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valyrielwrites · 1 year

Text

As You Are

Oneshot (full fic available on Ao3)

Relationship: Aemond Targaryen / AFAB Reader Word Count: 11,244 Summary: Lady Reader is sent to marry Prince Aemond to forge an alliance between their houses 💕 11k words of pining after one another, and a romantic wedding night that's hard to forget xx Warnings: Smut, 18+ themes

You stood outside the towering doors of the throne room. Your chest was tight with anticipation, eyes blank as you stared at the stone floor and waited for what felt like an eternity, struggling to calm yourself before you heard the roar of the crowd on the other side and it all became real again.

Everyone on this side was quiet - unnervingly so - your own father and mother not quite certain what words of advice or comfort they should have offered you before your whole world changed forever.

"It's time." He said quietly.

If you could have ignored it, you would.

Footsteps and the clink of armour echoed down the hallway as the White Cloaked Kingsguard came into view, accompanying your new husband and his mother Queen Alicent to meet you in the Vestibule so that you may enter the hall as one.

It was a political match, not one born of fondness and familiarity - truth be told. You had never met the young Prince Aemond or any of his family before you had come to the Sept to be wed, and the only words you had exchanged were your wedding vows before you had been whisked away from one another again and brought back to the Red Keep.

He stalked towards you with purpose. His quiet confidence both impressive and so intimidating that even without his Valyrian features or missing eye he would still stand out from a crowd of lesser men. You felt an uneasy flutter in the pit of your stomach when he stopped beside you and tucked his broad arms behind his back with a slight grin.

"My Prince," You curtsey to greet him again, trying to keep your voice calm and even. "Husband."

He observed you a moment, his expression giving nothing away just as it had done in the Sept, but there was an intensity to him now that drew the breath from your lungs and made your eyes widen as he reached down to take your hand and bring it carefully to his lips.

His voice was barely above a whisper, meant for you and you alone, but you felt a heat flush through your body all the same.

"My Wife."

There was nothing indecent about it, as far as everyone else was concerned this was just a man greeting his lady wife for the first time. Yet the way he watched you with his violet eye made you feel as if he could see right through to the bone - so raw and exposed before him that Aemond knew the deepest parts of you that you didn't know yourself. Every inch of your soul laid bare so you could never go unseen again.

"I trust that the journey back to the Red Keep was without issue?" Queen Alicent addressed your parents, her voice snapping your attention back to the task ahead.

Your mother replied with an "Of course, Your Grace.", but you noticed that Aemond had still not averted his gaze.

Once the last of the pleasantries were said and done you took a deep breath and readied yourself, only slightly reassured by the way Aemond linked his arm around yours when you turned to face the door. You forced yourself to smile as you entered the throne room to great applause, but found that your nerves soon turned to awe once you saw the scope of the festivities.

Hundreds of guests gathered around endless wooden tables and benches. Great houses across the kingdom from Winterfell to Oldtown here to celebrate the union, all sat beneath sparkling black silk woven with silver and starlight that draped from the columns and ceiling - dancing in the heat that rose from the lit braziers that lined the great stone walls. The three headed dragon of the Targaryen's also hung on a black banner on the back wall behind the Iron Throne, surrounded by smaller flags and standards carrying your own house sigil as compliment.

It was a reminder to all those present the strength of this ancient family that you have now married into.

"Remember where you are," His voice was low, warning. "Do not give anything away in front of those eager to take advantage."

You did not even notice that you had been squeezing Aemond's arm until you felt his fingers slip over your hand, carefully easing your grip on him once you arrived before King Viserys to kneel at the conqueror's seat. There he was a sickly figure sat amidst the twisted iron and steel, the King's fading presence almost swallowed by the throne as the years had taken their toll, appearing even frailer still when you compared him to your groom - but you kept your face still and paid your respects as expected.

"Such a comely bride," Viserys smiled and waved his frightfully thin hand to beckon you both to rise. "A good match, better than I had hoped for you. Well done, boy!"

He gave no speech as you had expected, his energy perhaps already spent climbing the steps to the throne before the guests had gathered. However, you noticed the way that Aemond tensed at the compliment as if it were an insult.

Better than he had hoped. Those words lingered in your thoughts for quite some time after you took your seat at the table laid out across the dais, where you sat quietly on your husband's blind side, hardly paying attention when The Lord Hand Otto Hightower delivered a toast to your health and wishes for a prosperous marriage. Better than he had hoped. As if his expectations had been so low.

You cast a glance towards Aemond and search for any fault that might stand out to you but find none on the surface. By all accounts - apart from the patch that obscured his eye - he was handsome in an unusual yet striking way, his strong features somehow appeared softer against the glow of candlelight, and his silver hair flowed loose like silk past his the broad shoulders of his black and red velvet doublet. He wore the colours of his house well, far better than his ailing father - who had quietly been led out of the chamber whilst the rest of the guests were distracted by the festivities.

For a long time you found it hard to look away from your new husband, until he caught you at least.

He put down his goblet and turned his head so that he could see you properly. "My Lady, did you want something?"

"Oh, I-" You stopped, desperate for an excuse to be less awkward, and grasped the first thing that came to your head. "I just wondered if you would like to dance, my Prince?"

Aemond's brow furrowed, his arm rested against the hard wood of the table as he rubbed his thumb against his forefinger and let out a contemplative hum. "I do not really..." He replied, your eyes catching the way that his throat bobbed as he paused before continuing. "I am not one for dancing, my Lady."

You pressed your lips together and leaned back into your seat, more disappointed than you had expected to be. You hadn't even had a particular desire to take to the dance floor, only using it as an excuse, but the utter disinterest in joining you had left you slightly unsettled.

"I see," You let out a breath, determined not to show it. He had warned you to give nothing away in public and you were not foolish enough to forget so quickly. "So what do you like then? To occupy your time with, I mean."

He was quiet a moment longer, the silence between you interrupted only by a snicker from the nearby Prince Aegon to remind you that you were not truly alone.

"I read." He finally said and averted his gaze from you, taking another long pause before elaborating, as if he did not know quite how to talk about himself without being pushed. "I spend a great amount of time in our library."

You forced a smile to cover the fact that on the inside you were wincing, wondering why trying to get to know your new husband was akin to pulling teeth, and cast a glance towards his older brother - sat next to Aemond on the side of his good eye - who had been knocking back wine as if it was water.

You noticed the mercurial smugness etched onto his face as he looked between the pair of you, slurping as he downed the rest of his goblet and placed it back down on the table with a satisfying clunk.

He smirked and gave you a pointed look as if to say watch this.

"Surely your lovely wife does not want to hear about dusty old books." He said a little too loudly and let out a shrill laugh.

For a second you did not understand the purpose of such a flippant remark, but then you saw the way that Aemond's jaw clenched at the sound of Aegon's incessant giggling, and the considered cold stare that fell across his face at the mention of you. Perhaps it was just the stress of the day, or the natural friction between siblings that every family shared, but it did not take you long to realise that there was a deeper tension between the two.

"I do not mind," You tried to conciliate, turning to Aemond and continued. "Do you have a fav-"

"I mean," Aegon cut you off, "You could be enjoying the finer things in life! Wine, women... more wine and women?" He leaned back in his seat as if to ponder the thought. "You really ought to try to have more fun, dear brother!"

Aemond flexed his hand, tapping his fingers against the table as he inhaled deeply and took a moment to decide whether biting the obvious bait would be worth it.

"Should I?" An amused hum played across his lips. "Although, I confess that I find my current endeavours to be a much better use of my time than indulging in your endless hedonism and depravity."

"You-" Aegon began to reply, but it was you that interrupted the flow of conversation this time - the sound of your laughter cutting through the tension to draw their attention back to you.

Aemond's eye met yours the moment you went to cover your mouth, trying to scrape back some modicum of politeness in front of royalty, but instead of the disapproval you had expected you found a warmth that had not been there prior. You had enjoyed his remark. The realisation clear upon his face as the corner of his mouth curled into a slight smile, a small victory shining in his violet eye as he watched and waited for more.

"Do you agree, My Lady?"

"I do," You replied, blinking slowly as you tried and failed to fight the urge to smile back at him. "Aside from reading, are there any other pursuits that you enjoy?"

This time he did not hesitate to reply, the guarded wall he kept up appeared to shrink a little now that he was more sure of you.

"I am also quite skilled with a sword. I often train in the yard with Ser Criston."

"Yet you do not dance?"

You tilted your head to the side, eyes fixed to his as you felt yourself drawn in closer and more curious than before. At first you had asked because you thought you ought to, now you asked because you wanted it.

Aemond shifted in his seat and let out a slow breath, the tightness in his posture relaxing when he gave you his reply:

"Fighting and dancing are quite different."

"I disagree," You smile and shake your head. "'tis all in the footwork is it not? Battle has a rhythm of its own. What good is a swordsman that lacks grounding or the ability to move? To weave through a crowd and pick out a partner to face off against?"

"You paint quite the picture." That slight smile had not left his face.

"Why not try it and find out?" You challenged him a little, raising a brow as you took a sip of wine.

Aemond did not refuse immediately like he had the last time. His gaze shifted low as he considered, then looked back to you again, then to the crowd that stood in the centre of the hall socialising where the dancing would have taken place.

"... You're very insistent."

It wasn't a no.

"If you don't want to embarrass yourself at your own wedding, I am happy to take your place," Aegon reminded you of his presence yet again, this time clasping his brother's broad shoulder and giving it a playful squeeze as he leaned in to whisper the rest, "... Perhaps in your other duties as well."

Although it was hushed you still heard the scandalous remark, scoffing in disgust a few seconds after you allowed it to sink in what he meant by 'other duties' - and it seemed that your husband also found it exceedingly distasteful.

"You have had enough to drink." Aemond did not shrug Aegon off, but gave him a warning glare that silently screamed a command to remove his hand. Aegon, ever the fool, did not heed it and continued.

"I am still awake and capable, so have not!" Aegon countered, lifting his goblet above his head in a mock toast. "What do you say, Lady Reader?"

But before you could answer, Aemond spoke.

"You have your own wife to occupy yourself with," He grasped Aegon's fingers and peeled them off his doublet, his voice dropping lower and more threatening. "Surely you do not need mine."

Mine.

You could feel the way your heart leapt at that, how strange you felt for enjoying it, how embarrassed you were that you wanted to hear him say it again and again.

The way he spoke the word was so different to how it had sounded in the Sept as you said your vows - that your were his and he was yours - not gentle or disinterested as it had once been but guarded, almost domineering, as if this was the only way he could make his brother realise that one more insult against you would not be tolerated.

"I may put my hands on our sister whenever I like," Aegon huffed, and you truly felt sorry for Princess Helaena. "To brush up against Lady Reader is such a rare opportunity."

Before you could even think to say something, the screech of Aemond's chair scraping against the stone floor rang out across the hall, drawing everyone's attention to the dais as he slammed his goblet down and slowly stood to face his brother. Sound after sound diminished - first the music, then the raucous laughter from the benches, then the hushed whispers as all the Lords and Ladies gathered on the floor - until an expectant silence blanketed the entire throne room.

Even Aegon was quiet as he cautiously tilted his head up to meet Aemond's eye, perhaps realising that he really had taken things too far.

Your husband did not move for a moment, flexing his jaw and inhaling before he looked away and remembered where he was. His earlier warning to you to be careful what you showed in public temporarily forgotten as concerned onlookers and gossiping courtiers eagerly awaited to see the conflict boil over.

For a moment you thought it might, but Aemond would not give them the satisfaction.

"Come," He said loud enough for everyone to hear, holding his hand out to you with an impassive face. "Let us join our guests on the floor."

He would give them something else entirely.

Your eyes darted between him and Aegon, then back to the rest of the people gathered in the hall, as you slowly brought your hand up to his.

There was still so much tension in his posture as he wove his fingers between yours but he still managed to move with an unexpected fluidity and grace, guiding you away from the table with his other hand ghosting the small of your back.

"You do not have to -" You began to whisper.

Aemond brought his mouth close to your ear, "Yes, I do."

You felt yourself almost stumble as your foot found the step, the tickle of his breath against your neck distracting your focus, a warm flush pooling in the pit of your stomach at the way he brought his hand to your waist to steady you.

"I'm sorry." You laughed nervously.

He said nothing, did not move his hand as you walked to the centre of the room together, did not heed the whispers or the way that people gawked at he close he was to you - this was the only spectacle he would allow. It was a performance to hide the fissures in his house before others could widen those cracks.

You stood side by side and watched as Aemond waved a hand toward the bards and minstrels that had stopped playing, giving them the go ahead to start again as the rest of the floor cleared of guests to accommodate their Prince. Your Prince.

The rhythm began quietly, each stroke of the drum skin building the anticipation as the two of you stepped away in opposite directions, turning to face each other and take it all in as the sound of long string notes eased you into the introduction. You bowed your head and lifted your arm, tilting your neck ever so slightly as you watched him match your movement and take a diagonal step towards you like a knight circling his equal on the field.

He had taken your words to heart then, 'battle has a rhythm of its own', and he was determined to test it for himself.

You let out a deep breath as he dipped out of view to appear on your other side, snatching your hand back as his fingers grazed yours, a teasing grin etched upon your face as you looked him straight in the eye.

You heard the titter of the crowd, amused on-lookers curious to see what he would do next, but Aemond just stepped back - waiting, watching, his gaze fixed on you - arm outstretched, not in invitation but as if he held a sword.

As if it were a challenge.

You took a step forward and raised your own, twisting your wrist as if you were twirling a thin blade above your head before you met him and crossed - lunging for him only to be sidestepped, his silver hair grazing you as he weaved past to the sound of scattered applause.

"I did not ask at the table," He finally spoke as you turned to face him and tapped your foot, "I apologise."

"For what?" You replied and followed his lead, circling each other with your arms held in a matching guarding stance.

"For not inquiring after your interests when we discussed mine. I take it you like this?"

You smiled. "Yes."

You both paced around each other so that you were back-to-back, but you would have given anything to continue looking at his face whilst you spoke. There was something so intoxicating about the way he looked at you, with a gentle intensity that made him feel as if he was the only person in the whole room that could see you.

"I also like to read," You continued, looking over your shoulder to find him doing the same. "... And I enjoy riding."

An amused hum escaped his lips, "Have you ever ridden a dragon?"

You were aware that he already knew what your answer would be. You were not a Targaryen, and you had never seen one of their dragons in the flesh, but you humoured him regardless.

"I have not."

He turned behind you and leaned in to whisper, his one hand coming to rest against your hip whilst the other stroked along your arm until your fingers met again. He was touching you more than he ought to in public, exploring, pushing to see what he could get away with.

"It is not quite the same as a horse."

You let out a breathy laugh, "Is it not terrifying?" you asked and wrapped your hand around his as he raised it above your head.

"Extremely." Your affections danced as he twirled you, "Enough to make one's heart race. There is nothing as thrilling in this world - to be able to soar through the skies, to touch the clouds and chase storms... Men spend their entire lives wishing for what Vhagar and I can do in an afternoon."

He was much more talkative now that it was only you in earshot, and you realised that perhaps that initial reservedness had only been because of Aegon - that he had known that everything he said would be derided or because he did not want to be embarrassed by his older brother's behaviour.

This was a man of so many unspoken words, so complex and new behind the veneer, someone that you would study endlessly and never tire of.

"Would you take me?" You asked, trying to imagine the way his arms would wrap around you on that dragon, as the wind whipped through your hair and the cities seemed to shrink into insignificance below.

"If you want me to." He stopped and smiled. "If she will let you."

You both travelled in time to the music, spinning away from him as you moved to parry and riposte his next attacking movement, and laughed when you heard gasps and claps from the crowd.

Aemond became relentless then, darting towards you to strike again as you both orbited the floor - defending as you fled from him with a wicked grin and the tap of your shoes against the stone. You could feel your blood coursing through your veins, steady breaths quickening as you focused every ounce of physicality on matching him, the push and pull of your dance quickened with the beat until you finally met the moment of conclusion.

Aemond made a disarming gesture, knocking your arm back in a sweeping motion as he closed the distance between you, clutching your waist as he hoisted you into the air, his strong thigh resting beneath your leg, to place you back down half a heartbeat later as the final swell of the song came to its end.

"I thought you said that you did not dance." You breathed, your chest heaving as you tilted your head up.

A rapturous applause filled the room as you both stood there panting, but the cheering and whistles were not enough to pull your attention away from each other as you held his longing gaze. The striking violet of his eye trailed down your face for a moment, watching the way your lips turned up as if he was considering something he should not, as his hand caressed the outline of your dress one last time before he dropped his grip on you and moved away.

"I don't."

There was a smug smile on his face as he stepped off the dance floor, leaving you behind as the rest of the guests returned to their spaces when the next song began, heading in the direction of Otto Hightower who had been watching from the sidelines. You decided not to follow, to give him some space or room to breathe - seven hells you knew that you needed it - and made your way back into the circle of Ladies gathered on the dance floor that were ready to perform a much simpler carole.

Out of the corner of your eye you could still see Prince Aegon sat atop the dais, the mock concern he had worn earlier long gone from his drawn face, watching you with a self-satisfied smile as he winked and mouthed the words 'you're welcome' just as you began to move again.

It all suddenly clicked - why Aegon had been so persistent in spite of the clear animosity he was met with. He had goaded Aemond into dancing with you, knew that poking him would garner that response, and had wanted you to see it.

You felt slight gratitude and disgust all at once, thankful for the favour but displeased with the method, and wondered if he had not meant the things that he said at the table. Had he simply said those words to get what he wanted or was there a kernel of truth to them?

Based on Aemond's reaction though, you doubted his intentions were all that noble.

The next song came to an end soon enough and in the pause between pieces you looked around the room for your husband, only to find that you had lost him in the crowd - spirited away with no trace or hint to where he may have gone.

That soft longing surprised you, the way you felt as if he had taken a part of you with him when he was gone, the way you no longer felt quite whole, how quickly you had become so drawn to him. Your Mother had warned you that love could take time or might never come at all, that perhaps even warming to one another might be difficult in an arranged match - but with Aemond it already felt like there was something there.

In those brief touches and stolen glances you found a foundation, the potential for a good life together, for more affection than what most people had.

You needed a break from the festivities, some air to clear your head so that you could manage your expectations, stepping off the dance floor to find a balcony or window to refresh your whirring mind. You only made it halfway toward the steps to the gallery before you heard someone call your name, the last person you wanted to speak to at that moment, Aegon swayed toward you as if in a stupor accompanied by the youngest brother Daeron who you had not had the pleasure of meeting yet.

"Going so soon?" His tongue tripped over the words, slurring his speech. "Have I missed my chance to ask you to dance?"

He was drunk, that much was clear, but so were many of the guests, and Aemond was not there this time to act as a buffer.

"Apologies, My Prince. I fear that I have worn myself out." You gave him a watery smile. "Perhaps there is another that would gladly take my place."

Daeron nodded his head at you and went to take his brother by the arm. "Come, let us leave our new sister alone and find our fun elsewhere." He offered a reprieve, albeit brief. You watched as Aegon wiggled his arm away and shook his head.

"No no - if the Lady is tired we should see her to bed!" He giggled.

"Aegon." Daeron warned.

Your heart dropped when the eldest prince took another step toward you, arms wide with enthusiasm, the thought of him touching you or encouraging others to do so enough to make your stomach churn.

"But it is tradition! Show some respect."

Sure enough it was, although you wanted no part in it.

You had seen it happen at your cousin's wedding to one of the Mallister boys, the way she sobbed and begged the men to leave her dress untouched as they hoisted her into the air to carry her to their wedding bed, the way she had been so quiet and withdrawn the morning after. You had warned your parents that you would not tolerate such treatment, although deep down you knew it wasn't something that she had wanted either.

Women in Westeros seldom had the power to choose their own fate but your Father promised you that much at least - if you did your duty and married Prince Aemond without complaint, they would make sure that you were not mistreated or humiliated in front of the court - but when you looked around for him amidst the crowd, you did not see that familiar face looking out for you with concern.

"Mother and Aemond will not like it." Daeron kept his voice measured, but he cast a cautious glance at you - as if to tell you to flee the first chance you got. "Let us go find him and leave the Lady in peace."

"Where is our brother? 'Tis unlike him to hide from his duty," Aegon stumbled forward, the wine in his cup sloshing onto the floor. "Come Daeron! Pick her up and help her with her clothes, she will not be needing them much longer."

"Aegon!" Daeron hissed.

"It's just a bit of fun!"

You forced a smile and used every ounce of your composure to stop yourself from shaking, not in fear - but anger. "I'm sure my Lord Father will not find it as amusing," You said, but your words were laced with bile and an implicit threat. "And I imagine that the Queen will not be best pleased either."

You hated this. You hated the fact that you had to hide behind other people's positions, to try to balance the scales enough that he would leave you be, hated that you couldn't reel your hand back and slap him across the face without the fear that it would be the last time you had a hand.

Don't let him touch me. You silently begged The Mother, The Maiden, and any of The Seven that might have cared to keep you safe - although they had never answered your prayers before. Let this be another one of his sick jokes that goes no further.

"You speak too much sense." Aegon rolled his eyes at you, "It's boring."

"My Prince I would really rather not -"

"I have done you a favour tonight by making sure that you had your way with my brother," He laughed, and brought his hand down onto your shoulder, squeezing hard as if to reassure you although it did anything but. "All I want is some entertainment of my OW-"

Aegon let out a pitiful whine as a firm hand suddenly appeared from behind you to clamp around his wrist and twist his grip away, his face scrunched in discomfort when his attention left you in favour of whoever dared interrupt.

"What are you doing?!"

You felt Aemond against your back, his domineering presence offering an unmistakable sense of relief when he placed his spare hand at your waist so that he could pull you away from his brother to put some space between you. He took a step forward, his gaze formidably cold and jaw tight with a quiet fury, digging his fingers into Aegon's wrist without a care for the pain it caused him.

"That is enough. You have had your fun."

"Don't be such a twat," Aegon snatched his arm back and staggered a bit off balance, either from shock or too much wine, and laughed as if to shrug the whole thing off. "If we carry her off to your bed now she can't run away scared when she sees... Look, I'm doing all this for your benefit so just -"

"Quiet." His voice was calm - in the same deceptive way that the air feels before a storm begins to lash - stood so still as the atmosphere around him shifted into something heavy, thick, and unyielding. "You can continue to mock and belittle me all you like brother - you can even lie to yourself and dress it up as 'helping' if that helps to ease that depraved conscience of yours. I allowed you to get away with it earlier this evening for the sake of appearances, but you will not humiliate her to get at me again. Do I make myself clear?"

Aegon went quiet, his whole front beginning to crumble as the smarmy smile was wiped clean off his face, giving way to something more broken and unsure than you had ever seen a man wear before in your life.

"I'm fine." You lied, hoping to diffuse some of the tension between them before it could turn into something uglier.

"No you're not." Daeron finally spoke again. "I should've done more to stop him."

And with that Aegon finally decided he had endured enough. Huffing as he shoved his cup into the hands of a passing servant, he skulked away like a miserable fool that had failed to gain the approval of his patrons rather than the prince that he was.

"Take her to the back of the hall. I shall meet you by the door." Aemond commanded, handing you over to his younger brother as he watched the older push past and almost knock Lord Beesbury over.

"Where are you going?" You asked.

"To ensure he doesn't cause any more trouble." He sighed. "I will be back for you, I swear it."

"I shall go after him," Daeron answered. "You two should enjoy your own wedding."

He did not wait for Aemond's reply, instead moving carefully through the crowd in pursuit of his errant brother, walking slow enough that it did not draw further attention. You were grateful for that at least, that none of the guests had noticed Aegon's behaviour and encouraged him, and that you were not a source of gossip and scandal on your first day at court.

"He is a -" Aemond began to mutter until he caught the way you were watching him again.

"A what?"

He paused to consider, a million different insults to describe Aegon all springing to mind as he lifted his arm for you to take. "... A scoundrel."

"Something tells me that was not the first word that came to mind."

You raised a brow and walked with him across the room, weaving your arm around his as if it were the most natural thing in the world now, his other hand coming to rest against the back of yours.

"The first word is not decent for a Lady to hear." He smirked.

"I do not mind suffering some indecency if it means you feel able to confide in me." You teased, although you meant what you said.

He chuckled at that, albeit brief, but it felt good to hear him laugh - to momentarily ease the tension that seemed to cling to his very soul before it could dig its claws in any deeper.

"I would like that." He quietly admitted, taking you back to your seats at the table atop the dais.

The rest of those that had been sat with you earlier had already vacated their positions, finally leaving the two of you utterly alone, but you both still pulled your chairs closer so that it was easier to speak more discreetly.

"I would too." You nudged him a little.

"I have to been seen to be publicly supportive, even if I remain privately disgruntled by his behaviour. Aegon can taunt and mock all he likes behind closed doors but out in the world we must defend our own - he went too far tonight, embarrassed himself and offended you before I have even had the chance to..." His voice trailed off as if he wasn't quite sure how to continue, no matter how desperately you wanted him to.

"The chance to do what?"

"To know you," he said and it felt as if your heart skipped a beat. "To have a fondness for you, perhaps."

His words danced around the obvious conclusion, that even though your match was a planned one, there was space for something much deeper to take root and flourish between you. He wanted to love you, wanted you to love him, the truth of it was plain as day across his calm expression as you reached for his hand and wove your fingers with his.

You said nothing, not really needing to, instead running your thumb in circles against the back of his hand as you watched his face soften ever so slightly.

"I shall speak with him again in the morning once he is sober," Aemond sighed and continued. "You need not pay him any attention."

"It is difficult not to when one day he may be King." You replied with a half-hearted smile.

"When I cloaked you in the Sept, I brought you under my protection. I will not allow him to bother you as he would a common -" He stopped and let out a hum instead, as if he had caught himself getting wound up again and wanted to moderate his tone. "I am your husband now. You have my name, my honour, my life - and, if necessary, my dragon to remind anyone foolish enough to forget that I am yours and you are mine."

"My Prince..."

Your heart fluttered at the way he leaned into your space, how he was almost as close as he had been in the Sept when he sealed your vows with a kiss - it had been feather-light, curious even, so unlike the intensity you had come to know in the hours since.

"Is that too much? You and I are strangers still, I know." He asked.

You wanted to scream, to tell him that no it wasn't too much - it wasn't enough. You wanted the fire that flickered beneath the surface, yearned for it to set your heart alight as he kissed you properly this time, but you were still in public - still under the ever watchful eye of the nobility, of your families.

So you told him, "We do not have to be." and gave him the confirmation that he needed.

He watched for the way you inched forward, just a little, a hopeful smile on your face as your eyes met his and you felt that lingering uncertainty just melt away.

"The hour is late." He hummed.

"It is."

Aemond gave you another slightly nervous smile out of the corner of his mouth as he looked down at your hand, still stroking against his, and gave you a gentle squeeze. "Perhaps we should go to bed?"

"To bed or..." you paused, waiting until he looked up at you again. "To bed?"

"I would not force it upon you." He sat a little more upright as he spoke, to give you space to consider.

But you already knew your answer.

"You would not need to."

For the first time in your life you were allowed to want something so carnal, to entangle yourself so irrevocably in another person's body and soul, but even as a married woman it still felt shameful to admit. You could feel a heat rise beneath your cheeks as your heart hammered in your chest, your nerves alight with such a strange sense of anticipation - the fear and elation that came from the acknowledging the truth of it all.

"Say something..." You let out a nervous laugh and whispered, "Please?"

Aemond let out a deep breath that you had not noticed he had been holding, drumming the fingers of his other hand against the table, but never taking his eye off you.

"Shall I have them announce our departure, or shall we just quietly disappear?"

He watched you with a hesitant look in his eye, and it was all you could to stare back and lose yourself in that longing gaze, heart murmuring at the way it slowly trailed down your face to meet your lips and linger there a second too long.

"Yes..." You breathed.

Aemond let out a quiet laugh, "To what?"

You smiled and shook your head to yourself, willing your wits to return before you made yourself look even more of a fool. "To disappear together," your voice was a low whisper, "It may be our duty, but that does not mean that we cannot enjoy it on our own terms."

He was quiet after that, considered, the expression he wore seemed almost as if he was slightly fascinated at how easy and simple it actually ought to be - that this moment did not have to be one you both dreaded or endured for the sake of what was expected, that you could enjoy it as much as he might.

You allowed your hand to slip from his grasp, fingers carefully stroking along his skin when you withdrew and went to stand on shaky legs, taking the initiative this time as you beckoned him toward a point of no return.

Come. Come with me and I shall give you everything.

Aemond swallowed before he spoke again, not in a way that made him seem nervous or unsure, but how a warrior prepares for a battle he knows he can win - as if to centre himself, to allow almost a divine certainty to envelop his very being and reforge him into something anew. "Through the door at the back of the hall."

He waited for you to leave first, allowing some distance between you before he also got up from his seat and followed in a way that would not draw attention to your departure, and nodded his head toward Ser Criston Cole once you were over the threshold.

You were equal parts thrilled and terrified when you left the festivities behind, the sound of the crowd growing fainter with every nervous step.

"Where now?" You turned and asked Aemond as he caught up to you, his fingers grazing your sleeve as you both made your way down a long corridor that led out to an open courtyard.

He nodded his head in the direction of an enormous building that was hidden behind a thick interior wall. "No one shall bother us here, not even my brother."

You both continued on to Maegor's Holdfast - the famed castle within the castle where the King and his immediate Targaryen family resided - strolling slowly until members of the Kingsguard came into view at the end of the drawbridge.

"Raise the bridge after we have passed," Aemond commanded. "Lower it for none but my Mother or Sister when they retire for the night."

"My Prince, we were not expecting you!" A tall, bearded brown haired man replied. "Will you stay long? I understood that there are rooms prepared for you and your bride back in the Red Keep."

"We do not want any further interruptions, Ser Arryk." He replied, and the Knight nodded in understanding. It was clear enough that names did not need to be said for them to know your husband referred to Aegon. "Please ensure that we are not disturbed."

Aemond took your hand as you walked along the bridge, quietly warning you to not look down at the dry moat below to see the menacing spikes that jutted up from the stone, and guided you inside toward a twisting stone staircase that led to his personal apartments.

You held your breath as you stepped into the first room, expecting Aemond to be bolder in private and carry you straight off to bed, but you were surprised when he lingered at the door - his hand hovering above the wrought iron bolt as if he was waiting for your approval.

"Thank you." You felt flushed.

"Take your time." He replied and locked the door.

He watched as you took another step forward, inspecting your surroundings as you made your way around the room - noting the living space decorated in green and gold, the bath and dressing room tucked off to the side, and the large four-poster bed that sat atop a platform at the head of the room.

"As Ser Arryk said, there have been rooms prepared for us elsewhere. If you don't like it here -"

"I do." You turned back to him and smiled. "It is yours, My Prince."

"Aemond," He corrected, but there was a feverish look in his eye as he slowly came toward you. "There is no need for titles when we are alone. Call me by my name."

A charged silence hung in their air whilst he waited for your answer, wanting to hear his name on your lips, but there was an anxious flutter that rose in your chest and reminded you that this was all real again - that the touches, the dance, the desire that you felt - it had not been a dream.

"Have you changed your mind?" He asked when you took too long to reply.

"No," You laughed and then softened your voice."I still want to... I just-"

He whispered, "I'm sorry." and for the first time that evening you saw him doubt himself.

He had latched onto that moment of hesitation, as if he had expected it to come and was prepared, his whole body tensing as he halted his progress toward you. With one glance you could see it all - the questioning if what his brother had said was true, that you would panic and flee at the first opportunity, that you would realise that your longing was misplaced once you truly saw him as he was.

"Don't be," You reassured and took a step closer. "It's silly, really."

"Then what is it?" He asked so quietly, but his thoughts were betrayed across his face. She is afraid of me. "Have I... done something?"

And just like that it all clicked into place.

The passing remarks and teasing done by Aegon, the back handed compliment that King Viserys had given him - Better than he had hoped - this evening had been death by a thousand cuts for your husband. Despite his earlier confidence he had still mistaken your nerves for regret, for a type of aversion or rejection that was all too familiar to him.

"You have done nothing to displease me Aemond. Quite the contrary, in fact," You spoke candidly, watching carefully, to see if there was something in your expression that could break through the wall that he was ready to build back up again. "It has just been a long day for the both of us."

It broke your heart a little to see that he thought the worst of himself, so you sighed and moved in closer, rested your hand on his upper arm and gently stroked your thumb against the fabric.

He did not flinch from your touch, but did not relax either. So you continued, "I meant what I said back in the Hall, but I -" you paused to let out a breath. "This is new, I have never done this before... I do not know if you have."

Aemond's brow softened at that, at the worry in your eyes. it was not a fear of him, but of the unfamiliar territory that you had to navigate. He recognised it now - as he had learned the day he claimed Vhagar - that talking and dreaming was one thing, but to take that leap and face it was another entirely.

"It was a long time ago." He admitted.

"Did you love her?"

"No," He said and you believed it. There was no nostalgia or sentimentality in his face or tone, his expression shifting into something that looked almost ashamed as he looked away from your gaze. "It was not... something that I would do again if I had the choice. Let us leave it at that."

There was a story behind that look, perhaps one that you might hear one day, something that had left an indelible mark upon him that he wasn't quite sure how to erase - if it even could be. Perhaps that was why he had been so upset at Aegon's interference, why he had made sure that nobody could take that decision from you too.

"Does it bother you?" He looked up again.

You shook your head, "No."

Aemond eased a little, allowing his shoulders to drop as he slowly brought his hand up and brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face. He lingered a moment when you didn't try to pull away, humming and stroking his thumb across the curve of your cheek, with a look in his eye that told you he couldn't quite believe that you were real.

"____." Your name was a whisper on his lips as he breathed his mother tongue, "Gevie iksā..."

"What does that mean?" You asked.

He felt warm as he leaned in, tilting his head down to rest against your own, inching ever closer as he released a shaky breath and sighed, "You are beautiful." and surrendered himself to it.

Aemond had wanted this since the moment he set his sight on you, and now that he knew that you were not just humouring him - that you truly desired it too - he relinquished any persisting guilt or dishonour he felt when you finally met his kiss.

It was slow at first, your lips pressed softly against his for the briefest of moments, testing before giving yourself over completely. You pulled back a little to see him staring, his breath as uneven as yours as he took a moment to gather himself.

"Aemond..." You pleaded, throat tight with a desperate want.

You felt his fingers at the laces on the front of your gown, gently tugging at the bow and sliding the silk through the eyelets one by one in such an unhurried manner, his gaze almost searing through you as he watched for your disapproval - although it never came - even as your mouth went dry at the way that you bodice fell open to expose the fine linen shift your wore underneath.

His hands carefully grazed the bare skin of your décolletage as he helped to shrug off the top layer of your clothing. It was featherlight, exploratory, curious... Yet you burned for it, were hyper aware of the hitch in your breath and the flutter in the pit of your stomach at the sensation of being touched in a way that you never had before.

You let out a nervous laugh when his hands slid down along the outline of your waist, coming to stop right at the top of your skirts. "I'll move." You whispered, and reluctantly tore your gaze from him as you faced away and granted him access to the lace at the back.

It had taken two servants to dress you in your wedding gown that morning but Aemond seemed more than capable of undressing you all on his own, making quick work of the knot and allowing the pale overskirt and petticoats to fall unceremoniously to the floor. Just like on the dancefloor, you could feel the tickle of his breath against the nape of your neck as he leaned in and pressed a kiss against the tip of your spine, eliciting a surprised gasp from you when you suddenly felt a flutter somewhere else.

Before he had the chance to move or do it again, you whirled and took a small step back to give yourself a moment to breathe. The look of concern he gave lasted for only a moment once he saw the shocked smile on your face, and then his eye began to trail down to take in the silhouette of your body through the thin linen shift you still wore.

"Your turn." You swallowed.

Aemond did not move.

"Would you like to?" He met your gaze again. "Or shall I undress myself?"

"I... I can do it."

You moved in close again and slid your hands up the broad chest of his doublet until you reached the buckle right below the neckline, the cool metal of it fashioned into ornate silver dragons that wove around themselves in an endless ouroboros.

The first one came undone with a satisfying click, all the tension in the fabric suddenly releasing to expose the smooth skin beneath his collar, so you brushed your finger along the outline and took your time with the rest.

Although you had the rest of your lives to explore one another - to touch, to feel, to know in ways that no other could - never again would you be able to experience this first night. So you ignored that instinct for urgency that stirred deep within the depths of your soul in favour of savouring that anticipation, as if it were just as much a part of the final act itself.

Aemond slowly shrugged off his doublet once the last buckle was finally opened, stopping only when you laid your one hand flat against his chest to feel the beat of his heart through his shirt, whilst the other carefully stroked the curve of the muscles on his arms.

Up and up your fingers trailed - from his biceps to his shoulder, along the outline of his neck where it connected to his angular jaw, against his cheek... against his scar. The cut was clean, done with a sharp blade but expertly treated by the Maester no doubt, and sat stark against the paleness of his smooth skin.

Curiosity possessed you the moment your touch met the leather patch that obscured the rest from view, but that wonder was cut short when you saw the way Aemond flinched - his eye wide as if he was almost as shocked as you when you pulled your hand back and offered profuse apologies.

"I thought... I am so sorry, if you don't want to -"

"No," He quickly took your hand again. "No... I was just not expecting you to want to look. I do not wish to scare you."

"You do not scare me Aemond," You spoke quietly, "I wish to see all of you, just as you see all of me."

He smiled slightly, his face softening as his hand slid toward the sleeve of your shift. "Not quite all of you." It was a joke to ease the tension, to deflect from the awkwardness he felt, but the fact that he could find humour in it at all reassured you enough to try again.

"Then perhaps I should not hide." You let out a little laugh and reached for the hemline, pulling it up past your knees to expose the flesh of your thighs - slowly continuing up over your hips, then your breasts, until finally it was over your head and you stood almost bare before him.

Aemond moved back as he shifted the weight from one leg to the other in order to accommodate the growing stiffness in trousers, taking in the sight of you as you took another step closer to him.

"You do not have to show me if you are not ready." You told him, but Aemond shook his head and smiled.

He said nothing as he untucked his shirt and then reached for the back of its neckline, tugging it up past his shoulders and discarding it atop the growing pile of clothes on the carpet, then brushed his long silver hair out of the way, as your eyes wandered down to admire the way his muscles curved down toward his hips and more.

Then, to your surprise, his hand reached for the strap that kept the patch in place - hovering for a moment before he took one last breath and lifted it away.

It was such a devastating loss when you thought of how beautiful his surviving eye was, what he might look like had that misfortune not stolen that from him - yet what he had replaced it with was oddly captivating in a way. Candlelight danced along the surface of the sapphire that lay in the socket where his eye had once been, and you found it so hard not to stare.

"Should I put it back on?" He asked.

You had expected to feel pity when you saw it, but all you could conjure was awe - this was a man that had faced such hardship in spite of the status he had, knew what it was to endure.

So you took his hand in yours and brought it to your breast, allowing him to feel the warmth of you as his fingers gently squeezed and cupped your flesh, willing him to continue as you wove your fingers through his hair to rest at the base of his neck.

"No," you felt a tightness in your chest as you replied, "I want you as you are, Aemond."

He answered your desire without hesitation, his mouth crashing into yours to deepen his hold on you - drinking in the relieved moan that escaped your lips as your entire world narrowed to nothing more than his touch.

He was unrestrained, focused, more sure than he had been in the Sept that morning - that first kiss you shared had been for the benefit of everyone else, but this time you were both utterly alone. Aemond poured himself into it with every brush of his tongue, every caress, every ounce of affection that he had to give - it was yours. He was yours - and it sent your heart racing.

His strong arms wound around you and slid down your back until they came to rest against the curve of your ass, gently groping before he lifted you up so that he could carry you at the waist. He grunted slightly at the effort when he felt your legs eagerly wrap around him, but he did not falter as he made his way toward the bed, making sure to put you down carefully as you sank into the mattress under his kiss.

You moaned again when you felt his tongue run across your lower lip, pushing into your mouth to taste you as he positioned himself between your legs and rocked forward to show you just how aroused he was beneath the tightening fabric of his trousers.

"Take them off..." You pleaded, breath hot and unsteady as your husband pulled away.

Aemond watched the way your chest heaved as he shifted so that he was kneeling upright, but just as his hands reached for his belt he stopped, his eyes drifting down between your legs and lingered a second longer than you were brave enough to allow - yet before you could even think about shying away, Aemond's hands had already found you.

He ran slow circles around your clit, although not quite close enough to where he needed to be, testing and teasing for what you might like, observing the way your body responded to his delicate touch.

"How is this?" He wondered aloud, noting your subdued reaction.

"It is strange to have someone else..." You trailed off, slightly embarrassed.

Nobody had ever seen you so exposed before, let alone indulged in you so freely, and although you had a lifetime of being told that it was sinful and wrong to crave something so carnal beyond what was expected from your marital duties - there was a certain thrill to being desired so endlessly.

"Show me?" Aemond's hands slowed as he asked, waiting as you reached down to guide his fingers to the exact point that would be your undoing.

Your head rolled back with a stifled moan as your hands shot up to cover your own mouth, the sensation almost surreal as he stroked a steady rhythm against you and you ground your hips up to meet it. Finally content that you were enjoying his touch, Aemond leant forward to press his lips to yours again - slowly moving lower to nip at the flushed skin at the base of your neck, as he gathered your arousal and pressed a single finger inside.

"Seven Hells..." You hissed.

His laugh was hot against you, "Good or bad?" his finger slid out and then stroked across your clit again.

"Do it again."

So he did.

You keened as he slipped it back in, releasing a moan when he began to stroke and curl his finger in search of that spark of pleasure that threatened to set you alight, all whilst his tongue dragged down the swell of your breasts to find your nipples peaked against the chill night air.

You had been told of the things that a man might do to take his pleasure, that if he cared enough to prepare it might be pleasant enough for you too, but you had not been warned of this - so you sucked in a sharp breath when you felt the second ease in to join the first, his name falling from your lips as you adjusted to the sensation, your own fingers tangling themselves amidst strands of his silken argent hair as a heat rose in your core.

"So perfect..." He sighed as you heard the thud of Aemond's boots being kicked to the floor, "My pretty little wife."

Your arousal deepened, his fingers thrusting into you with ease, and you eagerly chased the rapture it brought - moaning, breathing, begging for more as your hips moved in time with his touch. The cold metal of his belt clinking suddenly stirred something in you, and that earlier murmur of gratification found you again when you saw him use his spare hand to unhook the buckle blindly and reach for his cock.

He groaned against your collar, stroking himself to desperately relieve the ache that consumed him, burying his face in the crook of your neck as if to hide how wretched he was.

"Aemond..." Your breathless voice won his attention before he was too far gone. "I'm ready, I want it... I need this."

All he offered in response was a broken hum as he withdrew his fingers, adjusting his weight so that he could pull his trousers down the rest of the way and position himself directly between your legs. Your heart leapt at the hard length of him pressing up against your thigh, moaning as he brought his lips to yours once more and kissed you deep and slow.

You were both utterly naked, skin against skin, your bodies intertwined so perfectly that you wondered why you had needed to wait this long to find one another - that even though you had your whole lives ahead of each other, so much time had been stolen already.

Aemond pulled back one last time with a devastatingly soft expression on his face, all the longing and affection he possessed radiating off him in waves as he looked you in the eye and reached down to line himself up.

You both held your breath for a moment and the sound of your own pulse in your ears drowned out everything else inconsequential.

"You are mine..." You whispered, almost in disbelief, reaching up to stroke your thumb across his cheek one last time before your entire world shifted.

Aemond released that shaky breath, then gave his honest reply, "... Until the end of my days." and half a heartbeat later he slowly pushed in.

His head dropped forward when he felt the way you tensed around him, your body taking a little longer to adjust than you had anticipated - the fullness of his cock so different when compared with the adept fingers that you had only just gotten used to. You let out an uncomfortable gasp at how big he is once he hit as far as he could go, and Aemond of course latched onto it.

"Am I hurting you?" He lifted his head to check on you.

"A little," You winced, but then gave him a reassuring smile. "It doesn't hurt, it's just... tight."

"I shall take you slowly then," Aemond sighed and reached for your hand, slotted his fingers between yours and lifted it to rest beside your head as his thumb stroked across the back of your knuckle in a soothing motion. "You said that you wanted us both to enjoy this, remember?"

A swell of emotion washed over you, flowing endlessly like the streams of the Blackwater Rush until you can no longer bear alone the weight of how intimate and safe he made you feel.

"Of all the men in the Seven Kingdoms that I could have married," You crooned, stroking his hair back out of his face as you met his gaze with ardent eyes. "I am so endlessly relieved that it was you."

You tilted your head up to kiss him, heated lips against his own in a yearning embrace, gasping at the way he withdrew his hips only to sheathe himself again in an achingly slow movement - the sensation shifting away from discomfort to something altogether more pleasurable.

"____." He growled your name with a restrained groan and you felt him twitch inside you, his muscles tensed as he tried to maintain that unhurried pace, even though every single nerve in his body screamed for him to be unrelenting.

Part of you craved that, to satisfy the urgency that pooled in the pit of your stomach with each thrust, making sure to spur him along with each hitched breath and moan as you raked your fingers down the length of his back and dug your nails in whenever the promise of pleasure teased your core.

"More..."

You pulled him flush against your skin as soon as you were ready for it, almost desperate to chase the high that seemed to slip away every time you inched closer, and something in your husband just snapped. Aemond propped himself up on both arms, squeezing the hand he held as he pushed his weight down onto it and bent his neck to kiss you again - rougher, more feverish, plunging into you deeper and faster than before.

And suddenly he was hitting you at exactly the right angle, your back arching off the bed with a grateful moan every time his hips collided with the back of your thighs, the sound of nothing but your ragged breaths and skin against skin filling the space between your cries of satisfaction.

"A little longer..." He grunted, as if he could sense that you were close. "Together."

The muscles in his back stiffened at the way you lifted your legs up to wrap around his hips, which allowed him to drive into you with a frantic rhythm that finally carried you to the precipice, clamping down around him with a strangled moan.

As you tumbled over the edge he fell gloriously with you, your shared gratification dulled all thought and reason as you came together, shivering at the way he buried himself to the hilt as your orgasm sparked. It felt like you were burning, skin feverish and slick with sweat as Aemond collapsed against you and buried his head in the crook of your neck - drinking in the scent of your perfume as his hips gradually came to a halt once he was well and truly spent.

Your hands trembled as you slowly wrapped your arms around the width of his back and held him there, stroking and cradling him like that for a while, both of you too exhausted or exhilarated to move or think beyond your current state of existence. He was content with that it seemed, made clear by the way he softly hummed and sank further into your touch, his breathing even and satiated for a time as he pressed soft kisses against your shoulder and unsheathed himself with a tired groan.

"Stay like this." He asked of you, his voice heavy with fatigue.

You let out a soft laugh, "I'm not going anywhere with you on top of me."

"Good."

He nuzzled in closer and wove his arms around you tight, guarding you as if he were a dragon coveting some great treasure amidst the ruins of old Valyria, enjoying one last embrace before he reluctantly peeled his body from yours and lay back against the pillows beside you, and allowed the sweet solace of sleep to consume you both.

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arabellasleopardcoat · 9 months

Text

MAD (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Caught in the crossfire of your familiy's ploys, you never expected to catch the eye of the enemy.

Warnings: Mature language.

A/N: Did you know there are nine meanings for mad in the dictionary? Credits to Wikipedia for the one in the banner. As always, this is already written, broken up for easier reading and editing.

Next part

“I don’t understand.” Your father lifts the letter to the light, as if he is about to uncover some secret in the parchment. His expression is absolutely puzzled. “Are they really trying to sell an insult as a compliment?”

“That’s Otto Hightower for you.” Your grandfather answers. You stop kicking your legs from your place near the fireplace, suddenly interested. Unsure what Otto Hightower has to do with you, you try listening closely. No one has told you yet why you have been summoned, but you would love to know. “But the order comes bearing his brother’s seal. We cannot refuse him.”

“We can’t? It’s worded as a question.”

“A question with King’s Viserys’s seal? Oh, don’t be naive.” Your grandfather scoffs.

Sensing an argument, you decide to tune it out. Like most families, yours can go at it for hours. You kick a bit more, then get up to look through the window. You wish you could be outside, soaking up the sun. The day is too pretty to miss on, and The Reach is always so nice during the spring.

They are still bickering, and taking no notice of your change in position when something catches your ear.

“The girl has to go to court.”

A trip to the capital. You at court? But why? You are a lady from a minor house, and not even an important one. Your family can’t raise many men, nor do they have countless funds. Your greatest ambition in life has been to marry into another family from The Reach and not having to leave your family behind.

“To teach Princess Helaena about bees?” Your father glares at your grandfather. “They aren’t even trying to disguise it, father.”

Teaching a royal girl about bees? It was strange, for sure. You had heard about Princess Helaena’s oddities, but you doubted they extended to wanting to learn how to produce her own honey. You doubted her family would approve, either.

From your limited knowledge of mothers, they disliked daughters crawling in the mud or chasing bugs. They thought it was not ladylike. You had no doubts Queen Alicent was the same.

Chasing of bees aside, you have been nothing but a dutiful daughter. All your life you have kept up to date with your studies and readings, assisted the Sept weekly and learned the finest arts. Thanks to it, you know enough of the world to recognize your lack of importance. Princesses don’t befriend unimportant farm girls, much less ask to have them as their companions. They befriend girls of similar status, girls who will inherit extensive lands and riches.

You are neither. You will get, of course, when your Lord Father dies, a small plot of land for yourself. Not exactly the Red Keep or Winterfell, but not a hut either. The family business is profitable, as always. Producing honey for the Seven Kingdoms means you are not living in poverty. But its nowhere near the level of these people.

So what could they want with you? There is only one possible answer. A political move. One worth befriending someone so unimportant. And what better than silencing your grandfather? You know his opposition to your Liege Lord’s brother has been making waves. His constant backing of Princess Rhaenyra has angered Ser Otto. The fact that the proposal, signed by King Viserys, also wears the seal of Lord Hightower means you can’t say no.

“It’s a show of strength. I have no doubt he could order her to marry one of his family members if he wanted to. He is warning me.” The confirmation of your suspicions makes you feel strangely empty. Your grandfather sounds scared, which is not a common occurrence. Despite his old age, the man is still a menace. A bright politician, and an even more fearsome Lord.

“And are you going to listen, grandfather?” Your pulse beats loudly in your ears. You don’t want to leave your home. Never had you thought it would be like, this, you thought you had time. And whatever these people want to do to you, it can’t be good.

You are scared. House Targaryen is nasty, and you doubt you will find any sort of solace in the ladies at court. You are soon to become an upjumped noble. A girl, who with gods knows what trickery, has ensnared a Princess to do her bidding and secured herself one of the most prestigious positions in the realm.

You will be entering a nest of vipers in less than a week. Any mistake might mean the ruin of your grandfather and yours. You should be scared. Yet, fear is not the only thing in your mind. White, hot, blinding rage builds up in your throat and fills you with the urge to scream.

“My dear girl, I have no choice.”

“I don’t understand why I have to court her.” Aemond leans in, placing both of his hands on the table. He can already hear the smug comment Aegon is about to make. “House Beesbury brings nothing to the table. They are not prestigious, nor are they rich, and they are already sworn to us.”

It makes no sense. When you are a Prince, you marry to secure alliances. You don’t marry your vassals, not when they are already loyal to you.

“And haven’t you thought you deserve her, brother? With that stick up your ass and…”

Why is Aegon even here? Aemond does not mind his presence, but more his lack of gravitas. He seems to have a chronic inability to take anything seriously. It’s not that that bothers him, really. Too often, Aemond has found himself hiding a smile at his brother’s antics. But this is really not the time.

In his eyes, nothing is more serious than getting married. Even if he can’t understand yet why this girl in particular.

There must be some reason he is not seeing. You might be pretty, or his grandsire and mother might think you are a good match. You will be inheriting lands, which is always nice. It means having a place to retire to when life in court gets too stifling. But many other ladies will, too. So why does his grandsire insist on you?

“Aegon!” His mother pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. Then, towards Aemond. “Do not listen to your brother. That is certainly not the reason. Your grandsire…”

“It’s not that I oppose the match, mother. Or that I refuse to court her.” Aemond does not want her or his grandsire to get the wrong impression. He intends to fulfill his duty. If he has to marry the girl, he marries her, no matter his opinion. “I’m just puzzled about the reasoning.”

“I think this will be a valuable lesson for you both.” His grandsire takes out a list of names and a quill. “That’s why we called Aegon in here, too.”

“Are we really going to talk politics? How dull.” Aegon complains, but no one pays attention to him.

“This is an account of the Small Council voting tendencies in the last month.” His grandsire explains, now in full lecture mode. The parchment, now that Aemond is paying more attention to it, doesn’t have only a list of names, but a tally. “As you can see, the backing of my proposals changes, but there is one constant. Can you tell what it is?”

Aemond grabs the parchment and takes a look. It takes him a while, but he notices a pattern. At first, he doesn’t dare mention it. He is not sure of having the right answer and hates being wrong about it.

Some people say that mistakes aid learning. To Aemond, mistakes are painful, and often embarrassing. It’s why he puts the parchment down in front of Aegon and stays quiet, despite knowing he is right.

A few minutes pass. Aegon stares at the parchment. He squints at it, but since he is most probably drunk, he can’t make sense of it.

His grandsire clears his throat.

“Lord Beesbury never backs you.” Aemond finally says. Now, he understands why you. To control your family. “How can that be? House Hightower is his overlord.”

“Perhaps at The Reach, he can’t refuse a Hightower. But as the Master of Coin, he can always excuse himself on a lack of funds.”

“So the man is a cunt. And you reward him by having his granddaughter marry Aemond?” Aegon frowns, showing he is more invested in the explanation than he appears to be. Aemond will never understand why he feels the need to downplay his intelligence. “I’m lost, I think.”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, if you will.” Otto circles Beesbury’s name on the list. “He could give us a lot of trouble, not only here, but at Oldtown. It will neutralize him.” Of course. House Hightower would look weak, if they can't get a handle on the Beesburys. But marriage? Is that the solution?

“How?” Aemond frowns. He can understand keeping a close eye on the man, but it feels like much more of a reward than neutralizing him. All their other vassals might think it weakness. Act out, and your daughter will marry up. If it were up to Aemond, he would just kick him out of the Small Council and be done with it. He doesn’t believe in people’s good nature, after all. “By keeping him happy for a while? Gratefulness never lasts, grandsire.”

“No.” His mother speaks for the first time. Her lips are tense, as if tasting a particularly sour drink. It’s clear Alicent doesn’t agree and finds the whole matter distasteful. If Aemond were a woman, he might, too. But he, thanks to the Seven, was spared from that weakness of character. “By giving us a permanent hostage.”

“And teaching him a lesson.” Otto adds, giving him a pointed look. His brown eyes meet Aemond’s, as if silently conveying a message. No more words are needed then. Aemond understands what he is trying to say without having to speak the words aloud. He has grown used to sparing his mother’s sensibilities. She would be horrified and disappointed, if she knew exactly what they were planning.

It’s expected he leads you into some sort of scandal. Something that would mean your ruin, perhaps taking your maidenhead in a chamber close enough for others to hear. Or perhaps, that he times a servant to enter just right. Even leaving you with child before wedlock.

Lord Beesbury doesn’t know, and probably won’t know until it’s too late, that Aemond intends to marry you. The scandal alone will be enough to frighten him into compliance. And once you are ruined enough, Aemond will sweep in to save your reputation, cementing Beesbury’s loyalties. The man will not dare refuse them, after it.

Still, his mother’s words rattle him. He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse, that she thinks that’s what’s about to happen. But her experiences with marriage have not been the best, either.

“Hostage? Mother, surely you know I would never treat her unkindly.” He means it. Marriage vows instruct on the most sacred duty. A man must protect his wife, not hurt her. The Seven Pointed Star says that he will have a duty to discipline her, of course, but for her own good. Never Aemond would raise a hand to his wife in cruelty.

He might be willing to ruin your reputation, but he draws the line at hurting you. It’s just not who he is. Aemond has heard enough tales of knighthood to know that’s simply not how an honorable man behaves.

Honorable men weren’t supposed to trick young maidens, either. But that was fine. He would marry you after it, so it didn’t count. It was just taking what was his a little earlier.

“We know, Aemond. But her grandfather does not.” Alicent leans in, to squeeze his hand. It’s that when the doubt assaults him. What if he does ruin you and your family still refuses to hand you to him? What if Lord Beesbury thinks Aemond will hurt you and decides to say no to the marriage? In that case, Aemond would be a despicable person. He would ruin your future, your purity, the most sacred thing a maiden has, for nothing.

“And if he refuses?” Because Aemond would not hand his granddaughter to a man like him. And if Lord Beesbury had any sense, he wouldn’t, either.

“She will come here as a companion for Helaena.” His grandsire smiles. Aemond looks at him, trying to show him he is still not reassured. Otto’s smile widens. Instead of a casual announcement, the words he says next are exclusively for Aemond. “My brother will force his hand if he has to.”

Aemond grins back. It’s not that he would have to just send you to court. If your grandfather doesn’t consent to the marriage later on, he will find himself having to fulfill an impossible condition or perhaps threatened to lose all he has. You will marry Aemond, even if your overlord has to order you to.

It must be done carefully. One of the rules of being a great house is never humiliating their vassals, or abusing them. Asking a man to hand over his granddaughter would be in bad taste, of course. It has to be avoided if possible. So it will be up to Aemond to see that the little lamb delivers herself for the slaughter. He has to tangle you enough that no one suspects the Hightowers’s involvement.

“When does she get here?”

How hard can it be, really? Aegon certainly is more than capable of getting women in his bed, after all. If he can do it, why couldn't Aemond? He has seen enough Lords court Ladies, has read all the books on courtly love and even some romances his mother likes. He has also seen how women swoon around Cole. And you are a farm girl. Easy to impress. Besides, half the women of the realm dream of marrying a Prince.

Aemond will plan accordingly and sweep you off your feet. He can do it. He just needs time.

“If everything goes according to plan.” Which it would because it was his grandfather who had made it. “In a fortnight.”

The dismay must have shown on his face because Aegon snickers.

“Think of the bright side, Aemond. Your little bee has to have the sweetest cunt in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Aegon!”

“What, don't they claim to be descended from Ellyn Ever Sweet?”

You needed to be coaxed out of your sulk. Nothing excited you, after hearing the terrible news. Not even getting two new dresses made, and some aprons.

Well. Perhaps the new dresses. Your father had allowed you to order them in your favorite colors, in a rare respite from the black and yellow from your house. Still, you were angry. You didn’t want to leave the safety of Honeyholt.

“You should think of it as an adventure.” Your father had advised you, on your last night before departing. “Not many girls get to see Westeros before the day they are sent off to marry. And you get to see King’s Landing, too.”

Fuming as you were, you didn’t think it was valuable advice. Your father was, more often than not, a fool. Or so your mother said.

But as the carriage slowly started to leave behind the roads you knew, you discovered there was more to see in The Reach than just Oldtown. Your anger slowly started to fade, replaced by wonder and newly discovered freedom. Your grandfather, travelling with you, had never been the type to keep a close eye on you.

Lord Beesbury had grandchildren for one reason, and one reason only. To spoil them rotten. Unlike your mother, he didn’t believe in chastising you for your behavior or getting you to behave in a ladylike manner. He just wanted you to be happy.

That fact was what made you listen to him when he decided to try to teach you how to survive in court.

“It's no use being angry, little bee.” Your grandfather had said, as you gazed through the window in anger. “We need to think of ways of turning this to our favor.”

And so, the two of you had come up with three rules of behavior. One, never being alone with any man who was not part of your family. Two, never being alone with any Targaryen. And three, being on your most charming behavior. This was a good opportunity to show your beauty and grace to other houses, and perhaps get a better marriage. One that benefited your house and kept you out of the Hightower’s clutches. Now that was an objective you could get behind.

King’s Landing was not what you expected. You had thought the capital would be something like Oldtown, or other cities of The Reach. Carefully planned, either be in a Cyvasse board design or concentric circles. But to get to the center of the city, you had to go through dirty roads, slums and strange settlements.

It was clear the growth of the city had not had any thought behind it. The population was not educated, either, because you had seen some emptying their chamber pots on the streets. The stench alone spoke of a place that didn’t know the wonders of aqueducts.

And all was so gray. So dull. There was hardly any vegetation. Were it not for the fact the city had a port, you would have wondered where they got all their food.

Your grandfather aids your descent from the carriage, a hand firmly on yours to make sure you don’t trip. It would be a disgrace if you were to fall here. The path looks like it has not been cleaned during its whole existence. You do your best to smile and not show how unimpressed you are.

It’s then when you get your first look at Otto Hightower. He stands tall and proud at the gates of the Red Keep, as if he owned the place. Perhaps he thinks he does. You have heard that he disagrees with the succession order King Viserys has set.

He must feel King, already, thinking it will be Prince Aegon who will inherit the throne. The disloyalty and the greed of the man truly know no bounds. He would rather betray the King he has sworn to serve and place a drunk on the throne than have a Queen.

Otto Hightower is serious and slender, marked apart by the brooch he wears. Behind him, in a shock of silver hair, stand three more people.

The only woman, sweet faced, has to be Princess Helaena. It’s easy to recognize her, from your grandfather’s briefing. The two of you have decided her to be the most innocuous. According to your grandfather, there is not a single mean bone in her body. Besides, you doubt she is in any plot. Her family mocks her for not being all there, you doubt they would include her.

Next to her, judging by the lecherous expression and lack of eye patch, stands her brother husband. Prince Aegon is the one you have to watch out for, your grandfather has warned you. He has a taste for young maidens. You don’t get the appeal. He looks like a deviant cherub.

On Princess Helaena’s other side, stands Prince Aemond. Tall, serious and easily recognizable by the injury to his face, he looms above his siblings like a bat. While Helaena and Aegon are dressed lightly, in clothes appropriate for the climate, Aemond is dressed head to toe in black leather. You aren’t sure about him. If anyone out of the three of them is trusted with Otto’s secrets, it is him. But you doubt he could do much to you beyond insult you. He doesn’t seem interested in women, in tourneys or in drinking. In fact, he doesn’t seem interested in anything.

You school your face into a polite mask, as your grandfather is greeted by the Lord Hand himself.

“Lord Lyman Beesbury. I trust the journey was pleasant?” Otto sounds anything but interested in the answer.

“Delightful.” Your grandfather deadpans. “This is my granddaughter.”

“Little Lady Beesbury.” Otto nodded.

“My Lord.” You dropped into a small, but practiced curtsy. Not too low because he was not a royal, but low enough to acknowledge him as someone who was part of the family of your overlord.

His eyes examined you, coldly. From your loud yellow travel cloak to your sturdy black shoes. You pushed your shoulders back, giving him a smile. Ser Otto didn’t seem too impressed by it.

After a beat of silence, he turned towards your grandfather again.

“I have some matters I wish to discuss with you. There have been some concerns raised about…”

Despite being prepared for the possibility of being separated, you hadn’t expected it this soon. You hadn’t even stepped inside the Red Keep, for the Seven’s sake. Your grandfather gives you a reassuring glance.

“I was hoping I could help my granddaughter settle in.” He argues, keeping an eye on the Lord Hand.

The man laughs. It’s not a nice sound, or a joyful one. In fact, it sounds threatening.

“Oh, nonsense. Aemond?”

“Yes, grandfather?” The Prince steps forward, at the same time your grandfather places an encouraging hand on your back.

You step back despite yourself. Up close, he is much more intimidating. He is tall, and sports a menacing look. Your grandfather urges you forward, and Prince Aemond’s lips twitch. He is definitely enjoying your fear.

“You and your sister should help the lady settle in.” Ser Otto smiles. It’s clear who holds the reins here, once more. He has outmaneuvered you two in less than a minute. You squeeze your grandfather’s hand, trying to show him that you intend to be careful.

Ser Otto was a smart man. But you were sure he was not all seeing. You would find a way. This was a small fluke. You had been caught off guard in a disorienting moment. It wouldn’t happen again.

Prince Aemond, on the other hand, was terrifying. But he lacked his grandfather’s experience, he was untested. It would be his downfall, you were sure of it.

The Lord Hand threw an arm over your grandfather’s shoulder and led him away. The gesture made even Prince Aegon raise his eyebrows. Did they think you two were dumb? Because they were laying it a bit thick.

“Come, Lord Beesbury. We should let the youngsters get to…” His voice faded in the distance, as you stood there, feeling as lost as you looked.

Prince Aegon looked you over. Princess Helaena waved. And Prince Aemond, ever helpful, appeared at your elbow.

“Allow me.” He said, offering you his arm.

You looked around. Prince Aegon was on the edge of laughter, it seemed because he was making strange sounds. Princess Helaena seemed oblivious. Prince Aemond was still looming over you.

It was a long walk to the Hall. You would certainly encounter guards, servants and even the odd noble. Not only would it give the wrong impression, that you were here for him and not his sister, but it would be awkward. But rejecting him would be, too.

Not knowing of a better way to get out of it, you decided to play dumb. You took off your travel cloak and placed it on his extended arm.

“Thank you.” And with a bright smile, you took Princess Helaena’s arm.

Prince Aegon gave a poorly disguised snicker. Prince Aemond stared at the bright yellow cloak on his arm, coolly. It made for a great statement, considering he was in all black.

“Of course, my Lady.” But it came out strangled. Good. The sooner he realized you were not easy prey, the better.

“It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Princess Helaena.” As you spoke, you noticed she looked very tense. She had not looked like that before you touched her. You decided to let go of her arm.

The Princess brightened immediately.

“Likewise, Lady Beesbury. When grandsire told me he was getting me a teacher, I never thought you were this young.” Her voice was soft and light. Kind. You wanted desperately to befriend her. You were starting to get the feeling that here, kindness was a scarce thing.

“Is it a bad thing?”

“Oh, not at all.” Helaena answered, lightly tugging at your sleeve. You beamed.

Behind you, Prince Aemond and Aegon trailed dutifully. None of them seemed keen on conversing with you, but Helaena hadn’t left you an opening, either. There was something about her demeanor that seemed off to you. The Princess was very aloof, but not impolite. It was as if she wasn’t intending to dismiss you. Like she was uncomfortable with social niceties. As if she was awkward, like you.

It made you like her more.

“Why do you like insects?” You tried, figuring it was a safe topic. One of the Princes made a derisive sound. You ignored him, choosing to pay all your attention to Helaena.

“Oh, they are a fascinating bunch. They remain even when we do not.” Helaena had a dreamy tone. Again, someone snorted. This time you turned to glare and found yourself staring down Prince Aegon.

You keep your eyes on him as you replied.

“That’s true. They will probably inherit the earth when we are gone.”

Helaena nodded. Oblivious to what was quickly turning into a stare down between you and her husband, she kept talking passionately.

“And I have spent a lot of time watching ants, too. They build small societies. They even carry their dead back home. Surely, that speaks of a superior level of intelligence.”

Prince Aegon looked about to make some sort of joke. Prince Aemond grabbed his wrists, stopping him. He made eye contact with you, mouth quirking up in interest.

It was not good. Not good at all. Your stomach turned. Was he going to humiliate you? Perhaps make a joke at your expense?

His lips twitched. You braced yourself for having to mumble some polite recognition and playing dumb again.

“Hm.” Prince Aemond gave a court tilt of his head.

You blinked. What a strange interaction. You cleared your throat and turned towards Princess Helaena once more.

“Bees do something similar. Do you wish to hear more?"

The Princess nodded. You started your explanation then, still rattled by the siblings' behavior. Whatever your presence had been required for, you were certain it was not going to be boring.

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flowerandblood · 1 year

Text

A Winter Beauty (15)

[Aemond Targaryen x fem!Stark reader]

[warnings: smut, sex content, domination and religious kink, fluff]

[description: Aemond and his family arrive at Winterfell for Rickon Stark's Name Day. There, Aemond meets his daughter, who arouses his desire. I changed some names and facts for the sake of the plot. Viserys is also slightly younger in this version.]

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

Previous and next parts: Masterlist

______

After the events of the chapel, they both knew that they had no need to pretend to be innocent and God-fearing to each other anymore. Aemond fucked her there every night as she requested, "helping" her pray.

Their wedding was to be in a few days. Lady Stark was preparing not only for the wedding ceremony, but also for the wedding night. She managed to obtain a beautiful, thin material from which she sewed a nightgown, with a large, triangle neckline both front and back, decorated with lace. The dress had mid-shoulder sleeves, also trimmed with lace, and was easily removed by untying a small bow on the side.

She put it on one evening and looked at herself in the mirror with satisfaction, watching the result of her work. She looked obscene, and that was her point. There was no room for anything else in the bed of her husband, her dragon god. She smiled to herself in amusement, thinking of what the queen would think if she saw her in such a shameless dress.

In addition, she planned something special for her husband. She had been thinking for a long time about finally pleasing him with her mouth. She read his books in his absence, including those on physical love in marriage and how to please men. She wanted it to happen on some important occasion and figured it couldn't get any better than their wedding night.

She suggested that they spend their wedding night in his mother's chapel, that he take her in the presence of his gods. Aemond couldn't believe how licentious and godless she was, but he couldn't hide how turned on he was by the idea. They both took pleasure in polluting this sacred place and knew that there was no salvation for them.

The night before their wedding, Lady Stark said she wanted to sleep alone in her chamber. That she wants to part with him for the last time, to join him forever the next day.

Aemond didn't like the idea, since their Valyrian wedding he considered her his rightful wife and wanted her by his side at night. However, he respected her decision and they both slept in separate beds.

The next day, Aemond knew he would not see his wife until after the ceremony in the Great Sept. He was stressed. He didn't like drawing attention to himself, he knew that his appearance gave rise to constant gossip.

He had heard the lords talk sometimes about Lady Stark choosing him because it was easier to seduce a cripple. He knew they were completely wrong, but all he wanted was to be locked up in his solitude with his wife and not have to explain himself to anyone.

Their Valyrian wedding made him see her as his wife, but the wedding in Sept was a relief for him, because it would allow them to finally stop pretending.

They stopped hiding a long time ago, his wife's moans during their nightly raptures betrayed them completely. He wanted to finally be able to enjoy her in front of everyone, kiss her and embrace her without fear of other people's crooked looks.

He had a new robes sewn for his wedding. He wanted it in Targaryen color, ruby and black, and so did his wife. His outer shirt was made of a beautiful, intensely red, stiff material, the buckles with which it was fastened were in the shape of dragon heads. He was wearing a black belt and black pants.

Lady Stark wouldn't let him see what gown she had prepared for her wedding, so he had no idea what it would look like. He was excited at the thought.

As they drove their carriages towards Spet, the people around cheered. He had a pleasant feeling that for the first time in his life he had got what he wanted. The gods had denied him what was his due since childhood, but now he had more than he wished for.

He hadn't expected to marry the woman he fell madly in love with, to whom he was so utterly devoted, and who returned his affections with great fervor. When he thought of her, he felt only peace.

Often, when they were lying together in bed, naked, cuddled up to each other, slowly falling asleep, they talked quietly about various things.

These were their most intimate moments. She told him how she felt the first time she saw him, how she craved his attention. He, ashamed, confessed to her how much he wanted to possess her as soon as he saw her.

He kissed her bare shoulders, telling her how hard he was just looking at them. How he had wanted her back then, in the crypts at Winterfell. His wife would then sigh in delight and contentment, throwing her head back to let him caress her.

She had unlimited layers of tenderness for him, which he constantly craved. He loved it when she stroked his hair, when she helped him comb his hair in the morning, when she kissed his hands, when she massaged his back and shoulders when he came back sore from a hard training.

He shuddered out of his thoughts as a servant opened the door to his carriage and announced that they arrived. He got out with a stony face, there were lots of cheering people around him. He entered the temple, where crowds of people were already waiting for the ceremony to begin.

He saw the king and queen, Lady Stark's mother, and her brother, Cregan, in the front row. Aemond climbed the steps, standing in front of the measter with his hands clasped behind his back.

He shivered as he heard the orchestra, the people outside cheering loudly. He felt his heart leap into his throat and his mouth part slightly in disbelief as he saw his wife.

Lady Stark walked with her hand resting on her father's outstretched hand, her face smiling and happy. Her dress was sapphire, her train trailing a few paces behind her, her shoulders bare, just as they had been when he first saw her at Winterfell.

Her dress had long, floor-length sleeves. Both the sleeves and the dress were embroidered at the bottom with blue snowdrops, the same ones that were pinned in her long black hair, some of her strands were tied back in a bun, all decorated with flowers. His throat went dry that she had chosen the color of her dress with him in mind. She looked like a goddess in it.

Her father, trembling with emotion, led her up the stairs and offered her hand to Aemond, who took it gratefully. Spectre was silent. Aemond now, looking at her closely, couldn't concentrate at all on what was happening or what he was about to say.

Lady Stark looked at him tenderly, seeing that he was in shock. After a while he remembered that he should take a cloak from the servant to cover her with.

He took it carefully and put it on her shoulders. A huge Targaryen crest was sewn onto it. He thought fondly that he could finally officially take her under his protection.

The maester nodded at them and began to speak.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words.”

Aemond and Lady Stark shivered, clutching their hands tighter, and opened their mouths.

"Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his | hers, and he | she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”

They both smiled as thunderous applause erupted around them. Lady Stark stared at him, her face radiant with joy and fulfillment like the sun.

Unable to resist, he took her face in his hands and kissed her hungrily. She moaned softly into his mouth and kissed him back, people cheering. They broke apart, finally feeling the longed-for relief.

Their wedding was more modest than those of Aegon and Helaena. According to them, it was even better. Lord Baratheon, to their satisfaction, did not stay at the feast and returned to Storms End with his family immediately after their wedding. They both knew that nothing could ruin their day.

As the music began, Aemond stood up and held out his hand to her, looking at her expectantly. Y/N looked at him surprised and trembling with emotion. Even the king and queen seemed shocked at what was happening now.

"I didn't know you danced, my husband." She said with amusement as they stepped into the crowd, which parted for them.

“I told you already, I dance, but I don't enjoy it. Nevertheless, I will not let the first dance with my wife belong to any other man." He said low, turning to face her. The orchestra slowly began to play, and they turned in the dance. Lady Stark was smiling broadly. To her surprise, her husband was quite a good dancer.

"You're doing well, my husband," She said, with one of the turns, their hands touched and they spun together, their noses practically touching each other. "Dancing can be very exciting if you so desire." She whispered softly, her hand when she was close to him ran over his thigh, so that no one but him could notice. He took a quick breath and thought maybe he should dance with her more often.

After they danced, quenched their hunger and thirst, their thoughts began to run towards the wedding night. They both looked at each other expectantly, but they knew they should at least hold out until midnight before running away from the feast.

Drunken, Aegon began to babble about bedding and that he hoped his brother would trade wives with him for a one-night stand someday. Aemond wanted to get up, enraged, but Criston sat Aegon back down, whispered a few words in his ear, and the prince calmed down. Lady Stark took her feverish husband's hand in hers and kissed it tenderly. After a few hours, they announced to the king and queen that they were going to their chambers.

Y/N told Aemond that she wanted to change and that they would meet at the chapel. Aemond swallowed hard at the thought of what they wanted to do.

Salome helped Y/N take off her beautiful dress and change into her usual nightgown. She unraveled her hair, smeared her with oils and perfumes. Y/N dismissed her, then reached into her trunk and pulled out the nightgown she'd made earlier.

She put it on quickly, tying a bow at the side, and looked at herself in the mirror. She knew she looked beautiful and smiled at the thought that she was about to try to drive her husband crazy.

She pulled on the bedspread, covering herself, and peeked through the door of her chamber to look around. She could still hear the sounds of partying and feasting from the great hall, not seeing a living soul in the corridor. She quickly ran a few feet barefoot straight to the chapel door and went inside, closing the door behind her.

Aemond, already waiting inside, jumped in fright and exhaled loudly when he saw it was her. Lady Stark turned the key in the door and looked at him. She slowly pulled the bedspread off her shoulders and dropped it to the floor.

Aemond's mouth parted as he saw how deep her cleavage was, her nipples showing through the thin fabric. Her dress covered everything and nothing at the same time.

She approached him slowly, a wide smile of amusement on her face, she could see that he couldn't catch his breath. She approached him with an expression on her face as if she were both an angelic creature and a devil at the same time.

"My husband." She whispered softly, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

He didn't answer. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to him, kissing her passionately. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, his hand gripped her buttock tightly, pressing her against him, he was already hard. He pulled away from her, panting heavily.

"Fuck, I need to feel you." He said low, grabbing her around the waist and laying her on the cloth, that he must have obviously brought to keep them from lying on the bare ground. Lady Stark was breathing fast, it wasn't going according to her plan.

His hands quickly lifted her dress and exposed her thighs, he put one of her legs over his shoulder and leaned over her, his tongue slipping into her without warning.

She moaned loudly, throwing her head back in pleasure, she saw that the menacing figures of his gods spread out on the platforms above her, looking at her judgingly. She tightened her hand on his hair and began to moan softly, feeling his tongue massaging her inside.

She looked at the sculptures with her mouth slightly parted, feeling the heat rising in her lower abdomen. The wet sounds of his tongue licking her juices from her cunt and her loud panting echoed around the temple.

Suddenly he broke away from her, kneeling on his knees and began to undo his pants, looking at her with eye black with desire. She felt her nipples harden, her juices running down her thighs. Aemond smiled darkly at the sight, and she thought with delight that she had created a demon worse than herself.

“I should show my gods how my wife fucks, right? Show how much you need purification and salvation." He grunted, taking her thighs in his hands, parting them obscenely, his cock starting to rub against her entrance, moving up and down in slow motions. Lady Stark moaned, tightening his hands around his, wanting him to finally do what she needed.

"Confess your sins, wife. Tell me what you want, so that your husband can guide you to the right path." He purred, aroused beyond measure, his cock throbbing painfully, feeling how hot and desperate she was.

Y/N swallowed loudly, pursed her lips, blushing. She knew he had beaten her at her own game, at least now, and she had to accept that. She licked her lips, smiling slightly.

"I want my husband to fuck me like a whore in front of his Seven Gods." She said shamelessly, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I want him to punish me and take away my sinful thoughts so that I can be saved."

Aemond's mouth parted in delight. Just how bad that sounded made him feel that his cock throbbed painfully, impatiently. He tought that he could come just by listening to those insulting, unholy words. They both moaned loudly as he inserted his tip into her and started teasing her with it without pushing it any further inside her.

"You want that? Is that what you want, my sinful, dissolute wife?" He asked excitedly, licking his lips, feeling he was on the brink of going crazy if he didn't come soon.

"Yes, make me pure, my husband" She said and they both moaned loudly as he began to fuck her, he set a quick, brutal rhythm, looking down at their tangled bodies.

"Lying with your thighs spread like that, in front of the gods, in my mother's chapel." He hissed, his cock filling her completely, hitting where she needed it, hard and relentless, fucking her the way she wanted it, her thighs responding hungrily to his every thrust.

Lady Stark pulled him close and they kissed hungrily, their tongues licking each other in a shameless, sticky kiss, panting into each other's mouths, her hand tightening in his hair.

His hips thrust into her in a steady, fast rhythm, their bodies slapping against each other with a wet, debauched sound.

"Please, come inside me, my dragon, my king" She moaned helplessly, wanted to feel it, wanted him to fill her. Aemond moaned low at her words, his hands tightening on her ass, accelerating even more, fucking her with inhuman strength.

"You want that? My royal seed in this sinful, tight cunt? You think you deserve it?” He asked in a trembling voice, he was on the verge, he knew he was about to come.

"Yes, please, fill me, fill me, fill me" She moaned loudly and shivered as she felt a wonderful hot orgasm spread over her body, her cunt throbbing relentlessly, her husband gasping helplessly her name and cum inside her, his hot semen flowed into her in waves. Both of them gasped loudly, moving for a while longer, unable to calm down, surprised at how wonderfully fulfilled they felt.

Aemond slid out of her and lay down next to her, looking at her adoringly. He touched her cheek as if to check if she was real. Lady Stark smiled as she kissed his hand. Aemond grunted in satisfaction.

"We are destined to burn together."

_____

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howyouloveyourdragon · 1 year

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The Prince and His Corpse Bride (part i)

pronouns: she/her warnings: infidelity? (he and baela have no romantic connection) summary: Jacaerys went to Winterfell for one reason and one reason only–the support of the only true friend he has ever had but now he needs to return regardless of his desires, and amongst his presence he must also bestow the ring of Valyrian steel so carefully curated to his betrothed. dividers: firefly-graphics disclaimers: of course do not own the original corpse bride nor asoiaf however this is my own work and story, i do not give permission for my work to be transferred onto other platforms or translated a/n: this chapter is very jace heavy wordcount: 3,529

The steel ring glimmers in the moonlight upon Jacaerys fingers as he waves goodbye within the Godswood as he prepares to take flight, Cregan and sweet young Sara reciprocating the hand gesture eagerly. Vermax grumbles beneath him, stretching his wings as if for the first time for years. A forced smile tightens on Jacaerys’ face as his lips part to take in a deep breath. It wasn’t often that Jacaerys left Dragonstone but he was to be wed in a moon’s time and he needed his best friend. No matter how hard, nor what, he tries, however, he cannot dispel his brother’s face from the front of his mind. Even Cregan saw it when the Velaryon’s irises linger too long on the brunet siblings. A sickly chartreuse dagger wedges in Jacaerys’ throat every time he tries to push the thoughts back. He didn’t think of anything once his satchel was restocked and he climbed aboard Vermax, finally mounting his dragon after ten and four nights–each more painful and lonely than the last. He was only meant to stay a mere three and yet that green dagger poked everytime he approached his companion’s scales. He doesn’t want to go back, not truly, because when he does? His own and dearest brother will not be there to toast his union. He will not be there at all. And for some reason that hurts more than any other harrowing kill he has witnessed. The Targaryen dynasty is no longer at war but that does not soothe all ills. Not his own. And for a while it was alright to drink and curse at his friend’s side but even when he couldn’t remember his own name, he could remember Lucerys. He could remember that he wasn't there.

Jacaerys closes his eyes as Vermax makes a low sound reminiscent of whining and bites his lip until he can feel a cut beginning to blossom beneath his sharp teeth. No more late night talking, mourning and horse rides until both he and Cregan reek of the night air. Bile squirms in his mouth but he buries it before Vermax finally takes off, dragging his begrudging rider with him. Jacaerys refrains from commanding because if he does, he knows he’ll tell him to turn back and he cannot do that to Baela. He cannot embarrass her like that, cannot cast shame on his family at all. He will do his duty and return to Dragonstone and marry her before The Seven. It doesn’t matter that he thinks the Sept’s altar makes him heave, that the candles never feel right in his hand, that the ring he will slip onto her finger will feel as though a condemnation. He may never love her, and she him, but he can try and create a painless union–one that is good for the family, one that will strengthen a family worthy of the Iron Throne, Baela at his side. He breathes in. He can do it. His stomach churns at the thought. His mother did it, he can too–he will. He will perform what is expected of him, he will be crowned and he will form a legacy worthy of The Seven Kingdoms. He has to and he will. His mother told him that she will create a new order and he intends to assist in any way he can to replenish it for her. The wind brushes over him in thick waves, watering his narrowed eyes. His nose twitches against the cold. He scrunches it in an attempt to warm his freezing face. The Kingdom needs their Queen and one day they will need their King too. Baela is brave, smart and holds a power within her gaze he has rarely seen before, she will make an excellent Queen. He gave her a promise worth a throne and he will keep it even if it kills him. He knows she is far more than he has yet amounted to.

Vermax shrieks, screaming the emotions that Jacaerys refuses to outlet. His rider chokes out an exhale and digs the heels of his hands into the saddle reins. Jagged pains dig through him and burn as hot as the fires of his House. He thinks of Valyrian ceremonies, of the one he will never have in case it displeases the people. They will think him a fraudulent prince until he seats the chair of iron and corruption. He curses the damned thing and its pretentious swords. He curses that he is not trueborn. He curses that his mother made him so. Did she know how this would occur? Laenor was his father but not in blood. Did the Lord truly hate him so much that he would leave them so quickly? Abandon he and his brothers to a life of condemnation without him. He curses that he would leave them but not Laenor, never him. A sob begs to claw up his throat but he buries it, slashing until he tastes the metallic blood that sears his burning veins. He curses his hair, his Strong hair. His dark eyes devoid of the enchanting lilac his mother bears. Why, oh Gods, why would they curse him so? Had he been a meandering fool in a previous life? Were such things real? He hopes that in the next life he will be curated in a life of simplicity and his parents of common blood. Jacaerys curses himself. He told his mother to send him to the Vale and Winterfell. It should have been Lucerys. His sweet brother, the one worth more than himself. He had thought the shorter journey would ensure Lucerys’ safety yet it had not. What kind of brother was he? What kind of King would he be if that golden crown lay upon his head. Jacaerys is sure he would abdicate if he had not been betrothed to Baela. If she did not deserve the throne far more than he. Cloud encircles him and he snaps back his gaze upon the familiar castle finally. He sniffles and curses the cold.

He curses.

Landing came slow and rough, Vermax had never been swift at the act though nor did he really care. Not for the first time, Jacaerys envied him. A raucous clapping sounded from the soiled ground. Jacaerys leaned over Vermax’s shimmering neck to catch the sight of Baela wearing a sly smirk. He returns to her a suitable smile and attempts to unlatch the sweltering furs adorning his neck, coursing down the length of his back and arms. His feet hesitate before bounding over one side, his left. The prince lowers himself despite Vermax’s grunts. He glides a firm hand along his scales in penance. “Cousin,” Baela greets warmly. He tries not to wince. She is as beautiful as ever; her lengthy snow coils wrap together in a collection of braids–no doubt his mother’s doing–and descend her back, her iridescent eyes glimmer in the beam of sunlight and she bears the Targaryen colours like the personification of dragon blood herself. His eyes catch the golden clasps latching her hair into neatness but stray strands still peak from behind her ears. It was unabashedly Baela Targaryen. He nods, but even he can tell it is forced, then lowers to his knee and presses a quick chaste peck to the roof of her hand. Jacaerys’ eyes look up to her and attempt to soften in the way his mother’s do at Daemon. It doesn’t work. It never works. His chapped lips part. “Beloved.” The words taste sour when pressed upon his tongue. She doesn’t comment on this if she notices his tensity. She nods and allows him to stand again but her own movements are hard. A gentle breeze embraces them but still a sizable space repels their contact. The prince swallows. “Perhaps you shall join me for a stroll next morrow?” Vermax grumbles but Baela breathes out in relief, eyes briefly shutting before she smiles. “Yes. Yes, I would be delighted.” Her brows pinch in a gentle knit, hopefully grateful for the proposal. Proposal. His stomach churns again. His heartbeat rattles through the cage enclosing his ribs, a round ball expands in his throat.

She turns her back and all but runs back to the Keep, or more likely, his mother, Queen Rhaenyra of whom has been assisting her knowledge in their rich history and the order she wishes to maintain. Jacaerys sighs and guides Vermax through the Dragon Pit. The suffocating heat smothers his skin but the comfort it bestows is something he drinks easily. He may not possess the salt of Driftmark but at least the blood of the dragon roars its presence eagerly. \he sucks it into his nose and swallows the burning warmth. His eyes linger on the familiar stone surrounding him, he reaches to press his padded fingertips to his dragon’s scales who huffs. That was something he appreciates–his companion was never angry at him for long. Never doubted their bond. His true and unquestionable friend. Through battle and Kingship he’s certain. Vermax almost purrs, unpleased with his lack of flight. Jacaerys nods. “I know, I apologise.” Jacaerys speaks through a sigh. “I will be better, I swear it to you, my friend.” Vermax hums deeply and rests his snout against Jacaerys’ palm. He almost purrs, preening at the attention as always. The prince bites back a snicker but the corners of his lips unwillingly upturn. He parts and grins. “Three times a day, I shall burn all contact in my thighs for you.” He teases to which Vermax tilts his head and squints his eyes. Jacaerys chuckles. “Fine, four.” Vermax relaxes and juts his chin in discerned triumph. Jacaerys runs a hand over his dragon’s smooth cheek before reluctantly stepping back and leaving the fiery comfort.

That night, he seats himself beside Joffrey, sending a stern expression when the boy attempts to launch his greens at young Aegon. Older Aegon groans and shoots him an absurd glance himself. He flails a flamboyant arm across the back of Helaena’s chair who makes sillious faces at their young babe. Maelor giggles. “Finally come to join us, nephew?” Aegon asks, propping a high brow and lips pulled taut. “I am afraid so.” Jace returns and then cranes his neck to smile at Baela beside him. “You look exquisite this evening.” He tells her politely before raising a fork to twirl in his grasp. “You were in Winterfell long, darling.” Rhaenyra frowns, lips sewn together as she casts concern his way. Jacaerys flushes and shrugs gently. “We lost time.” He replies in rolling lies. “I was helping Cregan assemble his swords and a few found themselves in unwanted hands.” The only sound breathes clattering silvery. Little Viserys dropped to the floor immediately in record speed to return the fallen cutlery to Princess Rhaena with pink cheeks. He has grown a crush on the older girl quite quickly although she clearly does not return the sentiment. She smiles quickly at him and tries to hide the growing frustration that teases her lips. Baela nudged Jacaerys gently and snickers. He returned the act and scooped a helping of potato upon his fork. He dips the food between the seam of his lips and lets the taste lay on his tongue. The betrothed prince and princess could at least enjoy one another’s company which is more than most had been bestowed. Still it hardly soothes his clenched heart. Alicent smiles at them from his mother’s side. “You will see him again soon for your nuptials.” She reminds him, arm entangling with Rhaenyra’s. Daemon groans. “Yes, a pack of wolves are to be invited, I hear.” It is no secret that Jacaerys’ stepfather cared deeply for a Valyrian ceremony in place of the one chosen, he does not hide it.

The remainder of night is spent with tossing and distressing thoughts. He cannot find it in him to sleep. No matter how many sweet lullabies he threads, no matter how many direwolves he recounts, no matter anything because all he can remember is the night his brother left…How they were never told why. Jacaerys sits up, a huff dropping from between his lips. He rolls them between his teeth and groans, smacking his hands to clasp behind his head. The prince weaves his fingers between strands of his hair, grasping them roughly as he huffs. He clicks his jaw and gently faces the window. What’s wrong with him? It must be the early hours of daylight and yet he stays here unable to sleep with wicked thoughts snatching at which part of his brain they wish to feast upon. He remembers a time where he slept easily and it was his brother who needed comforting. Jacaerys swallows around the cotton in his throat. He closes his eyes and leans back onto his pillow. “Jace?” The quiet voice called across the room. A yelp escaped the elder prince’s lips. His eyes shot open and shot to search for the cause. Long dark locks blocked his vision and he jumped, his hands reaching to cup his own cheeks, greeting him with familiar baby weight. He swallowed and took in a deep breath before he responded. “Yes?” He croaked, scrubbing the golden dust from his eyes. Jacaerys’ breath stopped suddenly. A six year old trembling Lucerys wobbled in on unsteady sleepy legs and sniffled. A large candle sat in his hand. Jace’s eyes widened and he bolted upright. “Hey, what are you doing? Put that down, you’ll hurt yourself. Luke just barely dodges the spilling wax, his lip trembles. “I-I-I–” He stutters. “Shh, shh.” Jace soothed and beckoned him closer as tears enraptured his little brother’s eyes. “It’s okay, take your time.” Jace whispered, tugging his head to his own chest. “It’s okay.” He ruffled his hair and let Luke’s tears flood his nightshirt. “I didn’t mean to!” Lucerys wailed, salt burning his throat. “I know,” Jace soothed, “I know. It’s not your fault.”

Screaming is the first thing Jacaerys hears when he awakens–he just doesn’t realise that it is his own until he feels the tight embrace and exotic perfumes of his mother. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Rhaenyra hums, kissing the top of his head. Jace feels the pressure of burning tears spill past his eyelashes. “I didn’t mean to!” He cries. “I thought he was safe!” Rhaenyra nods and runs threading patterns through his coarse hair. “It’s okay, take your time.” She murmurs.

The morning comes and passes, Jacaerys’ eyes swollen and red as he reluctantly makes his way toward the palace gardens. Baela is standing with antsy hands, fingers playing with one another. Jacaerys bites his lip and smiles the best he can at her. She visibly sighs in relief and approaches, arms outstretched. He frowns and says nothing, merely returning the gesture and patting her back awkwardly. He extends his arm as expectation demands once they pull away and she reluctantly accepts it, her hand sliding down his arm before settling atop his own hand and weaving their fingers together. “A shame that so long has passed since we last met.” Baela comments and he hums despite his mind being elsewhere entirely. They pass a collection of candytufts to which she plucks one into her fingers. He bites back a sharp quip. Her eyes curiously float across his features and she sighs. “You do not care for me, I take it.” It’s not a question. His head snaps to her with wide eyes. Their movements turn fluid as he takes both her hands in his now. “Of course I care for you!” He rebuts but she only chuckles at him–her laughter the sound of a bird’s song and yet still his heart does nothing but sink in panic. “But not in the way we want it to.” Baela’s sharp voice casts through his unwilling ears. He sighs. “No.” Jace concedes. His eyes lift to hers again. “But I wish them to.” She nods, a grief-inducing tilt to her lips. “I know. We will give it time and perform our duty.” She squeezes his hands.

“But we must not lie to one another. After we are wed I do not plan to take a lover and I presume neither do you. If this changes, however, we must speak of it with one another.” Jace sighs and smiles. “Yes. Yes, I couldn’t agree more but I do have one more term.” Baela nods. “No child is to be born of another union, I–” His voice cracks, his tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. “I could not bear it.” Jace clears his throat and his dear cousin rubs a soothing pattern on his hand. Gods, he wished he loved her. “Of course.” She assures. A loud sigh of relief draws from between his plush lips. She wished she cared about them. “Good.” He clears his throat and then chuckles and he kneels before her. “I suppose this would be a good time to finally present this to you then.” He rummages through his left pocket within his breeches. Baela tilts her head. “Present what?” She asks. Jacaerys knits his brows and sighs in frustration as he tries the opposite but no matter how far he digs, his hands come up empty. Paleness pours through his face, draining the blood like a leech. In a quick haste, his hand snaps to his forehead, his fingers wrap roughly in his hair. “Oh dear…” He murmurs. Baela furrows her brows. “What is it?” She asks, worry dripping from her like the snow in Winterfell. The snow he would have to return to. Slowly he meets her gaze and groans against tight lips. “The ring.”

Jacaerys Velaryon had never travelled so many times within the same year. He can see Cregan waving him down as he draws upon a patch of land, Vermax following his direction effortlessly. He drops from the saddle and greets the man quickly. “Have you seen a ring?” Cregan frowns and freezes before shaking his head. “I have not.” Jacaerys groans and tosses his head back. He guides his hand along his face, cupping it around his mouth and chin, rubbing his jaw. “Perhaps it fell in the Godswood? You were overhead it when I saw it last.” Jace nods slowly. “How large is it?” He asks to which his friend snorts and folds his arms. He slaps a hand across his back. “Come, my friend, we will find it.”

Walking has never been harder as he russells leaves and the earth’s soil in desperation. He would not be quite so worried if it did not belong to his fiery grandmother but alas it had. And he had been so careful. He curses himself, how had he been so reckless? It had barely left his pocket the whole time and yet when it came to leaving he had let it fall so easily? Curses. He huffs before a sudden glimmer flashes on a tree branch. A gasp pierces the seam of his lips and it is with a lengthy sprint that he launches himself at it, the branch tipping to drop it onto a log. Jacaerys’ eyes widen and he clasps it between his fingers, eyes shutting in exhaustion. He breathes out in relief after carefully peeling them back open again. He breaks out in a grin and kisses the dirtied steel. “Thank the Gods, you have not yet forsaken me!” He rolls onto the ground so that his back rests against the dark bark of the tree. “Now all that is left are the vows.” He grumbles to himself. He chuckles gently and raises the ring so that it might gleam in the sun. The exercise heats his tired body. “I suppose there is no harm.” He murmurs to himself dubiously. He carefully sets slips the rings past the break of a fallen branch and unlatches the clasp of his cloak, one with the Velaryon emblem clearly patterned across the back. “With this kiss I pledge my love,” Jacaerys hums to himself. He drapes the cloak to rest atop a strange bump in the soil. He admires the ring before him and takes a deep breath. He glances about him before taking the oddly shaped bark in hand. “and take you for my lady and wife.” He presses his warm lips to the bark slowly and soft like he practised. He smiles gently, voice melting into a low thrum of noise. “We are now one flesh, one heart, one soul–” Jace doesn’t get to finish the faithless vow.

“Now and forever.” A feminine voice sings back. His eyes snap open and he shrieks at the sight before him. His back slaps against the back of a weirwood tree, hands grasping behind him and around it. His jaw drops like a fish out of water as he stares upward. Before him now stands a beautiful maiden draped in white fabrics, torn furs and his very own Velaryon cloak. Congealed blood seeps through from her side to the opposite hip but her smile is as bright as the sun. A knowing smirk spreads across his pale lips. She tilts her head.

“Hello, husband.”

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ass-deep-in-demons · 3 months

Text

never the same river

Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire Pairing: Ned Stark x Catelyn Tully Stark Tropes: developing relationship, arranged marriage, fluff and spice, mutual pining, idiots in love, dirty talk Rating: T+ Words: 2k Summary: Ned learns Catelyn used to be fond of swimming. He has no idea what he's doing.

for @nedcatweek day 6 prompt: "I want you to feel at home" [AO3]

“It is beautiful here,” Catelyn said, looking around. Ned observed her as she dismounted and gave the reins away to one of their host, before they were left alone. The weather had reached this sweet spot on the cusp of high season, when it was warm, but not hot enough to become unbearable. Late though and tentative, summer had indeed come to the North. The ice floe on the river had long melted, the flowers were yet in bloom, but the trees had for some weeks now been clad in the most verdant foliage, making one forget that the Winter was, indeed, coming. (Because Winter was coming. Tomorrow, or in twenty years, it was always coming, Ned knew.)

The idea to come here had arisen in Ned’s mind during the cold months. He had to bear Catelyn’s nostalgic looks on Harvest Day, then her barely visible flinches and chills in response to the cold drafts in the castle during winter. Though she might hide it well, Catelyn did not feel at home.

“What are we to do now, my Lord?” Catelyn asked and looked at him. Would that he could find his words easily. Alas, he’d never been skillful in conveying his meaning. Why had he brought her here? What were they going to do now? He wasn’t sure himself.

He wanted her to feel more at home. The Sept that he’d commissioned for her two winters prior hadn’t been enough, if her wistful sighing and withering glances were anything to judge by. Ned blamed himself. If only he’d made her feel more welcome. He had tried to keep her company whenever he could, but he wasn’t sure if his quiet, brooding presence had been any help, or if it had only made things worse. (Because he’d been brooding, Gods help him. He knew he’d been.)

With the first vestiges of spring, Ser Brynden Tully had come to Winterfell, bearing greetings and letters from Lord Hoster. The Blackfish had stayed in their Castle a fortnight and spent most of those mornings observing little Robb at play, and most of the evenings trying to get Ned to drink with him. Ned had very good reasons to not over indulge (what with the secrets he carried), but he would indulge a little, on occasion. And so he had played the gracious host, indulged a little in the cups with his guest, and had used the opportunity to pry subtly about Catelyn’s life back in Riverrun. One of the memories shared by Brynden had struck him as a particularly happy one. It was that of young Catelyn and Lysa going swimming in the Red Fork River in the summer. So, Catelyn liked river swimming… This seemed to Ned an extravagant passtime, but what did he know? He was from the North; he did not understand southern customs, and therein lay the whole problem.

“I thought we could go swimming in the river,” he said simply.

“... Swimming, my Lord?” she asked. Had he announced he was going to re-paint the walls of Castle Black bright crimson, her eyes could not have gotten any rounder. Taking her swimming had been his plan, ridiculous though it might now seem. The swift currents of White Knife, sure to be carrying the chill of northern glaciers even now, did not seem particularly enticing, he had to admit.

He regarded his Lady. She looked beautiful when surprised. To be precise, she looked beautiful at all times and all moods, to Ned at least. He would admire her quietly when she would glide through Winterfell, swishing about in her gowns, which she took to tailoring according to Northern fashion, but which retained the elegance and lightness of the worldly South. She would brighten his dour abode with her mere presence, but here, among nature, with the warm sun glinting in her teal eyes and setting her hair aflame? Catelyn Tully took his breath away.

“Perhaps the hot springs near your castle would serve better for that purpose, my Lord?” Catelyn asked, when he prolonged his silence. Her surprise had turned into visible amusement. “You know you can call for me whenever you want for company in the pools…”

Ned felt his ears turn red at the memory of their last time at the hot springs. He had noticed the cold did not serve his Lady well, and proposed they visit the caverns in the Godswoods, where the temperature in the pools was particularly high, so that she could warm herself and forget about the snowstorms that had been plaguing Winterfell. Catelyn had accepted this offer, but, instead of an endeavor towards the betterment of her health, she thought it primarily an effort to introduce some variety to their marital duties. And so their hot spring experience quickly turned… steamy.

Not that their bedroom needed any more steam. Ned would visit Catelyn’s chambers regularly, although never without her prior invitation. And she would invite him often. Every other night, in fact, whenever she was not through her menses. Ned knew this was what Maester Luwin advised her in order to quicken again, as Catelyn was bent on giving him another son.

Thing was, Catelyn had already given him one perfect son. Whenever Ned even looked at little Robb, he could not help but wonder. He had never thought he would ever get to be this happy. Not after… After… More still, she had given him another child, a sweet little babe, a daughter. Sansa favored her mother, and that made her beautiful to Ned’s eyes. Still, his Lady wanted to bear him another son, and it didn’t seem likely she’d give up before achieving that goal.

He could not help but feel guilty. Was it because of Jon? Was it that because Jon existed, she felt like one legitimate son wasn’t enough? Oh, he did feel guilty, after Jon, unworthy of those constant invitations to her bedchamber of wonders. For all his guilt, he’d never suggested that one heir was enough, though. He wondered if he maybe should, for her peace of mind, but then their nighttime activities would likely cease, and he just couldn't give her up. Wretched as he was, he came to rely completely on the reprieve that her touch offered. He would not show it, but most days he lusted after her, he awaited her signal impatiently like a man starved. It took a lot of effort on his part to not lose himself utterly with her, to not bite her soft, creamy skin, to not yank her lush red hair, not to take her a little too eagerly. She seemed so delicate, so refined. Ladylike.

He had earned the nickname the Quiet Wolf, because in his boyhood he’d been perceived as calm, in contrast to Brandon. Ah, Brandon… How his brother would now mock him, if he could see him so… lovesick. Ned had always been the sensible one. The reserved one. But not with Catelyn, he wasn’t. Not after having tasted her. Sometimes he thought one look of her eyes alone could make the wolfblood in him awaken. The wolfblood that he had used to doubt he had a drop of, but that he could now feel cursing through his veins whenever she lay under him. He restrained himself, fearful of offending her and losing her good graces, losing the privilege of sharing her bed, that he had nearly forfeited when he had brought Jon in. So he tried to remain calm during their couplings. Calm, gentle. Attentive to her whims and needs. He made sure she had her pleasure too, because Gods knew he had his aplenty with her.

“What is the true purpose of this outing, my Lord?” Catelyn asked, snapping him out of his musings. She was getting impatient, Ned knew. No wonder - they had spent the entire morning on horseback to get here, on his urging, and he’d kept her in the dark as to their destination. “Why have you brought me here?”

Ned sighed.

“Ser Brynden has told me you were fond of the river as a child,” he said. He could not bear to look her in the eye, so he instead looked at the murmuring crystalline waters. “I wanted you to feel more at home…”

Catelyn’s expression darkened visibly, at that. This was, apparently, the wrong thing to say, though for the love of the Old Gods, Ned could not figure out why.

“You do not get it, do you?” she grumbled, and he could tell she was bitter. He said nothing, as was his way, and let her speak. “I’ve lived here for four summers already! Winterfell is my home! Would that you saw it. Would that my welcome here was warmer.”

“What do you mean?” Ned was alarmed by her outburst. “Have I not seen to your comforts, my Lady? Has anyone in the Castle mistreated you?” Whoever had wronged her, Ned would not let them get away with it.

Catelyn sighed and shook her head, dejected.

“The truth is, I do find the North so very… cold,” she said quietly. “And not for all the snow and winter winds… I know I am unlike the women around here. Not as… hardy. The glances I sometimes get... I am a foreigner in everyone’s eyes. And, worse still, in your eyes…” She looked so sad that Ned’s very heart clenched painfully. “Sometimes I feel like I shall never belong.”

“No,” Ned rushed to appease her. He took her hand in his, hoping she’d turn around, hoping she’d look at him. “Of course your place is here! You are my Lady. My wife!”

“That I am…” She uttered a mirthless chuckle. “And you are ever so dutiful a husband. So stern, so focused, when you come to my chambers.”

“Have I been amiss with my attentions towards you?” Her comment, offhand as it was, stung deeply. He prided himself on doing his very best whenever they lay together.

“I do not deny that you are.. attentive,” she whispered. “Yet I always wonder if you even want to be there. With me.” The vulnerability in her voice rendered him near speechless. He hated himself for making her feel this way, for letting it come to this.

“Wherever else would I be?” he asked, genuinely bewildered by the very concept.

“You tell me,” said Catelyn and finally regaled him with a look. Though her words were quiet and her face ablush, thunder and lightning danced in her eyes.

Ned was frustrated. He was well aware of his many social shortcomings, and of how much Jon’s presence had soured things between them, but he had been trying his very best to be a good husband to her. He’d made many attempts at conveying how much she meant to him, but all of his efforts had failed, it seemed. He felt his temper rise, for the first time perhaps where she was involved.

“Then what would you have me do, my Lady?” he asked, not trying overly hard to smooth his speech this time. “Would you want me to grab you by your beautiful, downright sinful hair and take you roughly against the wall? Would that convince you of my commitment?”

This was, shockingly, somehow the right thing to say. Catelyn’s entire face brightened momentarily and it made something in Ned’s stomach stir in anticipation.

“You would want me like that?” she asked, breathless. Contrary to Ned’s every prediction, she did not look appalled nor frightened by the idea of them coupling roughly.

“I have… thought about it,” he admitted carefully. Her expression softened further, so he allowed himself to reveal even more. “In truth, I have been thinking of little else for many months now…”

“And you like my hair?” she asked.

Ned did like her hair, Gods help him, and he liked how her voice vibrated with excitement. He’d suddenly got many more ideas on how to make his wife feel more at home…

This is my contribution to NedCat Week 2024. Thrilled to be part of it and in awe of all the awesome writers making it happen <3

[my fanfiction masterpost]

#ned stark #catelyn stark #catelyn tully stark #nedcat #nedcatweek2024 #nedcat week 2024 #ned x cat #ned stark x catelyn stark #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #got fanfiction #eddard stark #[song of ice and fire]#ass deep in demons

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loksthegreat · 2 months

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“In the aftermath of the passing of Queen Elaena IV, a heavy veil of grief fell upon Kingslanding, and thousands of men and women flooded the septs of the city. The coronation of Rhaegar II, seven days after his mothers death, was a overshadowed by the loss of ‘the mother of the realm’, no matter how beloved the young king himself had been as a prince, in these dark hours that saw the realm united in mourning, few believed that any ruler yet to come could live up to the image of the velaryon Queen. Soon questions rose as to how the king thought to go about the conflicts with the north, and it was not until little over two fortnights later, that the kings brother, prince Aeron I, arrived at Winterfell, alone, dressed all in black and only armed with his fathers sword, dark sister, strapped to his side. The prince, who in his youth, had been assumed by all of his Maesters to become an outstanding Maester of his own one day, was only 21 years of age, and ‘the old wolf of winter’, Lord Torrhen Stark, who had lost all of his sons and daughters, safe for Lady Alara and Lady Berena, to the war in the Riverlands, where he had fought and killed the princes father, King Rhaegar I, was said to have come to face him with his favored heavy crossbow drawn and aimed at the princes heart. The conversation of the wolf and the prince, who announced himself the Hand of the King, upon desaddleing his horse, and would be known as ‘Lord Peacemaker’ in the following years, remains unknown, for no maester was present to write it down, but prince Aeron would return to his brothers throne unharmed and with him he brought the loyalty of the north.” - sons and daughters of the crown, by Maester Wyland

#asoiaf oc #hotd #asoiaf #digital art #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf art #fanart #asoiaf fanart #elaena iv targaryen #rest in peace Aeron Targaryen you would have loved cigarettes

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ladycatofwinterfell · 3 months

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Blessings

Summary: Catelyn comes to the godswood feeling rather defeated after having been told by the maester that she’s still not with child. Though Ned makes her aware of that in the old days all marriages were consummated in front of a weirwood because that meant the gods would bless the couple with a child.

For @nedcatweek day 7: free space

It’s late by a week and a half, but finally I finished my last contribution to nedcat week! This is a combination of several of the nsfw prompts and also the godswood prompt because I felt like like they deserved to shine for a bit.

Even in the middle of the day the godswood was dark, the heavy branches of its trees keeping the sun from reaching the ground. The light wind made the leaves rustle, it sounded almost like whispers one could not quite hear. Ned had once told her that was the voice of his gods, she chose to think it was not. That lessened her unease, if so only a little. The godswood was no place for her in truth, each time she was there she found herself feeling regret. Never did she feel so much that she lived in a country where she did not belong as when she set foot in Winterfell’s godswood.

It was a relief when finally she reached the small glade where the weirwood stood, even as it meant she had to be under the watchful gaze of the red eyes that always bled. Though Catelyn did not look at the white tree, she looked at the man kneeling in front of it.

Interrupting him in his prayers to the strange tree would have been rude and so she stood in silence at the edge of the clearing. Her effort did not matter, he immediately noticed her presence.

”How come you are here, my lady?” Ned asked without turning to her.

He kept his head down, bowing down before the eyes of his nameless gods.

”How did you know it was me?” Catelyn had to ask him.

”Anyone else would have joined me in front of the tree, you are one of few people here that do not share my faith.”

No, she did not share his faith. The worship of her gods took place in the sept he had ordered be built for her. There she could pray to the true gods instead of kneeling for their tree gods. The past few weeks she had spent much time praying in the sept for something neither his nor her gods seemed willing to grant them.

”In that you are right.”

Ned finally turned his face towards her as he found his feet and stood up.

”You never answered my question” he said.

In the surprise over that he had known her just because she had lingered by the edge of the trees the question had escaped her.

As far as she was aware he was done with his prayers and so she walked closer to him. Sun fell on her face as she left the shadows, it had been long since clouds did not cover all of the sky.

”I did not” she sighed.

She suspected she would have hesitated even if she had began speaking of it immediately. It was no happy thing she wished to share with him, the disappointment was like a wet blanket over her. Uncomfortable and heavy.

”I came to say Maester Luwin does not believe me to be with child.”

Her moonblood was late by many days, usually it was like a clock. And so she had shared her suspicions of that perhaps she was with child with Ned the night before. It had been so long since Bran, much longer than it had been with the other children. Even longer than it had been between Robb and Sansa. It was past time. Only to have Luwin, with a look that to her seemed close to pity, tell her that her womb was most likely still empty

Ned’s forehead fell into deep wrinkles.

”Still no child?”

”Still no child.”

Not for a lack of trying. They tried and tried and tried and still his seed would not quicken in her. There had been no struggle with the four other children. Robb had been conceived on their wedding night. Though perhaps she had in the end taken after her mother. She hoped that was not the truth, she wished to give Ned as many children as she could.

”I cannot understand!” she exclaimed, thoroughly tired of it all. ”I have my health, none of my births have taken a lasting toll on me, I know both you and I are perfectly able to conceive, I am not yet past my fertile years, we have tried for years and I drink strange teas that are supposed to help with having children. I should be with child!”

Ned looked at her for what felt like an eternity and a half, seemingly thinking so intensely she could almost hear it.

”We have four strong children” he then said. ”I wish to have more children with you, though in truth we do not… need them. Our line is secure.”

His words had most likely been intended as comforting, she did not find them to be comforting. They had two boys and two girls, should nothing terrible befall them he was right in that they did not need more children. That did not change that she wanted them. That did not change that he wanted them. What would he think of her if she was unable to give him more children?

”I want to carry your children, I want to give you as many as I can.”

Ned held out a hand towards her and she did not hesitate before crossing the distance between them to take it. Neither of them were wearing gloves in the mild weather, and as always his hand was warm in hers.

His eyes were soft as fog as he looked at her, though there was still a certain determination.

”We will have more children” he said in a low voice. ”I will give you sons and daughters, we shall keep going until we have an army of them.”

Catelyn had to scoff and turned her face downwards.

”Much you hold power over, my love, though should my womb be barren there is not much you can do.”

”I can keep trying to put a child in you.”

She felt his other hand gently grab her jaw, forcing her to look up at him again. Her cheeks began heating, she must have blushed terribly. It happened every now and then that he did something and it felt as if though her face was aflame. As if she was a young girl and not a woman wed since many years.

”I will not stop you from that” she whispered. ”I must admit I quite want it.”

There was a warmth that spread through her at his stubbornness, at his will to make her with child. It began in her lower stomach and went all the way out to the tips of her fingers, made her feel lighter.

Ned kissed her and she eagerly responded to that kiss. She already looked forward to what would happen once they were in bed that night. She should have been ashamed and yet she could not bring herself to be.

Though she found that he deepened the kiss and let go off her hand so that he could put his arm around her waist and bring her closer to him. She ran her hands up his body and in the end let them rest on his chest. Had he been less clothed she would have been able to feel his heartbeat under her fingers. It did not help to lessen the heat in her body.

The way he held her made her unable to remain standing when he dropped down to his knees. Catelyn could steady herself using him as her knees hit the ground beneath them, though it did not help to answer the question of what he was doing.

”What do you mean to do?” she managed to get out.

She just barely had time to see the hint of a smile on Ned’s lips before he leaned down and pressed a kiss just below her ear.

”I thought I had made it obvious” he mumbled against her skin.

Her eyes widened, as much from the pleasure of his warm breath washing over her as from his words.

”Here?”

She glanced to her side, saw the red eyes of the weirwood stare back at her. Watching her, judging her. What would the Old Gods say if she partook in such disrespect against their godswood? And what if someone happened upon them? Anyone could come there at any time.

”Do you not want it?”

Her body certainly wanted it, there was a slight ache between her legs. Her mind also wanted it, but she struggled with disregarding the thought of coupling in full view of both gods and men.

”Your gods can see us.”

When Ned laughed she could feel it vibrating through her body.

”In the old days all marriages were consummated before a heart tree so that the gods could bless the ones wed with a child. Perhaps they will grant us the same.”

There had been fear and discomfort enough when they had consummated their marriage in a bed behind a closed door.

”Anyone could find us” she continued, her voice so small it could have been a whisper.

She was weaker than she should have been, could feel herself breaking at the promise of his touch. All she wanted was too feel him inside her.

”No one will be here at this time.”

Her lips found his again and then there was no return. She had to have him. He said that in the old days the gods had blessed people that consummated their marriages before heart trees with children, perhaps they would grant them a child even as they had been wed for many years.

Without breaking the kiss Ned gently laid her back on the ground. Catelyn had not expected a feather bed, though the roots of the weirwood would leave bruises on her back if they stayed there.

”Could we move a bit? My back will hurt terribly if not.”

”Of course.”

Ned gave her a quick kiss before moving away so that he could help her up and she happily accepted the hand he gave her.

Hand in hand they moved away from the root system of the tree, to the flat ground by the black water of the pond. There was a thrill in the open space around them. It would not be the first time they did it outside though it was without a doubt the most revealed place. No walls, nothing to hide behind. Only trees around them and a blue sky above.

”I think this will be better” she said.

”Good.”

When she moved to kiss him again Ned turned away. The surprise at that was lessened a second later when he unclasped his cloak and laid it out on the ground before them.

The cloak would not do much for comfort, though it was something that would separate her from leaves and twigs and pine needles. She suspected she already had some in her hair, though that was a concern for later. She had other things that required her attention.

Before he could get her down, either with words or actions, she had done so herself. All she wanted was to please and be pleased, she wanted the ache to be relieved and she wanted his seed to quicken in her womb.

Ned smiled a smile that made all of his face brighten. Every time he did that Catelyn was struck by how handsome it made him.

”You’re beautiful” he said softly.

Catelyn had not believed it possible, though her cheeks grew even warmer at that. Underneath her clothes the blush had most likely spread down her chest, it usually did.

”I will be more beautiful once I’m round with your child” she told him, returning the smile.

When she had carried Arya, before he had left to fight against the Greyjoys, she had noticed he liked it when she was with child. Of course most men were happy about their wives carrying their children, though it went beyond that. Ned found her desirable when she was with child, would make love to her even as he had already fulfilled the purpose of it. It had been the same with Bran not two years later. And she had certainly not complained.

Ned kneeled before her and began gathering up her skirts in his hands. She had been glad for that the weather was much milder than usual ever since she woke that morning, then and there she was even more glad for it as that had allowed her to wear fewer layers of skirts than she did when it was cold.

It proved to be somewhat of a struggle to remove stockings and smallclothes with her boots still on and so in the end she lost those too. A mild day still meant a certain chill and a shiver ran through her when the cool air made contact with her skin. Never before had she been so exposed to it.

The warmth of Ned’s hand stood in sharp contrast to the cold as he ran them up her bare legs. She always liked the feeling of that, though it felt almost better then. Even more so when Ned’s mouth joined his hands.

”That will not get me with child” she reminded him even as all she wanted was for him to continue.

Ned’s head had disappeared under her skirts, he was slowly kissing his way up her inner thighs.

”That is all well.”

Catelyn felt as if though she was melting out over the ground while Ned worked with her. Something that ultimately would have been unnecessary as she was already wet and aching for relief. Not that he was unaware of that. He always did it went about it slowly, gently teased before giving in to what she so desperately wanted.

She had thought of that she needed to be quiet, that it was important to in no way draw attention to them. That escaped her the moment Ned pressed his tongue against the top of her sex. Thoughts were far away, all that existed then and there was the dizzying pleasure.

”Ned.”

She could not see what he did, could only feel his tongue and his lips on her. Kissing and sucking and licking. It was the middle of the day and still Catelyn believed she saw stars in the sky above them.

He must have thought she squirmed too much even as she was unaware of doing it because he hooked his arms around her legs and forced her to be still as he continued his attack. He had become so skilled at pleasuring her with her mouth, the uncertainty and awkwardness that had been there in the beginning had long since been replaced by the actions of a man that knew just what he was doing.

Catelyn was flat on her back on the ground and still she felt how she gripped at the cloak underneath her to stay grounded. It was something to remind her of where she was.

It was closer to sin and still it felt like worship. As if he held her as highly as he held his silent gods. Those thoughts she would never voice, though they struck her all the same. There was no other way to put words on what Ned did to her.

It was not long before her body tensed only for immediate relief to wash over her. The breeze that had felt cold before was instead warm, made her feel alight. Even as he had brought her to that edge more times than she could count she never grew to enjoy it any less. She never stopped yearning for the heat that pulsed through her body from her core as her back arched. Her body was lighter than it had been before, every nerve in her body tingled.

Barely had she come down from her high before Ned’s lips were on hers again. The sense of urgency was rare, most often they would keep the slow pace. She liked that, liked taking in every little detail of him and what they were doing. Liked feeling him kiss up her body, making sure she was ready to take him.

Though both of them were almost fully clothed and they were outside and it was the middle of the day. She supposed they couldn’t allow themselves to be slow. That or his own need was so urgent. Her body’s response to that notion was immediate.

The world spun around them as Catelyn managed to roll them around so that she ended up on top of Ned despite her arms still feeling weaker than they usually did. His hands were firm on her hips when he guided her to straddle him.

Ned pushed himself up into a sitting position, making it much easier to kiss him. He had pushed his tongue into her mouth, allowing her to taste what still remained of herself on him. There was desire in the lack of gentleness. Though that was not all that spoke of desire, she could feel how hard he was underneath her. When she rolled her hips against him he moaned into her mouth.

As Catelyn blindly reached down between them and tried to unbuckle his belt she was struck by an idea. It was no new idea, they had done it a few times before. Though it had been a while she still remembered it as something both of them had enjoyed.

”Your hands” she mumbled as she managed to free him of his belt.

That made Ned lean away slightly so that he could look at her. Once again a crease appeared between his eyebrows.

“What of them?”

“Would you object if I was to tie them together?”

His eyes darted down to the belt she was holding, then he immediately released his hold on her hips and almost eagerly presented both of his hands to her. Much could be said of her husband, though more often than not he was obedient.

She made sure the belt was not too tight, then she put her hands on his chest and pushed him to his back. Never would she grow tired of seeing him beneath her, the whole thing made even sweeter by his hands tied together above his head.

Ned looked back at her with a gaze full of both desire and fondness.

“It is unkind to keep me from touching” he told her even as he had been holding perfectly still when she robbed him of the ability to touch.

“You’ve touched enough to know it all from memory.”

There was not a part of her his hands and mouth had not already found. Though of course he had his favourites. Her breasts, among other things. She had half a mind to undo the front of her dress so that he would at least get to look even as he couldn’t put his hands on her. The mere thought of his eyes on her bare skin sent a shiver through her.

“And I yearn for it all the same.”

“The way I yearn for you to make me with child.”

A heavy breath came from Ned’s parted lips when she said that and she could not help but smile. They would make themselves another child. A strong boy, if the gods saw fit. If his gods would keep to what they had promised in the old days.

When she wrapped a hand around his already hard cock he closed his eyes. Slowly she ran her hand up and down the shaft, spreading the wetness that had gathered at the tip. She rejoiced in hearing the way he groaned as she did it, unable to stay silent. So she continued, mesmerised by Ned’s face when he felt pleasure.

“I… I will spill on your hand… if you don’t stop” he stuttered.

Hearing him say that almost made her want to keep doing it. Bring him to his edge, make him reach his pleasure, merely because she could. Because she liked making him feel good.

With a smile she moved back so that she could lean down and take the tip of his cock into her mouth.

“Catelyn!”

Had he been free to do so he would have tangled a hand in her hair, he always did. Though as it was she could only imagine how he closed his fists tightly around nothing.

Slowly she moved her lips further down, keeping her tongue pressed against him. When she sucked her cheeks in she heard his sharp intake of breath. That trick always brought that reaction from him.

She believed it wasn’t quite right, in truth. That perhaps she was not meant to take him in her mouth. Though was it not her duty to serve her husband? Was it not part of her purpose?

“You cannot… you cannot go on” Ned managed to get out.

Only ever when they were coupling did she hear him stuttering and struggling to speak, and most often not even then. It was endearing, Catelyn liked hearing that. Liked knowing that in the moment Ned was so utterly hers she had even taken his speech. She also liked the times when he seemed to grow more eloquent than usually as they made love to one another.

“You will be the death of me” he sighed when she removed her mouth.

“You’re dramatic, my love” she smiled.

It was hard not to notice how he instinctively reached for her hips as she straddled him, though was quickly stopped by his confined wrists. With a grimace he once again let them rest over his head.

The grimace quickly melted away when she once again wrapped her fingers around his cock and then lowered herself onto it.

A soft moan escaped her lips at sweet feeling of finally having Ned inside her. Of being so close to him that their bodies were joined. When she looked down on him she saw that Ned had again closed his eyes and was tilting his head backwards. She saw his chest rise and fall with every breath he took. Had they been naked she would have placed a hand just above his heart and felt is heartbeat under her fingers.

For a few moments she was still that way, merely enjoyed Ned’s cock filling her up. Then she slowly rolled her hips against him, drawing a moan from her husband. His eyes opened again and they were foggier than they usually were.

”I love you” he breathed.

Those words were not what she had expected, neither had she expected her body’s reaction to them. She knew he loved her, she had known for a long time. Still she did not often hear him say it. Especially not the way he said it then. Breathless.

Having him inside her was a different pleasure than having his tongue between her legs, though it was not one she enjoyed any less. Moving together with him was the highest pleasure of all. Not made lesser by that maybe it would give them a child.

Catelyn set a slow pace, all sense of urgency forgotten. In the moment all that mattered was Ned and the sounds he made as she moved above him. It was more beautiful than any music.

Though she had no urgency at all in what she did it wasn’t long before he reached his pleasure, spilling his seed in her. If only it would quicken there, if only the gods would grant them another child.

Catelyn took his head in her hands and brushed her thumb over his lips, making him smile. His smile brought a light to his eyes, made him handsome. The sun that fell on his face contributed even more to that.

”I love you too” she said gently.

As she said that the godswood no longer felt so dark.

”Gods have mercy.”

At first Catelyn did not take note of the man’s voice, then she realised it was not Ned that had spoken. Her head snapped to the side, searching for the source of the voice. The feeling when she caught the gaze of Ned’s younger brother was nothing if not pure horror.

Benjen stood on the path that led back to the entrance of the godswood, his eyes so wide they were almost perfectly round. If Catelyn had been capable of thought in that moment she would have realised she looked much the same.

She would have liked to move away from Ned, though if she did so she would leave both of them rather exposed. The silence pressed down upon them, made her aware of how hard her heart was beating. It was so loud she could hear it.

In the end Ned sighed. Unlike Catelyn and Benjen he had his eyes turned to the sky, and there they remained even as he addressed his brother.

“Would you leave us?” he asked and his voice was rather strained.

At least he could speak, Catelyn wondered if she would have been able to form words had she tried to do so. It was a struggle to form coherent thoughts.

”Of course” Benjen mumbled.

After that he all but turned and ran. Catelyn watched after him until he had disappeared between the trees, then she raised her hands to cover her flushed face. It was a wonder she had not burst into flames.

“You said no one would come” she mumbled. “You said no one would be here at this time.”

Ned sighed so deeply there was a wonder he had that much air in his lungs.

“It has been many years since I last regularly had to account for Ben” he then said.

Benjen came to Winterfell every now and then. Not often enough for Ned to give it much thought, it seemed. Benjen had left for Castle Black not long after Catelyn had come to Winterfell. It had been before Sansa.

Catelyn lowered her hands from her face only to find that it was as hard to look at her husband as it had been to look at her husband’s brother, and that made her finally move away. She sat next to him, staring at the ground, instead. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her discarded smallclothes.

“How am I to look him in the eye?”

”If only I could say” Ned answered.

Two days. Two days they had to share the castle with Benjen before he would leave again. Never had two days seemed like such a long time. Never before had she looked forward to his departure. Not that it would bring her more peace.

”My lady, would you free my hands?” he then asked.

In the middle of it all she had forgotten that he still had the belt around his wrists.

”Of course.”

#nedcatweek2024 #catelyn stark #catelyn tully #ned stark #ned x cat #my fic

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glorianas · 1 year

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“This castle has an ill repute, and one that's well deserved. It's said that Harren and his sons still walk the halls by night, afire. Those who look upon them burst into flame.”

Jaime III, A Feast For Crows

Harrenhal, the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms, is the seat of House Whent in the riverlands, on the north shore of the Gods Eye. Since the burning of Harrenhal by dragonfire in Aegon's Conquest, however, the castle has become a dark and ruinous place.

Harrenhal is built on a gigantic scale; its colossal curtain walls are sheer and high as mountain cliffs while atop the battlements the wood-and-iron scorpions seem as small as their namesakes when seen from the ground. Harrenhal's gatehouse is as large as Winterfell's Great Keep, and its stone is discolored and fissured. From outside the gatehouse, only the tops of five immense towers can be seen because the height of the walls obscure the view of them. Harrenhal's walls and towers are made of black stone.

Of the castle's five towers, the shortest is half again as high as the tallest one in Winterfell, yet none of the towers are proper, being bent, lumped, and cracked from the melting of the stone during the burning of Harrenhal by Balerion, the dragon of King Aegon I Targaryen, three centuries earlier. Their original names were lost with the death of Harren the Black.

The Five Towers:

Tower of Dread is near the middle bailey and the mews.

Widow's Tower connects to the Kingspyre Tower via a stone bridge. Underneath there is a great cell that is used to keep prisoners.

Wailing Tower contains storerooms on the ground floor and cavernous vaults beneath.

Tower of Ghosts is near the postern gate and the ruined sept.

Kingspyre Tower contains the castellan's chambers. It connects to the Widow's Tower via a stone bridge.

#my gifs #asoiafedit #asoiaf #hotdedit #harrenhal #hotd

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lady-clouves · 1 month

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Jeez that Anon.

God forbid Alicent after being married to Viserys over half of her life, get to decorate her own home- which is kinda traditionally the job of the Lady of the castle, to manage the home. Viserys was a shit King so Alicent had to pull his duties too, doesn’t mean she wasn’t doing her traditional role as well. She probably managed/directed the hanging of those awful tapestries in the first place.

After marrying Car, Ned brought a Septon and Septa to Winterfell and had a Sept built for her despite Starks worshipping the Old Gods for thousands of years. These are the things loving husbands do for their wives to make them feel at home.

Too bad Viserys had to be almost dead for anything reflecting Alicent’s heritage to be brought into a the Castle where she’s lived most of her life.

Alicent can’t hang a few symbols in the Castle but Rhaenyra can try to put whole Strongs on the Driftwood throne. Strongs don’t belong there either.

Also the Seven is one of the most prominent faiths in Westros so it’s not entirely wrong for the symbols of that faith to be displayed in Kings residence. And if Alicent like you said can take care of not only the Queens duties but also a good chunk of the Kings she has all right to decorate HER keep the way she wants. She’s been in that castle for more than 20 years. Viserys is all but dead so his opinions on anything are even more irrelevant than they were before.

And if those nasty tapestries with dragon orgies was them showing their symbolism I’m glade it’s gone.

One thing I will say is that no matter what though is that Nyra’s boys do have a right to the Iron Throne no matter their illegitimacy, but Luke being heir to Driftmark is kind of questionable. In other notes unrelated, it’s not like Baela and Rhaena were being snubbed of their birthrights considering one would’ve been Queen and the other would’ve been the Lady of Driftmark. Which speaking of that the theory that had Rhaenyra won the Dance and all her sons survived that Daemon would’ve had Jace, Luke, and Joffrey killed is stupid 💀. I mean I don’t like Daemon at all but he’s not stupid enough to do that, his daughter would be Queen and then her child would be heir.

#sorry about that little ramble at the end 🤭#I had to get all my thoughts and opinions out #but yeah Ali can do whatever the fuck she wants with her keep just like nyra can with dragonstone #and nyra no matter what was really smart with betrothing her sons to Laena’s daughters #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys i targaryen #asoiaf #hotd #asks 🐉

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axelsagewrites · 1 year

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Beric Dondarrian - Home

Pairing: Romantic Beric x reader, platonic Sandor x reader, platonic Thoros x reader

TW: few swears

Request: Reader Jon Snow's twin sister and a warrior. After Jon goes to the wall, she escapes Winterfell and travels for a long time. One day, she encounters Thoros from the Brotherhood Without Banners and then learns that Beric is alive. They met years ago and are friends. They have feelings for each other. They are reunited and do not want to be separated from each other again.

Words: 3805

Masterlist Here

Once Jon joined the nightswatch there was little left in Winterfell for you. The girls had left for kings landing with your father and without Ned there to stick up for you Catelyn had been awful. At least before when she kicked you to the side you had Jon next to you. Now he was gone and she wished you had gone with him. Catelyn barely let you spend anytime with bran and while she couldn’t stop Robb from talking to you, she glared. Somehow you were even more separated than before.

It was time to go.

You couldn’t join the nightswatch despite knowing that you were equally as good a fighter as Jon if not better. You couldn’t join your father in Kings Landing as being a bastard was apparently too much of a scandal there despite the southern king being known for his mistresses and whores. You couldn’t join a sept since you enjoyed freedom too much. And without Jon Winterfell was no longer your home. All you had left was your sword.

So that was it. you had decided to pack up your sword and a few other belongings, only those that fit in a satchel, and bid your brothers goodbye. Robb didn’t want you to leave but could at least understand why you had to go. Rickon however was another story. He cried when you left. He felt like he was losing everyone and in a way he was right. Catelyn glared at you as you tried to console her wailing son but did not stop as finally she would be rid of both her husband’s bastards. She never even complained when you took your horse with you. You weren’t sure if she noticed the full pouch of gold Robb gave you but if she did she never said.

As a solo female traveller, you knew you’d run into some problems along the way but you always made do. Your sword was never far from your side and most people that stopped you were petty thieves underestimating a girl. However, you noticed the closer you were to Kings Landing the more trouble you found yourself in.

One night when you were preparing to rest somewhere in the hills in the Riverlands close to kings landing you heard a twig snap and suddenly you were placing your hand on your sword. You had spent enough nights sleeping in forests and traveling through hills to know what noises animals made and caused. It wasn’t an animal.

You knew not all people were bad but the ones who tried to stay silent usually did not have good intentions but luckily for you they messed up. Your breathing was low and you stayed close to the ground waiting to see where they would come from. Then they struck.

You sword caught there’s mid-air before it had a chance to come down on your neck. They had tried to surprise you, but 3 men could never be fully silent. Your swords hit a few more times before you had enough and noticed he had no armour on. As you caught his sword again you raised your foot and watched him fall after you had put all your force into kicking his crotch.

The metal clashing had spooked your horse and when the guy fell your horse decided enough was enough and run. Luckily for you he ran right over the guy who fell but unluckily he ran straight passed the Forrest wall into thick tree lines.

But you didn’t have time to stop. The next guy was already coming at you. You caught his sword each time, but the trouble was the third man. You could see him hesitate until his friend had almost hit you, forcing you to duck and throwing you off balance, then he came into the fight as well. You struggled to keep up with their sword and knife but you did, knocking them away each time.

But you were getting tired and you saw the first guy start to rise after being trampled. You were fucked. Part of you contemplated on trying to run but they would catch you for sure. You were barely keeping up standing in one spot you couldn’t run.

You blocked the second guys next blow but you had saw the first man get up and run at you. You waited for the metal to bite your side but you heard his yelp and turned to see him on the ground and a man holding him by his collar.

“Three against one?” he yelled, “Hardly seems fair. Let’s settle the scores” he said before hitting the third guy with the hilt of his sword knocking him out to the ground.

The second guys eyes widened however he quickly had to catch himself as you brought your sword up again. The first guy was finally on his feet again but your new found stranger friend was making quick work of him. Without a second or even third person to worry about you had no issues in your fight.

You brought you sword down on his before kicking his stomach sending him to the ground. As he attempted to get up you swiped his feet out from underneath him and he fell hitting his head which you soon kicked. He flipped himself over and began to run but you swiped your sword across his back and he yelled in pain falling back to the dirt.

The stranger who had been trying to kill you or rob you or worse five minutes previously was a crying mess backing away from you, “I yield!” he yelled but you slashed across his chest, “I said I yield please mercy-“ but your sword had already found its way through his neck.

“This isn’t a fucking dual you idiot,” you said watching as the life began to leave his eyes. You pulled your sword back. Dark red mud gurgled from the hole and spilled down his neck. You turned to see the stranger pulling his sword out the other guys back leaving him to fall lifelessly to the ground. “I’d say nice to meet you but,”

The man laughed, “Beric,” he said walking up to you and shaking your hand.

“(Y/N),” you were grateful at the lack of last names used, “where’d the last guy go?” you asked when you realised the third lacky had disappeared from where he had fell.

“Don’t worry I’m sure Thoros will have gotten him. He didn’t look very good,” Who the hell was Thoros? As you wondered you saw a man walk out the trees with your horses’ reigns in one hand and a bloody sword in the other. “Thoros come meet our new friend,”

“Who said we’re friends?” You asked, putting your sword back in its sheath.

“I did,” Beric smirked, “we did save your life after all and don’t hit me with the ‘I didn’t need your help’ shtick because lets be real lady but you did,”

You rolled your eyes, “Thanks for the help but I best be off. Need a new spot to sleep now,” you walked over to the apparent Thoros and took the reins from him, “Thanks for finding him,”

“He found us more like,” Thoros said, “You sure you gotta be off so quickly?”

“Im tired,” you weren’t lying but it wasn’t why you were leaving.

As you began to walk into the forest Beric called after you, “We have some rabbits. Already skinned and everything. Just need to light a fire and cook em. You’re welcome to join us,”

You stopped and without turning back asked, “what’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Beric said and you could hear a smile in his voice, “Just want to give a pretty girl her dinner,”

You took a breath debating whether it was worth the hassle and before figuring if they were gonna kill you they wouldn’t have let you rest and feed you first. You turned back around, “Don’t be expecting nothing because I shared your rabbits,”

“All’s we want is your company,”

Dinner lasted longer than expected. You never told them about your now half full coin purse but Beric had no issue paying for you to have your own room in an inn. You were essentially a sellsword company of three doing smaller biddings for small lords. it sounded so insignificant, like such a downgrade from Winterfell, but it was wonderful.

You fought, you were respected, you were paid, you had two guys that always had your back and whom you quickly considered friends. Thoros was drunk or asleep more often than he was awake or sober leaving you much time with Beric and you were not complaining.

He was handsome. Like really handsome. It took everything in you not to swoon like you saw Sansa and her lady’s do at the prince. But this was no wimpy blonde brat. This was Beric Dondarian. But he was also your fellow sellsword and somethings were too precious to mess up.

One morning you were eating in a tavern bellow the inn a small lord had put you up in when everything changed. You were always the last to sleep and first to rise but Beric came down not long after you to share breakfast with you. Breakfast with Beric was your favourite part of the day. He was too tired to notice your long stares and his morning voice gave you a light warm feeling in your chest. Like dancing butterflies.

Today was like no other. Beric sat across from you silently eating oats and staring out a window while you stared at him. Until you heard the whispers. Even in his sleep state Beric noticed them too.

“Hey, you,” he said, turning and leaning to talk to a table of poor looking knights, “What’s everyone whispering about?”

“Haven’t you heard? The kings dead. killed by a boar,” your heart jumped. What would happen to your father with no king to serve? Could you finally return to Winterfell with him? Or would he be stuck as regent for a boy king with no manners.

You hadn’t told Beric or Thoros about your family but they had noticed your silence that day. “Cat got your tongue?” Beric asked as you three walked back to the tavern for dinner after serving yet another lords dumb mission. “You’ve not said a word since breakfast,”

“Not in a talky mood,”

“Funny that,” Thoros chimed in, “Because this is the first time you’ve shut up since we met you,”

You ignored their laughs and entered the tavern, heading straight for the stairs to the inn when Beric grabbed your arm, “Look we’re not happy the old bag died either, but I don’t understand why you’re so quiet,”

You sighed and looked around the tavern for an empty table. “Its not about him,” you muttered leading them to a table in the corner. The waitress came and took your order and finally you told them, “It’s about the hand. Well, im not sure if he’s still hand of the king. Ned Stark,”

“That guy,” Thoros said, “Seems like a nice bloke,”

You laughed, “He is. Really nice actually,”

“What?” Beric said, “You fuck him or something?” his face was sour but yours twisted worse than his.

“Gods no you prick. He’s my father,” and so you explained everything and they tried their best to understand, “I just worry what will happen to him,”

The waitress brought over your dinners at that point, “You’s on about the hand?” she asked, and you nodded hesitantly “Haven’t you heard? He’s called the new king a bastard. He must have lost his mind if he thought that crazy Cersei’s cunt would let that fly. I’ll tell you I wouldn’t even dare dream of saying nothing like that in front of no Lannister,” all the colour had drained from your face. Questioning a king’s birth, right? The smell of war was thick.

You ate dinner in silence before placing a coin from your own purse on the table. “What’s that for?” Thoros asked.

“I have to go,” you said getting up and walking out of the inn.

Beric followed, “Go where?” he asked

“Home,” you said as you began to ready your horse, “My father isn’t making it out of Kings Landing alive. My brothers will need me. Robb won’t sit quiet after this,” you knew what your younger brother was like. He would start a war for your father and as would you. “I’m sorry but I must go,”

You grabbed the saddle about to pull yourself up onto your horse when Beric grabbed your arm and spun you back around, “I’ll find you,”

“What?”

“When this all blows over. I’ll come to Winterfell. I’ll come now if you need me to,”

“You can’t Beric. Your place is here. Thoros needs you,”

“He needs you too,” Beric said as he took both your arms in his hands, “I need you. These weeks since we found you have been the most important weeks of my life. Give me an hour and we’ll come too,”

“I don’t have an hour,” You said, “I need to get to Robb before he does something stupid. When the time comes come to Winterfell,”

“When?” he asked.

“You’ll know when,” you assured him before engulfing him into your embrace. He held you even tighter. Tears slipped from your eyes, “I’ll miss you,” You whispered.

“Ill find you. Promise. Maybe no war will come,”

“Maybe,” you pulled away this time and he rested his head on yours. “Goodbye Beric,” you placed a kiss so light on his lips you barely felt it before you turned to your horse. Beric helped you climb on before waving you off.

It was three years later before you saw him again. You had made it back to Robb and fight in his wars. You had been on his council and told him it was stupid to worry of weddings and wives while your sisters were captives, but Catelyn insisted the Frey’s were necessary alliance especially after Robb had married a stranger. Unfortunately for Catelyn by dooming her son’s life she had saved yours.

She refused to let you attend the wedding, insisting a bastard had no place. Robb had tried to defend you but you told him it didn’t matter. Someone had to watch the horses. Then you heard the first scream. Then the next. Soon you heard the Frey’s laughing. You barely made it onto your horse in time before the Frey’s came for you next.

For the next months you travelled somewhere between the Riverlands and the vale. You weren’t too sure. You debated ending it all till your horse trotted past something at first you thought was a dirty rock. Till it moved.

You swiftly jumped from your horse, unsheathing your sword, and approached the figure on the ground. Its breath was shallow and as you got closer you saw the dry blood crusted on its skin. “Who are you?” you asked knowing while he posed no threat you couldn’t be certain he was alone.

Then he said it, “Arya?” he asked his voice horse and barely a whisper, “Did you,” his breath sucked in,” come back?” he wheezed. His eyes were barely slits and you knew he couldn’t see you.

“Who are you and how do you know my sister?”

“Sansa?” he tried to move before wheezing in paid.

“I’m not Sansa. Im not a stark,” you said, dropping your sword and crouching before the man.

Finally his eyes met yours, “You’re that snow girl aren’t you?”

“I’m that snow girl alright,” you said as you took the water from your side and forcing it to his lips, “Drink,” you told him but he refused.

“Wine, I want fucking wine,”

This time you slapped the dying man, “I’ll give you wine when You’re not dying in your own piss and blood,”

You weren’t sure why you stopped for him. If he had never have said her name you probably wouldn’t have stayed long. Perhaps blessed him with a quick death. Instead you spent the next few days nursing him to health before traveling with a snails pace with him as he healed.

You were close to running out of wine and clean water when Ray found you both and took some kind of pity on you. While Sandor cursed and spat at him you thanked him for his help and now you travelled with his flock. He allowed Sandor to be pulled along in a wagon which he denied he needed but the once great man could barely walk.

Over the months the hound finally recovered. You’d become accustomed to Ray and his crowd, enjoying the spirit of the group. Sandor was a different story. Despite being semi friends with him he’d pissed you off after getting into another toss with Ray after 3 men threatened your sept and Ray seemed not to care. You followed him into the forests to lecture him as he cut wood. However when you returned Ray was hanging from his own makeshift sept and everyone else was dead and their belongings stolen. No words were spoken between the pair of you as you took your sword and he his axe and hunted the men that did this.

It didn’t take long to find them but you hadn’t expected them to be about to be hung. “These men are ours to kill!” Sandor roared when he saw them, stomping up the group. You paid no attention to the other men and started into the eyes of the man who had threatened you hours earlier. “Tell your light lord to pick another prick to take,”

“These are our men,” you heard someone say but you ignored him and walked to the man who had started the argument with Ray. “They were our brothers first,”

You maintained eye contact with the ring leader who’s head was now decorated with a rope necklace. He squirmed under your gaze, “What’s your name?” you asked a mere foot away from him.

“Lem,” He stuttered. The brotherhood around you had fallen silent. “They call me- “

“I don’t care what they call you,” you stopped him, “I just care that I get to watch the life drain from your eyes like you did with my friends. I just want to see you die. And I want to enjoy it,”

“(Y/N)?” Your head snapped to the side and soon you faced with a man you missed daily.

“Thoros? Where’s Beric?” you panicked thinking he had died before you had found him again.

Sandor groaned, “Don’t tell me about your friends with this light prick?”

“Light prick?” you questioned.

“I worship the god of light now. He helped me bring Beric back from the dead,”

“Yeah after I killed him like I plan on killing these pricks but when I kill you,” he faced the men about to be hung, “You’ll stay dead. got it?”

“Where’s Beric now?” but you were ignored.

“They were our brothers first,” he said as he approached you, “but out of fairness I will let you have one,”

“Two,” Sandor argued.

“One,” Thoros still looked at you.

“Three,”

“One,”

“One each,” You interrupted their bickering “One for me. One for Sandor. One for you. Got it?”

“Fine,”

And so, it was done. As the men hung their dying you turned to Thoros “Now tell me. Where the fuck is Beric? If he’s dead just told me already and- “

“He’s not dead,”

“Oh, thank god,”

“He was-“ Sandor interrupted.

“But the god of light brought him back,” Thoros cut him off in return, “Let us take you too him,”

Thoros led you and the other Brothers and Sandor’s to a make shift camp they had set up. As you approached you saw a man covered in scars, bruises, and with an eyepatch sitting on a log sharpening a knife. It was him.

“Beric,” you called as you sprinted towards him.

He had barely had the chance to stand before you crashed into him and wrapped your arms around him, “(Y/N)?” He whispered finally hugging you back. “I thought they killed you. Your brother I heard- “

“I was outside. I never made it inside the wedding,” You whispered as tears fell from your eyes and drowned his shirt. “I survived barely,”

“And I will thank my god every day for your return.” Your bones could crush under the sheer force of his embrace but you did not care, “And I will beg him to never take you from me again,”

“Or you from me,”

You heard Sandor talking in the background but you did not care. After a few moments you pulled back to see him and the other brothers had wandered away slightly but not far enough to be out of side.

“How have you been?” You asked trying to step back but he kept you in his arms.

“Miserable,” he replied, “I was only every happy in my dreams when I would get to see your face,” Beric moved the hair out of your face and rested his hand by your jaw, “Though I understand mine may not be the one you remember,”

“I could never forget your face,” You whispered, trailing a finger over his eyebrows, down his nose, and finally around his lips, “Never not once. I saw you die in my dreams. Over and over. I thought the gods were telling me something. To give up. But I never did,”

“I died six times already. Once by your friend over there,”

“Friend is a strong word,” you said and he laughed, “He’s not as bad when you know him. Not fond of fire though,”

“Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like me,” Beric laughed and his smile was infectious. “I missed your smile. I missed your eyes looking into mine. I missed breakfast. I missed your lips,”

You smiled. For the first time in years you felt at home, “Then you shall never miss them again,” Finally you closed the gap and pressed your lips firmly against his. You melted into the kiss and Beric’s hands found his way to your hair. It was soft and gentle and harsh all at once. Your hands held onto his waist and pulled him closer.

After some moments he pulled his lips away. You could see tears on his cheeks and you knew you had some of your own, “I fear,” he started, “I miss them again already,”

“Then let’s fix that,” you chuckled as your arms went around his neck to pull him in again. You vowed to yourself you would never leave his side again. You realised he was home. Not a house or castle or piece of land. Beric was your home.

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