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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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The Impossible Choice (32)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, fluff, domination ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

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

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

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After the gentle closeness with her husband and his tenderness, she felt a little better, finally falling asleep in his arms. Over the next few days, she noticed a change in him that she couldn't quite describe and decided that it was probably due to his remorse.

He did not leave her side, except for meetings and councils with his commanders.

He only left the tent when her father, brother or maester came in.

Maester Lanor had arrived with her father from Storm's End upon hearing that his daughter had been injured. She had known him since she was a child − he was a kind, cheerful old man with a great deal of medical knowledge.

She felt tears under her eyelids as she saw the pink skin of intense colour emerge from under the cloth he took off her, looking like living flesh.

It was true that the wounds were no longer sticky and dried, her epidermis soft and supple, but the thought that she would look like this for the rest of her life filled her with disgust. Maester Lanos grunted quietly, watching her closely.

"Thank the Gods, your burns, my Lady, were treated with the proper medicines and ointments in time. The wounds are healing smoothly." He said cheerfully, lightly and contentedly. She swallowed quietly, looking at him uncertainly.

"Will… will my skin always look like this? Will it be this red?" She asked, her voice trembling. The old man laughed at her words, which surprised her.

"Of course not. The skin is still irritated and healing. Once the whole process is over, it will be its usual colour. The scars will be visible, but they will turn white. They will be able to take different shapes, but fortunately, with the right care, they should not be thickened or very deformed. You have a young, strong body, my Lady. Thank the gods that this is the only souvenir you will have after your encounter with the fire dragon. It is a miracle!" He said, at the same time applying ointment to her skin.

His words brought her relief for some reason, a smile appearing on her face for the first time since the events of that evening.

Her wounds would heal and have the colour of her skin back.

That didn't sound so bad anymore.

If she wore the right gown and put on the right chemise underneath, nothing would be visible.

She thanked the gods that they had spared her face and hands − she thought that she owed it to her curled-up position and the fact that the wave of fire had breathed right past her and not straight at her.

Otherwise she would have remained dust.

The Maester stopped midway through his work, looking down at her breasts. She felt embarrassment at his attentive gaze and wanted to say something, but he spoke first.

"When was the last time you bled, my Lady?" He asked uncertainly, and she opened and closed her mouth.

When was the last time she bled?

She began to think intensely, but could not remember.

How many days had it been?

She realised, going back in time with her thoughts, that the last time she remembered was before the King's coronation. She swallowed quietly, looking at him uncertainly.

"Almost two moons ago." She whispered quietly, and Maester Lanos nodded.

"I will touch your breasts, my Lady. Do not be afraid." He said softly, his hand beginning to massage the skin of her chest − he murmured under his breath after a moment and stepped back.

"Your body is changing, my Lady. You have a child in your womb." He said, looking at her worriedly, and she knew what he was thinking of.

She felt joy and terror.

This was the worst possible time.

"No one can know." She whispered, and the man furrowed his brow.

"I have to…"

"No one can know. Please." She said, grabbing his arm.

She could not allow her father or her husband to send her back to King's Landing or Strom's End − she had to be here, by their side.

She would go mad in solitude.

The Maester sighed heavily, wrapping her further in clean cloth, and she placed a hand on her stomach, smiling under her breath with joy.

She had waited so long for this, and at last it was happening.

She thanked the gods that they had preserved her from the tragedy that would be the loss of her child after what had happened to her.

She had to cut a bit of her hair because part of her braid had been burnt off − she thought, amused, that her hair was now a tad shorter than her husband's. He saw this, surprised when he walked into the tent, finding her with his dagger, cutting off piece by piece the overburnt strands.

"What are you doing?" He asked, looking at her in disbelief, clearly thinking that she was going to cry over her beautiful, long hair.

"They'll grow back." She said lightly, thinking only of the fact that she wouldn't look as bad as she suspected and that she carried his heir inside her.

Her husband wanted to help her with the daily dressing her wounds, she wouldn't let him.

As long as her skin was red, she didn't want him to look at it.

She told him this directly, and he only pressed his lips together at her words, lowering his gaze.

"Maester said that my burns will eventually turn the colour of my skin and the scars will be white." She said quietly, smiling at him as she helped him put on his armour. She had often helped her father and brother do this and her skin hardly hurt anymore. Her husband looked at her surprised and swallowed loudly.

He put his arm around her neck, pressing her against the cold steel of his chestplate. He kissed her hair and stood like that with her for a moment − she felt that he wanted to say something, that he opened his mouth several times, but nothing came out of it.

In the evening, as she helped him take everything off his, putting everything in place, speaking to him quickly.

"I would like to attend council tomorrow with my father and brother. To show our warriors and commanders that it is possible to survive dragon fire, to give them hope." She said, glancing at him − her husband sat on the bedding, looking at her with a gaze that she knew well.

"Mmm." He hummed, watching her from top to bottom, not necessarily listening to her, and she felt a pleasant squeeze between her thighs.

She swallowed quietly, blowing out the remaining candles in the tent one by one, and lay down on the bed beside him, slipping under the duvet. She wanted to embrace his chest, but his voice stopped her.

"− turn your back on me −" He whispered low, and she felt her heart beat hard, heat spreading through her body. She turned obediently and he embraced her immediately, pressing her against his body from behind, rocking his hips, making her feel how hard his cock already was, her moisture leaking down between her thighs.

She began to breathe loudly, tightening her hand on his arm as she felt his manhood, all swollen in his breeches begin to rub against her buttocks beneath her nightgown.

"− gods, I need this −" He said helplessly, her whole body trembling, her buttocks involuntarily responding by leaning back, pressing against him, responding greedily to his movements.

He had touched her over and over again with his fingers, but had not allowed himself to be satisfied, not wanting to tire her out.

She, however, craved his closeness like never before.

She carried his heir within her.

Their child.

Joy and warmth rippled through her body.

"− me too − please −" She mumbled desperately and drew in a deep breath, feeling his hands slide down to his breeches − panting loudly along with him, she pulled her nightgown up, revealing her thighs to him, his hands lifting her quickly.

She moaned loudly in pleasure as she felt him open her wide on his fat cock at once, his hand clenched on her hip soft. He began to thrust into her with quick, intense slams, moaning and panting along with her, their bodies bumping against each other with a wet slaps.

"− gods, yes − I missed that − fuck, tell me if it hurts −" He exhaled helplessly, and she felt her whole insides clench against him, his cock stretching her walls, swollen with desire, pushing her to the limit, rubbing her top wall wonderfully and the spot of her greatest pleasure.

She rocked her hips, responding greedily to his every move, moaning loudly like a common whore, sinking into that wonderful physical closeness she so longed for.

"− oh, yes − Aemond, please, harder −" She mumbled out, her mind completely clouded by the pleasure his swollen cock was giving her, the pleasurable squeeze and tickle that was spreading through her body as he rubbed her again and again where she needed it.

She drew in a loud breath as he slid out of her suddenly and in one sure movement he turned her onto her back, climbing on top of her, spreading her thighs in front of him, slipping her chemise off them.

She felt a squeeze in her heart as a huge, red square of her skin showed out from under the material.

She trembled as his hands sought to untie the material on her chest as well, grabbing his wrists.

"− no − please −" She whispered pleadingly, not wanting him to look at her like this, to be distracted, to be condemned to this unpleasant sight.

They were both panting loudly, looking at each other intensely, she felt that she had tears in her eyes. She parted her lips, trembling all over as she saw him remove his eye patch and then, to her shock, pull the sapphire he always wore from his eye socket and set it down on the bedding beside them.

She looked at his face as it was.

His eyelid drooped slightly, and behind it darkness, emptiness, nothingness, his healthy eye looked at her with a warmth and desire, from which her whole insides pulsed around him, sucking him inside.

She thought in disbelief that he had really done it.

That this was one of the most important moments in their marriage.

She felt her throat squeeze with happiness, a smile appeared on her face.

She lifted her trembling hand and touched his cheek, running her fingers over his soft skin.

She thought that he had done this for her.

He showed her himself as he was, so that she would know that they were no different.

That they were one now more than they had ever been before.

"− let me fuck my wife the way I want to −" He said low in a way that sent goosebumps through her, his fingers started to untie her shirt again, but this time she didn't stop him.

She let him put the material aside, her plump, sweet breasts in front of him, one part of her chest red, the other white.

He gasped with pleasure at the sight, kneeling in front of her, spreading her legs wider − she began to pant with anticipation, knowing that he was going to fuck her in the position where she would experience the most intense pleasure.

She cried out when he rooted into her confidently, immediately imposing a fast, brutal pace on her, his thighs slapping against her buttocks, fucking her greedily, his hands clenched on her hips.

"− just like that − a good husband knows what's best for his wife − he knows how to fuck her, to make her feel good −" He exclaimed, licking his lips, something on the edge of madness and adoration in his gaze, making her heart pound like crazy, her body completely surrendered to him. "− isn't that right? −"

She tilted her head back, moaning loudly, clasping one hand on his thigh, the other on the material of the pillow beside her head, her hips responding fervently to his every thrust, filled with an unbearable tension that gathered in her lower abdomen.

"− yes −" She mewled, her lips parted sweetly in a gesture of surrender, of trust, of desire, her thighs spread shamelessly before him, allowing him to pound into her as deep and hard as he desired.

She thought that her body was his and his alone and he could do what he wanted with her.

She wanted to be a whore in his bed, a servant, a mere wench whom he could fuck brutally behind the inn, inside of whom he desired to leave his spend out of pure male lust.

This thought combined with his thrusts and their loud panting made her feel her fulfilment approaching, her body tensing all over.

"− oh gods, please − fuck me − fuck me − fuck me! −" She sobbed loudly, tilting her head back, clasping her hands tightly on his thighs, feeling the wonderful orgasm spill over her body in brutal waves, leaving her breathless, her walls clenching greedily on his cock, sucking him inside.

"− my sweetest − oh, fuck! −" He exhaled loudly, coming hard − she felt almost relieved as his warm seed spilled inside her, his manhood pulsing steadily between her fleshy walls, his hips rocking involuntarily in her for a moment longer.

She hissed loudly as he rested on top of her, and pulled up, looking at her in horror.

"− forgive me −" He whispered embarrassed that he had forgotten about her wounds, and she felt that he wanted to slide out of her − she stopped him by tightening her hand on his hips.

"− no − please −" She mumbled, breathing heavily, looking at him with embarrassment. "− just a moment longer −"

She didn't want him to pull it out of her.

She wanted to feel him inside her for just a moment longer.

It felt so wonderful to become one with him again.

She saw him swallow loudly, surprised and yet pleased at her request. He hummed under his breath and leaned back, this time being careful not to crush her with his body. He kissed her lips with a murmur, his nose trailing over her face − she smiled lightly, stroking his face with her fingertips, feeling the immensity of relief.

He wasn't disgusted by her.

He still desired her.

She was expecting his child.

"− the stone in your eye is causing you pain − you don't have to wear it in my presence, my beloved −" She whispered suddenly, running her hand down his cheek. She saw him look at her surprised and uncertain, his dark, empty eye socket visible from beneath his partially drooping eyelid.

"I will not, if you also do not veil yourself from me. Your body is meant to be bare for me every night." He muttered lowly, and she couldn't help but smile at his words. She put her arms around his neck and they kissed with a soft hum, their lips sticky and hot with sweat and desire.

After a moment of such tender caresses, she felt his manhood begin to pulsate inside her again, his hips with slow, sure thrust moving inside her, causing her to part her lips, as she looked up at him with an expression of complete surrender on her face.

They both started breathing loudly again, clasping their hands on their bare bodies, panting hard, his cock disappearing deep inside her slick cunt with a loud slap of his thighs against her buttocks, all sticky from her moisture and his spend.

"− you know I won't stop, don't you? − I'm not going to take my cock out of you tonight −" He breathed out, and she moaned softly at his words, heat spilling over her lower abdomen, her insides pulsing hungrily against him.

When he made her come a third time with his long, thorough, intense caresses, and his seed filled her to the brim, she felt she was no longer able to think or put together meaningful sentences.

"− please −" She mumbled quietly, all welted up, her sweaty back pressed against his chest as she lay on her side with him, his hips moving steadily inside her, teasing her overstimulated walls, his thumb lazily teasing her clit.

She heard him smile at her fruitless efforts, his lips ran over her neck, leaving a wet mark on them.

"− what's that? − my wife has had enough? − didn't I tell you that you would beg me to stop? −" He asked amused and she moaned softly as his hips imposed a more intense pace on her, his spend mixed with her wetness running down her thighs.

"− all filled with my seed − and gods, your breasts have become even fuller − how could I stop? −" He whispered in her ear, his free hand massaging and kneading her warm breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb. She cried out quietly, all hot, and let him come inside her as many times as he wanted.

They fell asleep cuddled into each other, completely naked, wanting to feel the warmth of each other's bodies − her husband had not put his precious stone in his eye socket before going to sleep.

It was a night of truth for them.

The next day she felt like a newborn, stronger than ever − her good mood was shared by her husband, who finally slept peacefully all night and rested.

Her most beautiful gown that she had brought with her had burned down in Harrenhal along with their other belongings, some of her clothes had also burned on her, so apart from her nightgown she had nothing to wear. Fortunately, however, the Queen, having heard from her son about her condition, ordered that her garments be brought to her.

She thought with amusement that apparently the wounds she had sustained had taken precedence over the fact that she had escaped against the King's orders.

Whether he wanted her to or not she knew that no punishment would reach her upon her return.

She was here, fighting his battle, while he sat in his keep like a coward.

Since her burns, she had worn nightgowns made of thick linen material that were not transparent − she did not want her wounds to be visible. She wore a rich brown and red long-striped gown over it, fastened with a buckle under her breasts; the material of her shirt was visible from under the sleeves.

The servant who had arrived with her father helped braid her hair, creating an ornate bun from her now rather short hair, the locks of her hair on the sides curled and pinned into its centre, adorning the whole thing with earrings and a rich necklace of rubies.

She wanted everyone to know that, despite her injuries, she was still the prince's wife, and that his love still made her feel beautiful.

She carried his child inside her and no one could threaten her anymore.

She wanted the men around her to know immediately who she was and that she was proud of it.

That she didn't have to look like a man to take part in the war.

She stepped out of the tent, all around her a massive campaign camp with hundreds of tents, flags of Targaryens and Baratheons everywhere.

She saw to her surprise that the Lannisters had also arrived.

She walked along quietly, meeting the puzzled gazes of the the men, as they began to speak amongst themselves.

She noticed with surprise that she had caused a sensation, one of the knights daring to approach her, bowing before her, her father's vassal's crest on his chest.

"My Lady, I wish you a quick recovery." He said softly. She nodded her head and thanked him. Several other men called out after him, and she felt a smile painted on her face.

The fact that she had survived gave them hope.

From a distance she spotted Alys, bending over one of the injured, also badly burned. She wasn't sure if she should, but eventually approached the woman uncertainly, glancing down at her. Alys Rivers looked at her surprised and immediately rose − she looked at her calmly, her gaze gentle, a small smile on her face.

"You look beautiful, my Lady. Are the burns healing properly?" She asked lightly, her skirt and shirt all dirty with blood. She nodded, the wind blowing her dress lightly, the loud chatter of men and the clang of steel all around them.

"Yes. I am grateful to you." She said, looking at the woman uncertainly.

She felt conflicting feelings towards her.

She saved her even though she did not have to, but she recognised on reflection that her husband would have killed her if he had found out that she had been near her and had not helped her.

She could not understand what she really wanted.

Her eyes and face were impenetrable.

Alys lowered her gaze meekly at her words.

"I didn't do it for him." She said suddenly, confidently, lifting her gaze to her, her green eyes intense and piercing. She swallowed quietly at her words.

"If you hadn't been married to him, everything would have turned out differently. Also my life. But all he would have faced was death." She said finally, and she felt a squeeze in her heart.

If you hadn't been his wife, everything would have turned out differently.

Also my life.

She implied that if it wasn't for her, she would have seduced him.

She would have become his mistress.

She pressed her lips together at the thought.

"Do not resent me, my Lady. Women like me don't have much choice in life. Your presence changes everything. For me too." She said finally, looking away. A silence fell between them.

"Don't go near him ever again." She at last.

She appreciated what he had done for her, but she was not going to allow her to try to further drag her husband to bed behind her back.

Alys smiled at her words, as if something amused her.

"He refused me when he was most miserable. Now, that he has you by his side, he would do the same to me as he did to your sister." She said, looking at her with a sparkle in her eye. She looked at her shocked.

He refused me when he was most miserable.

He had refused.

He did not lie to her.

He did not betray her.

He was faithful to her.

She swallowed loudly, realising that she was refering to Floris.

About how he had summoned her to his chamber to decide what to do with her sister for her attempts to seduce him.

"You knew he had a wife." She said in pain, looking at her with her lips clenched, her face tense. Alys lowered her gaze − she looked as if she wanted to say something, but finally gave up.

"I have nothing to defend myself." She said finally.

What she had to say did not matter.

She and her husband were one.

She was carrying his child inside her.

She smiled at the thought.

"Farewell Alys, Witch of Harrenhal." She said lowly, sidestepping her, walking towards the largest of the tents where her husband, father and brother were meeting.

She stepped tentatively inside, looking around, about a dozen men standing around a large wooden table turned their gaze on her. Her husband looked at her in shock, not recognising her at first, watching her from top to bottom. She smiled, seeing the look on his face.

Her brother approached her overjoyed with the clack of his armour and chainmail, taking her face in his rough hands, kissing her cheeks.

She knew this would not please her husband, but she could not deny her brother such closeness.

"You look wonderful, sweet sister. How are your wounds?" He asked suddenly, the men listening to the conversation in silence, curious.

"Much better. Maester says they are healing properly." She said calmly and glanced at her father, who stood looking at her with a kind of pride that moved her.

He was proud that his daughter had risen from her knees.

He knew what a burden this was for her as a woman.

She felt a tightness in her throat at the thought that she couldn't share the joy she felt with them.

"I came to find out what our situation is." She said calmly.

Her brother smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but Lord Jason Lannister interjected, the same one who had laughed at her when she said that she would travel to Storm's End alone.

"Forgive me, my Lady, we are all glad that you are feeling better, however, we are discussing serious matters here that should not concern a woman." He snorted, turning his head impatiently − he looked deliciously proud in his golden armour with the great lion on his chest.

She furrowed her brows at his words, feeling ashamed and humiliated. She saw her brother, husband and Criston Cole move restlessly, but her father was the one who spoke up first, enraged.

"You are a child of summer, Lord Lannister, and unlike my daughter, you know shit about war. Come, hand me the map that lies there." He said to her, pointing to the table beside him, paying no attention to the indignant looks of Lord Casterly Rock and his companions.

She meekly hid the satisfaction that filled her body and lowered her gaze, walking over to a table nearby, taking what her father had asked her for, as he began to speak again.

"…a large part of Colrys Velaryon's fleet is waiting near King's Landing. They will not choose to move it here if they think that they can take the Red Keep. They will operate on two fronts." He said, his daughter spread out a map of the coastline in front of him, on which their father had placed several cones within the harbour of King's Landing.

"Do we have any news from the Iron Islands? Will they support us?" He asked, looking at her husband, and he pressed his lips together as if snapped out of his reverie.

"They are hesitating. We have offered them a large sum, yet this chaos is to their liking." He said indifferently, her father snorted, shaking his head.

"Many people are happy with it." He said finally, sighing heavily.

The discussion continued, and she listened intently, analysing everything.

They were trying to gain the support of the Iron Islands fleet, so they could fend off an attack by Colrys Velaryon. Prince Daemon was gathering his army in the Vale and joined forces with Jace and Lord Stark.

The war devolved into a battle between North and South.

She lowered her gaze, horrified at the thought that there was no turning back and involuntarily placed a hand on her abdomen.

She shuddered when a young boy suddenly walkend into the tent, interrupting the discussion between her father and Ser Criston. The boy bowed, trembling all over, and looked at them terrified.

"My Prince, my Lords, my Lady. A messenger from the Eyrie has arrived. Prince Daemon wishes to meet with Prince Aemond and his wife."

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