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azrielbrainrot · 8 months ago

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I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 3

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: When your own identity is challenged you're forced to find an ally in what you thought was the most unlikely place.

Warnings: Angst, Memory loss, mentions of death

Word Count: 5950

Notes: Sorry for the wait but I had to map things out to answer all the questions I started in the previous chapters (set myself up there) and lack of motivation was kicking my ass. Still, I hope you enjoy!

Part 2 ○ Part 4

You were picking at the food on your plate as Azriel stared at you, looking like he'd rather feed you himself. As hungry as you were, everything was hard to stomach. You tried to tell him as much but had only been met with a scolding, he seemed extremely interested in your health. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was content with watching you even if you never actually gave him anything. It seemed like the spymaster wasn't too preoccupied with the fact that he had caught you stealing from his High Lord.

Following your sudden breakdown, Azriel had managed to calm you down enough, insisting that you didn't talk about anything else until you ate and were ready for it. Your eyes still hurt and were probably puffy from the tears that had flowed not even an hour ago, and your head still ached, even if it didn't come anywhere close to the excruciating pain you felt before.

The same feeling as before still crawled under your skin, the same questions swirling around in your mind, but you managed to find your composure after the ache had transformed into something manageable and the tears had dried. Admittedly, you were a bit scared of prying into your mind and triggering the same reaction as before - it really had felt like your brain was trying to forcefully escape your skull.

You were still trying to make sense of everything, denying that you were missing important information wouldn't help you. There was no way Azriel was confusing you for someone else, not with the way your body reacted to him and the dreams you've had for far longer than you've been here. There was also the problem of you being a prisoner in this room, as nice and attentive as your prison guard has been there has to be a punishment waiting for you.

When your head felt like it was going to burst, you could swear someone else had barged into the room but you couldn't stay focused on it or hear what they were saying through your own desperate screams. You think you saw something red glinting, but didn't even make out anyone's form, your vision was too blurry. You're not even sure how many of them walked through the door. By the time you came to and calmed down it was only you and Azriel in the room again, and all you could feel was his arms around you, grounding you.

You bite down on another small piece of sausage, arranged as if they were meant to feed a child - you hadn't seen him cut them but you know it has to be his work - as you remembered how desperate he sounded in that moment. You're not sure if the soothing words he whispered in your ear were meant for you or for himself, he was just short of begging you to be okay. It was a little embarrassing to think about how fragile he had seen you in that moment but it was even worse remembering how intimately he held you.

Looking up at Azriel, you're not surprised to meet his eyes, they haven't left you for longer than a second, it's like he's scared you'll disappear if he looks away. You can still see the concern swirling in the beautiful hazel.

You had so many questions, knew he had even more, but you weren't sure where to even begin. Any hope of him starting to talk was evaporating faster with every second. He had told you he wouldn't bring anything up until you were ready but you thought he'd at least ask about the robbery, start off easy. You couldn't push your doubts aside any longer, it felt like you were both playing a part, ignoring the elephant in the room.

“Azriel?” His name triggers the same reaction every time you say it. You might have to go to a healer if you survive this, having your heart fluttering so often can't be healthy.

“Yes?” He leans closer letting his wings pull in closer to his body, ready to give you his undivided attention.

You've noticed how his wings move with him and can give you small clues on what he might be feeling sometimes, like a cat's ears, perking up or dropping with his emotions. The same happens with his shadows really, moving towards you when they're interested, like a tail you suppose.

“There's something wrong.” His eyes open wide and he's on his feet before you can even blink, standing over you and reaching out for your hand. That might not have been the best way to start.

“What's wrong?” He holds onto your wrist, feeling for your pulse. “Does it hurt again?”

“No, nothing hurts,” you try to calm him down, cheeks slightly flushed. “I mean this.” You gesture between the two of you, hoping he's aware of the terrified expression on his face. “You're worried about me.” He visibly relaxes at that, understanding you're not physically hurting again.

“Of course, I am.” He sits on the side of the bed, never letting go of your wrist but holding onto it a little softer, drawing circles with his thumb over your skin. You're not even sure if he's doing it on purpose, or if it simply comes naturally.

“Why would you be?” You have an idea of the answer, he's already made it more than clear that he knows you very well. “I thought you'd be guarding me to make sure I didn't escape but you've been taking care of me instead.”

His eyes roam over your desperate face, taking notice of every expression you make. He's probably scared of saying something that will send you into the same state as before, clawing at your head to stop, but you can see how much he wants to tell you, to stop pretending.

“You're my wife,” he admits, a small smile playing on his lips right after, like saying the word is enough to make him happy, and looks down at his hand still wrapped around your wrist, running his thumb down the veins to the palm of your hand, loosely holding it instead.

“I don't…” You thought there had to be some sort of romantic relationship between you and him, or the person he thinks you are, but you didn't expect him to say wife. “I've never been married.” You never even thought it would be a possibility with your job.

Him thinking you're his wife definitely answers a lot of questions, mostly the reason why you aren't in a dark dungeon after what you've done to them, but it just opens up a whole other box of chaos.

You set the plate aside, knowing you can't keep any more food down with the way the conversation has to go. You wish you could just crawl into your own bed, in your own home and wait until all of this mess passes. Running a hand down your face, you steel yourself, recognizing you need to get to the bottom of this, not only for your sake but his as well. Whatever was at play here was larger than you could have imagined.

“I don't remember you at all, Azriel,” you admit. He just nods, almost pouting, without looking away from your hand still clutched in his. “But I've dreamt about you.” He perks up at that, surprised eyes darting up to meet yours.

“I dream about you almost every night,” he admits softly, a reddish tint covering the tips of his ears.

“If I'm supposed to be your wife, should I be offended that it's not every night?” The lame joke does nothing to ease your nerves, as you intended, but the blinding smile he rewards you with certainly makes the next words easier to come out.

“What you called me before… that's not my name,” you continue slowly, “My name is Maya.”

“Maya,” he tries it out but the discomfort is obvious on his face. To your surprise, you don't like how it sounds coming from him either, while every other word he utters sounds like honey.

“I know that's my name. I know I'ver never been here or met you before,” you explain, “I know I never married you either. I can account for every year of my life, there are no gaps in my memories. You're not in any of them, neither is this house,” you look into his eyes the whole time, squeezing his hand slightly, wanting him to feel your sincerity, “but there's something wrong.”

He studies your face with an unreadable expression. If this whole situation is hard for you to wrap your head around, you can't imagine what it is like looking in from the outside. The only reason you believed him was because of your body's response to him, but all he can see is a female who looks just like his wife yet doesn't recognize him.

His hand leaves yours as he takes the ring he was wearing off slowly, taking your hand and depositing it on your palm gently.

“What's this?” It's a simple silver ring, worn out from what you assume is years of training and fighting while wearing it. Your heart palpitations come back the longer you study it, you know it.

“My wedding ring,” he almost whispers, “You had yours when…” You look up at him and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, “I don't have it.”

You nod and let it fall on your finger, in place of where your own wedding ring would be. It's too big on you, it would likely be too loose even if you had put it on your thumb, but you almost don't want to take it off. Goosebumps spread all over your body, your heart rate picking up.

“Do you feel anything?”

“I'm not sure I can explain it,” you breathe, not fully understanding the reaction your body has to him.

“Try me,” he insisted.

“Ever since I heard about this mission and stepped foot into this city, it feels like my brain is screaming at me to remember something really important but I can't,” you say, watching the way the wedding band hangs around your finger, “and when I put this ring on just now.” You hold up your hand for him to see, the light catching on it.

You look up at him before continuing, “When I first saw you. When you told me your name. When I… When I stabbed you.” Your eyes travel to his stomach, where an open wound had been just a few hours ago. “I feel a pain in my chest.” It makes itself known again as you think of the way his blood had dripped down your hands. “Holding the ring feels right. Saying your name feels right. But hurting you… didn't.” You take a deep breath in, knowing there's no going back, “So, as insane as this whole situation is, I think I believe you, Azriel.”

The admission lingers in the air as both of you feel its weight. Acknowledging the particular situation you've found yourselves in is only the beginning. Now you must try to understand what happened and how to fix things, if you want that. Part of recognizing what Azriel told you as the truth comes with accepting that some of your life was a lie, and, at this moment, you have no tangible evidence for what is real or not aside from the goosebumps you get when the male in front of you touches you. You don't even know who you truly are.

“If you say I'm your wife then what made me leave?”

“You didn't,” the hesitation is almost tangible in his tone, “I thought you were dead.” Your hand immediately shoots up to your neck, feeling the softened scar under your fingertips. The movement seems to break the dam holding his emotions in check, making everything flow out at once.

“I don't know what happened,” he lets go of you and stands up, running a hand through his hair and pacing around as he explained with an anguished voice, “It was a simple mission. We never found out how exactly but it looked like you were taken by surprise and attacked by bandits. My shadows told me they couldn't sense you so I went to meet you but when I got there all I saw was blood. There was so much blood.”

When he meets your eyes again you can clearly see the tears gathering in them, the pain that still lingers from recalling that moment.

“I looked for you. We all did. We searched in every corner of the world, I sent spies everywhere. We found the bandits and made them talk but when they left your body was still there and your throat was cut.” His wings droop, the bottoms of it touching the floor. Azriel looks defeated. “We thought you were dead. I tried denying it for a while but it came to a point where I couldn't anymore. But now you're here and I- Fuck. I should have kept looking. I shouldn't have given up so easily.”

“Azriel,” you call for him, bringing his attention back to you. The desperation and raw pain in his voice were breaking your heart. “Whatever happened wasn't your fault.”

“I should have found you,” he whispers, completely contrasting with his tone mere moments before.

“You thought I was dead.” The words are hard to form, and you can't linger on them too long. You always knew the injury you suffered was severe, that it had been near miraculous that you survived but finding out there were people out there that truly believed you were dead was chilling. “This whole situation still feels impossible, there's no way you could have known I was still alive.”

He nods at you, but you can clearly see he can't let go of it. The attentiveness and overprotection he's been showing you makes much more sense now. Azriel sits on the chair he has barely left since you were brought to this room. He seems to try to regain his composure, combing back the hair he had tousled and bringing his wings up closer to his body again. But his eyes don't meet yours like before.

You fall back against the headboard, the impact softened by the pillows he fluffled out for you, picking at his wedding ring still on your finger. You feel like you're going insane. Maybe letting the guild find you wouldn't be so bad, at least they'd put you out of your misery. Though it's hard to ignore the fact that they seem to be the ones who put you in this situation, letting you live a lie for almost a century.

“It's been a century since then,” you repeated aloud, “And you still…” Love me? You wanted to say, but that wasn't really you, not for now at least. You don't remember anything of your time together, or about yourself. Maybe the only thing that survived was your body. There's a possibility that the female he loved had actually died, that he'll never fully get her back even if you regain your memories.

“I told you,” the smile you witnessed earlier comes back to his face, even if with only half the prior intensity, “I dream about you almost every night.”

“This doesn't make any sense.” You had moved to sit cross legged over the covers, tired of laying in bed when your body wasn't even hurting. Nibbling on a chocolate cookie the House, who Azriel told you is sort of sentient, gave you.

“I know.” He had calmed down since his outburst, going back to what you assume is closer to his usual demeanor, though he might not always act the same as when his dead wife is sitting across from him. His shadows seemed to have relaxed as well, most of them had left him in favor of swirling around the room like smoke. “When I saw you in the living room, I thought you came back.”

“But I came to rob you instead.”

He lets out a chuckle, “I couldn't have imagined that in my wildest dreams.” His gaze turns a bit more serious before he adds, “my High Lord and High Lady want to speak to you.”

“I figured as much.” You were actually surprised they hadn't shown up yet, the sun was already close to setting. “Did you tell them you think I'm your wife?”

“They know. You and Rhys were friends too.”

The thought that you could be friends with a High Lord is almost laughable, but so was being married to his shadowsinger and yet the fluttering of your heart every time he speaks to you in that deep, soft voice of his doesn't lie.

You think for a bit, remembering the information you had been granted before coming on your mission. Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, the most powerful one in history and the bearer of one of the most sought-after and frightening abilities - daemati. It's said his mate, the recently turned fae, Feyre Archeron, shares the same talent.

“Is it true that he's a daemati?” He simply nods, knowing you're following his train of thought.

“You want him to look into my head.”

“He might be able to find out what happened to you,” he nods, “the reason you forgot me, forgot us.”

“And you're sure he'll want to help me after what I did? He looked pretty mad when I saw him last night,” you say as you chew on your lip.

Granting him passage into your mind might be more than a leap of faith. You've found it easy to talk to Azriel, to trust him, but you haven't met anyone else, and can't trust they won't want to hurt you. Azriel seemed to not care much about your initial reason for coming to the court or even what you did to him but you can't expect everyone to feel the same, even if they had been your friends a century ago. And a daemati could break you beyond repair, even just seeing their abilities in action has always left you unsettled.

“Rhys won't hurt you,” he tells you, his face showing he has no doubts about his words.

“It's not like I have much of a choice anyway,” you brush the crumbs off your nightgown, stretching your legs and moving until you are sitting at the edge of the mattress. It brought you closer to him, your knees brushing his, the feeling of the leather feeling oh so familiar against your bare skin, making your next words come out breathier than you wanted them to, “You can call them.”

Something flashes across his tantalizing eyes when he looks down at your bare legs, noting the change in your tone, but it disappears when he looks back at you, nodding softly and letting his eyelids shut as if to level himself. Some of his shadows come back to him and, as his silence prolongs, you realize he must be speaking to them in his mind, calling his High Lord just as you asked.

The pressure in the room changes as soon as he opens his eyes, the air getting harder to breathe. It's not as strong as what you'd felt the night before but the tamed magic is enough to have the hairs on the back of your neck stand, and a shiver to run down your spine. You truly hope Azriel is right about them.

Azriel stands just as the door opens to reveal his High Lord followed closely by his mate. His unreadable purple eyes study your stiff form, walking inside the room and letting Feyre close the door behind them. She seems more serene, not showing any obvious hostility towards you but you know not to underestimate the human who freed the fae of Prythian.

You stand when they stop in front of you, not letting fear make you appear weak. If they chose to hold you accountable for your actions you would accept their punishment head on.

The first word out of the High Lord's lips is the same name Azriel had called you before, and the same feeling of deja vu consumes you once more.

“Maya,” you correct. His head tilts to the side briefly, before looking over at Azriel who is watching the scene unfold warily.

“Well Maya,” his eyes meet yours again, “Are you going to explain why I've found you lurking around my house?” The venom was clear in his voice, but you expected as much.

“I was sent here on a mission,” you say as emotionlessly as you can, just like the guild taught you, “I was supposed to find an ancient book with a particular set of runes, it seems it belonged to your grandfather.” You hope the lack of information doesn't make you appear suspicious because it truly is the only thing the guild had deemed enough for you to be able to complete your mission. “Since I failed the mission, they've probably already sent assassins after me, in case I tell you or anyone about them.”

“No one is going to hurt you,” Azriel promises, anger rising at the mention of someone wanting to kill you.

“You were in the wrong place for that,” the High Lord responds after a moment, and watching Azriel's reaction. “The book is in the library under this House.”

“It doesn't matter now.”

“You're right, it doesn't. What I want to know is where you've been all these years and why you attacked my brother.”

The pressure in the room increased again but you could now see it was the result of him trying to hold his power down even though his temper was rising.

“Rhys,” his mate warns, but it falls on deaf ears, his striking eyes never leaving yours.

“I don't remember you or him,” you admit.

“So he's told me.” Rhysand didn't sound too convinced. “You won't mind if I check for myself right?” He barely made it sound like a question but you nod in answer all the same.

Black talons scrape along your mental walls as soon as you give him permission, you lower them for him, pushing everything the guild taught you aside, inviting the enemy straight into your mind. If they could see you now you would definitely be mocked and executed on the spot.

His presence is barely felt in your mind before a sharp pain takes your senses, similar to the one you'd felt before. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands moving to hold your head. Scarred hands are on you immediately, holding you up against a strong body before your knees meet the ground. As the talons retreat from your mind, the pressure lessens and you take a few deep breaths before opening your eyes.

When you manage to blink away the wetness making your vision blurry, you find the High Lord looking at you with wide eyes, remorse clear on his face and his mate holding onto his arm.

“What did you do to her?” Azriel's voice was rough with barely restrained anger.

The High Lord ignores him, looking into your eyes as he explains with a notably softer tone than earlier, “There is something blocking your memories. When I tried to bypass it… It hurt you.”

“What does that mean?” Your voice was scratchy, a dull ache lingering in your head. You lean away from Azriel and sit back on the mattress. No use trying to act tough, you're truly at their mercy.

“It means I can't access your memories for the time being,” the change in his demeanor would give you whiplash if the pain you were feeling gave way long enough for you to focus on anything else, “I've never seen anything like this, there's no way of knowing what it can do to you.”

“I think your memories aren't only being blocked,” he's still speaking directly at you but you can't really wrap your mind around anything at the moment, letting them discuss amongst themselves. “They're being overwritten at the same time.”

“That's why she forgot Azriel but remembers her life at the guild?”

“I've never heard of anything like that,” Azriel's voice sounds further away, you almost want to reach out and pull him back to you.

“Me neither,” the High Lord admits, watching your crouched form warily. “We'll have to ask Amren and research it in the library but it's the only explanation.” You find yourself nodding, even if you don't know Amren you understand the ancient creature might be able to help, if she wants to that is.

“At least your mental walls are still intact. They're the same ones I taught you to build.”

“No, I learned at the guild,” you finally look up at him, sweat still covering your forehead.

“There's still an open channel, like an open door for me to be able to talk to you.” So I can do this. You can't help but jump slightly at the sound of his voice in your mind, and the promise of a smile twitches on his lips. It doesn't go unnoticed that the talons moved a lot more carefully in your mind, almost tenderly.

“You're staying in this house until we can be sure you're not a threat.” His eyes move to Azriel's, an unimpressed look taking over his face at the scowl the shadowsinger sends him. “In the meantime you can fill Azriel in on everything you can about the guild. I want to know if there's a chance they'll try to attack us again.”

“We'll try to find any information on what is blocking your memories and keep you safe from the guild in exchange,” the High Lady adds, “It's a fair trade for both parties.”

You can't tell if she's saying it to convince you or her mate but appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. Also noticing how she omits the biggest reason for this mutual cooperation - the shadowsinger standing by your side.

⋆｡°✩°｡⋆

His hair was still wet when he started dressing himself, not wanting to leave you waiting for too long, as much as he hated to admit it he wasn't too happy about leaving you with Feyre either. He can tell everyone is still suspicious of you, even after Rhys tried to read into her memories to find nothing, stuck between their memories and stories they heard about you and the image of you stabbing a knife through his stomach.

Azriel knows his High Lady, his friend, wouldn't hurt you, but you're in a complicated situation at the moment and he doesn't want to find out what that guild has taught you to do in cases such as these, doesn't even want to think what Feyre would do to stop you. She didn't know you before, meaning she wouldn't have any reason to hold back if not for his sake - something he knows she wouldn't put above saving Velaris, he would never ask that of her either.

It's hard to accept he doesn't know how you'll react in certain situations, there was a time he knew you better than he knew himself. Now, he can't even begin to understand what you must have been through working for a world known assassin guild.

He'd obviously heard about them before, he wouldn't be a decent Spymaster if he hadn't. There wasn't much information on them, no one knew how large the group even was since there were rumors other groups were actually integrated in the guild. Names for it vary as well.

Even if you hadn't tried to steal from his High Lord, he knows he'll have to try getting as much information about them from you as he can, for his court's sake, and he can only pray you'll give it to him willingly or he'll have to let go of his position.

He doesn't know how you've been able to bear the guilt a job like this brings. As much as you've forgotten, your personality didn't seem to change a lot. You always reminded him of Cassian at times like these, gratuitous killing had never been for you. He hopes you don't have to deal with the torment he had been through in the first decades of working for the former High Lord, his soul had never recovered from everything he'd seen and done during that time.

Noticing his shadows reach up his shoulders, he physically shakes the dark thoughts out of his brain. Everything has been going better than expected, not only did you agree to cooperate but Rhys had given you the benefit of the doubt. You also agreed to have dinner with him so you could talk more.

He just told you he'd be joining you for dinner, omitting how excited, downright giddy, he felt at just the idea. It had been so long since you two shared a meal, talking for hours while enjoying the tasty food the House prepared for you.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd been this nervous for an outing, even if it wasn't exactly that - it was simply a trip to one of the House of Wind's guest rooms. Going as far as picking clothes in your favorite colors on him, letting the top buttons on his shirt undone because he knows how much you liked seeing the beginnings of his swirling bargain marks.

All of this could be for nothing, you don't remember him after all, but, he was almost certain your body did in some way and it gave him hope. You calmed down in his arms just as you did a century ago, said his name in the same sweet cadence and never shied away from his touch, from his hands. His shadows told him as much. Sang to him about the way goosebumps rose in your skin at his touch and attentiveness, how your thoughts and intuition warred in his favor. He refused to let his thoughts deter him.

When he gets to the room he sees you and Feyre standing by the dresser, almost wanting to apologize for winnowing in instead of knocking first, but he can't seem to find any words as he sees you've changed as well, ditching the nightgown in favor of a sleeveless dress that went down to your knees. The cobalt blue was as striking against your skin as he remembered, the garment in itself was simple enough yet in his eyes you had never looked so stunning.

Feyre must have been the one to give you the dress, he was only surprised it had taken her so long to meddle in your relationship. If there were any doubts, they were quickly answered when she threw him a knowing smile before excusing herself from the room.

“I'm guessing the blue is supposed to match those gems you wear.”

“Siphons,” he offers, entranced by the way you walk closer to him, the silky fabric moving with your body and giving you an ethereal glow.

“Did I used to do that a lot?”

“Yes.” He observes the way your eyes run over his body, lingering on the unbuttoned shirt. Seems like his old tricks still work. “I always loved seeing you in blue.”

You tilt your head to the side slightly, biting the inside of your lip the way you always did. He tries to stand as still as possible without appearing too awkward, making sure you knew it was alright to do with him anything that crossed your pretty brain. You seem to make up your mind as you walk closer to him.

“Can I see them?” You hold up your palm and he holds his hand over it without hesitation, letting you grab onto his hand to study the glowing siphon. The swirling light shone in your eyes and he can't help but be reminded of the first time you asked him to do the same exact thing shortly after meeting him.

“All Illyrian warriors have them,” he explains, “They're used to help us control our powers.”

“It's beautiful.” He tries not to let his wings twitch as you now hold his hand with both of yours. “I don't think I've seen anything like this before.”

“You have,” he can't help the somber smile that crosses his face. The reminder makes you look away from his hand to watch him, a conflicted expression falling over your pretty face. “You always liked them.”

The abrupt change in the atmosphere has him asking the house to get the room ready for your dinner. Not being able to hide the smile as he watches your amazed expression at the table that pops up beside you, full of delicious looking food and decorated with candlesticks, the faelights around the room dim in favor of the candlelight.

“I only asked for the food,” he admits with a bashful expression. He's glad you can't tell that, aside from the candles, the plates were also some of the fanciest ones. The House was going all out for the two of you.

He uses the grip you had on his hand to guide you to the chair and help you sit before making his way to his own seat, settling down and giving order for the House to serve both of you. Letting himself enjoy every little expression you made as you eat and listening to anything you felt like telling him, also answering all your questions about the House and the food.

He knows this doesn't have the same meaning to you as it does to him, knows that, as much as you don't seem to hate his company, you're more interested in finding out more about the version of you in his memories, trying to make sense of your own identity. It's hard to imagine how this whole thing must feel for you, finding out half of your life was made up and that you forgot such an important part of it. Still, this must be the best night he's had in a century.

You set your elbows on the table and rest your face on your hands, watching him with undivided attention as he tells you about his sparring match with Cassian. Your eyes don't leave his face after he finishes, appearing lost in thought. He lets you gather them, relishing in the comfortable silence. He'd be content with simply watching you for eternity.

You let out a soft sigh and lean back against the chair, closing your eyes for a few seconds before meeting his gaze again.

“What happens if I never remember you, Azriel?” Your voice barely above a whisper.

The question and the uncertainty in your voice as you asked it make him pause. He keeps trying to push back the thought that you won't regain your memories but it seems you were having the same doubts.

Just last week, he wouldn't have believed having you back was even a possibility, so getting your memories back can't be out of reach, it just can't. He was ready to give his life to make it so.

Still, he witnessed how painful it had been for you when Rhys simply tried to access your memories, he'd also told him trying harder, forcefully, could break your mind completely. If their research doesn't go well, if they can't find who did this to you, there might not be another way of bringing your memories back.

But he'd sooner die than live another day without you, whether your memories come back or not.

“I'll make you fall for me again.”

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#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #divider by saradika

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kckt88 · 14 days ago

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Scorched Hearts VII

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

Jacaerys makes a discovery about Valaena which leads Rhaenyra to question her ability as a mother.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Grief, Anger, Mention of Death, Kissing, Smut, Oral Sex.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 5950

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A few days after Rhaenyra’s coronation as Queen in the dragon pit, Jace stood in the dimly lit chambers that had once belonged to Aemond, watching the maids quietly pack away his uncle’s belongings.

The room felt oppressive, heavy with the weight of its former occupant, and Jace couldn’t shake the feeling that he was intruding on something deeply personal.

Daemon had suggested that they burn everything—an idea Jace had readily agreed with, especially when his mother had made the decision to purge the Red Keep of the green regalia and restore it to its former Targaryen heritage, with red and black now decorating its walls and the dragon statutes restored to their rightful place.

But Rhaenyra had refused to burn Aemond's personal effects, instead she had ordered that his possessions be placed into storage.

Jace hadn’t understood her reasoning, and standing there now, surrounded by the remnants of Aemond’s life, he felt a strange mixture of hatred and discomfort.

He hated Aemond for what he had done, for what his uncle had cost him.

But here, in this space Jace found himself unsettled. It was clear that Aemond had spent a great deal of time here.

The shelves were filled with books and tomes on history and philosophy. Jace’s eyes wandered to the weapons cabinet in the corner, filled with meticulously maintained swords and daggers, each one gleaming as though they were cleaned daily.

Even the wardrobe reflected Aemond’s disciplined nature—boots, breeches, and leather jerkins, all dark green or black, hung in neat, precise rows.

Everything about the room screamed order and control—just like the man who had once lived here.

As the maids cleared one of the bedside tables, something caught his eye—a worn, old book.

He picked it up and frowned, flipping through the pages. It was written in High Valyrian, a history of the dragon lords of Old Valyria.

Jace wasn’t as fluent in the ancient tongue as his mother or Daemon, or even his sister Valaena, but he knew enough to recognize some of the words.

Jace blinked, trying to make sense of it. To book was familiar—he’d seen it before, in Valaena’s chambers on Dragonstone.

His brow furrowed as he opened the book to find handwriting scrawled on one of the pages, unmistakably in Valaena’s hand.

‘Lanta prūmi, mēre ābrar, hēnkirī va moriot’ (Two hearts, one life, together always).

What was her book doing here? More troubling, why had she written something so intimate, something about hearts and togetherness, in a book that now sat on Aemond’s bedside table?

"Why would she give this to Aemond?" Jace whispered under his breath, confusion gnawing at him.

Before he could dwell on it further, one of the maids approached him nervously. "Prince Jacaerys, the bottom drawer of the desk won’t open. It seems to be locked."

Jace nodded, feeling a surge of curiosity. He withdrew his sword, carefully fitting the blade into the gap at the top of the drawer.

With a grunt, he forced it down, and with a loud snap, the lock broke.

Kneeling down, Jace opened the drawer and found letters—dozens of them—along with dried flower petals and a handkerchief.

His breath caught in his throat as he picked up the cotton handkerchief, recognizing the messy stitching in the corner: A & V.

"Aemond and Valaena?" Jace whispered, his heart pounding in his chest.

He shoved the handkerchief into his pocket and turned to the letters.

The parchment was worn and faded, some of them clearly old, but the handwriting was unmistakable.

They were all from Valaena.

Jace's mind reeled. His sister had been writing to Aemond, and for years by the look of it.

Some of the letters were mundane, talking about daily life at Dragonstone or the weather, but others-others were filled with declarations of love, of devotion.

His hands trembled as he read the lines. That spoke of a place—a cabin called "our place."

"Was that where she disappeared to all those times?" Jace asked himself, his voice thick with disbelief. "Was she meeting Aemond?"

His stomach twisted in knots. None of it made sense.

Aemond was the cause of Valaena’s death, the one who had stolen her life.

How could she have been involved with him?

Jace slammed the drawer shut, his heart racing. He couldn’t bring this to his mother, not yet. It would break her, and he couldn’t bear to add to her pain.

But he couldn’t ignore it either. Aemond was gone, but Aegon still lived, and if anyone knew anything about his brother’s secrets, it would be him.

Jace grabbed the old book, shoving it under his arm, and turned to the maids.

"Leave the desk as it is," he ordered sharply. "Do not touch anything inside."

Without waiting for a response, Jace strode out of the room, his mind filled with questions he dreaded finding answers to.

He needed to speak to Aegon—now.

Jace barged into Aegon’s newly assigned chambers, a decent enough space, though nowhere near as grand as the ones in Maegor’s Holdfast.

The smell of wine hung thick in the air, and there, sprawled on a chair with a cup in hand, sat Aegon, already well into his cups.

Without even turning to look, Aegon sighed. "Don't you ever knock, nephew?"

Jace scoffed, taking in the sight of his uncle, lazily drowning himself in wine. "I see you've reverted back to type. Didn't take you long."

Aegon rose from the chair, sauntering over to pour himself another drink. "I'm doing what I do best," he said with a lazy grin, swirling the wine in his cup. "Getting drunk and staying the fuck out of the way. I’d rather not run into your madman of a stepfather. I do not wish to give him a reason to make me a head shorter."

"So, you're content to be confined to King's Landing for the rest of your days?" Jace asked, his voice tight with disgust.

Aegon raised his cup and chuckled, "Happy as a pig in shit, nephew. Plenty of wine and whores. What more could I ask for?"

"Time with your wife and children," Jace shot back, his tone icy.

Aegon’s smile faded, and he frowned, casting a dismissive glance at Jace. "I love Helaena—as my sister. But I can’t love her as a wife. We reached an understanding long ago. She gets to be a mother, and I get to-indulge my many vices. My half sister being queen isn't quite the decent into war that my grandsire predicted-"

Jace shook his head, disappointed but not surprised. "There's actually a reason why I’m here," he said, voice firm.

Aegon took a leisurely sip of his wine. "And what reason is that nephew?"

Jace’s expression darkened as he spoke, "Lanta prūmia, mēre ābrar, hēnkirī va moriot."

Aegon furrowed his brow, then chuckled. "Gods, your pronunciation is shit-"

"Just tell me what it means," Jace snapped.

Aegon set down his cup, a smirk curling his lips. "Two hearts, one life, together always."

Jace’s jaw clenched. "I found this book in Aemond’s chambers."

Aegon raised an eyebrow. "So what?"

"It once belonged to my sister."

Aegon’s eyes widened, but only slightly. "How-interesting."

Jace's anger boiled over as he threw the book at Aegon, who caught it deftly.

Aegon opened it, his eyes scanning the handwritten message from Valaena.

“What do you know?” asked Jace.

Aegon closed the book and shrugged. "My brother was fucking your sister. What else is there to know?"

Jace’s fists clenched at his sides. "Aegon."

Aegon sighed dramatically, swirling the wine in his cup before taking a long gulp. "Ohhh, you want to know how long it’s been going on for? Well, I can’t say for sure. But if I had to guess? Probably years."

"Years?" Jace echoed, the word bitter on his tongue.

Aegon nodded, taking another indulgent sip of his wine. "Like I said, it’s just a guess. I could be wrong-but I rather doubt it"

"-And why's that?"

"Oh I don't know maybe it's the fact that Aemond would take off on Vhagar for hours on end or the way he would go all cunt struck at the mere mention of Valaena's name-or how I caught him multiple times fucking his fist and calling her name. Pick one-"

"You are so disgusting" said Jace wrinkling his nose.

"Hey-you asked " replied Aegon shrugging.

Jace’s mind raced, piecing together the implications. "You know Valaena would also disappear for hours on end with Silverwing-"

"-See there you go" said Aegon.

"Why didn’t she say anything?" Jace asked, more to himself than to Aegon.

Aegon chuckled darkly. "You’ve got to be joking. Their relationship would never have been accepted. You know that."

"I would have understood," Jace protested. "I would—"

"-No, you wouldn’t," Aegon interrupted, his voice suddenly sharp. "You're only saying that now because she's dead. But deep down, you know they would have been viciously ripped apart if anyone found out. You’d have been the first to stand in their way."

Jace wanted to argue, to tell Aegon he was wrong, but the words died in his throat. He knew Aegon was right.

Had Valaena’s relationship with Aemond been discovered while they were still alive, their families would have torn them apart, by force if necessary.

"But Aemond killed her," Jace whispered, his voice trembling with pain.

Aegon’s gaze softened for just a moment. "No. They killed each other."

"Why?" Jace demanded, his voice hoarse.

Aegon drained his cup and stared into the empty vessel. "Because it was the only way they could be together."

Jace felt his chest tighten with grief, anger, and confusion. "What do I tell my mother?"

Aegon looked at him, his face devoid of sympathy. "Tell her nothing. You’ll only do more harm by revealing the truth."

"Doesn't she deserve to know?" Jace pressed, desperate for answers.

Aegon shrugged, unconcerned. "Maybe. But what purpose would it serve?"

"To have everyone stop blaming Aemond for my sister’s death," Jace said, his voice rising.

Aegon shook his head with a bitter laugh. "People are going to blame him no matter what you say-"

"But he's your brother," Jace growled. "Surely you would want people to know the truth."

Aegon’s eyes darkened, and he met Jace’s gaze coldly. "What’s the point? It’s not like Aemond is ever going to know otherwise, is it?"

Jace scoffed, disgusted. "You really are a cunt."

Aegon raised his cup in a mock toast, a sly grin spreading across his face. "It’s what I do best."

With a snarl, Jace snatched the book back and stormed out of the room, leaving Aegon to his wine and indifference.

A week later, Jace sat in his chambers in the Red Keep, staring at the pile of letters spread out before him.

The weight of the decision he was about to make pressed heavily on his shoulders. Two days earlier, he had journeyed to Dragonstone, determined to find the truth.

He had searched Valaena’s chambers, tearing the room apart until he finally discovered the hidden compartment, she had used to conceal her correspondence with Aemond.

Upon returning to King’s Landing, he had sequestered himself away, poring over the letters—each one revealing the depth of the secret relationship between Aemond and his sister.

At first, he considered burning them all, erasing the truth from history, and letting everyone continue to believe the narrative that Aemond was the villain, and Valaena, the noble daughter who had sacrificed herself for her queen and family.

It would have been easier that way. He hated Aemond—there was no denying that.

Aemond was still, in some way, responsible for Valaena’s death.

Regardless of the complicated truth, Jace couldn’t shake the anger he felt towards his uncle.

But the more he read the letters, the more he realized it wasn’t that simple. His hatred for Aemond ran deep, but beneath that was something far more unsettling—jealousy.

Jace had buried his feelings for Valaena long ago, knowing they were unreturned.

But her death, combined with the revelation of her long-standing love affair with Aemond, had rekindled something dark inside him.

As he read through the letters—her words of love, her longing for Aemond, the secret meetings they’d had for years—Jace's anger simmered.

His sister had loved Aemond deeply, far more than he had ever realized.

Aegon had been right all along. Their relationship had flourished right under everyone’s noses, and Jace hated it.

He hated the thought of Aemond kissing her, touching her, sharing something intimate that no one else had been privy to.

But beneath the resentment and jealousy, a cold truth dawned on him: this wasn’t about him. It never had been.

It was about Valaena and what she wanted, and it was clear in the letters that she had wanted Aemond.

Her love for him was genuine, undeniable. And if Jace was honest with himself, his anger and jealousy didn’t matter.

Not anymore. Valaena had made her choice, and that choice had been Aemond.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as his thoughts raced. He had a decision to make.

It would have been easy to keep the truth buried, to let Aemond bear the weight of being the villain.

But Jace couldn’t do it. As much as he loathed the one-eyed cunt, he knew Valaena wouldn’t have wanted Aemond remembered that way.

It wasn’t the truth, and no matter how painful it was, his sister deserved to have her story told.

With a heavy sigh, Jace reached for a handful of the letters, the ones that clearly revealed the depth of Aemond and Valaena’s relationship.

His hand trembled slightly as he gathered them up. He knew what he had to do, even if it tore him apart inside.

He stood, the letters clutched tightly in his hand, and made his way toward his mother’s chambers.

The walk felt like a march toward something inevitable, something he couldn’t avoid any longer.

Rhaenyra had to know the truth. It wouldn’t be an easy conversation—far from it—but she needed to know.

And as much as Jace hated it, Aemond didn’t deserve to be remembered as the sole villain in this tragedy.

Not after everything he had read.

As he approached Rhaenyra’s door, he took a deep breath, steadying himself for what was to come.

This truth, painful as it was, would be a burden he would carry for the rest of his life.

But Valaena’s memory—and the complicated love she had shared with Aemond—deserved to be honoured, even if it meant rewriting the narrative of her death.

He knocked softly, and when the door opened, he stepped inside, ready to reveal the truth that would change everything.

Rhaenyra sat at her desk, the letters from Valaena strewn before her, each word cutting deeper into her heart.

She had read through them all, had listened as Jace told her everything he had uncovered about her daughter’s secret love affair with Aemond.

She could barely comprehend it. The realization that Valaena had been in love with Aemond, that they had been together in secret for years—and the idea that they had willingly gone to their deaths, believing it was the only way they could be together—was almost too much to bear.

Her hands shook as she clutched one of the letters, her daughter’s handwriting clear and delicate, full of passion and love.

How had she not seen it? What sort of mother had she been, that her own daughter hadn’t felt she could confide in her?

The weight of that question crushed her, made her heart ache in ways she didn’t know were possible.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she thought of Valaena—her sweet, kind, beautiful daughter—lost in a world where she felt she had to hide everything.

She let out a broken sob, the pain too much to hold in. Her chest heaved with grief as the truth settled over her like a suffocating fog.

All the signs had been there. Valaena disappearing for hours on end, flying off with Silverwing, the way she had looked at Aemond during their dance at the feast, the distant look in her eyes before she had left for Storm’s End.

Rhaenyra realized now that Valaena hadn’t been saying she would see her later—she had been saying goodbye.

“My girl,” Rhaenyra sobbed, her voice trembling. “My little girl.”

Jace, who had been watching silently, immediately crossed the room and wrapped his arms around his mother.

His own tears were falling, though he tried to stay strong for her. He hushed her softly, holding her as she wept, their shared grief a palpable thing.

The room was filled with the sound of Rhaenyra’s heart-wrenching cries, the agony of a mother who had lost not only her daughter but also the truth of her life.

Just then, a soft knock interrupted them. Maester Gerardys entered the room quietly, his face full of concern as he looked between mother and son.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Your Grace,” he said gently. “But the tonic for your stomach pain is ready.” He placed a small vial on the desk.

Rhaenyra wiped at her tear-streaked face, trying to pull herself together. “Thank you, Maester,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

"Is everything ok Your Grace?" asked Gerardys concerned.

Rhaenyra glanced at the letters scattered before her and added, “I’ve recently discovered something about Valaena, and—”

But before she could finish, Gerardys spoke again, his voice hesitant. “You know of the child, then?”

Rhaenyra froze, as did Jace. They turned to him, confusion and disbelief written on their faces.

“C-Child?” Rhaenyra repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “What child?”

Maester Gerardys looked suddenly uncomfortable, his hands wringing together.

“The Princess came to me, days before her death,” he explained, choosing his words carefully. “She was feeling unwell, and upon examining her, I discovered she was with child.”

Rhaenyra felt the room spin, her knees weakening. Valaena had been pregnant—carrying Aemond’s child—and no one had told her.

She collapsed into the nearest chair, her heart breaking all over again. Her hands covered her mouth, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

The pain was unbearable.

Jace, who had been standing beside her, turned away, his hands gripping his head as he tried to process the revelation.

It all made sense now.

Valaena's visit to the Maester, her avoiding wine at the feast and then her feeling sick.

Plus the reason why Valaena and Aemond had done what they did, why they had chosen death over life in a world that would never accept them.

They hadn’t just wanted to be together—they had wanted to protect their love, their child, in the only way they knew how.

Rhaenyra’s voice shook as she spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked Gerardys, her eyes wide with hurt.

“The Princess swore me to secrecy,” Gerardys explained quietly. “She feared that moon tea would be forced upon her if anyone found out.”

Rhaenyra’s heart shattered again. Her daughter had been so afraid, so lost, that she hadn’t even come to her own mother for help.

“She could have come to me,” Rhaenyra wept. “I would have protected her. I would have done anything-”

Gerardys offered a polite bow and quietly excused himself, leaving mother and son to their grief.

Rhaenyra collapsed further into her chair, her hands trembling as they clutched at her skirts. “My daughter-she was carrying Aemond’s child, Jace. Gods how did it come to this?”

Jace’s voice was tight with emotion as he spoke. “We can’t let history paint Aemond as the villain,” he said. “Valaena wouldn’t want that.”

Rhaenyra looked at her son, eyes full of anguish. “What should I do?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

Jace knelt before her, taking her hands in his. “Have them write the truth. That Aemond and Valaena were two hearts that lived one life, and now they reside together always.”

Rhaenyra’s tears fell harder, but she nodded, knowing that her daughter’s story—the real story—deserved to be told.

It is often in the darkest of times that the brightest flames burn, and none shone brighter nor burned more fiercely than the love between Prince Aemond Targaryen and Princess Valaena Velaryon.

Their love was a secret flame, hidden from the eyes of the world, but no less powerful for its secrecy.

It was a love that would ultimately cost them their lives, yet in death, it bound them together eternally.

Their relationship was carried out in secret. For years, they exchanged letters, and shared clandestine moments in the midst of the chaos that surrounded them.

Even as their families turned against one another, Aemond and Valaena sought peace in one another.

It is said that their love was not born of fleeting desire, but of an understanding so deep, that neither time nor politics could sever the bond they shared.

The love between Aemond and Valaena grew so great that, in their eyes, the only escape from the chains of duty and war was death itself.

They believed that their love could not survive in a world that would tear them apart—where their loyalties would always place them on opposite sides.

And so, in the final days of their lives, they made a decision that would forever cement their legacy: they would sacrifice themselves, leaving the mortal world behind so they could be together in death, beyond the reach of anyone who would keep them apart.

Valaena Velaryon, though dutiful to her mother and her cause, flew to her death with the knowledge that her love would be waiting for her.

This act of love, desperate and tragic, was their final rebellion against a world that sought to control them.

Though history would likely vilify Aemond as the slayer of Valaena, it is now known that their deaths were not a murder borne of hatred, but a mutual sacrifice.

They died not as enemies, but as two souls bound by a love so deep that it transcended the politics of their time.

In their final moments, it is believed they embraced death together, knowing that in the afterlife, they would be free—free of war, free of duty, free to live the love they could never truly have in life.

Thus, it should be written in the annals of history that Aemond Targaryen and Valaena Velaryon were two hearts who chose to live one life—one that spanned across life and death.

Together they rest, bound eternally by love, their souls entwined forever in the songs of dragons and the legends of Old Valyria.

Lanta prūmia. Mēre ābrar. Hēnkirī va moriot. (Two hearts. One life. Together always).

Maester Gerardys: An Account of Aemond Targaryen and Valaena Velaryon: A Love Forged in Fire, Bound in Death.

Five Years Later

The sound of waves gently lapping at the shore filled the air, mixing with the joyful squeals of a little girl digging in the sand.

Elaena was busy with her older brother, Rhaegar, both of them bent over in concentration.

Suddenly, Elaena squealed with delight, holding up a tiny seashell triumphantly.

"Mama, mama! I got shell!" Elaena shouted, her voice full of excitement as she and Rhaegar made their way back to their mother, who smiled as she looked up from the newborn she had just finished feeding.

She rubbed the babe's back gently, encouraging a soft burp before laying her down in a small cot beside her.

"Let me see-"

Elaena rushed over, thrusting the shell into her mother’s hands.

"My, that's a pretty one! You’ve got quite the collection now."

Elaena grinned, her small teeth peeking out as she pointed at the shell.

"Show daddy!" she declared eagerly.

Their mother chuckled, tucking a strand of curly silver hair behind her ear.

"Your father will be back soon, love. He’s just popped out for a moment."

Elaena pouted, her little lip jutting out in a way that made her mother laugh again.

"Hmmm," Elaena huffed, sounding far older than her years.

"You sound just like your father when you do that,"

As if on cue, the door opened, and Elaena’s face lit up with pure joy. "Daddy, daddy!" she cried, rushing over to him, arms held high.

Aemond stepped inside and scooped his daughter up into his arms.

"Ñuha zaldrītsos" he greeted softly, his voice full of affection as he kissed the top of her head (My little dragon).

Elaena giggled, running her fingers through his long hair. "I got a shell and Rhaegar helped"

"Did you now?" Aemond smiled, then set her down gently. "Well, let’s have a look, shall we?"

Elaena eagerly tugged him toward the desk, pointing proudly at the small shell.

Aemond picked it up, examining it with a thoughtful expression.

"It’s beautiful," he said, turning to Rhaegar. "And you helped?"

Rhaegar nodded, his silver hair catching the light.

Aemond ruffled his son’s hair. "Good boy."

Before anyone could say more, the sound of excited screeches filled the room.

Two dragon hatchlings bounded inside, flapping their wings and knocking over tables in their wake.

Sapphyre, a blue-scaled hatchling, the bigger of the two caused a vase to topple and shatter on the ground.

"Sapphyre, Lykirī!" Rhaegar commanded, his voice firm but gentle (Be calm).

The blue dragon cocked her head and calmed down immediately, pressing her snout into Rhaegar’s outstretched hand,

She cooed softly, nuzzling against him.

Elaena, not wanting to be left out, shouted, "Hūra, kirī!" The smaller, silver-scaled hatchling bounded toward her, nearly toppling over in her excitement.

Aemond crouched down beside Elaena, correcting her softly. "It’s Lykirī, sweet one."

Elaena looked up at him, thumb in her mouth, and nodded. "L-Lykirī," she tried again, holding out her tiny hand.

The silver dragon, Hūra, immediately obeyed, lowering her head and allowing Elaena to stroke her gently.

"Good," Valaena praised "A little more training and she’ll get there." She looked at Aemond, who nodded in agreement.

"Aye," Aemond said. "But she’s still young and has many years to learn."

Valaena glanced at Sapphyre, who was growing bigger by the day.

"Sapphyre is getting a bit too large to keep indoors. Perhaps it’s time to move him outside with Vhagar and Silverwing."

Aemond smirked. "I’m not sure our son will like that," he said, his voice teasing.

Valaena laughed, knowing full well how attached Rhaegar was to his dragon. "Me either. The boy’s as stubborn as his father."

Aemond gave a wry smile and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Valaena’s lips.

The moment was interrupted by a sudden cry from the cot.

"I’ll get her," Aemond said, moving to pick up their newborn daughter, Daenys.

He rocked her gently in his arms, trying to soothe her, his lips pressed to her dark hair.

Valaena smiled at the sight, but her attention was quickly drawn back to the two young dragons wreaking havoc in the room.

Another vase smashed against the floor.

"That’s enough!" she declared, clapping her hands. "If you wish to play, you can do so outside."

Rhaegar, always the responsible one, nodded.

"Māzīs, Sapphyre," he said, calling the blue dragon to him. The two hatchlings bounded outside with Rhaegar and Elaena in tow (Come).

Valaena sighed, bending down to pick up the broken shards of the vase.

A maid named Lirri rushed forward. "I’ll see to that, my lady," she offered.

"Thank you Lirri-" Valaena said with a nod, rising to her feet and crossing over to Aemond, who was still cradling Daenys in his arms.

"Bit of trapped wind, I think," Aemond murmured.

Just then, Daenys let out a small, but unmistakable, fart followed by the sound of a soiled cloth.

Valaena laughed, covering her mouth.

"Not anymore, it seems," she said, her voice full of amusement as Aemond wrinkled his nose at the smell.

"Your turn," he teased, passing Daenys back to Valaena with a knowing grin.

Valaena only shook her head with a smile, the warmth of her family filling the room with love and laughter despite the chaos.

The candlelight flickered softly in the room, casting warm shadows across the walls.

Aemond was lounging in the large bath, his eye closed, muscles relaxed as the warm water enveloped him.

Valaena sat beside the tub, her fingers gently massaging his scalp as she washed his long silver hair, her touch delicate yet soothing.

"Any word from King's Landing?" Valaena asked, her voice a soft murmur, as her fingers continued their rhythmic work.

Aemond nodded slightly without opening his eye. "Helaena writes that your mother has just celebrated her fifth year on the throne. The realm rejoices in her peaceful reign."

Valaena smiled at that. "It’s what we hoped for," she said quietly, rinsing the last of the soap from his hair.

Aemond reached up, taking one of her hands, and pressed a gentle kiss to it, his lips warm against her skin.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice lower now, more attuned to her.

Valaena paused for a moment, her gaze drifting toward the window where the moonlight shone through. "The time will soon come for us to return," she admitted softly. "And I can't help but wonder how we will be received."

Aemond opened his eye then, tilting his head up to look at her. "We don’t have to go back, not if you don’t want to. We’ve made a good life for ourselves here."

Valaena smiled softly, but there was a hint of sadness in her expression. "I know. But I miss my mother, Daemon, and my brothers. It's been years, and I-I want them to meet their grandchildren." She sighed lightly. "I miss them."

Aemond hummed in agreement, a sound deep in his throat. "I, too, miss my mother and siblings," he admitted. The years of self-imposed exile had weighed on him as well, though he rarely spoke of it.

Valaena brushed her fingers through his hair one last time, her heart heavy with the thought of returning to King's Landing.

"This was only supposed to last until my mother was secure in her reign."

Aemond stood then, water cascading down his lean, muscular body as he stepped out of the tub. He wrapped a towel around his waist, crossing the room toward her.

His movements were swift and confident as he dried himself, the flickering candlelight highlighting the sharp planes of his torso.

Valaena’s gaze shamelessly followed him. Her husband was truly a sight to behold, a god amongst men, as she often teased him.

She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face, eyes tracing the scars, the muscles, the lines of his form.

He noticed her gaze and smirked. “Enjoying the view, wife?”

She stood and crossed the room to him, pressing her lips to his in a soft kiss.

Aemond’s hands immediately found her waist, his fingers firm yet tender as he pulled her close against him.

But Valaena gently pulled away, though she kept her hands on his chest, feeling the heat of his skin.

“I am not yet fully recovered from birthing Daenys,” she murmured, her voice tinged with apology.

Aemond pressed his forehead against hers, his touch gentle despite the fire in his veins. “Whenever you’re ready,” he whispered.

There was no rush, no pressure in his tone, only the endless patience and understanding he always had for her.

He moved to pull on a pair of loose cotton sleep pants, but Valaena caught his hand, stopping him.

Her eyes were dark and intent, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "That does not mean I cannot satisfy you."

Aemond paused, his gaze flickering with desire. “You don’t have to,” he said, his voice deep and sincere, though the tension in his body betrayed his words.

"I want to," she whispered, her voice soft but firm as she tugged him gently toward the bed.

With a growl Aemond took hold of Valaena, his lips immediately on hers.

Valaena gasped as she felt Aemond hands pulling at her night gown, tearing the cotton fabric in his haste.

“N-Not my small clothes” muttered Valaena as Aemond slipped the ruined material off her body.

“I know” replied Aemond as he gently urged Valaena to lay on the bed.

Aemond then descended on Valaena’s soft lips, kissing her, his hands gently caressing her milk swollen breasts.

Aemond released Valaena’s mouth and bent down to lick her nipples, he couldn’t contain his excitement as he went back and forth between her wonderful, enlarged breasts that nourished their daughter.

“Oh” muttered Valaena as she flung her arms over her face, as pearly white liquid began to leak from her breasts, running down her body in rivulets.

Aemond ran his tongue over the milk that had dripped from his wife’s rosy nipples and delighted in the sweetened taste.

“Hmmm” moaned Aemond as he continued to lick and suckle at her breasts, gorging himself on her milk, his hard cock pressed against her thigh.

His tongue swirling around her stiffened peaks, his teeth scraping against her skin, the sounds of him swallowing.

It felt so good, it felt-

“-A-Aemond” gasped Valaena.

“What is it my love”.

“Don’t stop-please, oh gods-don’t stop” exclaimed Valaena as she arched her back, her cunny clenching around nothing as she unexpectedly climaxed.

“Did you just-peak?” asked Aemond smirking as he released her nipple with a soft pop.

“Yes” replied Valaena, her cheeks tinged pink.

“Well, that’s never happened before. I think I like it” muttered Aemond he moved forward and kissed her passionately, his tongue invading her mouth.

“L-Let me taste you. Please” begged Valaena.

Aemond moved and propped himself against a hastily assembled pile of pillows. His hard cock proudly on display.

Aemond stared down at his naughty little wife, his mouth hanging open as Valaena lightly ran her fingers over him, teasing the glistening head.

Next thing he knew, Valaena’s warm, wet mouth was wrapped around the head of his cock.

Valaena’s tongue ran around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.

“Fuck, Valaena!” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through his wife’s silver hair.

Valaena ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him.

Aemond’s heart almost stopped when she sucked his stones into her mouth, one at a time.

Her hand moving slowly over the hard length of him.

When she engulfed Aemond’s cock back into her mouth, he squeezed his eye shut.

Aemond forced himself to open his eye, he had to watch his precious wife sucking his cock.

“Your taking me so well. Such a good girl” moaned Aemond.

Her head moving back and forth, her pink lips stretched around him. Oh, it was heaven.

“I’m not going to last if you carry on” Aemond admitted, though it pained him to do so.

Valaena smiled slightly and began moving faster, also using one of her hands in rhythm with her mouth.

“It feels so good” groaned Aemond.

Valaena responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of her husband’s cock as she could, whilst her other hand cupped his stones.

Then she slid one of her fingers towards his hole.

“F-Fuck” moaned Aemond as she gently massaged over the tight ring of muscle.

“Do you like that raqiarzy?” asked Valaena (Beloved).

“Y-Yes” exclaimed Aemond.

“What about this?” asked Valaena as she put a finger into her mouth and then returned it to his hole before she gently slid the tip of her finger in.

“It feels so good-that’s it” groaned Aemond.

“More?”

“Y-Yes. P-Please. M-More” groaned Aemond.

Valaena responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of her husband’s cock as she could, whilst her finger slowly moved inside him.

“Another-p-put another inside me” begged Aemond his body rocking against her fingers.

Valaena smiled and gently added another and Aemond began to whimper as she curled her fingers inside him.

“Shit-Valaena I’m going to spill. Oh, fuck, I’m-” shouted Aemond as he exploded.

His wife took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed and licking him clean.

When he recovered, Aemond saw Valaena’s self-satisfied smile.

“Was that to your liking husband?” asked Valaena.

All Aemond could do was nod.

Valaena smiled gratefully, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before resting her head against his chest.

Aemond held her close, the rhythmic beating of his heart soothing her as they laid together in the quiet of the night.

TBC

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