#‣ gevie ‚ he is the light in the darkness

[painted-flag]

From Eden, III - Benjicot Blackwood

✧.* masterlist

✧.* pairing: benjicot blackwood x velaryon!oc

✧.* warnings: 18+ MDNI. (oral, f receiving).

✧.* summary: Ben promised to finish their activities after dinner and he is a man who always keeps his word.

✧.* word count: 2.3k.

Daenys and Benjicot were sitting on a plush rug in front of the hearth in her chamber. There were plush cushions arranged all around them and two cups of wine with a pitcher to share. The hour was late and darkness enveloped Dragonstone. Ben had Daenys leaning against his chest as they rested amongst the low lighting of the fire. His chin rested on her shoulder and held his gaze on the pages of a book she had in her hands. It was Valyrian, so he focused on the intricate drawings of dragons and battle scenes, rather than attempting to even comprehend what the words were.

She was reading the words out loud, despite him not understanding. It was something Ben wanted, for in his words, ‘he wished to hear her voice’. Ben moved his chin from her shoulder and leaned in to press soft kisses into her perfumed skin. He pulled back from her neck and took a lock of her loose hair in his hand, threading his fingers through it. He hummed lowly at the softness.

Daenys continued to read about a knight in the story, “Ziry brōztagon zirȳla gevie, Iā jaesa hen uēpa Valyria” (He called her beautiful, a goddess of Old Valyria).” 

“Zery bruzagon zirela gevie,” Ben stuttered over the words she had read. Daenys laughed gently and craned her head to look at him. She kissed his cheek. 

“Close, my love.” She trailed her pointer finger against his jaw in admiration. 

“What does it mean?” Ben questioned. 

“It said ‘he called her beautiful.’” Daenys then repeated the phrase in Valyrian, slowly so he could pick up on it. The two of them went through each word together. Daenys would say it in Valyrian and Ben would repeat it in the common tongue. 

She finished the phrase, “Gevie.” 

“Beautiful,” Benjicot repeated. Daenys gave him a nod of encouragement. He used his finger to rest on her chest, “Gevie.” 

Daenys leaned further into him, finding the warmth there better than the fire in front of them. Ben reached for his cup of wine and took a sip to clear his throat. Daenys closed her book and shoved it out of the way. It had been difficult for her to relax all night and her antsy movements exposed her feelings.

“What bothers you, my princess?” No matter how many times he used her title, she still felt the heat that flushed her face each time. 

“All of the planning. I did not know it would be so complicated.” Daenys ranted, “Though, I am thankful it will not be in Kings Landing.” 

Daenys had, very early on in their courtship, confided in him the trouble that was the Hightower side of her family. She revealed the events of her childhood with them, and the taunts sent her and her siblings way. It was a topic that went surprisingly well, as Ben of all men would understand the deep-seated hatred houses could hold for each other. 

“I am grateful not to meet them, for I do not know how I would act.” 

Daenys moved forward and out of his hold. She leaned back on one arm and turned her torso to face him. “Must you always resort to aggression?” 

Ben opened his mouth to answer but Daenys cut him off, “I do not think I actually need an answer to that. Look, I met your house’s enemy and did not act on my impulses. Granted, I suppose at that time I had only met you once, so there was not much I would have done…” She trailed off. Her attention was on the flames from the hearth as her hands felt the air for warmth. She did not notice Ben’s tense form behind her. 

“You what?” Ben spoke. Daenys turned to see him sitting with his knees tucked in and arms resting on them. His mouth was opened in a grimace, with his tongue sweeping across his teeth. He sat up with his knees to his chest. 

Daenys realized what she had done, “When I was Lord Tully’s guest. Do you remember that feast held just after we met? Well… my first dance there was with a Bracken.” 

“A Bracken?” The word was uttered with such aggression and venom it could have been mistaken for the foulest of insults. Ben's hands gripped his knees with a ferocity she had scarcely seen from him. Daenys scrambled to control the situation. She crawled to him and placed her hands over his while she kneeled in from of him. She sat back on her legs. 

“My love, you need not worry about such things. It was only a dance. I recall his name being Aeron or something.” She rubbed his hands.

“Did he do anything? Gods, that craven family. Degenerates and-”

“Benji, he did not do anything. If you recall, that feast was for men to meet me, so you cannot fault him for approaching.” Daenys used one hand to comb through his hair.

Ben scoffed, “I can and I will fault him and that whole damned family. It’s-”

“You are losing yourself to your anger.” Daenys kissed him on his forehead, “If anything, I offended him.” 

Ben breathed deeply, in and out for a moment. All the while Daenys was physically assuring him through soft caresses. She had noticed early on that despite his shy exterior, Ben was quick to anger. A level of aggression that balanced on the edge of near insanity. It had not bothered her when she found out. It was a part of Ben and she wished to be with the whole of him, not any fake persona he would put on. 

“And what offences did you give him?” Ben questioned. 

“He had warned me about bad houses present at the feast. He cautioned me to avoid members of your house.” Daenys answered, though was nervous about setting him off. 

“That craven. Too cowardly to fight me and must undermine my family. I swear-” Ben cuts himself off upon seeing Daenys’ face. He breathed in and out again to keep himself grounded. 

“I told him off for his foul words, you need not worry. And who exactly won? I am with you, aren’t I?” Daenys moved closer to Ben. He allowed her to slot herself between his knees. He nodded to her and hung his head. She leaned forward and connected their foreheads. 

“I did not mean to put you in such a foul mood,” Daenys confessed. 

Ben lifted his head with a glint in his eye, “You’re mine, not his.”  

He surged forward and captured her lips in a kiss. It was searing. His hands went to the back of her head and pulled her in closer, impossibly close. The grip on her hair was new, as he only ever caressed her locks gently. The change was not disliked on her end. Ben moved forward, slowly pushing Daenys backwards. He bit down on her lip slightly and let out a muffled groan. 

Daenys continued to move backwards until her head hit one of the cushions. Ben leaned over her with his forearms on either side of her head. She struggled to stay aware of her surroundings, as her feelings made her senses dizzy. Each time she felt comfortable, Ben always surprised her with the intensity of his devotion. He pulled away but did not stop his assault on her face. Trailing his lips over to where her neck met her jaw. His teeth scraped the skin as his heavy breaths fanned against her. 

“Gevie.” Ben’s whisper was nearly incoherent. The man seemed lost in his own world as he worshipped Daenys’ skin. He muttered the word many times over, like a holy man reciting scripture. In this life, his heaven lay beneath him. He shifted his weight onto one arm while the other moved down and pulled up her dress, crumpling the fabric to sit at her waist. His fingers gripped the plush skin of her thigh and the thumb moved back and forth, swaying dangerously close to her core. 

Ben had gone back to kissing her. Daenys’ lips parted and he seized the opportunity. His tongue made a new home in her mouth, fighting against hers. He hummed and the vibrations coursed between them. The hand on her thigh trailed up to her centre.

“Ben!” Daenys rasped at the shock of skin-on-skin contact. Her heart began to pound. Ben broke contact and pulled away. 

“I told you before dinner that we would finish later.” His index finger trailed down and between her folds, smoothing down the slick that had built up quickly. His movements were slow and calculated. One area was grazed making Daenys breath hitch. Ben noticed her reaction and zeroed in on her bud with his thumb, slowly increasing the pressure and speed. He began to kiss her chest as it rose up and down with her frantic breaths. 

She had no other thought but him: his touches, his kisses, the feeling of his strong body over hers. If she could stay here for the rest of eternity, Daenys would stake her soul on it and curse the gods. There was a lightness to his touches, but a possessive nature in the way he revered her body. Daenys covered her mouth to suppress her moans in fear that a guard making the rounds in the hallway outside could hear. 

Ben continued to bite and suck on her chest, collarbones, and neck. His fingers moved in quick succession, building the tension growing in Daenys. 

“Ben! I-” She bit down on her lip to silence her cry. The tension pulled taut. Her back arched as it felt like her body was going to burst into a ball of flame. As soon as she was nearing a peak, Ben stopped and pulled his hand away. Daenys whimpered in disappointment, already missing his touch. He moved in to kiss her lips one last time before shifting down. He had crawled to be near to her core, and without any warning, he buried his face in her. 

Daenys’ first instinct was to move her legs together, but Ben used both of his hands to grip the area where her thigh met her hips and held them down. What his fingers did well, his tongue excelled in. It moved over her bud in careful strokes while his hands massaged her skin. Ben acted like a man starved. It was feverish, rushed in speed, but careful in savouring. 

Jolts of pleasure shot through her body as he continued his work. Her exposed skin pricked despite the intense heat she felt and a flush swept over her. The wanton manner in which Ben was kissing, licking, and sucking her made Daenys’ face scrunch and eyes close. It was getting harder and harder to keep the lewd noises that spilled from her lips quiet. After a particularly loud moan, Ben growled in response and the vibrations coursed through her lower body. 

Daenys was intoxicated by his worship of her. Her head lulled from side to side, fighting with all her strength to not call out his name. Her voice started to murmur his name repeatedly, becoming more frequent as the same pressure began to build up again. Ben, in the small seconds of lifting up for breath, muttered back: gevie. His voice, which spoke her mother tongue, sounded better than all the hymns and bands she had ever listened to in life. 

“Gevie, gevie, gevie,...” 

A prayer of worship, of the promise of safety, of love. It was all too intense, too otherworldly. Yet, with just one more flick of his tongue, Daenys felt herself reach that snap. The intensity had turned into a fire that coiled through her limbs, etching trails of pleasure through her. Her body shook and her thighs moved against the hold Ben had them in. He continued to work her core as she rode out her high. Her spasms turned tense as she lost control of her body. Her breathing had been sent into overdrive in an attempt to cool the burning she felt. Daenys hands had been gripping the cushions around her as if that action could ground her.

Once Daenys was able to get a hold of her own body, Ben pulled away. He looked at her and smiled while running his tongue against his lips. She sat up slightly as he crawled over to her. Their mouths moved together in a tantalizingly slow kiss. Ben moaned as his hands continued to move and caress all over her body. Daenys opened her eyes when she separated, but he kept his eyes closed as he moved further forward to search her out. 

They finally pulled away, but only slightly. Their breaths mingled together in the air around them. Both seemed to have trouble in catching their breath, but neither cared. Ben moved to lie down beside her. He pulled her down with him and wrapped her up in his arms, his biceps flexing. Daenys set her head on his chest. A free hand moved up to caress the skin of his chest that peaked out from the small unbuttoned space from his shirt.  

After a moment of silence, Ben spoke up, “Remember when you jested about running off to get married soon? I do believe we should do that.” 

Daenys laughed, “After the weeks of trouble I have gone through to plan? Not a chance.”

“You do realize we will have to wait two more weeks? Every day it kills me slowly that I cannot call you my wife. At this rate, I should be dead before the ceremony.” Ben huffed. One of his hands rubbed up and down Daenys’ upper arm.

“No amount of honeyed words you speak will change the date,” She lifted her head to look at him. Daenys leaned in to give him a quick kiss. “I am sorry, my love.” 

Ben nodded at her words, content to listen and obey whatever she wished, “If I must wait that long, then I will. But do not expect that upon that night you will be getting any amount of rest, my love.”

___________

✧.* notes: this is the first time i have ever written smut, so if it looks like i don't know what i am doing, thats because i truly don't lol. but, if i do not practice, how will i ever get good at it? thank you all for your support <3

if you want to be added to the taglist to any of my posts or just posts from this series, just comment which one and i will add you.

✧.* taglist: @credulouskhaleesi @username199945

[aemondsprincesss]

Aemond Targaryen x Dragon!Reader

I have this idea stuck in my mind and it doesn't want to go away.

I keep thinking of Aemond finding the place where Vhagar laid her eggs, but when he brake the crust and smoke comes out, it's not eggs he finds inside, is a woman. Fully grown, naked and sleeping.

After a moment to be able to believe in what his eye is seeing, Aemond continues to break the crust to free you.

He immediately knows that you are not human, because if you were, you would not survive the heat nor the lack of air inside. And also, upon closer observation, he noticed that under the black goo, on your shoulder, golden scales were shining under the light of the torch he was carrying to illuminate the dark cave.

Not resisting the temptation, he touches your shoulder, and is surprised with what he feels. The scales are softer than he thought they would be. Rougher than the rest of your skin, but nowhere near the hardness of the dragon's.

Armond was too mesmerized by what he was feeling to realize that his touch woke you. He felt you stirring before he saw your eyes opening.

He observed in reverence you sitting up, completely unbothered by your lack of clothing, while looking around confused.

But suddenly, your eyes snapped to his, and Aemond's breath was caught in his throat. Your eyes were the most pure violet he has ever seen, and the color filled the entirety of the orbs, save for the two black slits of your pupils. Dragon eyes.

When he saw your throat illuminate with a fire that was not from his torch, and you opening your mouth, Aemond did the only thing he could think of at the moment. He softly said "Lykirī, gevie, lykirī."

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Help! I still need to talk about this!

-

Click on the tag below to see more of my Aemond Targaryen x Dragon!Reader works!

👇

[artedimichelangelo]

Hi love! I am in need of some fluff for Aegon 🥺 may I request something with him falling in love with reader who is his aunt / Alicent's sister and trying to prove himself to her? Only if you are comfortable with it of course 😇 thanks!

My heart is yours, as yours is mine - Aegon Targaryen x Hightower!Fem!Reader

Author's Note: Hii! Thanks for your request, I know it's late and I think that this is not even really good, I tried my best on this one and I hope you like it. I also added a few lines from "Dangerously Yours".

Pairings: Aegon Targaryen x Hightower! Fem! Reader.

Warnings: English is NOT my first language; possible grammatical errors; Targaryen inc*st (reader is Alicent's sister); a tiny bit of angst; fluff; kinda ugly results of my writing, I don't think I did a good job on this one; let me know if there is something else that I might have forgotten.

Word Count: 790 (a really short one as you can see).

Issa gevie rūklon: My beautiful flower.

Whenever Y/n entered a room, Aegon longed for her eyes on his figure.

He took every opportunity he had to prove himself to her. To show his aunt how great he was, although he knew he really wasn’t, as his mother always used to tell him.

There were many different reasons why Aegon did that. Y/n looked at him with different eyes, proud ones, as she was the only one to really love him, in his good and especially in his bad moments.

The prince was in love with the young Hightower, another explanation to his odd behaviour.

“Aegon, my dear?” To wake him up from his thoughts was Y/n’s faint voice. "My dear" echoed in his ears like a soft melody from the birds of their majestic gardens.

“Yes? Is there anything you need, aunt?”

The young Targaryen moved his hand towards Y/n, his fingers barely touching her cheek. Almost too afraid to feel her soft skin, afraid he might hurt her in some way.

“I wanted to talk to you about something important.” She sat opposite to him and grabbed his cold hands into her warm ones, their fingers almost intertwining. “So I shall require your utmost attention.”

Aegon gave her a confused look, his breath stopping for a second. The worst case scenario flooding his head: what if someone hurt her? What if someone tried to touch her? Was she perhaps getting married?

He nodded, signalling her to proceed.

“As someone who deeply loves you, I must speak the truth.” Her eyes were focused on her nephew, almost as if she could ever detach them from him. Y/n’s emerald green velvet dress glowed faintly under the dim lights of the chamber, showing how it tightened around her curves and how it perfectly matched her voluminous crimson hair. “I believe you are doing too much.”

The prince did not know how to respond. All the words stuck in his throat, almost preventing him from breathing easily. He had by no means expected such an answer, and did not fully understand what she was referring to.

“My sweet and precious treasure, you can barely rest, your dark circles are as violet as the colour of your eyes, you are exhausted from fatigue and pain, and I can sense it perfectly.”

Aegon couldn’t even look at her. He felt embarrassed, guilty for no reason, weak compared to how he had shown himself the previous days, as tears ran down his now scarlet cheeks.

“My brave dragon, do not overwhelm yourself because you do not need to prove anything.” She took the prince’s face in her dainty hands and made him look carefully into her eyes. “Not to your mother and especially not to me.”

Y/n welcomed him into her arms and whispered sweet nothings in his ear, her fingers intertwined between the white and silky locks of Aegon’s hair.

The young Targaryen prince could perfectly feel her flowery aroma, almost intoxicating his nostrils. However this did not bother him. Her scent made him feel close to the Gods, as pleasant as it was.

“You are enough, my love. I wish you could see that with my eyes.”

A moment of silence fell between the two. It wasn’t awkward at all. It was quiet and put the two at ease. It made them appreciate the warmth of the flames dancing in the fireplace.

“May I kiss you?” He whispered, but Y/n heard those words clearly.

Everything felt surreal to her at that moment.

“Come again?”

Without any warning, Aegon’s lips quickly found Lady Hightower’s. At first she was taken aback, then she slowly melted into the delightful motion.

Y/n didn’t know if what was happening was right or wrong, but still it was almost impossible for both of them to pull away from each other.

“I love you. You may as well take my heart Y/n, it’s already full of you! I love you like a bee loves a daisy.” Aegon’s violet eyes lit up when they landed on her green ones. “I would die for you, I would kill for you, if that means you are safe.”

Blood flushed her cheeks and her heartbeat grew faster with each word.

They were both aware that no soul in the Seven Kingdoms could be as devoted to the young Hightower as the prince.

“My heart has always been yours, Issa gevie rūklon.”

“And my heart belongs only to you.” She reassured him, although he already knew that.

They were aware that everything would have had consequences in the family.

But it did not matter in that moment, as exchanging pleasant kisses and warm touches was enough to give them a fair amount of peace of mind to worry about the world another time.

[iiamthehybrid]

I'll Remember It All (Modern!Aemond x Dead!Oc)

People say you fall in love, but fall is such a sad word when you think about it.

Falls are never good.

You fall on the ground.

You fall behind.

You fall to your death.

Whoever was the first person to say they fell in love must have already fallen out of it, otherwise they would have called it something much better.

Aemond read the passage for the 5th time.

It was his wife's favourite book.

"Reminders Of Him" by Colleen Hoover.

And that was exactly what was left.

Reminders of her.

A gentle soul who was capable of taming the dragon blood that ran hot inside Aemond's body. A gently soul who got taken away from him.

A soul full of compassion, empathy and love.

His beautiful wife Y/N.

Y/N was like the sun, she touched everything and everyone with her kindness and generosity. Her sunshine is what drew Aemond closer to her. She burned, in the sweetest way.

And whatever made Y/N burn, made Aemond burn.

The light to his darkness.

Aemond's tears fell down on the plush carpet as he looked up at the ginormous picture of his wife.

Y/N enjoyed making memories, and she achieved that by taking pictures of each and every moment. And this picture strung up in their bedroom was his favourite.

But still, He could not bear to look at it without crying. The pain of losing her was greater than anything he ever endured. Even the pain of his eye getting slashed out from his skull was nothing compared to losing the only woman he ever loved.

What hurt even worse, was looking back at the roundness in her stomach. Her swollen stomach where their little baby grew.

He could still hear her laugh if he closed his eye.

"Aemondd!!!!!"

"Baby come on, the lighting is perfectt", Y/N said with a smile on her face.

It was a smile Aemond could kill for. A smile he loved for.

"Hmmmm." Aemond hummed as he wrapped his callused hand round her belly that was swollen with their first child.

"You are energetic, Ñuha jorrāelagon!".

"Why is that ?"

"Is it my seed that is growing in your belly, or is it because I just fucked you missionary?" Aemond asked with a sly smirk on his face.

Y/N cheeks reddened as she looked up to him.

"Both".

Aemond smiled as he placed a kiss on Y/N's slender neck.

"Hmmmmm"

"I want more Ābrazȳrys, let's go back to bed."

Y/N looked at him as if he made a bookmark using the pages of her favourite book.

"No, I want you to take a picture of me."

"Here." Y/N said as she pointed at the closed curtain she had in front of the balcony door.

"We need more pictures, husband."

"Now?" Aemond asked as Y/N removed his arm from her belly as she toddled over to stand in front of the balcony door.

"Yes, now." Y/N said shyly.

"How do I look?" Y/N asked as she stood in front of the curtains. Her hand placed on the back of her belly, that was covered in see through lingerie.

Aemond smiled "Gevie hae se hūra se qēlossās".

Y/N smiled. "Ok, I'm ready."

Aemond's wished he could capture this moment forever. He wished they were frozen in time.

The light reflection made her look eternal. Like an angel that was send from heaven, just too sooth his soul.

"Done." Aemond handed the camera to his wife.

Y/N smile grew wide as soon as she saw the picture. "You husband, should definitely try photography."

"Mafia business does not hold a candle to this." Y/N said as she twiddled the camera in her hand.

Aemond chuckled as he lifted his wife up in his arms. "Ēdan iā gevie model".

Y/N smiled. "I am."

"Gaoman gūrogon iā reward syt ñuha qopsa mirre, dōna ābrazȳrys", Aemond said with a pout on his lips.

Y/N smirked as the placed a kiss on his sapphire eye " I might reward you...after fucking me missionary."

Aemond eyes darkened with lust,

"I'll remember your promise Ñuha jorrāelagon."

"I'll remember it all.."

Aemond opened his eye, as he came back into the present.

A world full of darkness, because you were taken from him.

You and your unborn baby.

He'll extract his revenge on the one that took you away from him. It was only a matter of time and careful planning.

And then he would join you, Because this isn't goodbye, this is simply see you later.

I hope you enjoy my first story.

It's not the best but practice makes perfect.

[genz420]

The Fire That Burns With Us - Chapter 31: Bedding .

Pervious Part - Next Part 

136 - Red Keep 

Visenya and Aemond had left the hall shortly after Alicent suggested they do.  Knowing looks and cheers from many of the guests as the two left, the northern banging on the table as Visenya pulled Aemond out of the hall.  

Their new room was bigger than the ones they had before.  Walking through the door leads to a seating area, a set of columns with silks hanging from the ceilings making the sitting area more private.  Visenya lets go of Aemonds hand and push through the silks to take more room in.  A Targaryen banner hangs above the fireplace.   

She can spot a few of her belongings around the room, her sword in the corner and her jewelry at the desk.  Around the room are different books that Visenya suspects are Aemonds.  

A fire going fills the room with smoke, and the open balcony doors allow the smell of salt to fill the air from Blackwater bay.  Visenya smiles at the two smells, fire and the sea.  In the sitting area are two couches that face each other with a table in the middle; Visenya knows that Ben will love the couches if they are as comfortable as they look.  

The bed is across from the sitting area on a raised platform with a few steps leading up.  The bed is covered with dark red blankets and what seems to be northern furs, a gift from Alysanne and Cregan. 

A table sits between the sitting area and the bed, and different foods and drinks sit on the table. Visenya stands in front of the table and takes off the diadem on her head.  Visenya can feel Aemond walk up behind her. She doesn’t acknowledge Aemond as she starts to take off the rings on her fingers, leaving the new ring that Aemond had given her.   

Visenya takes a seat and begins to take off her shoes, and she looks up to Aemond, who is removing his sword from his hip before standing in front of her.  Aemond runs his thumb over the cut on her lip and smiles at it. Both of the cuts will scar over, no doubt.  Visenya nods toward Aemond, and he knows what she is asking. He takes the eye patch off and tosses it onto the table. 

Visenya stands from the chair and untucks Aemond's shirt, pulling it off his head.  Visenya runs down his shoulder and chest, feeling his heartbeat against her hand.  Though Aemond looks calm, his heartbeat says otherwise, fast against her hand.  Visenya moves her hands down to his pants, but Aemond stops her.   

Aemond moves to stand behind Visenya, pushing all of her hair onto one shoulder and exposing the lacing of the back of the dress.    Aemond's skillful fingers begin to undo the lacing and Visenya fiddles with her fingers.  Even if Aemond had seen her naked before, she is still nervous, scared that he might not see how she looked.   Aemond can see Visenya fiddling with her fingers and placing light kisses against her neck, hoping to calm her down.  

Once the dress is loose enough, Aemond pulls it off her shoulders and kisses them as he does so.  Her skin is hot against his lips. Aemond knows that Visenya is most likely blushing at his actions and part of him is happy that he can get such a reaction from her at a simple kiss.  

Visenya doesn’t try to stop the dress as it pools at her feet; she turns around and faces Aemond.  He is already looking at her with a happy smile as he rests his hands on her hips.  Visenya reaches her hands up and unties his hair, letting it fall down his shoulders, and Visenya wraps her arms around his neck.  

Aemond feels a warm flood of energy, a sense of anticipation, and his breaths become longing.  Here Visenya is, standing naked in front of him and smiling up at him.  

The two walk to the bed, up a few steps, and Visenya pushes Aemond to sit on the bed.  Standing in front of him, Aemond removes his hands from her hips and moves them to the back of her thighs.  Aemond pulls her closer and kisses her hip bone.  Aemond rests his head against her navel before looking up at her. 

“Gevie,” Aemond rasps out; she gives him a smile at the word.  She leans down and kisses him softly, brushing her lips against his.  “Ñuha Visenya,”

Beautiful.  My Visenya

Aemond wants to relax, but he is tense. The desire to move and touch Visenya is overwhelming, and his mind is starting to become hazy and calm, but his senses are sharp.  Flooding with everything of Visenya, her smell, her taste, the way her skin feels against his.  Aemond feels better than he usually does, not worrying about how he looks or if someone will disturb the two.  Probably everyone in the Keep knows what the two are doing the second they leave the hall.  Part of him worries that someone might try to knock and stop the two, but as his arsenal grows, he slowly starts to stop worrying. 

Aemond pulls Visenya onto his lap. The material of his pants is rough against her skin.  Aemond loosely wraps his around her hips, and Visenya smiles down at him, her hair making a cage around them. 

Visenya leans down and kisses Aemond.

A soft kiss full of love.  A kiss that quickly turns heated, gone the gentles now replaced with roughness. Aemonds teeth tug at her lower lip, and he sweeps his tongue into her mouth.  She taste the sweet mead she had been drinking tonight.  Visenya doesn’t have to coax or tease him about getting a reaction, no more stoic Aemond that he puts up in front of people.   The hunger for need is already there, wanting to leave her breathless and devour her.  

Aemond flips him over so that Visenya lays in the bed with him on top of her, not stopping the kiss. The grip on her hips is tight and will leave a bruise in his wake.  

Aemond pulls his head back to allow the two of them air, only for a short second and then their lips are back together.  His still-clothed hips meet his, and Visenya lets out a soft moan at the pressure.   

Visenya's hands search over Aemonds body, pulling him closer, gripping his shoulders, digging her nails into his flesh, and her legs pulling Aemond's closer.  All she knows about what she wants is him.  She wants to feel his body against hers—the warmth of Aemond.  

Like Aemond can understand, Visenya removes one of his hands from the grip on her hip and dives down between them.  His fingers are smooth as they run along her cunt.  Visenya takes in a small breath as he does so. The cold metal of the rings he still wears contrasts the heat she is feeling.  Aemond pulls away, and Visenya lets out a whine as he does.  

The cuts on their lips had reopened at the kiss, with a small amount of blood on their lips, but neither cared.  

Visenya tries to kiss Aemond again, but her jerks his head back from her. The cocky smile on his face makes her want to slap it off.  Aemond looks down at Visenya. He feels overwhelmed, but seeing her so impatient makes him happy.  

“Istin enkagon se Jaess sīr olvie syt emare ao,”  Aemond says as he kisses her jaw.  

I must owe the gods so much for getting you.

The pressure builds in his chest, and a feeling in his stomach is similar to when he is nervous.  He feels lightheaded and his face warm as he looks at Visenya lying out on the bed.  Her hair spread out around her head, the smile on her face, the familiar blush he loves so much creeping up her chest and neck, the desired look in her eyes, and the rise and fall of her chest and breast.  

Aemond kisses down her neck and between the valley of her breast.  Visenya moves her hands to Aemonds head, running her hand through her hair as he kisses her open mouth.  Aemond moves down Visenya's body, leaving burning kisses in his wake.  Aemond settles between Visenya's thighs and gives a playful nip on her inner thigh.  

Visenya props herself up on her elbows as she looks down at Aemond, who keeps his face buried into her thigh.  Aemond looks at her when he feels her sit up, he uses a small amount of force to push her back onto the bed, and she lets out a small laugh. Aemond keeps his hand pushing Visenya's stomach down while the other grips her upper thigh. 

The cold contrast of his rings gives her pleasure against her hot skin.  Aemond moves to rest one of her legs onto his shoulder as he kisses move towards her cunt, and she feels the nerves build in her stomach.  She had never been on the receiving end of this.  

Visenya leans back onto the pillows with a moan as Aemond locks his lips around her clit.  Sucking as two of his fingers leave her thigh and tease her entrance.  

“Seven hells,” Visenya moans out, and Aemond smiles at her words.  But he keeps his focus on Visenya like she is his last meal.  The moan that she had let out made him even hornery than before, and he wanted to stop what he was doing and just fuck her, but he wants Visenya to feel pleasure.   

Visenya's mind is slushed in the moment, unable to focus on anything but Aemond as he fucks her with his fingers and swirls his tongue against her clit.  She moves one of her hands to grab ahold of Aemonds, which is still on her stomach, wanting, no need to feel more of him.   Visenya shuts her eyes and clenches her jaw as another ping of pleasure goes through her.  

Aemond grinds his hip into the bed, wanting to feel some kind of relief from his arousal.  Visenya soft bucks her hips against the air, and Aemond can’t help but feel pride at her reactions.  He can feel her clench against his fingers as they move in and out of her.  

Visenya feels an uncomfortable warmth in her chest, and the moan that comes out of Aemond sends vibrations through her body.  Gods, she wishes she heard hear that moan rather than feel it.  The building in Visenya's stomach and the way her moans grew louder tells them that she is close.  Aemond could be mean and stop now, but the blissful noises coming from her make him want to stay buried between her legs forever. 

The burn within her stomach spreads, and she stills.  Aemond keeps his lips wrapped around her clit as she cums, watching her tense up.  Not only till Visenya relax does Aemond pull away, gods he is addicted.  

Visenya smiles happily at Aemond as she opens her eyes.  She still feels hot and sweaty, with her hair sticking back to her neck, but she doesn’t care as she looks up at Aemond.  Aemond watches Visenya as she tries to catch her breath; his hands move her hair out of the way of her tits.  He gently runs his fingers along the underside of her tit and his thumb along her nipple.  

Aemond pulls his hand away like she is made of fire, and Visenya thinks she has done something wrong, but Aemond pulls his pants off him.  Rolling onto his back to get them entirely off.  Visenya takes the opportunity and climbs onto Aemond, resting his knees beside his hips.  

“Nyke jorrāelagon ao,” Visenya tells Aemond, and the blood rushes to his ears.  

I need you.

Aemond rests his hands on her thighs as he sits up.  Visenya wraps her arms around his neck as the two kiss, passionate and full of teeth and roughness.  Visenya keeps the kiss but moves her hips up to sink down onto Aemond.  The two pull away, and both moan at the feeling; Aemond rests his head against Visenya's shoulder as she gets comfortable.  

Visenya grips Aemond's shoulders as she moves around a little on her knees; the groan she gets out of Aemond is music to her ears.  Visenya starts to pace, and Aemond meets her hips as she comes down.  His hands are on her hips to move them to a faster pace, Visenya feels a cramp starting in her thigh, but she doesn’t stop. 

Visenya grabs ahold of Aemond face and kisses him, a sloppy kiss that is full of need.  Aemond thought he would want to take control of the situation, but the pleasure of having Visenya ride him clouded his mind, and all he can focus on is her.  

Her warmth, the feeling of her, the bounce of her tits, everything his mind goes to is about Visenya.  Aemond breath becomes irregular as he tries to meet Visenya's pace, wanting to add more roughness to the pace.  He needs her so badly.  

Aemond moves one hand down to hold her thigh, dipping his fingers into the soft muscle.  The vibrations of their moans rock through their bodies, sending a euphoric feeling through them.   The faint sound of the bed aching under their pace.  

Aemond pulls away from the kiss and begins to kiss Visenya's neck, licking, biting, kissing and sucking.  Aemond acts on instinct on what to do at the moment, and his hips act on their own accord as they meet Visenyas.

Visenya leans her head back, giving Aemond more placing on her neck to focus on.  No doubt tomorrow, both of them will be bruised and satisfied.  A cold chill washes over her body, and Visenya just focuses on keeping her pace steady, not wanting to change it in the slightest and ruin her orgasm.  Her nails dig into Aemonds shoulder, and he groans at the feeling.  

Aemond goes quiet as his hips recklessly meet Visenyas.   Visenya doesn’t stop as Aemond comes, still chasing her orgasm as Aemond twitches inside her.  She increases her pace, and her grip on Aemonds shoulder tightens as her stomach gets warm again.  Unlike Aemond, Visenya lets out a moan as she cums. 

Aemond rests his head against Visenya's chest as she slows down.  Both breathe heavily and are covered in sweat.  Aemond pulls her closer to him, needing to feel her.  The two lay back on the bed, and Aemond moves in between Visenyas legs, her hip popping as he spreads them apart to make room for himself.  Aemond kisses her neck while he fondles her breast, his fingers gently playing with her nipple.  Visenya runs her hand to his head and pushes it closer to her neck. 

– – 

The two newlyweds lay on the bed, both now tried and sleep calls to them both.  Aemond is propped up against the pillows with Visenya half lying on his chest; a thin sheet covers their lower half, and Visenyas chest presses into Aemond.  

Visenya is running her fingers along Aemond's chest, eyes half closed and a satisfied smile.  Aemond has one hand resting on Visenya's bare back while the other plays with a curl in her hair.   

A loud band at the door ruins their quietness.  The easily recognizable voice of a drunken Aegon comes from the other side of the door, along with the door rattling.  Visenya looks up at Aemond, silently asking him if he wants to deal with his brother.

“He will get bored after a while,” Aemond tells Visenya and pulls her closer to his chest.  “Let us not ruin the night by having to see my brother's face,”

Visenya smiles as she rests her eyes again, but two men yelling on the other side of the door make her open them again.  

“Hafhannr komennr?” A drunken Cregan asks loudly.  Visenya sighs as she buries her face into Aemond's chest.  

“Svá fastr, skulu hafmarrieðr northernr maðr,” A drucken Ben reptiles to his god-brother.   

“The fuck you saying about me, Blackwood,” Rob yells from the other side of the door. The interaction between the three makes her smile.  Visenya can only hope that Alysanne is there to make them leave.  “Come here, I'll show you what a real man can do,”

“What were they saying?” Aemond asks as the voices fade out.  Visenya rests her chin on Aemonds chest and smiles at him.  

“It seems that both Ben and Cregan have drunk more than enough tonight,” Visenya says. “They were just saying the usual things people say after a bedding,”

Aemond lets out a hum at her answer.  He goes back to playing with her hair and closes his eyes.  Visenya closes her eyes and rests her cheek back on his chest.  The two are happy that they don’t have to rush away before the morning and can sleep in the same bed without worrying about a servant walking in on them. 

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty-Eight

The seamstresses worked diligently, their nimble fingers adding the final touches to Maera’s dress for the ceremony. The soft rustling of silk and the occasional clink of pins filled the room as they hemmed, stitched, and adjusted, ensuring every detail was perfect. The gown was nothing short of magnificent, even grander than the dresses she had worn as a Princess. The black fabric was rich and dense, adorned with intricate patterns woven in beautiful golden thread that shimmered under the light. The dark green sleeves were a subtle yet significant addition, a nod to the cause her husband now led as its figurehead.

Maera had specifically requested that the dress lace up at the front, a practical design choice that would allow her to easily undo it to feed her daughter. This request had caused a stir among the seamstresses, who muttered their dismay. Maera could hear one of them whispering about how unbecoming it was for a Queen to breastfeed her baby. The disapproving tone was clear, but Maera remained unfazed.

After all, the dragon does not pay attention to the opinions of the sheep, she reminded herself, standing tall and resolute. Despite the grandeur of her new title and the expectations that came with it, she did not feel like a queen. She felt like a mother, and her priorities were clear. Her daughter’s needs came first, and she would not let outdated notions of decorum dictate her actions.

Maera stood in front of the mirror on her perch, the cot placed beside her. Laying within, Aemara, now a month old, gripped onto little Syndor’s tail tightly, babbling to herself and kicking her legs with a newfound vigor. The dragon did not seem to mind, curled up in a little ball, snoozing contentedly beside the child who would one day become her rider.

She smiled down at her daughter, warmth flooding her heart at the sight of the two young creatures bonding so naturally. Maera then looked back at her reflection in the mirror. Her long brown and silver curls had been pulled away from her face into a braided bun, allowing her to see her appearance clearly.

Running her hands down the dress, Maera felt the luxurious fabric beneath her fingers. Her gowns fit her differently now; her body had become more rounded, a transformation inevitable with motherhood. Though she embraced this new chapter of her life, a small seed of doubt had been planted. Her reflection showed royalty, but also a mother who was still adjusting to the changes brought by childbirth.

Maera did not have time to dwell on her insecurities as the doors swung open and Aemond stalked into the room, resplendent in green and black robes. His long silver hair was braided at the top while the rest flowed freely, reminiscent of the style he wore on their wedding day. The bustling room came to an immediate halt. Every seamstress, handmaiden, and servant stopped what they were doing, bidding him a bow or curtsy. Maera turned from the mirror, also bidding him a curtsy from her perch.

“Ao jurnegon gevie,” You look beautiful, he declared.

She smiled softly, watching her husband stride towards the cot, exuding an air of confidence and authority. He reached down and patted Syndor on the head, acknowledging the little dragon with a brief, gentle touch. Then, with practiced ease, he lifted Aemara into his arms. The baby gurgled at the sight of her father, her little hands reaching out towards his face. Aemond's stern expression softened as he gazed at his daughter, a rare and tender smile forming on his lips.

“Ao tolī, Dārilara,” As do you, Princess, he murmured to Aemara, who responded with more delighted coos. Maera felt a surge of warmth as she watched the two, her worries momentarily forgotten in the glow of this precious family moment.

A steward then entered the room carrying a metal box, which he placed on a nearby table. Maera tilted her head in curiosity as Aemond, rocking their daughter gently, gestured to the box.

"I brought you something to wear for the ceremony," he said. Intrigued, Maera stepped down from her perch at the mirrors and approached the table. She unclasped the latch and opened the box, revealing its contents.

Inside lay a stunning Valyrian steel crown, its polished surface gleaming under the room's light. The crown was adorned with rubies and sapphires, each gem meticulously placed to catch and reflect the light in a mesmerizing dance of colors. Maera's green eyes widened as she beheld the crown. Aemond watched her reaction closely.

"What do you think?" he asked.

Maera's breath caught in her throat, the sight of the crown making her new station seem all too real. She stuttered, "It's... it's too much."

Aemond simply shook his head, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "I would say it's quite befitting for the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

She froze at his words, her body tensing at the mention of the word “Queen.” Maera looked at him, then back at the crown, feeling the weight of her new role settle upon her shoulders.

She turned away from her husband, her gaze sweeping over the staff who were busily carrying out their duties. “Leave us for a moment,” she instructed softly. The staff members exchanged brief glances before nodding respectfully and hastily exiting the room.

Aemond gently placed Aemara back in her crib beside the snoozing black dragon hatchling, then turned his attention to his wife. “You are not pleased,” he stated, his voice a mixture of concern and curiosity.

Maera hesitated, shaking her head slowly as she stared down at the crown in its box. “So much horror has brought us to this point,” she began, her voice tinged with sorrow. She sighed deeply, listing the grief they had endured. “Jaehaerys; beheaded in his own bed. Aegon; burned so badly his armour fused to his skin…” She paused, her eyes meeting Aemond’s, “Maelor; torn apart by the crowd of smallfolk in the Riverlands.”

Her fingers traced the cool metal of the crown, feeling its weight even without lifting it. Aemond moved to stand beside her, his presence a comforting, yet heavy reminder of their shared burdens. “I am pleased for you Aemond, I am. I know this is what you’ve wanted ever since we were children,”she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

She turned to face him, taking in the sharp lines of his face, the determination in his eye. “But I did not want this. I never even expected to be a Princess, let alone… Queen.” Maera took a shaky breath, her fear and vulnerability laid bare. “I’m afraid, Aemond,” she admitted, her voice trembling.

Her husband’s expression softened, his gaze steady and reassuring as he listened to her fears. The room fell silent, the gravity of their new roles weighing heavily on them both. After a moment, Aemond reached out, taking Maera’s hand in his, his calloused thumb tracing her knuckles. His touch was firm yet gentle, a comforting contrast to the tumultuous thoughts swirling in her mind.

“Once the ceremony is over,” he assured her, his voice steady and calm, “the Small Council members will be elected. They will guide us in making decisions for the Realm.”

Maera listened, her gaze steady on him, feeling the weight of his words. Aemond continued, “Your Ladies will also be chosen, and they should lighten the burden on you, so you may focus your efforts in raising our daughter.” His tone was sincere, his concern for her evident in his eye.

Maera cast her eyes downwards, looking at their joined hands. His grip was reassuring, a silent promise of support. She nodded slowly, but her mind was still restless.

She then felt Aemond’s thumb and forefinger grip her chin, gently lifting her face to meet his gaze. Maera found herself lost in his violet eye, her heart pounding and her breath hitching. The intensity of his gaze, the way he looked at her with a mix of determination and tenderness, was almost overwhelming.

After a moment, Maera stepped back, clearing her throat and breaking the affectionate moment between them. The distance between them seemed to restore some of her composure. Aemond released her hand, telling her, “I will see you this afternoon.” He gave her a nod before turning and walking out of the room, his presence leaving a lingering warmth.

Maera stood in silence for a moment, the weight of her new responsibilities and the complexities of her feelings towards her husband pressing down on her.

The grand hall of Dragonstone, an imposing chamber carved from the ancient volcanic rock of the island, had been transformed for the coronation. The walls, typically cold and forbidding, were adorned with rich tapestries and banners. Flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows on the stone, adding a sense of movement to the otherwise still and solemn atmosphere.

Ancient dragon skulls, relics from a bygone era, had been brought out for the ceremony. Their hollow eye sockets and menacing jaws loomed over the gathering, a reminder of the Targaryen legacy of fire and blood. These immense relics, polished and revered, served as silent witnesses to the significant event unfolding.

In place of the old banners hung a new House banner, signaling the dawn of a new era. Gone was the golden dragon representing Aegon’s dragon, Sunfyre, who, like his rider, had perished. Instead, a black banner with a green three-headed dragon now took prominence, symbolizing Aemond's rule and the continuation of the Green's cause. The dark, vibrant green of the dragon heads stood out starkly against the black background, a bold declaration of the new King’s allegiance and intent.

Rows upon rows of people filled the hall, their murmurs blending into a low, steady hum of anticipation. Lords and ladies of the houses that had sworn loyalty to the Greens, and those who maintained that Rhaenyra was the usurper, were present to show their allegiance to their new King. The air was thick with a mix of excitement and trepidation, the gathered nobility dressed in their finest, their House colors adding splashes of vibrant hues against the somber stone of the hall.

Aemond sat upon the stone throne of the grand hall, his presence imposing and regal. The ancient sword Blackfyre lay at his side, its storied blade a symbol of his claim and authority. A Septon from a nearby village had been brought to preside over the ceremony.

After anointing Aemond with the holy oils, the Septon carefully placed the Conqueror’s crown upon his head. The weight of the crown, both literal and symbolic, seemed to settle onto Aemond with a sense of finality, his violet eye scanning the gathered crowd with a mixture of pride and solemnity.

Once Aemond was crowned, another chair was brought in and placed beside him, this one for Maera. She walked through the aisles of people, her eyes cast downward, feeling the weight of countless gazes upon her. Each step felt heavy, and her nerves were far more intense than they had been on her wedding day. So much more was now at stake, and the enormity of the moment pressed down on her.

She sat in the chair, and the Septon began his speech, his voice echoing through the hall as he anointed her with the sacred oils. Maera’s heart pounded in her chest, and every instinct screamed at her to flee, to escape this overwhelming situation. But she remained seated, knowing that there was no turning back now.

As the Septon carefully placed her crown upon her head, she felt its weight and the responsibilities it symbolized. She couldn’t help but glance across the room, her eyes finding her daughter, Aemara, who was being gently rocked by the nursemaid. The sight of her child, innocent and unaware of the gravity of the moment, provided a welcome distraction and a brief reprieve from the anxiety that threatened to consume her.

Once the crowning of the new King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was done, representatives from each House began to approach the throne. They moved in orderly lines, their faces a mix of solemnity and reverence as they knelt before the royal couple, pledging their loyalty. The grand hall of Dragonstone echoed with the murmurs of these oaths, the weight of their words filling the space.

Maera picked nervously at her fingers as each House approached. Gods, there were so many people here, and Maera could not stand it. Her eyes flitted nervously around the room before landing on her husband. Aemond’s expression was stoic as usual, but she caught the slight glint in his violet eye, a subtle indication of the pride he felt. He nodded to each Lord that knelt before him, his silent gratitude conveying his acknowledgment of their loyalty.

As the swearing of fealties continued, some faces became recognizable. Maera felt a sense of relief upon seeing Lord Unwin Peake, who had proved to be an excellent ally. Her relief was quickly replaced by a sense of unease when she saw Lord Larys Strong. He knelt with difficulty, his condition making the gesture appear more laborious. Her skin crawled at the sight of him, a constant reminder of the necessary but unpleasant alliances they had to maintain. She resolved to avoid him as much as possible.

Representatives from the Westerlands, including those from Houses Lannister and Tarbeck, had appeared to honor their previous oaths. Maera was not surprised that only representatives had been sent; her sister Sabine and the Lady Joanna Lannister needed to remain at their homes to care for their infant sons. The sight of their banners brought a sense of continuity and history to the event, even as new alliances were being forged.

Scattered minor Houses from both the Reach and the Riverlands attended as well, their representatives stepping forward to pledge their loyalty. The realm remained divided over who would rule them, and despite her nervousness, Maera was glad to see so many Houses had pledged to them. The presence of these Houses, old and new, signified a tentative unity, a fragile but hopeful sign for their reign.

A young man sent on behalf of House Hightower, who were deeply embroiled in the fight to regain the Capital and keep the Blacks out of Oldtown, was also in attendance. Aemond’s cousin Lyonel, son of Lord Ormund, knelt before the King. Maera couldn’t help but think what a shame it was that Daeron, Aemond’s brother, was not in attendance. However, she understood that Daeron and his dragon were crucial to the war effort.

As the ceremony continued, Maera's thoughts began to shift. She couldn’t help but think of Helaena in King's Landing as she felt the weight of her new crown on her head, the metal cold and heavy. Maera wondered how Helaena felt when she had the crown placed upon her head; was she as afraid as Maera was? They had received few updates about the fate of her sister-in-law and mother-in-law since they had been taken hostage by the Blacks. All they knew was that they remained alive. For now.

“I, Bryndemere Tarth, Lord of Evenfall Hall, pledge fealty to Aemond, first of his name, King of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. I swear this by the Old Gods and the New.”

Maera was snapped out of her thoughts when she saw an older Lord kneeling before them. She looked up and was both surprised and gladdened to see the presence of the Lord of Tarth. She granted him a smile and a small nod, which he returned before taking his place back in the aisle. The familiar and loyal presence was a welcome sight amidst the sea of faces.

Her smile only grew as House Baratheon approached, led by Lord Borros, to swear their loyalty. As they kneeled, Maera looked behind the Lord Paramount and saw the unmistakable cheeky face of her brother, Luthor. He now sported a thick dark beard, just like his father-in-law, and as he looked up, Luthor wiggled his brows at his younger sister. Maera couldn’t help but giggle to herself, shaking her head and rolling her eyes at him in a joking manner. The brief moment of levity lightened her heart amid the formalities of the day.

The next House approached, a familiar sea of turquoise and gold instantly recognizable as House Wylde. Maera’s heart swelled with a mix of pride and nostalgia as her oldest brother, Guston, now more than ever looking like their father with his stern yet determined face, led their House to the royal couple. Behind him was Faran, his beard now gone, his matching green eyes to Maera’s alight with joy.

Guston knelt first, followed by his entourage, and swore his fealty sincerely. His voice was steady and firm, a stark reminder of the father they had lost.

“I, Guston Wylde, Lord of Rain House, pledge fealty to Aemond, first of his name, King of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. I swear this by the Old Gods and the New.”

It was strange, hearing her eldest brother refer to himself as Lord of Rain House. The title had always belonged to their father, a strong and unwavering presence in their lives, and now that he was gone, the mantle had passed to Guston.

As they rose, a sense of finality settled over Maera, the reality of her father’s death hitting her anew. She watched as Guston stepped aside, but Faran remained kneeling. Maera raised a brow in curiosity and surprise. Faran’s green eyes met hers, and he spoke clearly so the entire hall could hear him.

“Your Grace, I would be honoured if you would grant me a place in your Kingsguard,” Faran declared with purpose. “I would be one of your seven, pledge my life to yours, and keep both you and your wife safe from harm.”

The hall fell silent, the weight of the request hanging in the air. Aemond turned to his wife, his violet eye searching hers for her opinion. Their eyes met for a moment, and Maera realized he was silently asking if she approved. The significance of the moment wasn’t lost on her; it was an unspoken acknowledgment of her voice and her place by his side.

Maera eagerly nodded, a warm smile spreading across her face. The idea of having Faran, one of her favorite brothers, close by filled her with a sense of comfort and joy. It was a rare moment of personal happiness amidst the heavy responsibilities and uncertainties of their new roles.

Aemond nodded in return, turning back to Faran. “Granted, good-brother.”

The hall erupted in applause as Faran stood, his face beaming with pride and gratitude. Maera’s heart swelled as she watched him, knowing that amidst all the political machinations and power struggles, she would have her family close to her, not only to be apart of her daughter’s life, but to have them support her as the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Well, she’s certainly not as ugly as you were when you were a babe, sister,” Luthor snorted as he rocked his gurgling niece in his arms, the comment earning an elbow to the ribs from Maera, who feigned being offended.

The grand hall was transformed for the coronation feast, a celebration befitting the new King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Several long tables were laden with an abundance of food: roasted meats, fresh fruits, delicate pastries, and hearty breads. The air was filled with the aroma of spices and the sound of clinking goblets. Musicians played lively tunes from one corner of the room, their melodies encouraging laughter and revelry, while attendants and guests danced in joyous circles.

The royal couple found themselves separated for much of the evening, each dedicated to thanking the guests who had pledged their loyalty. Aemond, resplendent in his regal attire, moved with a commanding presence, his single violet eye taking in every detail as he conversed with the lords and ladies. His nods and words of gratitude were formal, yet sincere, his demeanor ever the stoic king.

Maera, with Aemara cradled gently in her arms, moved through the crowd, her demeanor warm and welcoming. The tiny princess, wrapped in soft silks, drew coos and adoration from the guests. Maera’s smile was genuine as she held her daughter close, the infant’s presence a beacon of hope and continuity amidst the political ceremony.

As the Queen greeted each guest, she noted their reactions to Aemara, their eyes softening at the sight of the newborn. The little princess babbled and waved her tiny hands, oblivious to the gravity of the occasion, yet a central figure in the future they were all pledging to support. Maera’s heart swelled with pride and a touch of melancholy as she accepted their congratulations, each kind word a reminder of the responsibilities that now rested on her and Aemond’s shoulders.

What made Maera’s heart soar most was showing her child to her brothers. Faran and Luthor squabbled like children over who would hold Aemara next, their playful banter filling the air with laughter. Maera giggled at their antics, her eyes shining with happiness. Despite the weighty titles and responsibilities, moments like these grounded her in the love of her family.

Though Maera and Aemara were Targaryens, they were also Wyldes. Maera was determined that her daughter should know and appreciate her complete heritage. She watched Luthor cradle Aemara with surprising tenderness, the tiny princess gazing up at her uncle with wide eyes. The sight filled Maera with a deep sense of contentment and belonging.

As she was lost in this tender moment, Maera felt herself being gently pulled away by the arm. Looking up, she saw it was her eldest brother, Guston. Once they were a bit apart from the others, he bid her a respectful bow. His stern yet proud face, so much like their father’s, softened as he looked at her.

“You have birthed a fine Princess, sister,” Guston commented, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

Maera beamed, glancing over her shoulder at Aemara once more before turning back to her brother. “Thank you, Guston. She has brought us such joy,” she said, her voice full of maternal pride.

Guston seemed to hesitate for a moment, his expression turning more serious. “You find yourself in a position that I don’t think anyone expected you to be in, let alone yourself,” he remarked, his tone carefully measured. Maera furrowed her brow, confused by the implication of his words as he continued on. “There are many responsibilities that have now been placed on your shoulders, and I am hopeful your experiences in the past year have made you wiser to your duties.”

Maera’s frustration flared at his insinuation. "Speak plainly, brother," she demanded, her patience wearing thin.

Guston sighed before proclaiming, "Your husband needs a son. The Realm needs an heir." Maera frowned at him, her irritation mounting as he continued. "And feeding your daughter keeps you from returning to the marriage bed. Your duty now is to ensure the succession."

Maera's anger flared, a mix of frustration and indignation boiling within her. The audacity of Guston to invade her privacy and berate her so openly felt like a slap in the face. How dare he question her choices as a mother and wife?

Furious, Maera fixed her brother with a piercing gaze. "Guston," she said sarcastically, "you do an interesting trick." The Lord tilted his head, confusion flickering across his features as his sister continued. “Your lips move yet all I can hear is our father’s voice.”

Guston’s face darkened, his jaw tightening at her rebuke. Maera held his gaze, her anger simmering just beneath the surface, making it clear that while she valued his support, she would not tolerate his overreach into matters so personal and sacred.

Maera huffed at her brother, her patience nearly gone. "Aemara is barely a month old, Guston. Since you seem so eager to insert yourself into my private affairs, let me indulge you."

Guston scoffed, attempting to interrupt her. "Maera, that’s not—"

But Maera raised her hand, silencing him. "Not that you would be aware because you barely pay attention, but birth has massive physical effects on a woman. I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say, my injuries mean I couldn’t return to the marriage bed even if I wanted to."

Guston stuttered, his face flushing with embarrassment. "I-I didn’t mean to..."

Maera shook her head dismissively, her anger still simmering. "Let us not speak of it any further."

The siblings stood awkwardly side by side, the tension between them palpable. They watched the celebrations continue around them, the music and laughter a stark contrast to the strained silence that had settled between them. Maera’s heart ached with frustration and anger, but she pushed it aside, determined to enjoy the rest of the evening with her family and newfound royal duties.

She sighed, looking up at her brother. He was always difficult and stubborn, just like the late Lord Jasper. And yet there was an odd sense of missing life at Rain House, even when her eldest brother was basically a stand-in for their father. Life seemed simpler. Relationships with her siblings were simpler. And whilst she appreciated the sight of her brothers around her, there was one face in particular that she was concerned not to see.

Maera asked, changing the subject to something less contentious. “How is dear Wynni? I am aware she has returned to your care.”

Guston shifted uncomfortably, his stern demeanor faltering. "Subdued mostly."

Maera’s heart ached at his words. Wynni had never been like this, so withdrawn and quiet. She had always been so positive and joyful.

Guston hesitated before continuing, "She barely leaves her chambers, eats little, and talks to nobody, not even our youngest siblings."

A servant appeared with a tray of wine, and Guston eagerly grabbed two goblets, handing one to Maera. She took it, the weight of it grounding her momentarily in the midst of their heavy conversation.

Guston swilled the wine around in his cup, staring into its depths. “She is so…angry. I have never known her to be like this.”

Maera took a sip of her wine, the bitter taste doing little to ease her worry. “No doubt she still blames me for her husband’s death,” she said, her voice tinged with regret.

As she spoke, her mind drifted back to the grim day at Harrenhal. She remembered vividly the sight of Lord Tarly on his knees before her and Aemond, his eyes full of fear and defiance. He had been involved in an assassination attempt, ordered by Daemon Targaryen, and had paid the price for his treachery. The memory was a constant shadow over her thoughts, a reminder of the deadly games they all played and the price others paid for their ambition.

Guston shook his head fervently. “Wynni’s mind has been warped by House Tarly,” he insisted. He paused, a troubled look crossing his face. “Even now, she maintains contact with her old father-in-law and sister-in-law.”

“Nevertheless, knowing she believes it is more than I can bear,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

She looked at Guston, her green eyes wide with a mix of sorrow and determination. “When Wynni seems a bit more herself, she should be sent to join me at Dragonstone. I wish to install her as one of my ladies.”

Maera placed her now empty goblet on the table behind her. “But do not force her, Guston. I do not wish for Wynni to hate me more than she already does.”

Lord Wylde nodded, understanding the delicate nature of the situation. Just then, a bell was rung, signifying that the guests were to take their seats. The solemn conversation was brought to an end by the call to continue the evening’s festivities, leaving Maera with a heavy heart and a mind full of unresolved concerns.

Notes: definitely a plot heavy chapter! we have a new King and Queen, a new banner, new clothes and a new crown. And hello House Wylde 💙 Next chapter we’ll look at a new small council and interviews for a new Grand Maester…which may be an unexpected surprise to those who have been here since the beginning 👀

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Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

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