage to say something spiteful about this dreaded situation you had found yourself in; but you were scared.

“Pretty little thing you are my dear future sister. So innocent and quiet. I don’t know if my dear brother shall know what to do with you.” The King mocked Aemond boldly leaving a few courtiers to snicker, and Aegon turned his gaze knowingly towards his younger brother, eager for a reaction, but Aemond Targaryen simply stared at you. Trying politely to avert your gaze, your eyes moved to stare at his feet, but something drew your attention back to him not one minute later. His gaze was still on you.

“My sister shall allow whatever Prince Aemond desires. She is the most dutiful thing. I’m sure she will make a devoted wife.” You tensed at your brother’s demeaning comments and felt a swell of rage as the young king whistled in delight.

“Perhaps I shall wed her than! Take two wives just as my namesake did. Or perhaps I shall get rid of… that.” All eyes but one was drawn to Queen Heleana, but she did not notice and instead continued whispering with a sad smile. You could not help your brows from furrowing in empathy for the broken princess. It was no secret to the realm what horrors the woman had been through. The anguish that would come with watching your oldest son slain before your very eyes. The disrespect her husband spewed made your skin crawl. Feeling choked up by the pity, you averted your gaze towards Aemond Targaryen.

His eye had not left you.

You both stood in silence for a beat before Aemond slowly took a step forward. The quiet chatter of the courtiers stopped instantly and suddenly the atmosphere was heightened with anticipation of what the prince was about to do. Your breath was caught and with each step he took forward, you heart hammered harder. The lurching your stomach felt in the carriage was nothing compared to this very moment. It was as if time stretched longer than you ever thought possible, leaving you to feel as if you had been stuck in that one spot for eternity, waiting for the strides of your future husband to reach you. His lean figure was straight, and his gaze remained intense, inspecting your reaction as he moved towards you. When he finally reached your frozen figure, he towered over you, looking down with an almost cruel amusement in his eye. He finally moved his gaze from your face to give you a once over, slowly letting it fall down your entire body, before crawling back up.

“Shall I show you around the keep my lady?” His hand slowly extended, and you felt yourself hypnotised, reaching for it without a thought.

“I would be thankful for the tour of your home my prince, but I would not want to keep you from your duties.” You breathed out. If you were of the right mind, you would curse yourself at how kindly you greeted him, but alas you were overwhelmed by how close he stood, and how godly he looked up closely. Without breaking eye contact, Prince Aemond raised your knuckles to his lips and lightly let them brush against your skin, leaving the feeling of fire to consume your body.

“It would be my pleasure,” His voice was low as he finished the sentence with your name, and you were hypnotized by the way it rolled of his lips. If he had any idea of the sudden intoxication that had overpowered you, he did not show any hint of it, and you were thankful he did not boast of it. You were already to humiliated to bare. You were never the type of foolish girl to be besotted with a man, let alone a monster like this, but Aemond Targaryen seemed to conquer your very being with his mere presence. You were smart enough to recognise this was going to cause nothing but trouble for you.

“I would not wish to burden you.” You whispered softly for only his ears but threaded your arm over his awaiting arm all the same. You fell in step with his powerful strides and did not spare your brother a second glance as you passed him by. The prince breezed through the crowd who had come to gawk at the poor young girl who was getting sacrificed to this vicious man, and you found yourself revelling in the way they quickly scurried to the side to let you pass. Your amusement was short lived due to a hand reaching out and clutching at your elbow, leaving you staggering away from your future husband and into the body of a nameless courtier.

“Bless you sweetheart. Bless your poor soul. Let the Gods protect you from him.” The crowd around you began feverously whispering to one another, shocked by the man’s audacity, but the room was quickly silenced as two knights hoisted the man back with a shout and dragged him so fast, he had no chance to gain any footing. His body was dragged away as he cried and kicked his feet like a little boy leaving you once again unable to breathe. It was as if you had iced water thrown over you. The spell was broken, and you suddenly remembered who you held onto so eagerly. You were overcome by the smell of smoke and rot, as if you had been transported to the fields that Aemond Targaryen had so happily burnt to ashes. You swear you could smell the burnt flesh of his ghosts in that very moment.

“Come now my lady. Let’s get you away from this noise.” Aemond stared at the man being heaved away, expressionless. It was as if he was used to the scene that unfolded and was almost bored by the antics of the courtiers. You tried not to let him see your trembling fingers as you laced your hand upon his elbow and looked down in shame.

“What shall happen to him?” You don’t know why you asked, because you know what happens to those who speak out against this Targaryen family. Aemond began his pace once more but this time you could tell he was surveying every movement around them, waiting for another attack.

“He will be executed. We do not allow disobedience in our court.” He said your name as he finished his sentence and gazed down at you.

You understood the warning.

+++

Your wedding was a solemn affair. You had imagined when the time came around, there would be laughter and dancing, flowers and wine thrown around. Colourful and delightful with a husband who would steal kisses at the wedding feast and spend the night spinning you in his arms. Your family surrounding you. Your father hiding his tears as he watched you give your hand to the man you loved.

It was nothing like that. The crowd was silent as you walked. Not one person in the room smiled. The crowd bowed their heads in respect or pity, you cared not to know, and you had no energy to try and feign delight at the altar. Your husband was no different. He stared ahead with a grimace, but continued preforming the duty that was marrying you. You tried not to look at him during the ceremony but failed only once. He looked disconcerted by the whole experience making your heart ache. You wondered if he wished he was marrying the witch your brother had so carelessly mentioned. Your cursed heart ached at the thought. Not from jealousy, but from the desire of wanting to marry someone who wanted you. You were being chained to this man forever, and he wished for you to be someone else. But you could not fault him in that. Gods knows you too wished to be marrying someone else.

The wedding feast felt more like the wake at a funeral. There was a band playing some music in the balcony above, but no one moved. You sat stiffly by your new husband as you both stared ahead, trying to ignore the soft murmurs of the crowded hall. His finger were clenched around his chair and he did not speak as numerous courtiers steeped forward to present you both with your wedding gifts. It was left up to you to utter your appreciation at the useless artifacts while they scurried away, fearful of angering the prince with their presence.

“Please smile Aemond. Or do something that is not sitting there and scowling.” You pretended to ignore it when your new mother-in-law hissed into her sons' ear, then tried not to cower when he moved his hand to rest on yours above the table. The whole crowd would have seen the way you both flinched at the contact.

“Smile sister. This is a joyous occasion.” Your brother muttered lowly beside your ear, sometime after Alicent had ordered the same thing. You felt Aemond’s hand clench around yours just slightly, and you knew that he had heard your brother. Slowly you inched closer to your husband and gave him a slight smile, but you were sure it came out as a grimace instead.

“How will the Kingsguard handle tonight without their leader?” Whether it was out of politeness or awkwardness, you do not know, but the conversation you tried to start was quickly shut down by the monotone voice of your husband. He did not react to your words and let his gaze remain on the crowd below.

“I will be joining the patrols once we are finished our duty tonight.” You slipped your hand from his and clenched your wedding dress tightly in discomfort. You felt his gaze turn to you leaving your skin burning under his gaze.

“I see.”

You turned away from him and did not look at him until an hour later when he stood from his seat. The music halted at once and the room was silenced. The guards around the room quickly stood tall as Aemond surveyed the audience.

“My wife and I have grown quite tired from the festivities. It is time we retire to our bedchamber. Please, continue enjoying the feast my mother has so careful crafted.” Your new ladies-in-waiting quickly moved to your side from all corners of the room while the wedding party moved to walk you both to your doom. You were allowed to step into the room without your husband so that your ladies could help you ready yourself. On the other side of the door, Aemond was doing the same. It seemed he was joining you in your quarters tonight, in your new bed. There would be no safe place for you to escape the man.

“Are you alright my lady?” One of your ladies whispered as she undid your tight corset. The silk ribbon was unravelled and with each breath you released the closer you were to crumbling to the floor. You had spent the last two weeks in a constant state of fear and melancholy, and it all seemed to be coming to ahead at the worst time possible.

“I am alright Alyssa. Just tired.” You ignored the look the three women around you gave one another and instead moved your gaze elsewhere and landed on the worst possible spot. You had left your bed a crumpled mess this morning, after a night of restlessly tossing and turning, but you could not tell that anymore. The sheets were perfectly straight and tightened in the corners, folded down with such precision it made you feel sick. Your mother had died in childbirth, and you had no sisters so your knowledge of what was about to happen was limited, but you knew to expect the pain and blood at the hands of your husband.

“I hope you are not truly tired Brother. Your night has only just begun.” King Aegon slurred voice was muffled by the door but still audible. If you were not already filled with dread then, you sure as hell were now.

“Aegon, please just leave your comments for one night.” Alicent’s tired voice sighed back. You could not help the tears that began falling as your ladies began the final touches, fluffing your hair and untying the sleep gown so that it would be easier to remove. Without so much a glance at those in the room, you clamoured into the bed and wept.

“My lady, you cannot let them see this. They will think you ungrateful. It would do Prince Aemond great dishonour.” The three girls rushed to their lady in crisis and were quick to brush your hair from your face and hold you in comfort. You hardly talked to these girls, as they were a gift from your new family, and you assumed them to be spies for your husband and his scheming mother. But in this moment, you could only think of the comfort of being held.

“I’m scared.” You whimpered as they tried to sooth you with their murmurs.

“It is a scary thing my lady, but do not fret. It is over quicker than you can imagine.” Caitlyn, a relative of the Tully’s assured you as she stroked your hair.

“Oh yes. Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” Margaret, a distant relative of the Stark’s agreed with the assurance. It did not help but you appreciated the before. You wished to be held longer, but a stiff knock to the door echoed around your room.

“Is the Lady prepared?” The girls were quick to pat away your tears, and with a quick curtsey they moved to open the door. You instead turned your face to the side and stared at the new moon that was almost in the centre of the window frame. You did not need to look to know who had knocked.

“Yes, my prince. She is awaiting you.” With a curtsey they rushed out the room, leaving a silence that was only disrupted by the slight crackle of the candles that lit your room. You had tried hard to replicate the warmth of your room back home, but it had never felt colder. Time seemed to once again slow, and it felt a lifetime before you heard the click of the door closing. It remained quiet, and you thought for a second that your husband had perhaps decided he could not bear this just as much as you. Perhaps he had stormed off to the city to lead his guards in slaughtering the criminals within the walls of this wretched place. Perhaps you could sleep peacefully tonight, safe from the beast for one more night. The candles going out one by one let you know that your dreams were crushed, and that you were not alone in the room. He was silent as he crossed the floor, putting out all sources of light until you were left in the darkness of the night. The darkened moon did nothing to help you see.

“Do you know what to expect?” His voice sliced through the silence, choking you. You squeezed your eyes closed and did a small nod.

“I know enough.” You whispered as the bed beside you dipped. He sat beside you for a moment, and even in the darkness you could feel his eye on you.

“I shall try not to hurt you, but it will be uncomfortable.” Your eyes remained tightly closed and your fingers began to tremble. You did not expect any truth in his words. This man was vicious, known for the way he revelled in pain and torture. Why would he treat the daughter of a traitor any different?

“I would be most grateful.” You choked out and quickly turned away as you felt more tears build up. Aemond’s breath caught and for a moment it felt as he if was grieved by your whimper, but with a soft grunt he still turned to you and mounted his body atop of yours. The close contact of his chest on your chest sucked the breath from your lungs and you reached for his arms to stop him from crushing you, but he never did. He seemingly balanced his weight perfectly atop of you and slowly allowed his hand to rest on your hip.

“Please breathe. I do not wish to watch you suffocate wife.” He whispered as his fingers moved delicately across your clothed stomach. The reminder had you sucking deep in through your nose and exhaling staggered though your lips. His hand continued to dance lightly over your clothed torso, and you could not help but squeak as his hand moved towards your breast. You had never even kissed a man, let alone have one like this. He could not choke back his soft chuckle at your innocence, as he firmly pushed his palm down.

“Oh.” You whimpered in confusion. He pushed his hips down against yours and let out an almost relieved sigh at the contact. He began a slow movement of his hips as one hand groped you and the other clung to your hip. Your body felt alight with fire, and you could do nothing more but clutch at your husbands' arms in confusion. His teeth moved to your ear and your body arched against his at the feeling of them grazing your neck. Your brain seemed to stop and the overwhelming feelings that were all happening at once was almost too much to bare.

“Breathe.” He ordered in a soft murmur as his lips pressed on the skin between your jaw and ear. You wanted to tell him the truth in that very moment. You were trying to breathe, but you are worried you have forgotten how.

“Sorry.” Was all you could muster. His hand moved from your breast to trailing back down your body and began bunching the bottom of your nightdress up. You could feel the lace of it brushing up your legs leaving bumps to litter your skin at the soft caress. Your body froze in fear at what was about to happen. Once the dress was secured above your waist, you gasped at Aemond’s hand moving to clutch at your thigh. You were shocked at the feeling of someone else’s skin gripping yours.

“Have you prepared yourself?” He breathed out as he pushed his hips forward. It seemed to brush something that left you once again arching into him, only this time you were much more desperate to keep that contact.

“My ladies prepared me.” You stuttered out in confusion. Had he not already asked that to your ladies? His amused sigh made you think you had misunderstood his question.

“I sure hope they haven’t prepared you the way I ask about.” He grunted. Getting up on to his knees, you found yourself shivering at the loss of his body heat. Your arms dropped from his arms leaving you lying breath him, trying hard to steady your panting breaths.

“I have been bathed and pampered to.” His soft hum filled the room as you explained your answer, then he began moving his hand towards the inside of your thighs.

“My Prince!” You cried out, pushing away his fingers as they moved towards his destination. Your cheeks reddened with a deep crimson that only you could be aware of in this dark room.

“Do you want this to hurt? I promised I would help, and this is the only way.” He peeled your hands away and continued as if he had not been interrupted. Your irregular breaths began heavily, and you wondered if the whole castle could hear the noise.

“Prince…” You gasped as you felt his finger run up your most sacred area. He let out an almost disappointed sigh, and you were overtaken by the shame. Was there something wrong? Your fears were cut short as you felt him begin dancing the tips of his fingers down, then once again back up.

“You are not ready yet. But I shall prepare you.” His voiced was that of duty, with no shift of tone or colour. You had no choice but to lie in utter confusion at what was happening. No one had warned you about this part of consummating a marriage. The feeling of his fingers felt foreign, but you found your muscles almost relaxing under the touch.

“Aemond…” You sighed out his name without a though of his titles or nobility and this small gesture seemed to be enough for your husband to begin applying more pressure.

“Relax under my touch. This will help.” His voice whispered into the darkness. When he moved his finger up to begin circling your bud you almost flew from the bed. He seemed to expect such a reaction from you as he had already pushed his free hand into your stomach to keep you unmoving. You whimpered out his name again as he began to pick up speed and you found yourself trying to push away from his touch, even though you weren’t sure you wanted it to end. It felt as if a soft tremor was building inside your stomach, and you soon found your body clenching out of its relaxed state.

“Please don’t.” You don’t know what you were saying this but the fear at the feeling building inside you had you beginning to panic beneath his touch.

“Shhh, trust me.” He whispered your name above you before slowly moving his fingers to push inside you. The foreign feeling was too much, and you quickly gripped onto the second prince and screwed your eyes shut. His thumb remained circling your bud as his finger began stroking your inner walls leaving you crying out in shock. Your body tensed with each stroke of his fingers, and you soon began whimpering incoherently. You felt that pressure suddenly overcome you and it was no longer a soft tremor, but an overwhelming sensation that only kept building. It began the panic in your mind, and you clung tighter onto Aemond.

“Please…” You chocked out in desperation, pushing your hips forward into his palm. He began quickening his pace and you could not help but throw your head back and moan.

“You’re doing so well, good girl.” You don’t know what happened at his words, but your body arched, and you cried out as the waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you crying out and clutching Aemond’s shoulders. The pressure suddenly broke and you felt your voice disappear and instead seemed to scream out silently. Your body trembled and clenched throughout this feeling and Aemond did not halt his movements once. It was only when your body seemed to jolt from his touch that he slowed his movements pulled his fingers from you, leaving a slick trail to follow his touch.

“I’m… my prince, forgive me.” You were horrified by the way your body reacted at his touch.

“You did everything I had hoped you would.” He murmured before moving to unlace his pants. Your mind was too busy spinning to register the gesture, so you just stared dumbly as his hand slid underneath them. You watched in silent curiosity as his hand seemingly began moving and Aemond’s eyes furrowed in frustration.

“Could you… touch my arms or something?” He grunted as his hand seemed to quicken its movements. Your mouth was gaping like a fish as you cautiously nodded. With the gentlest touch you began tracing his arm upwards, blushing like madwoman. His movements did not halt once as you nervously ran your fingers up to his shoulders. You thought of his hand gripping your thigh, and how pleasing the firm grip he used was, so you nervously tightened your grip. It seemed to work because Aemond began adjusting himself out of his trousers. He allowed himself to fall forward to his original position of lying atop your body making your body still in anticipation of what was to come.

“Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” Margaret’s words were a reminder for you, so you turned your gaze to the window and tried to count how many stars you could see. You managed to get to twelve before he pushed himself into you and stole your gaze back greedily.

“Agh Aemond.” You were choked by the feeling as Aemond’s irregular breaths consumed your hearing.

‘I know, just…” He did not finish as he sunk deeper, and you cried out at the sharp pain inside you. It was not unbearable, but there was a great discomfort. You found yourself burying your head into his shoulder as he slowly began a slow movement with his hips leaving you gulping out a groan of pain.

“Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” One star. Two stars. Three stars. Your bottom lip trembled as the pleasure of your night seemed to finish and instead you were left trying not to squirm away in pain. Aemond’s silver strands kept moving to block your vision, so you finally turned back. Your nosed grazed his and you saw his eye widen in the darkness before his entire body stilled. He groaned deeply as he pressed his hips further into you and you could feel him twitching against you.

“It is done.” He breathed out. His movement was quick as he pulled out and moved to sit on the side of the bed. You were shocked by his quick movements and watched in a frazzled state as he quickly began relacing his pants. Following his lead, you pulled your dress back down and moved to rest against the headboard of your grand bed.

“I must attend the city watch now. I shall visit your chambers again tomorrow night until we…” You could tell a distant though had cut him off, but you knew what he meant. Until a child was conceived you would have to suffer him in your bed most nights.

“Did I…. Did I do something wrong?” You pulled the sheets to your chin in confusion at how desperate the man was to leave your company. He stood up and began pulling on his jacket that he must have taken off when he entered your rooms.

“You did everything perfectly. It is done now.” He moved towards the door, leaving you alone and disorientated by him. He turned back to look at you and you wondered what you must have looked like to him. Blushing and breathless, your hair a mess and your chest heaving, you assumed you looked a fool to the prince.

“Good night ābrazȳrys.” He mumbled. Your breath caught at his Valyrian, and you felt your brows furrow as the door quickly opened then closed swiftly. He was gone but you could hear a small commotion on the other side of the door.

“Aemond…”

“It is done mother; I have done my duty. Now leave me in peace.”

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witchofhimring · 6 months

Text

Rhaenyra losing her daughter in childbirth

Warnings: death, childbirth, trauma

So I promised that my next writing of Rhaenyra would be happy. But I suddenly had this plot bunny so we have angst again.

-She still had nightmares of her own mothers death. She had not been there but that did not stop images of a knife cutting up her mother from haunting Rhaenyra. They were less frequent these days, she was done having children and the fear was abated. Her fate would not be in the birthing bed. When Rhaenyra's only daughter excitedly told her mother that she was with child it came roaring back with a vengeance. Now it was no longer herself under that knife but her daughter.

-At first Rhaenyra tried to console herself with the fact that Y/n had the best maesters on hand. Y/n was constantly examined and Rhaenyra was informed of any changes. As Y/n's belly grew those fears became more prominent. She could hardly walk without her mother hovering about. Rhaenyra will have pillows situated on every seat throughout the Red Keep.

-Rhaenyra finds it hard to fully get excited about the baby. Not that she did not want grandchildren. Especially since Y/n had always wanted to be a mother. She tries to be happy for her sake. Rhaenyra will listen to her daughter's excited rambling and feign happiness. But deep inside she is petrified with fear.

-During the nights Rhaenyra's nightmares will continue. Sometimes she wakes up in a sweat and frantically wake. She throws on a robe and walks to her daughters room. Y/n will be there sleeping peacefully, chest rising and falling. For a while Rhaenyra will watch as if expecting something bad to happen. Eventually Rhaenyra will quietly walk back to her room.

-By the seventh month Y/n's mobility is greatly decreased. She has to lean on her mother for support. Rhaenyra tries to remain calm and support her girl. When Y/n falls into anxiety Rhaenyra tries to cheer her daughter up. Because walking is difficult Rhaenyra props up pillows under the Weirwood tree. As Y/n lays there Rhaenyra reads her favourite stories. In the meantime Rhaenyra will summon merchants to bring items from all over Westeros and Essos with various goods. These items are not just for the baby but Y/n as well. Rhaenyra imports goods that helped her through the pregnancies she carried. Balms that sooth her aching muscles are applied to Y/n's skin on a daily basis. Teas that sooth her aching belly are administered by Rhaenyra. While Rhaenyra was never truly taken to sweing she began to make comfortable dresses that her daughter could wear.

-When Y/n goes into confinement Rhaenyra does with her. Of course as Queen Rhaenyra has other responsibilities to attend to so there are times she leaves. And there are some who complain that the Queen spends too much time away from her desk. But right then she did not care, Y/n was her priority. Although confinement is a custom, when Y/n asks for the windows to be opened Rhaenyra does so. She does not care what the ladies say. She dreads her daughter feeling miserable leading up to the labor. They try to keep their mind off what will take place in a few weeks time. Y/n speaks of wanting to see Dragonstone again when she recovers and Rhaenyra promises her so.

-Y/n's labor start of the day the maesters said it would. Rhaenyra is woken by her daughter shaking her. Y/n is quaking and hunched over. Blood and other bodily fluids are staining her nightgown. In a moment the room is busy with maesters, midwives and ladies. Word goes around that the princess in in labor and that night people go to the sept to pray. Rhaenyra holds her daughters hands as every pained breath escapes Y/n quivering mouth. They give her herbs for the pain but it does not stop the blood. A days passes, then two, and the horrid realization that her fears might come true horrifies Rhaenyra.

-She tells the maesters that if they cut Y/n open she will feed them to Syrax. Eventually, as Y/n fades in and out of consciousness, Rhaenyra gives them her consent to try something. Since the baby will not come out on its own they will have to turn it. The idea makes Rhaenyra physically ill and she has to puke pile into a bowl. She goes to her daughter and whispered "I love you" before her legs are forced apart and the maesters hands go in. She begs her daughter to just hold on a little longer. Y/n's hand seizes hers with abnormal strength and Rhaenyra prays. Let her daughter live.

-The baby arrives into the world wailing. Y/n falls onto the bedding and Rhaenyra lets out a cry of relief. The baby, much stronger than her brother Baelon had been, kicks its strong legs and flails its fists. She turns to her daughter and the smile dies. Y/n's skin has a sickly hue to it. Her eyes seem to fade and the grip slackens. "Y/n!" She screams out.

-They lead the screaming Queen out. Daemon is summoned to pick his wife up and he carries her to their shared room. She is screaming and crying, unaware that she is not even beside her daughter anymore. They force something warm and bitter down her throat and Rhaenyra unwillingly floats into unconsciousness.

-She wakes two days later. Beside her are the children, her son Jaecerys holding her hand. Lucerys is holding her newest grandchild with Jeoffrey peering down at her. The youngest two are in their fathers arms. Rhaena and Baela stand by the fireplace shielding themselves from the rest of the family in their distress. Daemon says nothing and simply takes his wive's hand. "I'm sorry." Is all he can say.

- She prepares your body alone. Rhaenyra can not bear the thought of unfamiliar Silent Sisters touching you, even dead. She quietly sings old songs her own mother once sang. Rhaenyra prays that you were up with Aemma. Oh if only the two of you could have met. She does not wrap you up, she always knew you hated enclosed spaces. You are dressed in red and black with a diadem placed on the h/c locks. Once she had made it for you to pass down. Now the thought of anyone having it but you was more than she could bear. Rhaenyra is riding behind your carriage, pale and weeping. This is her mothers death all over again. When they reach Rhaenys's Hill Rhaenyra can not bring herself to light the pyre. It is her eldest son who does the honor, Vermax's flames engulfing Y/n's body. Rhaenyra does not remember the rest of the day.

-One night, weeks later, Y/n visits her mother in dreams. She was with her grandmother in and endless sea of flowers. They were both laughing as the sun danced off their skin. Rhaenyra had never thought much about the afterlife. But as she looked upon her daughter and mother she prayed they were happy. A bright sun hailed the day. Rhaenyra lay in bed for a few moments as some deep emotion stirred within her. The feeling was like a new emotion awakening within her. It was not pain yet it stabbed within her like a knife. With an aching chest Rhaenyra threw a robe over her body. It was early enough that only the servants were awake. The babies room was silent except for small rustling noises. Peaking into the crib her grandchild stared up at her with wide eyes. Rhaenyra's heart nearly stopped as she realized this baby had Y/n's eyes. With steady hands Rhaenyra picked up the baby. It stirred and made cooing noises before Rhaenyra held the baby to her chest. Warmth spread throughout her body as this last piece of her daughter reached out for Rhaenyra. She walked over to a chair and picked up a book. It was Y/n's favourite, the one Rhaenyra read to her. Rhaenyra cradled her grandchild close and read.

#rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon imagine #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra x daemon #rhaenyra x harwin #rhaenyra x criston #laenor velaryon #daemon targaryen #criston cole #harwin strong #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x reader

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arabellasleopardcoat · 5 months

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Lookalike (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Inside the highest tower of the Red Keep, lives a girl with long silver hair...

Warnings: Oh man. What a trip. Rapunzel, innocence kink, daddy issues, cursing, mature language. Light groping, kissing. Daemon, and all his usual warnings. Manipulation. I tried to make it whimsical. You know, a fairy tale.

Requested: Yup. For the bingo. Daemon + retelling of another story. Posted it early because I couldn't sleep last night so I stayed up finishing this.

Once upon a time, in a far away land called Westeros, lived a King and a Queen. The Queen was a beautiful woman, with hair made of spun silver and gold.

The King and the Queen had a daughter, a bright girl called Rhaenyra. They loved her deeply, but as many powerful men behind him, the King could not help but wish for a son.

When the Queen had carried Rhaenyra, her pregnancy had been harsh. She had struggled to fall with child, and when she had, she had been sick the whole time. The Queen was not too sure if she could withstand another pregnancy.

“My love, I need my heir.” The King said to her. “You must help me and try again.”

“But husband, you know we cannot. The Maester said pregnancies were too rough on me."

“If I can't have my heir, I fear I will lose my throne!”

So the Queen decided to try again. Soon, she was with child. Yet, the Queen could feel something was different, this time. She got twice as large as she was when she was carrying Rhaenyra, her body ached even more. Only the hottest baths could soothe her abundant pains.

“This pregnancy is not normal, not normal at all.” Said the Maester, when examining the Queen. “I fear the delivery will be hard.”

And hard it was. For there was not one baby but two. A girl and a boy, a moon and a sun. The parents only found out when the Queen was unable to deliver the baby, and the King, believing it to be his precious heir, ordered the Maester to cut her open.

Wailing into the world they came, shrieks so loud they rose half the Red Keep. Every bell in the city was toiling for them. The King named his heir Baelon. The girl, the little moon, was forgotten. That was you.

Too young to know it then, your first hours were spent in your sister's arms, both of you forgotten in favor of the new heir. But it was barely hours at all when your little brother passed away.

At the funeral, the King was the picture of despair. His Queen was dead by his hand, his heir lasted no longer than a day. Now a father to a baby girl he didn’t know how to care for, and an unruly maiden.

Perhaps, sensing his despair and hoping to offer some words of comfort, and Arryn cousin took you from him and gasped:

“By the Sevens! If she is the very image of Aemma as a babe.” No one took in consideration that this Arryn cousin was not, in fact, older than the Queen.

“Is she?” The King asked, on the verge of tears. Your father could not stop remembering your mother’s face, as the Maester aided your entrance into the world. Her cries haunted him even in his sleep. He was turning into a decaying corpse, from inside out, guilt rotting him alive. “Rhaenyra, come here.”

“Father?”

“Does she look like your mother?”

Your sister squinted at you. You yawned, a toothless, sweet thing. Rhaenyra wasn't very knowledgeable about babes, but she liked you. You had grabbed into her finger the first time you had seen her, tiny fingers turning into the most adorable rings.

“She has her beauty.” She answered, politely. The King hummed, an idea sparkling into his head. Soon, the highest tower in the Red Keep was being repurposed, and the Hand relocated.

Nine and ten years later, that brings us to you, in a continent named Westeros. Inside it, Seven Kingdoms. Inside them, a city called King's Landing. Inside the city is a castle. In the castle, a tower. In the tower is a room. In the room, a girl. You.

You stared at your reflection, squaring your shoulders. You gave yourself a big smile.

“Father, I want to try claiming a dragon.” You repeated to the mirror, before shaking your head. “No, no. Too disrespectful. Lord Father, I was wondering if I could go and try to claim a dragon?”

The reflection did not answer. You frowned. You didn't like groveling, but you weren't too sure of what else you could do. Perhaps, sending him a note would be better.

As the youngest sister of the heir to the Iron Throne, you had led a sheltered life. Even more so, as the spitting image of his late wife, according to your father. When looked in the right light, your eyes were the same shade hers had been. And the way you spoke did resemble the short, clipped speech of the Vale.

No one dared question those things, even though your accent had been ensured by your father by providing you with tutors only from that region. The King was very protective of you, set on expiating his guilt over the death of your mother by ensuring your safety.

All of your care had been provided by him after her death. Viserys knew nothing about child-rearing, but refused to let any servant touch you beyond the wet nurse. You grew into a child, and your father didn't even know how to cut your long, silver hair.

Years passed, and soon you learned to take care of yourself. Used to long hair as you were, you never thought about cutting it. Instead, your mind was preoccupied with more urgent matters. For example, how could you get out of the Red Keep.

Sometimes, your father's protection turned overbearing. Unlike your older sister, you were not allowed to leave the castle. Nor had you been allowed to partake in the activities other young ladies did. The only way you had managed to know the world around you had been through your books and observations.

Your rooms were in the tallest tower in the Red Keep, ensuring you would be kept safe from intruders and even invaders, if such a thing ever came to pass. You had double the guards Rhaenyra and Viserys did. Instead of providing his new Queen with a sworn shield, he had chosen to devote all the Kingsguard to you.

While you knew your tower had been used for other things before, it had clearly been refurnished. Now, it worked as a castle of its own, inside which you had a tiny kitchen, bathing quarters, rooms, and a library. The idea was that you would never need anything outside it. A tiny universe, just for you. You had plenty of space for your books and trinkets, but it made for a lonely existence.

Each time there were unknown men roaming the Keep, you got sent back to your tower. Your father didn't like the idea of you being married off or corrupted by them. You were too precious, too good. He had said that when the day came, he would find you a good match. One that, you suspected, would keep you close to home. Perhaps Aegon, or one of your cousins in the Vale.

If you married at all, of course. Your father had gone through a phase of encouraging your faith in the Seven, in the hopes of you deciding to be a Septa. If you did, the King would be most pleased, for it would mean you would never suffer the same fate as your mother.

You wanted neither. What you wanted more than anything was to see the world, do the things Rhaenyra told you happened outside the Red Keep. And according to you, it would all get started if you got your own dragon.

With a dragon, you would be protected. Your father always used your lack of one as an argument for denying you the experiences ladies your age had. Your egg had not hatched, but if you claimed one, you would surely be allowed to leave.

Unfortunately, what was required to be able to bond with a dragon had been deemed too dangerous for you. King Viserys had banned you from the dragon pit, arguing that dragons could be unpredictable.

Today, you had been sent back to your tower due to an impromptu visit from your Uncle Daemon. You knew the man by reputation only, by how much he angered your father. If there was one person who you were prohibited from speaking to, it was him.

You had heard the rumors, of course. A few years back, after your mother's passing, he had taken Rhaenyra to a pleasure house. Whatever had happened inside was between her and him. To your father, though, it was enough to keep you away from him.

Smile. Square your shoulders. Try again to assert yourself. You eyed your reflection once again, wondering how you could convince the King to let you try to get a dragon. Outside, something scraped against a rock, again and again. Curious, you went to the window.

On the very base of your tower, there was a man hopelessly attempting to climb upwards. He was very dashing, sporting the same silver hair you did, only much shorter.

“Who are you?” You asked, slightly frightened. In truth, you were not used to strangers being so close to you. Your father always said men were dangerous, and that outside the Red Keep there were aberrant creatures, mean and ruthless, that hurt young maidens for their enjoyment. “Step away from my tower, or I shall call my guards!”

The man ignored you, choosing instead to stab a sword between the rocks that made up your tower. You screamed, alarmed.

“Stop that! That's not allowed, you are damaging my tower.”

The man ignored you, trying to use his sword to climb. He grunted in exertion. You ran towards your chambers and filled a jar with water. Then, you ran back to your window and dumped it on his head.

The man shrieked and fell down the few meters he had managed to progress. You laughed, startled.

“Aren't you a fearsome thing?” He muttered to himself. Then, he looked up at you, with the most purple eyes you had ever seen. “Please, Princess. Help me out.”

“Why should I? You are an intruder.” You glared down at him, not even entertaining the notion, but deciding to play along regardless. In truth, you were curious about him. And starved for companionship.

“I am being chased.” He screamed up at you, frantically looking behind him. “Please, help me.”

You leaned down towards your window, bracing your arms on the edge of it.

“Bad business, that.” Your voice was cheery and woefully uninterested. This was the most exciting that had happened to you in years, you were not about to stop it. But at the same time, you did remember all of your father's warnings. There were people out there that were not kind.

“Damn it, you are just like Aemma. Pair of cynics.” He cursed, and started to try to retrieve his sword. Your eyebrows raised.

“You knew my mother?”

The man looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun with a hand. He squinted at you. His bone structure reminded you of someone.

“I did.”

Your mother. A cynic. You smiled. No one had ever told you about her, not beyond all those polite things everyone said about the dead. How kind she was, how beautiful and learned. It did nothing to make you feel closer to her, these empty platitudes. They were generic, they could be talking about any woman.

Your father never went beyond that, either. The Aemma he talked about was an idolized version of her, a woman frozen into a perfect state of likeness to the Mother. He didn't allow anyone to contradict him, not even Rhaenyra. When you were younger, she had told you your mother had been hesitant about having another pregnancy, and struggling to carry another baby to term. Your father had banned her from visiting you during the next six moons.

But this stranger was speaking of her as if he knew her well. Your heart ached to know more about your mother, know the real her. It was enough to help you make your choice. You gathered your hair and threw it down the window.

“Come up then.” You ordered.

The man looked at the mass of hair in bewilderment. He touched a strand of it, fascinated by the way it picked up the light. He did not move.

“Use it as rope. You won't hurt me.” Were all men so dumb? Surely, if this one was so slow, he could not be a threat.

“Of course. Magic hair. Fucking Viserys.” The man started to climb. He got quickly inside, panting with exertion.

“You know my father, too?” Your body tensed. This, you did not like. What if he was one of the men that were supposed to visit the castle today? One of those who corrupted and hurt young maidens?

Your heart started to beat harder and harder. You tried to convince yourself he might not be a bad man. Perhaps, he had met the King through your mother. Regardless, you turned away from him, keeping your voice and posture deceivingly calm.

“Would you like some water?” You did not wait for an answer, starting to move towards the kitchen. You reached into a cabinet, as if searching for a cup.

The man followed. You could hear his footsteps on the stone floor.

“I do know your father.” His voice was strange. As if he were realizing he was making a mistake but couldn't pinpoint why. Uninterested, you took out a cup. “He is a great King.” He added, hurriedly. Just in time for you to grab a pan, turn and smack it against his head as hard as you could.

The man dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. You hiked up your skirts and rushed to his side. Kneeling by him, you took a closer look at his sword and grinned. You had seen it before. In your books. That was Dark Sister, Visenya's sword.

You had caught Daemon Targaryen. What better proof to show your father that you were not helpless? You tied him to a chair and gagged him for good measure. Then, you pushed him inside your bathing quarters. Only then did you call for a guard.

“Could you summon my father? I need him.” The guard bowed, but didn't speak. Most of them didn't. Your father said they weren't allowed to.

Despite not receiving an answer, you knew your father would be here soon. He always came when you called. You placed a kettle in the fire. Before it could boil, King Viserys was already there.

“Dear.” The King kissed your forehead. You tried not to wrinkle your nose at the smell of herbs and milk of the poppy. Your father always smelled like a medicine cabinet. “As beautiful as your mother, like always.”

You smiled.

“Father. Tea is not ready yet, but sit.” You pointed to your small parlor. When you were a child, the two of you had used to pretend you were a great lady, hosting tea parties there. It had been how he had taught you courtly manners.

The memory was bittersweet. Your father was good to you. He had raised you as best as he could, loving you more fiercely than any of his other children. It was not your intention to upset him, but you knew this topic would do exactly that.

“Were you lonely, my heart?” The King settled on one of the loveseats. You sat across from him.

“I did miss you.” You gave him a coy little look. “But I asked you to come for something else.”

“Do tell.”

“Father. I think I am ready to claim a dragon.” You rushed to say, almost tripping over your words. Already, you could see how his expression was clouding over, a storm raging behind his eyes.

“You know you are not.” The King answered, sternly. “It's too dangerous.”

“I can handle myself.” You fought for your tone to remain even. If it came out too angered, your father would say you were hysteric or having a tantrum, and refuse to take you seriously. So was the curse of being a woman.

“My heart, you have never stepped out of this tower.”

And you had not. But what did dragons care about one's knowledge of the world? You had read about dragons bonding with babes, sharing their cradle with them. To claim one, being well traveled or wise was not required. One had to be chosen, that was all.

You raised your hands in the air, palms up, as if placating a beast.

“I don't want you to get upset, Father. I wanted to prove to you that I am capable, too.” You got up and opened the door to your bathing quarters. “Do not be scared.”

The bound Daemon was still gagged, inside the tub. This time, though, he was awake. Upon seeing his brother, he immediately started screeching and squirming, making up a ruckus.

“Shh.” You said to him, kicking the tub a little. He was turning out to be a very annoying guest. “As you can see, Father, I caught him.”

“And you put him in the tub.” The King said, perplexed.

“He was dripping water all over my floors.” But your explanations fall on deaf ears, since your father has already moved on from his shock. He grabbed Daemon's shirt, forcing him to sit upright.

“Haven't I told you this tower is out of limits?” The King barked at him. “I will throw you into the deepest, more dark and humid dungeon I can find, and then I will…”

“Father.” You did not like being ignored. Daemon was a secondary concern, you just wanted to know if you were allowed out now.

Yet, your father seems to think the issue was an entirely different thing.

“Oh. Sorry, dear. What father meant is that Uncle Daemon has been very bad.” He gave him a shake for good measure.

“I can tell.” Your tone was flat. “Have I proven myself enough to be allowed to try to claim a dragon?”

The King let go of Daemon. He turned towards you and tenderly started checking you over for injuries.

“I would die if something happened to you.” He answered, evasive. You didn't need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. It was too dangerous. It was a no.

Five more long days went by. Poor you, having to stay all day in your tower. After Daemon, your father had now deemed it too dangerous to allow you to roam the Red Keep. It was the tower and nothing more. All you could do was sing Old Valyrian songs and look out the windows. Sometimes, birds would chirp from above, and you would feel slightly better, as if they were singing with you.

Perhaps it had been your song, what had led him to you. Perhaps it had been his own guilty consciousness for a sin long forgotten, or a sliver of empathy for the lonely girl in the tower up above. Whatever it was, before the sixth day came to an end, Daemon appeared under your window.

“Princess, Princess, let your hair down.” You heard him say. You walked to your window, curiously. Daemon was back!

“Come down if you want to be free.” The Prince ordered. “I do not have much time.”

His words stilled you. Freedom. Your father often said freedom was a dangerous thing. If you let people make their own choices, it was much more likely that they would choose unwisely. That was why you were kept in the tower, safe from the world and bad decisions. As long as King Viserys controlled your life, you would be protected.

But what if you left? What if you ran, jumped out of your tower and made your way to Dragonstone to get your dragon? You imagined a version of yourself, dress fluttering in the wind like a flag as you ran, barefooted in the sand. You imagined yourself feeling the sun in your face, having your first cup of mead or watching a parade.

Then you imagined yourself tripping and falling into the sea. You didn't know how to swim. No one saw the need to teach you such a thing. You imagined yourself at the parade, getting robbed. You imagined a man, trying to hurt you. What if people out there, what if Daemon, were truly as wretched as your father said they were?

Your face must have shown your distress because Daemon, impatient, shouted something more.

“I won't hurt you.” The Prince raised his hands in surrender. “I will not tell you I am a good man, but I will take you to Dragonstone.”

His honesty was what sealed the deal. You threw your hair down, grabbed one of your warmest cloaks, and shouted for him to loop your hair around a branch and not let go.

Daemon obeyed. You jumped, and as your feet hit the floor, you wished to be able to say you didn't look back. But you did. And as you saw the silhouette of your tower getting smaller and smaller in the distance, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness deep in your chest.

Noticing how quiet you have gotten, Daemon adjusts your cloak and gives you a grin.

“Do you want to ride Caraxes?” He asks. You match his grin, sadness nearly forgotten. There is a whole world out here, begging to be explored. You can be sad later when the adventure ends.

Caraxes is the most bewitching creature you have ever seen. He is red and serpentine, looking so much like the drawings of dragons you used to do as a child. You nearly scream in excitement.

Daemon whispers to him to stay calm, but Caraxes seems to sense your happiness, for he keeps trying to correspond your loving pets.

“Oh, by the Seven Hells.” The Prince pushes you towards the saddle. “If neither of you stop the tail wagging, we are going to get caught.”

“And we don't want that.” You agree, kissing Caraxes' scales one last time.

Caraxes gives another excited, full-body wag. He seems to be preening under the attention. Daemon must not praise him very much, which is a shame.

“You are such a good boy. So pretty, too.”

Caraxes preens even more. It makes his body shake, tail hitting against the floor in an ominous beat. Daemon groans.

“Enough, enough.” The Prince grabs you by the waist and gets you up in the saddle. You shriek in laughter. Caraxes appears to be happy about it, too, since he starts spreading his wings. “We are going to get caught.”

Daemon jumps into the saddle, hugging you tightly to him. You squirm, unused to the closeness of another human being. When your father and Rhaenyra touch you, it's never like this.

Daemon feels overwhelming, in the best kind of way. His chest is firm, and his smell surrounds you. His arms around your waist hold you tight, but remain loose enough to not hurt you. Your hips fit snugly against his, and make something you can't yet name stir in your lower belly.

It's different. It's strange. You want it to stop. Why do you feel so nervous, as if Caraxes was suddenly dropping down and not barely getting ready to fly?

“Soves, Caraxes.” Daemon orders, careful not to scream in your ear. “Are you alright, little Princess?”

You cease your squirming, hoping that he doesn't notice whatever is different with you.

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“You keep squirming as if there were ants inside your bodice. Are you uncomfortable?” The Prince snickers by your ear, pressing a soft kiss right by the top of it. What happens next is impossible to hide. Your body gives a shiver, all of your hairs standing up. The sensation is as confusing as it is pleasant.

“My stomach feels funny.” You complain, knowing that it isn't exactly that, but close enough that he probably won't question it.

“Funny how?” Daemon kisses behind your ear. You make a hurt, confused noise. You have been kissed before, but never there. In your experience, kisses are not this devastating.

“Funny.” You refuse to elaborate because while naive, you are not dumb. This must be precisely why your father wanted you away from men. If they were able to inflict so much pleasure, it was no wonder why maidens let them do whatever they wanted to them.

“Does it hurt, little Princess?” One of his palms goes to your lower stomach, pressing slightly. “Here?”

You squirm. So he definitely knows.

“Yes.”

“Hurts? Or…?” Daemon's hand goes dangerously low, nearly pressing between the parting of your legs. You squirm more. He brushes something that makes you jolt, delighted.

“We shouldn't.” You answer. It would be much more convincing if you were not relaxing into him. He laughs right in your ear, but retracts his hand.

Even with his hands away from your most sensitive areas, you still feel worked up. Your bodice is too rough against your skin, the way Caraxes moves under both of you makes the area between your legs tingle.

You keep your eyes firmly on the sky in front of you. As it starts to change into pinks and yellows, the feeling ebbs and starts to fade. You feel sleepy, so you recline more against Daemon. A tiny yawn escapes you.

“Tired?” Daemon brushes your hair back, much more tenderly than your father would. With your father, the touch is always harsher, more possessive. As if he is always grasping to the last threads of Aemma he can hold. With Daemon, it feels like he is actually touching you.

You hum, soft and sweet.

“Sleep, little one.” He kisses your cheek. “I'll wake you up when we get there.”

The next time you wake up, it is in an unknown bedroom. At first, you panic. The canopy over the bed looks too similar to the one in your tower, and you wonder if perhaps you dreamed it all. Daemon, Caraxes, the flight, your feelings. Then, you get even more scared because the more you look, the more you realize this is not your room.

You get out of bed. You are still dressed in the same dress you were wearing earlier, but your shoes are gone. The door is closed. Fear grips at you. What if Daemon has sold you to someone evil and rotten, as your father says people outside the Red Keep are? What if he is the evil man?

You rush to the door. It opens easily. There is a hallway that looks much like the ones in the Red Keep, but there is no one there. You scream in fear.

Another of the doors opens in the hallway. Daemon, in a sleeping shirt and breeches, runs out.

“Princess!” He hurries to your side. You are crying, you realize, as he wipes away some of your tears. “What is it?”

“I woke up alone, and I didn't recognize…” You sob, softly.

“Oh, little girl.” Daemon scoops you in his arms. “I should have thought of that. I am so sorry.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you look at him, eyes swollen from your crying.

The world had impressed you during the day, but now that the night had fallen, and you found yourself in an unknown castle, you were afraid. What if there were monsters lurking in the hallways? Or if you needed something? What if someone hurt you?

“I do not want to go back there. I am scared.” You rubbed your eyes. Your hands dug into his arm, not wanting to let go of him.

“Do you wish me to keep you company while you fall back asleep?” Daemon asked, gently smoothing your hair down. You must look a mess, and would find it embarrassing were it not for the fact that being alone in such a big place terrifies you. At this point, you would do anything to keep him here.

“Please.” No more words are needed. Daemon doesn't want you to beg, nor does he want anything in exchange. It's comforting.

One of his hands goes to your shoulder blades, leading you back to the room. Daemon tucks you in and sits by your side.

“I'll stay until you fall asleep.” He says, smoothing down your frown with the gentlest touch. Daemon starts to hum in High Valyrian, softly. You know the melody. It's about flames and burning together. Almost against your will, your eyelids start to drop.

“Don't… Don't want you to go.” Your body feels so heavy, as if sinking into the mattress. With great effort, you manage to curl your fingers around one of his.

“Oh, Princess.” He says, interlacing your hands.

“Stay.” You order.

Daemon lets go of your hand, and you whine, awake instantly. You go to sit up, but he shushes you.

“Shh. I am just… Let me.” He slides under the covers, behind you. You close your eyes, trying to relax against him. It's no hardship at all. Now that the candles have been blown, the light is low and Daemon feels so warm against you.

He starts to trace your features. Finger meets brow, temple, cheek. Thumb brushes nose, then lips. Idly, so very idly, his voice mutters near your ear.

“How many mouths has yours kissed?”

The question startles you. You suppose there is no harm in telling him, yet there is a tinge of embarrassment over it, too. It has finally dawned on you what this new, uncomfortable, thrilling feeling is. Desire. You lust after Daemon.

“I have…” You answer, softly. You do not dare speak it out loud. Not when you rather know exactly how far the two of you are. “How about you?”

“I have lost count. Twenty, perhaps more so.” Daemon says it so casually, as if it did not matter at all. But to you, it does. What are you, compared to this man? How could you want him in such a manner, having so little to offer?

“What makes it special, then?” There has to be a reason for him to bother with kissing all these people. Perhaps, to him, all kisses feel as devastating as his does to you.

“The person, I would gather.” The Prince answers, softly rubbing your back as one would do to help a child fall asleep. You frown. It does make sense. You know what love is, after all. Being in love with someone, or at least desiring them, must make it special.

You would like to kiss him, you think. Daemon is handsome, and his touch does not feel as damning as other's do. He has already provided you with pleasure, even if unknowingly.

You make a wish, then. For your first kiss to be special, with someone you like and that knows what they are doing. If not Daemon, at least someone like that.

“Was your first special?” You ask, curious.

“No. She was terrible. Sharp teeth and all.” Daemon moves your hair aside, exposing your neck. You barely get any warning before he is taking a bite out of your nape. For a playful gesture, it's oddly painful. Your body tenses, and you try to fight it, but Daemon's hands are like a vice around your waist. “Like this.”

With no other choice, you ride it out. Pain is nearly unfamiliar to you, beyond small cuts or painful cycles. It's scorching red and hot, making you break into a sweat. Daemon forces you to take, and take, gently holding your hands in his. It's only after that you go limp under him, twitching slightly, that he lets up.

The aftermath of pain is sweet, you learn. Daemon kisses around the painful bite and blows a raspberry behind your ear. Now that he has let go of your nape, you find out that the pain was not so bad. You are not even bleeding.

“You are such a good girl.” Daemon praises. “So strong. I'm so proud of you.”

You preen as if you were Caraxes, delighted to make him feel proud of you. Daemon smiles against your temple, as if amused by you, and presses a little kiss there. It’s so tender, and so loving, a sharp contrast to his earlier behavior. It makes you feel as if you were once again on dragonback.

“Could you kiss me?” The words escape out of your mouth, without any real thinking. You know they are the wrong thing to say as soon as they leave your mouth.

Daemon pulls away from you. A hurt, confused noise leaves your throat, hands desperately searching back for his warmth.

“Oh, little Princess.” Daemon mutters, tone full of regrets. “I should not.”

“Why not?” You complain. You are not used to being denied so. The only times others do not bend to your will, you get what you want by your own means. Case in point, leaving your tower. Your father had said no, so you had ensured it happened by other means.

“I have done…. What I have done to you, why I took you…” Suddenly, it is as if an icy hand has taken hold of your throat and started to suffocate you. Betrayal settles over your features, overpowering it all.

“You are only doing this to piss off my father.” You say, shocked. Daemon raises his hands, trying to interrupt you, but you halt him with an imperious wave. “You had no intention of taking me to the dragons. You sought to ruin my reputation, as you did Rhaenyra's.”

“No, Princess, no.” Daemon shakes his head. You get up from the bed, angered. He does not try to stop you. “I swear I didn't mean for anything untoward to happen.”

“I bet you said that back then, too.” You retort. You have half a mind to do something crazy. To grab the fire poker and smash his head with it, to set the whole place on fire. You want to make him hurt.

“I… I did mean to anger your father.” Daemon admits, still trying to placate you. It only makes you wish to scream and scream and never stop. “But I do think it is a shame not to let you even try. Dragons are your birthright. Denying you is unnatural.”

You glare at him. You are unconvinced of the truthfulness of his words. Your father was right. You were unprepared for the world, and it couldn't show more. Daemon has tricked you as easily as if he were taking candy from a babe.

“I'll take you there regardless. I promised to.” His eyes are pleading, but you do not wish to hear him, or see him any longer. Instead, you sit in front of the vanity and look at yourself.

The long, silver hair. The scared eyes. The night, the first you have of freedom, is spent utterly cold and miserable. You stare at yourself and stare at yourself until you think you are going mad.

Daemon does not say a word. He doesn't leave the room, either. Perhaps he falls asleep at some point, perhaps he does not.

You look at your reflection again. You look at your hair. Silver, like his. The lovely color Daemon loves so much. Long, and braided back, flaunting your maidenhood and youth. Forever your father's little girl, never allowed to grow, to love, to lust.

A braid that long won't allow you to claim a dragon. You are more likely to set yourself on fire or trip on it. It's that thought that gives you the determination needed to do what needs to be done.

In the first drawer of the vanity there are a few miscellaneous ribbons. There is also a pair of scissors. You grab it, and grab your braid. You chop it off. As it falls from your shoulder, you feel a weight lift off from you. No longer your nape is heavy with the weight of all these expectations laying on you.

There is a woman staring at you, from the mirror. She looks like she is getting ready for war, eyes alight with determination. You stare at the contours of her face, mesmerized by what you see. All traces of Aemmas's ghost are gone from your reflection. You look more like yourself than you have ever done.

Daemon is up at sunrise. He may have been watching you chop all your hair off and expose the lovely bite mark that now mars the skin of your nape. He may have been sleeping. Whatever it is, he doesn't say a word about your change of appearance, choosing instead to dress in silence.

“Off we go.” He says, briskly, leading you out of the castle. Daemon points to a hill in the distance. “But after that, you are on your own.”

You are suddenly filled with doubt, the determination you had felt when looking in the mirror dissipating under the morning light. Your stomach clenches. Your legs are sore, unused to the exercise of riding. The bite on your neck burns.

"I do not feel ready to claim a dragon.” You say to him, as you get closer and closer to the hill. You feel like a fool. What if your father is right? What if you end this escapade with nothing to show but a ruined reputation?

“You are.” Daemon answers, barely paying attention. It makes you angry beyond belief. To make your mood known, you stomp over a few leaves, grinding them to dust under your heel. Ugh. Why were you looking to him for reassurance in the first place? It was not like Daemon wanted to help you. He just wanted to make himself feel less guilty over trying to cause a scandal and kill your father from the fright.

“I am not.” It’s almost as if you can hear the voice of your father in your head, telling you exactly why no dragon would bond with you. You are a fool, you are a little girl, you…

“You are a Targaryen.” Daemon interrupts your trail of thought with a squeeze to your nape. Right over the bite. It makes your knees nearly buckle. “You were born ready.”

“But what if it isn't enough? What if they see me, and don't want me? I am not brave, like Rhaenyra, or cunning like you or learned like my father. ”

“They will.” Daemon says. “Because you are strong here.” He taps your sternum. “And your father is a fool for not seeing it.”

You look at him. Past the guilt, past the acting up to get your father's attention. His eyes are nervous, but they hold the same steely determination yours had earlier. Daemon believes in you, you realize. You look up at the hill and think to yourself, it is time to see if you can claim a second dragon.

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justagirlwholikesadam · 1 year

Text

His Queen

Summary: I made this because of a tumblr post about Sandor being with Joffrey's wife and they get together and he's soft with her and she has his baby. I don't recall the name of the post but I wrote something like that but with my own twist. Enjoy.

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You were visiting King's Landing when Sandor met you. At first he thought nothing of it, many highborns came to visit King's Landing all the time. He followed you and Joffrey around since he was Joffrey's guard. Sandor wouldn't forget the day when you came to King's Landing. You wore a gown showing your curves, hair was brushed and braided. He kept staring at the yellow ribbon you had tied around your hair as he followed behind. Sandor knew you were different from the rest who visited King's Landing. You were sweet to everyone, to the servants and to the people. He had even caught you visiting the orphanage and to the sept.

Sandor had seen women throw themselves to the blonde king but for the first time Joffrey was throwing himself at you. Few days later, King Joffrey asked for your hand in marriage. His mother was overjoyed that her son was marrying you, the princess of a wealthy king from beyond west of Westeros. Sandor wondered if everyone from west of Westeros was nice like you.

You gave everyone a smile, even to him. Sandor couldn't help but stare at you when Joffrey introduced you to him.

"He's my dog." Joffrey told you. Sandor saw your pretty face frown as you tilted your head to the side.

"What?" You asked, looking between Joffrey and Sandor.

"My princess, he's my dog. Sandor Clegane. My loyal dog." Joffrey said with a chuckle. You didn't chuckle or even laugh.

Joffrey was about to say something when Mery Trant came and asked for a moment with him. The king excused himself and walked away leaving Sandor with you alone.

Sandor watched as you looked over your shoulder at Joffrey then looked back at him with a smile.

"I do hope you'll be loyal to me as well, Sandor." You said, making him nod.

"Aye, you are to be my queen and I'll be your loyal dog." He told you emphasizing the word, dog just like Joffrey did.

"You know." You told him as you walked closer to him, looking up at him as you held your hands in front of you.

"I adore dogs but you, Sandor Clegane, aren't one." Sandor looked away from your gaze and stared down at the cobblestone. You looked at him with no fear or disgust. He didn't know how to feel about it.

"Shall we?" He heard Joffrey ask when he came back. Sandor looked ahead when you walked away leaving him behind. He saw you and Joffrey sharing a laugh as he offered you his arm to hold on.

It wasn't long before the wedding was held. It was the biggest wedding ever held in Westeros since the people of King's Landing liked their soon to be queen. Sandor had to admit you were a people person. You actually helped the people in your time in King's Landing. You reminded him of Margaery Tyrell, he hoped you didn't end up like her though. The girl was Joffrey's first wife but was poisoned on the day of their wedding feast.

They never found out who did it. It was a mystery to most, not to him though. Sandor knew who did it. Margaery got into Cersei, Joffrey's mother's bad side.

A month after the wedding, Joffrey had to leave King's Landing to deal with another house that required his presence. You had asked Joffrey to leave Sandor with you. You had batted your eyelashes at him and gave him a kiss when he accepted.

"Well, if my queen asks for the dog then so be it." Joffrey said.

Sandor was in disbelief when Joffrey had told him to stay behind and look after you.

"Keep a close eye on the queen, dog. I don't want anyone near her while I'm gone." Joffrey told him before leaving King's Landing. Sandor walked back inside the castle and was told you were in your room getting ready for supper.

Sandor made his way to your chambers. He can hear light chattering from the outside. He looked inside and saw you were standing in the middle of the room as your handmaidens surrounded you. You held your arms out as they did the last finishing touches of your dress and put on your accessories. With one hand you held a scroll, reading it silently as one of them slid the golden rings on your fingers on the other hand.

He didn't say anything, he didn't have to because you felt him staring. You looked towards the doorway and gave him a smile. He doesn't think he'll ever get over the sight of you smiling at him. It was a genuine smile you gave him, it had to be because no one ever smiled at him.

"I'll be having supper in the gardens today. Set a plate for Sandor. He'll be joining me." You told one of your maids as you walked away to put the scroll down.

"Leave us." You commanded the rest, Sandor moved out of the doorway for the flock of women leaving your chambers. He ignored the looks that the women gave him as they left him alone with you.

"Come in and shut the door." You told Sandor. He obeyed and walked inside, shutting the door behind him. He watched as you opened the door of the balcony. For the first time the smell of shit was gone and fresh air came breezing in the room. It was one of the things you got rid of, the waste.

"Joffrey was nicely enough to give you to me during his absence." You said walking to the small table of beverages. You grabbed a pitcher of wine and poured it into a goblet.

"Aye. I'm here to protect you. To look after you." He told you as you walked towards him with two goblets of wine. You passed him one.

"Why?" He asked, looking down at you. He wanted to know why Joffrey left him to care for you. He was Joffrey’s guard not yours.

"What do you mean? Why?" You asked, taking a sip of the wine.

When Sandor didn't respond, you gently pushed the goblet towards his mouth. "Drink." You told him and he did, he wasn't going to say no to fancy wine.

Later that day, Sandor sat across from you during supper. He had to admit, supper was good. You had told the cook to make chicken, roasted potatoes and vegetables. Bread was served along with different types of cheeses. Sandor ate his chicken as you ate different types of berries with cheese. Light conversations were made and while the wine was kept serving to him and you. Sandor was in a good mood. He even made a few jokes, earning a few hearty laughs from you.

"Was supper to your liking?" You asked Sandor. After supper, he was escorting you back to your chambers. You walked next to him instead of in front of him, Sandor had noticed it a while back. You never walked in front of him whenever he was with you alone. You liked being next to him. You had even grabbed onto his arm while walking at one point.

"Aye, never thought I would eat with the queen." Sandor said, making you chuckle.

"We should make it a regular thing when Joffrey isn't here." You told as you side-eye him.

"When he comes back, he will have you all to himself. I'll be sad because we won't spend time together." Sandor stops in mid step at your words. You had stopped as well when you noticed Sandor wasn't walking next to you. You turned around to see him staring at you.

"It's true. I only see my husband during the morning then when eating then late at night when he is done torturing his whores." Sandor felt his mouth go dry.

"I know about it." He let out a deep breath. "I'm not stupid, Sandor." He knows that now, you aren't dumb as Joffrey likes to think.

You walked closer to Sandor, you were so close to him that he could smell the light scent of lavender soap still lingering on your skin. He could see every beauty mark on your face, every eyelash around your pretty eyes.

"Honestly, I don't give a shit. He can do whatever he wants. Joffrey has never hurt me like the whores but his words can be cruel." You told him as you looked at his white cloak hanging behind his back.

You saw the blood and dirt stains on the cloak, you reached forward to grab it. Feeling the fabric and the dried blood on it. You remember his words when he told you why he hadn't taken the knight's vows during supper.

"Be glad it's just words, my queen." Sandor told you softly.

Sandor knew what you meant. He never saw Joffrey lay a hand on you but he did hurt you with words. He would call you stupid for loving the ungrateful people of King's Landing. Joffrey would undermine you and intimidate you. Sandor can only imagine how Joffrey acts towards you when he wasn't there.

"Words can hurt, Sandor." You told him as you let go of his cloak and touched his chest, your fingers tracing the chest plate of his armor.

"Aye." Sandor agreed with you with a small nod. He knows all too well of it. He has grown immune to the cruel words said to him. Words like monster, ugly, evil, and dog.

"If I ask you something. Will you do it for me?" You asked him as you removed your hand from his chest.

"Anything." Sandor responded. "You won't tell anyone?"

"Not a soul." He said.

"Come to my chambers tonight. Don't let anyone see you." You told him. You didn't wait for his response. You turned around and continued to walk. Sandor watched as you walked down the hall then entered into your chambers.

It was late at night when Sandor released the knight guarding the hallway. Making sure the knight was out of his sight, Sandor walked towards your chambers. Sandor thought it was a joke when you told him to meet you at night. Perhaps you were waiting for him to come and laugh at his face.

He saw the door was slightly open, he slowly pushed the door open trying to not make a sound and looked inside. He saw you there, sitting on an armchair near the balcony. Candles were lit around you, providing you light as you held a book in your hand. Your hair was down and slightly wavy from the braid you wore earlier. His eyes widened at the red and golden robe you wore, it wasn't fully closed. He can see the valley between your breasts, that’s where a gold necklace laid.

He cleared his throat loudly making you look up from your book.

"You came." You said shutting the book.

"I did." Sandor said, walking inside and closing the door.

"The lock." You pointed up at the metal lock above the door. Sandor locked the door, giving it a pull to make sure it was properly locked and looked back at you.

"Do you read, Sandor?" You asked him as you placed the book next to you. He shook his head.

"Can you read?" Sandor nodded at you. "Aye, I spent a lot of time reading when I was younger."

"Why did you stop?" You asked.

"After I was burned I didn't want to go outside. So I just read to pass the time. As I got older I didn't give a shit anymore of what people would say about my appearance." Sandor said.

"Did you trip when you were young? How did it happen?" You asked as you got up from the couch. When Sandor didn't say anything you were about to walk towards him and ask for forgiveness when he spoke.

"My brother pushed me. I was playing with one of his toys. He thought I was stealing it but I was just playing with it. He got angry and held me down as he pushed my face against the fire." You stood still at his words. You clenched your hands in rage at his brother.

"It took three men to take him off of me." Sandor said softly while shaking his head as he remembered.

You have seen ser Gregor Clegane before and understood why he was called The Mountain. He was taller than Sandor. He frightens you especially with the stories you heard about him but Sandor didn't frighten you at all.

You walked closer to him looking up to his face as you stood in front of him.

There it was again, Sandor thought. You looked at him with no fear. He didn't understand the look you gave him. You had a look in your eyes that he had never seen before.

"What do you want, my queen?" Sandor asked. He wanted to know why you were being so nice to him and why you had taken such interest in him.

"I want you." Sandor's eyes widened at your answer. He was about to step back when you grabbed his hand. He looked down at your hands. Your hands were so different from his. Yours were small and smooth while his were large and covered with scars along with calluses.

"Is this some fucking joke?!" He hissed at you pulling his hand away.

"Why do you think it's a joke?" You asked him.

"Look at me!" He told you as his gaze at you darken.

"I'm a dog. A nobody." You frowned at his words.

"I want you, Sandor." You told him firmly trying to get a hold of his hand again.

Sandor shook his head and turned around to unlock the door but you stopped him. You quickly leaned against the door, pushing yourself in front of him.

"It's not a lie." When Sandor didn't say anything you continued to speak.

"Do you really think Joffrey wanted you to stayed? I asked him for you. I wanted you here, I wanted some time alone with you."

Sandor let out a deep breath. "Why do you think I asked you to come here tonight? I have been here for almost two months and I haven't met anyone like you before. Everyone sees you as a mean person and a killer but I don't. You are so much more."

"You don't know what you're talking about. You have been drinking too much wine." Sandor told you, trying to find any excuse to go away.

"Really?!" You yelled at him.

"You know, I have learned that a certain person has been donating to the orphanage." Sandor looked away from you.

"They told me it was you." You said as you grabbed his arm.

"No knights have this before. Sandor is good but misunderstood." You repeated the words that the elderly keeper told you on your last visit to the orphanage.

"A few pieces of silver means nothing." Sandor mumbled to you.

"It means something especially to those children that have nothing." You told him.

Sandor didn't think anything of it. It is just a small amount that he donates. Sandor wasn't rich but he had money from being Joffrey's kingsguard. He didn't tell you that it was because of you that he donated.

He was there when you spoke to Joffrey and to the council about the orphanage. You didn't give up your cause even when Joffrey laughed at the thought of helping them but his council sided with you after your speech of helping them and giving them resources.

"Those children can grow up being something bigger. They can be knights, servants, blacksmiths, farmers and maesters." Sandor watched as you smiled when the council decided something will be done.

"I want you. The question is, do you want me as I want you?" Sandor finally looked at you.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. For the first time in his life a woman wanted him but you weren't just any woman, you were the queen.

"Do you find me pretty?" You asked Sandor as dread filled your stomach perhaps he didn't find you attractive. He quickly nodded his head.

"Beautiful." Sandor told you as you grabbed his hand.

"I think of your hands at night." You told Sandor, bringing his large hand up to your face.

"When I'm with him, all I think about is you." Sandor moved his hand to your face, cupping your cheek.

"Do you want me as I want you?" You asked him again.

"Only a fool will say no to you, my queen." Sandor responded.

"Call me Y/n." You told him as he rubbed his thumb against your cheek. You have been wondering for so long how his hands and mouth would feel on you.

"Y/n." He whispered your name. You pushed against him as you looked up at him. You smiled at him, it seems unreal. He was the first person in this kingdom to say your name.

"Kiss me." You told him.

Sandor leaned down to kiss you. He kissed with caution at first pressing his lips against yours. You wanted more, you pulled him down to wrap your arms around his neck to get him closer to you. He kissed you again and you whined when he held on to your hips, his large hands gripping the robe you wore tight as you opened your mouth to him. You teased his tongue with yours, feeling giddy inside when you heard him whine in your mouth. You pulled away from his lips giving him a smile.

"I have been wanting to do that for a while." You whispered to him.

"You're crazy for wanting me." He told you, shaking his head.

"Aye, absolutely crazy for you." You grinned at him, making him laugh out of disbelief.

You looked down at your robe, you slowly untied the belt from your robe. Sandor held his breath as you took your robe off.

You stood in front of him naked. "Join me in bed." You told him, leaving him by the door. He looked over his shoulder as he saw you walking to the large bed. He stared at your bare ass and bare legs. He quickly followed you as he started to remove his armor.

Sandor has had sex before, he was no virgin. He always paid for a fuck. It was always for his pleasure only not really caring for the other but now he was feeling nervous, he wanted to make you feel good.

Sandor knew he was a big man with a big body. Sometimes the whores will be too anxious to be with him. He was nervous that you would reject him once you saw him naked.

Unknown to Sandor, you were practically salivating at the sight of his bare chest and arms. Sandor was toned and his upper body was covered with thick dark hairs. His shoulders were broad. His arms flexed when he threw his tunic over his shoulder as he walked towards the bed.

As he got closer to you, you touched his chest. He was warm and his chest hair was soft. You can feel the scars on his chest and stomach. You felt him tense up when you touched his stomach. Playing with the hair of his happy trail for a moment before your hands continue going down.

"You're so big." You told him as you felt him through his trousers. Sandor stared down at you as you cupped his cock.

"Come here." He said before picking you up and dropping you on the bed. He pushed his pants off while getting on top of you. His lips attacked your neck, you let out a giggle as his beard tickled you.

"Sandor." You cried out as he kissed down to your chest. His large hand cupped your left breast squeezing it, his thumb rubbing your tit as he suckled on the right.

You spread your legs wider for his frame, Sandor was huge and you loved it. He hovered over you as he fondled your breasts. He gives a big lick on your hard nipple before looking at you.

You brought your hand to his face, tucking a strand of his brown hair over his ear.

"Let me taste this cunt?." He asks you as he brings his hand to your cunt. You nodded at him as his middle finger drags up and down your slit. He hums to himself when he notices you're wet dripping on sheets of the bed.

"Please." You cry to him when his finger hits your clit. Sandor was quick as he got further down to face your cunt.

You smell so good to him. His tongue licks on your slit as his nose rubs against your clit. He parts your puffy lips so he can tongue your sloppy hole.

"Sandor! Fuck!" You cry out as he eats you out then start to finger you while sucking your clit.

"Fucking tight." Sandor tells you as he looks at you. You were watching him as he played with your cunt. Two thick fingers rubbing the spongy spot inside of you, his thumb rubbing your clit. No one has ever made you feel this way before.

"He made you cum before?" You shook his head when you let out a moan when Sandor started to finger you quicker and faster. Joffrey hasn't even come close to it. He grins to himself when he feels your pussy tighten around his fingers.

He thinks he'll cum as well just by looking at your pretty cunt and the sound of your moans as you came on his fingers. He plays with your cunt softly knowing you're sensitive from your orgasm. He pulls his two fingers out of you, they are wet and coated with your cum, he greedily sucks them. Savoring your cum, it's better than ale, he tells himself.

"I'll make you cum again, Y/n. I'm gonna ruin you if I fuck you." He tells you, leaning down to kiss your mound.

"Ruin me." You beg him as you look at him. He gives your cunt another kiss before kissing your stomach then your chest again as he positions himself between your legs.

Sandor can't help himself but drag his cock against your wet slit. You moaned at the sight of his cock in his hand. His cock was thick, his head was red and fat. You watched as he softly nudged your lips apart with the head of his cock. The head of his cock gathers your wetness so he can slide into you with ease.

He glances at you for a second looking for consent to continue. You nodded at him. You couldn't help but whine as he slid into you. You felt so full, Sandor can feel you clench around him.

"Fuck me." You beg him.

Sandor moans as he slams into you. His arms shook as he gripped the edge of the bed holding himself up. His thrusts was rough, he kept staring as you threw your head back to moan. Your tits bouncing with every thrusts.

"Fuck." He groans out loud. Sandor felt his chest tighten at the sight of you. He can smell your cunt on his beard making him grunt like a wild man.

He lets out a moan as he looks down between both of you. Cunt spread open on his cock, you were mewling as he pushed deeper into you. Sandor felt your hands on his shoulders, pulling him to get close to you. Sandor feels your breasts against his chest as he cages your head with his arms.

He calls you his pretty lady, his pretty queen as he fucks you. The slick sound of his fat cock dragging out and inside of your wet cunt can be heard. You cried when you felt his lips on your cheek pressing wet kisses all the way down your neck as you held him.

"I'm going to cum, Y/n." Sandor whines to you as he was about to get up to cum outside of you but you held him closer. You wanted him to cum inside of you, deep inside of you.

"Cum in me. Please Sandor." You whispered to him. He let out a moan, he hides his face against your neck as he starts to fuck you harder. His harsh thrusts made you cry out as you felt him go deeper, you can feel him in your stomach. Sandor had to bite down on his bottom lip as he felt you cum around his cock.

Sandor grunted loudly as he cums inside of you. You welcomed him as he laid on you, enjoying the feeling of him on you, the warmth and the weight of his body. Your fingertips gliding up and down on his back. You felt him moan as he pushed himself up softly, looking down at you, he kissed him. Both of you knew at that moment, you wouldn't be able to stay away from each other.

Joffrey returned the following week, much to your dislike you couldn't speak to Sandor as much. You both knew the risks of someone finding out you were having an affair with him. That didn't stop both of you from giving each other looks and touches.

The only time you would have for each other was when occupying the library, the library was a large room in the basement of the castle. You spend your days there when you have finished with your duties. You usually were there reading while waiting for Sandor. He will come in an hour later after you. He was always looking out, making sure no one was around the library. He will get inside and quickly find you hiding in the back. Sweet and gentle kisses Sandor gave you every time, he was always gentle with you. His large hands cupped your face as he kissed you. Sandor will push you against the bookshelves and go down on his knees, he was always in need to taste you. You would moan when you feel him go under your gown, he puts a leg over his shoulder as he makes you cum on his tongue.

His low moans and whines can be heard when you are between his legs sucking his cock. He will groan when you start to gag on his cock while playing his balls. He can't help himself but cum inside your mouth, especially when he sees you staring up at him with doe eyes. Head bobbing up and down on his shaft, the golden crown on your head wouldn't even budge.

The small loveseat in the library would creak as you rode him. One of his hands held your hips while you placed your hands on his broad shoulders. Sandor and you would finish wrapped around each other and when he finally allowed you to kiss his burned cheek. You didn't pry when you saw him tearing up whenever you kissed his scared cheek. You whispered to him about wanting him, loving him and thanking the new and old gods for having him in your life.

It was a few months when a tournament on King Joffrey's name day was being held. You sat next to Joffrey as he drank his wine and shouted profanity at the players. You were starting to feel unwell. You have been so nauseous lately. You were getting worried. Some days you would wake up throwing up and the heat wasn't helping. The tournament was held on the eastern wall of the Red Keep, you ignored the smell of the ocean. You looked away as the knights fought a few feet away from you. You didn't notice Sandor staring at you as he stood near Joffrey. He saw you placing a hand over your mouth and started to shift in your seat.

He looked away when Joffrey called for him; it was his turn to fight. He grabbed his helmet and walked to the floor. He wasn't nervous, he has done this many times before. As he hits his opponent with his sword, he can see you in the background getting up from your seat. He let out a grunt as the opponent hit back but Sandor was much stronger and quicker. He defended himself and pushed his opponent off the ledge of the building.

Joffrey leaped out of his seat in joy as he ran to the ledge to see the other men on the ground. After calling Sandor a good dog, Joffrey claps. Everyone joined as Sandor took his helmet off, he looked over at you but you weren't there. You were gone along with your handmaidens. Sandor kept looking but saw his older brother's piercing black eyes staring at him with a frown. Sandor looked away and walked back to his post, next to the King.

It was later that Sandor found out why you were gone. You came back when the feast for Joffrey's name day started. Joffrey got up from his seat and cleared his throat.

"I have an announcement to make. It brings great joy to tell you. Your queen, my wife is pregnant. She has provided me with an heir!"

Sandor looked over at you but you just kept staring up at Joffrey with a smile; it was a fake smile. Sandor knew you were faking it since your eyes were dull. He watched as Cersei gave you a hug and congratulated you as well as her children, Myrcella and Tommen.

Sandor stood in the middle of the garden at night watching his surroundings. He saw a single candlelight lit from your balcony. That was a sign from you, to meet you in the gardens.

He heard light footsteps coming near him. He turned around when he heard it getting closer. He saw you wearing a black hooded cape.

"Sandor!" You cried out running to him. Sandor hugged you tight.

"I'm with child." You sobbed into his chest as he rubbed your back.

"It's alright. It's alright." He repeats gently, calming you down.

"The maesters said I'm about a month or so." You told him, looking up at him.

"Sandor, I have to tell you something." He frowned when you started to look around for a moment.

"When Joffrey returned to King's Landing. He became violent." Sandor grabbed your hand.

"In bed, he started to get angry when I wouldn't moan or move. He started to get aggressive. I was so scared." You whispered.

"I started putting a few drops of milk of the poppy in his drink before he would get to bed. Whenever he wanted to have sex, he couldn't perform. He would fall right to sleep before anything can happen."

"Has he been suspicious?" Sandor asked. You shook your head.

"I've been sleeping naked with him. I would take his clothes off as well." Sandor nodded, you have thought of everything.

"Are you mad at me?" You asked.

Sandor shook his head. "No but why didn't you tell me that fucking cunt was doing that?"

"You would have killed him." You told him. "Then they would kill you. I can't be without you. I can't raise our child without you."

Sandor hugged you tight, kissed your forehead and told you everything was going to be alright. He never thought he would have been a father, he honestly never wanted a child. Mostly because he never found a woman who wanted to be with him and have a family.

He was worried for you. He wouldn't always be there when Joffrey is with you. He hoped Joffrey wouldn't harm you since you're pregnant.

Pregnancy was something Sandor had never seen before first hand, he watched your body change completely and he loved it. He loved touching your swollen belly and breasts. He loved how sensitive you have gotten as well. Sandor thought you looked more beautiful. Your belly has grown so big during the months. Joffrey thought it was twins, the idea was rejected by the maesters. They told Joffrey they can only feel one baby, one very large baby.

You waddled everywhere you go. He wanted to carry you every time he saw you waddling around the castle. Whenever there was time to spend with you he would hold you, his large hands touching and rubbing your belly. His lips pressing against your bare shoulders.

"Sandor, if anything happens to me. Promise me you'll look after our child."

"What do you mean?" He asked you as he heard the tone of your voice change.

"If anything happens to me. Look after our child, teach them to be good. I know if Joffrey is in their life they would be cruel just like him" You told Sandor. You were between his legs, you back against his chest as his arms wrapped around you.

"Teach them to survive in this wicked world." You looked over your shoulder at Sandor.

"Don't let our child be like the rest of them." You cried out to him, Sandor was quick to comfort you.

"They won't be like them. I promise." He told you, feeling a tightness in his chest. He wouldn't let them be like his brother or Joffrey.

It was morning when he heard from a servant that you started to give birth. Sandor followed Joffrey down the hallway. He froze when he heard your screams.

Cersei was sitting outside the door with Myrcella. The young girl was in tears as she heard you crying and screaming while giving birth. Myrcella wanted to be there for you, she had come to love you very dearly since you became queen. You had become like an older sister to the young girl.

"All this screaming and crying. When will it be over?" Joffrey asked, looking irritated.

"Joffrey! She's giving birth. It can be hours, sometimes days." Cersei said. Joffrey rolled his eyes at her.

Sandor paled at the thought of you being in pain for so long.

"Ridiculous." Joffrey hiss then banged on the door.

Sandor walked closer to Joffrey when the door opened and the maester came out. Myrcella was the first to gasp at the sight of the maesters' bloody hands.

"How long?" Joffrey asked, ignoring the cries from inside or the maesters' blood stained hands.

Sandor looked inside the room. You were in a white gown, the gown was clung to your skin wet from your sweat. Two handmaidens were on either side of you, holding your hands as you pushed. He can hear encouraging words from the ladies.

Before the maesters could respond the handmaiden had called out to him to come inside. The door slammed shut before Joffrey could say anything else and your screams continued. A few minutes later your cries had stopped and a loud, strong cry was heard.

Leonidas Baratheon

Sandor watched as his son slept in his arms. The three of you were in the library together, Sandor was sitting on the loveseat as he held his son. You sat right next to him.

"He's so long." Sandor commented as he continued to look at his son.

"Aye, the maesters were right. He's going to be tall." You said as you watched Sandor with a smile. He hasn't taken his eyes off of him, it was Sandor first time meeting his son. After healing and everyone coming to see Leonidas, the heir to the iron throne. You finally had a chance to see Sandor again. His sweet praises filled you as he kissed you, "I'm proud of you. A boy, a son."

"I wish he would have had your last name." You told Sandor making him look up at you. He shook his head and looked back at his son with a sad face.

"No, it's a good thing he doesn't. Being a Clegane comes with a reputation." Sandor told you. He froze when Leonidas stretched his arms and dozed off again.

"I wish you wouldn't think like that. I would love to have your last name." You told him looking down at your lap.

"Look at me." Sandor said softly. You look over at him.

"You really are crazy, you know that." Sandor said jokingly, making you smile.

"Absolutely." You told him, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Sandor would have loved that as well for you to have his last name but Sandor knew in this world, you don't always get what you want. He consider himself lucky. He felt lucky that you wanted him, to share a bed with him, to share a kiss with him. If this is all he could get from you. It's enough for him.

Leonidas grew up just as everyone expected him to be. You always were nervous whenever someone commented on his height or his hair. No one mentioned he wasn't blonde like his father. Everyone had said the child was an exact replica of Joffrey's father, Robert Baratheon who was tall and with dark hair.

Joffrey had his son's trained with the best knights when he was able to hold a sword. Joffrey had his son trained with the Clegane brothers. Leonidas asked his father to train with them and hunt with them. At a young age, Leonidas has felt at ease with the two most dangerous fighters in Westeros. It did raise concerns with the council and many people of King's Landing but as Leonidas grew, people in King's Landing saw him as a good prince unlike his father when he was younger. Leonidas was adored by the people and was always seen with his mother when visiting the orphanage.

Cersei was walking to her room when she passed by the training area being held in the courtyard, she stopped when she saw her grandson training. She got closer to see Leonidas, age 15 holding a sword. The teenager huffed as he blocked Gregor's heavy attack. She looked over at Sandor who watched them both attentively in the sidelines. He held a hand up to his mouth as he watched Leonidas dodging the attacks. His eyes were dark as Gregor was gaining the upper hand but Leonidas was quicker.

Cersei knew Leonidas couldn't be her real grandson. She always wondered where he got his looks and physique from. Cersei was about to leave when she saw movement from the second floor of the castle. She was surprised when she saw you. You were supposed to be bedridden since you were almost close to giving birth to your third child.

Cersei can see your smile widen as you place a hand on your stomach and look down. Cersei followed your gaze and frowned when she saw you smiling at Sandor.

Sandor has sensed your presence from above. He smiled up at you before looking back at his son. He let out a chuckle when Leonidas had pushed the sword of Gregor's hand.

"Well done." Gregor said before picking up his sword from the ground with a huff.

Gregor looked over his shoulder to see Leonidas had run up to Sandor. Gregor watched as Sandor gave a pat on Leonidas' back while telling him he did a good job. He saw Leonidas smile widely at Sandor's words. Gregor knew Sandor's praise meant everything to the young prince.

Gregor knew Leonidas wasn't Joffrey's son because every time he looked at the young prince all he saw was his younger brother, Sandor. No one knew what Sandor looked like when he was a boy before his face was burned but Gregor knew. Same brown eyes and hair along with the same smile.

Joanna Baratheon, was the second child of Joffrey and Y/n. Every time the young princess looked at Gregor. He saw the face of his dead little sister. Joanna is still young to know about him and what kind of person Gregor truly is. While others didn't even look at Gregor straight in the eyes, Joanna would give him a big smile whenever she saw him. Sometimes would wave at him whenever he was passing.

Gregor often would watch Leonidas and Joanna when they spent time together in the garden, Joanna would collect flowers while Leonidas would have a book on his lap, gifted by his uncle, Tyrion. Joanna would make flower crowns just like her aunt Marcella had shown her. Gregor would watch them for a few minutes behind the pillars of the castle. His dark eyes looked between the prince and the princess. Someday Gregor's eyes would play tricks on him and their faces would morph. Leonidas's left side of his face would be burned, Gregor can still recall the smell of burnt flesh after all these years. Joanna's small face will be pale as the snow, her brown eyes would be bulging out of her skull. Her neck will be black and blue, her small hands would be clawing at her neck. He would have to shut his eyes for a moment then when he opened the faces of his siblings were gone. The happy faces of his niece and nephew were back. He would always leave when his eyes got watery and a dreaded feeling in his chest started to rise.

Gregor knows he's filled with evil and hate. His thirst for blood and chaos is known but he doesn't know why when he looks at the prince and princess some unknown force calms him down for a second and he's filled with something else. He doesn't know what this feeling is, it's not hate and while he figures out that feeling he wouldn't tell a living soul that Sandor is the real father of Leonidas, Joanna and the babe growing inside of you. Gregor had already slit the throats of the people that were calling Leonidas and Joanna a bastard and their mother, you a whore in hushed whispers.

If you like to read more of His Queen, click below on the title to read.

His Queen: Nameday

#sandor the hound clegane #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #games of thrones #games of thrones fanfiction #gregor clegane #joffrey baratheon #the hound #rory mccann #smut #we cheating #sandor clegane fanfic

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daenerystargaryensgirlfriend · 1 month

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Daenerys book differences

{only the firsts three seasons}

In S1, we mostly see how badly Daenerys was treated by Viserys and then how, with Drogo's help, she proceeded to go against him and then become the mother of dragons. In the first book, we actually see how she herself started to outshine him; she started to grow as a leader and started to create her own circle of people. To give an example, there's this scene when she orders the khalasar to stay behind ("you're learning to talk like a queen," "not a queen, a khaleesi"), and Viserys gets mad at her (as usual). In the show, it's a man from the Khalasar who humiliates him and takes away his horse (Rakharo, if I remember correctly). In the book, it's Daenerys; she's the one who humiliates him using her dothraki knowledge. This shows not only that she was starting to defy her brother but also her leadership's growth.

Still in S1, in the last episode, there's the speech where she says, "And I swear to you, that all those that will harm you will die screaming." There's a similar speech in the book, but she says that all the men who raped a little girl will die screaming.

In s2, when she sends people away and she sees how her people are not doing well, she looks frightened, and she needs Jorah to tell her that "she needs to be their strength" (completely erasing her leadership moment). In the book, however, she already knows that she needs to be their strength and that she can show no weakness or fear.

Still in s2, when they arrive to Qarth, she just starts screaming in one of the seven that she will burn down cities and whatever ("we will lay waste on armys and burn cities to the ground"). Also when they enter and they don't agree to take her to Westeros, she gets mad again and looks childish. In the books, however, the seven let her stay in Qarth out of curiosity, and she's also the one to explain to Xaro how business works, showing her intelligence.

In S3, she wonders whether to buy the unsullied or not. In the book, she affirms that she wants people to follow her because they believe in her and not because they've been bought. Does that sound familiar to you? of course, because they gave that whole speech to Ser Barriston, again taking away her intelligence.

Also, with the second sons it's not Daario that guides her like it happens in the show. In the book, Daenerys is the one who plans the attack against Yunkai, giving them different information to trick them and getting the second sons drunk. Again, her intelligence and leadership were given to her male advisors.

#maybe i'll do another version for the later seasons #also the amount of times jorah needs to console or guide her??? insane #she's always the one that needs to put him in his place because he's too much #and when she tells him that he needs to be her strengh??? what the fuck??? the last thing he is is her fucking strenght #book daenerys targaryen #daenerys targeryan #daenerys defence squad #got #asoiaf #grrm

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floatyflowers · 2 years

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Dark! Daemon Targaryen x Wife! Reader

Everyone in Westeros knew that the king's younger brother, Daemon Targaryen, has his eyes on you, a young beautiful Baratheon girl that the whole kingdom praises for beauty and fragility.

But you didn't care for his attention as much as you cared for the attention of another man, who is more gentle, kind, and younger then the cruel prince.

A Dragon and a Doe seem absurd to you.

Also, knowing Daemon's intentions towards you, you tried to avoid him at all costs.

But, how can you do that when your house, is heavily allied with House Targaryen, you are also a dear friend of the princess.

Yet, Daemon, didn't let you slide from between his fingers easily, he has to have you.

It didn't take long for the news of your lover's death to reach you.

And before you know it, you were forcefully wedded to Daemon.

Strangely enough, the handsome prince treated you kindly, he would even let you near his dragon.

"I would never harm you as long as you love and obey me as your husband"

Also, the same Daemon would not allow any man in your sight, all your servants are women.

You remember one of the soldiers entering your and Daemon's chambers to lend him a massage from the king.

That man was announced dead the next day, which made you more frightened of Daemon.

You knew that his 'kindness' towards you, could never cover his possessive nature, that fact would keep you up at night.

It also didn't take long for him to get you pregnant which left him in fear of losing you.

Daemon knew that there is a high chance of you not surviving during childbirth, especially since you have a fragile health, he did not care for a child as much as he cared for keeping you by his side.

But, deep down, he is delighted to see you pregnant with his child.

You are happy that you are pregnant, thinking that Daemon would be disgusted to sleep with you, and would spend his time getting with prostitutes.

However, the dragon prince kept himself by your side, he would even hold you in his embrace for long hours, refusing to let go of you.

On the day of the delivery, Daemon felt that you might die, to the point where he instructed healers to save you and not the child if you couldn't give birth.

In the end, you managed to deliver a healthy daughter, a Targaryen child with silver hair and light violet eyes, nothing that hints at a Baratheon in her.

"Are you going to cast me aside now that I have given birth to a daughter"

That's exactly what you wish for, that you two go your separate ways, that he would let you return to storm's end with your daughter.

Daemon would only smirk at you as he holds the newborn baby in his arms.

"This child is proof that I will never let go of you, my beautiful wife...her name shall be Elaena, our little Elaena"

Part 2 >>

#tw: toxic relationships #marriage #daemon targaryen #Dark #possessive #house of the dragon #daemon taragaryen x reader

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thought--bubble · 4 months

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Prized Possession

Dark Aemond X (Maid Reader)

Warnings after the cut

Canon Aemond Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners by @arcielee

Based on THIS request

Warnings:: Cheating, Smut, Dub-con, Slight choking, a little bit of roughness.

It is a sad day at storms end. Your lady, the lady you serve, the sweet, caring, and gentle lady Floris Baratheon was to be wed in a few weeks' time.

This would normally be a cause for celebration, yet the sad look forever etched onto the face of your sweet lady made it clear that this is not the case.

She is to marry Prince Aemond Targaryen. A betrothal that brings her house closer to the crown. Yet Aemond is known for his cruelty, Lady Floris being the sweet and gentle lady she is, has been regretful for weeks wishing beyond all hope that somehow, she would be freed from his harshness, his cruelty, and the emotionless expression that sits upon his face every time he has visited storms end since the betrothal.

Lady Floris constantly wracked with fear clings closely to you, her personal chamber maid. You are but 2 years older than your lady. Assigned to work with her since childhood, the same way your elder sister was assigned to work with Lady Cassandra.

This was for the comfort of the Baratheon ladies, of course. Having a chamber maid that would grow up with them, to give them a source of comfort, someone to trust.

So, when Lady Floris requested that you accompany her to Kings Landing, you were not surprised. Ever since the announcement of the betrothal, you knew you would end up in kings landing, helping your Lady care for the little princes and princesses she would no doubt bear for her husband.

So, when the time came to leave, you packed your few belongings and hugged your sister tight and followed Lady Floris into her carriage with a heavy heart. Although you served Lady Floris, you also cared for her deeply. You knew her fears, her desires, and her dreams.

The trip was somber, but you did your best to keep her spirits up. Playing little games with strings tied around your fingers that you have played since you were girls.

When you arrived at Kings Landing, poor Lady Floris was a ball of nerves. She wanted nothing more than to run. You stood close by her as she requested her feeling safer with you by her side.

As she is once again introduced to her betrothed and the dowager Queen, you do a quick curtsy and stand behind her head down as is your place.

While they talk and exchange their pleasantries you feel as if someone is watching you. Staring into you, so harshly the hair stands up on the back of your neck. You know this isn't possible. Who would be watching you?

The rest of the night goes just as it should. You accompany Lady Floris as she walks about the grounds until it is time to return to her chambers to get her ready for her evening meal with the royal family. You assist her with her hair and dress, softly cooing to her all the while attempting to make her feel at ease.

You see her off as she takes her father's hand so he can escort her. You close the door to her chambers and continue to unpack her things. You have worked with her for so long you know exactly how she likes her things and want to make this new space as comforting to her as possible.

She has only been gone mere moments before there is a knock on the door. You chuckle to yourself thinking your Lady forgot something. When you open the door, you come face to face with her betrothed. Prince Aemond Targaryen stands before you his regality seeps from his every pore. head held high; chin pushed forward he looks down at you.

You quickly fall into a curtsy. "I-I'm sorry my prince. Your betrothed has already left, Lord Baratheon has already escorted her."

"Of that I am aware" He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. "I have actually come to see you."

"Me?" you hardly squeak out the word. Why in all of Westeros would he be there to see you?

"That scar" he gestures toward your left eye.

The thing you hate most about yourself is that horrid scar, running around with your sister and the Ladies you both serve falling, nearly gouging your own eye out, the aftermath leaving you with a jagged scar from your eyebrow to just underneath your eye. It is your most unpleasant memory.

"Childhood injury" You attempt to angle your face, so the scar is less visible.

"No need to hide it from me" He steps up close to you taking your chin in his hand and turning your head, inspecting the scar. He runs a cold course finger down the raised flesh. You cringe at the sensation.

He lowers his head to your eyebrow and places a soft kiss on the mark there, then, without a word, backs away from you and quickly exits the room.

The next few days you stay glued to Lady Floris' side. She and Aemond take walks daily trying to get to know each other. Since they are betrothed, they are not to be left alone. Thus, you are forced to accompany them on these forays around the castle.

The worst part being Prince Aemonds's ever lingering eye. He feigns interest while he allows Lady Floris to babble incessantly while almost always keeping that one cold, violent eye locked on you, and each day as Lady Floris becomes more and more besotted with the prince, you fall deeper and deeper into despair.

A week before the wedding you are walking behind Aemond and Lady Floris as Floris chatters on about her love for music when you are suddenly interrupted by a guard who was sent to collect Lady Floris and bring her to her Lord father.

When you go to follow her, the guard stops you. "He wishes to speak with her privately"

Floris turns to you and asks you to wait for her in her chambers, to which you quickly agree. You are left standing with Aemond as you watch her walk away.

Silence falls between you until you curtsy and go to take your leave. You can feel him walking behind you, and you make your way through the castle. The light tapping of his feet echoing yours.

You wait to hear his feet trail off in a different direction the closer you get to your lady's chambers, but they don't. Aemond continues to quietly follow behind you even as you arrive at your destination.

You attempt to pretend he isn't there and enter the chambers swiftly, attempting to close the door behind you. He chuckles to himself and holds the door open with his hand entering behind you.

You act shocked, "my prince! umm, did you need my assistance with something?"

Aemond says nothing just stalks closer to you until his chest is pressed up against you. You attempt to back up, but he wraps his arm around your back, pulling you tightly against him. He leans down and nibbles at your neck, sending a wave of pleasure across your delicate skin. Your eyes flutter closed as you enjoy the feeling, his hand travels down your back, pushing you tighter to his body.

When he begins to pull up the skirts of your dress, your eyelids fly open, and you push him back.

"My price," you hesitate. "You are to marry Lady Floris. This is most inappropriate. I serve her and must remain loyal to her"

You turn your head away, just briefly, but it is enough to draw his ire.

"You may be her chamber maid. You may serve her, but make no mistake, she is to be my wife, and when that happens, everything that is hers becomes mine"

You hold your breath, with your eyes downcast. As he walks toward the door to exit the room, he stops beside you and places his hand on your shoulder.

"That includes you"

He exits the room swiftly, slamming the door behind him, leaving your head reeling. There is nothing left to wonder, he has made his intentions abundantly clear, and you are torn between the loyalty and love you have for Lady Floris and the physical reaction of your body to his touch.

You do your best to avoid him over the coming week. It isn't too difficult to do since Floris has been very busy preparing for the wedding, and you have been stuck to her side.

The wedding proceeds, and you stand in the crowd proudly. Your lady looks so beautiful, so poised. The ceremony is beautiful. The feast goes well. She goes off with her new husband. He hadn't spared a glance your way the entire day. Oddly, this left you with a mix of emotions. Relief that he may have come to his senses, as well as grief that he may have come to his senses.

As wrong as you knew, it was you longed to feel his callous fingertips graze your skin. His teeth pulling at your neck. You push these thoughts out of your mind. He is with his wife, Lady Floris, whom you love and respect.

The next morning, while brushing Lady Floris' hair you inwardly cringe as she describes the events of the night before. How her new husband was so gentle with her and so sweet. How he gave her space to recover and collect her thoughts afterward.

You found this difficult to reconcile. Gentle? Sweet? Caring about the needs of others? This is not characterization that populated in your head after your encounters with the prince.

The rest of this day is exhausting Floris flouncing about excitedly telling other ladies how her husband is so misunderstood and is truly charming and loving.

You had never been so excited for a day to end. After helping Floris out of her day clothing and into her night clothing, you wish her a good night and make your way back to your chambers close by that you share with two other maids.

You couldn't have been sitting more than a minute before you are summoned to the private chambers of Prince Aemond.

You sigh and rub your eyes in frustration. The entire walk to his chambers, your thoughts are spiraling. What does he want? He is a married man! A gentle caring one, apparently! Could he be apologizing? Swearing me to secrecy?

As you knock on his door, your stomach is doing somersaults. When you hear his voice beckoning you to enter, you quickly open the door and step inside, closing the door behind you.

You slowly make your way into the room to see him sitting by the hearth rubbing the tips of his fingers against the wooden armrest of the chair in which he is sitting.

"You summoned me, my prince?" You clasp your hands together in front of you delicately on your stomach while pacing your breathing. One -two breathe one-two breathe.

He stands from the chair without a word quickly makes his way to you and grabs the back of your neck before harshly pressing his lips down on yours. You melt into the kiss for a moment before your logic prevails.

" My prince! We can not!" You stagger back slightly but he immediately advances upon you.

"You are a servant are you not?" He barks

You nod

"You belong to my wife, and my wife belongs to me." he closes the gap between you, bringing his fingers up to the side of your cheek.

"Her things are now my things." he runs his thumb across your pouty bottom lip and brings his mouth right next to your ear,

"even her most prized possession"

He starts to unlace the strings on your dress as you stand there and watch, eyes opened wide with shock.

"That makes you my servant" he pulls the dress off pushing it harshly to the floor.

"Now serve"

He pushes you back gently. You follow his lead and continue to walk back until your calfs hit the hard wooden surface of his bed frame.

He grabs you by the thighs, lifting you up and tossing you onto the bed before he quickly climbs over you like a lion stalking its prey.

"I have to give her children, a title, and a gentle husband. Everything else I give to you."

You silently stare up at him as he leans back to pull the white linen shirt he is wearing off, exposing his pale firm chest.

He leans back down, biting your neck and pushing himself up against you.

"You get the real me." As he says this, he grabs your throat and holds it tight.

He looks at you with a devilish smile as he slowly squeezes tighter and tighter. You can feel your face growing hot as you find it harder and harder to breathe before he finally releases you.

He unlaces his breeches, pulling them off hastily, and you breathe in hard, trying to regain air in your lungs.

He pushes your shift up and tears your underclothes off before bringing his hand between your legs.

He chuckles as his fingers meet the wetness there.

"You like the animal in me, don't you, sweet girl?" You don't say anything but moan softly as he moves his hand in a circular motion.

He brings his other hand back up to your throat and holds it tight. He doesn't cut off your air this time but holds you in place as he dips his long, bony middle finger inside of you. You jump a little at the feeling and he pushes back against your neck.

"So warm, so soft." he growls, and his eye locks on his hand as he moves it in and out of your body with building quickness.

You can't help but arch your back as he finds a spot inside of you that forces your body to react.

"You serve so well. You will do fine, sweet girl" he continues to move his hand while rubbing at your clit with his thumb holding you in place by the throat the whole time.

The pleasure in your lower body builds and builds with you powerless to escape it until it takes over your entire being, sending shockwaves up and down the entire length of your body.

He quickly removes his hand and replaces it with the tip of his cock dragging it along your entrance just barely tapping your clit making you twitch.

He uses one hand to guide himself into you while the other one keeps to its rightful place around your throat.

He enters you quickly, it hurts, and he knows it, and when you look at his face, you know he enjoys that fact.

He pushes himself into you repeatedly, always keeping his eye on the spot where your bodies connect, watching himself slide in and out a look of satisfaction on his face.

You whimper quietly, your body, feeling a mix of pleasure, pain, and adrenaline.

"Do you feel that sweet girl?" He coos

You nod and whimper as he increases his pace.

"That's me.....tearing you apart." he brings his mouth to your cheek and licks the tear rolling down.

He rubs your pearl with his thumb and squeezes your neck tighter again cutting off your air supply.

"Fall apart for me" he grunts while slamming into you harder.

You gasp for air as that feeling of pleasure builds back up in your lower body.

"I need you to break." he slams into you even harder, biting his bottom lip and groaning loudly.

He rubs furiously at your pearl, and for a second time, you feel your entire body shatter as you continue to attempt to breath.

He closes his eyes, enjoying the sensation of you gripping around him, then quickly pulls out, pumping himself to completion onto your stomach.

He lays back on the bed, and neither of you move for a few minutes just trying to regain your thoughts. After a bit, you get up to find something to clean yourself with. You end up just using your underclothes too afraid to use something of his.

As you pick up your clothes and start to redress yourself he stops you.

"Where are you going?" He asks, not even sitting up on the bed to look at you.

"Back to my quarters" you start to slide your dress over your body.

He finally sits up and looks at you. He grips his cock in his hand starting to pump himself again.

"Not yet, I still have need for my servant"

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bucknastysbabe · 10 months

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IGHT THIS IS GONNA BE FOR YOUR BINGO POST !! 🩷🩷and you can throw this in the garbage is it ain't to your standards 🤪 but I'm thinking: Aegon ii x Bethroned! Reader-- LITTLE AGNST , FLUFF, SMUT (maybe if you want to) (Arranged Marriage) where Alicent has gotten extremely tired of options with what she can do to keep Aegon in line from committing more atrocious acts that she and Otto decided it was best to not only have a noble that is the complete opposite of him --keep him in line but to also form relations with against the blacks since (readers family) contains good army and weaponry.

Aegon is not fond of this marriage but changes his mind when he sees (reader) for the first time.

YENI YENI BO BENI!!!! I loved this w my whole heart and had tons of fun, so refreshing! We got a little angst, plenty of fluff, and some devious smut😏 I’m so glad you sent the ask, enjoy mwah mwah mwah!!!!

AU Bingo - Arranged Marriage - Aegon II

Rating: Mature, explicit at the end.

Tags: Arranged marriage, douche Aegon falls in LOVE, Redwyne!reader, Cringefail baby Aeg and his shifty family dynamics, TW: verbal abuse, Aegon’s derogatory thinking, non-descript throwing up, fluffity fluff fluff, big tiddy Arbor gf, soft kissing, a little groping, cumming in pants, clitoral orgasm, crying erotically, oh it’s happily ever after tonite, Aemond and Criston stay being done w Aegon

In the dimly lit council chamber, Lord Hand Otto Hightower and Queen Alicent pondered over a map of Westeros. A bottle of wine was split between the pair, something to dull the utter stress that was marrying their eldest. He had already refused Helaena and succeeded by torturing enough bugs. Or that the heir walled himself up in a whorehouse surrounded by gold cloaks until Ser Criston announced that Prince Aemond would wed the princess.

Outside the whorehouse.

Aegon’s antics had worsened as he grew older with no ‘ball and chain’, so to speak. Otto sighed, “I fear we have no more choices left,” his long fingers curled tighter around the golden cup, “Not a house with enough power, that isn’t already pledged to Rhaenyra.

Alicent wanted to scream. She grabbed the bottle of wine and went to pour. Then stopped suddenly, brown eyes searching up at her father. The queen asked, “Say, what about the Redwynes? They have money, daughters, and that precious fleet. 200 warships.”

Otto’s once dull eyes gleamed and he smiled pleasantly. He hummed, “Smart, smart girl. Marten has two beautiful maidens from what I’ve heard. The Arbor is always loyal to Oldtown.”

“I’ll send a raven immediately.”

Aegon had begged the maidservant to pull his cock until she had ran off crying. He shrugged and grabbed the bottle of wine, slugging it with no care in the world. Until it was ripped from his greedy lips. The blonde sputtered and water splashed as he met his mother’s disappointed eyes. No surprise there.

Alicent spat, “Do you ever spend your time doing something productive? Aemond’s been in the yard for hours.”

“Aemond’s a stiff cunt.”

Aegon frowned when a hand crossed his cheek. His mother hissed, “You will not speak of your brother like that! Pay attention, there’s news regarding your bachelorhood.” Aegon rolled his eyes and sat up, staring silently, sullen. He knew this was to come but dreaded it every night.

The queen opened a scroll and read off, “I, Lord Marten Redwyne of the Arbor— approve of the betrothal between my eldest and Prince Aegon. Good tidings and we hope to arrive with some ships within a fortnight.”

Aegon giggled, “You’re marrying me to the wine house’s daughter? How fitting.”

Another crack on the cheek. Aegon shut up, tears now stinging his violet eyes. His mother hissed, “She’s from a very powerful, devout, and noble family. That fleet will keep your head on your shoulders when Rhaenyra comes to lop it off. Clean yourself up!”

As she exited the room with a dissatisfied scoff, Aegon felt more tears well up. He suddenly felt very alone and frightened. Gods forbid she can’t stand the sight of him like any other nobility. He wept softly, shaking fingers clinging to his bottle. Funny enough, it was Arbor Red. His favorite.

Aegon busied himself drowning in whores and spirits the weeks, then days, leading up to his betrothed’s arrival. So much so that he hadn’t left the Street of Silk since the announcement. They hadn’t sent Criston out either. He desperately hoped they would magically forget about him here.

The whore sucking his cock hummed softly, Aegon arching a bit into her mouth. He wondered what the girl would look like. Not that it mattered. He closed his eyes and slid a ringed finger into her hair, fucking the whores throat with a soft moan.

As soon as he came, the door flung open. Aegon jerked away from the light pouring in, hissing and cursing the fiend who so dared to interrupt his climax.

Long fingers grabbed his arm and jerked the blonde off the bed into a mess of limbs onto the floor. A familiar voice uttered, “Pathetic.” Oh joyous day, it was Aemond, his knight in shining armor. Aegon whined in annoyance, “You didn’t have to manhandle me like some Yunkish brute!” The younger prince crossed his arms, face impassive.

“You fucking reek. Get your clothes on, it’s time to meet your betrothed.”

Aegon pressed a forefinger and thumb into his pounding eyes, mumbling, “Fine, give me a second.” Aemond hummed in distaste, shifting on his feet. The whore scurried out, the clink of coin hitting her hands from the younger. He shuffled blearily over to where his clothes were last, putting them on haphazardly.

Aegon realized his breeches were on backwards but really couldn’t give a bigger fuck. He needed a drink for this hangover. Aemond barked from behind, “Let’s go! You’re so slow brother.” Aegon cursed him again and followed behind, shuffling. Fear and bile were beginning to rise in his throat.

The ensuing ride on horseback with a lecture from Cole had Aegon throwing up on some poor peasant’s blanket covered in wares. More coin had to be given out from Aemond for that. The heir felt absolutely horrid by the time they had reached the Red Keep.

He remained silent through his mother’s verbal torture, the scrub down and dressing, then left alone in his chambers. Aegon’s headache had died down a bit but he was shaky. He idly got up and stared into the mirror. A haggard, dull eyed face met his own. Aegon thumbed at the red rims and dark bags under his eyes, frowning.

He skimmed a hand down his midsection, growing further despondent at the residual puffiness from overindulging at meals and the drink. Maybe she would see something in him. Probably not, the rumor mill was rampant around Westeros. Aegon was aware there wasn’t much to him but an inherited title, a name, and a dragon.

Ser Criston peeped in the door, brown eyes squinting. He asked, “Are you ready my prince? You look…groomed.” Aegon sighed and followed along the white knight, tremors threatening to overtake his frame. They walked and walked to the throne room, his decrepit father having managed to make it onto the Iron Throne. Some smaller lord was petitioning him and Otto.

Aegon searched the crowds of people, looking for something. He didn’t even know what their coat of arms looked like. Probably burgundy. Wine. He wanted wine so bad. Otto cleared his throat as soon as Aegon joined the retainer of the Targaryens.

The Hand dismissed the lord and peered at Viserys for approval. The king nodded and rasped, “Lords and ladies, we have a grand announcement.” A gasp erupted across the crowd, Aegon curled into himself. Otto boomed, “House Redwyne please come forward!”

The nobility peered at the group of burgundy and blue clad group coming up towards the throne. There were two girls clad in the rich red, one distinctly more gorgeous than the other. She had thick hair elegantly done, soft glowing skin, and pretty eyes. Aegon prayed over and over that she would be the one.

He was so struck with desire all thoughts and whims had flown out the doors. The young woman’s body was shapely— heavy tits pushed up by the dress. Fuck, Aegon might be in love. If that existed. Aemond had pushed him forward, the elder prince realizing they had called his name.

Aegon cleared his throat and walked towards his father and Otto’s intense gaze, eyes glued to the beauty. She was singled out now, family having stayed behind. The lady smiled gently at him, demure and gentle. Aegon held a hand out and took her hand, kissing the soft skin as his grandfather announced the betrothal to the excitement of the people.

Then she was whisked away, Aegon almost crying from the suddenness. Alicent had him back on the sides now, whispering, “You did good son. Don’t ruin her like you do everything else please.”

Aegon swallowed heavily. He didn’t want that either.

They sat together again at dinner. Aegon tried to suppress his urge to gorge and suck down anything alcoholic. She nervously peeked at him, smiling still. He finally leaned closer to the beauty and hummed, “You are the most gorgeous maiden I have laid eyes on. If you ever need anything, please let me know. The Red Keep will swallow anything whole.”

Her eyes widened a bit, pretty hand dropping her fork. The Redwyne girl blushed and demurred, “I’m honored you think so my prince, all I ask of you is to accompany me to the sept and mayhaps around the Keep. Just so I do not get swallowed whole.”

Aegon wanted to screech at the idea of sitting in the cold, domineering sept. But he found himself agreeing enthusiastically, “Yes, yes my dear lady, I’d only be doing my duty to keep my lovely betrothed safe.” Watching her grin and stifle a giggle made the prince’s nausea at being a lovesick buffoon die down.

He walked her to her quarters after the meal, disposing of the delightful vixen at the door with a courtly kiss of the cheek. Too bad the dog Cole was watching with dark eyes behind them. Looming like an angry ghost.

Once back in his own rooms, Aegon sipped on his wine, grinning like the fool. She was perfect. Maybe a bit stuffy and devout, but a ray of goodness in his debauchery laden life. Miserable life. The sweet thing didn’t even coyly bring up his past, like most of the ladies who wanted into the blonde’s bed. He found himself waiting for the morn, eager to walk with her to the Sept.

The family was rightfully surprised at their wily heir becoming the picture of courtly love. Attentive, sober, and kind as he tended to the new additions simple and kind requests. They attended the sept every day, had luncheons in the Godswood, even made it to court for petitions.

Alicent and Otto even visited Aegon to praise him for his good behavior. Which the blonde scoffed and hissed, “It’s not me, it’s the girl. Glad I needed an attachment to garner approval.” Which did not end well but Aegon needn’t care, he had his Redwyne waiting on him afterward.

He wanted the maiden so very bad. But he wasn’t going to ruin the wait. Something about tearing her open with his cock for the first time had Aegon stripping himself raw every night, gasping her name and staining his belly white. Mayhaps he could play with her a bit, but he’d be the good prince for once and keep his manhood tucked away, almost regretfully.

She had tested him a bit as of late. Curling into his frame under the heart tree, holding hands that somehow ended in her lap. Shared sweet little kisses that turned breathless, the lady’s heavy bosom heaving from excitement. She wanted him too, the heady haze in her eyes if they were too close for too long.

Like now for instance. They had supped in the Godswood yet again. After a long and arduous conversation about Aegon’s past. The sweet thing thumbed away his tears and murmured, “I do not judge you, seeking company in a loveless place. We all can be slaves to our vices. I only hope that I may fill that hole in your heart, dearest betrothed.”

Aegon tried not to weep, sniffling a bit. He smiled, lips puffy from biting them, and kissed her ever so gently against the lips. He sighed, “Is it so bad that you may be the best thing that has happened in my dim life?” She stroked his soft curls and simpered, “No, my dear prince, you’ve brightened my days since I’ve come. I was so scared you’d find me unbecoming.”

“Never,” Aegon promised with intense pecks, “Never, I have been struck since I first saw you.” She cried his name softly, throwing silk covered arms around his neck, pressing her soft body to his own. This was the closest they had been, the maiden practically in his lap. Aegon reached a hand around to her lower back for stabilization, the other coming to her cheek to tilt for better access.

She was less experienced as he predicted, but that made the possessive streak in his heart grow tenfold. He would show her, show the sweet nymph the pleasures of touch. All his.

They lapped into each other’s mouth in slow movements, Aegon leading the way. She was tentative and slow, gasping when he suckled softly on her tongue. The adorable thing pressed closer, whining softly as Aegon dominated the kiss.

She hiccuped, “Oh, my prince, ah, we mustn’t.”

Aegon smiled as she drew closer, curling lithe fingers into his chopped locks. He murmured, “I will save your precious maidenhead for our wedding day, as befits the pact.” Pausing for a effect with a sharp nip to her plump lower lip, earning a yelp, Aegon continued, “I can show you other ways to achieve pleasure, if you’d like.”

She warbled needily, “Please Aegon, oh, but we cannot be seen!”

“Come on then my lady,” Aegon offered as he scrambled up, holding a hand out.

They giggled nervously as Aegon pulled them into a sculpted Alcove, hidden by shrubbery and a statue of a snarling dragon. He laid his cloak down and gestured for her to sit between his thighs. Her cheeks darkened as she whimpered, “I- I’ve never.”

Aegon cooed, “Our little secret, my sweet girl.”

She climbed down and rested flush against Aegon’s front, breathing sped up again. He nuzzled and pressed featherlight kisses to her neck, humming, “Do you trust me my lady?” The girl whined, “Yes, yes, you’ve given me no reason not to.”

“Good.”

Now he nosed up to the sensitive skin under her jaw, lapping and suckling soft enough to leave no marks, but she whimpered and shivered like it was heaven. One of her dainty hands clutched at his thigh like a lifeline. Aegon reached a ringed hand around to massage her heavy breast, earning the most wanton moan.

She squeaked in shock, covering her mouth, cheeks aflame. Aegon huffed a laugh, “Poor sweetling, I bet they’re so sensitive, gorgeous tits like yours aching to be touched.”

“More, yes Aegon, please!”

So he groped and got his fill, eventually easing down her top to expose busty chest. Aegon plucked and thumbed her plush buds, growing harder and harder at her little whimpers and bitten-off squeals. Gods, she was divine,

“Sweetness, sweetness,” Aegon hummed.

Teary eyes and swollen lips slowly turned to look at him, face wrought with ecstasy. He rambled, “I will not go near your maidenhead, but let me help you, is your sweet cunny aching?”

She whined, eyes shut tight, “Ohhh- yes it hurts!”

His violet eyes shifted to see where her plush thighs were rubbing together with need. He grinned and held back his snicker, “I’ll make you feel better my sweet. Poor, poor nymph. I’ve got you.” She turned and buried her head half into his shoulder, whimpering and shaking.

Aegon kissed the crown of her head, snaking a hand to get under her long velvety dress. His eyes rolled at the feeling of her engorged and slick cunt, throbbing with blood. Poor thing really was riled up, squealing when he slid his pointer and index across the collected slick.

The prince instantly swirled around her plump button, watching her arch and spread those shapely thighs. Those teats of hers bounced as she heaved and whined. Aegon rubbed her in tight little circles, knowing she’d be a proper mess. So he went back to tweaking a nipple, cooing when his perfect betrothed’s eyes rolled back in her head.

Drool slipped down her full lips at the onslaught of pleasure, Aegon praising and promising filthy sweetness in her ear. The nymph began to twitch and tremble all over, whimpers turning into huffy little sobs. She hiccuped, “A-ah, Aegon! I-I-I oh!” He grinned as she seized tight as a bow and gushed slick, thrashing when she reached the precipice.

The heir worked her through the intense feeling until she pushed his hand away, yanking up her top. Aegon pet her sweaty hair, suddenly aware that he too, had spent all in his breeches like a green boy. He’d laugh, but focused on coddling and holding his pretty girl until she had calmed.

She finally turned to him with wide eyes, questioning so achingly small, “This wasn’t bad right? We will not be cursed no? I- It felt so good my love.”

Aegon cooed yet again, violet eyes soft, body feeling like a puddle of mush. He shook his head, promising, “We keep your precious maidenhead intact, then this is nothing but a little play. A forecast of what’s to come when we’re truly one.”

She nodded slowly, reaching out to straighten his frizzy locks. The lady of the Arbor puckered her lips, reaching up for Aegon. He chastely kissed her— humming in full content.

“Oh the gods have blessed me, yes they have,” he almost weeped.

#au bingo #ask answered #aegon ii targaryen #hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd smut #aegon ii x reader #fluff n smut n angst

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just-some-random-blogger · 3 months

Text

Edge Of Ever After | 1

Part 2

Sandor runs his fingers down my spine and sighs, "everything I ever touch goes to shit." He grabs my hip and pulls me close. I turn to him and nestle my face into his chest. He traps me in his arms, "but you… you turn my shit into gold."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader POV shifts!, smut (piv, emotional sex, praise kink, breeding kink), enemies to lovers, remnants of forced marriage, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, miscommunication, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: so this is a the sequel to my Safe Keeping series. both that and this is originally posted on ao3. you dont have to read the previous series to understand what's going on, but naturally, it will make more sense if you do. I've decided not to tag everyone that asked me to tag them in safe keeping because this is another series after all. ❤❤❤ hope you like it!

Brown Wood rarely ever has its lights out, as it housed so many people. Rare were the times the place succumbed to darkness. Still, there were moments when all the servants, maids, men, and women were asleep and not candle was lit.

Lord Clegane purposefully returned to Brown Wood amidst this darkness. As he opened and closed the gate with as much care as he could, determined not to make a sound, he finds himself thinking of the first time he came here with his wife, her servant, and their dog. The darkness Brown Wood was succumbed to was not the same it was now. Where once there was fearful abandonment now had peaceful slumber.

If you told him this was the childhood home of his lady's family, he'd believe you; it was a large estate, abandoned as it was. And if you add it had been abandoned once because of a plague of woodland monsters that ended killing her family, well, he'd still believe you, because damned if he doesn't.

That's where he had come from, the cursed forest.

But the Brown Wood estate was no longer cursed, and it was all because of her, the sun of this side of Westeros, his beloved wife. It was because of her that this haunted place was now bustling with life, because of his bride... that he was so eagerly avoiding.

Sandor prayed to the gods that his wife's loyal mutts would not wake to the smell of him. He prayed as he reached for the door handle that they had not slept near the fireplace in the living area, but if they did, that they were too tired to wake.

He sucks a breath and enters his home.

Darkness. Silence. Nothing.

He releases the breath as he shut the door.

Pants. Patters. Chuffs.

"Fuck."

Sandor looks down and catches flashes of dark furred creatures circling around him. One, he recognized to be Rose because of her size, got on her back legs and rested her front paws on him. The other two began to get excited as he swatted their sister away. They thought it a challenge to start playing.

He recognizes Sage as he softly barks and immediately drops on his knees to shush the dog.

Sage and his sisters come upon him and begin to lick his body. He would have tolerated it, had he not been covered in black, tar-like muck left over on his skin and armor.

"Fuck off, pups," he whispers as he pushes them away and stands. Lilac, ever the big mouth, began to bark in protest. Her barks echoed across the whole place.

"SHHH!" he silences in a panic, "you're going to wake your mum!"

His ghost nearly leaves him when he hears, "she was never asleep to begin with."

Sandor turns and finally spots the woman that had been sitting in darkness all this time. "Bloody seven, girl," he gasps in shock, "what are you doing in the dark?"

He walks over, lighting a candle on the table, then looks at her. Her eyes were dark and tired. Her arms were crossed and jaw was clenched.

He watches her stand and look him once over.

He immediately says, "I'm not injured."

She rolls her eyes and looks away, "I can tell, Hound."

His face twitches as she walks past him. He follows after but winces when she hisses that he better not keep the candle open.

And so the Hound blows the flame out and the rest of the dogs follow their master across the place.

He wants to tell her he did good today. He really did! He saved the villagers from an attack, helped them with their cow problem too! And he counted and killed 20 monsters in the fucking woods. Twenty!

But that was the fucking problem, and he knew it. Hell, even the pups knew it.

He was spending so much time trying to eviscerate the tar fucks he was barely home anymore. But what was he to do? Not kill the them and have his wife go on an expedition to fucking Volantis looking for a witch Littlefinger told her to look for? Fuck no. He would rather feel her sheer disappointment for coming home late than to have her go to a foreign land looking for answers she doesn't even know for certain she's going to get.

Sandor soon realizes she's leading him off to the bathroom. She opens the door and lights candles for him.

"The water is surely cold now, but you'll have to make due," she says as she brings a flame to four waxen cylinders. After setting them down, she shoos the pups that followed them in and closes the door once they were out. She then walks over and helps him out of his sticky armor.

Sandor thinks she's like a fairy in this light, though she was clearly displeased with him and exhausted from waiting up.

"Forgive me for staying out late," he mutters, wanting nothing but to hold her arms as she removed his top. He wouldn't dare touch her in this state though, caked in muck.

She scoffs, "I'll forgive you when you stop doing it."

Once Sandor was out of his metal top, she looks up at him and sighs, "bathe quickly."

"Aye," he nods surely, "I will."

"I cannot sleep alone."

"Aye," he says weaker, "I know."

"Yet still you make me wait for you," she retorts tiredly.

"… I thought you'd be able to sleep with the pups."

"The pups aren't you, Sandor."

"I-"

She walks off to wash her hands. Sandor scrams to help her.

Once her hands are clean, she curtsies and exits the bathroom.

"I'll be quick," he says, because he can't say 'I didn't think it through.'

She simply hums in acknowledgment.

My eyes were heavy, head was hurting. My whole body was crying out for respite, yet I could not sleep. I hear the door. I slowly open my eyes.

I feel Sandor draw near, but he doesn't lie beside me. I barely make out his form but I hear him kneel by the bed. He takes my hand slowly into his.

"Come to bed," I mumble under my breath but even I can't hear it with how low it was.

I open my eyes enough to make out his face, at least as much as the darkness would allow me.

He speaks with the softest of voices "I don't want you to go to sleep upset with me."

I don't have it in me to continue a conversation. Instead I pull away from him and scoot back.

Sandor is perfectly still on his spot.

Once there was a good space between us, I beckon him over by patting and rubbing the bed.

Sandor climbs to my side and I immediately sprawl on top of him. The smell of his body was a comfort, the feel of his form and warmth nearly made me faint.

I could feel his tension. I rub his ribs and shush him, "go to sleep."

Sandor lifts his head to look at me. After, he lets himself relax and stare at the ceiling until sleep takes him.

When I wake up, I'm laid atop my husband. My head was rested by his left collar bone and my leg was thrown across his hips.

It takes me a few moments to realize he was rubbing my thigh. Upon looking at his hand, then his face, I confirm, he was already awake.

Sandor looks at me and frowns.

I frown back and raise my brows.

He brushes my hair away from my face, "you're mighty tired, girl."

I relax and realize what the frown was for. Normally, twas I that woke up earlier. He was concerned because that was not the case today. "I cannot sleep well without you."

"Aye," he sighs. He brings his hand to the curve of my bum, "apologies."

My breathing grows heavy as he pushes my dress up.

"I feel terrible," he mutters, "let me make it up to you." Sandor kneads at my hip and sequentially pulls me atop him.

I do not say a word, I simply let him rub his hands on my thighs. I rest my palms on his chest and watch him examine my body.

His hands find their way up my nightgown and into my smallclothes. He locks eyes with me as he tugs them down, testing to see if I'd give him permission.

I lick my lips and tilt my head. I grab his wrists. We stare at each other for a moment.

"I do not like this routine," I mutter.

Sandor's face betrays him. He looks panicked.

I huff and shake my head, "you taking me because you're guilty."

He clenches his jaw.

"I do suppose is better than… nothing… but…"

My heart leaps into my throat when Sandor calls my name. It was a rare occasion when he did, as he opted pet names; it did things to me. When I tense, he takes the opportunity to pull away and grasp my wrists.

"Tell me how to make it up to you," he whispers.

Sandor and I watch each other's stillness.

After a moment of waiting, I pull my hands away and lean into him again. I prop my hands on his chest and he allows me to do as I please. After some shimmying and hovering, I rid myself of my underwear.

He watches as I toss it off the bed and straddle snuggly on his hips. I grab his wrists and bring his hands underneath my clothes, a silent encouragement to touch me.

The Hound squeezes and claws. I suppress a sound when he bucks into me. I feel my belly swirl in excitement but I do not allow my mind to be fogged before I get to say what's long overdue.

"Stop hunting at night."

Sandor releases a deep breath as he shifts upward on the bed. He licks his lips, "you know I won't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm so close to purging those fucking monsters," he mutters as his hands roam up my body.

"H-" I whimper when he kneads my breasts. I huff, "h-how do you know that?"

"Because they're few and far between," he shifts upward again and sequentially pulls my dress off me. Before I can cover myself, his mouth covers me, or more accurately my right breast.

I lean into him and grip his shoulder.

He sucks on my flesh then licks my nipple. He grips my ribs and further sinks into my bosom. He brings his face into my cleavage and begins to suck. He was intent, I knew, on leaving marks.

I feel him begin to rock his hips and I audibly react to the feel of his pants against my bare flesh.

I bite my lower lip and grab at his shirt, attempting to pull it off him.

He groans and pulls me closer into him, unwilling to separate his mouth from my skin. He pushes my hair back and trails kisses up to my neck. He nips my skin before finally pulling away.

Now fully sat up, he looks at me darkly. He rubs the places he'd kissed, as if examining his work, then finally, takes his top off himself.

He stills when I fondle with his waistband. He rather unwillingly allows me to move and rid of his pants. Once it was past his bum, he pulls me back down like he was scared I'd run off.

I whimper when he does so. Sandor rids himself of his final piece of clothing.

"Dance on my cock, darling."

My breath hitches. My cheeks flush.

His hands sprawl across my thighs, covering them nearly wholly and urges me to move back and forth.

I gulp as I feel my body heat up as I maneuver my hips.

The groan that leaves his mouth is high praise to me.

I garble out a sound when his thumb rubs at my nub. He hisses when he feels the wetness there, "fuck, sweetheart. You drive a man mad."

He plays with me some more then pulls his hand away to spread the wetness across his fingers, "gods be fucking good, all this for me?"

My face burns with embarrassment. I bring my hand across my chest, "Sandor."

He perks with concern and immediately cages me in his arms. He peppers kisses down my neck, "no, my lady. I'm in awe of you."

I mewl when he digs his fingers into my hair and tugs at the roots.

"Such sweetness...." he whispers against my ear, "this for an ugly dog?"

"S-stop it," I quip and give him a shove.

He pulls back and looks down at me.

I hold his gaze and scowl, "don't speak like that."

"What? R'you saying you think me pretty?"

"I do," I retort.

He laughs and rubs my arms to warm me, as if I could be cold against him. He grabs my hips then ruts into me. I make a sound as I watch him take his hardened length and slowly sink into me. I gasp as I feel him press balls deep into me.

He shudders against my ear, "liar."

The Hound begins to thrust upward and the sounds I make are muffled by his mouth. He kisses me like he's starved, and perhaps he was.

He tightens his arms around me. He buries his face into my neck. He breathes in deeply. He sighs, "color me flattered though."

I squeak when he shoves me on my back and pushes my calves into my thighs. He grunts, "fuck ya good for it."

I screw my eyes shut and throw my head back as Sandor snaps into me. With every flick of his hips, the bed creaks and I move farther and farther down the bed. He has so push me down in place to keep me from slipping any farther. He pins me by my shoulder and brings my legs up in front of him.

My legs rest his shoulder. He kisses my ankle, "my darling wife."

The Hound persists in a rough and quick pace, hardly stopping, slowing only to tease me. He gnaws at whatever part of me his mouth can reach and grunts as he explores my body. He molds me against him, hands pawing at my flesh, touching, feeling, steadying.

I'm a toy, a chew toy of a hound, something he craves to stretch, gnaw, and tear but so is very selfish and protective of.

He rubs my belly and it pushes me on edge.

When I come, I'm exhausted; I always am.

When he comes, he's spent and hot and dripping; by extension, as am I.

Sandor curses as he gives his final thrusts. I'm shaking and raw beneath him. He eventually stops and looks down upon his destruction. He spreads the slick on my thighs. He wraps my legs around him like a belt.

"I love to see you like this," he mutters in between breaths.

I heave as I blink slowly. My eyes act like I didn't just wake up from my sleep; I feel exhausted.

"Want to see you heavy with child," he rubs my belly, "my child. Fuck. I want to see you full. Love to see you leaking but I can't have that."

I try to move my legs, he instantly prevents me, "a bit more, love."

"… my leg is cramping," I cover my face with my arm.

He presses my thighs back into my chest, "just a bit more."

Sandor was laid back in bed, tracing his wife's spine with his fingers. She was straddled around his waist, laid upon him like a blanket. He listened to the sound of her steady breathing and slowly, involuntary, they begin to breathe at the same pace.

He could not express the relief, the astonishment he felt the very first time she let him hold her. The fact was, his tongue itches to tell her, to thank her for allowing him to relish the softness of her body, the warmth of her skin, the gentleness of her, even when she did not have to, even when he was not she was not getting anything in return, not like when they had sex.

But he would not express this. For what good was thanks if he had nothing to show for?

Words are empty.

For his lady, he'd carve out every skull and lay them upon her feet. He was good at that. But words? Empty.

Sandor watches as his wife stirred and looked at him.

Her hair was wild, skin sticky, eyes heavy, lips swollen. If gods were real, she was one of them.

"I think we should get dressed, husband."

His stomach skips at the name. He hated that he was so affected by it when he knew that it was duty to her; all she could feel for him was borne out of duty.

He brushes her hair back and nods, "I will not keep you longer than you'd like."

He notices how she purses her lips. He notices how she smiles. A dutiful smile.

Sandor smiles back. He wishes she'd grin at him the way she did her pups but he was hardly anything to grin about.

He watches as she pushes herself up and stands. He watches as she grabs her shift from the floor and heads to the bathroom.

Sandor rolls on the bed, breathing in the scent of their fucking… their love making. He loved her.

How could he love her if he hurt her?

He sighs and fantasizes about his wife being with child. He wonders if she'd like him more or stop caring for him once that happens.

He shakes it out of his head before he makes himself sad.

Later that day, he's back to training the boys how not to get themselves killed with their own swords. They've learned to be punctual all on their own (Polly snitches on whoever was late for the day, though he's never really set a time when practice starts).

Sage liked watching practice. He never did anything besides walk around and sniff whatever he could put his nose to, but he was always there. In some way, Sandor was very touched by this.

He was very protective of the pup, and found himself watching the small creature more than the kids he's supposed to be teaching.

But of course, he doesn't give a fuck about anyone else when his wife comes out.

"Sandor."

Immediately, Sandor turns around and perks up at the sound of the voice. Unbeknownst to him, the rest of the people in the yard do as well.

Lucy walks next to her lady. She holds a basket in one hand while she brings the other around her lady's arm. He feels a bitterness in his mouth, a bitter envy over the comfort the two women had with each other. He knows he'll never have that with his wife, but it doesn't hurt him any less.

"Lucy and I will go out to the market."

He drops everything and steps forward, "I'll accompany you."

Sage sticks his tongue out as he runs towards his beloved master, as if he understood the conversation, as if saying he, too, would be coming.

Sandor takes one look at the pup and says, "you sure as fuck 're not invited, dog."

Lady Clegane hushes the dog and reiterates a puppy cannot join them, then she looks up at Lord Clegane, "you do not have to join us either."

Sandor doesn't argue, he simply looks at Lucy, who was giving him a greasy look, and heads off to the gates.

Sandor had absolutely no idea which part of the market they were headed, so when they got there, he constantly glanced over his shoulder until eventually, his wife stopped at a vegetable stand. He turns back and hovers by them.

"Do you think we should get pumpkins?" Lady Clegane asks while absentmindedly holding an onion.

Lucy tilts her head, "we could but I don't think I could carry it."

"I'll carry it," Sandor chirps.

The two turn to him. His wife smiles and Lucy grins like a fool.

They end up buying a pumpkin that was nearly the size of his head.

Sandor is unable to make out what the two women were talking about as they walked in front of him because of how many people waved good morning or greeted him far too jovially. At a point, the women had to stop as Sandor got held up by a crowd of people wanting to have small talk with him.

Like a star, his wife saves him with her shining smile, garnering all the attention of the people for herself and quickly dispelling it. He has no idea how she does it.

They move on after and then his wife spots a stand of strawberries. He vaguely hears her excitedly tell Lucy how much she loves strawberry pie. Lucy tells her she knows this in the same excited way.

Lady Clegane is allowed to sample a strawberry. The Hound catches himself smiling at the way his wife savored the fruit.

They buy a basket full of strawberries and, just as Lucy and her lady walk away, Sandor asks the vendor where he could strawberry seeds. He doesn't get a straight answer right away and by the time he does, the women have walked off quite far.

Thankfully, by the time they notice their Hound was missing, Sandor managed to come back with a pouch of strawberry seeds in his pocket. He doesn't say anything about it though.

When they get back to Brown Wood, he immediately asks the groundskeeper, Job, if he could help him plant strawberries.

One of the servant girls, Margaret, was helping me out today. I was attempting to bake strawberry pie, and after three failed attempts, it was shaping up to be a futile task.

Margaret, face flushed and temples moistened with sweat, placed the fourth pie she fetched from the oven onto the kitchen counter. I frown as she wipes her forehead on her sleeve but play it off when she turns to me with a grin. Margaret says, "it smells so good, milady."

I give her back a smile, "I am glad to hear it."

She watches as I grab the knife and lean onto the counter. She says, "I'm very, very, very sure that we managed to make the pie just the way you like it."

I chuckle at the girl and place a hand on her shoulder, "I would hope so. I feel terrible for taking you from your chores, Margaret."

She perks and immediately shakes her head and hands, "don't be, milady! We all of us love helping you out," she brushes her hair away from her face, "even if we have to make twenty more pies to suit your taste, I would not complain."

I laugh softly as I take a towel and hold the hot pie tin in place. I take a slice of the dessert, though it was still scalding, and transfer it to my plate. I then move it towards the 3 other pies on the counter.

The truth is, there was nothing wrong with the pies. I had Margaret help me with making them precisely because she knew how to and I didn't. It's just that they didn't taste like the ones in my childhood, and I could not take it.

There was a pit in my stomach because of my lacking attempts. It was not of hunger, make no mistake, it was of longing.

I take a forkful of pie from my plate and take my time blowing some air on to the jammy thing before taking it into my mouth.

Margaret watches me with anticipation as I chew.

I look at her hopeful eyes, wanting nothing but to tell her we finally did it, but I supply her the truth, "it still tastes different."

Margaret deflates. I place the fork down on my plate as I lick my lips.

"Although the lemon and the cream did help a lot," I offer as consolation.

The girl perks and claps her hands, "then we're on the right path!"

I clear my throat and smile.

"Perhaps we can try adding other fruits into it. Or maybe you can try to recall some more details about the pie? Like a smell? Vanilla is hard to miss."

"Mmm, I don't think they added vanilla." I push the plate towards Margaret, "have a try, but be careful. It's still piping hot."

She grins at me, "thank you, milady!" then grins at the pie, taking her own fork.

I laugh at her, feeling a giddy sensation as I watch her lean forward as she takes a slice.

Margaret was the youngest out of the servant girls. She was 10 and 5 but looked quite mature for her age because of her height and fuller figure. Her demeanor was fully that of a darling girl though. Her parents used to be bakers. She told me she does not remember where their bodies were buried, so she occasionally offers prayers for them at an oak tree she used to swing on.

I imagine what it would be like for me to have my own child here in this moment. Would they also like strawberry pie? Would they care to help make it? Would they smile at me like Margaret?

I look up and see the Hound marching over. He looked a bit winded, and I figure he came from training. My belly tingles as we make eye contact.

Margaret finally takes a bite and she quite literally jumps up. She covers he mouth as she speaks, "THIS IS DELICIOUS!"

I giggle, "is it really?"

"By the gods, milady. You mean to tell me what you used to eat was better than this?"

I chuckle and watch as Sandor walks over. He heads for the cupboard where he immediately snatches a bottle of wine. He uncorks it with a pop and chugs it.

"Ehm, in a word it is," I reply to Margaret, "all I know is that it tastes different. I can't quite figure what however."

Sandor lets out a satisfied breath as he pulls the bottle away from his lips. He walks towards me, and it seems as though Margaret noticed him only now, judging by the way she jolted back and quickly greeted him.

The Hound ignores her though as he scrutinizes the countertop. He turns to me, "been baking all day, have you, little girl?"

I part my lips and battle with myself on a response. On one hand, I want to nag about how I was suddenly little girl again, but then again I quite enjoyed how his lips subtly curved upward as he spoke it.

Margaret steps back as Sandor takes up all the space by my side.

Although it was not glaringly obvious, there was a look of amusement in my husband's eyes. He sets the wine next to the pie slice and leans on the counter to get eye level with me, "you gonna give me a taste?"

I watch as he licks his lips and catch the way the wine stained them.

And so, to ward off my inner turmoil, I nag him about that instead, "alright. A slice in return for this," I snag the wine bottle, shocked by how he managed to drink it half empty already, though I really shouldn't. "You've had enough wine for today, Hound."

Sandor straightens up, dumbfounded by the turn of events. He shifts on his spot to watch me hand over the wine to Margaret, "get me a pitcher of water, my dear."

"Fuck water," Sandor scoffs.

Margaret looks between me and Sandor, heavily unsure and anxious of what to do next.

"Give me the bottle, wench," the Hound barks.

Margaret gulps and I take a step between them.

"Stop it," I scowl at him.

"But-"

"You won't enjoy the flavor of the pie if you ruin your tongue with wine." I look over and dismiss Margaret. She quickly curtsies and runs off.

"Hey- GIVE IT BA-"

"Stop it!" I grab his shoulders, "quit scaring the girl!"

The Hound walks back as I push him, "she took my wine!"

"You can have wine at supper," I quip, "if you're going to have pie, just have pie."

Sandor huffs as I release him. I then take my fork and slice a chunk for him. I bring the fork to my lips and take a moment to blow on the pie. Once it's cool enough, I bring my fork towards Sandor, my other hand underneath it to catch any falling crumbs. I get on my tiptoes to have a better hold on the fork.

He pulls his head back at first, but two seconds later, he leans in and takes a bite.

I relax on the pads of my feet and put the fork down.

He chews as he looks down on me.

I stare up at him with expectation.

He licks his lips and nods, "it's good."

I wait for him to say anything more but he doesn't. I press my lips into a line, "that's nice to hear."

He looks at me for a moment, hums, and tilts his head, "what do I owe you, then?"

"What?"

"What do I owe you?"

I raise my brows.

"Want me to feed you next?" he raises a brow.

I furrow my brows, "no…? You don't owe me anything."

He hums and shakes his head, "how about a kiss?"

"What?"

Sandor smiles lopsidedly. He bends and places his hands on my waist, yanking me into him. My body blazes with crackling flames as I'm pressed against him.

Before he can lean in, I push him by his chest with both hands. I immediately turn my face away and quip with my eyes shut, "you don't have to kiss me!"

I hold my breath. Sandor watches. Slowly, whatever expression he held slips off and gets tugged down along with the corners of his lips.

He releases me and I catch my breath. Sandor feels like his hands and arms were foreign appendages that had no business being on him. He awkwardly clenches and unclenches his fists.

I turn back to him with knit brows. He looks at me with a hard expression.

"You don't owe me things, Sandor."

His expression tightens.

I huff and place a hand on his chest, "I don't do things so… you have to repay me…"

A deep line forms between his brows.

I shake my head, shrug and smile softly, "I do them because I want to… you should only do the same."

He sighs through his nostrils and takes the hand I had on his chest. He brings it into his large ones and looks at them.

He opens his mouth and speaks so softly, under his breath, "you have such a strong sense of duty."

I blink at his words, thinking they somehow feel out of context. I figure it was true anyway, so I agree, "a sense of duty keeps me together."

Sandor turns back to me, "just as your duty being my wife."

I raise my brows.

He kisses the back of my hand before setting it down. He nods at me as he mutters, "I want what you want… If you don't want me to kiss you, then I won't."

My eyes widen, "I- I didn't say that."

He chuckles dryly, "you pulled away so fervently."

"Because you asked me what you owed!" I exclaimed, "you don't owe me."

He laughs a bit louder, "everything's got a price."

For a moment we stare at each other.

"Then how much do I owe you?"

He seems to thinks for a moment. He offers no response.

I suck in a breath, "if you want to kiss me, kiss me. Kiss me because you want to, not because… you owe me." I feel pathetic as I add, "I do not wish to buy your affection."

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

I feel my mouth go dry. It's as though my voice is taken from me and I barely manage to croak out a, "yes."

It takes too long. The Hound does not believe it. He shakes his head and says with no conviction, "very well."

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lady-ashfade · 10 months

Text

Blessed from above

Young!Aemond targaryen x Young!Fem!Reader Drabble.

I just wanted something cute. I might do a part two of when they are older and meet again before getting married.

Warnings: Forced marriage, young love, short and fast paced , Maybe a hind of bit Yandere Alicent and Aemond.

Gossip and whispers of the beast you had yet to met clouded your brain before you knew the truth, many people telling what they believed or heard from someone else. Young ears picked up the tone they spoke with fear and disgust laced in their judgmental voices. You hated gossip, it filled you with rage when the older woman spoke like they were better then people just because of their wealth.

Being a young status lady, you were surrounded by the ladies telling you what they thought was best, how to act and look. You, a noble lady waiting for a marriage proposal from a man from any age. Thankfully, your father was on your side no matter how many times your mother wanted you to be married off. But this time, even he couldn’t save you. It had been a few months since you had first bled and the news traveled quickly to everyone across Westeros.

Tears flooded down your cheeks as you first heard you had been betrothed to someone you had never met. Your mother’s voice fell death to your ears from that point and didn’t listen to anything she said. The thoughts of a old, mean man wanted you to bare his children filled you with rage and worry. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to be a wife because you did, you learned ans worked your whole life to be the best wife you could be. But you wanted true love and someone caring and sweet to fill your days.

“Get ahold of yourself.” Hands gripping your shoulders and shaking you slightly, your mother bend down to your level. “The prince will be your husband. This is the highest honor you will ever get and you can not refuse, so get ahold of your sense. If you mess this up, I will disown you and you’ll be glad you had the chance to become a princess.” Had you heard that right? The prince is your betrothed? The beast you had heard of, a year ago the boy had turned from the laughing stock of the kingdom to someone only spoken about in whispers and behind closed doors. But did you actually believe anything you had heard?

It didn’t matter as you sat in the queen’s chambers with her eyes glued to you. “Hello dear.” she spoke and made her way over to you with a kind smile. You bowed and bend your knee to show respect and she chuckled softly and immediately thought you had embarrassed yourself. “I have heard the tales of your families beauty since I was a little girl,” her hand reached up to your chin and moved it up. Your eyes meeting her soft ones, “I underestimated them until now.” You couldn’t believe a complement like that from the queen. “Thank you, my queen.” You smiled politely and tried to keep your voice straight. “I know this must be scary for you, but there is no need to be. I will be here each step of the way.” But no matter how she sounded, if they were true or false..

You were still terrified about meeting the price.

Again the fear took ahold of your stomach as you twirled your fingers together in waiting, the garden was peaceful though. You saw the queen and your mother sit above the garden and stare, talking amongst themselves, you knew your mother was kissing up to the queen. But the only real comfort you had was your lady in waiting five feet away from you. The dress you wear was a lovely shade of green that the queen had made just for you.

The white haired figure made your mind go blank as you stood up quickly and not fully get a look at the young boy. Throat going dry and knees almost going numb at the nerve. The shadow creeped closer until it was at your feet and you felt your heart drop. Clearing your throat you began to speak what you had rehearsed so many times in your head. “Hello, my prince.” You couldn’t look up. The boy took notice of your body language and how you avoided eye contact with him. You were scared. Of course you were, everyone was.

“You can look at me, or are you afraid I’d hurt you.” Eyes going wide you stood up straight and look at him. Your mouth ready to defend yourself but chocking at the boy you saw. His handsome face with unbelievable soft looking skin, the eyepatch on his face making your stomach twist. Not in fear but in pity he has been stripped of his eye, undoubtedly once beautiful as the other. He was glaring at you, his face held nothing sweet but his young features.

“Forgive me, I had no intention of offending you.” The tiny smile and sweet voice that sounding like heaven to his ears. You looked like a goddess when he first saw you arrive at the castle, so far away but he couldn’t wait to get closer. He knew you’d be afraid of him like the rest, so afraid to look him in the face. He needed to get ahead before you broke his heart. “You could do no such thing.” He huffed, his voice cold and held no emotion. Maybe he was stone hearted? But why didn’t that feel like the case for you?

You just smiled and giggled for him to hear and fiend to hear it again, to have it marked into his scull. “Shall we go for a walk?” You offer him your arm with a face that lit up like the sun. All he could do was freeze and blink at the kindness you showed him. He didn’t since any fear of himself but just about meeting someone new.

Blessings from above was what you were.

#Aemond targaryen x reader #yandere Aemond targaryen #yandere alicent hightower #alicent hightower x reader #house of the dragon drabble #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon

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mystcldydrms · 11 months

Text

A FORTUNATE BETROTHAL - AEMOND TARGARYEN

summary: aemond follows you after overhearing a conversation with you and your father.

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

words: 1.2k

warnings: a slight bit of angst, fluff

notes: this is a repost from my old account, but I loved writing this one so I edited it again and here it is.

A sudden noise made you snap out of your daydream. You lifted your head up, instinctively looking around until you spotted the culprit that had entered the chamber. You had to blink a few times, trying to make out the person who stood in the darkened doorway until they finally walked into the light. It was Aemond.

You both looked each other deep into the eyes while you slowly got up from the chair that you had just occupied. You smoothed out your dress, pushing a stray hair out of your face and behind your ear before you made your way over to the young man.

“What are you doing here, Prince Aemond?” you asked him politely, your voice almost in a whisper, too scared that someone could catch the two of you alone until you remembered that you were in one of the chambers of the Red Keep that no one really went to. Ever since you discovered it, there had been no other visitors here except now.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You raised your eyebrows in curiosity. You had no idea what the young Targaryen was talking about. You hadn’t seen him all day, nor had he ever made the effort to talk to you.

You took another step towards him, Aemond doing the same until you stood as close to one another as appropriately possible. The young prince had an expression gracing his face that you had never seen before. Was it worry? Sorrow?

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Aemond. Please, enlighten me.”

You couldn’t keep your eyes off him. You looked at his blue eye, quickly taking a glance at his Targaryen attire before you looked up again, his eye still watching you intently.

“I overheard your conversation with your father.”

Your eyes widened as you lightly gasped. About an hour ago, your father had told you the news of your betrothal to Prince Aemond Targaryen. To say that you were shocked when you heard him utter these words was an understatement. You had known that when you had been summoned to the Red Keep that it was for a higher purpose. Your mother had tried to be subtle, but you were able to understand every word when both your parents thought you were asleep in the carriage. You heard the word betrothal; however, you couldn’t hear who your future husband would be. After your conversation with your father, you were a bit wiser, nevertheless not happier.

You were so sure that Aegon would be your future husband and the future king of the Seven Kingdoms, but after being told that he was already betrothed to his sister and that you would be the future lady wife of Aemond, you were speechless.

“I apologize for eavesdropping. I know I shouldn’t have, but my mother told me about the betrothal, and I wanted to come and see you, and then I suddenly heard your voice and your father’s. I just rounded the corner when I saw you storming out of the chamber, and … I am sorry for following you here.”

An almost inaudible sigh left your lips as you nodded your head, your eyes looking around the room until they found Aemond’s blue eye again. You had never thought that he had such a side to him. You always heard about the Aemond that never smiled, the one feared by so many, but to your surprise, he could be gentle and courteous.

“You don’t have to apologize, my prince.”, you told him honestly, trying your best to smile up at him, although you knew that it was only a faint smile you were able to plaster onto your lips.

“I was surprised. That is all. I am looking forward to being your future lady wife.”

“And though, you hoped it would be Aegon instead of me. Isn’t it so?”

You couldn’t help but look away for a short amount of time. Of course, every girl in Westeros would love to be the wife of the future king. But now, after meeting Aemond, you weren’t so sure anymore.

Although his face was adorned with an eye cap, he was still a beautiful man. His shiny long blonde hair, his blue eye that kept watching you, waiting for a reaction. Yes, you had met Aegon when you had arrived in King’s Landing, but now that you were able to take a closer look at Aemond, you knew that he was the better-looking brother, and most definitely the better option. You had heard rumours about Aegon Targaryen, rumours about his love for alcohol and women. Having this in mind, it felt a lot better to be betrothed to Aemond.

“I won’t lie to you and say I didn’t want to be the future queen of this country.”, you started, seeing a slight shift in Aemond’s eye.

“But I know that once we get to know one another better, I can be a great wife to you and you a great husband to me.”

You could see a faint smile on the young man’s lips. You knew he wanted to hide it, yet you were happy to get a glimpse of it which helped you put a smile on your lips as well.

“I won’t accept your apology for following me in here.”, you suddenly said, the smile disappearing from your lips, trying your best to put a serious expression on your face.

Aemond raised his eyebrows, taken back by your words until he caught the grin on your lips that you just couldn’t seem to hide anymore. He heard your laugh which instantly made his heart beat a bit quicker.

“I am glad you followed me or else I wouldn’t have known what a gentle soul you are. Nevertheless, I think it is better for us to get out of here, separately of course. We don’t want to get caught in here unchaperoned.”

You winked at him, and you could swear that when you walked past him, you could see a hue of red on his cheeks which made you feel proud of yourself, knowing that you already had somewhat of an effect on the young Targaryen. Your fingers slightly touched, feeling the excitement rush through your body.

“I do hope … “ you started, the door knob in your hand as you looked over your shoulder. Aemond immediately turned around and looked at you with an expectant look on his face.

“… that we can meet here again. Alone, without anyone listening in on our conversations or who knows what else.”

A soft smile placed itself on your lips as you waved before you swiftly turned around again. You opened the door, looking from side to side once you were able to see into the hallway, and once you were sure that there was no one around, you exited the room and made your way to your father, ready to apologize and to tell him that you were over the moon to marry Aemond Targaryen.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon imagines #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd imagines

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doxypsychlean · 1 year

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Aegon II Targaryen x reader who is manipulative and uses the motherly love he never got to get her own way. They both love each other but in a toxic yandere kinda way 😂

Wrapped around your finger

Yandere!Aegon ii Targaryen x Yandere!Reader

Headcanons|

Warnings: none? pls tell me if I've missed sth

Thou shan't repost/copy/ translate any of my work or I'll sneak into your home late at night and bite your nose off!

English isn't my first language. I don't proofread. I slap commas wherever I feel they're needed.

A/N: Aegon and Halaena aren't together in this one. It's also pretty sweet, despite their ?yandere? tendencies.

Oh, he really thinks he's that good.

Then you come around.

You, a lady of noble descent and a member of one of the greater houses in Westeros, are also one of his greatest rivals when it comes to having the worst reputation in all the realms.

At first, it's just harmless fun. Nothing too serious.

But then you become a witness to the way his family treats him.

You work your way into his heart and head. I mean, who in their right mind would miss out on the opportunity of being Queen of Westeros one day, amirite?

He bites the bait pretty quickly.

Aegon is obsessed with the way you shower him with affection and love.

He'd be spending most of his time in your arms, begging for you to tell him how much you love, how unfair his mother is to him.

Alicent hates you at first.

The hatred turns to admiration with time, seeing as you gain complete control over her son and mold him to your liking.

But there's more to what she's feeling towards you- fear. With the way things are going, all it would take is for you to snap your fingers and Aegon would kill them all. For you.

You never do, thank the Gods, and for that you have the Queen's utmost respect and gratitude.

She never lays a hand on him again. She doesn't have to, but she's also too scared to do it.

He still drinks, maybe not as much as he did before, but he no longer chases after the servant girls. As if you'd even allow it to happen.

The first time you realize what you feel for him might be actual love, is when you order for some noble lady to be "displaced" from the Red Keep. You didn't like the way she stared at him. Cue, girly losing her eyes for that one.

He was yours and the only way to get him away would be to pull him out of your cold fingers. And you had no intention of dying any time soon.

Aegon rarely goes out of the Red Keep anymore and when he does, you're always with him. The Prince has glued himself to you, whether you like it or not.

On the rare occasions of you two not being present in the castle, golden scales could be seen shimmering high above King's Landing. Sunfyre loves you, the golden beast could feel the strong bond between his rider and you.

Expect lots of expensive gifts- lavish dresses, the rarest perfumes from Essos, jewelry, books, horses, ginormous bouquets of your favorite flowers, commissioned portraits of you two, gold, sweets, etc.

You want it? You'll have it. Simple as that.

He'd never thought of himself as a jealous man, but the second he sees his brother talking to you and you laughing... All Seven Hells break loose.

Aegon turns into a sniveling, whining mess, hands wrapping around you as if his life depends on it.

All the while shooting daggers at Aemond behind your back, daring him to come closer so he could claw his remaining eye out.

Few soft words from you and he's melting.

You love him. He loves you. Everything is more than fine. He completely forgets about Aemond, who's slowly backing away from you two.

You get married not long after. Neither one of your families is brave enough to say a word against the union, seeing as ...

You absolutely never tried to hide it from the public.

You're all over eachother for the most of it.

Both men and women are dropping like flies around you, if they just as much as stared at either of you for a second too long.

Both yours and his family are equally scared and would rather keep away, than try and separate you.

Word spreads around quickly. You're with child.

Aegon's over the moon. You're his. He's yours. Completely.

The prove pops out not long after. Then another. And another.

He would 100% elbow the midwife in the face if she tries to keep him away from you while you're giving birth.

"My Prince, you cannot..."

"Out of my way, you old hag, my wife is in there!"

He was there while you were making them, he has every right to be there while you squeeze them out.

Definitely cries his ass off when he holds your firstborn.

His tunic is discarded quickly as he holds the small bundle close to his bare chest.

Then he wraps one hand around you, almost crushing your neck with how strong he's squeezing you.

Same thing goes down every single time- he storms in, kid comes out, he's bawling his eyes out at the sight.

You pick the dragon eggs for each and every one of them together.

Aegon's just as obsessed with your children, as he is with you.

Gods forbid someone makes one of his little bundles of joy cry...Heads will be flying in all directions, no matter who they belong to.

Not even the Stranger would be able to pull you apart.

Even in death, you'd find a way to be back together.

#hotd fanfic #hotd #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen #hotd headcanon #headcanon #yandere #but not really #idk yall will be the judges #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones #accepting requests #dance of dragons #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the second

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arabellasleopardcoat · 9 months

Text

Eyes wide open (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: As you settle into life as a married woman in Westeros, you try to escape and outsmart Daemon. It goes as well as one could expect.

Warnings: Kidnapping, forced marriage, violence, starvation, torturing (Not the reader, at least physically), gaslighting. Very much housewife kink.

A/N: I think you are not going to like this. Might be too much. If you think I missed a TW, please tell me.

Check the previous parts here.

It's not a fun affair, your wedding. Nor does it have many guests. There is a Septon, and Viserys. You would like very much to claw his eyes out. You are not sure if he is a guest or acting as another officiant, but you despise him.

Perhaps a witness. Who knows? Not you. You were not the most observant person on the planet, as the last few months had shown you.

Daemon waves over to some people entering the throne room. There are two young girls, and as they approach, you realize one is Alicent and the other Rhaenyra. In between them, probably to ensure the peace, stands the man from before, the one that tried to help you. Not the young one, the other. The one who was Hand.

Alicent carries a silver haired baby, perched on her hip. You wonder which one he is. The eldest? Maybe? The drunken one.

How disgusting can men be? Really. As Alicent comes closer and closer, the more she looks like just a young girl. Rhaenyra it’s not much older, either. Viserys deserves every second spent in suffering from his illness, marrying hid child's friend. Alicent regards you with sad brown eyes, no doubt pitying you. There is nothing she can do for you, though. Not at this time.

Perhaps you are judging him with modern morals, and she was not as shocked by it as you were. She probably expected it, considering medieval girls married young, and medieval men often did not. Yet, you cannot help but be angry in Alicent’s name. Here is another woman, like Rhea, like you. Trapped into marriage to a monster.

You want to scream and scream and never stop. Until your throat is unable to make more sounds, until you cough up blood and choke on it because surely, it is a better fate than this. A world without Rhea. You open your mouth, turning towards Daemon. A hand on your shoulder it’s all it takes for you to shut up.

Your experience in the throne room showed you all you needed to know. The more barbaric parts of Westeros, the ones that Rhea had shielded you from. In her castle, she did as she pleased. She was a married woman with an inattentive husband in the Middle Ages. Rhea had much more leeway than others.

In the end, what you had liked about Rhea had been that life with her was similar to modern life. Or what you think life must be like for aristocrats in the twenty-first century, only without phones and the Internet. You wouldn't know, having been middle class all your life. But if you closed your eyes, you could pretend you were back where you belonged. Rhea was as free spirited as any woman from your time, if a bit conservative. You never understood why she feared her husband.

Now you did.

Daemon had frightened you. It was just starting to sink in how much power he would have over you now. You were little more than property, and he had a right to discipline you as he saw fit. To take you as he saw fit. After all, marital rape here was no rape.

No one questions that you are being hand fasted with still cuffed hands. Rhaenyra glares daggers at you and at her father, no doubt hurt because of her crush on Daemon. How you long to have access to Wikipedia to see when she falls for Harwin Strong and stops hurting.

You can't make up your mind about if she is a victim too or not. Daemon has groomed her into wanting him. That doesn't seem right. There is no doubt in your mind about it. Her treatment of Alicent could be justified, too. In an internalized misogyny kind of way. But wouldn't that be taking away her agency? But judging Alicent as a victim only… Isn't taking away her agency too?

Can you truly judge them with modern standards? You never spent much time thinking about the ethics of fictional characters. You surely would have been more concerned if you knew what was going to happen.

Too in your head, you barely notice when it's time to say your vows. Daemon, ever dutiful, reminds you of it by unsheathing his sword.

Someone, probably Alicent, gasps. Then, she goes quiet. You repeat your vows, glaring at Daemon the whole time. You would find a way to escape. This was only a temporary setback. And he would hurt, the asshole.

You ignore the voice in your head that tells you it's no use. Not when you have already failed at step one. You have spent a year searching for a way to go back to your world, and have made zero progress. If you run from Daemon, what would you even do? If he found you, no Lord would deny the Prince his wife. He would just have to talk to the liege lord in charge of wherever you are hiding and ask you to be handed back.

Daemon leans in to kiss you. As soon as he is close enough, you bite with all your might. The coppery taste of blood doesn't dissuade you. You keep at it.

“Should have expected that.” He mutters, through a mouthful of blood. His lips don't leave yours. “You Royces are hostile environments.”

Despite being hurt, Daemon keeps kissing you, moaning into your mouth. You are uncertain if it is pain or pleasure. Disgusted by the thought, and the hungry way he licks into your mouth, you stop. He gives you a big grin and kisses you again, biting into your lower lip until he draws blood, too. You yelp, trying to push him off.

“A true Valyrian, this one.” He boasts, grabbing your waist. Viserys and Rhaenyra look transfixed by what just happened. Apparently, something on yours and Daemon's blood stained faces is of significance to them.

Alicent and the man look at each other. Suddenly, baby Aegon gives a tiny, uncoordinated clap. The rest of the guests follow, and you beg to the skies for patience and fortitude. It seems you will need it, with these in–laws.

The cuffs never come off. Daemon shoves you in a room. Feeling oddly like the ghost of the wife in the attic, you decide you need to plan. You have little to your advantage, here. Your hands remain bound, and there is nothing to use as a weapon.

Your head hurts. You have cried too much. First, mourning Rhea, then pitying yourself. No more. You have read enough novels and watched enough awful movies to know how this might end if you succumb to weakness. This is not a love story, and you won’t develop Stockholm syndrome. You refuse.

You will keep repeating this phrase to yourself in the days to come. Feeding your anger, your treatment is not bad. It’s probably a bad idea to alienate your captor, but you decide to go on a hunger strike. Despite how hungry you are, not having eaten since the day Daemon arrived at the Vale, you do not trust him to not drug you or poison you.

He might think you valuable, but he is also known for being a rogue. He might change his mind at any moment. If it were up to you, you would not drink water, either, but you know you can’t survive without it. So you drink as little as you can. It also saves you from the indignities of not having the privacy of a bathroom.

Daemon comes to you on day six of your hunger strike. You are weak as a kitten, and half delirious with thirst. You have lost quite a few pounds. Your head hurts, you are dizzy, you want to go home. Never had you been as starved as now, or as dehydrated. Modern life meant you went hungry to bed, sometimes. Either for your financial situation or because of diet culture. But you had never felt as weak. One thing was skipping a meal, another refusing food for six days.

He enters the room with another man, one that wears noble clothes, but you have never seen before.

“… Not eating. Nothing. And barely drinking water.” Daemon explains, approaching the bed. Too weak to really fight him, you conform yourself with sitting up. As you are, you cannot be any kind of serious resistance. It’s the first time he has seen you since the wedding and by the look in his face, you look terrible. “Cries in her sleep, too.”

The other man approaches you. He reaches a hand towards you, and you scream, backing up quickly and nearly falling off the bed. You don’t know who he is, but you know you don’t want to be touched. Panic bubbles up in your throat. Bound hands. No escape, no way of fighting back. Is he here to hold you down? For Daemon to…? The thought is too horrible to finish.

You scratch at the man’s face, trying to aim for his eyes. This close, you can tell he is older both than Daemon and you. He looks kind. But looks can be deceiving. You resume your efforts, as the man screams, and you feel blood under your fingers.

Daemon grasps at your shoulders, but you only trash more. It’s a weak attempt. His arm wraps around your waist, firmly.

“Seven Hells.” The older man mutters. You have managed to lift skin around his forehead, three clear impressions of scratches marrying his face. With Daemon holding you firmly down, the man presses down on your stomach. Then, over your womb. He examines your face attentively as he does so. You snarl at him and try to kick him off. Daemon’s grip gets harsher.

Is he going to sell you now? Is the man checking you over because he is a potential buyer? You would rather not be sold, and so resume your trashing. People trafficking was bad in your time. It’s even worse now, with no laws to defend you. You could become a slave, or worse.

The man, the slave trader, tries to check your teeth. You bite down on his fingers hard.

“Your wife appears to be fine, physically.” The man finally says. A doctor? Healer. Physician. Whatever they call them here.

“Fine?” Daemon asks, tone absolutely enraged. “Fine! She is starving to death.”

“Her ailment is not physical. It’s grief and rage.” The healer, as you have now decided to call him, answers in a soothing tone. You wonder if he was chosen to visit you for that reason. Both you and Daemon must be maniacs in his eyes. You can’t bring yourself to care.

“I see.” Daemon says, tone dangerously low. Then, he grabs you by the cheeks and forces you to look at him. “What do you think you are doing, refusing food? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

You grin at him as best as you can with him squeezing your face. He makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s called a hunger strike.”

“Strike? Strike?” Daemon shouts, shaking you harshly. You let your body go lax, hoping it makes you less dizzy. You feel like you might pass out. “What in the world does that mean? You little…”

“My Prince…” The healer sounds concerned. “She looks like she is about to throw up.”

“Hell if I care!” Oh, it seems like you really angered him, you think to yourself. The thought feels distant and cloudy. Your vision starts to blur. Are you about to pass out? A sharp sting to your cheek brings you back to your senses. You blink, trying hard to focus. What have you done to yourself? Daemon has his hand raised, as if about to slap you again. The healer is making distressed sounds. “Listen to me, little brat. You will drink your tea and eat, or else I will force food down your throat until you choke.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. You start shaking your head.

“Broth. She will have to have broth, if you want her to be alright. Her stomach will be unable to handle more at first. We can lace it with Milk of the Poppy.” The healer says, in a low voice. It’s clearly aimed at Daemon, but you sit up straighter. You recognize that name. It was something like an opioid, right?

“No, no. That's a sedative. No. I don’t want it. You will poison me.” You start tearing up in sheer terror. Panic is choking you up, making you unable to think clearly. Daemon laughs, humorlessly.

“That’s the problem?” Daemon’s voice is harsh and loud, making you wince. He grabs a carafe of water sitting on your table. He takes a big gulp, making sure you see. Then, he passes it to you. His hand goes menacingly towards his sword. With no other choice, you drink. That’s how your hungry strike ends. Defeated not even a week in.

It takes you a few days to go back to your previous strength. Daemon’s visits become more frequent. He eats with you twice a day, always tasting before you the nutritious broths and milk glasses you are given. With no excuse and under his watchful eye, you have to eat.

As you recover, you get the strength to explore. Your new rooms were not bad. It could even be called a vacation. You didn’t have this, with Rhea. You had had a nice room for a servant, which was in reality a normal room for a person of the twenty-first century. A bed, a small table and a chair. With a window because you had told Rhea you were unable to stand closed spaces.

This room was not like it. There was one window, high enough for you to need a chair to reach it. You had no chair or table, only a bed. The bed was comfortable enough, the room spacious. It allowed you to pace a lot. You had books on Old Valyria, written in High Valyrian. If you thought Middle English was hard, it was because you had not met this terrible language.

You were determined to crack it, though. If High Valyrian was the Westeros's equivalent of Latin, perhaps you could find something more about how to get back to your time. All books of greater knowledge had been written in Latin, that you knew. It had been the language of intellectuals. Perhaps High Valyrian was the same.

It provided a good distraction, seeing as the room was bare aside from the bed and stack of books. And… Well. The candles. It looked more in here like the altar of a church, with how many there were. There was also incense, always burning. Perhaps as a way to amplify your powers because you had not seen anything like it during your year in Westeros. You wondered how much it had cost.

Your powers. Good God, what a joke. You had tried telling Daemon and Viserys, but it was no use. At most, they patted your head and said the poor little dreamer was confused with so many visions of the future. No one would listen to you.

Both of them seemed to think there was something sacred in you. Daemon had gotten you new clothes, thin white shifts. To you, it looked like a sluttier version of a roman toga.

“As the priestess of Old Valyria used to wear.” Daemon had proclaimed, proudly. You had rolled your eyes, but you were soon wearing them. Your clothes just got too dirty to stay in them, and the silk felt cold and soft on your overheated skin. Allowed only one bath per week, there is not much you can do about your cleanliness apart from changing clothes.

It takes time, getting used to your own skin again. After a year of nearly wearing as many layers as an onion, you were back to simpler clothes. No undergarments had been supplied, but you couldn’t stand the feel of your dirty ones, too worried about getting a UTI and dying because there were no antibiotics here.

Daemon visits you daily. He sits there and stares, fascinated by you. As if you were an exotic animal. It’s one of those days when you speak your first word to him. It’s difficult to build the courage for another escape attempt.

“I was wondering if I could have some ointment for my wrists.” You say, very quietly. He is sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at you with absolute fascination. It’s a bit creepy. “My Prince.”

That’s what you have heard other servants call him. You are uncertain if you should do as Rhea did and call him husband. Both of them had had rather creative nicknames for each other and so, whatever protocol they used might be incorrect.

Rhea. Poor Rhea. You don’t want to share her fate, but you would rather not surrender to Daemon either. You feel guilty for even thinking about it.

Rhea appears in your dreams, every night. Her laughter, her voice, her corpse. Did he cremate her? Bury her? You can’t remember, and no one has told you. You wish you could visit her resting place, perhaps leave her flowers. Maybe get her advice. You miss it dearly.

“What's wrong with your wrists?” Daemon steps towards you, and you flinch. His past treatment of you is still too fresh. He is a ruthless man, you remind yourself. Play nice.

"They are sore.” You try to look relaxed, forcing the tense line of your shoulders to drop. Relaxed. Nice and pliant, for your psycho husband. Polite, and just the slightest bit whiny. He fetishizes immaturity, you remember. Younger girls. Laena and Rhaenyra both were. “I have been chained up for days. I don't want the cuffs to cut my skin, I might get an infection."

He takes your wrists in a very gentle grip. You don’t know why, but his hands on the cuffs make you start to tear up. Too much. You are overwhelmed, suddenly. It’s as if the grief has come crashing down all at once.

“You hurt yourself.” Daemon says, looking at your wrists from all angles. There are raised lines on them, from all the tugging you and him had been doing. “I’ll get you softer ones.”

He brushes a thumb over your cheek, and you sob even harder. Daemon does not seem bothered by your fear or your tears. No. He presses his wet thumb to his lips, as if he is barely conscious of it. It sparks an image in your mind. Under him, crying, his lips drinking up your tears.

You shake your head, as if you could vanish the image from your mind. You need to be on your best game, tonight. Head clear and not scared anymore. Fear clouds the mind, and you can’t afford that if you hope to deceive him.

“You don’t want softer cuffs, Dreamer?”

You don’t answer. You give a tiny sniffle.

“I… I miss my sister. I miss my home.” You look up at him, with a tear stained face and big sad eyes. Daemon brushes your cheek, again. “I want to go home.”

“You have to be calm, little one.” He whispers, kissing your forehead. You feel cold all over, as if submerged in a pool of despair. Focus. You need to focus because you can tell he is close to breaking. You need to take a mile when he gives an inch if you want to survive.

“I wish to go home.” You repeat, starting to pout.

“This is your home now.” Daemon kisses your cheek, softly. You whine, low and sad. All bratty princess. You hope he falls for it. Daemon’s non-existent brows pinch together. Hook… Line… “What about this? If you are good, and share a useful secret with Viserys, we can go back to Runestone.”

Runestone! Finally, finally. To be near Rhea and perhaps the chance to escape. You have him. You have him by the balls, and he doesn’t know it yet. Fool.

“I’ll try, husband.” You force yourself to smile, as if you were the happiest girl in the world. He looks pleased.

You wait a few days to drop the bomb on Viserys. It would do no good, if you share all your limited knowledge of the Dance and end up losing what little leverage you have. It wouldn’t be good, either, if Daemon thought you could summon visions at a whim.

“Alicent will misunderstand your words, and Otto will take advantage of it to place Aegon on the throne. He will grow into a fine drunk.”

As Otto Hightower falls, you rise. It feels like a dirty thing to do, but you want to go back to Runestone more than anything. You know the terrain there, you could have a chance at escaping. From what you remember, Otto’s only sin had been being too ambitious and pimping Alicent out. But he is Daemon’s enemy, and if you drag him down, it pleases him. A pleased Daemon is a better Daemon. He gets sloppy when he is smug.

Daemon has no choice but to take you back. Dreamers must be kept calm and cared for. And you would be very upset if he goes back on his word. Your power could wane. You make sure this is clear to him.

It’s back at Runestone he makes a mistake. He has had the guards that opposed him replaced. But he has given no thoughts to the servants.

Mina is the one assigned to serve your food, out of all the kitchen girls. Perhaps Daemon handpicked her because he thought her easy to intimidate after their first meeting. Perhaps it’s just sheer luck.

“He has ordered for you to have a special diet, milady.” She explains, as she places a tray down by your bed. You have yet to acquire a table, Daemon thinking it too much of a risk. He has no idea.

“Mina, I’m not…” You hurry to correct her. You would never want to be called by Rhea’s title. It feels like disrespecting her memory. And it’s strange, too. To be treated with such deference. Not even in your time had anyone treated you as if you were royalty.

Had you pulled a similar stunt as you did with the healer with a doctor, you would have probably been institutionalized. If the doctor didn’t press charges for assault and battery first, of course.

“Not a Lady? You own this castle. That man might be parading around like a peacock, but I much rather serve you.” Mina says, sitting on the edge of your bed. She is not meant to, but neither of you care. This is the only normal conversation you have had in nearly a month.

“What’s all this about?” You point at the tray, when it’s clear you won’t be able to convince her. It’s filled with a strange array of food. Used to your broths and cups of milk, and light soups and bread, you wonder what this is all about. There is a cup with warm milk, as always, but this time smells of clover. There are also eggs, and seafood.

“They are meant to stir desire and aid conception.” She points to each item. “It should all be eaten warm, or so Thea says. Else it will cool you.”

“I think I will never…” You start saying, but Mina grasps your hands, urgently shushing you. Her jaw jutts towards the door, seemingly aware of something you are not. Heavy footsteps. Boots. They pause at your door, before resuming their path.

“Don't say that. Don't. We might joke around about it, but he always gets his way. Men like him, they don't know how to lose.” She whispers, urgently. Trying to look out for you. You think of the possible consequences of saying such a thing in front of Daemon. It’s not a pretty picture.

“They really don't.” You agree, sadly.

Daemon does not know how to lose. That much is true. But neither do the two of you. It is only a week before Mina slips you the key to your room, taken from an unsuspecting guard.

It’s not easy, waiting for the right time to use it. You have to do it before breakfast is served, so no one notices the key to be missing. Acting too soon means endangering Mina and you.

The hour of the witch, then. Fitting. These people actually believe there might be ghosts roaming the halls at three am. With your white shifts and chains, you could pass as one if not looked at closely.

When the sky looks dark enough, you open your door and run. Runestone is silent, in the quiet of the night. Servants would rise at the first rooster's crow, you know because you used to, the first days before meeting Rhea. You make sure to stick to their passages and corridors, and not the main ones, less some guard is still roaming the halls.

It feels like an eternity, the time spent running as silently as you can. Your pulse pounds loudly in your ears. When you finally exit the castle, you nearly sob in relief. It’s astonishing that no one has caught you yet.

Now comes the hard part. You have to find a way to get out of the Vale, fast. Somewhere far enough that Targaryen influence will not touch you. And get rid of the cuffs while you are at it.

Rhea had a hunting lodge, on the edge of the grounds. There she kept all sorts of weapons and knives to skin animals with. Perhaps something there can be useful to break your chains and protect yourself while on the road. You decide to head there, but do not dare take the path, afraid of discovery.

The moon shines brightly, the sky clear. It’s a good night to escape because you can actually see where you are going. You know the forest, having rode with her many times through it. Even if you found hunting disgusting, Rhea liked to take you with her. If you go through it, you could get where you need to be and avoid the path.

You give yourself a silent pep talk, reminding yourself that at least the grass and moss will be gentler on your feet than the earth. You try to ignore your doubts about if you will actually be able to get there, reminding your way in the middle of the night.

As soon as you could, you were so getting shoes. A sudden, shrill screech makes you rush into the forest, hoping the darkness conceals you. You know that sound. Caraxes. He shouldn’t be here. The dragonpit Daemon had ordered to build for him is on the opposite end of the grounds, to avoid him setting the whole forest aflame.

It can only mean two things: He either escaped or Daemon took him out for a ride. Neither are good for you.

You pray to whoever that’s listening to cloak you, let the darkness be enough to be kept unseen. Your heart beats even faster, muscles tense and ready to dart away. Ducking behind some bushes, you try to muffle your breath with your hands, silently starting to cry.

It’s not quiet enough. The tree next to you catches fire, and you scream. You were so close! So close, you could almost taste freedom. And it was taken away from you, again.

“Ah, Wife! Come to lure me back to bed?”

You shiver. Daemon urges Caraxes to fly lower and extends a hand in silent demand. He can’t actually land here, not without ruining half the forest. But it’s clear what he wants.

Is there something more terrible than being forced to climb back into your captor’s arms, with bound hands? You don’t dare ask. But probably. You don’t want to know what he will do to you in punishment.

The scandal rises all the castle. Confused servants and guards pour out of the rooms to watch the ruckus occurring in the dining hall. You feel absolutely humiliated, in the sheer shift, barefooted and dirty, while Daemon scolds you as if you were a child.

“What in the Seven Hells were you thinking?” He shakes you, roughly. For a moment, you fear he might kill you right there. You look at the crowd of servants and shrink into yourself. Daemon follows your gaze.

“Ah.” He pulls out a chair and pushes you to sit there. You go meekly, too embarrassed to drag it further. You feel like you stink of failure. Slowly, with each thwarted escape attempt, hopelessness is starting to take hold of your heart. “I suppose I can't blame you, for taking an opportunity when it arose. Question is…” Daemon pulls another chair and straddles it backwards, perching his chin on the backrest. He glares at the servants. “Who allowed it?”

The servants stay in silence. You close your eyes fearing giving Mina away. No one speaks for a long while, all of you frozen in the face of Daemon's rage. His chair creaks when he gets up. You keep your eyes firmly closed.

There is a sudden weight in your lap. You open your eyes and there is Mina's terrified face, looking right into yours.

“I have found a traitor. Do you know what happens to traitors here?” Daemon asks you. Your eyes widen. You shake your head. “Oh, I think you do, Lady Wife. But I will be merciful. After all, she is your little friend.”

He gestures for a guard to approach. The man does, and Daemon whispers something in his ear. You look at Mina, still on your lap, whose lips are silently moving. Praying. You squeeze her hands. She squeezes yours back. She can't see that the guard has returned with a whip.

You try to say something, but Daemon is faster. He cracks the whip against the back of her nightclothes, which do little to soften the blow. Mina's eyes widen, filled with tears, and she screams loud and shrill, nearly falling off from your lap.

“I'm thinking… Fifty?” Daemon smirks, raising the whip again.

“Daemon, please.” You beg, as Mina desperately clutches at your shoulders.

“I'm not really in the mood to listen to you.” Daemon brings the whip down again, making Mina scream. Oh, how you regret now trying to escape. You should have never tried. “Next time, do not be so familiar with the help.”

The next time he hits her, it's you who starts crying. Mina shakes her head and pinches you, but you still beg.

“Daemon, please. Please, no more.”

He ignores you, cracking the whip again. You scream with her. The coppery scent of blood fills your nostrils, and you know he has to be hitting the same spot on purpose because there is no way he is drawing blood this soon without being cruel. The next time the whip goes down, you throw both of you on the ground, trying to protect her from more hits. The whip hits you around the shoulder.

“You just never learn, do you?” Daemon pulls you off Mina, kicking and screaming. “Willing to do anything to protect this whore who has done nothing to help you.”

“Please, please. I will take it for her. Please, she only got me the key, surely that's not…” You keep on pleading because while you might not have known Mina a lot, it was a horrid thing, watching someone be whipped because they tried helping you. Her only crime was trying to do the right thing, when no one else dared to. Bravery.

“Oh? You wish to trade places? As if you were some worthless little whore?” Daemon taunts, still holding you in his arms.

“Daemon, please.”

“You are my wife. Perhaps once you were to be a worthless little whore. But you are mine, now.” His hand brushes the curve of your neck. A threat and a caress, all rolled into one.

“Something else! Something else! We can negotiate, please.” At this point, you would agree to anything, desperate as you are to save Mina’s life.

His eyes glimmer. He has what he wanted.

“Put the girl in the cells. I will see to her in the morning. Right now… I have to tend to my wife.”

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #house of the dragon fanfic #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #divine intuition series #also known as cristi angers her followers part 2 #asoif fanfic #daemon targaryen x y/n

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visenyaism · 5 months

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Eh, I don't think it's really a problem to say that Sansa and Dany will probably have opposing political goals and might not be braiding each others hair. One of them wants to rule the 7 kingdoms, the other one will want the north to be independent. The idea that woman should just get along because they're woman and they've had similar live experiences is kinda reductive and it wouldn't be said about them if they were men. This is asoiaf, not a slumber party. People aren't gonna get along because some fans want them to.

i was joking earlier but i do disagree with a lot of this. i think saying that dany and sansa’s goals are ruling the seven kingdoms versus northern independence so they are definitely going to oppose each other is just missing the point. the reason daenerys is still in essos after five books is because her actual goal, the thing she wants to accomplish and the thing that motivates her, isn’t ruling westeros. what dany really wants is to find a home for herself, and to make the world a better and kinder place for everyone who had to grow up living in fear with no freedom like she did. she’s been told her entire life that the only way to accomplish that goal is to conquer and rule the seven kingdoms, but it’s not the only way, because she’s still doing all of that to some extent in mereen.

likewise, sansa doesn’t even express any sort of political inclinations towards northern independence in the books. what SHE wants is to go home as herself, and also for the world to be a better and kinder place. obviously she’s not doing the whole breaker of chains worldwide liberation thing dany is (sansa does not have the lived experience of growing up on the streets) but she very clearly does also have this sense of empathy and concern for the people she meets who are downtrodden by the political system.

obviously their goals aren’t unilaterally the same but they do clearly align with each other. they have the same ideas about what power should be used for: it’s not having it for power’s sake but to improve the lives of the people you rule over, loving them and having them love you back. they’re both idealists, which gets dismissed as teenage-girl naivety by the gross older men in their lives, but it’s very real and there. saying they’re entirely oppositional is just wrong

#asoiaf #tbh i think dany and jon are going to fight more politically than dany and sansa #before anyone gets in the trenches about this: arya is ALSO very similar to dany AND sansa in different ways. this is good writing

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rosemaryblossomworld · 3 months

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First Blood (ch.1)

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚅𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎!𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚜 𝚅𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛.

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚈/𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢....𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕?

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝟷𝟾 , 𝙰𝚞!𝚅𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚝𝙳, 𝚁𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚗𝚢𝚛𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎. 𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙰𝚞, 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍!

𝙰/𝚗: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎! 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍...

Red Castle was the most dangerous place in the Kingslands. Why? For centuries, the land had been ruled by the most ancient and noble race of vampires! Nothing can break them. Strong...fast...immortal. And they have dragons to serve them.

Men feared and revered them. The Targaryen bloodline gave rise to many rumours and gossip. People whispered about them, their purity of blood and sacrifice.

Every three months, balls were organised for the Targaryen children to find partners.

But every time these partners "disappeared", everyone knew exactly how it happened, but were afraid to say it out loud. Servants, people from the upper classes, ordinary travellers disappeared.

Today was the 6th moon of the winter festival (Christmas). The weather was hot, uncharacteristic of the Kingslands. And on the 15th day of the sixth moon, the lords of the various houses began to receive an invitation from the Queen for a feast. Many considered this letter a "black mark".

This time the black mark fell on the house of Y/l/n, the lord's wife wept bitterly and clutched to her bosom, the youngest Lady of the house, who was beating hysterically. Lord Y/l/n looked gloomily at the letter and reread it over and over again.

"Daddy! Don't give me away, they'll kill me! Please!" young Sanda couldn't imagine that her comfortable days were coming to an end.

"Be quiet Sanda! You've been chosen, but that doesn't mean you can fall to the eyes of Jacaerys," the man muttered.

"Our Sanda is the most beautiful girl in the Kingdom Lands! She could match the Maiden herself! Everyone knows it, and the Queen and her children have found out. Of course she'll want the most beautiful girl in Westeros standing next to her son!" said Lady t/f hysterically.

"Don't get in the way Darlene! I'm thinking!" the man glanced sullenly at the letter again.

He threw a glance at his youngest daughter, now he saw before him a pathetic woman who thought everything would be decided at the wave of a hand. If it didn't involve the Targaryen family, then yes, Lord Y/l/n needed to wave his hand and all of his daughter's problems disappeared.

At that moment the eldest daughter of the family, Y/n, entered the room quietly, she was carrying a small cart with tea and cakes, a quiet and calm girl. She was a bastard. So in the house she was on the level of a servant. The girl was a little taken aback when she heard the pitiful howls of her sister and stepmother. But continued to arrange the cups on the table, pouring flavoured tea from the south.

The girl squinted at the letter in her father's hand and then looked at him, he was already looking at her.

"Interesting?" the gears in the lord's head began to move gradually.

"I dare not," Y/n answered hastily.

"Sanda has been chosen as a candidate to be the 'princess' of Jacaerys," the man sighed and threw a letter on the table.

Y/n looked at her younger sister, who was almost choking on her tears. The girl no longer saw the upstart she had been a few minutes ago when she bullied her. A nasty and caustic thought crept into Y/n's mind that made her want to chuckle. The lord felt it.

"Don't gloat! Lousy girl! Instead of Sanda, you're going to the ball. If Prince Jacaerys doesn't look at you, you're lucky, if he does, I'll give it to him," the lord smirked and looked at the shocked Y/n carefully. The cries of the stepmother and sister fell silent.

"What?" whispered the girl quietly, in that instant she was overcome with anger and sadness.

"Honey, you're a genius! How did we not guess it right away!?" immediately cheered the stepmother.

"Daddy! You're the best!" squealed Sanda and ran into her father's arms.

"The queen might get angry... "Y/n hurried to say.

"She won't be too angry if I tell her that the youngest daughter is seriously ill," the man sniggered.

"She can ask Sanda to attend the next ball, and the next, and the next, and so on ad infinitum!" raised her voice to the older mistress. The lord frowned.

"How dare you cross me!? You ignorant wench! You should be grateful that I took you in. It's time to repay our kindness. The ball will be in two days, so you will be moved to another room. Go!" shrieked the man, he knew perfectly well that his eldest daughter was right. But he didn't want to think about it in front of his wife and youngest daughter, lest he make a fool of himself.

The lord followed the girl's eyes as she looked at him with anger, once again those eyes were reminiscent of the eyes of the witch he had spent the night with. That woman had been beautiful. He had promised to make her his wife and take her out of this poverty. But he had not kept his promise, leaving that one in poverty. As he was packing up and leaving her decrepit home, the dark-haired woman whispered just one phrase: "My daughter will be the ruin of your family." The man laughed. He still laughs now because he looks at Y/n, at this unassuming and defenceless girl, and thinks: "And what can she do?"

Two days passed in preparation. For the first time, Y/n was treated like a queen, washed, fed, and dressed in her finest clothes. The stepmother and younger sister had gone to another estate to maintain the legend of the ailing younger mistress.

On the day of the festival a beautiful dress was sent to Y/n's room, it was red like blood, a black veil and gold jewellery completed the look. The maids carefully put the dress on her, did her hair and then left, leaving Y/n alone. The girl looked at herself and wanted to cry. To cry with happiness that she was wearing such expensive and nice clothes, and with grief that it was an unnecessary spectacle.

The girl wasn't allowed to be sad for long, she was called downstairs to go to the festival.

Y/n and her father stood opposite the queen, who towered majestically over them. Beside her stood her husband, Daemon Targaryen, a vicious prince and the most scandalous person in the kingdom. His two daughters stood beside him, Rhaena had only recently 'lost' her lover, while Baela still had a partner, but the betting was already underway as to when she would start looking for a groom.

Of course, there were rumours that Baela and Jacaerys were to be betrothed, but to this day, they remained free. Jacaerys stood proudly beside his mother, he didn't look at them, his head held high. Lucerys and Joffrey were nowhere to be seen. Everyone knew that Joffrey had not yet reached the age when the power of the ancient family was awakened. And Lucerys just didn't like the event, and the queen thought he was young in his choice of mate.

" I asked you, Lord Y/l/n, where is your youngest daughter?" the queen asked sternly, but every time she shifted her gaze to the young Y/n, her look softened.

"My youngest daughter is seriously ill! She came down with a fever a couple of days ago, the symptoms are terrible, and she's only getting worse," the man lied.

"But who is there with you?" she asked more calmly.

"Oh, it's my eldest daughter. She didn't want you to be angry, so she decided to personally volunteer to soothe your anger," the girl's father nudged her slightly.

"Your majesty," Y/n bowed.

Jacaerys, who had been standing bored when he heard the soft voice that roused his "dead" body, turned his attention to the sound. At the bottom of the steps stood the most beautiful girl he had ever seen at a ball. Soft facial features, a beautiful stance and a slight smile, he felt a hum in his ears, and before his gaze was only her. Was this what his mum had been talking about? "The eternal bond?" That's her, isn't it?

Sensing her son's change, Rhaenyra looked at her boy and then shifted her gaze to the girl. The woman smiled and hummed.

"Good, I see your point, that's very noble of you, enjoy the festival," the queen waved her hand and Lord Y/l/n hurriedly disappeared from the woman's gaze, fetching his eldest daughter.

"You can do whatever you want now. Dance, eat, drink, if any of the heirs come up to you to talk then speak, don't embarrass me," the lord walked away, leaving Y/n completely alone in an unknown environment.

After thinking for a while, Y/n skirted down the corridor and then onto one of the castle's balconies. The view was magnificent: the harbour, the ships, the sun setting on the horizon. This view was not comparable to what the girl saw at her place, in fact she had no windows in her room. It was always dark and cold.

She covered her eyes but immediately opened them as soon as she felt a strange smell, it was sweet and juicy, as if there was a sweet fruit in front of her eyes that she wanted to bite. She turned round and her heart stopped beating. Jackairis Velarion stood before her.

"May I join your silence, my lady?" he asked, slowly approaching.

" yes, of course," the girl said quietly.

She looked straight into the guy's eyes, they were brown, but...she could also see red reflections in them that appeared and disappeared.

"Why did you leave?" he enquired to get rid of the awkward silence.

"I'm not used to being at events like this. I'm nervous, to be honest," the girl grinned and leaned her hands relaxedly on the stone railing of the balcony.

"I understand, my lady, I get tired of them too. That's why my little brother rarely attends them. But my sisters just love the fun and the noise. They're dancing in the hall right now," he smiled, and Y/n was embarrassed.

"You...I... " Y/n tried to think of a topic of conversation, but nothing came to mind.

The prince chuckled. He couldn't look at the girl in red, in his head they had lived for several thousand years, they had five...no! seven...no! ten children.

"I didn't ask your name," the guy mentioned.

"My name is Y/n Y/l/n, Lord Y/l/n's eldest daughter," the girl bowed.

"Your little sister...she's not sick, is she?" he asked immediately and he could hear the girl's heart beating fast.

"She...no...she's just," the lady tried to come to her senses and think of something.

"Look at me," the prince reached out to Y/n and lifted her chin.

Y/n looked at the prince and froze, her ears popped, her breathing became quiet and steady, her eyes were covered by a bright veil from behind which she saw the prince's red eyes.

"Tell me the truth. Where is your sister?" he ran his hand gently down the girl's cheek.

"She has gone with her stepmother to the second estate. She is not ill, but shocked by the letter the queen sent. I am her replacement. I didn't want to come here, I was forced," the girl said in a cold tone, Y/n wanted to scream but couldn't, she didn't want to say it! What's going on!!!?

"Don't be afraid Y/n, I won't hurt you. You are under my spell, it's what our kind can do. We can make a person tell the truth or, we can command them to do an order, for example: my love, take my hand and press it to your chest," the prince uttered the last phrase, he didn't really mean to say 'to your chest', if his blood flowed like a normal person, his lady could see his red face.

Y/n felt the heat come up to her cheeks. This was exciting! She took the prince's other hand and pressed it against her chest, where her heart beat.

"Like this. Your heart is beating fast. Are you scared?" Jace lifted his hand higher.

"I'm excited... "the girl whispered softly.

"Are you afraid I'll bite you? I won't do that unless you ask me to," the prince moved closer.

"I don't want you to kill me," for a moment all feeling came back to the girl and she tried to break free, but the Prince's grip tightened and he soaked her again.

"What if I told you I don't want to kill you. I want you to be my partner, my princess and future queen," he whispered the words into the girl's lips.

"I don't believe you," just as monotonously.

"Then, I'll do my best to make you believe. Let me kiss you, just one kiss as proof," the pair's lips almost touched, but Y/n didn't respond.

He grinned and nestled his lips against the girl's soft lips. Immediately the buzzing in her ears disappeared, her vision and breathing normalised again, but Y/n didn't pull away, only pressed herself closer to the prince. Again that smell that was driving the girl crazy.

He touched the girl's lips gently and weightlessly, sucking on her upper and lower lips. Then, opening his mouth slightly, he ran his tongue along the girl's lower lip. Y/n immediately opened her mouth, letting the young man's hurried tongue in. The kiss constantly changed its pace, then slow, then fast, then careless. The girl knew the feeling for the first time, something warm in her lower belly and flowing down into her underwear.

He growled into the kiss, feeling the girl's wonderful ambrosia, that sweet smell starting to swirl around them. The Prince is afraid that his kin can smell it too, and they will try to steal his Maiden, out of his own hands. Jace clasped the girl tighter. He continued to entwine his tongue with his lady's, growling and whimpering slightly, the scent growing brighter and brighter. Now Jace's heat was centred down his stomach as well.

Y/n began to feel her head spinning, these emotions and this scent...where did it come from? So pleasant, sweet and spicy, wanting to inhale and inhale. The girl moaned at the prince's touch. Is it his charms? Or is it her true feelings? So shameful, but...she wants more, she wants what the maids whisper about in the manor, she wants what they teach in the Silk Streets. She pressed herself against the prince and...darkness fell.

The girl opened her eyes sharply and realised that she was in the room where she had been living for the last two days in her family estate. She jumped up from the bed and looked around. The sun was shining brightly and illuminating the room.

"Mistress, you woke up just in time," a maid named Martina, walked over to the elder mistress' bed and placed a few things on the chair next to it.

"What happened? Where is father?" her voice was slightly hoarse and the girl hurriedly drank a glass of water that was on a table nearby.

"Ser Jakor brought you in yesterday. You fainted at the ball. And your father is in his study now and wants to see you after breakfast," the maid said calmly.

Y/n was dressed in a light white dress with open shoulders. Breakfast was light, the way a girl likes it.

After breakfast, Ser Jakor escorted the girl to the lord's study. He knocked and announced the arrival of his daughter. There was a muffled sound, "let her in." And the knight opened the door.

"Why did you want to see me?" went straight to the subject Y/n.

"Did you communicate with the eldest prince yesterday?" asked the Lord, still staring at the papers in front of him.

Y/n felt her face begin to burn. Has he seen us? Does he know about this? What to do!!!

"Yes," the girl said quickly.

"Jakor, hand it over," the man pushed a black envelope towards the knight.

Once the envelope was handed over, Y/n looked at it closely. It was an unusual black envelope with drawings of flowers, the letter had been opened, most likely the lord had decided to see who it was from, because the envelope bore the name of the eldest lady of House Y/l/n, though it was barely visible. But the girl looked at the Targaryen family crest on the gold seal, the girl's heart sank, she pulled out the envelope and read a few lines. Queen Rhaenyra wrote and demanded a meeting with Y/n Y/l/n, at the end there was only one phrase: You are the perfect candidate.

"I don't know how long the queen will keep you, but I have ordered the maids to gather some of your wardrobe. You will be sent to Red Castle, we can't keep the Queen waiting!" the man finally looked at his daughter.

"Father..." the girl began.

"I don't care what happens to you. Your fate is essentially sealed. That's the way it should be, Y/n, you were a mistake and fate presented me with a chance to get rid of her," the man spoke coldly.

"What if they let me go?" the girl asked, looking angrily at her father again.

"This will be a great disappointment. But I'll take you back, you'll live here as before. Now get on your way. The queen wanted to share a meal with you," waved the lord and burrowed into the papers again.

Y/n sighed and left the room. She was filled with a thousand emotions. It was scary and exciting at the same time, she would meet the prince again, but...she already knew what she would be to him.

With heavy thoughts, the girl walked down to the ground floor. She watched her things being loaded. Y/n took one last look at Y/n's estate, smiled sadly, and got into the carriage. Her fate was now in someone else's hands.

Ps: I'm not good at writing intimate scenes...well...I think the second chapter will take a long time to come out because I want to write it right. In a way that's breathtaking.

#house of the dragon #hotd #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #prince jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys strong #jacaerys x you #x reader

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hederasgarden · 2 years

Text

Sins of the Father - Part 1

Summary: When the Greens win the Dance of the Dragons, your father must answer for his support of Rhaenyra.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lady!Reader(house unspecified)

W/C: 1.5K

Rating: Mature, 18+ only. AU, forced/arranged marriage and reference to canon level violence. Future chapters will be explicit.

A/N: Thank you fieldandfountain, @truesblue and @whatblogisthis216 for all your help with the first part of this fic. The fantastically talented @writercole created the beautiful graphic!

Likes are lovely but comments and reblogs make my day!

You trail behind your father into the nearly empty Great Hall, flinching when the heavy doors close behind you. King Aegon the second is nowhere to be seen. In his place the Queen Mother sits on the throne, flanked by the Hand of the King and who you assume must be her youngest son, Prince Aemond. Even though he looks half bored he still makes for an intimidating figure, dressed all in black with an eye patch that only partially hides the angry scar that bisects his right eye. You swallow hard, recalling all the nasty rumors you’ve heard about him. Kinslayer was the kindest one you could recall.

A handful of Kingsgaurd members stand at the bottom of the throne and two more follow behind you and your father. You search the room for any familiar figures or other nobles but find none. There are no friendly faces here. When you spot the King's Justice half-hidden behind a pillar, you stumble. Fear lances through your chest, hot and tight, as you consider what his presence means.

“All will be well,” your father promises quietly, offering you his hand.

You grip it tightly and stare straight ahead. The stories your grandmother told you as a girl about her visits to Kings Landing pale in comparison to what you see before you. The iron throne looms large and imposing, the chaotic array of swords terrifying. You have to crane your neck to look at the high ceiling, eyes catching on the beautiful stained glass. Were this any other time you would have been thrilled at the chance to see the capital. Now you feel only dread.

There is no question why the two of you are here today. Your father and brother threw their support behind Rhaenyra in the war and now it was time to face that choice. To beg for mercy like the other lords summoned before your father. The heads of those unsuccessful in their plea were impaled on the spikes that lined the castle’s inner walls. You prayed to the seven that your father would not join them.

“Your Grace,” your father greets, bending deeply at the waist. You follow suit, dropping into a low curtsey and waiting until she bids you rise. “We were expecting to see the King today.”

“My son is busy,” Alicent tells you with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I am here to speak on his behalf.”

“We were summoned by the King,” your father says, a deep frown on his face. “And have traveled far to speak with him.”

“You also pledged your allegiance to the usurper,” the Hand reminds your father.

“The King is merciful though,” Alicent is quick to add, a bland sort of smile on her face. “He understands your family’s ties with House Targaryen go back to before the doom and that your mother was a childhood friend to Aemma. It is understandable you might have been easily led astray.”

Your father remains silent, waiting for Alicent to continue. He told you on the long journey here that he suspected the crown wanted money. There were rumors the war nearly bankrupted the royal coffers. It was a costly war, paid in both blood and gold. Your father is one of the wealthiest lords in Westeros, second only to the Lannisters. It was a logical conclusion and you hoped he was right.

“King Aegon would like to offer you the opportunity to show us you understand the error of your ways and to reaffirm your commitment to his rule.”

“What does his grace have in mind?” Your father asks.

“Marriage between your daughter and Prince Aemond.”

Your lips part in a silent show of surprise but your father’s reaction is more pronounced. His brows draw together and he cuts a quick look at Aemond who stands tall and disinterested beside his mother.

"You cannot possibly expect me to give up my only remaining heir," your father begins, voice incredulous.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the King's Hand jut his chin out and one of the Kingsguard steps forward, hand on the pommel of his greatsword. You glance up at Alicent. She blinks, her face pinched in a sour expression. You think about the heads on Traitor’s Gate and step forward before you’re even cognizant of your own actions.

"Please your grace, you must excuse my father," you begin, resting a hand on his arm. "He grieves still for my brother, his only son, and heir. He fears he will lose me today too, but I can see that is not the case. Prince Aemond is a virtuous man and would treat me well. We are honored you deem us worthy of such a betrothal."

Your father turns to you and stares, surprised. His eyes, the same color as your late brother's, are full of anger. You know he wants to fight this, but you have your mother and sisters back home to think about. Silently, you beg him to understand, to acquiesce. After a long moment, he seems to, clenching his jaw tightly. The fear you see in his expression is a mirror of what you feel in your heart.

"We would be happy to show our loyalty to the crown," your father says finally, clearly unhappy. A second later he lays his hand over yours.

"The King will be pleased to hear this," Alicent replies.

"Of course, there is the matter of a dowry," the Hand says, speaking up finally. "It would need to be fit for a Prince."

You look pleadingly to your father when his hand tightens over yours, a muscle in his cheek jumping. He came ready to part with his coin, not with you. You should have known it wouldn’t be so easy. The crown needs to ensure your father’s loyalty. He is a powerful man and his influence ran deep. With you in King’s Landing, they could be assured of his cooperation. Any children you bore Aemond would inherit your father’s lands and titles after he passed, guaranteeing your house remained bound to the realm.

“The Prince needs only to name his price,” you say when it is clear your father is too angry to speak. When you look at Aemond, you’re startled to find his eye focused solely on you. His expression is blank, making it impossible to determine what he might be thinking.

“How kind to offer me a say,” he says with a smirk.

You drop his intense gaze, inclining your head forward in a show of respect to hide your fear.

“We are but returning the kindness your family has shown us,” you assure him, not daring to raise your eyes from the ground.

“Then the matter is settled,” the Hand says.

“It is,” your father agrees, voice strained.

The situation you’ve found yourself in is a dangerous one and you know the fate of your father and your house rests on your shoulders now. It’s a heavy burden and he looks at you with such a pained expression you feel your throat close up around any words of comfort you might offer. Instead, you squeeze his arm and try to impart whatever reassurance you can. He nods in return, exhaling sharply. Under his fear and worry, you think you see a glimmer of pride.

“The wedding should take place soon,” Alicent says, drawing your attention away from your father as she descends the throne. There’s an unexpected smile on her face when she beckons Aemon to her side.

“As your grace wishes,” you accede.

“In two months' time, all the lords of the kingdom will come to reswear their allegiance to King Aegon. It can happen then. That will allow us to prepare a wedding fit for the King’s brother.”

“That will give me the time needed for the dowry,” your father adds. “We will return in one month's time to make preparations.”

“You misunderstand, my lord,” the Hand begins, “your daughter will remain in King’s Landing. To ensure your continued loyalty.”

“It will give her time to know her betrothed,” Alicent adds with a smile, drawing closer. She places a light hand on your shoulder and looks at your father. “She will be well cared for until you return.”

“A dragon protects what is his,” Aemond says, a flash of movement drawing your eye to the hand that rests on the dagger in his belt.

“Your skills with the blade are legendary, your grace. It warms my father’s heart to know I will be kept so safe.”

“I am sure it warms something.” Aemond stares at your father now, chin lifted in challenge.

Alicent flashes her son a look but Aemond only chuckles, turning on his heel before your father can respond.

♡

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