#taoc!reader. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aldeanotes · 6 months

Text

the art of cooking

aemond / modern!reader, 16+, fluff / comedy / mild angst in later plot points. inspiration taken from kdrama mr. queen. reader is very bi and loves girls so much.

summary: in which you are a famous young chef whose soul was transported into the body of some way too pretty and privileged noble woman. oh, and you’re supposed to marry a prince or whatever. anyway, can you test this to see if it's ready ?

warnings: reader is batshit wild and doesn't have time for westerosi norms : ). characters will be ooc at times and this story is not entirely canon compliant.

author's notes: sorry for the very long delay !!! i've had so much going on !!!

tag list: @azaleapotterblack, @aurorathi

chapter two: / 5.2k words

Sitting before Otto and Alicent Hightower, you realize, quite bluntly, you don’t want to be here. They’re going to think you’re out of your mind if you speak the truth of the situation – you fell in some water and then woke up here in this place – but it’s the truth nonetheless. Given their hardened expressions (that Otto gives you and Alicent has the mercy to give it to the floor instead of you), you have a feeling they already don’t like the situation as they perceive it.

Which is that the younger prince’s betrothed (you make a face whenever they refer to this relation) has suffered a memory loss and the greatest doctors of this age can’t seem to fix it through traditional means.

Alicent takes in a deep breath, finally breaking her intense eye contact with the floor and running her hands briefly across her face in slight distress. Though, you have a feeling she’s a little bit of a mess inside. You shift uncomfortably in the seat at the Small Council. Jaquetta’s comforting presence is behind you. Unfortunately, the other presence in the room causes you to pretend to be deeply interested in the space between Alicent’s eyebrows.

Prince Aemond sits across from you, next to Otto. If he’s looking at you, you don’t know. You don’t care. He’s not YOUR betrothed, after all, and you have no joy in getting married to anybody. In your real life in your real body, you never had a good example to follow for a healthy relationship, and this girl’s body and that guy sitting across from you do not contain brains that are smart enough to realize that marriage in your teens is a usually bad idea.

Apparently none of the brains of the others in the room are smart either.

“Your uncle and sister are on their way. I have already written to them informing them of the situation,” Alicent breaks the tense silence, looking right at you.

Your eyes meet hers, and you can see a certain kind of tiredness in them. You feel inclined to just nod, so you do. You hope these people will be normal, at least.

“Regarding the marriage–” Otto’s voice pierces straight to the point. He has this way of speaking that makes you feel like he teeters around certain topics like a fighter circling his opponent. “It would be best if we–”

You raise your hand suddenly. Your eyes stare right at the table’s surface. You don’t want to know what everyone else looks like at your actions. You open your mouth and let out a dumb sound – “Um.” There’s a small pause. “Question.” You smack your lips as you gather up all your courage to make your inquiry. “Can we just, you know, not have it?”

Jaquetta grips your shoulder tightly and you know you’ve messed up.

“That is not an option,” Alicent says.

Her tone is sharp enough to cause you to flinch and hesitantly look up at her. Your eyes meet her brown ones. You feel a weight on you. You’ve come to realize in the brief moments you’ve looked at her that Alicent comes through in the eyes. Even as they capture you in their vision, you can’t look away.

It all feels much like how things used to be with your mother.

Alicent must sense the way you retreat into yourself because she swallows before continuing on in a gentler voice.

“It is for the good of the realm.”

But you don’t care about that. Jacquetta has tried telling you of things here and there, but, for the love of the creator, you have no investment in the happenings of this world the same way these people do. You’re a foreign entity trapped here, treated with a different level of scrutiny and pushed down by traditions that have been relatively abandoned in your own world. It feels unfair. You want to scream at these people.

“But I’m not well,” you say. It’s the only real protest you have.

Alicent purses her lips and glances down at her intertwined hands on the table. Her father beats her to it.

“To speak plainly of it,” he starts, and you already can tell from his tone that you’d been doomed to this fate before you even knew it. “This marriage contract has already been approved by the royal household and your house. The wedding is to be held in three months’ time –”

You put your face in your hands.

(“Oh, my fucking god,” you whisper into your flesh. Otto ignores you.)

“Given the time frame, we will not be able to cancel the wedding nor is it in the interest of the realm to do so.”

A wave of nausea hits you, and you distinctly feel like throwing up.

“Your uncle and sister have been informed of the situation and will be arriving within the month,” Otto says. He speaks like everything is final, and as you feel the walls close in around you, you realize it is. “We will have to make use of these three months to be sure you are presentable in time for the wedding.”

Something like dread settles in your stomach. Forget the uncle and sister. Your more immediate worry is about how they plan on making you ‘presentable’ at a wedding you don’t want to a person you don’t know.

Your voice is small when you speak again. “And you’re going to do that – how ?”

“We will arrange some tutors and a septa to be at your side at all times,” Alicent chimes in.

‘At all times’ – you get the impression it’s more to keep an eye on you rather than for your benefit. After not giving yourself nearly enough time to process everything, you lift your head up and glance between Otto and Alicent. You ignore the way Aemond has taken to tapping his finger on the table top.

“So that’s it?” You ask. They say nothing. “Just like that?”

Still nothing.

You look at your last lifeline. Aemond has stopped tapping on the table and is looking back at you when you finally forget the uncomfortable tension between the two of you. You must look pathetic because his lone eye flickers over your face as if he’s taking you in. Even in this situation, he makes your spine go a little cold. It takes some strength not to flinch back from him.

“You–” You take a breath to collect yourself. “You don't really want this either. Right?” You might as well be pleading to him right now with the way your eyes look at him and the way you wave your arm around. “There’s no way you actually agree. I mean – I’m not me anymore.”

He just regards you in brief silence.

“You don’t want to do this!” Your voice raises a bit and Jaquetta stiffens next to you.

“I will perform my duty to the realm,” Aemond answers, keeping your gaze.

You’re floored, a breathy chuckle leaving you at his words. The corners of your mouth twitch up as if he’d told a joke. It was a sick one, if you’d ever heard one. Your arm that you’d been waving around flops helplessly onto your lap as you watch him turn to his mother and grandfather.

“I will wed my betrothed as agreed upon.”

You don’t know if it’s commendable or downright idiotic of him to marry someone who clearly he knows is not normal. Your lips part to make another protest but all that comes out is air. Everyone in this room with any semblance of power greater than your own has shut you down. Your worries are cast aside. They’re like whispers in the wind to these people.

Otto says something before getting up and walking away. You retreat back into your mind as you always do when you’re frightened, when things are beyond your control like this. The screech of chairs don’t awaken you from your state. Your eyes bore into the polished table, and you think you might almost cry but your eyes flutter shut to stop them. How can you even stop this?

Jaquetta kneels down beside you and takes your hand. You feel a little less alone.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The septa, which you realize is something like a nun, assigned to you is boring and overbearing. Septa Lettice is stern, rule-abiding and watches your every move. Even Jaquetta has difficulty adjusting to this new presence in your life, her bright smile appearing a little tight against the septa’s neutral expression. You can’t even so much as go for a stroll without her lingering right on top of you. Her teachings are even worse.

While you’ve been spared from being inflicted any physical punishments, when you raise protests against whatever bullshit she tries shoving down your throat, she’s quick to dole out more readings or lessons to occupy any free time you were waiting for. Though you at least admit that not all these long sermons on the Faith of the Seven are for naught. You find that this world is just as brutal and unfair as the damn Dark Ages in your own world. A discovery which makes you look forward to your time here. Of course.

You whisper your practiced prayers monotonously so she’ll get off your back.

When it’s not with Septa Lettice, Alicent and Otto have been kind enough to assign you other trusted governesses to teach you etiquette, speech and some admittedly more useful knowledge like history and basic finances. The governess presiding over your history and financial lessons finds you more agreeable than Septa Lettice and the other governesses that try to wrangle in your resistant behavior. The first week you attempted to just not show up for the first couple of lessons, and the following week you found that several palace servants had come early in the morning to escort you to your daily lessons. You try for another escape through the window and it takes both Septa Lettice and Jaquetta their entire strength to pull you back inside. Alicent gives you a thorough verbal reprimand that evening, and it’s enough to get you to curb your behavior somewhat.

Jaquetta proves herself to be your greatest asset, though.

“This is your house, my lady,” she says, unfurling a piece of soft, muted purple fabric with your house’s sigil on it.

You flinch a little at the sight of a shrike perched upon a branch with one of its meals skewered on a thorn against the backdrop of a castle.

“Kind of gruesome,” you reply, looking down at your botched attempt at sewing a flower for your embroidery lesson. It looks like a distorted mess, like a plate of spaghetti that’s been dropped on the ground.

Jaquetta smiles widely. “The shrike with its prey has been your house’s sigil since its founding. Your ancestors used the bird’s way of killing its victims to build Shrikesdrop to defend against enemies.”

Shrikesdrop – the ancestral seat of House Durant. It’s perched miles high above the water’s surface, impossible to invade by a beach landing and nearly impenetrable by any army thanks to the steep incline of the roads that lead up to it. According to Jaquetta and a couple notes you found in a book here and there, Shrikesdrop has spikes that resemble thorn covered branches that can impale thousands of men who are unfortunate enough to fall off the inclines. Your house has perfected many tricks to get people to fall off of it, and death by impalement is apparently the go-to execution method of your house. You suddenly didn’t want to meet your uncle and sister after hearing that.

“‘As Sharp as Thorns’,” you mumble your house words. It’s dumb, but you guess it’s the best your ancestors could do.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t mean to stumble across Aemond again. It just happens. Like so much in your two lives.

While you don’t exactly allow yourself to get extinguished fully, you at least understand that your ability to get some manner of freedom rests on some compromise on your part. And, well, you’re pretty smart. Smart enough to remember your lessons, to execute the right angle when you greet your governesses, to hold your head high like you’ve always had blue blood in your veins. That was all you had to pay in exchange for some free time.

It’s the sound of steel clashing that causes you to hurry to the platform overlooking the training grounds, eager for some action to rid you of your boredom.

Your opinion of your betrothed is tainted, of course, because of your judgments. It’s also a little difficult to find yourself liking someone you’re forcefully bound to at this point. However, you can’t deny it. The silver locks that fly about like feathers belonging to a bird of prey are what catch your eye first. You can spot them as he dances about the ground, the dirt crunching underneath his boots.

You can’t see his lone eye, but you feel that if you were close enough they’d have that unsettling intensity you’d seen before – honed in on something. His body is both strong yet nimble as he readies himself. His hand grasps the sword as if it were part of his body.

He’s a fighter.

Fire and Blood – Jaquetta taught you the Targaryen words before those of your own house. The blood of the dragon.

You’d heard the screeching of the dragons sometimes, but you’d never been allowed to rush to see them. Somewhere between your acceptance of your fate and your need to cling on to what you know, you think you’d prefer not to see one. Aemond’s dragon, Vhagar, is the largest in the world, or so you’ve been told.

“Shit,” you hiss underneath your breath when you see Aemond’s opponent take such a fierce swing at him.

Your fingers grip the edge of the platform. The hard surface superficially scratches the skin of your palm. It’s a reflexive reaction, but unnecessary. Aemond blocks it gracefully and disengages cleanly. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Fear not, my lady,” Septa Lettice says. “Ser Criston Cole will not harm the prince.”

Criston Cole, the most trusted sworn sword of Queen Alicent and member of the king’s guard. The best knight in all of the land. Apparently. The royal family sure does have access to some of the best things and people in this land.

Criston circles Aemond after engaging once again, facing towards you as you watch from the platform. Watching training interests you in ways that lessons do not. Perhaps it is the deadliness of it or perhaps it is because even you understand that observing two skilled warriors in a small battle is a luxury few can see. Dark eyes flicker up to you and you stiffen, realizing that Criston is looking right at you.

He says something you can’t make out to Aemond. As soon as you see the back of Aemond’s head begin to move, you run off, Jaquetta and Lettice chasing after you behind you.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your beloved Septa scolds you all the way back inside and only lowers her voice when you begin to pass through the busy halls of the Red Keep. Her expression of concern for your dress skirt getting dirty mirrors a stressed chicken, noisily frantic. You just sigh as she keeps on talking.

Even when you are given free will to wander about as you please, everything feels rather … boring once the splendor of the place begins to wear off. The architecture and luxury is impressive, of course, but how much gold thread and pointed stars can you bask in before you start to long for home again? The faces that greet you and pass by you don’t interest you. You’re selfish with your time. There’s no use entertaining yourself with people that won’t alleviate your anxiety or boredom.

“My lady, you should have stayed and spoken with Prince Aemond,” Jaquetta says, walking a little ways behind you.

You give a dry chuckle. “I’ve got better things to do than that. I’d rather be bored to death. Or go pray at the Sept all day.”

As if you’d want to spend more time with him than you have. Maybe if you prayed to these Gods enough they’d send you back home, but you find that gods tend not to listen to your pleas.

“Prince Aemond is a good prince,” Jaquetta continues. “He is studious, talented in fighting and dedicated to his studies. You have always enjoyed his company so well–”

Her words stop because she’s run into the back of you. You felt the hit but your eyes were trained on someone. A young lady walks across the hall and she is stunning.

“Whoa,” you breathe out as your eyes remain fixed on her. “Who’s that?”

Her silver hair falls past her shoulders, a lone braid framing the top of her head like a crown. You recognize the shade violet that stains her irises, but they look way better on her. Fuck your betrothed. Who gives a fuck about him when there’s pretty girls instaed?

Jaquetta quirks an eyebrow at you before following your eyes and responding, “That is the Princess Helaena Targaryen. You may not remember her since you lost your memories, but you two have been companions since little and– My lady, where are you going?”

Of course, you pick up your dress skirt from off the floor and make your way over to Helaena. Too high for this society’s standards but perfectly comfortable to you (which is all that matters). Jaquetta and Lettice follow after you with their cheeks flushed.

You execute the encounter as perfectly as you do in your head. Every step has a certain charismatic swagger to it as you approach the princess with a wide smile. Your shoes make soft sounds on the floor. Helaena is momentarily pulled away from her embroidery. You spy a pretty design of an insect crawling out of its pupa.

The both of you seem to just stare at each other for a couple of seconds. You beam down at her while she blinks up at you. Then, without another word, you sit down next to her. This seems to make her jump a little, and you make note of that, sliding away from her to give her some space. It doesn’t dampen your enthusiasm.

“Helaena?” You say her name.

A soft smile tugs on her lips. She says ‘your’ name back to you.

“Uh–” You aren’t quite sure. “I’ve been sick for a little bit after … everything, you know, but I’m all better now. Soooo-”

Some kind of glassy look overtakes her eyes. You feel like your heart slows for a moment. It’s suddenly as if she can see through you, into you – almost like Aemond.

“Coin in the waves; heads to tails; tails to heads.” Her voice is a whisper. “The true reflection is on the water.”

Something magical and hidden is woven in her words. Something makes you feel compelled. By what – you know not.

“…Oh.” I mean – what are you even supposed to say to that? “Okay.”

You two stand there in an awkward silence as you both flicker your eyes to the side. You hear Septa Lettice clear her throat behind you. It’s just like you to be so clumsy in front of a pretty girl like this.

“You want to –” Helaena looks up expectantly at you. “Do some … needlework together?”

She smiles, and you feel your heart leap up into your throat.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Helaena’s needlework is beautiful. A lovely image of two flowers sprouting together in full bloom rests gracefully on her cloth. The sound of children babbling a bit and toys clanking against the floor draws your attention away from your messy second attempt at sewing again.

Truthfully, you don’t envy Helaena being a mother already. This body’s original owner and she are the same age. Her children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, are old enough to at least understand when you say certain words to them. Maelor is still a little young. She must have had them young, and while you know it’s a symptom of Westerosi culture, it makes you feel ill regardless. You wonder if the original Lady Durant would have found this equally as repulsive or if she would have bowed her head in acceptance? You won’t accept it, at least.

The children say ‘your’ name as soon as they see you. It’s not who you really are, but you can’t bear to do anything other than pat their heads and play along with them. You see Helaena in them when they look up at you. They’ll definitely be pretty like their mother when they grow up.

You nearly threw up when Jaquetta had informed you that Helaena’s husband was her own elder brother, Aegon. And then you nearly did it again when she told you that it was traditional for House Targaryen to marry close family relations. Sibling marriages are common, and, quite frankly, whatever magical or bloodline related reasoning they can give is not enough to justify literally any of that.

“Sooo–” Your voice disrupts the peace that’s settled in between you and Helaena. “What’s the … gossip? What’s the – What’s the new thing? Since it’s been a bit since we’ve chatted and all that?”

She gives you a momentary look before she thinks. “You’re going to marry Aemond soon.”

You suppress a groan. “Yeah, I guess you’re … happy about that. Right?”

Helaena smiles softly and you feel your heart flutter a bit. “Marriage isn’t so bad. Aemond won’t ignore you. He’ll be nice to you.”

You frown. “He’s ignoring me right now.”

“Aemond was worried about you,” she says. Your hand stops pulling the needle through the fabric. That’s the second person to tell you he was worried.

Helaena sets aside her needlework to give you her full attention. “He just … Sometimes has trouble conveying how he thinks and feels. You’ve always been very mindful of him, though.”

Yeah, the old owner of this body but not you!

“I guess so,” you say, tossing your own needlework on the cushion next to you. “Can’t say my mind is getting any better lately.”

A noise from the children takes your attention away. They’re giving a plate of biscuits being offered by their servant rather disgusted looks.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

The servant regards you with an apologetic expression. “The prince and princess have been having some difficulty eating their snacks lately.”

“They think it doesn’t taste good,” Helaena explains. “The royal kitchen has tried just about everything to please them, but nothing seems to work.”

You’ve got an idea.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They should have known you were up to something when you were being so … compliant. Way too compliant. You excel in your lessons the following two days and spend some time praying like you’re supposed to before you spend the night scribbling furiously down on some paper. You shoo away Jaquetta whenever she inquires about what you’re doing but you unveil everything one day after your lessons. You snatch the papers and gleefully make your way to the royal kitchen, your two companions in tow.

“My lady, a maiden of noble birth like yourself should not be–” Septa Lettice tries to dissuade you as you enter the kitchen with a bit of misplaced swagger but you promptly cut her off with a yell.

“Bring me your ingredients at once!”

The entire kitchen seems to freeze in space before the attendants scramble about to gather everything you wish. They assemble fruit jam, flour, honey, and anything you ask for. If being a future princess grants you this authority, you might consider being nice to Aemond in the future when you see him.

You give a sweeping gaze over the ingredients, putting your hand on your hips. “That’ll do it.”

“My lady,” Jaquetta says, “What do you plan to do?”

“Don’t worry yourself, Jackie,” you respond, washing your hand in some water and covering your hair with a napkin. “Lettie.” Septa Lettice makes a face. “Let me work my magic.”

Despite their anxious words and the annoying way they hover about you, they soon join the growing crowd of kitchen staff that watch you, entranced by your skills. It should be expected, though. Who can beat you when it comes to cooking? Even baking these jam filled cookies for the twins is a piece of cake. If the royal cooks can’t make anything that pleases them, then you definitely can.

You inspect the heat under the baking oven located some ways away from the kitchen. Your eyes trail along the metal of the oven. It shouldn’t be too time consuming to bake the cookies as long as the heat was regulated. With that over, you crack your knuckles and get to work.

You hold your hand out towards the kitchen staff. “Small knife for designing, please.”

“My lady, that is–”

You narrow your eyes. Soon, a small knife is put in your hand and you get to cutting out insect shapes of the cookie dough you prepared. You make two of each design, putting a dollop of the fruit jam mix in the middle of one cut out dough piece and then putting the other on top of it. You make sure to draw each part of the insects with precision – butterfly wings, caterpillar body, beetle legs. Something for both the children and Helaena to enjoy.

“If these are burnt by even a little bit–” You tell the servant that manages the oven, handing over the tray of cookies. You drag your thumb across your neck. “You’re dead, okay? On the future princess’ order.”

He gulps and scurries off.

You nearly trip over your own feet that afternoon when you hurry up the long staircases and through the many hallways of the Red Keep to Queen Alicent’s room. Helaena takes the children there to visit their grandmother, and you’re determined to be there to have them enjoy the treats you’d made.

“Helaena!” You call out to her in a sing-song voice as the servants open the door for you, Jaquetta following behind you with the food and Septa Lettice right behind her (nearly out of breath).

Several eyes fall on you, but any thoughts of shame are pushed aside immediately when you see him there.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

Aemond regards you with a quick sweep of his single eye. “I came here to see my niece and nephew.”

“…” You narrow your eyes. “Okay.”

You hear Alicent let out a quick sigh before giving you a tired look that has you shrinking a bit. “I see your lessons have given you no progress.”

You flush. Something about disappointing Alicent makes you embarrassed. “No, no. They’ve been going well. I, uh–”

After clearing your throat, you straighten up as you’d been instructed and take those light steps towards Alicent and Helaena, both of whom are sitting on the couch. You give both of them a little curtsy – light like a cloud, your teachers told you. Alicent’s mouth turns upwards, her eyes are expectant. You want to roll yours. You know what she wants.

You swallow your pride and glide across the room towards Aemond, not meeting his eyes. Stopping in front of him, you give him a quick curtsy before grabbing your plate of sweets for Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. The children look up at you as you kneel down beside them.

“Look what your future auntie made you,” you say, holding out the treats for them.

“You made that?” Helaena says, reaching out a hand and plucking a spider shaped cookie.

“Yep, yep!” You nod. “You can have some too. And Her Majesty.” You don’t even bother to look at Aemond. “And His Highness too. If he wants.”

You hear him get up from his seat, the wood creaking beneath him. His boots echo through the sounds of the children munching happily on the cookies as he comes over. You lift your eyebrows in surprise and stand up. He grabs one of the cookies, a butterfly shaped one, and takes a bite.

“…You cook, my lady?” He asks.

“Huh?” You say without a thought. Oh. Right. Maybe you didn’t think about that.

“The servants told me you were in the kitchens yourself,” Alicent adds, and you can already tell this is going to be a battle with the two of them.

You bite back any mean retort you had prepared. “I … wanted to make something for my future little niece and nephew. And as far as cooking, um … “ You shrug, tripping over your words for a moment. “My illness unlocked a new, creative side to me. Like sunshine after the storm.”

Alicent and Aemond look at you like you’ve lost your mind.

Helaena smiles widely. “That’s wonderful. I look forward to what else you will make.”

You smile back at her, showing teeth. Alicent looks ready to protest but you cut her off.

“I’ll make something for Aemond.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can even stop yourself. You look up at him and into his eye, something burning inside you. That same kind of passion that kept you going throughout your life. “Something you’ve never had before.”

“That…” Alicent trails off.

“I look forward to it,” Aemond says.

You don’t know why, but you feel taken off guard by that.

You don’t know why but you toss and turn at night, thinking of what Aemond would enjoy. Food is the way to someone’s soul. You’re not that interested in getting to know Aemond beyond the superficial, but you figured if there’s anyone you need to NOT hate you … it would be Aemond. You don’t care what Helaena or Jaquetta has to say, that kid looks like he could sink a sword in you without so much as breaking a sweat. Besides, it got you out of having to appeal to Alicent to let you in the kitchens again.

You’re not getting out of this marriage. The thought makes you want to sink into the bed and into the darkness even more. Marriage? In this place? Your husband is going to tell you what to do? Why couldn’t you have been sent into the body of a rich widow? Then you’d at least have some money to throw around with no one to tell you what to do with it.

But what are you to cook him? Aside from what others have said to you, you’ve no idea what he likes, and you’d already promised him something new. You use your brain to go through what you know.

“Fighter,” you mumble. “Diligent … Something filling, but not too heavy.”

Perhaps a broth. A broth that’s full of flavor, savory like a victory. With some kick in it. A robust flavor on the tongue with some spices and herbs.

Your eyes pop open as you sit up.

“…Ramen.”

#taoc.#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #slight helaena targaryen x reader #reader is bi and is in love with helaena right now let them have this #pt. 3 we are turning aemond targaryen into a cup ramen lover !!!!

106 notes · View notes

aldeanotes · 11 months

Text

the art of cooking

aemond / modern!reader, 16+, fluff / comedy / mild angst in later plot points. inspiration taken from kdrama mr. queen. reader is very bi and loves girls so much.

warnings: reader is batshit wild and doesn't have time for westerosi norms : ). characters will be ooc at times and this story is not entirely canon compliant.

chapter one: palate cleanser / 4.6k words

When you open your eyes, flashes of your final moments pass by your mind in quick succession. You had thought your usual thinking spot at the bridge in the evening was your safe haven, but all it took was a hard shove from behind you to send you flipping over the edge. The impact on the water’s surface took out all of the air in your lungs before the water could. Maybe that was life’s final mercy to you – or its cruelest joke. After finally achieving what you’d set out to do in your tumultuous childhood, the universe had decided to rip it away from you. It was so ironic to you how easy something that had taken so long to build had crumbled.

A dull headache has settled in your skull already when you come to, making you grit your teeth. You hiss a little and shift under the sheets of what you assume to be a bed. With a groan, you roll over onto your side, closing your eyes once more and trying to escape the light coming into the room. Even that action caused your entire body to ache. Pulling the covers up closer to you, you hear the muffled voice of someone next to your bed but you bury your head deeper into the layers of fabric instead.

“Leave me alone,” you say, your voice coming out indistinguishable from under the covers.

It’s rather rude for someone to wake you up.

….

That can’t be right, though. You live by yourself in your apartment. As that barely conscious thought comes to your mind, you snap your eyes open again and lower the covers down to peep up at the person. You’re greeted by an unfamiliar appearance – soft features on a small face. You’ve never seen this girl that’s staring at you with such concern before in your entire life.

“My lady,” she says. You can pick up the wavering at the beginning of her words as if she’s been startled by something.

You can only stare at her, perplexed. Your eyebrows knit together as you begin to slink away from her.

Undeterred by your reaction, she lets out a shaky sigh of relief.

“My lady, you’re awake!” She says as her hands come up to grip onto your shoulders. You freeze up.

Who is this strange girl dressed like she’s about to attend a renaissance fair?

You open your mouth to say something, to tell her to get out and to demand who the hell she is, but she beats you to it. Your voice dies in your throat when you see the beginnings of tears appear in her eyes. You’re not sure if that makes you soften or if it makes you more confused.

“It’s so good that you’ve finally woken up,” she says, her grip getting a little tighter. You wince a bit in response. “It’s all my fault. Because I didn’t watch you close enough …”

Finally, you get your bearings enough to speak. “What is –”

You cut yourself off. This isn’t your voice. You suck in a gasp, your hand coming up to rest on your throat.

“My voice,” you mumble. It’s still not right. Why do you sound like that? It’s much too high-pitched, too sweet sounding. This can’t be your voice. “What’s happened to my voice?”

Panic starts to seep into you. You push off the covers in a haste. The girl retracts her hands from you in response, and you scramble to your feet now that you’ve been given the opportunity to do so. Your body screams at you to stay still, but you refuse and will yourself to stand up straight against the aches. You point at the girl, who seems to cower away from you in both fear and confusion.

“Y-You–” You hear your voice stutter. “What did you do to my voice?!”

“My lady,” she responds, almost pleading. “Y-You’re still out of sorts from the incident. Just calm down. Please!”

“Answer me,” you demand, but soon your eyes flicker around the room.

This is not your room back in the city. The room is made of stone and marble, a smooth and tall ceiling accentuated by a cool floor underneath your feet. Furniture made of finely carved wood decorates the interior, and the light coloured rugs and pillows pop out nicely amidst it all. And the bed – definitely not your twin sized bed back from home. An embroidered canopy sits above it, hung from the wall, while the haphazardly thrown bed covers seem to shine in the light cascading from the large windows.

It’s extravagant – from the carvings in the walls to the thread of the pillows to the food laid on the side table and even the seemingly simple desk with books sprawled about it seems oddly … out of your budget.

“Where am I?” You ask, frantically glancing around. Kidnapping? Dream?

“You’re in your chambers, my lady. Your chambers in the Red Keep,” the girl answers, taking a small step towards you. Your eyes refocus back on her as she does and she stills immediately.

You don’t even know where that is. Must be someplace overseas.

“Who brought me here?” You start shuffling away from her when you see the large doors on the other side of the bed. If you make a run for it –

“The palace guards brought you here a-after you fell in the water,” the girl says but starts coming towards you slowly once more. “Please, my lady. You must rest. You need to preserve your health.”

“‘Preserve my health’, my ass. You–” You stop.

Your steps have carried you almost halfway through the room before your face becomes visible in a mirror propped up on a vanity.

Who is that girl looking back at you? Her hair falls down her shoulders in dark waves; her mouth is small; her face portrays a sweetness to her with such large, brown eyes.

“Who–” Her mouth moves with yours. What?

You rush forward, your hands fumbling as they grip the mirror. Surprised gasps fall from your lips as “your” fingers come up to pull and pinch at “your” face. This is a dream. This is not you. Without a second thought, you bring a hand and slap yourself across the cheek.

The girl gasps from somewhere behind you. “My lady, what are you doing?!”

You slap yourself again on your other cheek. They both sting now but nothing happens. You don’t wake up. Your face doesn’t change.

“What did you do to me?!” Your voice carries through the room.

You whip your head around to look at the stranger that’s been in this room with you. Given the shocked expression that adorns her face, you almost feel bad for yelling if it weren’t for the wild way your heart was hammering inside of you. Your chest rises and falls so rapidly it should really frighten you. The girl’s lips quiver as she stammers to answer you, but you can’t wait any longer and make your way clumsily towards the door, nearly tripping over the edges of your sleepwear. You hear her call for you but you ignore it as you fling open the doors.

What - or rather, who - is before you surprises you just as much as the girl. The two guards dressed in their armor stand next to the doors. When they hear the doors open, they both turn their heads to look at you. You feel afraid when their eyes peer down at you, but they spin on their feet towards you and bow. The gesture catches you off guard for a second before you snap back to your senses and take off past them and into the vast, stone hallways of wherever this place is.

You hear them yelling for you but you keep trying to flee. Your legs grow heavy with each step. The skin of your feet hurt each time they meet the hard flooring underneath. It feels as if needles are slowly being sunk into your muscles, immobilizing more and more until your body unceremoniously slumps against the wall. You cling rather pathetically against the stone as you hear the sound of armor getting closer and closer before hands descend upon you. You’re dragged back kicking and screaming obscenities that even the devil would cover his ears for if he heard.

***

Whatever your “lady-in-waiting” – called “Jacquetta” or so she says – had given you after you’d called down knocked you out for some time again. A sensation of floating settled onto you before your eyes closed completely. You wished to dream. You did not. You never did anymore.

When you come to, you feel a hand softly brushing a lock of hair from your face. It reminds you of your mother. Foolishly, as always, you open your eyes and hope to see her there, but it’s just another stranger. This one looks weary like your mother used to, but she gazes upon you with a certain tenderness that disarms you. She smiles at you, and your lips twitch upwards involuntarily.

“How are you feeling, my sweet girl?” The woman asks you.

You can do nothing but look into her brown eyes. Even in a hazy state, you can pluck out the contents that swirl in her irises – kindness, exhaustion, something guarded. Her chestnut hair is held together too tightly in a pristine bun, and even her green dress almost feels too put together. You’re not suited to be near such order, such cleanliness. But no matter, you think.

You shake your head weakly at her. She gives your hand a light squeeze.

“The Maesters will help you. You must rest.” And she does something you longed for – she tucks you into the bed further.

As your eyes close, you hear her sigh. An uneasiness makes its way into your chest. You did always hate disappointing mothers. Jacquetta and the woman seem to whisper in some distant corner of the room. You don’t care about the urgency in their tones. For the first time in a long time, you wanted to see your mother.

***

“And the queen is Alicent Hightower,” you say, watching Jacquetta brush your hair in the mirror. “That’s who came to visit me last week, yeah?”

Jacquetta smiles widely at you. “Very good. You’re still a quick learner, my lady.”

You’ve come to realize that she’s a rather cheerful young lady. After you calmed down in the following days, you had to deal with her sobbing in your arms because apparently you are the source of all her concerns and sorrows. (‘My lady, how could you forget about me? We have been childhood companions for so long! Oh, by the Seven!’ - you’d never had anyone be so upset about something outside of your control like that before).

You wink at her in the mirror. “I’ve got plenty of good qualities.”

Even though your antics perplex her, she seems to go along with them for your sake.

You’ve been in this body for exactly eight days and six of those had been used for rest and treatment by the maesters. Therefore, when you’d been allowed out of bed, you made sure to poke Jacquette for things you “forgot” and scribble them down in a journal for your convenience. You look over the bullet points every night. You’d made peace with the fact that as long as you are confined to this elaborately decorated room, you won’t be able to look for ways to go back home. Your mind had concocted a temporary plan to go along with whatever the hell your life has become. For right now.

“Do we like her?” You ask.

“‘We’?” Jacquetta says, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, like,” you say, “Is she cool?”

“‘Cool?’”

You sigh. “Is she our friend, basically?”

That seems to dishearten Jacquetta a bit, but she answers anyway. “Queen Alicent has known you since you were a child at court. She had you at the side of Princess Heleana as a childhood companion. Your house and House Hightower have been close allies for many decades, my lady.”

They do say that networking is a great professional skill. Turns out who you know holds true even in this world. You didn’t have the time or will power to comb through the anthologies that Jacquetta had brought from the royal archives about the intricacies of the families across this land called Westeros. The history must certainly be rich, but you don’t plan on staying here. It would be a waste to try to learn everything aside from what you need to make it through the daily happenings.

“It was the most joyous day of your life when Queen Alicent had you betrothed to Prince Aemond.”

Huh.

You meet Jacquetta’s wide smile with a look of pure horror. Your mouth is hanging open like a fish that’s surprised it bit onto a hook instead of a worm. Jacquetta’s smile falters.

“W-Wait,” you stutter, “Hold on. You didn’t say anything about getting married. I can’t get married. I don’t want to get married.”

She senses the panic in your voice and tries to comfort you. The brush is set aside, abruptly forgotten.

“You’ve been wanting this arrangement since you were just a girl,” she says, giving your shoulders a comforting squeeze. “The incident has confused your mind so much. You’ve dreamed of this day since you were younger than ten years old. You practically begged your parents for them to accept the proposal. Even your elder sister couldn’t have made a finer match than this.”

“People’s dreams can change!” You counter, standing up.

The chair screeches across the floor. Even in this new body, you fall back into old habits as the panic grips on you suddenly. You pace - back and forth, back and forth. You rub the back of your neck with too much force. When that offers no comfort, your fingers dig into the fabric of your dress, bunching up the skirt. Back and forth, back and forth.

“No, no, no,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t get married. No way. I’d rather die. I mean, look at me!” You give Jacquetta a pleading look. “Is this the face of someone who is ready to get married?”

“My lady, you are a woman grown already,” she responds.

“To who?!” You shout back.

Who even is a woman grown at this age? Your age is similar to that of this person you've found your soul transported into. However, through many unpleasant incidents during your formative years, you've grown up quicker than your peers your age. But the “you” of this world is still a young idiot in your eyes. Someone like “you” shouldn’t be getting married to anyone for anything. Not even the glamor of marrying a prince and becoming a princess can enthrall you.

Not to mention – you’d already decided since you were young that you didn’t want to get married. It’s better for you to stay by yourself in your apartment with your herbal plants growing plentifully on the balcony. Marriage is not a joy to look forward to for you. It’s a trap. It’s a predetermined failure.

“Uh–” You draw out your voice before you snap your fingers. You had an idea. “Tell Queen Alicent that I need to talk to her. I changed my mind about the marriage. Tell her to break it off.”

Jacquetta looks at you as if you’ve gone insane. “You cannot just break a royal marriage agreement, my lady. This is for the benefit of the realm, and it would certainly make it so you will never be able to find another match again.”

“Perfect.” That’s what you want anyway.

She huffs at you, finally having had her patience tested enough. “I will call for the maesters again. You are still unwell.”

“I am not unwell!” You yell after her as she exits your chambers. “I’m perfectly normal compared to the people in this place!”

***

The maesters come anyway because nobody really cares what you think or what you want, you realize. They ask you some questions that annoy you (like what your name is, your house, all of that tedious information you can barely remember) because you’re certain you got at least half of the answers right but that wasn’t satisfactory enough for them apparently. So they whisper amongst themselves and then whip up some god awful concoction for you to sip on. You don’t ask what it’s made of because you think you’d prefer not to know. Your taste buds have always been good, though, and you can taste the distinct flavor of mint and vinegar.

You prove to be a difficult princess-to-be, demanding they clean their utensils several times over before you allowed them to bring them anywhere near you. Maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself, but you have the distinct feeling that this world hasn’t learned of aseptic techniques yet. They inspect your throat for a cold and then give you the plague. Dramatic, but it could happen. You don’t plan on dying before you can get back to your original body.

Their visit irritates you until their final treatment plan for you – go back to the original place of the incident to summon back your memories. You take back every horrible thought you had about them. This is exactly what you wanted. It supposedly had been vehemently refused by Alicent and Otto ( “Her father, the Hand,” Jacquetta whispers in your ear when your fast twists into a confused expression), but you made a big plea to them through Jacquetta to allow you to go outside. You used the excuse that you wanted to start walking again and not be confined to your chambers, and you could have Jacquetta with you.

That’s how you end up taking a leisurely stroll through the gardens of the Red Keep. Unfortunately, in addition to Jacquetta, you have an entourage of other ladies trailing after you. You have to admit that the flora and fauna on display in the middle of spring here are lovely, and you can recognize some flowers that grow back in your world as well. The ambiance is perfect. Maybe you should consider adopting the decor for an outdoor patio for your restaurant.

“When they found you, it was just in time,” Jacquetta explains as she leads you through the gardens. Her hands hold firmly onto your arm as you walk, almost as if you were going to keel over by a gust of wind. “You had fallen into the large pond in the southernmost part of the gardens at night. It had shocked everyone, even Prince Aemond had rushed as soon as he heard the news.”

Your betrothed, apparently. Jacquetta seems to want to paint him as someone concerned for your wellbeing, but you roll your eyes when she looks away. For a guy that is supposedly someone “you” were happy to get married to, he didn’t come to see you the entire time you’ve been recovering. Though, admittedly, it had only been Queen Alicent who came. Whether it was because he just wasn’t interested or wasn’t able, you didn’t care. You plan on leaving this place before you have to go through the complex situation of marrying this Prince Aemond guy.

“Oh, he did?” you reply, more focused on the flower you’re twirling between your fingers. “That’s nice, I guess. Hey, Jackie – ” She gives you a strange look. “Which part of the gardens are we in right now?”

“The eastern part, my lady.”

You point behind you. “And that way?”

“That is the northern part.”

You hum, nodding. You look around a little before spotting a flowering tree with soft pink blossoms on it. With a smile, you point to it.

“Can you get one of those for me, Jackie?” You ask sweetly.

Jacquetta returns your smile and moves towards the tree. As soon as she gets halfway between you and the tree, you drop the flower in your hands and sprint away.

“My lady!” You hear everyone’s voices screaming for you behind you as you run away from them in the direction of the pond.

You switched bodies when you fell in water, so you’re determined to jump back into the same place. At best, it’ll return you back to your body and at worst, it just makes you look like you’re out of your mind. You pick up your dress skirts high and force your legs to carry you faster.

“My lady, you mustn't lift your skirt!” Somebody shouts from behind you. Well, you don’t give a damn for the conventions of this world!

You can hear your entourage yelling and chasing after you. Your little legs move as quickly as they can as you rush through the gardens, getting smacked by some bushes and trees along the way. You glance back to see that Jacquetta and the others are a ways behind you, and you feel relieved until you turn your head back to the front and see some other servants have come to stop you.

“Get out of the way!” You yell before hopping into one of the denser parts of the garden and rushing through it.

Dirt has begun to cling to your dress and shoes. You wince every time a scratch appears on your face and exposed skin but you power through it as you flee from your pursuers. You jump over a little wall enclosing some flower bushes and see a balcony jutting out in front of you. You rush over to it and lean over it. Down below is your safe haven, your miracle portal – the pond. The railing is a bit high for you to jump over while you’re stationary.

You hear shouting coming from behind you, and you can see everyone rushing towards you. It’s now or never, you guess. You rush a little ways away from the ledge and bounce on your feet a bit, getting ready to sprint and leap over the railing. You waste no time as you charge full speed ahead towards the ledge. You’re on your way until you feel a sudden force on your stomach that knocks the wind out of you.

Your mouth opens to speak but you end up just choking on air instead. Your hands fumble for your stomach and you feel something sturdy wrapped around your waist. You jerk your head upwards and are met with a single purple eye. Something hitches in your throat.

This person has such a sharp look to him. His one eye peering down at you while the other is covered by an eyepatch, the lavender hue of one popping out against the long, platinum white hair that frames his face. Yet, you can clearly see the scar that runs straight down. He’s strong. You can tell just from the way he’s got his arm around you that he’s someone that could throw you over this ledge if you really convinced him to.

“Hey, buddy–” He raises an eyebrow at your words.

He feels intense in a way that you can’t describe. You’ve met many people in your life but this guy is unique.

“Pal,” you continue because you have no sense. “Can you please let go? I need to just take a little hop over there.”

You try to pull away from him but he’s got a firm grip. The shouting is getting closer, and you quickly glance back to see that your pursuers might as well already have you.

“You’re a good person, yeah?” You ask. He doesn’t even grace that with a response. You can’t tell if the way his lips twitch is in amusement or annoyance. “Let me go. It’s none of your business what I do anyway, right?”

“Actually–” Shit, he has a deep voice. “It is my business, my lady.”

And with that, he proceeds to hand you over to Jacquetta and whoever else you’ve made look like a fool in this little chase of yours.

“H-Hey!” You yell as they gasp and nearly cry at the sight of you, dragging you away. “You’re a bast–”

“Please see to it that she is brought to her chambers. I will come soon,” he says, cutting you off.

Jacquetta quickly offers a bow before forcefully ushering you away as you yell at his retreating form.

***

So there you were, sitting slumped in a chair in “your” chambers, having been so effortlessly stopped in your attempted escape through the gardens by a man with silver hair and an eyepatch. With dirt caked on your dress, flower petals scattered around your unruly hair, and gods know how many scratches on your exposed arms from your clumsy maneuvering through the greenery trying to escape. The man in question sits across from you, his finger tapping on the wood of his chair, waiting and looking at the fire. You don’t even give the flames a glance as you keep glaring at him. What a punk – is all you can think.

For stopping you from running away from the servants who were dead set on dragging you back into these chambers, for handing you off to them without even thinking about your pleas. How dare he? And all things considered, after being told you’re engaged to a prince of all people, you’d think he’d have more consideration of that fact too. Maybe he doesn’t know who “you” are. Yeah, that’s probably it.

Even if you hated the new life you’d woken up to, you could flex some of your status a bit, right? Just this once.

“You’ve really got a lot of nerve,” you say, and the man finally gives you the time of day.

Even the way his single eye stares at you pisses you off. He looks at you like you’ve just exhausted all his energy for the day, and it spurns you off to throw your weight around a bit more.

“I had somewhere to be –” Which was not here. “And you just handed me off like I was a sack of trash. Do you have any idea who I–”

“I know who you are,” he cuts you off with a quick response. His voice has a certain coldness to it, but it doesn’t deter you.

“Oh, yeah? Then you must know I’m betrothed -” You emphasize the last word. “To a prince.”

You see the corner of his mouth twitch as if he found that funny. Like it was a joke to him. He cocks his head to the side slightly like he’s observing you. Alicent did that during the first initial visit to “you” after “you” woke up.

“It seems the Maesters were telling the truth, you are out of sorts,” he says before standing up and taking a small step closer to you.

Now, you were intimidated by him as he towers above you. You’re suddenly very aware of his stature – taller than you, much more muscular than you. The purple iris that peers down at you through his lashes is an eerily beautiful sight, even you must admit to it. Your fingers dig into the wooden arm chairs. You take a deep breath and your chest sticks out involuntarily. It’s a pathetic display of bravery (foolishness, more like it), and the man pays it no special attention.

“My lady–” You hate the way anyone calls you that. “I am your betrothed.”

Silence settles between you two. Your eyes stare up at him, widened to their fullest. You take a slow, obnoxious, audible breath in and then–

You proceed to laugh in his face.

You must have annoyed him enough to chase him away because after a few moments of watching you and tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair, he stalks away without another word.

“Sick eyepatch, though,” you say after him, managing to squeeze it out between your chuckles.

#aemond targaryen x reader #hotd fic #taoc.#aemond x reader

112 notes · View notes