#[the death that most affected aegon ] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

say-al0e · 1 month

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Hold Tight

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18. Minors, DNI!

Summary: Aemond has long sought comfort in the arms of the madame at his lowest. Now, he has what he's so long craved; a loving wife who is happy to indulge him. Warnings: Pregnant!Reader, lactation kink, PinV, mention of Luke's death and the war, mentions of the madame, Aemond's a little soft. If you notice anything else, let me know and I'll tag it! Pairing: Aemond x pregnant, wife!Reader Word Count: 7.6k HotD Taglist | HotD Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen knew the secrets of the Red Keep better than most.

As a child, he spent his days studying history and philosophy, learning the language of his ancestors or practicing with his blade, preparing himself for the future he knew awaited him. He kept to himself, tired easily of his brother’s torment and Helaena’s bugs - her riddles - and spent much of his idle time wandering the Keep.

Aegon was bold, slipping out of the gates with a command for the guard on watch to allow him and little regard for who knew. He used his power as the King’s eldest son, as the heir to the throne in the eyes of most, and came and went as he pleased. Helaena never left the Keep without supervision - never wanted to leave at all, really. And Aemond, as always, fell somewhere in between.

Many nights, when he found himself searching for sleep that refused to come, Aemond roamed the labyrinthine passages Maegor the Cruel left behind. He learned most of them, slipping in and out of the Keep as he pleased, and found the ones that he could someday use to his advantage.

Most apartments in the Keep contained an alternate entrance - or exit, if need be - that few knew existed. The royal apartments, he found, were most likely to contain them; Aegon’s, Helaena’s, his mother’s, his, yours.

Though, their existence was a secret he had yet to reveal to anyone, including you.

For as long as he could remember, Aemond made use of the passages. It was not often that he visited the city - he’d never been fond of it, never cared for the revelry in the same way Aegon did - nor did he spend much time by the water. The Keep was his home and where he felt safest. But he slipped from his room to the field where Vhagar resided from time to time, or to the Kingswood, just for a moment of peace.

However, after his thirteenth name day - and Aegon’s insistent ‘instruction’ - Aemond found himself returning to the city more than he ever had.

The unmarked door, one he’d grown to need and hate in equal measure, was his destination. It called to him, a siren song in the dead of night, on his darkest days and it seemed as if each day had grown darker than the last. The incident with Lucerys, the bitter sting of his mother’s wrath, the whispers beginning to fill the ears of all who might hear; every bit his fault, and every bit beckoning him closer to that door.

Aemond lingered there for a few long moments, moments he dared not count, as a war raged in his mind. Seconds could have passed, even hours, as he hid in the depths of the shadows. Many and more moons had passed since he last stepped foot into the city, since he last visited this place, but the song drew him closer.

There was comfort to be found inside, one he once craved so desperately, but he now knew better.

Love, affection, eluded him for so long that he saw this place - the woman inside, the gold he paid her - as his only option, the only chance to feel what others took for granted. A gentle hand, a soft word, a kind smile; he wanted little else and knew she would give it to him.

Inside those walls, the world ceased to exist. There would be no mention of his nephew, his brother, his wife. The woman inside would not ask, would not mention the whispers he knew she’d already heard, and would only listen to whatever he decided to share. There would be no strategy, no attempt to comfort him with words he knew she didn’t mean. Instead, she would hear him confess his gravest sins before attempting to comfort him with the warmth of her mouth around his cock, the pads of her fingers tracing the tense muscle of his shoulder when he curled into her after.

Spending the night there, in her arms - no matter how tempting - would only add to the oppressive weight already crushing his chest. It was a truth he’d come to learn now that he knew real love, true affection, a reality he’d faced.

Despite himself, the tricks his mind played, the comfort he found there had never been real. With his body curled into hers, her fingers carding through his hair and his breath shuddering as he finally allowed himself to feel, he willed it to be a true comfort. He once considered this place, her, the pinnacle of vulnerability, of safety, of comfort.

Now, he knew there was none to be found there.

There was nothing she could say, nothing she could give him, that would provide any comfort at all. The siren song had ended, faded into the din of the city surrounding him, and Aemond could hear a new call. This song was sweeter, gentler, had blown in on a strong wind and erased all other noise the moment he fell in love with you.

Though the marriage was one of convenience at first, an arrangement made by your father and Aemond’s grandsire - his hand for the full strength of your house, when the time came - it had grown into something more.

For much of his life, Aemond refused to entertain the idea that any marriage he found himself in would be one filled with love. Marriage was bound to duty, something done for the good of your house - the good of the realm, in his case - and love meant little. Most lords disliked their wives, took other women to bed at any given chance, and the wives often rejoiced as they were no longer forced to share a bed.

The most he’d ever hoped for was a wife he could tolerate.

Aemond shared little of his mother’s faith, even less of her devotion to prayer and piety, but he often found himself thanking the gods for bringing you to him.

Hidden in the Red Keep, very likely in his own bed as you’d taken to spending more nights with him than alone, he imagined you asleep beneath the soft linen. Very clearly, he could see the white of your nightgown - a beautiful, soft material he found himself clutching between calloused fingers as oft as you would allow, drifting to sleep with the feeling of it soothing his warm skin - as your head rested on his pillow in a desperate bid to surround yourself with his scent.

That image - the picture of you he now saw so clearly, stamped in place of the door he’d been staring at without really seeing - was enough to break the invisible bond that kept him cemented in place.

Without sparing the door another glance, Aemond turned and began his retreat to the Keep.

Each step through the city was quicker than the last, eager to return to the quiet of home - the solace that awaited him in his chambers. Aemond knew the route by heart now, could find his way back with his remaining eye closed, and breathed a sigh of relief as he wound through the hidden passages that lead back to his comfort.

The moment the door settled in place, clicked shut with a soft gust of cool air, Aemond crossed the expanse of the room carefully. His footsteps were light, a barely there sound in the quiet of the room, and he was glad for his caution as he perched on the arm of a chair. His gaze fell to the bed he’d grown so used to sleeping alone in and he felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth at the sight of another body making itself at home, directly in the middle of the mattress.

Just as he’d expected, you rested there comfortably. The white of your nightgown stood in stark contrast to the deep green of his sheets, a bright spot in the otherwise dim tapestry of his room - his life.

Aemond sat there for a few long moments, time beginning to slow as he drank in the sight of you. The Keep was quiet, save for the odd shuffle of guards or servants, and he could hear the soft sound of your breathing as you shifted.

Though you rested near the center of his bed, your head on his pillow and your hand outstretched - reaching for him, despite his absence - your brows furrowed with a discomfort he’d never seen. Beneath the soft bedding, he could see the curve of your body, resting on your side, and the shift of your hand as it lifted to cradle your stomach. The motion set him on edge, drew a sharp breath from him, and earned a fluttering of your lashes as some semblance of wakefulness returned to you.

“Aemond?” you questioned, voice still so soft despite the sleep clinging to you.

“Mm.” He hummed, voice equally soft in the dim light of the room - the lone candle you’d left burning, a beacon for him to find his way in the dark. There was little doubt where your thoughts had begun to drift, the questions you wanted to ask; where he’d gone, how he felt, what came next? But he could not yet describe his feelings in words.

Before you could so much as part your lips, he sighed. “I went to see about Vhagar.” The lie slipped from his lips easily, believable enough, and his eye fluttered shut in a sort of relief - or, perhaps, shame, guilt - when you made a sympathetic noise. “I did not mean to wake you.”

As he stood, fingers beginning to work at the buttons of his doublet, you hummed. “’Twas not you,” you informed him, a sigh of your own escaping as you sat up against the headboard. “Your babe is restless and will not allow me to find comfort.” Aemond watched for a moment, keen eye following every move you made, as your hand returned to your growing belly.

The babe you carried was now very visible, obvious to all who spared you a glance, and the sight was one that enraptured him and terrified him in equal measure. Aemond was a proud man, one who was eager to carry on the Targaryen line, but his family was not one of love. There was no comfort, no happiness, to be found in the Keep - none to be found in the arms of his mother, certainly not his father - and he often feared the same fate awaited his own children. But the soft smile that curved the plush of your lips each time you rested your hand on the swell of your belly and the delighted laughter you breathed each time one of Helaena’s babes brought you into their playtime served as another light, shining in the dark; a spot of hope that, perhaps, his children may know a love he never had.

Aemond’s eye finally lifted to yours, met your concerned glance with an even one of his own after a beat of silence that stretched on almost too long, before he shook his head. “My babe? I seem to recall that we both had a hand in his creation,” he reminded you, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he removed his breeches and stood in nothing but his small clothes.

“Mm, perhaps,” you hummed, though the glimmer in your eyes told him you remembered very well. “But her nocturnal nature is solely your own. At this hour, she is yours and yours alone,” you teased, smiling softly as he padded across the stone floor to make his way to bed.

“Still insistent our first babe will be a girl?”

“A mother knows,” you hummed, watching as he slipped into bed beside you. His violet eye raked over your form, still so easily visible in the dim light of the room, and you bit back a sigh as you reached for him. “Come here.”

With little coaxing, Aemond shifted closer to you. The shift of his body was easy, almost as natural as breathing now, and you hummed in encouragement as you pushed away the bedding to allow his head to settle on your plush thighs. His favored position was resting with his head on your chest, face tipped to the crook of your neck, but the swell of your belly and the sensitivity in your breasts left you both with little choice but to find an alternative.

The beat of his heart began to slow when your hand fell from your belly to his hair, fingers softly carding through the silver strands - now free of the tie he kept in it and the lace of his eyepatch. “What happened, my love?”

Silence settled thick over the room and he knew that you weren’t asking where he’d gone. Though you worried, his disappearance was of little concern to you in that moment. The truth would out eventually, he would admit his shame sooner rather than late - as he so often seemed to with you - but this question afforded him a bit more time.

This question was the one he dreaded, the one that truly meant; what happened that night with Lucerys?

“I sincerely regret that business with Luke,” he admitted, voice a whisper in the still of the room. “I… I was angry, but I only meant to scare him. I did not mean to end his life. But Vhagar, my temper; I lost control.” The confession, whispered to you in the only place he’d ever known true safety, felt like a weight off his chest. It left behind a crater, a chasm that he knew would be difficult to fill, but sharing the secret with you made it easier for him to draw his breath. It escaped as a soft sigh, a puff of air blown across your thighs - now exposed, fabric of your nightgown pushed out of the way to allow his own hand to fall to the plush of your thigh. “Aegon is shortsighted. He wishes to throw feasts, to celebrate bloodshed. Mother is angry because she knows what must come next. Peace is no longer an option.”

Aemond’s confession lingered in the air for a long moment. It reverberated in his ears, rang like the bells that tolled on the day of his father’s death, but you calmed the noise with a quiet sigh.

“I don’t believe peace was ever an option,” you confessed, carefully brushing silver strands away from his sapphire eye. “This war started long ago, before you or Aegon or Rhaenyra were even a thought. It will be convenient, for some, to blame you and Vhagar, but this began before you took the sky together. And someday, there will be none who remember what started it or why it was fought. History will only remember the bloodshed that we must now bear the brunt of.”

No response came to him, lost in the thoughts that swept through his mind like a raging storm, but he knew you didn’t expect one. The words were meant to be a balm, soothing the soul he bared only for you, and he took them as such as he allowed his eye to fall closed.

There was something to be said of routine, then, as you followed the familiar dance that started months ago.

Silence lingered for a beat, long enough for his breathing to even and your own to grow deeper - always so shallow now, he noticed, almost labored as your stomach grew ever rounder - before you spoke again.

“I spent the day with the twins,” you informed him, fingers still softly working through the strands of his hair. “Helaena wanted to take Dreamfyre out so I sat with them and we watched her fly. I think Jaehaerys will love being a dragonrider, like Helaena, but it seems Jaehaera has no interest.”

“And Maelor?”

Aemond’s question was reflexive, asked without thought, but you took a moment to consider it. “Too young to tell,” you decided, allowing your hand to drift to his cheek and brush the sharp line of his jaw. “He has no reaction to the stink of dragon, unlike his sister, but he may, later on. Aegon wishes to take him flying on Sunfyre but Helaena has forbidden it.” Another moment of quiet, then, before you hummed once more. “Has an egg been chosen for our babe’s cradle? Or do you wish our daughter to be like her father and claim a fearsome old beast?”

The reminder of the babe you swelled with drew a shuddering breath from him as Aemond struggled to keep the grasp he held on your thigh light. “Our son will have an egg,” he promised, “but they do not always hatch. He might try for one of the unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. Vermithor is nearly as fearsome as Vhagar, nearly as old.”

‘If we can pry Dragonstone from Rhaenyra’s hands,’ went unsaid, though you both allowed the thought to cross your minds.

That thought did not linger, however, as you allowed your hand to drift from his cheek to his shoulder. Soft fingers caressed his skin, warm and strong, and Aemond relaxed into your touch. “How can I help you, my love? I mislike seeing you this way.”

More often than not these days, Aemond found himself here. Many and more nights had been spent curled into the curve of your body, his head resting against your skin as you stroked his hair and spoke softly to him, but they seemed to grow more frequent. Aemond knew that you were observant, that you’d realized he seemed to need your embrace more and more with each passing day, but even he could not articulate why.

Perhaps the weight of his inheritance had finally caught up to him. Or, perhaps it was the knowledge of all he’d done in preparation for his brother’s reign. He even considered it was the possibility that he found himself desiring his brother’s crown, the one Aegon had no desire for.

In truth, he knew that it was you.

The moment you joined hands, the moment you became his wife, Aemond began to feel the walls he’d spent so long building crumble around him. You chipped away at the slowly, almost imperceptibly, but they toppled all the same.

With every moment spent together, with every word of affection you shared or every soft brush of your fingertips across his skin, Aemond felt his world shifting.

Everything he’d ever considered important remained, still mired in the golden glory of his inheritance, only you now loomed over it all. All with the babe you now carried, his babe, alongside you.

“You are with child,” he whispered, shifting to lie on his back and glance up at you.

“I hadn’t noticed,” you returned, drily. When he fixed you with a look, violet eye unamused, you sighed. “I am with child,” you agreed, free hand falling to your belly as you stroked his hair once more. “Our child. That is what we wanted, is it not?”

“It is.” That was always the plan; get married, have children, carry on the Targaryen legacy. Only, the plan had never included losing his eye and spilling the first blood that began a war - killing a child, a nephew.

Aemond could not bring himself to say those words aloud, however, as your fingers carefully carded through his hair, he knew that you understood. There was a fear you both shared, one that had grown heavier since the incident with Lucerys, but he dared not speak it and neither did you. Losing a babe was something that frightened you both - him, nearly as much as losing you in the process - but he willed himself to push that concern to the back of his mind.

Instead, he searched desperately for a thought more pleasant.

Initially, when your betrothal was announced and preparations began for the wedding, he heard murmurs of those who pitied you. It was a shame, they all said, that such a pretty maiden - known for her kindness, her beauty, her wit - would be married to someone like him. He was, after all, noted for his sullen silence and impassive expression.

Everyone wondered how you might fare, locked away in the Keep as your husband-to-be rarely ventured outside its walls, just as Aemond wondered how he might tolerate a highborn lady who doubtlessly believed the whispers.

Those whispers had proven false - just as you’d proven that you never believed any of them.

Love, a curious thing he never hoped to find, bloomed between the two of you. It was not instant, as he learned you had hoped, but slow and cautious. Trust took time, vulnerability even more, but they came, eventually. And with them came a relationship that seemed to stun the whole of the realm into silence.

The pair of you were evenly matched: both highborn, well-educated and eager to continue learning; both fond of the quiet, though you had a natural charm and ability to pretend to enjoy banal chatter that he did not possess; both desperate for a love, a comfort, that you never found at home. There were many similarities, and more differences, but the love that bloomed brought you both a happiness you never knew possible.

And now, as you grew round with the evidence of your love, he discovered another feeling he never thought possible.

Aemond always found you beautiful - he agreed with the whispers of court, that you were much too beautiful to be chained to him for the rest of your life - and he spent the first few weeks of your courtship attempting to ignore his baser urges. There would be time enough for him to indulge in you, for him to see you as no other had ever seen you, but a desperate need for you began to take root then and had yet to release him from its iron grasp.

With every day that passed, Aemond wanted you even more.

Aegon often spoke of the joys of sex, the great pleasure he found in the Streets of Silk, and Aemond never quite believed him. The little experience he had - courtesy of his brother’s goading and gold coin - proved Aegon a liar. However, when Aemond found himself settled between your thighs, he finally believed his brother.

Now, there was little that settled him - anchored him to the moment and cleared his mind of all the noise - quite like losing himself in the throes of pleasure with you.

Since you began to swell with his child, your belly growing round and your tits beginning to spill from your gowns, Aemond found himself even more drawn to you - a feat he hadn’t believed possible. There was something so alluring about the sight of you, wandering the Keep dressed in the color of his house and bearing the most obvious sign that you were his, that it had begun growing maddening.

Luckily, you seemed to be just as desperate for him as he was for you.

The maesters assured you both that there was no harm to be done in satiating your urges and, though he was hesitant in the beginning, soon trusted they spoke nothing but the truth. Now, as he found himself eager for comfort - soft words, loving touches - he allowed himself to seek it in your embrace.

“Are you tired, ābrazyrys?” His question was soft, spoken into the silence that settled easily around you, and met with your hum.

“No.” It was a lie, he knew - could tell by the way your lashes fluttered and your fingers slowly brushed at his skin, the way your lips parted with badly concealed yawns - but you would not be swayed from allowing him whatever he wanted. “I’m here, my love,” you assured him, thumb caressing his cheek. “Take what you need.”

Aemond knew that your body was beginning to grow weary - he’d heard your whispered complaints to Helaena; how your back ached constantly, how your body felt heavier with every step, how even your softest gowns felt too rough on your sensitive skin - and nearly refused you as he had no desire to cause you pain. But the warmth of arousal had already entered his blood, burned beneath his skin, and the shift of your thighs beneath his head indicated that you felt it, too.

Rather than backing away, Aemond moved to sit up and crowded closer to you.

“Gevie,” he whispered, violet eye raking over your face as he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. “Issa gevie ābrazyrys.” Aemond pressed his mouth to yours, then, and you swore you felt his lips curve into a soft smile as you leaned into him.

Aemond had softened some, over the course of your marriage. Though he remained himself, steadfast and strong in who he had become, the edges grew a little more polished. His touch was gentler, his words softer, his kiss less rushed, and you appreciated the effort he’d taken as he tipped his head to deepen the kiss. His hand descended, brushed the soft material of your nightgown as his tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you released a contented sigh.

The large expanse of his hand fell to your ribcage, just beneath the swell of your breast, and though you knew it was coming, you still gasped as his thumb brushed a sensitive nipple.

“I’m alright,” you assured him, the moment he broke the kiss - before he could ask. Your hand lifted to his cheek, thumb brushing his warm skin as you offered him a smile. “Sensitive, is all. The maesters told me it’s normal,” you explained, watching as his gaze fell to your breasts. “They… they also said stimulation may help,” you continued, fingers returning to his hair as his violet eye returned to meet yours.

“Stimulation?”

Aemond knew he hadn’t been subtle in the attention he paid your swelling breasts, in the way his gaze fell to them every time he found you bare between his sheets, but his skin burned with an embarrassed warmth and an overwhelming lust as he realized what you were offering.

“Mm,” you hummed, not bothering to hide your actions as you lifted the skirt of your nightgown higher up your thighs. “I tried, with my fingers, the way they instructed to no avail. Perhaps you have another idea, my love?”

For a brief moment, Aemond felt his head begin to swim. His thoughts muddled, each one making less sense than the last, but they all seemed to lead in the same direction. It was a desire he’d never dared speak aloud, one he barely allowed himself to consider, but the rounder you grew with his seed - the heavier your breasts grew - the harder it became for him to forget.

Most nights, Aemond spent his time wrapped in your embrace. He enjoyed exploring your skin, mapping the soft expanse of your body with his hands and mouth, and had committed it all to memory. His words sometimes failed him, never quite capturing just how much you meant to him - just how deeply he loved you - but his touch never did. With a flick of his tongue or a brush of his fingers, with a snap of his hips or a soft press of his hand, he continued to find new ways to express himself. And when he’d gotten his fill of you, of hearing you cry his name and watching your body writhe with an exquisite pleasure only he could provide, he filled you with his seed before sometimes settling at your breast.

While he once feared you might find the act strange, that it might repulse you, you were eager to take him as he was. Any act that offered him comfort was one you allowed and the few times he curled into you, flushed body pressed to yours and mouth pressed to your breast, he felt nothing but your love.

As he swallowed, hesitant, you offered him a smile. “You will not harm me or the babe, my love,” you assured him, fingers caressing his jaw as they began to drift lower. “If anything, you will be helping me.” When he frowned, uncertain - disbelieving - you hummed. “Feel,” you instructed, reaching to guide the hand on your rib cage to your breast. It was engorged, heavy and warm in his palm, and you sighed as his thumb mindlessly brushed the nipple once more. “When the babe is born, she will have a nursemaid and I will be left with swollen, leaking tits.”

Aemond acted without thought in that moment and allowed himself to take what you offered so freely. His hands lifted to the straps of your thin nightgown and brushed them off your shoulders, giving him an opportunity to free you from the confines of the fabric.

Pregnancy had changed your body, in a way that terrified him at first - something so delicate now rested within you, a life he helped create - but now drove him to the brink of madness.

A searing warmth, all encompassing and hotter than any dragon fire, enveloped him. And a single glance at your face proved that you did, too. You felt the heat of him, the warmth of his palms - of his heavy gaze, his lithe body - and feared you were only moments from begging him to act when he took mercy on you. The gift you offered, the act you so willingly encouraged him to indulge in, was one he would never refuse.

His touch had never been exceedingly gentle, nor was it particularly hesitant. Aemond was a man assured, confident. There were moments he could be tender, even teasing, but none compared to the moment at hand.

The press of his hands to your sides, just beneath your rib cage, was soft. It was a featherlight pressure, one you feared you might not have felt were it not for the overwhelming sensitivity of your skin, and you sighed contentedly as your hand returned to the silver strands of his hair.

Slowly, and with a caution you’d never before seen in your husband, Aemond’s hands lifted.

Aemond was almost tentative, careful, in the way he touched you. His violet eye remained fixed on your face - watching, waiting for any hint of discomfort - and you offered him an encouraging smile as you leaned into his touch. “I am not fragile,” you reminded him, a small grin forming at the words he’d once used to declare his surprise at your steadfastness, your unwavering strength. “I will not break.”

A moment passed, in which you watched your husband gather himself, before his hands lifted to your breasts. He seemed to marvel at the weight of them, the warmth of your skin - usually so cool in the depths of his chambers - and hummed.

As he leaned in, gaze finally dipping to your breasts, you expected him to press his mouth to your skin - bury his face in the crook of your neck, press his lips to your collarbone and work his way down - but you were surprised when he tipped his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. Though he never left you wanting, never left you doubting his desire for you, this kiss stole your breath.

The kiss was unlike any other; fierce, passionate. It fanned the flames of desire already burning within you and turned it into an uncontrollable blaze. As eager as you always felt for his touch, the fierceness of his kiss left desperate tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.

Calloused hands - toughened by years of swordplay and dragon riding - began to explore in earnest.

Every press of his palm, every swipe of his fingers drew soft noises from your lips, cries that Aemond swallowed eagerly. He relished in them, in the noises only he managed to draw from you, and you felt the evidence of his pleasure press into your thigh.

For a moment, you wondered if he might refuse your offer. However, the thought disappeared with a swipe of his thumb over the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond allowed you to break the kiss, lips parting in a sharp gasp, and wasted little time in pressing his mouth to the curve of your jaw. There seemed to be little hurry in his actions, the way he nipped and kissed the soft skin of your throat, but you could feel the tension in his corded muscles as he crowded into you. He seemed to be nearly vibrating with desire, a tremble that made you lightheaded - an awe that you could produce such a reaction in such a man - and you struggled to catch your breath as he began to descend.

There was a brief worry - a split second thought that never fully formed - that he might avoid your eye in the way he had the very first time, when there was no babe and no real reason to suckle at your breast. However, it was quickly driven away as your husband’s violet eye lifted to meet yours.

Soft kisses were pressed to your skin, across the tops of your breasts and between them - violet eye fluttering as he paused only to marvel at the newfound heat emanating from your skin.

“The maesters told me I would remain warm until the babe is here. They jest it is because I carry the blood of the dragon,” you informed him, hand falling to the back of his head to cradle him close. “I’m not sure I mind. But, tell me, husband; what do you think?”

Though your husband had always been a man of few words, he seemed lost in his own thoughts. The words you spoke meant little to him, it seemed, as he found himself capable of only a simple reply. “I shall keep you warm and full,” he promised.

Already, he could see you swollen with his seed - with the blood of the dragon - again and again. He would see you round with his babe as many times as you would allow and you could see the promise in his eye as he glanced up at you. “Perhaps it is good there will be a nursemaid, then,” you hummed, unable to bite back your grin as Aemond’s mouth pressed just beneath your breast. “So you may spend as much time at my breast as you’d like.”

In the moment, the present mattered little. All that had come to pass ceased to exist and all that might come felt good, sweet. In reality, the future seemed bleak, but in the moment, there was a future. And all either of you wanted was to pretend.

Without sparing another moment, Aemond’s lips wrapped around the sensitive nipple.

The warmth of his mouth, the swirl of his tongue, was cautious at first - desperate to keep from hurting you, to keep from causing any pain - and you hummed contentedly as his eye fluttered shut. Your fingers carded through his hair, touch as delicate as his own, as your free hand fell to his chest.

Aemond’s heart thrummed beneath your fingertips, the beat of it as erratic as you’d ever felt it, and you felt your own beat in time with his.

No part of you ever imagined you would find yourself here - in bed with your dragon rider, the fierce swordsman and Targaryen prince, suckling at your breast - but there was no dismay in it. The pair of you were two halves of a whole: him, desperate to be wanted, needed, loved; you, desperate to love, to want, to need. There was a balance, an equal give and take, that saw you both offering the other what they desired freely. You understood one another in a way no one ever had and you were grateful for that understanding as Aemond attempted to crowd closer.

“My sweet love,” you whispered, fingers brushing the silver strands from his cheek. “This is what we both needed,” you assured him, voice a quiet lilt in the dim of his chambers. “Feels so much better.”

A pleased hum - proud, soothed by your praise - escaped your husband as his free hand returned to your thigh. His fingers pressed into the plush skin, anchoring himself to you, and you sighed at the touch. His hand was so close to where you wanted him and you asked without sparing it a second thought.

“Aemond,” you whispered, hand reaching for his - fingers clasping around his wrist and dragging it higher. “Touch me, please. Need you.”

Calloused fingers slipped between your thighs, lips curving into a smile at how readily you parted for him. His touch paused only for a moment, as did the gentle pull of his lips at your breast, as he seemed to realize the state you were in.

Slick pooled between your thighs and Aemond readily gave you what you wanted. His fingers swiped through your arousal, gathering your slick, before his thumb found the all-too sensitive bundle of nerves.

The wet slip of his fingers was self-assured, an action he’d taken a thousand times before, and it seemed as if he knew your own body better than you did. Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, filled your veins and blazed up your spine, as he rolled the numb beneath his thumb for a moment before abandoning it to press his fingers to your slick opening.

“You enjoy this,” he accused, finally allowing his violet eye to open as he released your nipple and urged you to turn so he could reach the other. “As much as I do,” he continued, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I do,” you promised, sigh escaping your lips as you felt his long fingers press into you - curling, parting, manipulating in the way only he knew. “I have never turned you away,” you reminded him, words ending in a breathless moan. “If you are as depraved as you imagine yourself, then consider me your equal.”

Aemond seemed pleased by your assertion, proud to have found a wife who not only indulged him, but understood him. And you were pleased, as he returned his mouth to your aching breast, that he trusted you enough to allow you this glimpse.

The press of his mouth to your breast was growing ever eager, desperate for whatever you could give him - and, as it turned out, was not much yet, though you knew he would patiently await the day it would be more. It was soothing, almost, in a way that eased the ache you’d begun growing weary of, and you parted your lips to thank him for it the moment his thumb pressed to your aching clit.

A keening moan escaped, a noise that might’ve brought an embarrassed heat to your skin in the beginning of your marriage, but such noises were familiar now and your husband reveled in them.

Some small part of you wondered if he meant to have you both finish this way, him with his mouth pressed to your breast and you with his fingers curling into your heat. Only, he gave you little time to wonder as he lifted his head to glance at you fully.

“I know your body aches,” he hummed, press of his fingers slowing - thumb stilling on your clit, earning a displeased whine. “Do you think you can take my cock, my love? I have no desire to cause you discomfort.”

“You will,” you huffed, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging - just slightly, “if you do not fuck me.”

Aemond laughed, then, a sound you imagined few others had ever heard, before pulling away from you. You whined at the loss of his touch, the emptiness that filled you and the cool that suddenly chilled you, before your attention was stolen. His lips wrapped around his fingers, capturing the taste of you on his tongue, and you swallowed hard to keep from lunging at him as he settled against the headboard himself.

“Come here,” he beckons, hand already reaching for you hip and hauling you onto his lap. “So fucking perfect.”

Before the babe, before your stomach began to swell, this was a rarity. Aemond preferred you beneath him, pressed into his mattress as he left you seeing stars, but he’d admitted he could see the beauty of the position you now found yourselves in.

As expected, the moment you settled atop him, his gaze returned to your breasts. “One may think you’d never seen tits before,” you teased, not bothering to hide your grin as Aemond rolled his eye. “I jest, my love,” you hummed, reaching out for him - encouraging him to return his mouth to your breast. “It helped,” you assured him. “They no longer ache as they did when I woke. Thank you.”

Aemond lifted a hand to the back of your neck, then, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss. The kiss was more familiar, something you’d grown to expect - grown to love - and you felt yourself melting into it as he crowded you closer.

The swell of your belly made it difficult to press your body as close to his as you would’ve liked, as close as he would’ve liked - in the privacy of his chambers, beneath the sheets of his bed, Aemond liked you a close as he could have you - but it was enough. His hands explored your warm skin, slick beneath his fingers and no longer aching in the way you’d complained earlier, and you relaxed into his touch as his hand slipped between your spread thighs once more.

Though you expected his fingers to return to your center, Aemond’s hand fell to his cock. You breathed something akin to a sigh of relief as you felt the tip glide through your slick folds, catching on your aching clit and drawing another keening moan that he eagerly swallowed.

The head of his cock nudged your slick opening, nestled there as you rested on your knees, before he lifted his hand to your hip and pulled you down.

A familiar stretch, a familiar warmth, captured the whole of your attention as you sank down onto Aemond’s cock.

Every pulse of him, every twitch of his cock - every ridge, every vein - was heightened by your sensitivity and your eyes nearly rolled back as you sank onto him fully. He filled you wonderfully, perfectly, and reveled in you saying so. Only, he barely allowed you a moment at all to speak before his mouth returned to your breasts.

Each sensation was overwhelming in its own right, every touch more consuming than the last, but the combination of it all had you seeing stars.

The warmth of Aemond’s body pressed to yours, the way his muscles clenched as he rocked his hips up to meet yours, the insistent press of his hand - fingers dimpling your skin as he held you tight - was all magnified by the warmth of his lips pressed to your breast. Even as his hips snapped, pressing his cock in deeper, the press of his mouth remained soft.

Aemond was careful to keep from hurting you, despite his desire to devour you - clear in the lust darkening his violet eye - and you lifted a grateful and to his cheek.

“Feels so good,” you breathed, gaze meeting his. “You make me feel so good, my love.”

The praise he craved, the words he desperately needed to hear but would never ask for, earned you a sharp snap of his hips - driving him deeper, pressing you closer - and you gasped as his teeth carefully nipped at your sensitive nipple. He’d already taken what little your body had produced, would need to wait a little longer for more, but that did nothing to stop him from continuing to suckle at the soft skin as his thumb fell to your clit.

As he so often tried, your husband pressed you on to your pleasure first. His fingers, his mouth, his cock; all working together in an eager attempt to earn your blissful cries. That sharp violet eye watched your face, watched your lips part and your lashes flutter, and you could see the pride in his gaze as you began to quiver in his grasp.

When your release washed over you, heavy and so desperately needed, Aemond allowed himself to let go. He chased his own high for a moment, sinking into the pleasure of you - of your slick cunt, of your swollen breasts.

With a muffled noise, Aemond spilled into you - his spend filling you with a warmth you swore you would never tire of. It was accompanied by a soft gasp, a quiet noise that you wouldn’t have heard over your own heartbeat had you not been paying him such close attention, and you reached for his cheek with a soft smile.

Aemond easily lifted his head, his mouth meeting yours, and gave you the kiss you wanted. It was an assurance for you both, a gesture meant to calm - to serve as a reminder that you were bound, one - and ended with his forehead pressed to yours.

“All of this,” you whispered, the pair of you still struggling to catch your breath, “will end and we will carry on. And when our duty is done, we will be free to live our lives as we wish. You did not start this war, but you will finish it.”

“I will,” he promised, violet eye glimmering with an unscheduled tear as his hand fell to your swollen belly.

It was a promise he couldn’t make in good faith, nor one he could reasonably be expected to keep, but it was enough for the moment. The idea that this is what awaited him - this life, you - made him desperate. He wanted nothing more than to carry on, than to spend the rest of his life right here, and he would do anything in his power to make it happen.

And, if he could not spend the rest of his life here, he would perish in the pursuit.

____________________________________________________

Author's Note: Aemond just. Captivates me. How am I supposed to survive two years without more content?

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo

#aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond x you #hotd smut #hotd imagine #v's fics

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sonolynn · 3 months

Text

Blood and Cheese

request: Aemond x ( Rhaenyra x Criston daughter ) niece were married and having a son. instead kill aegon son b&c kill Aemond son. How Rhaenyra daughter try to save her son from b&c and what people react after find out about Aemond son being kill. I need this fic so bad…

summary | Daemon took Rhaenyra's words literally. "A son for a son" he said. Who knew that it would be your son?

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Wife!Reader

tags | mentions of BLOOD, extreme grief, talk of child murdering, knifes, MORE BLOOD, infanticide, DEATH, extreme grief. mentions of murder

w.c | 3.8k

TW!!!!!!!!! | I personally have a very gruesome writing style when it comes to things like this, so if anything relating to infanticide or violence will trigger or bother you please don't read!!

____________________________________________

You loved your son. You named your son Baelon, after your mothers lost brother. Aemond knew how much you love Baelon, and he would be a fool if he said he did not love his son as well.

Aemond tried to pride himself with being stoic and emotionally unavailable. But the minute they put his squirming son's body in his arms he felt his whole world resolve. The boy was the most beautiful thing to him, and he couldn’t believe that half of this being came from him.

Ever since that night, Aemond became softer. When you weren’t breastfeeding, or when you got tired from taking care of the crying infant, Aemond would immediately offer to take the boy. When Bealon would cry in the middle of the night, Aemond would be up almost immediately, rushing to be at the babe's side. It took you almost forty minutes to convince him that it would be better if he slept with you and not in the nursery.

And everything was fine until the night he killed Luke.

Aemond would come back to the Keep late at night, still shaken from what he had involuntarily done. When he got back to his chambers, he saw his wife, his sweet, innocent wife holding his son.

You had a smile on your face, Baelon coo’ing in your arms as he giggled and reached up to play with your braided, black hair. When you looked up, and noticed Aemond, your smile faltered.

Aemond stared at you, and for a second his face was his normal and stoic, but the minute his son, his little Baelon, reached for him with a smile he broke down.

That night he told you everything; He apologized profusely, and for the first time in all of Baelon’s four months of living, he refused to hold him.

“I’ll only hurt him.” Is what Aemond told you. Your heart broke a little when you heard this, and you tried to reassure him but he wouldn’t have any of it.

____________________________________________

“Aemond?” Aemond stopped, looking at you with a soft sigh.

“Darling, what have I told you about sleeping on the couch?” His voice was tired, full of weariness from having to deal with Aegon’s antics. You smiled softly as you sat up, holding out your hands out for him. He sighed as he sat down with you. He immediately cuddled against you, letting out a long, heavy breath as his head come into contact with your chest.

This was how you two spent most of your time now. At night, Aemond would come to you and he would cuddle against you, yearning for that love and affection only you could seemingly give him. You two sat like this for a while, you stroking his head, and him stroking your stomach.

“...I do regret that business with Luke, you know.”

“I know.”

There was more silence. It seemed that between you and Baelon, the only time Aemond’s mind was quiet now was when he was with you, in your embrace, being held by you. Not being treated as a monster, or a ruthless warrior, but rather just a man. Just your husband.

In the distance, you heard the sound of your son’s wails. You sighed heavily, and you looked down at Aemond.

“Perhaps he wishes for his father’s arms.” You spoke softly, watching as Aemond slowly sat up.

“He does not.” He shook his head, leaning against the back of the couch. He avoided your gaze, knowing the somber look you were giving him.

“Are you sure you do not wish to join me?” Aemond sat still, a look on his face that held some sort of thought before he shook his head softly.

“I’ll see him first thing in the morning, my love.” You smiled at the thought, and you held his hand as you walked away. He watched you leave, a sad smile on his face. The wails from Baelon stopped moments later, and Aemond sighed heavily.

Tomorrow, he thought, i’ll see him tomorrow.

The worst part about this sentiment is that Aemond would see his son tomorrow. However, Baelon would be on a pyre.

____________________________________________

The night started off peaceful. You sat in your rocking chair, rocking back and forth with Baelon in your arms. You smiled to yourself, holding the-now-sleeping babe in your arms. You hadn’t even registered the two men behind you.

When one of them accidently knocked something over, you immediately jumped.

“Aemond?” You whispered, quickly turning around. However, you were met with the face of two, unruly men you didn’t recognize. You saw the bag they held, along with the rat traps. “Who-Who are you?” You tried to stay strong, but you knew your voice gave away your fear.

One of the men, the taller, bigger one looked you up and down. He turned to the other man and spoke softly. “Who is she?”

“This…Is the one eyed prince’s wife.” Your breath hitched as the shorter man spoke. They both looked reasonably dirty, like rat catchers, but you knew something was wrong.

“There are no rats in here.” The two men started to walk towards you, murmuring something about your husband underneath their breath. You had half a mind to turn and run, but they seemed to have the same idea.

The shorter man came to you, and put a knife to your throat. You gasped, and clutched Baelon closer to you. The boy whined softly at the pressure.

“Give us the boy, and we won’t hurt you.” The taller man spoke. You looked at him and held Baelon tighter.

“You have no business with my son-”

“Give us the boy!” The taller men yelled. You flinched, and at the sudden noise, Baelon started to cry. You looked between the men, and you felt tears in your eyes as the anxiety started to build up in your chest.

“I-I have uhm..I have many valuable items. I have gold! I have lots of gold that I have no need for-”

The taller man kicked the edge of Baelon’s crib and you held back a scream. The taller men started to speak to the shorter man, but the words they spoke didn’t process fully in your brain. All you saw was an open door.

“AEM-” You started to scream your husband's name, but the man with the knife to your throat pushed the knife further and grabbed your hair roughly. You cried, and Baelon wailed in your arms. The taller man put his hand on Baelon’s head and tried to pry him from you grip.

“NO!” You cried out, trying to pull him back, but it didn’t work. With a quick snap your boy was pried from you. The shorter man threw you back, causing you to hit your head against the chair you were previously rocking in.

Your head was fuzzy, and all you heard was the wails of your son, painful wails that slowly died down. When you sat up, you saw the men putting the tiny head of your son in a bag. Your whole world stopped, and just as the men escaped down the hall, you screamed.

Your chest ached, and your throat burned. You stare down at the body, slowly crawling to it as you shake your head and mutter small, inconsistent prayers to yourself. You reached out a hand, placing it on the body’s belly, rubbing it softly as if that would relieve some of the pain that was given to your innocent baby boy.

You choked on your own tears, wishing for nothing more than your own death in that moment. Screams erupted from your throat; Horrid, painful screams followed by sobs. This pain, this all consuming immeasurable pain you wished on no one. The feeling of your own blood on your hands as you stared at the decapitated body was sickening, but you couldn’t look away.

How could something so small hold so much blood? You thought to yourself, watching as the blood spilled from the clumsy cut.

Alicent was the first to arrive, followed by Aemond soon after. Alicent stared at the scene in front of her, and while she resented you (seeing you as a constant reminder of Rhaenyra’s blatant lie to her), the pain she felt for you was disgusting. She backed out of the room slowly and placed a hand on her stomach to ground herself.

Aemond couldn’t step into the room. He just stared down at you, his son's body. The thought that this headless, infants body was his own son’s, his baby boy’s-

He couldn’t move. The pain for him was nothing short of paralyzing. But what broke him the most was you.

You sobbed, violently sobbed as you placed your hands in your son's blood and tried to pull it back. As if that would fix everything. Aemond felt nauseous, seeing you so desperately cling to the idea that you could fix this. Once the realization started to settle that this was not helping, your body seemed to shut down. You laid down, holding your hands on your son's body as you sobbed.

No words were exchanged, not knowing what to say. Aemond leaned against the door frame, mind numb as he slowly slid down the frame. He stared at nothing, his mind replaying all the times he held the boy, watched him smile.

____________________________________________

Aemond stood next to you the following day, watching as your baby boy's body was burned on a pillar. He was numb, his face pale and full of so much grief that it sobered anyone up. You were a mess. Tears and incoherent sobs escaped your throat, and you clung to Aemond. Aemond stayed still, gently holding you as if any small movement would cause the last shred of resolve to leave your body.

As the fire burned, you buried your face into Aemond’s chest, refusing to watch. Aemond let you, holding your head softly.

But Aemond stared. He watched as the wrapped body was consumed by the flames. He forced himself to watch as the flames consumed his son, his own retribution for not being there, for not helping you, for not holding his son one last time.

As he watched the ashes of the pyre falter, Aemond made a promise to himself.

He would kill Daemon Targaryen with his own hands.

____________________________________________

a/n: guys im sorry.

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rennalaqotfm · 17 days

Text

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (PART III)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Synopsys: Upon discovering Aemond Targaryen's alliance with the Triarchy, the Blacks are pushed to the point of desperation. With the war looming over the horizon, they have no choice but to turn to an unlikely ally: House Martell.

Content Warning: Violence, blood and injury, mentions of death, alcohol consumption, angst, and a lot of 'fucking politicking,' as King Viserys said, (not proofread).

Dialogue in italics is High Valyrian.

WC: 5.4k

Series Masterlist

(A/N and taglist at the end of the chapter)

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had always prided himself on being a capable fighter. Although Jacaerys' strength primarily lay in politics, he never let his swordsmanship fall behind. In fact, Ser Harwin Strong, the captain of the City Watch, and as many whispered, his real father, had taught him everything about the art of yielding a sword. From the correct way of unsheathing the blade to keeping his knees slightly bent so he wouldn't stagger as easily. He still recalled how at the tender age of six, Ser Harwin kneeled to his level as he placed his heavy arm on his shoulder.

'A sword is but a tool. Its true power lies within the one who yields it. Visualise your desired outcome, and your blade will follow.'

Ser Criston Cole, however, had no patience for his idealised notions of battle. While Ser Harwin had taught Jacaerys the foundations of swordsmanship, it was Ser Criston who introduced him to the unforgiving truth of a real battle, proving that sparring with a straw dummy wasn't useful beyond the training grounds.

'When steel is drawn, a fair fight isn't something anyone should expect.'

He still bitterly remembered how Ser Criston had him spar against his uncle Aegon. Anyone who watched that scene would've thought it wasn't a fair battle. Aegon was already four-and-ten, much taller and stronger than he was. Jacaerys still remembered how Aegon's strikes had come faster and harder than anything he had faced before, especially the kick to his stomach that sent him flying to the ground with a thud, and yet, Aegon didn't cease delivering blow after blow with brute force.

'Is this what you teach, Cole? Cruelty to the weaker opponent?'

The sting of defeat, the bruises that lingered for days, and the humiliation of being bested in front of others, particularly his grandsire Viserys, were all part of Ser Criston's lesson. And in that moment, Jacaerys came to realise that cruelty might be something he didn't possess.

Now there was no excuse. It wasn't going to be an unfair battle since Prince Elyas Martell was but a year older than him, and couldn't have trained any differently. However, Jacaerys had never killed a man with his own hands. Yes, he had led men into battle, but taking someone's life with his sword was something he had yet to experience. There was no doubt that killing was nothing more than just a mundane task for Elyas. Those Dornishmen seemed to take pleasure in the most outlandish ways, which made him question how strong of a warrior Prince Elyas was to defeat such great lords.

Then he recalled the story Addam of Hull had told them in Dragonstone, how the reason why Princess Y/n remained unwed was because his suitors had met the common fate of death. As much as he didn't want to believe those rumours, he had bitterly grown to accept that all those tales about the Dornishmen were nothing but true.

The young prince frowned as he took in the arid, unforgiving weather. It would've been foolish to wear his full armour for the trial; the extreme heat would likely cause him to collapse before he even reached the arena. He sported nothing more than a Targaryen breastplate on top of a linen tunic, and his breeches. He considered sporting his gauntlets, but the sweat of his hands would affect the grip on his sword. Even with just the breastplate, he already felt how beads of sweat rolled down his back.

Jacaerys had been so fixated on winning the trial that he barely had any time to process his betrothal with Princess Y/n. He wondered if all of her suitors even wished for power, or mayhaps they were simply entranced by her beauty. Despite her attitude, there was something enticing about the Princess he couldn't bring himself to deny. But what was he going to do if behind that beauty lay nothing but different ideals and hostility? What would the rest of the houses think upon finding out about their alliance with House Martell? How would the two of them rule the whole realm if the Princess put Dorne's interests before the rest of Westeros?

Not to mention, even if he emerged victorious from the trial, he doubted Princess Y/n would be too pleased if her brother's life was the price. The thought gnawed at him as he fastened his boots. But what if he were the one to fall? He couldn't even begin to imagine the devastation it would bring to his mother, and the mere thought of her grief twisted his stomach. Daemon had offered to fight in his place, a suggestion his mother had eagerly supported. Yet, Jacaerys had refused, knowing that the Princess would never consider his proposal if he didn't prove his own worth in the arena. To win her hand without facing the trial himself would be dishonourable.

No matter what he did, all odds were against him.

"It's time," one of the guards spoke behind the door.

One guard led the way, as the other trailed behind him, with his spear in hand, ready to attack if the Prince even attempted to do anything. They walked through the labyrinthine halls of the Old Palace, adorned with pillars and chandeliers, lighting up the place as the blinding rays of sunshine met with the golden decorations.

They stepped into the flourishing gardens leading to the arena, where Rhaenyra and Daemon awaited his arrival. He could hear his mother's voice as they spoke in High Valyrian, unaware of his presence.

"I have lost too many children, Daemon. The thought of losing Jace—" Rhaenyra's voice faltered, her lip quivering as she fought to swallow the rising lump in her throat.

"Elyas would be a fool to slay the Crown Prince," Daemon mumbled.

"You, above all, should know what these people are capable of."

"But killing the future king of the realm is a line they would not dare cross."

"And yet, must the price we pay for this war be our children?" Rhaenyra's voice broke.

"I was not aware how my death would be such an interesting thing to discuss," Jacaerys muttered bitterly.

"Jace," Rhaenyra turned to face her son, cupping his cheek. "For the last time, you do not have to do this—"

Jacaerys swatted his mother's hand off, his eyes full of contempt.

"You have no right to act concerned, Mother. You pushed forward with this, knowing the risks, knowing that I might pay with my life. Whatever fate awaits me in this trial... if I die, my blood is in your hands. But at least I will have done my duty."

Before Rhaenyra could say anything else to her son, the guards urged him to move forward.

With a heavy heart, Jacaerys turned to face her mother one last time, but she was nowhere to be seen as they most likely had been taken to the gallery. Before the guards pushed the double doors they exchanged a look of pity, clearing a path for him. That didn't go unnoticed by the Prince, and it only added to the river of negative emotions he had been drowning in since they arrived.

As Jacaerys stepped through the double doors, the world around him was suddenly swallowed by darkness, with only a narrow beam of light from the distant end of the tunnel. The corridor stretched before him, its walls echoing with the muffled sounds of the world above. He could hear the creak of wooden beams straining under the weight of footsteps, making him wonder how many eyes might be waiting for him outside. The air was cool and heavy, carrying with it the scent of the arena's sands, yet the usual roar of a crowd was eerily absent.

Jacaerys took a deep breath before stepping into the arena. The sun was almost blinding, leaving him momentarily disoriented. Feeling like a caged animal, he scanned his surroundings, shielding his eyes with his hand. To his surprise, there weren't many spectators; he could only make out the members of the Martell council. Then, his eyes quickly found his mother, whose face was etched with deep concern and regret. Nearby, Daemon, unable to sit still, attempted to calm his nerves with a cup of wine. Not very far from where the council sat, there were three empty seats in the royal box, where Prince Qoren took his seat, with Farien on his lap. Jacaerys grew confused as he saw Prince Elyas take a seat next to his father, leaving one empty. Was he not going to fight for his sister? Mayhaps the Princess' champion was her sworn protector.

A few moments had passed, yet the Princess was nowhere to be seen. Jacaerys' mind raced with doubts. Was she not going to attend the trial she herself had proposed?

Suddenly, the double doors opposite him began to open and the Martells began to cheer. Prince Qoren wrapped his arm around Farien, who couldn't stop clapping as he bounced on his father's lap. Elyas signalled one of the servants to bring him a cup of wine, as he leaned back on his seat and looked at Jacaerys with a sneer.

His eyes widened in shock as the figure emerging from the other side of the arena wasn't one of the twins either.

It was Princess Y/n herself.

The Princess strode toward the centre of the arena, the sun-kissed amber fabric of her dress flowing like a whisper with each step. The high slits on either side of the skirt fluttered and snapped, revealing glimpses of her legs as she moved. With a fluid motion, Princess Y/n unsheathed the two golden daggers holstered on her thighs, playfully twirling them around her fingers.

"Princess Y/n Martell, the Dancing Serpent of Dorne, and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, the Crown Prince. Let the trial commence," Ser Domeric Uller announced, earning another wave of applause from the Martells.

Dancing Serpent of Dorne?

Jacaerys took an instinctive step back, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Two guards blocked the door with their spears, leaving no chance of escape. In the glaring sunlight, Princess Y/n appeared like an oasis amid the dunes, her bronze skin glowing with an ethereal radiance, akin to that of a deity. She moved with the lethal agility of a serpent, her eyes locked onto him, calculating, and ready to strike. A storm of doubts began to cloud Jacaerys. What was he supposed to do? Kill her? Maim her?

He suddenly heard Ser Criston Cole's voice echoing in the back of his mind.

'Blades up. Engage.'

As if guided by pure instinct, the Prince unsheathed his sword, the sharp silver catching and reflecting a ray of sunlight. He quickly assumed a defensive stance, his eyes fixed onto the Princess. If he kept his distance, he should have the advantage over her. He lunged, aiming not for a lethal blow, but to knock the Princess off her feet, hard enough to force her to yield.

He was not there to shed blood.

The Princess easily dodged his attack as his blade slashed the air, and he quickly withdrew to his defensive stance. They began circling each other, eyes locked, neither daring to look away.

A bead of sweat trickled down Jacaerys' temple, his heart pounding as he watched Y/n assume a low, unfamiliar stance. She held both of her daggers up, poised like a serpent's fangs as she moved with languid grace, inching closer to him, almost hypnotically.

Before he could fully register the movement, a sharp pain sliced through his arm. Jacaerys hissed as Y/n's blade carved a deep gash, warm blood seeping through his white tunic and dripping onto the sand. He clenched his jaw, forcing the searing pain to the back of his mind, determined to ignore the Martells' cheers echoing around the arena. At least the arm wielding his sword was still intact.

The dance between the dragon and the serpent continued. Y/n darted forward, her twin daggers a blur as she unleashed a relentless flurry of slashes. Jacaerys struggled to block, each clash of steel sending vibrations up his injured arm. As she pressed her assault, he caught a glimpse of something feral in her eyes, a familiar look he knew all too well: bloodlust.

Growing weary of her relentless attacks, he sidestepped one of her strikes and delivered a swift, powerful kick to her side. The sheer force sent the Princess onto the sand with a grunt, one of her daggers slipping from her grasp.

Seizing the moment, Jacaerys lifted his blade to force her to surrender. But before he could strike, the Princess rolled to the side and kicked his shin, sending him stumbling backwards. In a heartbeat, Y/n was on him, knocking the sword from his grasp. She straddled him, raising her dagger high, ready to plunge it into his throat. Jacaerys reacted just in time, catching her wrist in a bone-crushing grip. Y/n cried out, the pain weakening her hold, and Jacaerys seized the opportunity. With a desperate reach, he grabbed the dagger she had previously dropped, which was just at arm's reach, and drove it straight into her side.

"Sister!" Elyas stood from his seat, ready to drive a spear into Jacaerys' heart.

The Princess wailed in agony, her body retracting as she recoiled from the blow. Jacaerys quickly rolled free and scrambled to his feet, retrieving his sword and pointing it at her, his chest heaving as he tried to keep her pinned under the threat of his blade.

"Princess, please, I do not wish to hurt you—"

Jacaerys' eyes widened in horror as he watched Y/n yank the dagger from her side with a wicked grin. Without hesitation, she drove it into his calf. He groaned in pain, nearly collapsing, and used his sword to regain balance, the blade trembling under his weight.

Princess Y/n stood up from the ground, twirling the dagger as she watched the Prince struggle to get back to a defensive stance. Blood trickled down her side, soaking into her dress and staining the sand beneath her a deep crimson colour.

Jacaerys clenched his jaw in humiliation, feeling how pathetic he must have appeared to his mother, Daemon, the Martells, and most of all, to Y/n herself.

Before he could fully recover, Y/n moved like a shadow, slipping behind him. He grunted as she wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him close. The cold edge of her dagger was pressed firmly against his throat, and he dared not move.

He caught a glimpse of his mother, restrained by Daemon and the guards, her blood-curdling screams piercing through the air. It was the last sound he wanted to hear in his final moments. Jacaerys squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out the chaos and focus on memories that brought him comfort: the waves crashing against the cliffs of Dragonstone, the rhythmic beat of Vermax's wings cutting through the clouds, and Lucerys' carefree laughter.

As he opened his eyes and looked up at the sky, he smiled bitterly. The absurdity of it all nearly made him laugh. From the moment he had stepped into the arena, he knew he was doomed to fail. Yet, some foolish part of him had clung to the hope that he could make the Princess surrender.

He felt the Princess' laboured breaths in his ear, sending a chill down his spine. He waited, and waited, and waited for the dagger to slash his neck, but the excruciating pain he had anticipated never came.

Instead, a simple command reached his ears. One that, under any other circumstances, he would have defied without a second thought. But at that moment, his life was in the hands of Princess Y/n, and he dared not disobey her.

"Kneel before me," she whispered, making his blood run cold.

Jacaerys felt the Princess's grip loosen, allowing him to stumble forward. He turned back to face her, dropping to one knee, his gaze locked on hers. But in her eyes, he found no trace of mercy, nor cruelty. The bloodlust had drained away, replaced by a storm of emotions she herself couldn't fully comprehend.

That was the first time he had looked closely at the Princess. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, beads of sweat rolling down her temple as a few droplets of his own blood stained her face. There was something undeniably bewitching about her, a pull he couldn't fathom. As he gazed up at the woman before him, a creeping sense of fear began to coil in his chest as he came to realise the power she wielded over him. She was the kind of woman who could either plunge the Seven Kingdoms into chaos or unite them under her command.

"I choose Prince Jacaerys Velaryon as my betrothed," she declared, her voice echoing through the arena as her eyes locked onto Rhaenyra. "House Martell will stand with Queen Rhaenyra in the Targaryen Civil War. In return, we demand control of the Stepstones, the unwavering protection and loyalty of House Targaryen whenever called upon, and the unchallenged independence of Dorne once the war is won. And most importantly," she looked at her father, giving him a firm nod, "I expect an official acknowledgement of Dorne's sovereignty. Let this moment be written in history, for the generations to come."

The dining hall of the Old Palace was in full swing. Delicacies were served in abundance, and the servants scurried about, refilling cups left and right. The Princess was deep into her fifth cup, trying to numb the burning pain of her wound, which had been sewn and bandaged by Maester Kyce, and although her wrist was badly bruised, it wasn't dislocated.

Her gaze shifted to the erotic performance happening before them as they ate. A pair of men and women explored their bodies, trying the most peculiar positions that she never thought were possible. She could only chuckle, the wine painting the scene as the most amusing thing she had ever witnessed. She finished what she had left in her cup, before ushering the servant for more.

It was the only thing that could help her escape the suffocating atmosphere at the round table. Her father wasn't particularly pleased to be sharing the table with the Targaryens, and the feeling was mutual with the Martells. She couldn't bring herself to look at Elyas, whose eyes burned with the desire to start a war. Rhaenyra appeared torn between wanting to have her publicly executed for hurting her son and embracing her for sparing his life—yet even then, Y/n wasn't sure if what she had done was truly an act of mercy. Daemon leaned back, indulging in the finest Dornish wines, smirking as he silently celebrated the small victory of his successful plan. The only person who could have made the ordeal more bearable was Farien, but he was already fast asleep in his chambers.

Then there was Jacaerys. He sat stiffly, trying to focus on anything but her. Yet, there was something about her presence that commanded his attention, and his eyes betrayed him, drifting toward her against his will. Mayhaps her eyes lingered on him longer than she had realised, as their gazes suddenly met. He looked away, as though her eyes just scarred his soul.

"Well, isn't that pathetic..." she muttered under her breath.

That was the man who was to be her future betrothed, a prince who couldn't even meet her gaze without flinching. The thought of marrying someone like him left a sour taste in her mouth.

"Have you got something to say, Princess?" Jacaerys suddenly spat.

"Oh, I most certainly do," Y/n retorted, her lips curling in a mocking grin as she tried her best not to slur her words. Casymir helped her stand up. She took her cup and slowly raised it. "I wish to propose a toast," she began, trailing her eyes at Daemon and Rhaenyra before resting her gaze on Jacaerys. "After all, it's not every day that we witness such a... historic moment. The mighty Dragon, so fierce and proud, finally finds its place... on the ground, with one bent knee before the Serpent. To the ever-lasting and prosperous alliance of House Martell and House Targaryen."

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Prince Qoren hummed in approval, raising his cup with a satisfied smile, while Rhaenyra and Daemon's expressions tightened in shock and disbelief at the blatant disrespect. Daemon's eyes narrowed dangerously, lingering on the knife beside the roast piglet, his fingers inching towards it. But before he could act, Rhaenyra's sharp glare stopped him. Jacaerys, however, had enough of her insolent attitude.

"I wish to propose a toast as well," Jacaerys stood up, wincing at the pain in his leg. "I wish to thank House Martell for their... overwhelming hospitality in receiving the Crown," he paused, taking his time to look at the Martells and each guard. "Not only have we been looked after with the utmost care, every single moment accompanied by the comforting presence of a spear at our backs, but you have also shown us that the great tales they speak of the Dornishmen are nothing but the truth. Fighting against the Princess herself has truly been an honour, and I am forever grateful for the mercy she has shown me. Mayhaps the Princess has a soft spot after all."

"Oh, my Prince," her eyes narrowed, knowing all too well that the mercy Jacaerys had referred to was cowardice. "I would love to have another duel, but I'd much prefer you alive for our wedding."

Jacaerys' face twisted with fury, his anger momentarily blinding him. In a swift motion, he drew his sword. Y/n didn't flinch. Instead, she unsheathed her dagger instinctively, pointing it directly at his forehead.

"We should take this to the arena if the Prince dares, that is," Princess Y/n smirked. "Well?" She taunted, looking down on him.

Jacaerys' nostrils flared with rage, knuckles turning white as he tightly held the grip of his sword. His mother's comforting touch slowly calmed his inner storm, and with a sour look on his face, he put his sword away.

"That's what I thought," she muttered loud enough as she sat back down.

"Aren't they lovely, both of them? Already bickering like an old, married couple," Prince Qoren laughed. "Speaking of, they should marry as soon as possible. The wedding of my beloved daughter should be an event to remember," he turned to the Targaryens. "What do you want, Y/n, dear? We should get a pair of fine Braavosi tigers and make the prisoners fight them in the arena—"

"We are at war, Prince Qoren, we have no time for celebrations," Daemon interrupted him.

"It is only a matter of weeks before Ser Tyland reaches the Free Cities if the winds are in their favour," Rhaenyra echoed Lady Mysaria's words, not able to hide her concern. "Rest assured, once the war has been won, the celebrations will be held in the Red Keep."

"But who can assure me the Prince will not die during this war?" Prince Qoren asked, shrugging his shoulders. "When do you suppose we have the wedding? Once the Prince is dead?"

The Queen's face hardened, her eyes narrowing at him.

"I could have your tongue for that, Prince Qoren," she said coldly.

"I'm glad the formalities are off the table," he muttered bitterly. "Your war can wait. My daughter is of sun and sand and will be married here, in our lands, with our people."

Rhaenyra could barely contain her anger, too tired of hearing the Martells' unreasonable demands. The idea of postponing the war for a wedding felt like a mockery, a distraction from the battle that could determine the fate of her house.

Y/n fought the urge to roll her eyes, too exhausted by the entire ordeal, the weight of her choices, and the tangled mess she now found herself in. With a deep sigh, she drained her cup, forcing herself to adopt a more civil tone.

"As much as I'm enjoying everybody's lovely company, I'm not faring well with my wound. I shall go back to my chambers to rest," the Princess excused herself as Casymir helped her stand up, wrapping his arm around her for support.

By now, the once lavish feast had lost its appeal. The delicacies had grown cold, and the appetite of those present had long since vanished.

"I'll see to it that my sister returns to her chambers safely," Elyas excused himself, rising from his seat and trailing after the Princess.

"Elyas isn't happy about your decision," Casymir said softly as he cradled the Princess in his arms.

Casymir chose to take the long path through the gardens back to her chambers, where the light of the full moon bathed everything in a silvery glow, and the warm evening breeze carried the scent of blooming magnolias. The flickering torches along the way cast dancing shadows, soothing the Princess' spirits.

"I figured as much," she scoffed. "He'll come to understand in due time."

"I'm afraid he won't, Princess," Casymir teased, making her laugh.

"Not even if I explain?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He'd understand even less," Casymir replied with a grin, his words drawing another burst of laughter from her.

At that moment, it was clear that Casymir was the only one who could truly reach her heart. She looked up at her half-brother, noting the familiar wild curls and thick brows they shared. Yet, unlike the brown eyes she and her other brothers had, his were a deep shade of blue, like the glittering Dornish waters on a sunny day.

"You should've been a jester instead, Cas," she murmured, her voice growing softer as the effects of the wine finally began to lull her into sleep. She nestled closer to his chest, allowing herself to relax completely in his arms.

"I'd rather be your shadow, Princess," his eyes softened, watching her doze off.

By the time they had arrived at her chambers, Y/n was already snoring lightly. Casymir raised his brow upon seeing his twin waiting outside.

"Leoran?" Casymir asked. "What are you doing here? Where's Elyas?"

"Inside. I'd hurry if I were you," Leoran said, opening the door for them.

Casymir stepped inside, only to find Elyas sitting on one of the seats. By the look on his face and the empty cup on the table, it seemed that he had been waiting for a while.

"What took you both so long?" He asked, looking at his half-brother in disdain.

"We were in the gardens, Y/n wanted to—"

"Leave us," he commanded.

"Very well," Casymir lowered his gaze and nodded.

He laid the Princess on her bed carefully, brushing a strand of hair off her face, but she already seemed to have been awoken by Elyas' voice. Y/n sat up, rubbing her eyes, only to be greeted by a pounding headache and a sharp pain on her side. Once she spotted her brother with his arms crossed, sitting down across from her, she groaned.

"Well?" He asked, expectantly.

"Not now, Elyas," she sighed.

"Then when?" He stood up and kicked the chair aside. "When? When were you going to tell me what you and Father were planning?"

Y/n rolled her eyes, feeling her headache worsen as Elyas' voice boomed in her ears.

"Planning?" She scoffed. "Father didn't have a say in my decision. He gave me two choices, and I merely chose the one that wouldn't lead to bloodshed."

"Oh, really? What were these two grand choices?" He pressed.

"Side with the Blacks and keep our independence, or refuse, and face the Triarchy and the Greens once this war is over," she paused, gathering all of the patience she had left to keep going. "Do you understand what that would mean, Elyas? It means another war, right on our doorstep. For us. For Dorne. For our people. And tell me, what should I have chosen? More bloodshed? More meaningless deaths? You think that's what Father would've wanted?"

"If you had told me, then I could've helped you decide!" Elyas' voice cracked with frustration, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Help me decide?" She retorted. "And by that, do you mean killing the Velaryon boy?"

"Why not?" Elyas shot back. "You had the chance! You could've slit his throat and ended it all, yet you chose to spare that bastard's life."

"And what would that have accomplished?" She shouted. "Had I killed him, you'd be nothing but a pile of ashes right now. Rhaenyra would've burned us all to the ground before I could even take his head."

"She wouldn't have dared!" Elyas shouted back, his face inches from hers, as though she was the most foolish person to live. "The last thing she needs is another war on her hands, especially against us. Her own house is already tearing itself apart!"

"Very well. If you're so smart, what would you have done?" She scoffed, crossing her arms.

"Face the Triarchy and the Greens. We were victors in the First Dornish War, Y/n. We fought then, and we could fight again. We could win."

"You? Fight?" She sneered. "Tell me, when their dragons' flames rain upon our cities, our people, what would you do? Hide behind the walls of our palace? The same walls that would be turned into ashes? Listen to me. We are not made for wars like this, Elyas. We're not prepared to face something as devastating as another Dornish war."

"And that's why we have those people fighting for us!" Elyas retorted, pointing furiously out the window.

"Those people?" she asked in disbelief. "It should be us fighting for them under those circumstances! Do you not care about the lives beyond the confines of this palace?" She turned away, already feeling her tears pooling in her eyes. "No wonder Father doesn't trust you."

"You both have no clue what you're doing. You're putting our house to shame by trusting the enemy," without warning, he grabbed her injured wrist, yanking her close. She gasped, a sharp pain shooting up her arm, but he didn't relent. "Tell me, sister," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "When this war is over, how will you know they'll keep their word? All those demands you made... you sounded so righteous, so powerful like you had the Targaryens wrapped around your finger. But you know exactly what they think of us. To them, we're nothing but foolish, power-hungry savages," he tightened his grip slightly, causing her to wince again. "And do you know what you've done, dear sister? You just proved them right."

"I'll have your whole arm if you dare lay your hands on me again," she tried to pry her wrist off of him, her voice quivering as her composure began to waver. "You're starting to forget your place, Elyas."

"And you're starting to forget what it truly means to be a Martell," he tightened his grip even more, watching as the Princess sucked a breath in through her teeth.

Elyas let go of her with a push, making the Princess stumble back on her bed. Y/n massaged her wrist with her other hand as she buried her face in her bed, heaving, and squeezing her eyes shut. She flinched upon hearing Elyas' heavy footsteps leave, the door slamming once he left her chambers.

The Princess slowly got up to pick up the jug of wine lying on the table. Upon finding out it was empty, she flung the jug across the room with a frustrated yell. Her strength gave out, and she collapsed to the ground, burying her face in her hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her sobs filled her chambers. The soft knocks on her door went unanswered; she knew it was Casymir, the one person who could bring her comfort, yet she couldn't bear to let him see her that way.

Her father's words echoed in her mind. She was destined to be the Princess of Dorne, a role she had fully embraced for as long as she could remember. Yet there she was, crumbling under the pressure, feeling as though every decision she made was beyond her control, burying her deeper into a grave she herself had dug.

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Thank you for being so patient with me. This chapter was a lot longer than I had expected, but here it is. Let's just take a moment and give our Princess Y/n a big hug, she needs it. I don't know why, but i'm having waaay too much fun making these extremely dramatic dialogues. and I live for their drama, tbh.

I also mentioned this before, but I'm having trouble tagging everyone. Some @'s would tag, but for some reason, some of the usernames just appear like normal text. I've double-checked every username and typed them over and over, but i still can't tag you all. Would be great if you guys could tell me how to fix this!

Taglist: @happinessinthebeing @deltamoon666 @dark1paradise @elz-zalarrr @v0dka4a @yohanseyebrowmole @dracaryxzs @ladyofvelaryon @burningwitchobject @lovelyteenagebeard @radtragedyarcade @dragonrider-3000 @labellapeaky @wintersoldier-101 @hummusxx @vastseamind @miksxz @cornbreadwithcheese @boiolay @op-oppai-blog @hajmola-vs-aamchaska @nichmeddar @ilovemingandming @Mgurl @marr3adsyou @lotus-888 @icarusvshozier

#dragonspear #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon smut #jace x you #jace x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #house martell #oc x reader #oc x you #jacaerys velaryon x reader smut #jacaerys velaryon x you smut

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goddessofvalyria · 26 days

Text

WITCH QUEEN | Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader.

Summary: Aemond Targaryen met a witch at Harrenhal, the two fell in love and thanks to her help, the Greens won the war. But in the end with Aegon dead it was Aemond who succeeded his brother and was crowned king at the Dragonpit with the crown of the Conqueror. He married his witch with the Valyrian marriage, making her his witch queen.

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, she is a witch from Essos, described as very beautiful, intelligent and charming, with long black hair and eyes. Since they met in Harrenhal, the witch takes Alys's place. Sexual themes: Oral (f receiving), masturbation (f receiving) SMUT, sexual tension, sex, sex, sex, they conceive their sixth child.

English is not my first language, be kind <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 3333

Aemond Targaryen, during his time at Harrenhal, encountered a witch who was strikingly beautiful, intelligent, and charming, with long black hair and charming black eyes. The two fell deeply in love, with her Aemond and the Greens were able to win the war.

After the death of his brother Aegon, Aemond ascended the iron throne and was crowned king at the Dragonpit, wearing the crown of Aegon the Conqueror. He married the witch through a traditional Valyrian ceremony, making her his queen.

Now, Aemond reigns as the King of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, living a happy and peaceful life with his witch queen and their children at the Red Keep.

On a quiet day in the Red Keep, Aemond Targaryen lay on the bed beside his queen witch, their laughter echoing softly through the room. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the chamber. Their four children Aegon, Visenya, Daemon and Daenys, surrounded them with a sense of playful excitement. Little Maegor, the youngest, was still nestled in his cradle, cooing softly.

Aemond, his long silver hair unbound, chuckled as his children clamored around him, eager to braid his hair. "All right, all right" he said with a grin, surrendering to their demands. "Who will go first?"

"Me!" Aegon declared, his violet eyes sparkling with determination. He clambered onto the bed and began to carefully braid a small section of his father's hair.

Visenya watched her brother with an amused smile. "You're doing it all wrong, Aegon" she teased. "Let me show you how it's done."

Aemond exchanged a glance with his witch, his eyes filled with warmth and love. "What do you think, my queen? Shall we let them continue their assault on my hair?"

She laughed softly, her fingers tracing patterns on his arm. "I think you're in good hands, my king" she replied, her voice full of affection. "Besides, you're a wonderful dad. Let them have their fun."

Daemon, not wanting to be left out, climbed up and grabbed another section of Aemond's hair. "I'm going to make a warrior braid" he announced proudly.

Daenys, the youngest of the group, giggled as she climbed into her mother's lap and took a small handful of her long hair. The witch queen hair was long and wavy, reaching to her knees, the child trying to imitate her brothers. The witch stroked her hair, letting her play. "Be gentle, little one" she whispered, stroking her cheek. "Yes mummy"

Aemond smiled down at his children, his heart full of love.

The witch queen watched the scene with a contented smile, her heart swelling with love for her family. "You know" she said softly, "These are the moments that matter most."

Aemond nodded, his gaze lingering on his children. "Yes, my queen, my love" he agreed, "These quiet, simple moments are what make everything worthwhile."

As the children continued to braid and play, Maegor stirred in his cradle, letting out a small cry. The queen rose to tend to him, gently scooping him into her arms and soothing him with a soft lullaby.

Aemond watched her, his heart full. "We are blessed, my love" he murmured, his eye never leaving her. "Blessed beyond measure."

She looked up at him, her violet eyes shining. "Yes" she whispered, "We are, my love"

Together, they sat surrounded by their children, basking in the simple joy of a peaceful day—a king and his witch queen, bound by love, and the promise of a bright future for their family.

That night, as the Red Keep settled into a quiet stillness, Aemond and his witch queen lay together in their bed, the soft glow of candlelight flickering around them. She rested her head on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek. Aemond’s arm wrapped around her, holding her close, his fingers idly tracing patterns along her back. For a moment, they simply lay in silence, content in each other’s presence. But the stillness of the night brought with it memories of a time when peace seemed an impossible dream.

"Do you ever think about it?" she asked softly, her voice barely more than a whisper in the dark. "The war?"

Aemond’s gaze drifted to the ceiling, his mind wandering back to those days of fire and blood, of betrayal and loss. "I do" he admitted, his voice a low murmur. "More often than I care to."

She lifted her head slightly to look up at him, her violet eyes searching his face. "Do you regret any of it?" she asked, her voice gentle but laced with curiosity.

Aemond was silent for a moment, his jaw tensing as he considered her question. "I regret nothing" he said finally. His gaze darkening with the weight of the past. "And I do not regret the choices that led me to you."

Her lips curved into a small, sad smile. "Though the path was filled with shadows, it brought us here, to this moment, to this life we've built together."

Aemond’s hand moved to gently stroke her hair, the silver strands mingling with her dark locks. "We were forged in fire" he said softly. "In the crucible of war. And yet, we emerged stronger… together."

She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his words wash over her. "I still remember the first time I saw you" she murmured. "At Harrenhal. I knew then that our fates were entwined."

Aemond smiled faintly, his eyes softening at the memory. "And I knew that you were more than you seemed" he replied. "A witch from Essos, yes, but so much more… my guiding star in the darkness."

She chuckled softly. "A queen witch" she corrected, her tone light, though her heart swelled with love. "Your queen witch"

Aemond’s smile widened, a rare softness in his expression. "My queen" he agreed. "The light that led me through the darkest nights."

They fell into a comfortable silence again, their thoughts lingering on the past but finding solace in the present. The horrors of the war seemed a lifetime ago, a distant memory overshadowed by the love and peace they now shared.

She smiled against his chest, her heart steady and calm. The witch queen was so in love with his husband.

Aemond lay in the quiet of their bedchamber, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows on the walls. He could feel the warmth of his witch queen beside him, her head resting on his chest, her breath slow and steady as she listened to the rhythmic beat of his heart. The comfort of their closeness should have put him at ease, but his thoughts drifted to a lingering insecurity.

He stared at the ceiling, his hand absentmindedly brushing against the leather eyepatch he wore. Aemond had grown accustomed to the feel of it, to the weight of the past it carried. Yet, he had never grown used to the thought of his children seeing him without it. He feared what they might think—the fear they might feel at the sight of his scarred, empty socket, a reminder of the violence and pain he had endured.

Sensing his unease, she lifted her head, her violet eyes filled with concern. "What troubles you, my love?" she asked softly, her fingers gently tracing his jawline.

Aemond hesitated for a moment, then sighed, turning his gaze away from her. "I worry" he admitted quietly. "About our children… seeing me like this. Without the patch."

She reached up and touched his cheek, guiding his face back toward her. "They are your children, Aemond" she whispered, her voice filled with love. "They see you as their father, their protector. Not as a man with a scar."

He shook his head slightly. "But what if they fear me?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. "What if they see the monster I see when I look in the mirror?"

Her heart ached at his words. She leaned up and kissed him gently, her lips soft against his. "You are no monster" she whispered against his lips. "You are a warrior, a king… a father who loves his children more than anything. They see your strength, your courage. They see the man I see—the man I love."

Aemond closed his eye, letting her words wash over him, feeling the warmth of her love seep into his soul. "You have always seen the best in me" he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "Even when I could not."

She smiled softly, her fingers brushing through his silver hair. "Because there is so much to love in you" she replied. "And our children will see that too, in time."

He looked at her then, his gaze filled with a deep longing, a desire that had been growing within him. "Another child" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I want another child with you."

Her breath caught at his words, a smile spreading across her lips. "You want to expand our family?" she asked, her voice filled with love.

He nodded, his eye searching hers. "Yes, he said softly. "I want to see our children grow, to see them thrive in the peace we have fought so hard to secure. I want to build a future with you, a future filled with love and laughter… and more children if you want."

She felt a swell of emotion in her chest, her heart overflowing with love for the man beside her.

Aemond’s expression softened, his lips curving into a tender smile. He pulled her closer, his lips finding hers in a deep, passionate kiss. They lost themselves in the warmth of each other’s embrace, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony, their love consuming them.

Aemond kissed her in a passionate, dirty, hot kiss, his hands tightened around his witch queen's face, their lips devouring each other with each kiss, biting and their tongues, intertwined. "Tell me you want it, my love" Aemond whispered with his forehead resting on hers. "I want to make another baby with you, Aemond" she replied placing her hands on her husband's bare chest. "My husband" his witch queen whispered brushing his lips. "Let's do it, let's make another baby" she whispered in his ear.

She kissed his neck, her full lips wet and warm making Aemond wince. The witch traced a trail with her long nails up Aemond's spine. He shivered, she continued to kiss his skin, moving down to his chest and licking his warm skin. "My wife wants her husband mh?" he took her face with one hand. "And my husband wants his wife?" she teased him.

"He wants her so much," she continued, playing along. "He wants to fuck her until he fills her up with his seed, make sure he gets her pregnant and that in nine months a new life can come into the world." She looked at him with eyes full of love and perversion, Aemond kissed her again and in an unkind gesture he tore off her nightgown. Her sweet wife naked in front of him was so beautiful and he was sure that she between her thighs was soaked.

His witch queen looked at him so dominant over her, she felt excited, wet between her thighs. "Mmh my husband…" she whispered, rising on her knees, Aemond lost her in his arms, caressing her body with his hands, his long fingers making her wriggle. Her back resting against his chest, his hand caressed her neck, went down to her breasts, along her side and then two fingers slid between her legs, caressing her intimacy. "Ao sagon sīr gevie" (You are so beautiful) he whispered in High Valyrian. Aemond kissed her neck again, his violet eye burning on my skin and soon after she, lying in bed in her husband's arms, felt his two fingers slide inside her hot wet pussy.

She pushed her hips against his hand, feeling her legs go soft and his other hand squeezed her breast. "Aemond… Gods" she begged between moans. Aemond kissed her neck again before increasing the speed of his fingers inside her.

"Let me take care of you first, my love" Aemond whispered. "Lie on your back" he whispered releasing her hands and moving between her legs. He kissed her skin, moving with hot and wet kisses from her ankle to the inside of her thigh. His eye looked at her hungrily, his touch was hot, the sapphire shining in the dark. he spread her legs and then buried his face between them, eliciting a moan of pure pleasure from her. He starved for her sweet taste on his tongue. "Oh…. Aemond, Aemond!" He alternated between licking and sucking her clit as his fingers inside her touched and pushed deep into her wet folds. Her hips moved to meet his tongue as her moans grew louder and more frequent. She felt her legs tremble, arched her back and tightened a hand in her long silver hair. "Aemond, Aemond, Aemond!" she whispered excitedly, his nose pressing against her clit.

Aemond devoured her, licking her pussy and fucking her with his tongue. He wanted to impregnate her, but first he wanted to see her come for him. Gods, how he loved her.

Aemond continued to lick her between her thighs until they began to shake and her pussy began to contract, with one last lick he reluctantly released her and hoisted himself on top of her.

Aemond looked down, she was reduced to a mess: soaked between her thighs, wet, her juices dripping from her pussy that wanted nothing more than to be fucked. "Take me… please" she whispered arching her back, feeling his long, hard and veiny erection.

Aemond smiled excitedly, took his cock in his hand and rubbed against her. His witch queen panted, her pussy still contracting with the need to be filled. "My love" Aemond whispered sliding the pink and hard tip of his cock on her clit. "My love… I can't wait to fill you up" she whispered marrying his cock between her wet folds. "I love making love to you" Aemond whispered. "I love seeing you cry with pleasure, I love seeing you so submissive to me.. so eager for my cock" she bit her lip.

"I love it when you talk to me like that, it turns me on, husband" she whispered, opening her legs a little, feeling his cock rub against her. She gasped, unable to contain herself. It felt so good to feel that way, it felt so good… to be his. He began to fuck her, thrusts that made her move on the bed, thrusts that made her wet again and again, his cock sliding in and out rhythmically, she arched her back and aemond fucked her hungrily.

"My good girl, my witch, my sweet wifey." His tongue licked her nipple before taking it in his mouth and earning another moan from his beloved wife. Those moans made him even more excited and she between my legs felt slippery, wet, dirty from him. Her fingers still there, getting wet from her and teasing her giving her pleasure, while his cock fucked her. "Enjoy my love, take it all my love" he said between one kiss and the other. He gently took her leg bringing it to his side, she wrapped herself around his narrow waist and let herself be fucked brutally.

Aemond pushed himself into her again and again, their breathing in sync, their moans, his looks, their caresses. She lost him, he lost himself in her, they both lost themselves in those sensations that only one could give to the other. His thrusts became fast and irregular while her moans became louder. She hugged him unable to let go, inhaled his scent, I caressed his hair, kissed him with my tongue again and again unable to let go. “My love” he whispered against her lips giving her another thrust, feeling both of them close to the climax.

Aemond moaned, his hands tightened on her hips and his witch queen arched her back, feeling his hard cock touch her in a sweet spot that made her moan. his purple eye scanned every single part of his wife's pleasure-contorted face, her sweaty skin, her hair free and wild, their bodies joined "My love" he whispered continuing to push into her while moving his thumb on her clit. "Ameond… Aemond… I…" she felt herself at the peak, her pussy starting to contract, Aemond pushed into her again, took her in his arms, kissing her on the lips as she came around his cock and he, proud, emptied himself inside her filling her with his seed, making sure she took it all in every single drop.

"I love you" they whispered at the same time. "I love you, I love you, I love you" they whispered together, kissing each other as Aemond slowly pulled out from inside her, he brought a hand between his beloved's legs, caressing her and with his finger pushing inside her pussy, his seed coming out.

"You're full" he whispered, kissing her lips. "You're full of me" he whispered again, leaning down so he could rest his face on her belly. "I can't wait for her belly to swell" he whispered, kissing her. "I can't wait to fuck you and know you're pregnant with our sixth child." Aemond hugged her, bringing his arms around her body.

"Boy or girl, I'll love it" he kissed her belly. "I know you're pregnant, I never fail" he looked up and looked at her with a proud smile. "Gods my love, you're more beautiful than ever."

His witch queen brought her hand to his face, caressing his scar. "I love you Aemond, I love you with all my life." Aemond slowly rose from her body, held her in his arms and she rested her head on his shoulder. "I'll give you a child whenever you want," Aemond smiled, moving his hands to her breasts. "Gods, they'll be full soon" he whispered, teasing her nipple.

"Aemond," she whispered, feeling the pleasure rise again. "Do you want to?" he asked, lifting her onto his hips. "Mmmh…" she moaned. "And if now…" she moved a hand between their bodies, finding his cock hard again. "And if now I rode my husband as he deserves?" she whispered excitedly, her dark eyes full of desire. "For being so sure that he made me pregnant, he deserves a reward," his witch whispered, slowly moving on his hips and rising a little.

"Yes, please" he begged, letting himself be submissive. "Ride me" she let herself go down on his cock, feeling it again in her wet and dirty pussy.

“Move slowly” he whispered, bringing his hands to her hips. “Like this, like this, my love” he helped her to pick up the pace, she placed her hands on his toned chest and began to move.

Aemond groaned, his hands tightened on her body, one hand on her breasts and she chased the pleasure, moving on top of him, letting that hot dragon fire consume them. “My love, my love” Aemond whispered submissively, enjoying the body of his beloved wife on top of his. Without any fear or shyness, she rode, Aemond teased her nipple, making her shiver, he sat up and took her in his arms, kissing her lips as she came around his cock again and he filled her with his seed again.

She went against his chest, holding each other they collapsed against the bed. Still inside her, now softer, he wouldn’t let her go. As both of their breathing slowly returned to normal, they felt a small shiver run through their bodies.

"I love you," she whispered. "I love you," he replied. "And I will love our sixth little one with all my heart."

Aemond held her in his arms, his hands on her belly, caressing it. They would be parents again and for him there was no greater love than that.

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zaldritzosrose · 2 months

Text

Nepenthe (Aemond x Wife!Reader)

Nepenthe – something that makes you forget grief or suffering.

Summary: In the aftermath of the death of Lucerys at Aemond’s hand, Daemon was dead set on vengeance. ‘A son for a son’, that was how the phrase went, and Daemon intended to live by that. It was known that you, Aemond’s wife, were pregnant with your first child. And there was no limit to the revenge Daemon intended to take.

TW: PLEASE READ THESE BEFORE CONTINUING! Mentions of child death (including Lucerys), descriptions of miscarriage/traumatic birth (A special divider has been placed around this scene), strained marriage, depictions of grief and suffering, there is no happy ending here. You have been warned. dead dove, do not eat. MINORS DNI. AFAB Reader. Baratheon coded reader.

Word Count: 3484

The day Aemond had returned from Storm’s End had been nightmarish. You had hoped he would return successful, your marriage to him and the child in your belly enough to persuade your father, Lord Borros, to bend the knee to Aegon.

But the news Aemond returned with was anything but.

Yes, your father had kept his promise and would support Aegon. But everything that happened afterwards was a disaster. While not unexpected, the arrival of Lucerys had sent Aemond on a downward spiral of rage and revenge. Seeing the young Velaryon had brought back the horrors of losing his eye. Of the lack of punishment his nephew had received. Aemond had seen red, threatening the boy and chasing him through the skies over your family home.

So many times, you had cautioned Aemond on his need for recompense. Short of making him vow to forget the slight and focus on you, your marriage and now your child, he had tried his best to leave it behind.

And he had, for the most part. Rarely speaking of it unless prompted. Focusing on aiding his brother in his ascension as King, and you as the mother of his child. Everything had been as calm as it could have been.

Now, it was not.

The tension in the Keep was palpable. Between Aemond and his family. Between Aemond and you. You had taken the death of Lucerys to heart. Not for any affection held towards the young prince, though you harboured no ill will either. But for the slight to your home and your House. You felt embarrassed. The letter you received from your father, that did nothing but berate and insult Aemond’s actions did not help.

Aemond, to his credit, had not spoken of it to you until you would bring up the topic. And today was one of those days.

The council had discussed it, his first time sitting there and the Lords in attendance had done nothing but whine and complain about the war he had now started. Aemond had returned to your chambers seething, pacing the room as he waited for your return.

You were followed by your maid as you entered, the young girl quickly disappearing at the sight of your agitated husband. As the door closed behind her, you watched him. His whole body tense, like an animal circling a cage. The longer you watched, the more you heard him muttering in anger to himself.

“Sit.” you said softly, all but commanding him.

Aemond surprisingly complied. Taking a seat by the fire, his fingers clenching and unclenching on the leather covered armrest. You took the seat opposite, your hand resting gently on the swell of your stomach as you shifted to find comfort.

“The council had words for you, I presume?”

It was only then that Aemond looked at you. Eye raking up from your rounded stomach to your face, etched in concern for him. If there was one thing he adored about you, it was your perceptiveness. Knowing him well enough for him to rarely need words to express his feelings.

“They did.” he answered shortly, though his anger was not directed at you.It rarely was.

You did not expect much more from him. In every instance, Aemond was one to bottle up his feelings until they were unable to be contained, spilling over like lava from a volcano, burning everything around it.

“They did nothing but berate me! As though I sought to kill him, as though I am a child?” Aemond finally let his anger free.

You understood his feelings, as you understood the council’s. This would no doubt plunge the realm into war. The Blacks would never let Lucerys’ death go unpunished.

“Did you intend to?”

Your question made him tense. It was not something that had really crossed his mind. His sole focus had been preparing to return home, and whatever came with that. He had barely considered the consequences until they were laid out before him

When he remained silent, you asked him again.

“Did you mean to kill him, husband?”

You watched the muscle in his jaw clench, knowing your question was only adding to his anger. But you were not going to leave the topic be. His eye bored into yours as he found the words to answer.

“I only wanted what I was owed.”

There it was. The hurt little boy. But you had heard him complain time and time again that vengeance would get him nothing. That it would never be as he expected. And you did not have the same sympathy you had at the start.

You sat higher in your chair, preparing yourself for the argument you knew would come.But the words needed to be said.

“What did you think would happen, Aemond? You chased a boy on a war dragon!”

You rarely raised your voice, but your tone was enough to spark the fire in him.

“I did not intend to kill him!” Aemond snapped back, wrenching himself from his chair and resuming his angered pacing.

He may not have intended it. But he had done it, and your joined families were now at risk.

“You may not have intended it, but you could have made different choices.” You replied, remaining seated but watching him intently as he paced up and down.

“Not only have you plunged us into war without a doubt. The Blacks will want vengeance for this!”

When he remained silent you continued.

“Do you have any idea what this means for my House? To have a prince killed over our waters?"

Aemond froze mid pace. He had not and a fresh wave of guilt licked at his heart. He had never considered the consequences to you. His wife, the mother of his child.

“I..I did not think…”

But his words did nothing to stem your anger. It was one thing to hear him imagine taking his revenge, but to now have to live with the consequences was another.

“You never do.”

Aemond said nothing. The mask of cold indifference returned as he turned on his heel and stormed from the room. You had no desire to follow him. Knowing he would return when he was calm.

Though the two of you never spoke of that night again, it was never forgotten. It was a dark cloud on your marriage, on your family, and the realm. It was only a matter of time before the Blacks sought their revenge.

You would go to bed at night, dreaming of all the possible ways they would seek retribution. Aemond, however, would play that moment over and over again in his mind as he slept. A different outcome each time. None of them good.

It had been a few weeks now. The Keep remained on edge. Aemond had demanded extra guards at your door, and he never left your side where duty allowed him to. In any other circumstance, you would have relished in his attention. But the way he seemed to always hover just to your periphery soon had you feeling claustrophobic.

Soon, though, the Keep settled. War still loomed, but the focus shifted from its catalyst to the path to its end. The guards at your door remained, but you soon stopped noticing them. You tried to return to normal, but the fear still lingered. You knew something was coming.

Aemond had a permanent seat on the council now, a way of earning forgiveness for his actions by helping plan the war he pushed the realm to. It was a fair price to pay, he wagered. Though his thoughts often drifted to what you had said. What a mistake he had made, how he had let his temper cloud his judgement.

The rain outside was usually a welcome sight for you. Reminding you of the constant storm that would batter the walls of your home in Storm’s End. But when Aemond had returned to you, soaked to the skin in that very same rain, it had lost its happy memory. Tainted.

It was now a physical manifestation of the darkness that lingered around the Keep and your family. Like the heavy cloud had pulled its way from your consciousness to your reality.

Today was one of the days you spent in your chambers. The stiffness in your body weighing on you as your babe grew. More often than not, you were brought soothing teas mixed by the Grand Maester to soothe your aches and pains. The warm, herby liquid was always a welcome reprieve.

Six moons of your child growing inside you. The most recent times coloured dark with war but you were happy nonetheless. Your marriage to Aemond was never going to be simple. He was not an easy man to love, he had warned you of that himself. But you loved him nonetheless.

And your child was the fruit of that. A child that might now be in danger for its father’s actions.

You were sat at your window, ignoring the rain and focusing on the sound of Vhagar in the distance. A sound that should have roused fear in you. But it reminded you of Aemond, so it brought you comfort.

Aemond was sitting in the council and your only marker of time was a servant bringing your tea. You did not recognise this one, but the Keep’s staff changed so often now it barely brought you concern.

“Your tea, my lady,” the maid said softly, placing the stone cup on the sill before you before stepping away.

You thanked her with a smile, taking a sip of the hot liquid and letting out a satisfied sigh. At first, the taste had made you wince, but it was welcome now. Knowing your body would soon ease and relax.

Your eyes remained locked on the city below as you drank. Feeling the warmth trickle down and seep through your joints. Your hand rested on your swollen stomach, stroking soft patterns to soothe your child. If you tried, you could almost feel them through your skin, but you were likely imagining such things.

You did not know when you had fallen asleep, but the searing pain in your stomach woke you with a scream. It was as though your entire body was aflame, your skin clammy and your muscles tight.

You forced yourself to stand, almost dragging yourself to the door and calling for your guard.

“Get the Maester…get Orwyle now!” you panted out, clinging to the door frame like it was your lifeline.

The knight hurried away, loud footsteps bringing him to the council door as fast as he could. His fearful expression the one thing that forced the doors open.

“Grand Maester, you are needed.” The guard’s tone was serious enough to have the entire council turn to look at him.

Orwyle walked quickly to him, but Aemond knew the guard as one he had posted at your door. He knew immediately something was wrong. The guard’s eyes met Aemond’s as he crossed the room behind Orwyle.

“Speak plainly, ser.” Orwyle said gently, before Aemond could speak.

“It is your wife, my prince…”

Aemond heard nothing else, storming from the room and running down the halls to your chambers. He could hear the guard and Orwyle behind him, but he cared little.He could hear your screams before he reached the room, screams of pain.

The door had been left open and you had managed to find your way to your bed. Clammy hands clutching at the bedpost to steady yourself. You heard people enter and you could just about hear the sound of the maester’s voice.

“The babe…it hurts…”

You remembered nothing else, the pain too much as your eyes slipped shut.

Aemond could not bring himself to cross the threshold. The Grand Maester had called for midwives to assist and the room was a flurry. You floated in and out of consciousness, and when you were awake, you did nothing but scream out your pain.

He barely heard the midwife inform the Maester the babe was being born. He scarcely registered your cries of despair. It was too early, even he knew that.

The Maester instructed the midwives to tend to you while he looked around your room. It was only then his eyes landed on the tea cup. The shake of his head did not go unnoticed by Aemond. Something had happened.

Orwyle quickly lifted the cup. It was too early for the tea, the routine never faltered. There was something very, very wrong.

On the bed, you were in agony. Midwives circled around you and every single one looked terrified.

“My lady, you have to push.” The midwife instructed and you shook your head.

“No…no it’s not time. It is too early…” you whined, but your body began to do what was necessary.

Aemond finally moved, making his way to your side. But your reaction was not what he wanted. Your hands pushed him away, stopping him from even touching you. The action was like a knife to his heart. You were in pain and you did not want him. Aemond backed away slowly, watching silently as the midwives tended to you.

What felt like hours passed, your screams and cries never subsiding until the midwives informed you that your babe was born, a boy. But the silence that followed was haunting.

“Why is he not crying?” you whispered, your voice hoarse and broken.

The midwives remained silent and that only angered you.

“Tell me!!”

Your shriek was a mix of anger and despair, but it was Orwyle who answered you.

“Your son did not survive. I am so very sorry, my lady.” Orwyle spoke softly, the pain evident in his words.

You refused to believe it, demanding your son to be placed in your arms. The midwife holding him opened her mouth to refuse, but Orwyle silenced her and took the babe himself and handed him to you.

It was only when you held him, did it hit you. Your child was gone.You had not even noticed Aemond was still in the room until he moved closer to you. But you refused him again, wanting no one to touch you including your husband.

Aemond was at a loss at what to do, hovering at your side while you refused to look at him.

It was only when Orwyle said his name did he move.

“My prince,” the Maester whispered, “I fear it was not natural causes that brought this about.”

Aemond’s head turned to look at the Maester in confusion, silently asking for an explanation. Orwyle continued on, holding the stone cup for Aemond to see.

“The tea I brew for her pains, it was not due for an hour if not more. Whoever brought her this…”

The implication was clear. None of this was natural, outside forces had caused this loss. Aemond nodded, taking one last look at you before he left. If you did not want him here, he would not stay.

It had taken a lot of convincing for you to allow your son to be prepared by the Silent Sisters. Barely holding back your anguish as he was taken from your sight. You had watched Orwyle and Aemond speak, even through your grief you were able to deduce what they were speaking of.

The tea. You should have known. When you thought back, you did not recognise the face of the maid who delivered it. Aemond always told you of new staff. It should have aroused your suspicions immediately.

And now your son was gone. Taken from you.You called for a guard to bring you the Maester. You had to know.

When Orwyle arrived, he saw the determined look on your face.

“What did you tell my husband about the tea?”

Orwyle blinked in shock before answering, not having expected that to be the reason he was called.

“My lady, I…” he began and you knew he was going to skirt the question.

“Truth. Now, Orwyle.”

Your tone was harsh, and he knew he had no choice but to answer.

“The tea, I fear, was tampered with.”

He was not entirely sure of the exact concoction used, but he was certain the two events were connected.

“So I was poisoned, is that what you are saying?”

Orwyle could only nod, tears stinging his own eyes as they did yours. Your next request surprised him.

“Tell my husband I need him.”

Aemond was quick to follow your invitation, surprised at Orwyle being the one to deliver it but he went nonetheless. As he entered, his heart almost stopped at the sight of you. Sat before the fire, having had it lit not long ago.

Your back to him as you held a small blanket in your arms. A blanket you had embroidered when you first learned of your pregnancy.

“Orwyle told you?” he asked, fearing what would come next.

You still did not turn to him as you spoke.

“I warned you. I warned you they would take revenge.” You spat the words at him, nothing but hurt and venom on your tongue.

“I warned you nothing good would come of vengeance and now…”

You could not bring yourself to utter the words. Speaking them would make them final and true. You brought yourself to your feet, rounding on Aemond with a fury he had never seen in you before. Your grief had moulded itself into anger. Anger at the gods for taking your son this way, anger at Aemond for causing it, anger at the Blacks for being the bringers of such vengeance.

“You did this.”

Aemond could feel his very heart shatter. You were blaming him? He wanted to argue with you,but he knew you were in pain, grieving. Channelling all of that against the only person you could.

He listened to your screams and rants, his face never changing from its stoic mask. But inside, he felt sick. Was this his fault? Was this the revenge you had warned him of? Would his half sister and her people really commit such a foul act?

Of course they would, he thought. Not they, however, one person would surely stoop to this. His uncle had the ability for such cruelty, there was no doubt. Daemon was the epitome of rage and vengeance.

His attention wandered back to you when you uttered one hurtful line.

“Was the murder of one child not enough?”

The nausea that ate at his insides turned to fire.You were outright blaming him. Placing all of this tragedy on his shoulders.

“Mind your tongue, wife.” he spat back.

Angry that you were blaming him and no other. Angry that you were acting as though he had not also suffered a loss in the child’s death.

“You are not the only one grieving.”

The scoff you let out in response only fuelled his rage more. He could see the fire behind your eyes. Nothing should be feared more than a grieving mother.

“None of this would have happened if it were not for your age old grudge, husband.”

You wanted him to hurt as you did. To feel the pain you did. You were the victim here, not him. Not in your eyes. Aemond’s jaw clenched and unclenched, wanting to match the vitriol you spewed at him in kind. But it would get him nowhere. He knew that.

Before any words could leave his mouth, you spoke words that felt like a hammer to the already fragile glass of your marriage.

“Get out. I do not want to look at you.”

He felt like he was in Driftmark again. Watching his injury go unpunished. He was losing you, and there was nothing he could do. His mouth was dry, his heart near still in his chest. If you had looked closer, you would have seen the unshed tears in his eye before he turned and stormed out of your rooms.

The door had barely closed behind him when he let his own tears fall. A mix of anger and pain stinging his cheeks. He wanted nothing more than to burn down the world. To force others to feel the pain he did. The pain you felt.

He would not lose you. Not like this.

There was a phrase, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. But whoever spoke those words had never met a grieving mother. The anger would burn you from the inside if you let it. And the Baratheon words rung in your mind.

Ours is the fury.

You were to live by those words now. Fury for your child. Fury at your husband. Fury at the ones who had hurt you.

Aemond on the other hand, let the rage burn. Fire and Blood. The Targaryen words had never tempted him more. The world would burn for the pain he had wrought.

No tag list purely because I don't want to unintentionally make people see something they don't want.

If you read it, thank you. I will appreciate any feedback you have.

There will be a part two, thanks to some lovely moots who let me bother them with ideas.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fanfiction #x reader #x reader angst

811 notes · View notes

oneeyedlove · 3 months

Text

Ash heart.

summary | The blissful months you and Aemond shared after your secret marriage come to an abrupt end as the news of his kinslaying reach your ears.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x niece!oc

word count | 2.8 k

note | I am new to writing and very unsure about this tbh. Also, english is not my first language so bear with me. Any thoughts are appreciated!

Find part 2 here

---

Princess Aelora Velaryon, second born child to Rhaenyra Targaryen, was perfectly aware of the divide in her family for as long as she could remember. Her mother's claim to the iron throne questioned at any opportunity, the bastardy of her and her siblings birth constantly whispered about the realm, not to mention the animosity displayed between the queen consort and the queen to be. She wasn't blind to it in any shape or form.

Nevertheless, Aelora ignored her instincts when it came to Prince Aemond. The pair held a soft spot for each other ever since they were children, the brown haired girl defending the boy from her brother's and uncle's cruel jests and him opening himself up to her like he never had before, not even to his mother. But even their childish affections couldn't stand the test that the incident brought upon them. The loss of an eye molded Aemond into a resentful man and Aelora stood by her family. Their feelings turned to ash upon a dragon's ire.

Or so was thought.

Despite years that lacked contact betwixt the two sides of House Targaryen, the arrival of Aelora and her family at King's Landing shifted a previously undisturbed passion. Aemond's heart ached in her presence but the prince disguised himself through vile insults and meaningless threats. He could never hurt her, not like she hurt him. The brown haired princess did not feel guilt for choosing her own blood over him all those years ago, after all he had said and done monstrosities she never thought her once sweet uncle capable of. But she did feel sad for him, he lost the most that night. All the anger that resided in the surface could not stand the longing she felt.

After Rhaenyra and Daemon decided it was best to reside in the Red Keep due to her grandsire's deteriorating health, Aelora and Aemond grew closer in their twisted relationship, challenging each other and throwing insults was almost a synchronized dance for the pair. Although appearances showed disdain and anger between uncle and niece, none knew that secret encounters were also their routine. Stolen kisses in dark corridors, comforting looks in public, late night adventures through flea bottom and passionate sex in empty chambers immersed their strained relationship.

The prince and princess knew their love was either destined to mending the bonds their family broke or destroying them completely. And against their better judgment, they got married in secrecy, the only witness being Haelena. They shared their vows under the moonlight in a traditional Valyrian wedding ceremony, like their ancestors. Delusional as the King was due to his illness, he was the only other family member to approve of their union, their parents and siblings confirmed their fears and voiced their disapproval loudly. Aelora's side of the family went as far as demanding her move back to Dragonstone alongside them but she denied the request.

Aemond was now her husband, her moon, her prince.

She was sure she would make peace with her parents and siblings soon, for there was no way of breaking the couple apart.

But that was before the King's death.

Before Aegon was crowned.

Before she realized she needed to choose between green and black.

...

"Aemond, issa hūra (My moon), please listen." Her pleads echoed through their chambers as her husband refused to look at her.

"I must fly to Dragonstone. I need to see my mother and make things right."

"Issa vēzos (My sun), are you aware of what your status will become if you indeed fly to meet Rhaenyra? You would come to be a traitor to the Realm. You must understand it, you would be imprisoned and killed upon your return to King's Landing." Aemond finally spoke, turning his head towards her, his eyes glistening with the light emanating from the thunderstorm outside the window.

"I would lose you." His expression was a sorrowful one as he whispered the words, as if he would conjure them to reality if he spoke clearly.

Aelora let out a long breath and walked towards him, holding onto his arms that now stood at her waist. Her gaze flickered from his chest up to his eye, tiredness emanating from the woman's form as she continued to quarrel with her husband.

"Then what must I be? We cannot refrain from participating in this war, Aemond. You have already taken your place by your brother, making yourself into one of his trusted dragon riders and ally. I am not fit to be both wife of Prince Aemond of the Greens and daughter of The Black Queen."

He placed a strand of hair behind her ear as she spoke, her words were true but he could not bear to be of opposing sides with his one true love. All they had gone through to achieve this could not have been in vain, their marriage couldn't be just another tragedy in the midst of this war, he wouldn't let it.

"My mother must know I have not betrayed her." Aelora continued her sentence frantically.

"She will not be the first to spill blood, I am certain of it. You could convince Aegon not to do so either, we can try to stop the real war before its control slips from our fingers. There must be a way to mend things."

"You are optimistic, my darling. I only wished we hadn't got this far." He said as he got closer and touched her forehead with his.

"I will do my duty as commanded by the King. I shall fly to Storm's End tonight and secure the Baratheon's allegiance to the crown, it will be my last action before we discuss our plans. I promise you, we will find a way out of this."

As she opened her eyes to look at him, anguish poured out of her gaze. Aelora's heart held such love for Aemond that she could feel it tightening at the thought of losing him, as if two ropes were tugging at it from opposite directions.

"Issi īlon vēdros naejot jorrāelagon isse se midst hen vīlībāzma? (Are we mad to love in the midst of war?)" She asked.

"Lo ziry iksos, nyke'll sagon hakossiarzy ondoso aōha paktot. Syt sir se forever. (If it is, I'll be insane by your side. For now and forever.)" With his answer, he took the sides of her head with his hands and kissed her deeply.

It was a passionate kiss, both of them holding each other close as if they would vanish at any moment. Aemond was determined not to lose the thing he held dearest to anyone nor anything in the chaos about to engulf them. No, his sun was his light, she gave him purpose, she gave him devotion, she gave him life. He would fight his way through the Seven Hells for her. He would burn the world to ash.

Certain as her lover was, Aelora dreaded the future as he broke their embrace. He lingered at the link of their hands as he made his way towards the door, but left her even so. The sound of heavy wood clanking ringed in her head, unable to suppress the growing pit inside her.

"Gods be good."

They wouldn't.

...

Aemond's return was filled with misery. His temper, his damned temper, conquered his thoughts completely and the consequences would drown him. He had killed Prince Lucerys. Her favorite brother. He ensured catastrophe over them. He broke his promise.

The prince's mind raced as he sat in the coucil room, it had been almost two hours since he told them what had transpired. Otto and Alicent spent every breath of theirs berating him whilst Aegon congratulated and rejoiced at the news. He had no care for any of their words, but he deeply feared hers. He was sure all of the qualities she bestowed upon him vanished. He was a weak man. Pathetic and evil. He should have stayed away for he never deserved her. Aelora's reaction would destroy him.

"How are we to tell her?" His mother's despair could be seen in her eyes as she spoke.

"I will." That was the only phrase the one eyed prince uttered since he disclosed the events of what had happened.

Aemond stood from his seat and walked away, ignoring the pleads for him to stay and discuss what he was to do. He had no plan to disguise his actions to his wife, she deserved better and he wouldn't pretend to be worthy of sympathy. The promise he made was shattered. Tragedy was about to struck over their marriage and he had no one to blame but himself. As he made his way through Maegor's Holdfast he could hear parts of the whispers spoken about him.

"His dragon ate him."

"Revenge for his eye."

"Kinslayer."

Standing in front of the same doors that witnessed their love from the beginning, Aemond opened them ready for the end. And yet he wasn't prepared for the sight before him.

Their chambers were wrecked. The sheets that used to embrace the couple in their cherished nights were ripped to shreds at the foot of the bed. The dressing table where she readied herself as he watched was tumbled to the side, its mirror shattered into a million pieces. The matching set of chairs and table where they used to have their meals with laughter and love were scattered across the room. The candles that allowed him to study her figure during the countless times they shared intimacies were blown out, the only light being the one emanating from the fireplace.

And there she was, on her knees as she watched the fire. Her beautiful brown locks disheveled in the braids coming undone atop her head, her golden dress was crinkled and burned at the hem. The princess held a small paper on her right hand, the other one placed on the stone floor.

She already knew.

"Aelora..." Aemond tried to speak but his words were buried by guilt.

The woman before him turned her head in an ungodly slow speed, clutching the letter in her hand until her knuckles turned white. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, the tracks of dried tears still on her face. Yet, she displayed no sadness in her expression, only a dragon's rage.

"You." She growled, her tone making a shiver run down his spine.

"My love, ple-" He started.

Despite Aemond's efforts to plead with his beloved, he knew no words would be able to repair what he had destroyed. The once familiar pet name left a bittersweet taste in his mouth but it was nothing compared to the sourness it brought to her heart.

"Do not address me that way." Her words were low but stabbed him in the chest all the same. He watched as she got herself up from the floor, her fury burning like wildfire.

The princess could not believe what she had read in her stepfather's letter an hour ago, Daemon had to be mistaken. Her husband had promised to avoid the carnage of war, he wouldn't have been so disloyal. She knew Aemond had arrived, for she saw Vhagar flying over the Red Keep, and assumed he had been discussing Lord Borros' response with the council, but she had grown far too anxious as time passed. It had taken too long for it to be a mere coincidence. Lucerys had been killed by her husband. The man whom she loved with all her being, for whom she defied her own flesh and blood, had proven himself the beast all feared him to be. As the tears fell from her face and destruction noises flooded her senses, her love turned to ash.

"You killed him!" Aelora yelled as she strode up to him and pushed his chest back, he made no move to stop her.

"I did." He looked down at her as he spoke.

"You murdered an innocent child!" She mustered all her strength to slap him this time, her chin raising in a defying manner.

"I did."

"Have you no shame? No regret?" She pushed him to the side as she screamed, making him stumble.

Aelora could not believe him. He had broken his promise, broken her family, broken her heart and yet he found it beneath himself to explain anything to her? All the resentment and rage he harbored for Luke had been stronger than his love for her, betrayal falling upon the pair over a childish mistake. His stoic expression mirrored his soul, Aemond had no guilt to convey.

"Do your depraved actions give you pride? Do you relish in your revenge?" She shouted till her throat hurt. He couldn't do this to her, to wreck world and then leave her stranded. No, she would hurt him, she needed to.

"You disgust me. Murderer!" She spat those words as she hit his chest again, receiving no reaction from him other than his eye staring ah the darkess that consumed the chamber.

"Liar!" She pushed him again.

"Cunt" And again.

"Kinslayer!" And again.

Finally Aemond looked at her, the insult landing deeper than her other words. That was his title now. He was everything she claimed him to be and worse, a man to be hated and struck until the end of his days.

"Fight back you traitor!" She swung at him in all the ways she could to no avail, he only stared at her with his arms behind his back as they slowly moved across the room.

"Too righteous to hit a lady, are you Aemond?" Aelora stopped shouting but her voice remained as piercing as a spear.

"I could never hurt you." He answered, his breath shaking.

She could only stare at him in response, a twisted smirk and a scoff the only acknowledgment se could form. The princess scanned him with her eyes until she found his dagger at his waist. In one swift move, she grabbed the blade and threw him onto the wall, placing it on his throat.

"Hypocrisy runs deep in your blood, doesn't it? Worse than your mother, you murder Lucerys and yet claim not to maim me. You think yourself so pure, a true perfect prince of the realm. A Strong bastard's life is nothing compared to yours, is it? I should slice your neck from ear to ear and watch as life flees from your body, see if red stains your honor." She whispered whilst looking into his eye, he had no fear but sadness and regret in his expression.

The prince's death would be a mercy he longed for, the thought of life with only her hatred to call his wasn't worth living. Knowing her light was never to shine upon him again, Aemond was ready to be drowned by darkness once more. His lip trembled as he looked for words, any words, to ask her for his end.

"How could I ever had loved you?" Tears began to form in Aelora's eyes, she couldn't contain them anymore. The pain she felt in her core was almost tangible, how could a love like theirs have now become such a wound? A cut that would never heal, destined be with her forever.

"I was such a fool! To think a twisted soul like yourself would be capable of anything but wrath and violence!" She let the translucent pearls of water run down her face and threw his head against the stone wall as she ripped the side of his eyepatch with the dagger.

Aemond was in the verge of tears himself, watching as the woman he loves so deeply tear him to shreds. He could withstand any torture, suffer any injury and it would never compare to the torment of her loathing. His sapphire eye was exposed now, a drop of blood dripping from the side of his face where the blade touched his skin.

"There. Let everyone see the monster you truly are, inside and out." She backed away from him slowly, her voice trembling just as her legs did.

"Nyke jāhor va moriot jorrāelagon ao, issa vēzos. (I will always love you, my sun.)" The one eyed prince whispered as he leaned into the wall, a single teardrop fell from his eye as he accepted defeat.

With a loud thud, Aelora burst through the chamber's door, leaving Aemond behind. He fell to the ground as he cried, but he knew it wasn't over. As he heard the screech of her dragon echoing through the skies, he knew they would meet again on the battlefield, fighting for different sides. Yet there would be no need for war to ruin them, he already did.

Maybe fate had decided this would be their path all along.

For her blood was black and his was green.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen imagines #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x you #angst

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pessimisticpigeonsworld · 6 months

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HOTD has made many interesting choices in their adaptation of the story of the Dance. One of their favorite excuses for many of their questionable choices is "feminism". Why did they remove Alicent's ambitions and autonomy? Feminism. Why is Rhaenyra less proactive and hesitant? Feminism. Why are Daemon and Otto the primary active agents in the lead up to the Dance? Well women can't be in the wrong or violent, so feminism.

These choices are the farthest thing from feminist; they're sexist, end of story. Every decision surrounding the women of the Dance reeks of benevolent sexism. One of the most obviously sexist decisions made is the purposeful removal of female cooperation and friendship.

Rhaenyra in F&B has many female allies and friends. Her ladies in waiting loved her so much, one of them, Lady Elinda Massey gouged out her eyes at the sight of Rhaenyra's death. Lady Jeyne Arryn, Lady Alysanne Blackwood, and Lady Sabitha Frey/Vypren are just a few examples of ladies who fought for Rhaenyra (Alysanne and Sabitha literally fought in battles). Lady Fell chose death over betraying her oath to Rhaenyra.

Now, we haven't had any opportunity to meet most of these women I listed in the show. Lady Fell was portrayed as she was written in the book, a very minor character who simply foreshadowed how most of the realm would choose Rhaenyra over Aegon. Elinda Massey, however was reduced to an unnamed servant, not even a lady in waiting. Her treatment is an echo of one of my biggest issues with HOTD, the treatment of Laena and Rhaenys.

Laena was Rhaenyra's dearest friend in the book, in fact it's implied that they had a romantic relationship. Whether you believe that telling or not, it's undeniable that she and Laena were extremely close. They chose to betroth their children while they were infants, Rhaenyra flew to Laena's bedside during her final labor, and she stood vigil with Daemon over Laena's body.

All of that closeness and intimacy was removed in the show to make room for Alicent. So let's break that down: they removed a long and healthy relationship between two women and replaced it with a short-lived (in terms of screen time) friendship that quickly fell apart and turned into an intense rivalry. Reinforcing an old stereotype of female friendship: that it is entrenched in rivalry and toxicity and can quickly be turned to enmity. Alicent was so quickly and easily turned against Rhaenyra and it's even implied that she was jealous of Rhaenyra long before they became enemies.

Rhaenys in the book was an ardent supporter of Rhaenyra. She happily claimed Jace, Luke, and Joff as her grandsons, advised Rhaenyra to go to war, and gladly flew against Aegon and Aemond.

Meanwhile, in the show, Rhaenys was turned into one of Rhaenyra's rivals. She constantly challenged Rhaenyra's ideas, dismissed her as a naive child, disliked her children, and even considered backing the Greens. On top of that, they turned her into yet another "peaceful" woman. She advises against the war, and seems to continue to do so in season two. Rhaenys is virtually unrecognizable in the show. They chose to take a woman who tried to prevent a younger woman being wronged by the patriarchy the same way she was and turned her into a bitter woman who resents Rhaenyra (for most of the show).

HOTD claimed to have wanted to tell a story about how the patriarchy pits women against each other. That's all very well and good, but that's not what they actually did. They took a story where a woman is wrongfully usurped because of her gender and is supported by many other women and turned it into another tired female rivalry story.

Rhaenyra has no female friends aside from Alicent. Laena was turned from her dearest friend/lover into simply a rival for Daemon's affection. Rhaenys was turned from a supportive mentor and defender to someone who took out her resentment for the system on a fourteen year old who only starts to support her when she's proven "peaceful".

HOTD chose to perpetuate a harmful stereotype about women: that we constantly view each other as threats/rivals and can't have truly healthy relationships with other women. Rhaenyra had women who supported and cared for her in the book, in the show all she has is Alicent. A woman who abused and undermined her for ten years, raised her children to hate her, and usurped her. Every change HOTD made in the name of "feminism" solidified just how sexist it really is.

#rhaenyra targaryen #canon rhaenyra targaryen #laena velaryon #rhaenys targaryen #rhaenys the queen who never was #anti hotd #anti ryan condal #anti sarah hess #asoiaf #house of the dragon #team black #anti team green #anti alicent hightower

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yanderes-galore · 1 month

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What about a platonic yandere Aegon II with a daughter!reader after B+C?

Fell in love with this idea ON. SIGHT. Broke my own rules on this, my bad. I don't usually do young darlings, but for this it made the most sense. Don't expect stuff like this all the time... but I love the idea of Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond being platonic yanderes to Aegon's Daughter. Unfortunately no Daeron as he's not around during this period.

❗️SPOILERS FOR HOTD SEASON 2❗️

Yandere! Platonic! Aegon II with Daughter! Darling

(FT. Helaena + Aemond - Aftermath of Blood + Cheese)

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Child death/Murder, Blood, Manipulation, Fear of loss, Isolation, Mature language, Targcest (Aegon/Helaena), Medieval gender roles, Toxic family dynamics, Forced companionship.

First of all, let's talk about who you are.

In terms of being Aegon's daughter...

You could be one of his legitimate heirs with Helaena.

That or maybe you could be a bastard from one of his many flings. Perhaps one who later became a cupbearer for him?

Regardless of how... Aegon gets horrible after the death of Jaehaerys.

Before the assassination, Aegon isn't... very invested.

He's paying more attention to his first son, hyping Jaehaerys up as his heir.

He cares for you, but not as much as his first son.

He keeps an eye on you yet you're often with Helaena.

Helaena takes good care of you... even if your father is often busy.

You're well cared for, even as a bastard Helaena doesn't wish to leave you on your own.

Perhaps, as a dreamer/seer, she senses your fate beside Aegon and wants to aid you through it.

Your life is... decent within the Red Keep one way or another.

Things only really go downhill when the Blood + Cheese incident occurs.

Jaehaerys is murdered in the night due to assassins sent by Daemon.

The news is devastating.

Helaena spent the whole night with her mother, holding her remaining children and you in her arms.

You're older than the babe(s) when it all happens, perhaps a young kid (To make it make sense, you can probably age the characters up from canon)

In the morning... your father is furious.

Aegon's screaming at anyone he sees.

Maids, servants, the Small Council, his knights...

Anyone.

Aegon screams about Rhaenyra and her side killing his heir.

One would not think he is a man close to his children.

He only seemed to like Jaehaerys because he was a male heir.

That's what you thought, at least.

Until Aegon kept coming to your chambers.

You were often with Helaena before and after the death of your sibling.

So you were not expecting to see Aegon come in to pester you.

You are his by blood, you are his eldest daughter.

Aegon himself didn't realize how... affected he was.

He didn't know how grateful he was to have you until his son was murdered.

Aegon is a man doomed to lose all of his children in the end.

Perhaps even you.

Helaena knows this well and is worried when Aegon shows a sudden interest in you.

Aegon would get noticeably more... protective of you as his daughter.

He may have no eldest son now, but you're still one of his eldest.

He never lets you out of his sight after the death of Jaehaerys.

Helaena often asks he leaves you alone, but the king never does.

"Oh please, wife... let me see her. I won't cause her any harm."

Aegon drags you to Small Council meetings and shows you to Sunfyre.

He's paranoid yet proud of you, his eldest daughter.

He isn't affectionate at first.

But when Jaehaerys dies, he's suffocating.

The king, your father, holds you close.

During Small Council meetings, he has you right beside him or in his lap.

When his Council asks him to leave you with Helaena, Aegon blatantly refuses.

"Far as you're concerned, this is my daughter and she has the right to sit here."

Aegon would not allow betrothals.

That's one thing both he and Helaena can agree on when it comes to you.

You mean too much to him to be married off.

Even when you're of age he dismisses the thought.

Aemond is no doubt appointed as your bodyguard.

He doesn't trust Ser Criston Cole, said man did nothing when his son died.

Even if you are a woman, Aegon raises you like you're his next heir.

Maelor, his other son, is too young for now.

So, for now, you are his main heir.

If anything threatened you, Aegon is not waiting.

He will order Aemond hunt them down.

That is unless he can kill them himself.

You aren't even really allowed to play with Jaehaera or Maelor at times.

You miss your time with Helaena, your mother...

Now all you really see is your uncle Aemond or your father Aegon.

Sometimes you see your grandmother, Alicent, but Aegon isn't keen on it.

It's strange how Aegon goes from indifferent to obsessive about you.

He sits by you all the time, giving you books and often ordering Aemond to look after you.

Aemond would much rather patrol King's Landing with Vhagar... but he adores holding you in his arms so he can't complain.

Aemond may sneak swordsmanship in to teach you in private, even if you are a lady.

Aegon is irritated about it, but soon allows it.

You must be a strong queen... give Rhaenyra a run for her gold...

A way you could get Daeron involved in this is maybe you get to write him ravens while he's out being a squire.

I know this is primarily meant to be Aegon... but I feel at least most of the other Greens would be involved.

Aegon knows you should have a dragon... yet he hates the idea of something going wrong.

Sure, you get along with Sunfyre... he won't even let you near Vhagar... and Dreamfyre is rarely even with her rider...

You'd be fine with a hatchling of your own... but Aegon would be extra careful when giving you one.

He's already lost his first heir, you aren't dying too.

He's so nervous about losing you.

Even more so when he gets burned in battle.

While he's in pain on his bed, he doesn't stop asking about you once he's coherent.

You're left in Helaena and Aemond's care... but often are sent to visit the burned king.

Aemond doesn't see you as a threat to the throne.

In fact there's times he treats you like his own daughter, teaching you High Valyrian... a language Aegon isn't very proficient in.

Helaena is often showing you insects and singing to you as she holds you close.

When you visit Aegon he is adamant on you cuddling up to his good side, holding you close as he hisses in pain.

His body may be broken at this point... but he loves you dearly.

You are his little princess, his little future queen, he's sure of that.

Even in his bed, burned and helpless, he'll keep you safe...

Helaena and Aemond love you too, after all, not a soul will touch you with The Greens.

#yandere asoiaf #yandere house of the dragon #yandere hotd #yandere aegon ii targaryen #platonic yandere

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elaratyrell · 1 year

Text

Daemon Targaryen x Fem! Reader x Jacaerys Velaryon {Lessons In Lovemaking}

*All images found on Pinterest*

Requested By: @thatsgayyouknow

Warnings: Threesome, double penetration, unprotected sex, piv sex, anal, vaginal and anal fingering, oral (fem receiving), face sitting, language, use of kepa, Jace's monster dick, Daemon is technically cheating on Rhaenyra, drinking... I think that's it... this is pure filth *Divider from Firefly Graphics*

Request/Synopsis: “Hi I was wondering if you could do something where Daemon is helping show Jace how to please his lover. If you could possibly fill it with has much smut as possible and maybe even do it where the reader takes both of them at the same time.”

A/N: Reader is described as having Valyrian ancestors but this won't affect their appearance as it was hundreds of years ago

*Not fully proof read*

You had been feeling eyes on you all evening.

You were slowly growing used to the feeling of being watched during banquets like this, what with being married to Prince Jacaerys for several moons now. Being the Princess of Dragonstone came with its share of benefits and disadvantages, it seemed.

But this time it felt different.

Amongst the stares of the various high lords and nobles of the kingdom trying to get a look at their new princess, there was one that felt like it was burning straight through you. It was a hungry, intense gaze.

One with lustful intentions.

And it wasn’t coming from your husband.

Your gaze travelled to where that piercing look was coming from, your eyes locking with a pair of lilac ones.

Your father in law, Daemon Targaryen, had his eyes locked on you ever since you'd sat down.

Occasionally, his gaze flickered over to his wife, Rhaenyra, murmuring an agreement to whatever she was saying or pressing a kiss to her palm, but otherwise it was entirely focused on you.

You were dressed in a deep red gown with black lace detailing. Half of your hair was twisted into a braid crown and pinned back, a tiara of gold and rubies adorning your head.

You were every bit a Targaryen princess.

The match with Jacaerys arose due to your family, along with having Valyrian ancestry, bending the knee for Rhaenyra and supporting her as heir after the death of her father. Fortunately, her younger half brother Aegon had declined to oppose her, and she was crowned. While your marriage to Jacaerys was indeed an arranged affair, you had managed to find love with the young prince, and he with you.

You were the very image of young love that had only bloomed since your nuptials.

There was only one slight crack in your relationship.

Intimacy.

You and Jacaerys were both young and inexperienced on your wedding night. You were thankful that he declined the bedding ceremony, the both of you basking in the warm glow of your private chambers all night.

But since then, moments such as that had been sparse between the two of you, and while Jace had been an attentive and loving husband, you found yourself yearning for more intimacy between the two of you. Any attempts at initiating such things had resulted in Jace telling you that it was late and you were both too tired, or that he didn't want to hurt you, bringing up memories of your discomfort on your wedding night.

It wasn't your fault he was incredibly well endowed.

You were sure that you could both navigate yourselves through the act of lovemaking without bringing you pain.

You just needed to explore that aspect of your relationship more.

And you had decided that tonight would be that night.

Perhaps it was because of the way you had been alone with your thoughts for most of the evening, perverse desires swimming in your mind, or the fact that Jace's touch, whether it was placing his hand over yours, or on your thigh in an innocent manner, a source of comfort...

Or perhaps it was the way Daemon's stare had made your thighs rub together and your skin flush with heat.

No matter the reason, your lips found Jace's the moment he closed your chamber doors behind him, and while initially taken aback by your rather bold action, he eagerly kissed back, his hands travelling to rest on your back while yours tangled in his hair. You smirked against his lips as you felt the lace of your dress loosen.

Once your dress was undone, pooling around your feet, you attempted to tug off Jace's clothes, but he lightly grabbed your wrists, his forehead resting against yours, your chests heaving and lips swollen.

"I... can't..."

"Why not?" You whispered, eyes locking with his. "Jace... I need you. I want you. I want to feel you. Feel loved by you."

"I don't want to hurt you-"

"You won't."

"How do you know that?"

"There are things that can be done to ensure that the act is not painful, but pleasurable. I have read about it-"

"Y/N!"

"Jace, you left me with no other choice," You suddenly snapped, chest heaving. "We have not been intimate since our wedding."

"I know... and believe me, my love, I have yearned to be close with you as well," Jace sighed, taking your hands in his. "But you know that we are not exactly well educated in the act of love making. Look at who we were surrounded with to teach us. Me, with my alcoholic uncle who viewed women as objects and you, with two married sisters who refused to speak on the subject-"

"It seems you could use some guidance in the matter."

You and Jace both turned to see Daemon leaning in the open doorway, arms folded and a slight smirk on his face. Jace stepped between his stepfather than you, an arm protectively outstretched to protect your dignity.

"You could have granted us the liberty of knocking to prepare us for your arrival," Jace spoke, his voice surprisingly stern, almost authoritative, as he addressed his stepfather. Usually his tone would be more respectful, but when you were involved, he didn't care who he was addressing.

"I was about to, but I found your conversation to be far too interesting," Daemon replied, taking a step forward.

"That's close enough," Jace said, his arm pushing you further behind him. Daemon tilted his head, taking another step towards his stepson.

"I merely wish to offer my... expertise, on your issue."

"We do not require such guidance from you."

Daemon smirked. "This doesn't just concern you, Jacaerys. What about you, byka mēre?" [little one]

The way those Valyrian words dripped from his tongue made a shudder run down your spine, your thighs squeezing together.

"She does not need you or your silver tongued words-" Jace began, but he was silence by Daemon raising a hand.

"I was not addressing you, Jacaerys," He said dismissively, curling a finger towards you to beckon you closer.

Jace's grip on your waist loosened as you pulled away from him, hesitantly stepping towards Daemon.

"There you are, byka mēre," His smirk was like a serpent's as he spoke in that honeyed tone. Gentle, but with an edge. Something lingered behind it, and it just took one look into his eyes, the way his pupils darkened when focused on her, to know why. "Tell me, what do you wish to know?"

"I..." You tried to speak, but your mouth was completely dry. You could practically feel yourself shrink in front of Daemon's imposing stare. His presence filled the room, and you couldn't help but find yourself in awe of him.

"Do not tell me you are suddenly feeling shy, little dove," Daemon murmured, reaching out to run his thumb over your lower lip. "You can tell me."

"I... well... I wish to know how to be... how to feel..."

"How to feel true pleasure?" He asked, eyes glittering like amethysts. She nodded, and he turned to address his stepson.

"Have you not been satisfying your beautiful bride, Jacaerys?" He raised an eyebrow.

"That is none of your concern."

"But your wife wishes it to be. Do you want me to help you, byka jorrāelagon?" [little love]

"Daemon-"

"I do," Your voice was nothing more than a hushed murmur, but both Daemon and Jace heard you, the latter shooting you a look of slight hurt.

"Do you hear that Jacaerys? She wants me to guide her."

"You will not touch her," Jace glared, fists clenched.

"That is not your choice to make," Daemon replied with a smirk. "Do you want me to touch you, little one?" He asked, earning a nod from you in response.

"I will not have this-"

"Do you wish for your wife to be happy, Jacaerys?" Daemon interrupted his stepson, raising an eyebrow.

"Well... well yes..."

"You want her to feel satisfied? To feel pleasure?"

"Of course-"

"And giving her such pleasure would make her happy, yes?"

Jace breathed out a sigh, his gaze fixed on the ground and his jaw clenched. "...Yes..." He spoke through gritted teeth.

"Then surely that means that whatever your wife wishes... you should grant her? Or in this instance... allow me to grant her?"

Jace's gaze snapped up to meet Daemon's. "Do you not have any loyalty to my mother? To your wife?"

"Of course I do, Jacaerys," Daemon replied smoothly. "But your pretty little wife here wishes for the guidance I have offered. Do not fret," His lip curled into a smile. "I will make sure it is not a regular occurrence."

Jace looked at you, meeting your gaze as you silently pleaded with him.

"Even if it goes against your wishes," Daemon added. "I'm sure it will only be a matter of time before your wife seeks me out. So, we can do this tonight... or whenever she finds me in private-"

"Fine!" Jace exclaimed, letting out a deep breath. "Very well."

You rushed over to him, cupping his face in your hands and pressing your lips to his. "Thank you, my love. Do not fret, I will make this up to you." You whispered, pressing another kiss, this time to his cheek, as he took your hands in his.

"If this is what you truly want, I will not stand in your way of happiness," He murmured, laying a kiss to the back of your hand.

"I love you."

"And I you, dearest." He mustered you a small smile, kissing your other hand before letting you go. You stepped back, giving him one last smile before turning to Daemon, who outstretched a hand towards you.

"Shall we, byka mēre?"

You nodded, taking his hand and allowing him to lead you over to the bed.

"If you feel overwhelmed, little one, you need only tell me. I will stop. I give you my word of that."

"I assure you, your grace, I will not require that."

"You need not call me that, byka jorrāelagon, " Daemon murmured, looking down at you. "You may call me kepa. Understood?"

"Yes," You replied. "Kepa." You quickly added.

"Jacaerys, you may either step outside or take a seat. I do not require you at this moment" Daemon said, glancing over to his nephew. "Actually, I think that you had better watch. You will need to stay to learn how a lady can be pleasured."

Jace slumped down in a chair by the fireplace, glaring at his stepfather's rather smug expression, his jaw clenched, no doubt to hold back any words he may regret. He did not wish to upset you, or deny you your wish, and Daemon had a larger influence, over both the kingdom and Rhaenyra that he could use to his advantage should Jacaerys change his mind.

He didn't want to push you away.

So he would bite his tongue, and hold himself back for tonight.

"Right now, little dove," Daemon's attention was now fully focused on you. "First, let's remove these undergarments. Let me see you."

His touch lit your skin on fire as his hands slid down your arms to settle on your waist before moving to your back. You let out a small gasp at the ripping sound as he tore the garment from you body, letting it fall to the floor, leaving you completely bare before him.

His lilac gaze darkened as he circled around you, like a predator around its prey.

Because that is what you were.

His prey for tonight.

And he was going to devour you.

"My, my, what a stunning little creature you are. I can see why my stepson is so enamoured with you..." He murmured, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine, sending an involuntary shiver at his touch. "Do not worry, little dove," He added, coming to stand in front of you, his hands moving to cup your face. "Kepa will take good care of you. Lay down on the bed for me, little one."

Complying with his orders, you settled yourself on the bed behind you, the silken sheets smooth against your bare skin.

"Sȳz riña,"[good girl] He praised, ridding himself of his tunic and undershirt to expose his toned torso to you. He was healthy, strong, with a warrior's body.

"You enjoy what you see, jorrāelagon mēre?"[dear one] He smirked slightly at your lustful gaze. Hesitantly, you nodded, making the smirk widen. "You need not shy away from me, dārilaros, my purpose tonight is to help you, to fulfil your wishes, understood?" [princess]

"Yes, kepa," You murmured, gazing up at him with those eyes of yours, wide like a does as he leaned forward to capture you lips in a hungry kiss, one that was full of desire and unbridled lust, one that consumed you. It did not contain the passion and tenderness of Jace's, but sent a jolt of excitement through you nonetheless.

Daemon nipped at your lower lip, a whimper slipping through as you parted your lips to allow his tongue to enter your mouth. He gently pushed you down so you were laying on your back, one hand bracing himself above you while the other moved to your breast, rolling a hardening nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He made sure to settle himself on one side of you so Jacaerys could get a full view of the way your body reacted to his touch, so he could see the way you arched into Daemon as his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses in his wake, his hand still fondling your breast.

You tilted your head back against the pillows as his teeth grazed the sweet spot at the base of your throat, your breath hitching slightly. Daemon smirked against your neck, his lips latching onto the spot and sucking into the skin. His hand left your breast, tracing along the curve of your waist, your hips, your stomach, before settling to part your legs. Dipping between them, he glided a finger between your folds, gathering your arousal on his forefinger.

"So wet with desire for me already, byka mēre," He murmured, lifting his head from your neck where the skin had began to bloom with the irritation from his teeth. He lifted the finger to his lips, tasting you. "Heavenly. However did you restrain yourself Jacaerys? If I had your privilege I would feast on you every night, dārilaros."

"H-he said... he said he didn't want to hurt me..." You breathed out, chest heaving already from the attention Daemon had given you.

"That is because he doesn't know how to prepare you, dove," Daemon replied. "But do not worry, kepa will help you."

It didn't hurt when he inserted his first finger inside of you, or even the second, stretching your walls as his thumb lazily circled your clit.

"Be patient, byka mēre," He tutted as you desperately bucked your hips against his fingers, desperate for more friction. "We don't want this to be over quickly, do we? I have you all night, and I tend to take advantage of that."

The way he'd murmur those words only grew your desire for more. You wanted him inside of you, to feel him stretch you out and join you as one. But you also understood he was there to guide and teach you the ways of pleasure.

And you knew he was going to take his sweet time.

Your hands braced on his shoulders, nails digging crescent marks into his skin as he pushed a third finger inside.

"Does it hurt?"

"A... a little..." You whispered. "But please don't stop, kepa. Please... keep going."

"As you wish, dārilaros," He smirked, pumping his fingers in and out of you, his thumb still circling your sensitive bud.

It wasn't long until you came undone for the first time that night. The way Daemon's fingers curled against you and the way he'd press against your clit soon sending you over the edge.

Daemon lifted his fingers to your lips. "Open, little one," He husked, lilac eyes blown with lust as you sucked his fingers clean.

"Sȳz riña." [good girl]

His replaced his fingers with his lips, humming to himself as he tasted you on your lips. You wrapped your legs around his waist, rolling your hips against his.

"Wait did I say about patience?" He whispered against your ear, catching the lobe between his teeth. "It isn't me I'm preparing that sweet little cunt for, jorrāelagon mēre..." [dear one]

His whisper sent a shudder straight through you, head tilting to the side to focus on where Jace was sat by the fireplace, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, those usually warming brown eyes now black, chest heaving with heavy breaths as his bulge strained beneath his breeches.

You knew Jace was struggling to maintain his composure, that it was only a matter of time before he snapped.

You kept your gaze locked on him as Daemon kissed your neck, tongue gliding over the bruise he'd left earlier before focusing his attention on your breast, teeth catching your nipple and making your head tilt back in pleasure. Breathy moans filled the room as he paid the same attention to your other breast before leaving a line of kisses down your stomach, your hips, before his head settled between your legs, draping them over his shoulders.

He feasted on you like a man starved, groaning at your sweet taste while your fingers tangled in his silver tresses. Every time his tongue would press against your clit, or flick against your walls made you roll your hips against him, fingers tugging at his hair that only made him growl against your, the vibrations only tightening the coil twisting in the pit of your stomach.

Your thighs squeezing around his head only made him bury his tongue deeper inside of you, rolling onto his back so you were now straddling his head. His hands planted themselves on your waist, guiding your hips to roll down against him, nose brushing against your clit.

Daemon had a reputation for having a skilled silver tongue, and he certainly put it to good use, bringing you to the brink once again, eagerly lapping at your juices like it was the finest feast in the seven kingdoms.

You let out deep gasps of breaths as you moved yourself from Daemon, who sat up beside you, lips glistening with your arousal.

"I think you might be ready, don't you?" He asked, hooking his finger beneath your chin so your eyes locked with his. You nodded, Daemon smirking and brushing your hair from your eyes. "Alright, little one. Jacaerys." He called over to his stepson the way an owner would to a dog, but Jacaerys rose to his feet all the same, his brisk strides bringing himself to your side in an instant, his hand protectively resting on shoulder as he glared at his uncle.

"It seems she's ready for you." Daemon said, pouring himself a goblet of Dornish wine. "Be gentle, let her set the pace. Perhaps you should be on top, byka mēre," He suggested, that glint in his eyes making Jace narrow his in suspicion. "Don't tell me you are going to back away now, Jacaerys," Daemon continued. "It will upset your dear wife so."

"Of course I haven't," Jace replied, his voice stern and clear, but when he looked at you, his glare directed at his stepfather softened. "If she still wants this." He added, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head as you insisted your stance had not changed. "As you wish, my love," He murmured, standing from the bed to rid himself of his clothing.

Jacaerys leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours and pulling you into his arms so he could manoeuvre you both, him laying on his back and you straddling his waist, his hardened cock pressing against you. His hands found your waist as you positioned yourself above him, slowly lowering yourself onto him, your head tilted back and mouth slightly agape at the heavenly feeling of him stretching your walls.

"Does it feel alright?" Jace whispered.

You nodded, leaning down to kiss him again. "I'm fine," You murmured against his lips.

The sound of Daemon's empty goblet being placed back down on the table echoed around the room, making you pull away from Jace, looking behind you to see Daemon removing the rest of his clothes.

"Hold on, you said-"

"I said she was ready for you, I never said that I was finished with her yet," Daemon interrupted his stepson's protests, walked behind you to whisper in your ear.

"Do you think you can take me as well, dārilaros," He whispered, warm breath fanning against the shell of you ear. He let out a small hum of approval at your nod of response, lips pressing against your shoulder as he leaned you forward slightly.

"Relax for me, byka mēre," He cooed in your ear, his finger teasing the entrance to your puckered hole. "Kepa will not hurt you unless you wish for him to."

You clenched around his finger as he slowly pushed it into you, gently moving it in and out. Beneath you, you felt Jace's cock twitch inside of you, as though pleading with you to move. His gaze was focused on you as your expression twisted into one of pleasure, your hands braced against his chest as Daemon continued working on preparing you for him.

When he deemed you were ready, he slowly entered you, hand holding your hip to keep you in place as he sheathed himself inside of you.

The feeling of being filled up by the two of them was almost euphoric, Daemon stretching you out perfectly despite not being as well endowed as Jacaerys (although still impressive).

"Are you ready, dōna mēre?"[sweet one] Daemon asked, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck.

"Yes... please kepa... please let me move..." You whispered.

"Ssh, little one," He hushed you. "It's alright. You can move when I tell you, understood? When I pull out of you, that's when you can move, yes?"

You nodded. "Yes, I understand, kepa."

"Sȳz riña," Daemon whispered, lips brushing against your temple as he slowly drew out of you, his grip on your hip loosening to allow you to move up and down along Jace's length. When you lifted yourself off of him, Daemon entered you once again, establishing a slow but steady rhythm.

You let out a moan as Jace pressed a thumb against your swollen pearl, the sensitive bud sending another jolt of pleasure through you as Daemon picked up the pace, guiding your hips faster. Jace sat up to capture your lips with his, more passionate than the last.

The kiss broke as Daemon grabbed your hair, tugging your head back to replace Jace's lips with his, exposing your throat for Jace to lay his own claim on you.

After your two previous orgasms, you knew you wouldn't last longer, and when Jace applied more pressure to your clit and Daemon snapped his hips against your ass, you were tipped over the edge, your third orgasm of the evening coming over you like a tidal wave.

Daemon's hips stuttered against you, and stood still for a moment as he reached his release, laying a kiss to the top of your head as he slowly pulled out of you, using his finger to push any of his load back into your hole.

"Finish inside of her Jacaerys," He said, stepping back. "I'm sure she'd look quite heavenly with her stomach swollen with your heir."

You had been waiting all evening for Jace to snap, to take control, and Daemon's comment must have triggered something within him, as the next thing you knew, you're husband had you pinned down beneath him as he rutted into you like a depraved animal, his mouth on yours swallowing the moans and cries that ripped through you at the relentless pace he'd set.

"Do you want that?" He all but growled against her lips. "To be swollen with my heir? My babe?"

"Please Jace..." You breathed. "Ñuha dārilaros, ñuha zaldrīzes, fill me with your seed so that I may grant you an heir." [my prince, my dragon]

And with that, Jace spilled himself inside of you, and like Daemon, he made sure none of his release went to waste, pushing it back inside of you.

"It seems my work here is done," Daemon smirked, redressing himself. "Well done, Jacaerys, I hope you grant your wife her wishes more often now." He walked over to where you were sprawled out on the bed, covered in a sheen of sweat. He crouched down and leaned forward, his lips hovering over your ear as he whispered so only you could hear.

"If you require me again, ñuha dārilaros, you need only ask," You could practically hear the smirk as he purred into your ear. "I'm sure nobody would bat an eye if your babe was born with silver hair. Jacaerys does carry the blood of the dragon in his veins." [my princess]

And with a gentle kiss to your forehead, he rose to his feet, and left, closing the door behind him and leaving you and Jacaerys to catch your breaths, and realise what in seven hells had just happened.

If you wanted to be added to the general HOTD taglist or taglists for specific character/s, just let me know

Masterlist

#Daemon Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen x reader #Daemon Targaryen imagine #Jacaerys Velaryon #Jacaerys Velaryon x reader #Jacaerys Velaryon imagine #House of the dragon #House of the dragon x reader #House of the dragon imagine #House of the dragon smut #Daemon Targaryen x reader x Jacaerys Velaryon

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franzkafkagf · 5 months

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okay so i want to hear about your take on aegon i know you like him and all (so do i no matter how much i wish not to) but whyy

yess thanks for asking, I love being insane about him<3

I think Aegon is such a wildly tragic character– many asoiaf characters are but I'm so drawn specifically to him; he didn't want power or responsibility or the crown. It all was bestowed upon him against his will, and he shouldn't; putting on the crown is his definitive death sentence. The coronation scene has got to be one of my favorites in the season– he is quite literally walking up to be butchered like a sacrificial lamb, there are tears streaking his cheeks in the scene! I love the tragedy of it, the way it couldn't have been avoided anyways; his fate was sealed from the very start! He was quite literally dead from the very beginning.

I'm going off a mix from the book and the show but I actually love what they did with the character in the show? The book version does have some hard-hitting moments from him that are missing ("What sort of brother steals his sister's birthright?") but there wasn't that much there in terms of characterization and relationships. And wow, did they deliver on that in the show; I'm gonna give whoever came up with his mommy issues a forehead kiss.

Because YES! He and Alicent are reflections of one another– Alicent suffered under the heavy boot of Otto, turned into the perfect daughter, turned into the perfect queen for him. She recognizes that this was wrong and abusive of him, then she turns around and does the same thing to Aegon– the poison DOES drip through, the wheel is NOT broken!! It's BRILLIANT.

@atopvisenyashill put a GREAT tag under one of my posts–

#he looks like her and he’s weak like her so why can’t he get strong like her.

While Alicent persevered, Aegon crumbled under the pressure. He is miserable when we meet him– and he should be! He is unfit for the role of king, but it is his destiny nonetheless, everybody tells him so. It destroys him.

It's so sad too and I cannot help but to feel bad for him. No one knows where he is in ep 9, I don't think he has anyone to confide in; it must be lonely. Everybody seems to have written him off already– he is a drunk and a failure at being heir, being a son, being a father. He tries to prove them wrong later, and does in some aspects.

His loneliness plays into another aspect of him that I really love; his desperation to be loved. He will never be enough for anybody, he probably knows it deep down.

"[Aegon is] desperate to be loved but destined to be hated." – Tom Glynn-Carney

Obviously there is the carriage scene with Alicent that shows this. But I also really love the moment in his coronation, where he basks in the people's affection and cheers. He is poised to bleed out in front of the throne, he was crying and fighting for his life not to take the crown just minutes before. But now he's here and they love him and he can't help but love that.

He takes the crown to protect his family (the show does hint at that with Alicent telling him as much in ep. 6– in the book it's much more explicit with Criston pressuring him on the day of the coronation itself) and then his son DIES because of it! And he drinks and rages and drinks some more; he must've blamed himself. He goes to battle, flies too high (figuratively), and he FALLS; he burns and falls to the ground. He isn't made to be king. He knows. He does it anyways.

"You have already written yourself into legend, you survived dragonfire" – Larys Strong in season 2 (probably)

He survives, he is gone for over a year, unable to do anything but he SURVIVES. He escapes the capital, takes Dragonstone, he falls AGAIN, he loses most of his family; but he still goes on. Fueled by what? Maybe anger, or bitterness or just pure lust for revenge. It doesn't matter. He must've realized somewhere on the way that this was always meant to go this way, ever since he put the conqueror's crown on. It doesn't matter.

And then he dies and it's not grand or spectacular or anything like that. He drinks poisoned wine, nobody even sees him die, they only find him after. It's so uniquely lonely.

#hotd #house of the dragon #tom glynn carney #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #hotd meta #aegonposting #alicent hightower #otto hightower #omg now im sad </3 #ales.txt #asks

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sayafics · 1 year

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Dragon of Dorne - Chapter I

A tale in which, during his marriage to Alicent, Viserys falls for a Dornish Lady of the Court and takes her as a second wife behind closed doors.

His relations were kept secret to all but his Hand and his Queen, at the behest of his young lady-wife.

Alicent is grateful for the reprieve, as although Viserys remains a dutiful husband, he has started to visit her chambers fewer times as his love for his newest wife grew.

This, of course, irked Otto Hightower. The man grew worrisome that if Viserys' third wife were to bear a boy, he would hold greater favour to be named as heir than his own daughter's children.

So when Viserys' third wife gasped her last breath in the midst of agonising and violent labours, leaving only a daughter in this world before passing into the next - well no one truly batted an eye, for a woman's labour and the task of birth, though an expected duty was a cruel and gruesome fate some failed to survive.

But Viserys' heart grew softened towards his surviving daughter, who somehow managed to resemble his first wife and last.

And thus, was born Viserys' youngest daughter - Alaynha Targaryen.

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Alaynha Targaryen was a bright-hearted and loving girl, growing up in the Keep alongside her half-siblings - Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena - she had never been left alone long enough to feel unwanted or unloved.

Over the years, it had been Aegon who had taken her flying on Sunfyre towards the horizon, over calm oceans and tumultuous seas when she cried in his arms about her dragon that did not hatch.

It had been Helaena who whispered to her the dragon dreams of a beast, quiet and grey, that hid between the clouds and skimmed across the ocean's surface.

It had been Aemond who sought out the dragon, Alyanha holding him tight as they rode on dragon-back upon Vhagar, so she could finally claim it as her own.

It was her three siblings who cherished her wholeheartedly, even if she was not wholly their blood but simply half. It was her three siblings, whom she admired so graciously and so lovingly, that encouraged her to claim a dragon so wild and free that she was able to be where she was at this moment in time.

***

Alaynha rode on dragon-back upon her mount, a shy and young dragon that spent his years hunting across the sea and hiding amongst the clouds.

Grey Ghost.

A most honourable partner, should a Targaryen seek such a quality in a dragon.

Having spent most of her years wandering the Keep, she revelled in the freedom of flying whenever she got the chance. Unfortunately, the chance of doing so was rarer than she would like - both her protective father and kind stepmother fearful they would lose the girl much like her father had lost her mother.

***

Alaynha was only a babe when her mother passed, barely a gasp of breath in this new world when her mother took her last.

There were no portraits in the Keep, but her father would say he had her mother's eyes - dark and warm, like a beautiful autumn evening where the ground, deep and muddy, is flourished in hues of every shade from falling leaves and sprouting flowers.

She also had her mother's complexion, a glowing bronze in the flamed torches at every corner of her home. But her hair, long and twisting curls, were what made her ancestry undeniable.

Lucious white tresses that fell in wild and messy waves lay freely down her back. Her father would say they resembled that of his first wife's, and sometimes when he would look at her it'd seem as though he was staring into the eyes of a ghost or the shadow of an echo.

Alaynha was never sure if he was seeing his first wife or last, but each time she saw his stare her heart burned with pity for the old and decaying man, who simply craved love and affection from the women who had died brutal and unkind deaths.

Her stepmother was a religious woman, so caring and compassionate, that although Alaynha was not her own blood she treated her as though she was.

Alicent raised her as her own, grew to love and cherish her, to see her as an extension of not only Viserys but her own children. They grew up together, loved each other, and held each other close.

Alaynha was a secret Alicent wanted to keep forever.

Rhaenyra had already taken her son's eye, had taken Alicent's dignity and any respect she may have once held in Court. Alicent would not let Rhaenyra take her youngest daughter too.

Not when they managed to keep her hidden for so long.

Viserys tried to convince Alicent he did not hide the girl from his eldest daughter out of shame, but she knew better. She knew questions would arise because of the colour of her eyes or her complexion - questions Viserys did not want to answer to.

So when she had been old enough, perhaps two namedays or three, Alaynha had been sent off to live with her late mother's family in a city in Dorne, being taught the duties of a Lady until she could return home and learn that of a Princess'.

When Rhaenyra had left for Dragonstone, Daemon at her side and her husband dead, Alicent let out a quiet sigh of relief. Her throat ached with gratitude at Rhaenyra's departure, as it meant her young child could return home from Dorne.

When Alaynha had returned to King's Landing, she cried for her brother who lost an eye, as he consoled her with the revelation he had gotten a dragon in return. Aemond made her promise to shed no more tears over a worthwhile sacrifice, assuring her that now he had the largest dragon in all the Seven Kingdoms, he would help her claim one of her own.

She still sniffled, latching onto her brother's side, inconsolable by the sheer violence he had endured, but accepted nonetheless.

It had only been a few years later when her siblings helped her find her life-long companion in her large and bashful dragon.

Alaynha had been taught the duties of a Princess from then on, kept close to Alicent's side if she was not at her brothers'.

Alicent couldn't explain her love for the girl, she had barely spoken to the girl's mother - her sister-wife - before the young lady had passed. But there was a fondness that grew so quickly, and soon it became as though she was simply staring at a child that was her own.

***

Alaynha reminisced over the small moments as she rode her dragon, her heart growing softer as she thought of all the affection she received from her family. She was only half Targaryen, but she was wholly their's.

Perhaps that was why time had slipped so quickly through her fingers, the sky darkening quickly before she realised that she had been cruising the sea for what must have been hours now upon her patient mount.

She sucked in a sharp breath, the darkening sky a reminder that she was to attend dinner with her family this evening - her Kepa would be there too. And, how dearly she had missed him. Father.

Her father had been kept dosed upon milk of the poppy, too far out of his mind to tell her apart from Aemma and her own mother, or Rhaenyra and herself.

***

There was a petition for Driftmark today between Vaemond and her nephew Lucerys. Her grandsire - simply in name - Otto Hightower had asked for her to stay away from the Keep until the matters had been dealt with, then she could return to the Keep when everyone had returned to their chambers and if all went their way, Rhaenyra would return with her family to Dragonstone the next morning and all would be set right.

Those plans had changed when Viserys denied his milk of the poppy, asking instead that a dinner party be held the same evening. He had summoned her at that moment, beckoning her closer before laying a gentle hand on the curve of her cheek - "my sweet child, I have done you wrong. Hiding you away from your blood. But no longer - today you shall meet your sister and nephews. Today you shall meet my brother - your uncle."

She had been nervous at his words, growing worrisome that her sister would dislike her because they did not share the same blood completely. Feared that her newphews would hurt her as they had done to Aemond.

There were restless whispers murmuring through her mind as she rested within her chambers, waiting for the petition for Driftmark to begin before she could sneak off to ride on her dragon. Aegon had come to see her before the petition began, and for all his faults - a drunken, petulant man who was never given the opportunity to be a child, simply a challenge to a throne he did not want - he was a great listener, offering comfort when he heard her speak of her fears aloud.

Aegon had to leave shortly after, though quite reluctantly. And Alaynha had taken that moment to sneak through the tunnels of the Keep to find her dragon whilst remaining undetected.

***

Alaynha was on her way back towards the Keep, her throat clogging up with a heavy weight as butterflies squirmed within the pit of her stomach. She didn't feel nauseous, but it was something close.

As the Keep grew closer, Alaynha began to wonder how this would all go. And even as she unmounted her majestic, pale beast, she did not let herself escape the confines of her mind - fearful she would turn away and return to the skies, too hesitant to take a step closer.

***

Alicent had not been happy with Viserys' decision to introduce Alaynha to Rhaenyra. The truth was no one was, and some part of Viserys was hesitant too. Fearful of the rejection his young girl may face, much like all his other children had.

Viserys was not blind to the favouritism he played, nor the feelings his children held towards each other. But remaining drunk upon the milk of poppy made it easier to ignore such notions, and act oblivious to the disharmony that existed in the blood of his dragons.

He had been growing worrisome, not having started the feast as he waited restlessly for his daughter to come, unbothered by the curious stares of Rhaenyra or Daemon. His mind began to wander as he imagined the sorts of horrors she could have experienced during her flight around the sea, blaming himself for allowing her to be out so late or at least not sending Aegon or Aemond as company.

"Is there a reason you wait, brother?"

Daemon's voice sounded placid, but there was a growing frustration as the table sat in a tense silence waiting for the King to make his move.

It seemed as though Viserys didn't hear him, and Dsemon rolled his eyes in annoyance. Instead, the man turned towards his wife, eyes glancing towards the empty chair that sat between Aegon and Aemond as he spoke - "where is my dearest daughter? I fear we cannot begin without her."

Alicent opened her mouth to reply, but a saddened voice spoke from behind Viserys, concern colouring her tone as Rhaenyra spoke - "I am right here, fath-

"I am sure she is on her way, my love."

Rhaenyra looked towards Alicent accusingly, and she truly wanted to laugh out of incredulity. For Rhaenyra to make such a bolstered claim, thinking her father spoke so sweetly of her instead of another was quite amusing, indeed. It made the possibility of Rhaenyra meeting her youngest sister slightly more tasteful.

"If it would ease you, Your Grace, I can go fetch the girl. She has likely forgotten about her promise to dine, distracted by her books and dragons."

Otto spoke precariously, knowing the girl was only out dragon-riding at his behest and though Viserys agreed at the time, reminding the man of such a thing when he was so wound with worry would do no one any good. And perhaps a reluctant part of Otto, the same part of him that cared and loved his sweet Helaena, had also grown fond of Alaynha.

Alicent spoke, fingers fiddling with each other as she pinched at the skin of her thumb. A blatant sign of her own anxiousness at her daughter's absence, "yes, that wou-"

The doors were opened, but no announcement was made. Instead, a frantic voice echoed across the hall as a young girl dressed haphazardly in a prim and proper light blue dress bound up the stairs - "Kepa! I am so sorry! I hadn't realised how late it had gotten."

Daemon Targaryen was a man of few words, preferring to show his anger out on the battlefield or his passion in the confines of his chambers. He had sat quietly so far, only a nodded greeting to his brother as he joined them was an indication that he was actually paying attention.

And now, eyes trained on the young girl who stood in front of him, cheeks heated from the cold wind brushing roughly against them, and eyes blazing and wild from the high of riding a dragon so freely. He felt a warmth begin to fill his blood, his face passive as his eyes burned at the sight of her.

Who was this girl? Was she his niece?

She had called Viserys father, but surely her mother could not be Alicent?

Was she a bastard, much like his own step-children?

Or an orphan they had pitied and taken in?

Daemon knew one thing for sure, the girl who stood in front of him - a timid smile and fumbling fingers - had captured his interest. Had ignited a flame he long believed to have been put out - tamed and tempered by Laena Valeryon. Extinguished by Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The Rhaenyra he had fallen for all those years ago had not been the same one he had married that day in Dragonstone, but she had Rhaenyra's eyes, her hair and her face, her voice and her touch.

Daemon had convinced himself he would need time to readjust, time to accept her as she was.

They had two children together, another on their way.

Daemon had accepted, he had conceded. And still, he felt like half the man he used to be, an ounce of the warrior that used to ignite his soul.

Now, violet hues clashing with glowing brown, he felt the dragon within him ignite and rise from the ashes of a man scorched and burned.

Taglist: @kelssssxd @esquivelbianca @chynagirl13 @luanasrta

#daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen #daemon x rhaenyra #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd fandom #hotd x reader #hotd x oc #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryenx targaryen!oc #dragon of dorne

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pterodactylterrace · 5 months

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“The Blacks won because it’s Rhaenyra’s bloodline that continues on.”

Ok, first of all, Aegon II made Aegon III his heir. Rhaenyra was dragon chow by then. Rhaenyra wanted the iron throne more than anything else, and she only held power for 6 months before the small folk had enough of her bullshit. Six months. She managed to rule for half a year before she was overthrown, not by a usurper, but by her own people. Clearly, not a good ruler if you can’t even make it a year without getting chased out of your castle.

Second, Rhaenyra’s bloodline managed to fumble the ball two feet from the finish line. It started with Aegon the Unworthy and it ended with the mad king being overthrown just before the long night. Just one more generation was all they needed to last, and they fucked everything up so bad it put the entire world of men at risk. That… that takes skill. You have to actively TRY to fuck up that much.

After the conquest, there was noted to be one “good” king, and that was Jaehaerys. Between conquest and dance, Jaehaerys was noted as being a good, wise king. Aenys managed to have a mob trap his oldest two children in a distant castle right before he died. Then Maegor stepped in. He may have been decent if it weren’t for the brain damage. Most of the things he did before the battle on the hill were either rumors or just not that bad. He was also very against Kinslaying. Imo, one of the worst things he did was punish everyone involved in the Kinslaying in The Eyrie. Seems kind of strange he would dole out such a harsh punishment only to then kill his nephew in a very one sided dragon battle. That was the first thing he did after he woke up, though. Considering he had such a drastic change in personality, we can’t say how his rule would have been otherwise.

After Maegor’s death, Jaehaerys steps in. You know what made him a good, worthy king? Not the fact that he was a male, or could fight, or held the bloodline, or even that he rode the bronze fury. It was because he listened to the council of his queen. Alysanne was the real MVP of his reign. She did more for women’s rights than any other queen. She listened to her people. That is the mark of a good ruler. Walk softly, but carry a big stick. Know when to speak and when to listen.

People who know they have power and control don’t need to constantly remind others. They know. It’s not necessary to maim or murder people for speaking the truth, yet Viserys and Rhaenyra do just that.

When Saera majorly fucked up, they handled it. Not the way Alysanne wanted, by the way. She was sent to apprentice with the Silent Sisters just for sleeping with men while not married. Yet Rhaenyra can have 3 obvious bastards, insult the house with the largest naval force and prove to the entire kingdom that her words mean nothing, and Viserys still declares anyone who calls the strong boys bastards would lose their tongue.

Sorry, what? The Valaryons are one of the richest houses in the realm. They control most of the naval fleet. Maybe don’t make their son a cuckold?

“They had an open marriage!”

NO ONE ELSE KNOWS THAT. To the court and the small folk, Rhaenyra promised to be faithful to Laenor in front of the eyes of the gods, and she very obviously didn’t keep that vow. Why should they trust anything she says as Queen if she can’t even do something as simple as not birthing bastards? That’s what most people don’t realize in the bastard debate.

Whether you can prove it or not, the strong boys don’t look like either of their alleged parents. Like, at all. Even Aegon’s drunk ass could tell shit didn’t add up. Commoners are not going to be any different. They are going to know, and whether they can say it or not, it will still affect how they feel towards her. Can’t keep your marriage vows, why should I believe that you have my best interest at heart?

Because she doesn’t. She is a horrible ruler that lasted less than a year before the small folk rose up and drove her out. She feasted while they starved. It’s that self centered mentality that taints the bloodline and leads to The Unworthy.

Clearly no one learned about not having bastards, and this mofo decided to legitimize them on his death bed. Wasn’t going to be his problem, now was it? He died, someone else has to clean up his mess.

Hmm, not knowing how to clean up your own bastard mess, sounds familiar… oh, like Rhaenyra forcing her father to crawl from his death bed to make sure no one said mean (and true) things about her.

So I’m sorry, what were people saying about her being a good ruler? ‘Cause everywhere I look, I see another reason she should not have ascended the throne.

#hotd critical #hotd thoughts #fire and blood spoilers #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti team black

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lemonhemlock · 2 months

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I think a thing that bothers me the most is how fragmented TG (the fandom) is now. After season one, many of us had issues with character writing, but it still felt like we were largely on the same page. Now, some people can accept Aegon got bad writing but not Aemond, Alicent, or Helaena. They are all “good” or “bad”characters depending on how much they hurt Aegon this season. I’m so glad he got the time to be well rounded, and that TGC delivered on all his scenes, but I think people forget Aegon has received some poor writing as well even this season. His whole outburst about Jaehaerys’s death is not about his son, but the impact on his legacy- I thought this very odd at the time, but realize it’s because they can’t have him mourn Jaehaerys for a long time either. Nobody on TG is allowed to focus on this dead child, least of all his mother! Aegon goes out drinking with his friends next episode 😭 seemingly unconcerned. But somehow only Alicent and Aemond are called out for this, when it is a clear problem that Daemon is more affected by this loss than the greens. It feels like such an uphill battle to even discuss the faction and family anymore.

This is such a good point!

I know I am so contrarian about this rn, but I have had some issues in connecting with Aegon's grief scenes over Jaehaerys this season. And it's such an opinion I DON'T want to have, bc I'm fully on the Aegon/TGC bandwagon and I do think TGC is a competent actor.

But it's something about the general clownery of the framing, how everything is gloomy and dark but at the same time no one gives that much of a shit over Jaehaerys? It's very weird to describe. I know Olivia also shows Alicent crying and swallowing sobs and trying to conceal her grief, but, if you think about it, Alicent is just Kind Of Like That in a lot of her scenes anyway. Big doe wet eyes, filled with regret and unspoken emotions etc so that her acting similarly after B&C kind of doesn't hit as much?

And, in that context, having Aegon rage over this event is rendered kind of.....hammy and, honestly, comical. I'm reminded of the scene of the small council where everyone is somber and quiet and he kind of looks like he's pretending to cry. In other moments it's fine but there are frames where I can't take it seriously and it registers in my brain like a parody.

I realise how I sound right now, like I'm not satisfied with the subdued performances, but I'm not satisfied with the expansive ones either. IDK. I have a huge problem with the framing and direction this season, I think it's a huge impediment in making me enjoy the supposedly emotional scenes.

All of this to say that I agree, Aegon has also received some bad writing this season, especially him ALSO being kind of over Jaehaerys the next episode. But people tend to overlook it, because when you draw the line, the writing for him is still so much better than what he got in S1.

And, yes, this is why I can't really join the choir in blaming Alicent and Aemond for how they act with him, because it's not a naturalistic and organic progression, it's shoehorned in with little buildup or motivation and not even drawn to its natural conclusion. For example, Aemond should have been toast the minute Aegon woke up, because Prince Regent or not, Aegon is still the King and has the power to remove Aemond if he fears him. He doesn't have to justify himself in front of anyone, just give the order to arrest his brother and name someone else as regent, then just go back to sleep.

#ask #anon #hotd critical [characterisation]#we're all in the same boat of being fucked over by the writers here

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fan-goddess · 4 months

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MY ANALYSIS OF THE SCENE BELOW

Gif and photo credit goes to @barbieaemond

A/N: First of all! I want to say these are personal opinions and ideas I have come up with and discussed further on! None of the things I will say are confirmed! I am merely speculating and debating theories! The start is less on topic but it gets more focused the more I talk.

I didn’t want to bother users by directly tagging but there users are there and in some cases links to their posts are added in bold. I also bolded certain quotes.

Okay, first of all I want to discuss the words they had playing when they showed this scene before we look into the scene itself. When listening to the voiceover I couldn't tell who it was who was saying the quote, but after putting on the captions I found its Larys Strong which is interesting given his character is pretty much the master of whispers. He's the man who knows everything on everyone the man behind the curtains as shown in season 1 when he manipulated Alicent to make her believe she was responsible for Harrenhals fire and therefore make her guilty enough for her to feel the need to keep Larys in kingslanding where hes at his most powerful. Why go back to Harrenhal and trust his birdies to bring him the information while he sits back when he can do the dirty work himself? That is a key aspect of his character which is why it makes the quote so noteworthy.

The quote itself though is this: The enemy without may be fought with swords. The enemy within is more insidious. Even the use of camera shots which are placed while he's saying that have meaning, as when he says the enemy without its showing Rhaenyra who has lost her daughter, her son, her crown and her throne. And when he says may be fought with swords Aegon shows to be possibly mourning the loss of Jaehaerys, and it's known that after finding out about blood and cheese Aegon went on a rampage killing all ratcatchers in the city. This is showing the shots they’re showing in this line have meaning, meaning we need to take into consideration the scenes/words they show next.

The shot saying The enemy within shows Daemon walking down in a dimly torch lit tunnel somewhere underground with no real indication of where he is. Perhaps they'll play around with blood and cheese by having Daemon come with them to show them the tunnels needed to get to Helaenas chambers, but that would not make sense as it's been highly discussed how Dyana (A maid shown in season 1 who had been a victim of Aegon) would be a part of season 2 for a few episodes, so its much more likely she'll be the one guiding blood and cheese to Helaenas chambers. Though I must say I feel Dyana will most likely be punished and killed for this as she has affectively been part of a plot to kill the innocent son of Helaena. I suspect her guilt will show, and maybe Alicent or maybe even Aegon himself can see that she knows something and questions her, leading to Dyanas confession and death.

Though the scene with Aemond as Larys says is more insidious, that is what caught my eye and no doubt brought you here. We can still that the whole line as part of the reasoning for the use of that scene, as I have discussed with @/anjelicawrites and we have thought of the possibility on this being Aemond crumbling down from his usual, "Tis I the younger brother who studies history and philosophy, it is I who trains with the sword, who rides the largest dragon in the world. It is I who should be-" This is a new side of Aemond. A version of him which we beleive is him finally directly suffering for his actions in the war, AKA killing Luke and indirectly causing the death of Jaehaerys. He looks as though he is becoming something that even he said he would never become as he even says to Criston, as Anjelica mentioned to me, that the two of them were people with morals. It's honestly quite an interesting take as by having the usually stoic Aemond break down in front of this woman, the identity of whom I will talk further on later, shows even he is not safe and that no one is truly immune to the grief of war and that sacrifices must be made by all.

Now we do not know the setting in where the photo takes place but if this truly is a brothel then maybe Aemond went back to the place which truly psychologically hurt him in order to enact punishment on himself, as what punishment can really be done after what Aemond has had to go through. Torture is not an option especially since he's already had to suffer through the major damages of loosing an eye which has already permanently damaged not only Aemonds vision but his whole nervous system. There is a post where a lovely individual goes through the medical side of Aemonds injury which I shall link here for those who would like to take a further look. Going to the brothels as well could be a sign of him becoming what he hates most of all. Aegon. Aegon has always been Aemonds biggest jealousy as he has everything Aemond wants. Aegon has the title of first born son, two eyes, a valyrian wife, heirs, even an actual inheritance and yet he throws it all alway and very easily wanted to when Aegon tried to convince Aemond to allow him to board that boat to wherever he was planning to run off too (Probably Lys when you think about all the people there who have silver hair and the violet eyes.) To see Aemond slowly develop into Aegon would be almost strangely poetic to see as he becomes the epitome of what he hates and wanted most, especially when its just the worst side of Aegon he becomes and not the good parts.

Now onto the context of the scene! The way Aemond is laid on the women suggests intimacy, as he has his hair put down naturally, has his sapphire eye on pure display, and most noticeably of all is naked as the day he was born. He also has his back to the person, which to him especially given his lack of vision on his left side, means he trusts them enough to be vulnerable. People are heavily implying that Aemond is in a brothel, but when you think about how Aemond reacted to the brothel owner in the first season, who it turned out to be the woman who SA'd 10 year old him, I do not believe he would go back there willingly with that much sense of vulnerability around those sort of people. But when you think about the idea of him going back there to punish himself for his misdeeds then it cannot be ruled out as a possibility. Though someone mentioned it didn't seem right how Aemond was the one in the nude while the woman he is laying his head on is still fully dressed, which is certainly odd especially when you remember that when we got a first glimpse of the whores they pretty much walked around the room stark naked with very little clothing. Perhaps Aemond walked in with her naked and demanded she dress in clothing that was either laying about or even brought her clothes for her to wear (possibly Helaenas or even his mothers) we will not know until we watch the scene on screen.

When discussing the position Aemond is in with the woman too like I said earlier defenitely gives an idea on intimacy, possibly bordering on motherly. We know that when Aemond returns from storms end and tells his family of what he had done, 'Queen alicent went pale when she heard what he had done, crying "mother have mercy on us all." nor was ser otto pleased. "you only lost one eye" he is reported to have said. "how could you be so blind?" In the books it is said that since Aemond did kill Luke with intention to kill, he was expecting to revieve pretty much a heroes welcome. But since they changed that and make Lukes death accidently Aemond will no doubt go back to kingslanding feeling grief and regret, with maybe some happiness that he finally in his own way got revenge back for Luke taking his eye. Going back to the almost motherly seeming position he is in, I suggested that perhaps Aemond went to the brothel for a sort of motherly comfort for what he has done as Alicent almost certainly will not be giving it to him for what he has done. Perhaps he went there to get comfort from women but not in a sexual way but in an emotional way so he can feel less at fault for what he has done, even when the physical reminder haunts him daily.

Some people have suggested this to be Alicent who he is with, and whilst that makes sense given the intimacy of the position he's in it does not make much sense to me as why would he be naked with his mother. That to me is more of an Aegon move than an Aemond move. Though it was also brought up how she possibly came into his chambers at night whilst he sleeps nudes which very well could be a possibility so I've decided not to rule out that idea.

Another possible idea on who the woman is is the brothel lady from season 1 who I talked about earlier as being the one who SA’d Aemond when he was 10 years old. When looking at how other people have viewed the picture and came across a user named @/scaly-freaks who gave great insight on this topic which I shall leave a link for here. Firstly they mention how of course CSA is a sensitive topic, I want to mention that first. Though what they further talked about what how in some cases a victim can subconsciously find traits of their abusers in romantic partners (which thinking about it may be why he went for Alys given that she was a much older woman similarly to the brothel worker) or they can return to their abuser even at an older age. I won’t discuss these two points further as consideration for those who may feel triggered with this topic and so I will just say to click on the link for the post and read the rest there. Like I said about Alicent, I will not rule out this brothel woman as a possibility especially as it’s supposedly been confirm that she has filmed some nude scenes for season two. We do not know if she will be the woman in the scene, especially since in the picture the woman is seen wearing clothing, she may have filmed some general brothel scenes involving Aegon. I read another user @/lovelykhaleesiii theory about who the woman was and she said it was the brothel women and that it was her, as possibly Aegon may have taken him to the brothel to celebrate Luke’s death as we’re apparently getting scenes of Aegon at the whore house. This would make a lot of sense given the evidence shown and makes it a lot more believable as to why Aemond is in a brothel in the first place as like I had mentioned earlier it’s a more Aegon thing to do not really an Aemond act. Also a user named @/magnificentdelusionr has spoken out about how apparently the woman Aemond is with and the brothel lady share the same scar, so my belief in this being the woman has increased I’ll tell you that now. Though like I said, I will not rule her out as a possibility. The evidence for the brothel is bellow. I think this may be the most likely theory honestly given all the evidence that has been shown for her to be the one Aemond is with.

Now, this third possibility for who the woman is technically unknown as we do not know who she is. The actress from the scenes shown appears to be a dancer and the theory as it shows in the photo shown bellow is that she may have been sent by Mysaria as a distraction for Aemond. But looking at the scenes (pictures of which are shown in the twitter post down bellow) I don’t believe the scene in the top right is of Aemond and her, purely from the fact Aemond does not wear rings and the fact it looks very similar to Daemons ring. Furthermore the woman looks as though to be a younger Aemma purely from her face shape so that is why I’ve decided to rule out this theory. I will admit that it’s a high possibility that Aemond would be seduced by a dragonseed, as in my mind Aemond wants tradition of his culture. If he could’ve he would’ve married Helaena, as those are the ways of his people and the culture he cares for. He also, as was shown in the scene where Driftmarks inheritance was called into question, is seen to have a great admiration for Daemon who has married two women of Valyrian blood and has fathered technically 6 children (two of which did not survive past the womb). Aemond in my mind if the war never happened would’ve 100% been a sort of student under Daemons wing so in my mind it is not hard to imagine Aemond as wanting to mimic Daemon in his own way, that way being bedding a Valyrian woman. Yet even so when looking at the dragonseed people believe to be the woman Aemond was with I believe she plays a different part of season 2, my belief is that her role of season 2 is to be one of the dragonseeds team black or team green hunt down to try and recruit, as it was said team black went around Westeros finding anyone of dragon blood and offering them a chance of a dragon. So I do not think she is who Aemond is with.

Now the final idea on who the woman is is Alys Rivers. I have seen people freaking out over the idea of Alys changing her looks to seduce Daemon, and that is who we see in the scene shown at the top left of the twitter post screenshotted above. But that is not Alys style as there is honestly less of a chance she could get shit done with Daemon. What there is though is a chance she could use Aemond given he was younger, more naive and ultimately more emotional and needing an outlet she is happy to become to ensure her freedom. Though in context with the scene, when discussing the idea about Alys with @/anjelicawrites, she brought up the idea about Alys possibly visiting Aemond in a dream. This lead me to think about her doing this which would ultimately force Aemond to come to Harrenhal and fulfil his ‘duty’ of coming to Alys and giving her a son of pale hair. I spoke to her saying how I like the idea of Alys visiting Aemond in his dreams, as this would further the witch allegations. With the context of the scene though I believe she could put this image of a finally calm Aemond who is finally at peace with himself in his mind and make him crave that part of himself. This would ultimately force him to come to Harrenhal in the future. One thing I do want to bring up is this connection that was brought to my attention by user @/boundlessfantasy. They made the connection about Alys possibility being the woman holding Aemond in a dream since Ewan said in the interview with TGC where they discussed three scenes from season 1, that the process of killing Luke haunts his dreams possibly hinting at a dream aspect of the season. This may end up being just a sarcastic comment, but if this actually a hidden Easter egg then I must applaud Ewan for being so sneaky. There is a screenshot of the interview down bellow with the line also a link to the interview here.

We cannot see the woman’s face therefore we cannot be sure on this woman’s identity, but out of these four main theories on the woman’s identity I think this is most strongest in my opinion. Though us could very well be some random women we’ve never seen in the series before so I very much am not exoecting my theories or anyone else’s to be particularly right. I accept them all (pretty much) but am expecting pretty much for the unexpected.

Some other theories though I would like to take into consideration is the idea it’s Helaena in the picture. I do like that idea as it brings further this idea of Helaemond, a ship I do enjoy personally, especially as they hinted at the idea that Aemond was the father of Helaenas children. The clothing the woman is wearing by the looks of it does seem to be a similar shade of blue that Helaena is usually seen wearing, and there are seem similarities in the hands (this idea was brought to my attention by @/lady-phasma who has talked on this idea on their account) Though I do suggest you click on the photos bellow to see them much more up close as then it’ll be a clearer image. Helaena and Aemond have been shown to be close together so it’s no surprise if he’d want to break down and show weakness with her. It’s a very intimate position as his back is to her showing he in his own way trusts the woman, making it believable this woman could be Helaena. I haven’t made this a main theory as there are some more compelling evidence for the other cases but still I will say this theory is quite strong especially when looking at other theories like the idea the woman is Alicent.

And the final theory on who the person is which I would like to take into consideration is that the person Aemond is with is Aegon. Now I’m sorry to have to break it to the Aegmond shippers but I do believe out of all these 6 theories I’ve talked about this one is least likely. For one it’s clearly a woman who Aemond is with, given the way the body is shaped, even when we cannot see her breasts. I will admit I have seen people though speculating it’s Aegon which is why I’ve decided to mention it and discuss it. One user named @/cyeco13 has done some incredible art of what it would look like if Aegon was the person Aemond was with and I shall link it here for those who wish to go see it (I do recommend it!)

Okay, out of the six Ive decided to rank those that I believe are most believable to be the woman!

1) The brothel madam

2) Helaena + Alys (as I’m tied with these theories not gonna lie)

3) Alicent

4) The unnamed dancing dragonseed woman in the trailer

5) Aegon

This is all I really can say on the matter as there are constant new theories daily and sad to say I cannot directly talk about them all. Still send me your favourite theories I am interested in hearing and if people would like debating them with me.

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hllywdwhre · 8 months

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Dreamer, Queen, Prince - Prologue

Pairing: Daemyra x fem!OC

Warnings: Please check masterlist for warnings. This is an 18+ fic, MDNI

Masterlist

*97 AC

Prince Aegon kneeled next to Princess Adlyn Stark’s pale form with her hand in his. A fever had set in soon after the birth of their daughter, Viserea, and in three days it had taken her. Aegon couldn’t bring himself to leave his wife’s side yet, in disbelief at the sick twist of fate. They had convinced her father Ellard, the Lord of Winterfell, to allow them to be wed. They had traveled to King’s Landing and had a royal wedding. Less than two moons later Adlyn found out she was with child. Their happiness had lasted less than a year.

It was Aemma’s touch that broke him out of his trance and caused him to finally look away from his dead wife’s body. Behind her stood his older brother, Viserys, and each of them held a baby bundled in blankets. Viserys held his own daughter, Rhaenyra, wrapped in a blanket of Targaryen red and Arryn blue, while Aemma held Aegon’s daughter, Viserea, wrapped in a blanket of Targaryen red and Stark grey. Both of the blankets were gifts from the girls’ uncle Daemon.

“Brother, you have my deepest condolences,” Viserys said, his face showing just how truly sorry he was for his brother, “You must leave her side now. Viserea needs you.”

Aegon can read the true meaning behind his words. They need to take her body away now so that she can be prepared for the funeral. That was why they truly needed him to leave her side.

“I want her sent back to the North. She deserves to be buried next to the rest of her family. She wanted us to return there to raise our family after our grandsire passed, she would want to be buried there,” Aegon told them. He knew that traditionally a Targaryen’s partner received a dragon rider’s death, but traditionally one didn’t marry for love and instead married out of political advantage. Their marriage was not traditional.

“Of course, Aegon. Her wishes will be honored,” Aemma said, not bothering with any titles. She was one of the only in the Keep who did not use them unless absolutely necessary, and while most would see it as disrespectful, Aegon knew that Aemma meant it as a show of affection. She had always found titles to not be personable enough when speaking to those that she loved.

Aegon kissed Adlyn’s hand one last time and wiped away the rest of his tears before standing. He turned to face his brother and his brother’s wife and allowed them to guide him out of the room where he could hear the handmaidens covering her body.

“How is Viserea?” Aegon asked, forcing himself to focus on the last bit of Adlyn he had left.

“As strong as the woman she was named after,” Viserys said as Aemma gently handed the newborn girl to her father.

Aegon let the smallest smile crack across his face at the sight before him. While she possessed the silver hair and violet eyes of a Targaryen, Viserea’s face was that of her mother’s. As much as he wanted to return to the room they had just left and lay beside his wife’s body and waste away until he joined her, Aegon knew he could not allow himself to do so. He would not leave his daughter alone in the world without a parent.

“Are you ready to pick an egg to join her in the cradle?” Viserys asked his brother.

“I’m assuming you have already placed the gold one in Rhaenyra’s cradle?” Aegon asked, though he knew the answer. It was the egg Viserys had been watching for weeks, just waiting on Rhaenyra to arrive so he could choose it. Viserys let out a laugh and nodded,

“Tell me that it isn’t fitting for her,” Viserys said and stepped next to Aegon, letting him see his daughter’s face. Aegon couldn’t help but see what Viserys meant.

“Well, let us see if we can find one as fitting for my Viserea, shall we?”

Aegon and Viserys allowed the wet nurses to take their daughters and made their way to the dragon pit. Aegon looked over the eggs for only a couple minutes before deciding on one. It was a deep purple so dark it almost seemed black with the tips of each scale colored silver. He ordered for it to be placed in the cradle with Viserea and to only be removed when necessary.

6 months later he would find a purple dragon with small talons of silver curled on his daughter’s chest while a golden dragon slept soundly next to his niece.

*100 AC

“Dracarys,” Jaehaerys shouted, watching as Vermithor’s flames covered his grandson’s body where it lay on a pyre.

Rhaenyra and Viserea clung to each other in front of the small crowd gathered for Aegon’s funeral. Daemon stood directly behind the girls, gently resting one hand on each of their heads. At only three years of age, neither of them should have to be introduced to death, yet Viserea was saying goodbye to her father and Rhaenyra to one of her uncles. He hurt for them both. His brother had always been the nicest of them, truly encapsulating the lessons their grandsire had tried teaching them. Daemon always knew that Aegon would have made the best king out of his siblings, but it seemed the gods had a cruel sense of humor.

That night when it was time for the Princesses to go to bed, no one stood any chance of separating them. They refused to leave Viserea’s bed and, eventually, Aemma and Viserys allowed them to spend the night together tightly wrapped in the red and black silk blanket brought back by Daemon.

*102 AC

“Tessarion!” Viserea said, as firm as a five year-old’s voice could be.

“Syrax!” Rhaenyra said in the same commanding tone.

The two girls had finally chosen the names of their dragons and had spent the entire day away in the dragon pit teaching them their names. Rhaenyra had chosen Syrax, named after the Valyrian goddess of fruitfulness. Viserea had chosen Tessarion, after the goddess of prophecies.

The dragons perked up, looking at their respective riders and tilting their heads. The two girls let out giggles of excitement. The dragonkeeper grinned proudly at the two of them.

“Now that they know their names, try giving them a basic command. Princess Rhaenyra will tell them to sit and Princess Viserea can tell them to stand.” He said, allowing each of the girls to take a step forward to the dragons.

“Demās,” Rhaenyra said clearly, smiling as both of the small dragons sat down. Rhaenyra turned to look at Viserea.

“Iōrās,” Viserea said next, causing both of the dragons to stand up. Both turned to look at the master, “Can we, please?” She asked. Moments later two goats were brought into the pit on opposite sides.

As soon as each goat had each dragon’s attention, they were given the okay by the dragonkeeper to give the command.

“Dracarys!” Rhaenyra and Viserea both said in unison, watching as their dragons’ stream of fire left their mouths.

*103 AC

“I present King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

Aemma, Rhaenyra, Viserea, and Daemon kneeled at the foot of the Iron Throne, facing the new King. Viserea and Rhaenyra both wore traditional Valyrian headpieces that Daemon had gotten made for both of them directly after King Jaehaerys had named Viserys his heir.

The first thing Viserys did as King was make Viserea a legal part of his and Aemma’s family. It was to be declared and documented that she was his daughter as much as Rhaenyra was and would receive the same treatment as though she was the King’s true born daughter. Viserea would grow up knowing who her parents truly were and would be taught about them and both sides of her family’s history, but by law, she was Viserys and Aemma’s daughter.

This declaration did not change the family dynamic that had been built over the past three years since Aegon’s passing. Rhaenyra and Viserea had been inseparable since birth; where one went, the other followed. Aemma had always been a mother figure in Viserea’s life. In fact, she had called Aemma her mother for the first time at four years old and it had taken a lot of delicate explaining to try and get Viserea to understand that Aemma was actually her aunt. It took even longer to calm the crying girl down when she was told that her mother had died. It was Rhaenyra that got her to calm down when she said that they could just “share” her mother. Viserea received the same treatment from Viserys that Rhaenyra did, even before Viserea’s own father had passed and in the three years between her father passing and Viserys being crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms.

*104 AC

The dream started out as many of Viserea’s did. Flashes of her and Rhaenyra with their dragons, flashes of them learning Valyrian, flashes of the couple memories she still had of her father. This one took a turn halfway through. The colors weren’t as clear; the sides of them blended together as if it was a painting left in the rain. A golden dragon flew in the sky far above King’s Landing and moment’s later a deep purple dragon with silver talons arose next to the golden. On the backs of the dragons were Rhaenyra and Viserea themselves. A dragon’s roar could be heard over the sound of wind and then Viserea was sitting upright in bed.

Viserea pulled on the large door to her chambers and came face-to-face with her own member of the King’s Guard, Ser Ryden Tyrell.

“Princess, what are you doing awake?” Ser Ryden asked, a kind look on his face.

“I need to see Rhaenyra,” Viserea told him politely, “It’s very important.”

“My Princess, the sun has not risen yet. Princess Rhaenyra is still asleep in her chambers,” Ser Ryden told her.

“I need to see her! We will ride our dragons today and I need to tell her,” Viserea said as if it was as common a piece of knowledge as any.

“How are you so sure of it, Princess?”

“I had a dream of it and when I woke up I heard Tessarion’s roar. I know it is a dream like Danys the Dreamer!” Viserea’s voice rose in volume and became more demanding, needing him to understand the urgency she felt.

Ser Ryden’s eyebrows raised in surprise at the Princess’ statement. He glanced around the hall and then back at Viserea,

“How about this, young Princess? We don't disturb anyone while they sleep and you go back to your chambers. I know about your dream and I will make sure you have your time with Syrax and Tessarion first thing in the morning so you can tell Princess Rhaenyra. If Princess Rhaenyra mounts Syrax and you mount Tessarion, you and I can go to the King together and tell him about it. Is that a good plan?”

Viserea pondered the idea for a moment before nodding and shaking his outstretched hand.

The next morning Viserea told Rhaenyra about the dream and Ser Ryden’s promise while they were escorted to the pit. Ser Rydan stood with the dragonkeeper, having already told him about Viserea’s dream and what he had promised her. After a review of all the commands they needed to know, the master allowed them to attempt to mount their dragons.

“Lykirī. Rȳbās. (Be calm. Listen.)” Viserea said as Rhaenyra did the same. Viserea approached Tessarion and gently stroked her neck, smiling as the dragon seemed to hum underneath her. Her hands shook on top of the dragon, but she did not let her nervousness show.

Viserea gripped the saddle of the dragon and began pulling herself up. She carefully placed her foot on the part of the wing they had been taught to use to help themselves mount and let out a yelp when Tessarion lifted the wing and helped her the rest of the way onto the saddle. Once she was seated, Viserea looked to Rhaenyra to find her already seated on Syrax. Both of the girls smiled widely at each other then turned their attention back to the dragons.

“Naejot. (Forward.)” Viserea commanded and she tightened her grip on the reins as Tessarion began moving from inside the dragon pit and out into the training yard. A breeze blew past them and a flash of golden was already making its way to the air. Wasting no more time, Viserea gave one last command,

“Sōvēs, Tessarion. (Fly.)”

Within moments, Tessarion was next to Syrax again and Rhaenyra and Viserea were cheering loudly. The two guided their dragons above King’s Landing, showing off as they did so. The small size of both them and their dragons made it so they could dip down into the larger spaces between buildings and be back above the rooftops in moments. They flew to the Red Keep all the way down to the Silk Streets then back to the pit again. When they finally landed, both girls wore great smiles and their dragons were chirping and clicking away happily.

After the dragons were taken care of and back where they belonged, Ser Ryden kept his promise and both the girls were brought to the King where Ser Ryden and Viserea told her uncle of the dream and then about how she and Rhaenyra had flown that very morning.

Viserea and Rhaenyra were now the youngest dragonriders in Westorosi history. Viserea was the first dreamer since Aegon the Conqueror.

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