#Aemond would become obsessed with Luke

[queenielacy]

What if when Aemond said to Luke that he wanted him to put out his eye, Luke does it. Luke plucks out his eye and throws it at Aemond’s feet.

[floatyflowers]

Dark! House Of The Dragon x Game of Thrones! Reader|Part 1

(⚠️ sucide)

In your former life, you were the twin sister of Joffrey and you were wed to Robb Stark.

However you choose to stand on your husband's side when war erupted.

The problem is your mother and your twin didn't like that at all.

So, Roose Bolton kills Robb and Catelyn.

He was planning on returning you to your mother, but you ended your life before he could do so.

You didn't imagine that you would be reborn in the past as the twin sister Of Jacearys Velaryon.

Even in this life, you were born as a bastard.

Yet, Rhaenyra is an amazing mother, and so are your new brothers.

Unlike cruel Joffrey who used to hit you whenever you refused his advances, Jace would only treat you kindly and is overprotective.

And Lucerys reminded you of Tommen.

You also adore baby Joffrey and don't care about how his name is the name of your previous twin.

But there is one problem you tried to fix in Luke and Jace and this was bullying Aemond.

But they took Aegon as their role model.

Unlike Targaryens, you refused to interact with your dragon because you were simply afraid.

You even own a cat, who you enjoy spending time with instead of the dragon.

Aegon reminded you greatly of Joffrey, never the less, Aegon wasn't a psycho.

He wouldn't waste a moment in teasing you day and night.

"One day you will become my wife"

Rhaenyra happened to hear what he said one time, and immediately betrothed you to Jace. Despite how much you refused the idea.

When Luke deforms Aemond, you quickly try to control the situation like a Lannister.

"This was not anyone's fault but mine, As the eldest twin I should have been watching over them all"

Everyone is shocked by your words, meanwhile Rhaenyra wanted to intervene, same with Daemon who believed that the Hightowers deserves nothing.

however, you get down on your knees in front of Alicent, after taking the Targaryen's ancestral dagger.

"Take one of my eyes instead, I hope it's more then enough repayment"

Of course, Alicent doesn't do that, you only earned the Queen's love with such brave action.

Viserys' is happy at how you defused the situation.

Those actions made everyone obsessed with you.

Part 2>>>

[klaus-littlestwolf]

No Matter What- Aemond T.

Aemond is in love, and he refused to allow his nephew to have her. He will take her from Jacaerys by any means necessary.

Am I just going to keep writing my fics as if Season 2 didn’t happen at all?

Yeah…it’s very likely, yes🤣🤣

Also, for the person that DM’d me and asked if I have a name in mind for Y/n when I write for Aemond, yes. In my mind when I write, her name is Rhaella, I just think it’s the most beautiful Targaryen name I’ve heard. I also love Visenya but I feel it’s overused. The only other name I would potentially use would be Saera.

She was surprised by her Uncles attitude from the moment she first saw him again.

Y/n and Aemond had been best friends in their childhood. She had climbed onto the back of the Grey Ghost when she was only 5 years old (most people believing that the Dragon knew they were the same when it came to how shy and avoidant they were).

They hadn’t been close up until that point, only being 5 and 6 years old and both being outcasts among their family (though she almost preferred it that way). Y/n had offered to take Aemond with her flying one night after Aegon, Jace and Luke had ridiculed him again and he actually agreed, resting his hand on the nose of a dragon for the first time as Y/n calmed him. Climbing into the saddle and holding onto his niece had been awkward and a bit embarrassing until they were in the air and Aemond knew he was truly born for this.

From then on Y/n offered to take him with her quite often, always after their brothers had bullied one of them again. She comforted him, even once letting Aemond take the reigns and fly Ghost himself (which the pale dragon didn’t like at all sadly and only lasted a few moments), but the fact that she had done it meant the world to him. He promised to take Y/n with him on his dragon as soon as he mounts one, wanting desperately to impress her.

Aemond was Obsessed

Their friendship lasted like that for almost 4 years before that horrible night when Aemond was attacked by her brothers. He had been so excited to tell her about Vhagar, he had actually been running inside to wake her and take her flying like he promised when he was cut off.

She had held his hand from the moment she ran in, trying to comfort him as much as she was able until her mother pulled her away. Aemond raged when she was dragged away from his side but he was held down by Criston Cole from trying to take his Princess back, Daemon carrying the 9 year olds squirming body out and away from him.

As they all left the next morning he tried to find her, Rhaenyra glaring at him as he searched the courtyard and he knew her mother hadn’t let her come and say “goodbye”…that night was the last time he saw her for almost 9 years…

It was the worst thing Rhaenyra could have done. She had made her younger brother desperate, and desperate men do desperate things…he would have her back. No Matter What.

Aemond dreamed about nothing but his niece every single day after, determined to make her his despite the fact that her mother would never betroth her to him. He knew the only way he could make her his wife was to take her and make it the only option, Alicent would most definitely force their wedding very quickly rather than watch the only “legitimate” grandchild of her husband (other than his brother and sisters 3 children) carry a child unwed (as she was Daemons daughter “secretly” but could at least be passed off as not being Harwin Strongs).

When he finally saw her again he felt his breath stolen from his body, she was stunning, the most gorgeous creature he had ever laid eyes on. A women now, standing just shorter than Jace as she watched him in his training session with Cole. Aemond fought hard, determined to show her what he had become and he quickly ended the fight with his sword at his trainers throat.

‘Well done my Prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.’

Aemond rolled his eyes at that. ‘I don’t give a shit about tourneys…nephews. Have you come to train?’ He questioned, looking over the both of them before making eye contact with Y/n who blushed heavily as he did. ‘Niece. It is a pleasure to lay eyes on you again…and you are truly a sight to behold.’ He stepped closer, shoving himself between the Strongs to take her hand in his, lifting it to his lips and looking into her lovely purple eyes. Aemond was comforted to see no fear or disgust on her face, but her beautiful blush was something he wanted to see forever. ‘You are just as gorgeous as I imagined you to be.’ He whispered, leaning close to her ear.

‘Thank you Uncle. You have become ever more handsome, a man grown. The ladies must be fighting tooth and nail for your affections.’ She teased, however before he could respond and insist that he wanted no affections but her own, her bastard brother snatched her hand from his.

‘I would thank you to keep your hands to yourself Uncle, my betrothed should not be touched by anyone but me.’ Jace spoke with a smirk on his face. Anyone with eyes knew Aemond had always been in love with Y/n and his nephew was smug to be able to take any kind of happiness away from him as he always had done.

Aemond composed himself immediately, smiling down at him kindly but Jace could see the rage in his eye, the silent threat that he was giving being clear. ‘I suppose congratulations are in order then.’ And though he said it, he gave none before smiling at Y/n who was then pulled in the opposite direction and out of the courtyard.

‘I do not want to see him touching you again, do you understand me?’ Jace demanded as they got into the castle, Y/n pulling her hand from his angrily.

‘You are not yet my husband brother, don’t you dare order me as if you are. I still have plenty of time to tell mother I would rather be betrothed to anyone but you and that Baela can be Queen by your side one day. I am not an object for you to take possession of!’ And with that she stormed off, Aemond around the corner having heard the whole thing. He knew exactly how to get his girl to be his…though he doubted it would be hard with how his nephew treated his Queen.

‘You should be kinder to your future Queen-‘

‘She is mine, whether she likes it or not. I am to be the King one day, she cannot refuse me.’ Jace joked with Luke who snorted, Aemond turning and leaving the hall. Y/n was his future wife, no matter what he had to do to make sure of it.

After the horrific meeting to attempt to give Driftmark to anyone but Luke he was sadly reestablished as heir thanks to the King and Aemond found himself in a bit of trouble with everyone at dinner after calling his nephews Strong.

All of them were sent to their chambers and he hightailed it back to her chamber, slipping in before his niece and her guard arrived, hiding behind the wardrobe in case anyone came in with her.

‘I am tired Jacaerys, all I want is a good, long sleep. Just leave me be for the night, I will not answer you if you come back! I need no protection from you!’ She snapped as the door opened.

‘If Aemond-‘

‘Aemond is not here! And now you are not here either, go to your own chambers and give me a night of peaceful sleep after all of this Bullshit!’ She slammed the door, locking it instantly and Aemond could feel his cock hardening in his breeches. Something about hearing her reject Jace was a turn on for him in a major way and he wanted to mark her neck up with as many bite marks as possible, he needed to show his nephew who his Princess truly belonged to.

‘That was impressive.’ Aemond spoke, seeing her nearly jump a foot in the air as she gasped. ‘Apologies, I didn’t mean to frighten you…I just wanted to see you. I knew your betrothed would not allow you even a moment in my presence.’ Her eyes were slit instantly as he said this.

‘Jace thinks he can control me but I will not let myself be that kind of wife! I am not an object to be owned, to be ordered around in front of his friends to make him look like a strong man or King! I do not want to be his wife or his Queen!’ She snapped and Aemond did his best to look at her softly, wanting her to see his empathy and her eyes widened as she realized what she had done. ‘I am so sorry Kepus! You did not deserve that, I am not angry at you. I am so-‘ (Uncle)

‘Breathe Byka Dārilaros…it is alright. I understand how angry he makes you feel, I hate him as well, remember?’ He teased and she chuckled before stepping forward and not hesitating to wrap her arms around his body, resting her head on his chest. (Little Princess)

‘I missed you so much Kepus…I wanted to write to you but my mother wouldn’t let me. She said it was a betrayal to Luke and that since you didn’t write to me, you clearly wouldn’t care but I-‘

‘I did write to you. I sent letters for months before I received one from my sister telling me to stop, that you did not want to hear from me but I knew that was a lie . There was not a single day that passed that I did not think about how much I missed you…’ Aemond looked down at her, his arms around her to hold her to him, hesitating only a moment as he looked into her soft eyes and pressed his lips to hers.

She surprised him a bit when she didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, her hands moving to hold his shirt tightly as he took her face into his and held her close. Y/n was his everything and he had been craving for this exact moment since he was 6 years old, wanting to kiss her since the moment they first flew together. She will be his and he will keep her close forever, determined to never let anyone touch what is his ever again-especially Jace.

‘You are so perfect…’ he mumbled against her lips before pulling away and resting his forehead on hers. ‘Do you want this? I don’t want to force you into anything you do not desire, my love…however I want you to be mine. I have craved you for so many years and I will cherish the ground you walk on if you will be mine.’ Aemond knew giving her the choice would make the difference in pushing her to do what she wanted even against her mothers wishes.

‘I love you Kepus, I always have…our mothers will never-‘

‘There is a way…My mother will insist upon it if I have already filled you with my son…’ he tried to speak softly, let her know that it is her choice to make. ‘I love you Byka Dārilaros, and I want you to be my wife more than anything. The thought of being forced to marry another turns my stomach however I will never force myself upon you. If you would marry Jace then I will love you from afar…but if you want me then I will make love to you right here and now. I will pleasure you all night long until you are so full of me there is no doubt you carry my son and then I will sleep inside of your pretty little cunt for our family to find come morning…let me love you in every way that he can’t.’ There were tears in her eyes as he finished speaking to her and he moved to wipe them away before she spoke again. Y/n reached up, taking the eyepatch covering his sapphire into her fingers before he caught her wrist awkwardly. No lady had ever seen his face and not been uncomfortable or disgusted by it which is why he always covered it whenever he wasn’t alone in his room or in the library.

‘I would look upon your face and see all that you are…while you fill me with our first child.’ He looked at her, startled for a moment before he released her hand and she pulled the eyepatch off.

‘First of many…I will fill you with as many children as you desire.’ Aemond promised before kissing her again, his hands moving to the back of her dress where he unlaced the corset and pulled it down her arms, lifting her out of the dress and moving to drop her onto the bed. She pulled off her small clothes as she watched him remove his shirt and breeches, leaving him bare and revealing his hard cock that was already leaking. ‘You are so beautiful, my love…tell me that you’re mine.’ Aemond insisted, his hand giving his member a firm stroke.

‘I’m yours Kepus, all yours forever.’ She promised as he crawled over her, kissing his jaw and down his neck sweetly. She was just so precious he couldn’t help the needy feeling in his chest demanding he take her.

‘All mine! Should any man look at you even a moment too long ever again, I will remove their eyes and feed them to the ravens.’ Aemond pushed her legs apart more so that he could settle between them, feeling her wetness on his cock for the first time and nearly cumming on the spot. He gave her a moment to relax herself upon pushing into her however she shocked him once again, moaning like a whore only a moment later prompting him to shove his hand over her mouth. ‘If someone hears you then your guard will come in here and we will be dragged apart. I would hear your lovely moans forevermore once I’ve filled your cunt but for now you must hush.’ She whined but bit her bottom lip hard to keep from making any loud noises. Aemond loved the knowledge that he could make her moan like that, in love with fucking her body already as he thrust up into her roughly. Her nails dug into his shoulders, scratching down his back painfully which sent a rush of pleasure through his belly upon him sucking hard on her throat, biting into her perfect skin quite hard and covering her mouth with a hand once again as she nearly screamed, her pussy tightening around his cock in a way he had never felt before which practically dragged his own end from his body. ‘Gods be good, I’ve never felt anything like that before…you felt good?’ It was an insecure moment of him needing that reassurance and while with anyone else he would have been instantly embarrassed, she nodded, quite dazed it seemed and he knew she didn’t judge him for a moment. ‘Your cunt is a form of blissful ecstasy I did not know was attainable. You are mine now Y/n…say it…’

‘Yours Aemond…all yours…you will be my husband as soon as next week and you will be able to have me anytime and any place you desire. I never thought it could feel like that…I love you Kepus.’ Her words touched him and in that moment Aemond knew that he would never need anyone else in this world again as long as he had Y/n and their future silver haired babies.

‘I love you too Mandianna, I always have. From this night on they will never be able to steal you from me again! You are all mine Y/n…and I will take pleasure in making sure everyone knows it.’ He made his point as he thrust his hard cock up into her once more prompting her sharp intake of breath, nails digging into his forearms before pulling him down to kiss her. (Niece)

Aemond spent the night filling his future wife with as much of his seed as his body held, biting her perfect pale skin everywhere he could reach and ensuring no one would ever be able to argue who she belonged to again. He finally had what he had always wanted, the only things left to do was put a tiara upon her head and meet their children.

The knock on the door was the thing that awakened the both of them the next morning quite early and far too soon considering how many hours Aemond had spent filling his bride…(6 hours). It was frantic and Aemond groaned, pulling Y/n closer into his chest as he was happy to ignore it before her mother shouted.

‘Y/n! You aren’t at breakfast and neither is Aemond! If he is in there with you…!’ She warned and Aemond found the half threat amusing.

‘Aemond! Are you in there?!’ His mother was the one shouting through the door now and he smiled, kissing his soon-to-be-wife’s lips before responding.

‘Good morning mother!’ He responded.

‘You Little Fuck! If you’ve hurt my daughter I swear to all of the Gods!’ Rhaenyra raged. ‘Daemon! Get This Door Open!’ She demanded.

‘He did not hurt me mother!’ Y/n stated just before the first loud hit to the door causing his girl to scream, turning to hide her face into his neck as he sat up. It took 2 more strikes before the door burst open and their mothers entered along with Daemon and Otto. Y/n was covered up to her waist while her upper body was pressed to his leaving only her back exposed.

‘Aemond! What have you done?’ Alicent asked sadly, clearly trying to think of a solution, knowing there was only one in this situation.

‘You all know that we have loved each other since we were children. Did you think that would go away just because you didn’t give her my letters sister?’ Rhaenyra’s eyes widened before she glared at him in a rage.

‘What is he talking about?’ His mother asked.

‘I didn’t want him speaking to her! She will not marry her Uncle like-‘

‘Like you did?’ Alicent deadpanned making the Princess look to her. ‘She will actually marry her Uncle, from this moment they are betrothed-‘

‘My daughter is already betrothed to-‘

‘Not anymore!’ Otto cut her off. ‘From this moment on the Princess Y/n Velaryon is to be wed to Prince Aemond Targaryen. The wedding will take place at the end of the week, we cannot have anyone knowing of these indiscretions when she begins to show as I am assuming she is likely pregnant?’ He asked Aemond who grinned.

‘Oh, most definitely. I’ve left no doubt that she carry’s my son. I was actually planning on filling her with another one before you so rudely broke the door down-‘

‘Do not push your luck Aemond!’ His Grandsire warned.

‘I should remove your head you insolent little shit.’ Daemon growled, Aemond seeing the rage in his eyes.

‘Then your grandchild would be without a father, Uncle. What purpose would that serve except ensuring your daughter hates you?’ Y/n moved her hand to pinch his side making him jump. ‘I’m sorry Byka Dārilaros.’

Aemond could see the surprise at his apology in his mother and Grandsire’s eyes. ‘Maybe this will be a good thing after all.’ Otto considered before turning to leave the room.

‘No more fooling around. Get dressed and get to breakfast. Now.’ With that his mother guided Rhaenyra and Daemon reluctantly out of the room.

‘Can your husband help you get dressed my love?’ Aemond questioned and she kissed his shoulder before biting his neck as he had done to her about 30 times the previous night, the evidence of which was very clear to see all over her chest and breasts. Aemond was proud though, because while she could hide those the 5 marks on her neck were not able to be hidden before breakfast where he was eager for Jace to see them.

They were both dressed 10 minutes later, their hair staying down until after they broke their fast for the day, Aemond leading her down the halls and enjoying the smile on his girls face as they entered the room with their family. He sat her down beside him and watched her fill her plate and eat, clearly hungry from their previous nights activities which filled him with pride at being able to satisfy his wife.

‘What is that?’ A voice demanded and everyone looked up to see Jace pointing at Y/n’s neck.

‘Jace, we will discuss this after we eat. You-‘

‘No!’ He cut his mother off, jumping up from his seat and moving to Y/n’s side in an instant, yanking her hair to the side and looking at her neck. Aemond heard her whimper in pain as he pulled her hair, holding her chin to expose her throat to him and he was instantly up from his chair with his hands on Jace.

‘That’s Enough!’ Rhaenyra shouted before Aemond punched his nephew who nearly flew backwards at the force his fist caused before he moved to grab him again, a voice calling his name through the jumble of people yelling which had his attention immediately.

‘Come eat with me Kepus, please?’ Y/n asked softly and he couldn’t deny her that as she held her hand out. Aemond moved to take it, lifting her onto his lap and sitting to eat, feeding her and feeling proud at providing her what she needs, thoroughly enjoying her feeding him as well.

It seemed that everyone was shocked at Aemond disengaging from the fight but his attention was on his soon to be wife as it should be. ‘We should go for a morning flight after breakfast…let me take you for a ride as I promised, late as the kept promise may be.’ Y/n looked up at him and he could see her surprise which he found adorable.

‘You…you want me to-to ride Vhagar?’ She questioned and he chuckled.

‘Not alone of course but yes, I had wanted to take you up with me the night I mounted her but that clearly didn’t happen. It will be fun, I promise.’ The smile on his girls face was worth everything to him. She was precious and he would keep his wife happy no matter what. If that meant that his nephews and older sister needed to be un-happy, then that was just icing on the cake for him.

He finally took her flying with him later that day, though it made her own dragon quite grumpy and forced her to take Ghost for his own flight before they could go back home. Aemond had finally kept his promise, and had ensured he got exactly what he wanted in the end.

Now all that is left for Aemond to do is figure out how to make Y/n his Queen and fulfill his dream of his wife riding him on the Iron Throne.

That one may take a bit more work, but he would ensure it, No Matter What.

Aemond T. Masterlist

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: kissing, angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, humiliation, bullying, chauvinism ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He had always felt that he lacked something. Part of him claimed that if a dragon had hatched from his egg, things would have been different, however, years later, he recognised that this was not entirely true.

Aegon had a gift for light-hearted conversation, an ironic humour that he lacked. He kept telling him to smile at last, to get his nose out of his books, that he was boring, perpetually serious and withdrawn. He preferred to spend time with Jace and Luke − they were louder and funnier than him, they understood him, they had what he was missing.

They had dragons.

They didn't spare unpleasant comments even to their own sister, calling her a hamster, most likely referring to her rosy, firm cheeks and big eyes.

He could see that she was running away from them crying, but he wasn't going to comfort her. She was a girl – her world, filled with poetry, embroidery and music seemed to him as distant as Essos.

The only thing they had in common was books.

They bumped into each other occasionally in the library, and although at first they simply pretended not to see one another, one day she dared to sit next to him as he looked through the family tree of their ancestors.

"What is it?" She asked, placing the large volume on the table in front of them with difficulty.

He huffed as the dust that rose with her movement reached his nostrils, out of the corner of his eye he noticed that it was The Great History of Aegon the Conqueror.

He did not reply, turning the page of the book, not knowing why he should explain it to her.

He didn't believe her, didn't trust her, didn't want her.

She was a bastard, though she probably didn't know it herself, wallowing in riches like a princess even though she didn't deserve them.

He didn't want her pity, attention or anything else she could give him.

He didn't want to be her second choice, the place she ran to because her brothers were mean to her; he had his own, in his mind very adult, worries and he didn't want to listen to hers.

"Is this a book dedicated to our family history?" She asked softly, leaning out so that she could see what he was reading.

She stood up, coming closer to him, intrigued. He pressed his lips together when he smelled her pleasant scent, some intense vanilla oil.

He felt a tightening and burbling in his stomach at the thought of the cake that smelled similar, which his mother had ordered to be baked for his Name Day a few months earlier.

"Ah, our family tree. Where are we?" She asked cheerfully, and he sighed heavily, reluctantly flipping forward a few pages, tracing their line with his finger, showing her a place at the very end.

He swallowed loudly as he saw how Laenor Velaryon was written in the space where her father was inscribed, trying not to smile with mockery.

She leaned lower, looking at the area he had pointed at and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, her cheek right next to his.

He was surprised at how different they were, apart from the obvious fact that he was a man and she was a woman.

His eyelashes were almost white and translucent and hers were black, long, surrounding her shining eyes, making them seem even bigger to him. His skin was pale, thin as parchment when hers was flushed and full of life, her lips plump and moist, her nose shapely and straight, the contour of her face gentle as his jaw was outlined sharply.

And finally, his hair, the colour of Targaryen's, the white she lacked, her luscious black curls falling gently down her back was visible proof of who her father was.

Although he liked to mock her in spirit, he couldn't say she was ugly or repulsive.

"Would you marry Helaena if our King so commanded?" She asked curiously, glancing sideways at his seated figure. He lifted his gaze to her and sighed heavily, figuring that nothing would happen if he spoke to her for a while.

She was simply bored, just like him, and he didn't get the impression that she had come to entertain herself at his expense.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes. I would do my duty as a Prince and son of the King." He said lowly, solemnly, fiddling between his fingers with the page of the book he had just looked at, crossing his legs.

Even though he was still a child, he was trying to sound and look like a man.

She cocked her head, clearly genuinely intrigued by his statement, a wide smile on her face.

"Are you in love with her?" She asked as if it was obvious, as if she was encouraging him to reveal to her his little secret. He looked at her in disbelief, not knowing what to make of her question.

He swallowed loudly, lowering his gaze, feeling his heart pounding fast.

What did it matter?

"Well…she's my sister. Of course I love her." He replied coolly, feeling strange with the words on his tongue, as if there was something inappropriate about them.

"I love Jace too, but I'm not in love with him. There's a difference." She said with a kind of calmness and wisdom that surprised him, looking at him with a gentle expression on her face that consternated him.

Why were they even having this conversation?

Still, her words made him feel a tightness in his throat, a realisation that he understood what she meant, but didn't want to admit it.

The tenderness of falling in love, the poems and the late-night frolicking were the domain of women's imagination, which unfortunately then had to collide with the cruel reality. He was a man, however, and he had no intention of getting into these deep divagations of the weaker sex.

"Don't be naïve. Marriage is not meant to be a pleasure. It is meant to be a sacrifice for the good of the kingdom, to secure its needs." He said dryly, turning back to the page he had been reading earlier, frustrated for some reason by her remark.

She did not speak again, returning to her seat, sinking into reading the gigantic volume dedicated to Aegon the Conqueror.

Although he could have done it in his chamber, he had been coming to the library to read ever since and always met her in the same place. Although they didn't appoint themselves, they both had their assignments until midday and would turn up there to read immediately afterwards, sitting next to each other, exchanging thoughts in passing.

He was afraid that Aegon would see them one day, but fortunately he never ventured into the abyss of the library, few people went there and he felt reasonably safe.

Usually it was she who asked him questions and he was the one who answered her. He felt some sort of empowerment because of this – at last there was someone who appreciated his knowledge and rhetoric, who listened intently to his opinion.

"I would like to be like Rhaenys in the future." She said softly and he looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

"Rhaenys? What's interesting about her? Visenya could fight with a sword and she rode the largest dragon still alive in this world. If I had a choice, I would marry her." He said without thinking, recognising that it would be wonderful to have by his side a woman who could wield a sword perfectly, with a sharp tongue and temperament, who would be a born warrior like him.

He saw his niece raise an eyebrow in amusement, a sort of childlike joy on her face, her eyes shining.

"Aegon the Conqueror thought otherwise. Out of ten nights, nine he spent with Rhaenys." She said mockingly, as if immensely pleased that she could take the argument out of his hand. He pressed his lips together at her remark and shrugged his shoulders, returning to his reading.

He didn't care what men and women did at night − his mother had told him that he shouldn't bother with it for the time being, and he had decided that there was in fact no need to, until his father called on him one morning.

"− no −" He heard his mother's voice, leaning over the table where the tired King sat, looking at her as if half asleep. "− I do not agree, Viserys, it's not −"

She did not finish, hearing his footsteps and folded her arms in front of her, trying to calm herself, letting out a loud breath. His father nodded at him to come closer, which he did obediently, feeling his heart pounding hard.

His father had never yet called on him on any serious matter.

"I have just been discussing with your mother the importance of our family, of our kingdom remaining united. Although I have agreed that, according to tradition, your sister should marry your brother and not your nephew, I would like you to be the one to bring House Targaryen together anew, and that you should marry the daughter of Rhaenyra and Laenor in the future." He said calmly, with each finished sentence tapping his fingers on the table top, as if to add some finality and certainty to his words that he was convinced this was the right thing to do.

"− this is ridiculous − Aemond should secure our kingdom with a marriage to the daughter of one of the lords who can benefit us −" His mother began impatiently, her husband sighed loudly, exhausted.

"And who should receive this honour? The Starks? The Arryns? The Baratheons? No choice would be good, for someone would always feel disadvantaged. Marriage within the family will not outrage anyone on the outside, and will only strengthen what has been strained." He said with conviction; the Queen swallowed hard, shaking her head, finally looking at him as if she was certain he abhorred the idea as much as she did.

"− Aemond, you don't have to agree −" She said in a trembling voice, and he swallowed hard, looking at the stone floor beneath his feet, feeling his heart pounding hard.

Bastard or not, the dragon's blood flowed in her, as it did in him. She didn't despise or mistreat him. She knew what duty and obligation meant.

He reasoned that although he would have preferred to have a female warrior by his side, in fact the idea of marrying her did not reject him. He preferred her to the daughter of some common lord.

In his own way, he even liked her.

He grunted, feeling proud to rise to the occasion and fulfil his father's desire.

"If it is my King's wish, I will marry her, for the sake of the kingdom and our family." He said lowly, looking him straight in the eyes, standing upright, his hands folded behind his back.

He felt a squeeze in his throat as his father smiled at him sincerely, for the first and last time in his life.

"So it's decided."

He didn't know how the message had been conveyed to his betrothed, however he could see by the look on her face as she ran into the library, all red with emotion, that someone had made her aware of what had happened and he felt a twist in his stomach at the thought.

He was afraid she would make it clear to him that she didn't want him, that she abhorred him, that she had no intention of marrying a man who didn't have a dragon of his own.

As she approached him however her eyes sparkled, she laughed as if she didn't believe it.

"Is it true?" She asked breathing loudly and he swallowed hard, nodding his head, looking at her with wide eyes.

"I'm so happy." She giggled sweetly, warmly, covering her mouth with her hand, as if someone had just given her a wonderful surprise.

He felt some kind of heat in his chest, an affection towards her, a gratitude for her faithfulness, for her devotion, for the fact that she respected him.

He was shocked to think that she would make a good wife.

Aegon laughed at him, not understanding where his lack of objection came from, how he could think that good had happened.

"She doesn't even have an arse or tits." He sneered and he clenched his jaw, wrinkling his brow, looking at him over his shoulder.

"Shut your mouth. Don't speak about her this way." He growled, feeling that her good name was now his as well, and that he had to protect her.

Aegon snorted, shaking his head, patting him on the back piteously.

"My little brother fell in love with Lady Strong?" He asked, forcing himself into a sweet, mocking tone as if he were speaking to a small child, which angered him even more. He slammed his head against his forehead, and he swore in pain, staggering backwards, catching the table, which fell over with him.

"You fucking bastard!" He shouted throwing himself at him, and they began to pound each other with their fists, wrestling with each other on the floor, until, hearing the commotion, a servant girl rushed into his chamber, trying to separate them.

His future wife visited him in his chamber that day, concerned that he had not appeared in the library, raising her eyebrows in simultaneous concern and amusement as she saw him holding an ice cube to his red cheek, a large bruise under his eye.

"What's happened?" She asked as she was accustomed to, without any pleasantries, approaching him sitting in a chair that was, however, too big and his legs did not reach the ground. He just rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders without answering.

He had no intention of revealing what had caused the fight − he wasn't going to appear to her as a prince on a white horse who would worship and adore her, as in all those poems she had surely read.

"Does it hurt a lot?" She asked further, and he shook his head. She sighed heavily, taking a single lemon cake from the pocket of her bottom gown, placing it in front of him.

"I know the Queen only allows you to eat sweets after your weekly visit to the Great Sept, but I stole one for you anyway. As a consolation." She said proudly, and he nodded, lifting his gaze to her, involuntarily feeling grateful.

She cared for him without wanting anything in return.

Since they were betrothed, she hadn't asked him for solitary walks, gifts, confessions of love or anything else a lady of her status might desire from the man she was to marry.

"Thank you." He replied calmly, recognising that he could give her at least that much.

She looked around his chamber and he realised that she was in it for the first time in her life. He stood up, setting the ice sack down in the bowl, walking over to his bookshelf, a gift to him from his mother.

"If you wish, I can lend you some. Just pick which one." He said softly, coming to the conclusion that he wanted to be kind to her, that he wanted her to have no regrets about him becoming her husband, to be proud of it.

She looked at him gratefully and took out a book written by the ancient philosopher, Areon, dissecting human dignity and duty. Something about her choice pleased him, the thought that she wanted to understand him.

She pressed the book to her heart and looked at him, her eyes seemed even bigger to him than usual, her beautiful long eyelashes, hair and plump lips shone in the summer light of the day.

He felt a pleasant tickle in his lower abdomen watching her without saying a word.

"– can I kiss you? –" She asked so quietly that for a moment he thought he had overheard himself. He felt his whole body tense up as his pupils dilate in disbelief, his fingers involuntarily began to rub against each other in a subconscious nervous reflex.

Oh gods.

Should they be doing this?

Was this the right thing to do?

She was supposed to be his wife. From what he understood, husbands and wives did this, as a kind of union and intimacy.

He swallowed loudly, looking at her lips, thinking they looked pleasantly warm and soft; a shiver went through him at the thought that he could feel them in a moment if he wanted to.

He nodded his head.

He watched her vigilantly, involuntarily breathing through his mouth as she stepped closer to him; he was taller than her and leaned in slightly, wanting to make her task easier.

She surprised him when she suddenly lifted up on her tiptoes and her lips pressed against his in a warm, innocent kiss − he felt like his heart had stopped for a moment, the scent of vanilla filled his lungs, her skin delightfully moist and soft.

It felt so pleasant.

She pulled away from him immediately, all red as he was, breathing hard, as if it took a lot of effort and courage from her too, her wide eyes looked at him in excitement, as if she was waiting for his reaction.

"– one more time –"

These words came out of him like a weak whisper, like a plea through which he felt the shame overpowering him.

She smiled before rising on her toes again, this time placing her hand on his shoulders for balance − she pressed her fleshy, moist lips to his for a longer time and sighed softly as he touched her cheek, wonderfully soft and warm.

She pulled away from him with a quiet click and closed her eyes feeling him stroke her skin with his thumb. He pressed his forehead against hers, feeling butterflies in his stomach.

"– will you come to me at night? –"

He had nightmares most of the time at night − usually dreams in which he saw anew the pig that his brother and nephews had introduced to him as his dragon, humiliating him as no one had ever done before.

He found that her presence calmed him and that perhaps if she slept in the same bed, he would finally get some rest.

He didn't think about the fact that it might have been at least inappropriate in the eyes of others when under the cover of night she snuck into his chamber, slipping under the thick furs beside him, snuggling up to him. In his mind she was already his wife, and wives slept with their husbands − unless it was his parents.

They lay that night looking at each other with their foreheads pressed together, stroking each other's cheeks, shy and embarrassed.

Their wordless, innocent confession of affection and need for closeness.

"We are going to have seven children." He stated after some thought, as if he had decided that such a number would satisfy him. He wanted his family to be strong and broad, and also seven were gods, so it had symbolic meaning as well.

She blinked, as if something troubled her in his words, furrowing her brow.

"My mother gets very tired during childbirth and then can't get up for a few days. With the rest, how do we do it?" She asked uncertainly and he shrugged his shoulders.

He had never delved into the ins and outs of the pleasures of the flesh too much − Aegon had said that rapprochements with women were very pleasurable and, as he understood, that was why he couldn't pull away from them, to him, however, what he had was enough.

"We'll find out everything when we're older. Do not fret." He said with certainty, stroking her soft, plump cheek with his thumb. She cheered up, he saw the sparkle in her gaze before her lips stole a soft, warm kiss from him again.

He smiled at the thought that he felt that in her eyes he was a man, the head of their future family.

There had been times when he had forgotten who she was, who her father was, her smile, her laugh, her eyes, the sweet kisses she bestowed on him when they were alone made him think it didn't matter anymore.

Years later, he could not believe how wrong he was.

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Six: Salt and Blood

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Alright, everyone. This is the last time you'll see baby Aemond and the reader, so let's cherish it. In the next chapter, we will start where the show did with the characters aged up in Ep. 8. I'm very excited to write for adult MC. I'm not going to lie; I'm a bit worried about writing Aemond's inner dialogue, as I've never written for a male character who isn't obsessed with the reader, but I'm sure I'll do fine. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Warnings: Alicent being delulu, parentified sibling trauma, and watch me make you feel even worse about Driftmark.

As you journeyed from the gloomy corridors of the Red Keep to the sulfuric atmosphere of Dragonstone and now to the sandy shores and scattered shells of Driftmark, an air of sadness seemed to cling to you wherever you went. You stood at the edge of a cliff, gazing down at the tranquil sea, overlooking the stone coffin that cradled your late Aunt Laena. Two deaths, each carrying its weight of sorrow, yet only one mourned.

You wondered what it would be like to die choked in flames like Ser Harwin and Lyonel Strong did. Would it be the same as suffering dragon fire like your Aunt? Most likely not. Hers was a swift burning of flesh from bones, while theirs was hours of agony and suffocation. 

Despite what your family claimed, the idea of dying to your own dragon’s flames wasn’t an appealing end to you. It didn’t seem noble like how stories explained it to be. It was horrifying to have your skin torched from your body, to feel the power of a thousand suns on your flesh. It would be excruciatingly painful, and you wished it upon no one, not even those you despised most. You would much rather meet the Stranger in your sleep. 

You barely settled into your new home on Dragonstone before your mother received the two ravens. One bringing news of Ser Harwin and the other of Laena, containing death in the ink. You consoled your mother and father as best you could, hugging and kissing and telling them that you loved them and were sorry. It was an impossible task to do, but you couldn’t help yourself. You hated seeing them so distraught and wanted to make them feel better. 

At night, you cried into your pillows in your now isolated bedroom until Jace and Luke entered, watery eyes matching yours. As the eldest, it was your job to hold your family together when your parents couldn’t, and it left you no time to properly grieve the loss of an Aunt and a father figure.

You felt terrible for your cousins Baela and Rhaena. To go to bed one night and wake up the next without a mother was a depth of grief you couldn’t imagine. You didn’t think you could live a life without your mother; you would die with her, and the ability of your cousins to continue without her was admirable as you observed their sullen faces streaked with tears. 

Your Great Uncle Vaemond spoke his sermon in High Valyrian, which was too fast and practiced for you to understand. You could decipher some words here and there, but ultimately, you were lost listening to a man you rarely met. You felt your mother straighten her stance from behind, her arms coming to circle the three of you in a protective embrace.

Vaemond’s eyes were on yours, Luke’s, and Jace’s, but everyone else was focused on him—on the coffin with Lady Laena’s face carved into it.

As your eyes wandered to the other people surrounding the funeral procession, fear struck you as you caught your eldest uncle’s eye. It wasn’t very comforting to see Aegon so soon. You had set it in your mind that you wouldn’t have to see him for many years, and yet, here you were, dressed in an obsidian and red-sleeved gown, pearls adorning the collar and your veiled headpiece. Quickly, you turned away, instinctually taking Jace’s hand in yours.

An air of stiffness surrounded your family that you weren’t blind to. It was always there, but now, more than before, you felt it. You thought it was childish to be so locked into familial drama when someone lay dead inside a casket. Though you didn’t remember much of the times you met your Aunt Laena, she still deserved the respect of putting these grievances aside. You knew you were part of it, but more important things were happening than what you suffered. 

The cries of your father sent waves of sadness into your heart, and with the sudden urge to get him to stop, you left the safety of your brother and clung to your father’s waist. He lifted you into his sea-worn arms and clung to your frail body as if it was the only thing that kept him from sinking into his grief. You rested your temple onto his shoulder, tears of empathy falling from your eyes as he pressed your head closer. 

Afraid of what would become of your father if you let go, you allowed him to crush you in his embrace for as long as he needed it as a scornful laugh broke through the tense atmosphere. You peeked from your position to see Great Uncle Daemon chuckling to himself with a shake of his head at what Vaemond said. You felt annoyance bubble inside you, solidifying your distaste for the man as the Velaryon guards clad in silver armor and blue seahorse sigils lifted the ropes and lowered your Aunt into the roaring sea. 

You didn’t leave your father’s side for the remainder of the day, not even when he slowly lowered himself into the sea with his sister as the cold, salty breeze swept through the evening. You wanted to speak with Aemond, if just for a small moment, but your family came first. They always came before anyone else, a fact that your mother instilled into the very fabric of your being.

Sitting atop one of the rock ledges near your father, you dipped your feet into the saltwater, dragging your toes to watch the water ripple and allow time to pass. It didn’t feel right to leave him alone. The image of him falling into the ocean as your Aunt played repeatedly in your mind’s eye. You were afraid in his grief, he would follow her. Only when your father’s squire, Ser Qarl, took your father from his place with his sister did you leave, joining the rest of the goers for the wake late in the evening.

Searching through the crowd of people for your mother and your brothers, you couldn’t find them. Alone with none of your family for protection, you felt fear pull at your chest. Your hands began to scratch at your arms and scalp, attempting to quell the insatiable itch. The fabric prevented you from doing so, and tears of fright soon began to collect at your lashes. 

From across the balcony, you saw a flash of green, a color that had never offered you comfort until now. Yet as quickly as you saw it, it vanished, leaving only a head of white promptly running down the stairs. You felt your heart drop into your feet as you watched Aemond run across the sandy dunes like he was running from you. 

The call of a dragon you never heard before screeched through the gray skies. It was mournful as if it were calling for a lost pet or child. In this case, it was a rider. As you looked up, you could see the vast shadow of Vhagar’s silhouette soaring through the clouds, flying in the same direction your uncle went. You felt your eyes grow wide with worry at the realization, wanting to chase after Aemond and warn him.

“Let’s get you to bed,” a tender, feminine voice came from behind you as you jolted in surprise. The tall figure of Queen Alicent stood before you, curly auburn hair pinned back into a magnificent updo and clad in her usual green and gold as she put a hand on your back. “Your mother already sent your brothers.” 

“Where is she?” you hastily asked. Aemond was no longer on your mind.

“I’m uncertain. Your father is off drowning his sorrow in his cups with his squire,” she answered in the same velvet voice you remembered her having, bitterness you didn’t understand laced in the undertone.

You felt offended by how the Queen spoke about your father. He was grieving. He was allowed to spend time with whomever he wished, doing what he wanted.

Alicent lifted her arm, wrapping it around your petite frame, and led you inside Hightide. It was not as cold or formidable as Dragonstone; its dark magic melted into the walls, yet it didn’t hold the warmth of the Red Keep. Still, you felt unwelcomed here, either by the place or its people. The pale stone walls were filled with bits and pieces of shells from clams, mollusks, and other long-dead shell creatures mixed into the mortar to make it stand the test of salty air. 

The Hall of the Nine, where you passed as Queen Alicent, led you to the guest chambers, where you held the Driftwood throne where your grandfather Corlys reigned. You recalled when you visited this place many years ago and how he went on about the many treasures from his sieges and conquests that decorated the room in all its glory. He and his wife, Rhaenys, sat in a heated discussion in front of the hearth.

Once you reached the door to your shared bed chambers with your brothers, Alicent turned to you. It was the first time you had seen her since what Aegon had done to you, and you felt tension. It seemed as if she wanted to speak, to say everything that had been bottled up since the revelation of her son’s transgressions, but she was unable to do so as tears choked her. Instead, the only words that came out were those she couldn’t say to her children. 

“I hope you can find the time to visit the Keep. Helaena asked when you would be returning, and it broke my heart to tell her you wouldn’t be,” she confided, stroking the thin black fabric covering your dark hair. “Aemond has turned inwards since you left, and Aegon has become crueler to him. It makes me wonder if he’s always been this way and that my love for him has blinded me from his transgressions.” 

You said nothing. The mention of Aegon’s name still felt like a blow to the stomach. “I hope you can find it within your heart to forgive my son for what he did to you and that we may yet be the family we were always meant to be.” Your tongue felt like lead as your breathing began to race, your chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as Alicent kneeled before you, a sad smile on her supple lips as she tenderly swiped your tear-stained cheeks with her smooth thumbs. 

“I love you, my shining light, my dream.” 

Leaning in, she took your small frame by your shoulders, kissing your forehead as one would do to their babe. You felt sick, nausea churning in your stomach as you quickly opened the bedroom door, hastily shutting it behind you in fright. 

It was all too much—Lady Laena’s death, Ser Harwin’s, seeing your father in shambles, and Queen Alicent’s steadfast belief that you should become a part of her family no matter what happened to you. The Queen desired to wed you and Aegon despite the horrors he committed. The realization that she genuinely didn’t see what your eldest uncle did to you as something that would permanently bar you from joining the union pierced your heart. You would much rather marry Aemond or Helaena, but having no ties to her seemed better.

Your brothers peered at you curiously from their beds as you clutched your chest, looking as if you ran the entire way here. They didn’t ask any questions, and you didn’t move to speak, loosening the ties of your gown and shrugging it off until you were only in your smock. You didn’t feel like changing into your nightdress in front of your brothers, deciding to climb into bed and shove your face into the pillows, refusing to cry in front of Jace and Luke as you fell into a dreamless sleep.

When Aemond learned of Lady Laena’s death, he knew it was a sign from the Gods that his time had come. The Seven had deemed this the moment to prove himself to everyone who doubted him and thought him useless without a dragon. 

Vhagar. 

The largest, oldest, and strongest dragon in the world was riderless. 

Aemond believed that once he gained the only thing he lacked, life would finally be what it should have been. He would make his father proud, shove all the taunts and jests from Aegon and his nephews back into their faces, and finally become a man you deemed worthy—your Mors Martell. 

As Aemond fled from the wake when the candles had long melted, he thought only of the ichor coursing through his veins. Dusk was upon the island, and the night’s wind blew harshly, strands of his silver-blonde hair covering his face as he climbed over the dunes. Vhagar was further from the castle than he initially thought.

“Fuck.” Aemond released a sigh of exasperation and scrambled across the uneven ground. 

When he came upon the dragon, he was in awe. Vhagar was as frightening as she was enormous—a giant, green-scaled, moving mountain that shook the ground and blew sand with every movement and breath from her powerful lungs. 

Taking advantage of Vhagar’s resting state, Aemond crept along the sparse grass, feeling each gust of air she created with her wide nostrils, blowing the sand into his face and ears. Anxiety was present in his gut, feeling a slight tremble in his limbs as he closed the distance, wrapping his hand around one of the many ropes draped across Vhagar’s scales. Suddenly, he felt the ground underneath him quake, and the head of the dragon lifted with a low rumble.

Vhagar observed Aemond with tired yet calculating amber orbs, double eyelids blinking. She grumbled as she bore her teeth to him. They were the size of a fully grown adult, sending a shiver down his spine. As if it were an act of divine intervention, Vhagar laid her enormous head back down, seeming disinterested in the young boy before her. 

If Lady Laena’s death wasn’t proof enough Aemond was fated by the Gods to claim a dragon, the most powerful beast in the world, laying its head in acquiescence certainly was. Blinded by his small victory, nerves still in his mind, he reached for the rope ladder again, only for Vhagar to raise her head and growl, low and deep. A snarl formed on her great maw as Aemond stumbled back in shock and saw the light of orange flames gather at the back of her throat. 

“Dohaerās!” (Serve!) he shouted instinctively, recalling the many lessons he observed in the Dragonpit as he felt the heat of fire on his countenance. “Dohaerās, Vagus! Lykirī!” (Serve, Vhagar! Be calm!)

With Aemond’s commands, the she-dragon relaxed, recalling her flames and closing her mouth. She purred to him like a cat, a sign that she approved his merit while standing in the face of death. Vhagar would allow the Prince an attempt to claim her, but he must prove himself before the eyes of the Gods, before the eyes of a dragon. 

Aemond took the ropes and climbed atop the mighty Vhagar’s back, positioning himself in the saddle and grabbing the reigns. 

“Sōvēs!” (Fly!) Aemond ordered, and Vhagar rumbled, raising her legs and shaking the sand from her scales. “Sōvēs!”

She obeyed, taking a few giant steps and flapping her great wings, pushing off from the ground and leaving a sandstorm in her wake. Though Aemond told Vhagar to fly, he still had yet to control her as she took to the night sky in a near-vertical position, catching him unaware. The force knocked him from the leather saddle, leaving him dangling in the air with just the reigns for purchase. Aemond screamed with fear, feeling as if his stomach lurched out of his body as he struggled against the whipping wind to regain control. 

She tested him as he grabbed the pommel, sat upright, and pulled the ropes to balance her. He felt like he was on a bucking horse, loosening, tightening, twisting, and turning to the left and right to steer her safely. Vhagar ignored Aemond’s movements and continued to fly like he wasn’t there, diving into the dunes of Driftmark before he reared her upwards, dragging her claws across the sand. He squealed in terror, blocking the debris that scratched his face as she soared over the sea.

Aemond knew he needed to prove himself to her, to show the war-hardened dragon that he deserved to ride her. Her chirps and groans from the day earlier called to him like nothing before, singing to the Prince in her dragon song of forlornness and isolation. Perhaps that was why he felt compelled to claim her. They both shared that feeling of loneliness deep within their souls, that same oddness in their families. The dragoness was too large to be held within any structure, leaving her in forced solitude, her only companions being her rider. Aemond was the only one, despite his Valyrian features, not to have a dragon. 

That would no longer be his story.

Aemond fortified his mind and will, putting his soul into his movements as he lifted Vhagar higher in the sky. He could feel the blood of Old Valyria coursing through his veins as the mighty dragon obeyed, leveling out her vast wings and soaring over Spicetown and back to Driftmark. He screamed with fear and joy as she flew with him in the skies, a bright smile he was sure you could see in Lannisport. 

Aemond had proven himself. He had shown himself and all who doubted and bullied him for not having a dragon that he was capable, that he was worthy. 

Everything was as it should be.

Perhaps you would allow him to kiss you again and spend the night in his embrace. Aemond had no doubt you would be proud of him as he listened to your assurances that he was brave, a dragon knight who you could trust with your secrets and protect you from enemies, and that he deserved your heart. 

Aemond landed Vhagar with a grace he hadn’t possessed before, climbing down the rope ladder on her side with windburnt cheeks. As soon as his feet touched the sand, he ran straight to the underground caverns of High Tide to wake you and explain everything.

“Jace!” 

You faintly heard a voice calling, sounding distant in your dream state. Ignoring it with a groan, you rolled over, trying to return to sleep.

“Jace, wake up! Someone stole Vhagar!”

This woke you from your sleep. You sat up to see Baela and Rhaena hovering over your brother’s bed. 

“We need to stop them!”

Jace and Luke quickly threw the covers off and stuck their feet into their slippers as you observed them curiously. Rubbing the sleep from your face, you yawned, begrudgingly following them. 

“You cannot steal a dragon,” you countered after a long silence in the pale stone halls, your voice laced with sleep. It felt like you had hardly gotten a wink. 

“She is my mother’s dragon! I was supposed to claim her,” Rhaena countered, tears collecting in her dark eyes. 

Yawning again as you followed a few paces behind your siblings and cousins, you rolled your eyes, wanting to bite with the remark, “Why didn’t you?” But you didn’t say it. The reason was apparent why she didn’t, and Rhaena didn’t need any more reason to be distraught.

They led you to the caverns of High Tide, stumbling in your sleepless state. They led to the beaches lit only by dim torchlight, your movements groggy and slightly annoyed. On the other end of the tunnel, Aemond appeared before you with a proud grin and windswept hair. You couldn’t help but mirror his expression, a contagious self-satisfaction that spread to you. 

He needn’t say it aloud. You could tell by how he carried himself, shoulders back, chin high, and a slight lift to his cheeks, that your uncle claimed a dragon—the mightiest one in the world, Vhagar. 

“It’s him!” Rhaena exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Aemond.

It didn’t deter him, countering with his head high, violet eyes flicking from you to your cousin. “It’s me.”

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!” she yelled, hurt as if this reasoning would change Vhagar’s fate. As you moved to Aemond, Jace grabbed your hand, stopping you with an anxious yet demanding look on his face. 

“Your mother is dead, and Vhagar has a new rider now,” your uncle replied, and you felt your brows raise in shock. You knew better than most of the cruelty he could commit, but after spending time with Aemond and seeing the softer, gentler, and kinder side of him, it took you off guard. 

“She was mine to claim!” Rhaena argued, charging toward him in a challenge. Your skin began to itch, and your breath quickened. 

The hatred felt at the funeral carried over into your brothers and cousins. Tension in the air crackled like a fire in a hearth, watching the yellow and orange flames slowly dwindle into embers until someone threw tinder to spark it.

“Then you should’ve claimed her! Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride,” Aemond sneered. “It would suit you.”

Your lips parted in empathetic offense as you looked from your uncle to Rhaena, tears of guilt and shame pricking at your eyes. You apologized about the pig, and you thought Aemond forgave you, but it seems he couldn’t let go of the hurt no matter how close you were. The feeling of joy for your uncle’s feat was as brief as your friendship.

With a surge of rage, Rhaena charged forward, attempting to push Aemond, but he swiftly countered, and she fell to the ground. You jumped back in shock as you covered your mouth, Luke standing beside you. Baela screamed, protecting her sister as she punched him across his face and Aemond yelped in pain. Without thinking, you went toward your uncle, fearful for his well-being in your heart, but he swiftly stood before you could reach him, returning the same swing to Baela. You gasped in horror and moved to the side, narrowly missing your cousin’s body from colliding with yours. 

“Come at me again, and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” Aemond snarled at the twins, and without warning, Jace ran to him with a shout, shoving your uncle in offended anger and smacking him across the cheek.

You screamed for them to stop as you watched Luke try to join the fray, but you held him back, scared that he would get caught in the crossfire. He was the youngest and the littlest, most likely to get hurt. You needed to protect what family you could. Aemond brought this upon himself with his words of arrogance, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to defend him, too.

The scene before you was violent, a flurry of white, black, and red running atop Aemond as Luke slipped from your grasp, all pummeling, kicking, and screaming at him as you cried for them to stop. He was helpless as he suffered blow after blow, and you felt your heart splinter. This wasn’t a fair fight. Without worrying for yourself, you jumped on top of Jace, pulling him back from your uncle and giving him a chance to defend himself. You felt like a betrayer, turning against your twin to save your uncle. Your brother grunted as you both fell to the ground, his body on top of you as you struggled to keep him from fighting. 

You and your siblings had fought before, but nothing like this. It was so vicious, filled with violence and want for pain, as Jace whipped his head back into yours, causing it to slam against one of the many jagged rocks across the ground, having you see stars. He went back into the brawl with no worry for your safety as you heard the unsheathing of a knife, your eyes blurry as you struggled to see the scene before you. 

“You will die screaming in flames just as your father did!” Aemond yelled, suddenly holding Luke by his neck with a rock in his hand.

“My father is alive!” Luke gasped in protest, flinging his arms and blood running down his face.

You needed to get up to protect Luke from physical harm and the threat of discovering your lineage. You didn’t believe Aemond would kill Luke. He was capable of violence, but he wasn’t a murderer. As you tried to move, your skull felt filled with sand, pulling you back down to the ground as you felt the warm trickle of liquid run down your neck. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your sight and mind. 

Aemond spoke again to Jace, seeming to forget your existence and holding a sense of superiority. “He doesn’t know, does he, Lord Strong?” 

You forgot how cruel Aemond could be. Your stolen moments of reading and kisses in the night had closed your eyes to it.

“Aemond, don’t,” you mumbled, skull pounding as the excruciating sounds of your brothers and uncle’s shouts pierced your ears like needles. 

You blinked your eyes into focus, seeing Jace wildly swinging a knife at Aemond as you managed to kneel. Your brothers didn’t realize how dangerous what they were doing was, that a knife wasn’t something to use against someone who was armed with only a stone in hand. While Aemond was bigger and had more combat experience, a dagger would kill him. Being upset because someone claimed a dragon wasn’t worth murdering over. 

Reaching your arm out with a soft grunt, you grabbed Jace’s ankle as Aemond pushed him over, holding the same rock above his head as he did for Luke. You thought Aemond knew better than this. You gave him the perfect opportunity to run and get help now that Baela and Rhaena huddled into a scared, crying mess, but he was too far gone into his anger to see reason, blinded by it. 

“Aemond! No!” you shouted hoarsely, trying to stand but failing as your head pounded like a drumbeat.

He turned to you then, lowering the rock to his side as he stared at you with the sudden realization of what he had done. Your uncle was filled with a surge of superiority inside him. He couldn’t think straight, and when he happened upon the five of you, people he was always told that he was above, something inside him that lay dormant finally broke free. He knew he was always capable of violence, but felt remorse when he saw your bruised nose, tear-streaked cheeks, and blood dripping down your throat. 

Did he do that to you? 

Suddenly, Aemond was blinded, sand thrown into his eyes as he stumbled back and heard the yell of Luke, unimaginable pain soon following. You watched in horror as your brother savagely sliced into your uncle’s left eye, blood pouring and splattering across the ground. 

Aemond couldn’t remember if you were amid his attackers. He surveyed the bruised and battered bodies before him and realized what he had done as his stomach fell to his feet.

He hurt people, just like Aegon. You would never entrust your secrets to him. His hands committed violence, but his heart desired to tell a different story—one of a strong and noble prince who went through many trials and tribulations to prove himself worthy of the princess's heart.

All you could hear were screams. Screams from you, screams from Aemond as you crawled towards him, sobbing. 

“Aemond!” you cried as he doubled over, falling into your body as he screeched in pain. 

“It hurts!” he wailed into your chest, his free hand clawing into your back. “It hurts! Help me!” 

You trembled, arms struggling to keep yourself upright against his weight as the flurry of guards rumbled inside your skull like thunder. Unable to make out their words as they moved, it seemed like you were watching the world from outside your body, from the lenses of another, as Ser Harrold pried Aemond from your embrace.

It hurt. Everything hurt—your heart, stomach, muscles, and head. You weren’t sure who led you, Baela, Rhaena, Luke, and Jace to the Hall of the Nine as a flurry of people gathered, pushing and shoving as you clutched your skull. The room was so bright, so loud, as you heard your uncle’s screams. You felt sturdy arms grab you by your shoulders, roughly moving you as if you were nothing more than a doll, as it felt like your eyes were about to burst. Steel blue fabric blocked your eyes as you saw the hazy image of a seahorse stitched into the fabric.

“Father?” You reached out, small digits feeling along the fine silk until the texture of scruff scratched at your skin. Blinking, you saw the aged face of your grandfather, Lord Corlys, as he gathered you and your brothers behind him. 

Where was he, and where was your mother? 

You felt sick as people scattered around you like seagulls when they discovered a bloated whale carcass, all trying to see the injured Prince, who cried until the Maester poured Milk of the Poppy down his throat. It felt like when you accidentally drank the water from Blackwater Bay, like a cold, nauseous sensation that sent beads of sweat rolling down your spine. 

“I don’t feel good,” you whispered to Jace as you leaned into his side, clutching your head and gut. He paid you no mind, peering behind your grandfather to see your other one appear, bearing total weight upon his dragon-head cane. 

“How could you let such a thing happen?” Viserys questioned Ser Harrold, examining Aemond as you heard the sickening squelch of flesh and rattle of metal tools. “I will have answers!”

Despite it undoubtedly being a harrowing sight, you wanted to be by your uncle, to hold his hand through it, to feel his pain with him, but you couldn’t. You needed to be with your brothers. What they saw and experienced would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Luke had taken Aemond’s eye. 

“The princess and princes were supposed to be abed, my king,” the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard explained, shame woven in his words. 

Viserys wouldn’t allow his knights to show such carelessness, surveying each of them with critical eyes. “Who had the watch?”

“The young prince was attacked by his cousins, your grace,” Ser Cristion nonchalantly replied. His words angered you for reasons unknown, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. 

Viserys turned to the room, looking between the two Kingsguards on opposite sides of the family as he hobbled on his cane. “You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!” he boomed in a way you hadn’t seen before. You were afraid he would direct his anger at you, Jace, and Luke, wrapping your arms around them like you were in any state to protect your brothers. 

“I’m very sorry, your grace,” Ser Westerling said, head hung low in unimaginable disgrace. You felt bad for him. There was no way he could have stopped this. He was doing his duty and serving his King. It was Ser Criston who should be blamed.

“The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes before, your grace-”

“That is no answer!” your grandfather yelled at Ser Criston, causing a clap of pain to thunder inside your skull. 

You wanted to go to bed, sleep for eternity, and be awake to everything as it was yesterday. Your brothers and cousins unbloodied and Aemond dragonless and with an eye. 

“Where’s mother?” you noiselessly questioned Jace, leaning into his ear and almost losing your footing. You needed to stay strong for them. 

“It will heal, will it not? Maester?” Queen Alicent asked, velveteen voice quivering with pain for her poor son. Maester Kelvyn finished stitching Aemond’s skin, throwing the needle and thread into a bowl with your uncle’s fleshy, viscous eye. 

“The flesh will heal. The eye is lost, your grace,” his nasal voice replied matter-of-factly.

You were going to be ill. 

Quickly, you ran through the multitude of people, pushing past Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, who tried to stop you before you vomited all the contents of your stomach onto a person’s unsuspecting shoes. The crowd gasped in revolt, those not close to you jumping back and clutching their chests in shock. You found yourself before the fireplace, basking in its comforting warmth as you leaned onto the hearth and looked at the unlucky soul you retched on. 

Perhaps the Gods had a twisted sense of justice as you saw the disgusted face of Aegon before you. You didn’t hide your amused smirk.

“Tend to the Princess!” the King shouted to the Maester, seeming to forget about his injured son and throwing his cane in your direction. 

A flurry of green came before pale gray, tenderly cradling your visage in her palms as if you were her child, inspecting it. You grabbed the Queen’s wrists and attempted to push her away as if her touch burned, but she resisted, struggling against your childish strength until she grabbed your shoulders. Her touch reminded you of Aegon as you burst into tears, muscles going limp and at Queen Alicent’s mercy. She turned your head in her grasp, examining you with the utmost care that made another wave of nausea through you. 

The crowd observed in anxious silence as Aemond turned to watch his mother treat you with the affection he wished to receive. Familiar hatred bloomed inside his heart, swallowing his dry mouth as he thought resentfully. He would still have his eye if he hadn’t been so concerned with you. 

“I want my mother.” you whimpered, lips quivering in fear as the Queen lovingly wiped the blood from your neck. 

The Queen released you from her grip as if you had struck her, chest heaving and wide brown eyes watering as she turned to her eldest son. Your mother was here; you didn’t realize it.

“Where were you?” she interrogated Aegon, smacking him upside down before he could answer. 

“Ow! What was that for?” he questioned, incredulously rubbing at the afflicted area grimly. You held no sympathy for him as you hugged your sides. 

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your siblings suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!” she whispered heatedly so only he could hear, shaking his gangly body in rage. You looked at the Queen with confusion, thinking she had gone mad with grief when she said “siblings.”

As the grand Hall doors creaked open, a shaft of golden light spilled into the room, casting long shadows on the marble floor. With an air of elegance, your mother swept into the room, her silk gown trailing behind her. Following closely was Uncle Daemon, his formidable presence filling the space. Amidst the whispers and murmurs, your name and that of your brothers floated through the air, drawing your attention. Without a second thought, you moved toward her, the sensation of fingertips brushing your bicep as if a ghostly hand had tried to hold you back, sending shivers down your spine.

“Show me, show me!” your mother ordered you and Luke, softly running her digits across your body as you sobbed with relief. “Who did this?”

“They attacked me!” Aemond yelled before you could get a word out, leaning from behind his chair. 

You saw his wound on full display. An ugly crisscrossed row of stitches lined up his eye socket and onto his forehead, the flesh puckered and pink as it fought the infection. Your mother moved your face before you could stare any longer as a chorus of accusations from your brothers and cousins sang. You couldn’t get the image of his gash out of your head. 

“He was going to kill Jace! I didn’t do anything!” Luke loudly shouted as you scrunched your eyes with a painful wince.

“Enough!” you heard your grandfather yell, and you looked at him with helpless, watery eyes, but no one listened. 

“It should be my son telling the tale!” the Queen protested, fist pounding against her chest with conviction over the voices.

You continued to look at your grandfather in anguish, the King of The Seven Kingdoms, whom everyone ignored except you. “Silence!” he yelled, voice rattling inside his hollow chest as flem flew from his decaying mouth. 

The Hall went silent, quieter than the Stranger himself, as everyone looked at one another, stunned at the turn of events. People came here to mourn the loss of a daughter, an aunt, a niece, a wife, and a sister. Viserys looked at you and then at his son, his ivory staff sounding with every movement as you swallowed, the taste of bile strong. 

“He called us bastards.” you silently whispered to your mother, wiping the tears and snot from your face.

“Aemond, I will have the truth of what happened.” The King approached your uncle as he slumped into the armchair, stepping swiftly and with a newfound curiosity. “Now.”

“What else is there to hear?” Alicent questioned, clutching at her neck as tears threatened to spill. “Your son has been maimed, and her son is responsible.”

“Twas a regrettable accident,” your mother countered, moving her body to shadow the three of you from the onlookers.

“Accident?” the Queen repeated, astonished. “The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush! He meant to kill my son!” 

You realized the truth didn’t matter now. All that did was what people perceived it to be. 

“Twas my children who were attacked and forced to defend themselves!” your mother argued as she placed a comforting hand onto Luke’s shoulders. “Vile insults were levied against them!” 

Your grandfather turned from his son to the four of you as you inhaled a shuddering breath. “What insults?” he questioned, a dangerous lilt to his tone that you had never heard before as the Hall went silent. It raised the hairs on your arms. 

“The legitimacy of my children’s birth was put loudly to question,” your mother replied, her chin high yet holding a nervous waver to her voice. 

As she turned towards you, your mother’s eyes conveyed a silent but insistent demand to verbalize what you previously whispered. She wished everyone to hear these words from you—the compassionate and considerate eldest daughter known as The Gods’ Light among the common folk. With tears streaming down your cheeks and your chest heaving with emotion, you gazed at Aemond with a sense of guilt. You knew the words you were about to utter would carry an extraordinary weight. Both sides sought someone to bear responsibility for the turmoil, but you recognized the unspoken truth. 

At that moment, honesty seemed inconsequential. Aemond had suffered the loss of his eye due to Luke’s actions, and you keenly felt your failure to shield your brothers from harm. You would never fault at your duty again. 

“He called us bastards,” you confessed, lacking the anger and conviction of your siblings as you sniffled, refusing to look at Aemond. 

You watched as the Queen’s auburn tresses bounced with the slight affirming nod of her head, a look of disbelief and recognition crossing her face. At that moment, it became clear that she had informed Aemond about the deception, hardening your heart with betrayal. You had believed that she was different and loved you like family, and it stung to realize that she didn’t hesitate to spread lies that would hurt you.

“My children are to inherit the Iron Throne, your grace. This is the highest of treasons,” your mother reasoned, stepping forward to her slouched father as you attempted to reach for her hand to keep you hidden. “Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such awful slanders.”

As you gazed at your mother, her expression eerily mirroring that of Alicent’s, your lips began to quiver with unease. Was your mother implying that he should be subjected to torture? It seemed unfathomable. She couldn’t possibly be serious.

“Over an insult?” the Queen asked, shaking her head in disbelief. You knew she was trying to protect herself as you glared at the woman you once thought held the moon. “My son has lost an eye!”

“Tell me, boy. Where did you hear such lies?” the King seethed, face a hairsbreadth from Aemond as you whimpered.

“The insult was training yard bluster,” Alicent swiftly reasoned, eyes flicking desperately from her son to her husband. “The lot of boys. ‘Twas nothing-”

“Aemond,” your grandfather interrupted, ignoring his wife’s explanation. “I asked you a question.” 

Your uncle sat in solemn silence, his lone violet eye unwaveringly fixed on the ground while his father awaited his reply. Before he could utter a word, the Queen unexpectedly interjected. 

“Where is Ser Laenor, the children’s father? Perhaps he would have something to say on the matter,” she jeered.

Your grandfather turned, sparse brows scrunching together as he turned to Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys. “Yes. Where is Ser Laenor?”

“I do not know, your grace. I… could not find sleep and decided to take a walk,” your mother answered for them, smooth palms wiping across her crimson skirt.

The Queen let out a derisive laugh, her disbelief evident as she shook her head at her old friend. It was impossible to ignore the precise timing of Daemon’s arrival into the Hall of the Nine, trailing just moments behind Rhaenyra with her tousled strands of golden hair. Alicent bore the knowledge of her friend’s calculated machinations, even as Rhaenyra’s children stealthily slipped out of their beds to perpetrate the heinous act of maiming her son. She couldn’t dismiss the nagging suspicion that Ser Laenor was likely engaged in equally treacherous activities.

“Entertaining his young squires, I presume,” Queen Alicent sneered like before, making you feel the same deep-seated ire. 

As no one dared to voice their opposition to her words, a glint of silver caught your eye from the corner, revealing Ser Criston Cole’s silent laughter. Like Ser Harwin, you felt the urge to wipe that smug grin off his tanned face, even though you knew it was impossible.

“Aemond, look at me. Your King demands an answer,” your grandfather began, staggering before your uncle. “Who spoke the lies to you?”

Everything went silent; the roaring of the fire and the crashing of the waves in the darkness were all that could be heard in the Hall. You understood that whoever Aemond implicated might not live til the next morn. You felt your throat grow tight and struggled to breathe, clutching at your throat as you swallowed the acrid taste in your mouth. Queen Alicent told him as you recalled the time in Helaena’s room. It confused you at first why she would spread such gossip as she seemed to hold a tenderness for you. Claiming your brothers were bastards went without saying you were, but you realized that whatever contempt she had within her heart weighed far more significant than any affection for you. 

Some of you wished to shout that it was her, but you realized that was something Alicent would do without a second thought if the roles were reversed, and you did not want to be like her. She was wicked and cruel, just like her eldest.

“It was Aegon. He told Aemond to call us that,” you answered as every pair of eyes flocked to you. You didn’t like how close your grandfather was to him, afraid that he might strike him for the consequences of his mother. You felt your heart lurch into your throat as you gained the courage to speak the words aloud of all the bad things he did to you. “And he… he”

Before you could finish, your mother tucked you into her waist, kneeling and pushing your face into her shoulder. You tried to pull away from her when his hand rested on your head, the welt sensitive to touch. 

“Don’t,” she whispered into your hair, disguising it as a kiss. They deserved to know. Everyone needed to know what awful Aegon did to you. You wanted to move against her, but your mind was foggy and muscles weak.

“Me?” Aegon exclaimed with shock, wide amethyst orbs looking at you with a broken expression. 

“And you, boy,” your grandfather crept towards him, the rhythmic tapping of his cane piercing your skull like an ice pick. “Where did you hear such calumnies?” Your uncle refused to answer him as his gaze bore holes into your being. There was no remorse in your heart for him. “Aegon, tell me the truth of it!” Viserys shouted, causing you to flinch and cover your ears. 

“We know, father,” Aegon replied fearlessly, refusing to remove his stare from your quivering form. “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

Feeling the stares from the guests, you admired your uncle for not implicating his mother like a coward, removing your body from your mother, wiping the snot from your lip. Let them look, you thought, inhaling a deep breath as you felt your mother bring you closer. They would stare at you for the rest of your days. It was best if you grew accustomed to it now.

“This interminable infighting must cease!” the King declared, banging his walking stick off the pale stone floor. “All of you! We are family! Now, make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your King demands it.” 

You grimaced at his words, and though you loved your grandfather, having been his favorite granddaughter, you disagreed with him. You refused to apologize for your family trying to defend themselves, and the Queen couldn’t help but agree more. 

“That is insufficient,” Alicent said, gesturing to her son. “Aemond has been damaged permanently, my King. Goodwill cannot make him whole.” 

Aemond’s fingers dug into the wooden framing of the armchair, and your chin quivered at the thought of what he might be feeling. 

“I know, Alicent,” Viserys sighed, “but I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it’s been taken,” she sobbed, clutching at her chest, flicking her hair back in a manner that reminded you of Aegon. “There is a debt to be paid. I shall have the hand of her eldest to one of my sons. To mend the rift and unite the House of the Dragon once more.”

“Alicent,” your grandfather breathed in a warning, yet still turned to his daughter, having a hint of hope in his violet eyes.

You looked at your mother, shock overcoming any sadness you felt as she shoved you behind her skirts like a hen would do to her chick, too stunned to speak. “I refuse.” 

The Queen shook her head, a sneer curling her plump lips and wet cheeks. Rhaenyra was a selfish, wicked woman with no inclination of decency. Why couldn’t she see this would be solved if she returned Alicent’s rightful daughter to her? The Queen steeled herself to the belief that she would have to fight for her right to have you. She knew deep in her bones that you would one day be by her side.

“Then I shall have one of her sons’ eyes in return. The Princess is innocent,” the Queen declared with a desperate wave of tears. 

Aemond looked to his mother, face impassive, and senses dulled from Milk of the Poppy. He didn’t recall telling her about what you did for him, though it was very little. It felt like he was becoming a second thought to his mother, who seemed only to be scheming on how to insert his niece into their lives. Aemond realized then that he would always be second in his mother’s heart to you, and he felt hollow at the thought, the love that once filled it for his niece ceasing to exist.

“Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment,” your grandfather warned Queen Alicent. She said nothing as her chest heaved, brown orbs flicking between her husband and old friend.

Believing the matter finished, the King backed away, but Alicent wouldn’t allow this to be the end. She looked to her sworn protector, an apathetic expression on her visage. 

“If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.” Ser Criston looked to the Queen with a startled expression as Luke cried for your mother. “He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son.”

“You will do no such thing,” your mother steadfastly declared, ensuring the three of you were behind her.

“Stay your hand,” the King commanded as the Queen shook with rage, desperately looking between her husband and sworn protector. She reminded you of a deer cornered in a vast forest, listening to the distant howls of wolves closing in for the hunt.

“No, you are sworn to me!” she yelled, finger pointing to her chest indignantly. All waited for the knight to respond, the Lord Commander slowly bringing his hand to the hilt of his sword.

“Protect your brother,” your mother whispered, never straying her eyes from the Queen. Without further instruction, you stood before Luke, gradually backing him away from the group of people unnoticed. You understood Alicent would not hurt you, as did your mother. 

“As your protector, my Queen,” Ser Criston replied with a wary head tilt.

“Alicent, this matter is finished. Do you understand?” your grandfather declared, seething, his face centimeters away from his wife before he addressed the room. “And let it be known that if anyone’s tongue dares to question, the birth of Rhaenyra’s children should have it removed.” 

Breathing a sigh of relief, you let go of Luke, coming to take your place beside your mother as she thanked the King. The unsheathing of a blade cut through the room as the form of Queen Alicent charged toward your family, startling you, the King’s ancestral dagger in her grasp. Luke screamed as she reached the four of you, but your mother stepped in her path before Alicent could enact her rage. 

Suddenly, a person shoved into you, disregarding your existence as you found yourself on the floor. You noticed how the stone seemed to ebb and wave like the flow of the tide. Lord Corlys appeared beside you, lifting you into his arms, securely bound around your torso as he took you into the circle of your cousins and brothers, your mother struggling against the Queen. 

“You’ve gone too far!” your mother admonished the Queen as tears burned her eyes. She pushed against Alicent, and she jerked against her, trying to get to your brother.

“I?” Queen Alicent exclaimed, voice thick with anguish as you attempted to push out of your grandfather’s arms, kicking your legs into his side. “What have I done, but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, and the law while you flout to do as you please?”

“Alicent, let her go!”

The Queen still poised the dagger to strike, its new path being that of the heir to the Iron Throne as your mother looked helplessly to the onlookers. No one made to separate the two as they all stared in shock, the fire illuminating their faces like wraiths of death. Landing a hard smack to Lord Corlys’s neck, he dropped you as you shoved through the onlookers toward your mother. She put her life for yours and your brothers, but who would put hers before theirs? 

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? My happiness and dreams? It’s templed under your pretty foot again!” the Queen sobbed, her form trembling with hurt and rage, everything that she bottled inside her for years. 

“Release the blade, Alicent,” Lord Otto commanded, a man you hadn’t met until this morn, but she paid him no mind, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she pushed against her old friend. 

“Wasn’t taking her, my only light, enough for you? And now you take my son’s eye, and to that, you feel entitled,” she confessed, tears making the Queen’s mouth thick with wetness as you shouldered your way to the inner circle of people. 

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness,” your mother interrogated, a bitter grimace on her sharp lips. “But now they see you as you are.”

Alicent stared at your mother with an enraged offense that wrinkled her brows as she felt fire surge through her, and with a loud cry, she unthinkingly swung your family’s ancestral dagger. You screamed, running to your mother as you pulled her back, seeing a gash on her inner arm that gushed with blood. 

“Mama,” you wept, tenderly holding her limb as if it would break. 

Dropping the dagger, Alicent took an instinctual step toward you, a blanched, horror-stricken expression across her round face. She longed to go to you, to dry your tears and stroke your head against her bosom like your true mother would, but she could not. The terror and fear in your wide brown eyes that resembled her own sliced through her chest and laid her heart and soul bare as she felt a small hand slide into hers. The Queen hoped to see you standing beside her and thought herself mad before she securely took her son’s fist.

Much like you, Aemond knew his parent needed him. “Do not mourn me, mother. ‘Twas a fair exchange,” he expressed with a maturity beyond his years. He turned to you, a violet gaze once filled with joy now devoid, hollow, and one less eye. “I may have lost an eye but gained a dragon.”

You wished Aemond hadn’t claimed one this way and felt a hiccup wrack your lungs as you cried into your mother, Jace, and Luke coming beside you. You sadly realized this was the end of the fleeting companionship you cultivated with your uncle. All the stolen moments of reading, ideas, philosophies, and aspirations you shared under the cover of privacy were nothing more than air the moment he ran across the dunes. You would have still cared for him without a dragon, as before, but his pride wouldn’t allow it, and now he stared at you with an eye that you knew far too well. 

Aemond hated you. He loathed you and your brothers with a fire that would never cease. This was your fault. He lost an eye because of you—because he cared about his bastard niece and had the foolish dream of becoming the man you loved. You did not deserve it. You were nothing more than a common girl born from sin, undeserving of your station. He would despise you for the rest of his days no matter how his heart screamed to have you by his side when darkness fell and all that was left was the ghost of your touch. 

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Happiness never lasts in ASOIAF. I'm going to miss writing for baby Aemond and reader. They were so cute! From now on it's going to be messed up young adults with severe mommy uses and mental illness. I'm not going to say who has which XD. Thank y'all so much for reading and I hope to see y'all in the next chapter!

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager, @discofairysworld, @lottiemsgf , @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , @p45510n4f4shi0n, @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024 , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @vaylint

[sayafics]

Envious Cravings

This is my first time writing smut, so I hope I did okay :)

Criston Cole x Targaryen!OC x voyeur!Daemon Targaryen

Part 2

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Daemon walked leisurely down the corridor, his footsteps echoing down the empty halls. He had left Rhaenyra asleep, too worn out by the ordeals of the night - their dinner had been a failure, Aemond and Aegon had riled up Jace and Luke and then humiliated them as though they were nothing but the scum on the bottom of their shoes.

Daemon let his thoughts wander for a moment, past his obsessions, and past his loyalties - the boys were bastards, yes. But they were Rhaenyra's sons.

They were also unskilled and untrained.

They fell into submission under the brutal hands of Aemond and the drunken grasp of Aegon with ease.

These boys claimed to be dragons, but the wavering bravery of sheep ran through their blood instead.

He bit his cheek in frustration, unsure of where he was going as he deliberated such realisations.

Rhaenyra's children were bethrothed to his own, and so if they were to unite as one, then one day, Daemon's blood would sit upon the throne of the Seven Kingdoms and become Lord of the Tides.

It seemed like everything he had always wanted. It seemed like the desires that had set him alight all those decades ago were slowly becoming true.

And yet, in the light of who his children would marry - weak and spineless boys in comparison to the fair-headed Hightower spawns - he found himself swamped with bother and doubt.

How would they fair as a King and as a Lord?

How would they fare as a husband? As a father? As a protector?

They fail to protect even their own reputations, they allow their names to become sullied by the whispers of the Kingdom and refute to take a stance against them - hiding behind their mother's full figure like babes who still suck upon a bosom, instead of the men they ought to be.

There was a sour taste upon his tongue as he reluctantly admitted to himself that the Hightower boys had the power Rhaenyra's children did not.

Although they were all half-blooded Targaryens, the dragon's breath ran strong through the Hightower heirs.

And yet the throne would go to Rhaenyra, and though pure-blooded she may be, her children were not.

At least not the ones she shared with a long and dead Ser Harwin Strong.

He clicked his teeth, mind reeling as a puddle of confusion and frustration began to pool over.

Daemon looked around him, eyes frantic in search for a distraction - for something, someone he could let his frustrations out upon.

Perhaps a knight he could duel and bury the hilt of his sword within.

Perhaps a maiden he could roughen and have his way with.

Little guilt washed over him at that point, his mind fogged with the prospects of his future. Of the future of his daughters, in the hands of boys instead of men.

Daemon came across an empty corridor, vast and deep leading down into his old chambers from his days as a young man when his father was still brazen and breathing.

He looked upon the hall in sadness now, a melancholic hue that melted into confusion as he realised the halls rang empty of life - of knights.

Did no one live amongst these corridors any longer? Still, with the vast size of the Keep, all halls should remain occupied - for the safety of the King.

He wandered down the corridor, wanting to see how dismal the place had become in his absence. Wanting to see if the disease of the Seven had reached his chambers and swamped them over.

Daemon searched for a twinge of life within the corridor, a whisper of a being, a shadow of a creature.

But the corridor was quiet and bare, as though Alicent had deemed it unworthy of dignifying with her banners and trinkets.

Dsemon scoffed under his breath at the thought, but the sound was cut off by another - shallow and soft.

It sounded again, now desperate against the silence which echoed around him.

And again.

And again.

A woman. A young woman, who seems to have been on the brink of pleasure.

The sound rang again, breathy and rasped as though she had been screaming for hours now in search of an insatiable pleasure.

Daemon felt his cock twitch at the sound, the desperate moans causing him to reel further in search of the source.

He came to a stop in front of a familiar set of doors - his old chambers.

He thinks he should be angry, digusted that a maid or servant would use his room and sully it with their lust in his absence. But he simply holds his breath as he leans closer towards the door.

The moans are clearer now, as are the frenzied whispers of the girl- "please. Ple- don't stop~ oh, more."

In between such sinful pleas, Daemon hears the drawn-out groans of a man - was this a maiden and a knight? Sneaking away from their nightly duties to bask in the pleasures of a nefarious act?

Oh, how he could barge through those doors right now. How he could send fear shooting down their spines and have their faces flush with shame instead of pleasure. How he could join the knight in his wicked games and make the quiet maid come undone with his deft fingers, skillful tongue and thick cock.

Oh, how he could.

But Rhaenyra.

He clenches his eyes shut against the thought - what little guilt he believed existed alone now began to build.

Fine.

He would not join.

But what was the harm in watching.

Daemon steps back from the door, his footfalls soft and his moves almost silent. He makes his way to a ridge within the walls he knows too well, prying them open with practised ease.

He slips into the dark embrace of the tunnels who welcome him with glee, as though he had only now returned home.

Daemon makes his way through the tunnels, following the path he memorised during his youth. It did not take long before he heard the moans in earnest, heard the girl become desperate and frantic under the relentless possession of a man starved.

Daemon's hand brushed against the border of the painting, which concealed the tunnels from the chambers that were once his.

He pushed it open carefully, the slow and whining creak barely audible over the sound of the girl's mewls and the man's praises.

His eyes scanned the room first, making sure no others were about whom could warn the vivacious lovers of his ill-attention.

The first thought that washed over him was how different his old chambers looked now - splattered in such a feminine touch that it had almost lost every essence to which made the chambers Daemon's.

Lavish furs and pillows, drapes of satins and silk, carpentry made of the rarest of materials and most expensive paints and polishes.

This was not the room Daemon recalled - not the childhood he had left.

A drawn-out wail pulled his attention away, his eyes now landing on the bed.

Amusement flickered across his features, a laugh of incredulity almost escaping him as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

Laying on a bed of ivory fur, her figure nude and her hair laid astrewn, was his young niece - Visenya Targaryen.

But that was not what had surprised him - after all, he had pursued Rhaenyra in her youth. Should he have seen Aemond or Aegon ravishing her beneath her satin sheets, he would not have blinked an eye.

But no.

Instead, laying contently between her legs and feasting upon her sweet cunt was the Queen's most trusted Shield - Ser Criston Cole.

Daemon almost laughed, he wanted to walk into the room and humiliate the pair. But his cock twitched painfully at the sight in front of him - he hardened within his pants as he watched the pair with shallow breaths.

Visenya had her legs thrown over the knight's shoulders, thighs almost crushing his head as her fingers tugged at his dark locks.

Criston was almost as desperate in his movements as she was in her sounds, her hips rising with every swipe and lick as he held her down, his fingers pressing harshly into the softness of her thighs.

Criston's eyes were closed in bliss, his tongue laving through her folds and he circled her clit and suckled upon it. Visenya bit her lip, tears streaming down her face as she ground her bare cunt across Criston's fluttering tongue.

Criston lifted his head from between her thighs, littering kisses across her thighs - "fuck, you taste so good Princess."

He trailed kisses up her form, her arousal coating his lips and chin as he presses a firm kiss upon her lips. Visenya moans at the tangy taste, pushing her tongue into his mouth and drinking him in.

Daemon's hand brushed over his covered cock, touching himself from his hidden place.

Criston's fingers skimmed down her waist, fingers hovering over her cunt as she canted towards him, whines slipping past her lips.

"Please, touch me. I need you."

Daemon's hands slipped into his breaches, her breathy whines more than enough to have his cock begin to leak all over his hands. He swiped at the pre-cum, gathering it to spread across his twitching cock as he held it in a vice grip. He tugged at his length, his moves slow as he imagined his cock in the place of Criston's hand.

Criston gave into her fervored whispers, his fingers meeting her weeping cunt as he swiped across her entrance to her clit. He circled her clit lightly as Visenya clenched her eyes in frustration, she reached a hand down to pull him closer but Criston was stronger.

He placed fervent kisses across her neck, tracing his way across her body to her breasts. He mouthed at them, kissing and biting as his fingers began to circle her clit faster.

Visenya's back arched from the bed, her hands finding Criston's locks with aching desperation as she pulled him back towards her - "I need more."

Criston placed his head against hers, sighing softly into her parted lips, "my love, you know I cannot."

"You can. You simply do not wish to."

Her whispers sounded hurt, and for a moment, Criston stopped his gentle touches to sit back on his haunches and look at the girl.

"I do. You know I do. I would take you now if I could, but I would not risk your life like that."

Visenya sat up on the bed, eyes stinging as she spoke - "you mean, you would not risk my value. For what gain does a princess hold, if her cunt has been used by another."

Daemon rolled his eyes at that, his hand still within his breaches, and his body still tingling with pleasure as he watched the scene unfold in burning disinterest.

"Do not say that. You are worth more than anything- than anyone. You are all I seek, all I need."

"Then why will you not have me?"

Tears had welled up within her eyes now, trailing softly down her flushed cheeks as she looked at him pleadingly.

Daemon's brows quirked in interest, now this was fascinating. How the knight so easily denied the Princess' wishes, he did not know.

Daemon was sure if he had been there, feasting upon the delight between her thighs, he would have granted her every wish and every desire with no thought of the consequences.

Criston wanted to reach out, brush away her tears, and hold her tightly within his arms. But he was bound by his duties, and he was already spitting upon the vows he had made.

He had made his vows to Alicent, had promised his allegience to the Queen, and yet here he was struggling to not give all of himself to her daughter.

"Because I am not good enough for you. I am not worth something so precious and so pure. Because I am tainted and you are not."

"Then ruin me."

It was a whisper. An order. A demand and a plea.

Princesses did not beg, but perhaps this was the closest Visenya would get.

Criston looked into her eyes, searching for the assurance he needed. But he did not have much time to deliberate, as the shy and timid princess became coy as she crawled across the bed and into his lap.

She threw her legs onto either side of his hips, fingers dancing over his bare arms and watching gooseflesh break under her touch. Visenya dragged her nails across the flesh of his shoulders, admiring the way his eyes closed as he tried to hold himself back, the way his head tilted back and his breaths came to a whining stop.

For a moment, Daemon wished it was him sat under the girl. Wished that it was his skin marked by her, his pleas groaned into her ear, his hands upon her waist.

For a moment, Daemon forgot all about Rhaenyra and found himself lusting after Visenya.

"I cannot. If your mother was to find out, she-"

"She will not. It is only us here. Our secret. Our promise."

"I cannot."

"Criston."

His name was a pretty whine from her lips, and his eyes opened to meet her own that were wide and dark with lust. He leaned close to her, his lips brushing over her own as they gasped into each other - "one day."

"Today."

"One day. Soon, my love. I promise."

Visenya gave in, as she always did. Hot tears were tracking down her face as she kissed Criston with all the passion and love she was forced to hide from lingering eyes and suspicious gazes.

Criston grasped her face, his wretched desires making him so desperate to touch her, to hold her, to know that she is here within his arms and has not been shipped away to another Lord in a city too far to reach.

Visenya shifted, she gasped a delighted sound into the space between Criston's tender lips as her hips ground against his.

Criston threw his head back with a groan, "yes, that's a good girl. You're doing so good - so perfect, feels so good."

He nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck, biting and suckling the flesh there as his hands gripped her hips tightly and ground them against his.

From his place in the shadows, Daemon's desires began to burn once more as Visenya let out endless moans, wrapping her arms around Criston's neck as she moved in earnest.

There was no materials between them now, her bare cunt brushed against his hardened cock until there was a puddle of arousal settled between them. Still, they paid the mess no mind - lost in the gratification they felt in that moment.

Daemon's hand tightened around his length once more, pumping faster and harder as he watched Visenya come closer to the edge. He panted into the darkness, sweat beading on the back of his neck as he forced his eyes to stay focused on the trembling and whining girl.

"That's it," Criston whispered, "come on, cum for me, sweet girl. I know you can. Cum for me, just for me."

It seems those words were enough to throw her over the edge, wrapping her arms tighter around Criston's neck as a sharp cry escaped her.

Criston's moves became sloppy, his hips rutting up to meet hers and grinding against her flesh as he chased his own climax. He came with a rough groan, softly grinding their hips together as they rode out their orgasm.

Visenya whimpered, feeling sensitive but not wanting the shocks of pleasure that rumbled through her to stop.

She was about to pull away from Criston, ready to fall back in her bed and pull his body towards hers so he could hold her until dawn.

Instead, a quiet groan caught her attention - one that did not come from the distracted man beneath her, rather directly ahead of her.

In the cracks of the shadows, she could see the tell-tale flash of a fair-headed Targaryen. Her shoulders stiffened, hands reaching to pet Criston's hair as he whimpered against her flesh and rutted against her in seek of another climax.

Was this Aegon? Perhaps it was Aemond?

If so, surely they would not reveal her dalliances to the Court? To their mother?

But then she saw a slip of skin - a hardened jaw, an angled face, a mischevious grin.

Something that could only belong to one person.

Daemon.

Daemon knew he was caught, but he was so deep - so close to the brink of release, he could not stop.

His eyes clenched shut, teeth gritted to stop his groans escaping him and informing the knight of his presence too.

His cock was pulled out of his breaches, his hand pumping faster and tighter and he rutted into his own palm and imagined Visenya's tight and virgin hole in its place.

His head hit the wall next to the painting with a silent thud, white streaks splattering across his hands and out of the tunnel to paint the luscious rugs beneath him with his essence.

He panted like a dog, one so starved and so hungry, as his violet eyes met the scared and timid gaze of his niece.

Criston had stopped his ministrations now, his head laying contently in the valley of her breasts as he rubbed circles into the flesh of her waist. She continued to pet his hair, but her horrified glare was fixed upon the gap behind the painted frame.

Daemon knows.

Daemon saw.

And Daemon had pleasured himself at the sight.

She was not sure what her next move should be.

What his next move could be.

But she knew she would have to fix this. Otherwise, she could lose the man she held gently in her arms so quickly.

Taglist: @marihoneywk @hangmanscoming

[lady-ashfade]

Yandere house of the dragon x Hybrid Dragon reader:

The first declare.

Taglist: @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @second-try-stevie @prettyinblack231

Notes: Man. Not going to like this is a bad time to lose my spark when I have 100 requests but it just because of the holidays. Also wanted to make this longer but I wanted to get something out. So I hope you enjoy. 

Warnings: Yandere, yandere tendency, bad writing, obsessiveness, protectiveness, unhealthy relationships.

Years has passed from when you were takin in by the king and queen, and only few when you had shown your true powers.

You hadn’t seen daemon and his wife and children in a few years but they had written letters, or when he would come late in the night to visit but you swore to keep a secret.

You had grown into a small young woman and to the people around you, they care so very dearly for you. Obsessed to put it lightly.

Daemon treated you like his own daughter and bought you gifts from his adventures. He missed you very much and he considered kidnapping you away from the life in the castle away from all the drama. They all had place you in the center of their war not caring for just you.

Speaking of the war, the two that were the head of it was your mother and sister. Alicent and rhaenrya.

Alicent thanked the gods everyday for sending you into her life and her childrens. You grew up to love them as your own siblings and treated her like your mother.

Rhaenrya did try and take you away from Alicent and push her way to also raise you. Sometimes in the morning when Alicent would come to help get you ready rhaenrya was right there already helping you.

But as time grew their sworn protectors also took a interesting in you and become protective as well.

Sir harwin and sir cristin cole tried their best to win you over. They both would promise and help you train when it was allowed, they even got you very small gifts to make you like them more then the other. Of course the girls encourage this.

Sir hawrin was always kind to you and you liked him very much, sometimes you did wonder if he was jace and Luke’s father but you never asked because it didn’t matter. You loved the boys no matter.

Cole followed you around at your mothers command and it go annoying. But he’d find a away to flip it around and say he’d take you train later. Alicent did push cole into your life because he was always with her.

Viserys over time got sicker and you were always called to his room. You’d read to him and talk to him some nights. You walked around with him more then anyone because he was your father. He welcomed you in court as a cup barer. And sometimes if you had a opinion he’d listen to you.

But as the children grow with you, the more their feelings did. Just like their parents.

And now two of the boys have crushes.

The strands of hair between your fingers felt soft as they usually do, the white shine it had was always something you cared for. You looked down at the boy who laid his head in your lap while his face was coved by the book in his hands. “Aemond?” you ask. The boy quickly dropped then book down to looked up at up at you- He usually dropped anything he was doing for you.

He didn’t give a vocal answer but you could tell his focus was solely on you, his eyes filled with Curiosity of your next words. “Do you think one day you’ll get a dragon? I know you wish so hard for one, but one day when you do get a dragon..” you looked away and a breath was let out.

“Will you love it more then me?”

Aemond didn’t believe the words he listened to, Will he love it more then you? How could he love anything more then you, you being the most important thing in his life: His twin flame. The prince was quick to shot up from your lap and careful not to harm you. Taking your hands into his and holding them so soft and sweet but the grip was still there to get his point across.

“These words you speck are far from anything I will ever be capable of doing my dear sister. No dragon, big or small, no matter it’s color or strength.” His eyes held the truth and you could see the darkness behind his eyes from as long as you could remember. “I will never love anyone or anything more then you, my love. I might not have a dragon, but I have you.”

A smile of happiness and relief reached your lips and you pulled him into a hug which he quickly returned with a laugh. No matter how many times you hugged him you seemed to bring a light into his dark and lonely mind. “I’ll get you a dragon one day but i’m glad you settled for me.” You had dreams of one day getting a dragon for your brother so he could be happy. Maybe you had some doubts of him loving it more then you but as long as he was happy you would try.

Before he could respond the door of the Library swings open and the faces you see are your younger nephews, Jacaerys and lucerys, the brown headed boys took a second to scan over the room but soon their eyes fell on you. The spark in their eyes got wider in excitement but it fell short when they noticed the boy holding you. Aemond’s face lifted up as a small smirk planted on his lips and held you closer. “What is it now?” His annoyed voice called out but you rolled your eyes and pushed him softly away to stand up. He looked hurt but you held out a hand to help him up.

“Our mother called for her. She has gone into labor and she wants her to be there.” You gasped and rushed away from aemonds side and over to the boys. “Thank you for telling me.” Dashing passed to boys and out into the hallway disappearing, leaving the boys glaring at each other. Aemond was the first to speak up, “You do know this is our special place right? I’m surprised you even know there is a Library.” Walking closer to them the boys stand defensive.

“And what about you? You always take her away from us when we should be the ones with her, or you constantly take her out of her duties. My mother said you aren’t even her real brother and that we are closer.” Jaces words hit aemonds heart like a knife and it got him fired up. “You want to say that again?” He got closer in jaces face ready for any move about to be made.

“She is my sister.” The white haired prince yelled. Only for the shout of the other prince made him freeze.

“She will be my betrothed.”

The words lefted jaces mouth in a harsh truth and his pride and demanding tone as he recalled the words and whispers his mother told him. Aemond’s hand clinched tight as rage filled his body and over take him almost too bearable to shake. Blood of the dragon did run deep through his veins.

“Say that again.” The older prince took steps forward to close the gap between them, the youngest held tight onto his brother in slight fear. “Y/n is ours, she’s our aunt.” No one payed attention to him because he was not important at the moment.

“What’s going on here?” A stern voice bounced off the walls and broke the glares of hatred between the two princes. The boys turned to see sir harwin: a knight of the kings guard but only young Luke was blind to what he really also was, who he fathered. Jace quickly smiled and swung a arm around Aemond’s shoulders, “We are just bickering about a stupid game.” It took all of aemond to suck up his anger and force a smile back. 

The boys quickly ran behind the guard as he lead them out and told them it was time to leave the library and go to the dragons pit. The biggest man’s back was turned and it gave Aemond one last time to speck and get his point across.

“She is mine.”

You walked back and fourth with anxiety as you listened to the yells and screams from the next room. No matter how many times you listened you couldn’t get used to it. The panic you felt made your blood pump faster and the wave of emotions all collided. Golden eyes shined brighter then normal like the sun had taken their place, black nails replaced your normal ones at your fingertips looking like it could cut through anything, then wings on your back ready to come out at any second. 

It’s been a few years since your powers showed and yet you still do not know how to contain them as best as you wished. You could do more things then you could before and are better now but emotions are your down fall.

The screams come to a end and you smiled waiting to be welcomed into the room by the maids. You waited and waited for a minute or two but the doors never opened but you were joined by sir leanor and he gladly took you into his arms seeing your distress. “My dear ease your mind, no need to be worried let the thoughts drain out.” His soft voice hushed you and you hadn’t noticed everything becoming calm and quiet.

You sigh of relief and pulled back as he brushed your hair and he said asked you “Better?” You nodded along and offered his a smile. “Better.” In times of panic you often find yourself being calmed by your family. He was one of them. He pushed the doors open and you followed behind him while walking into her quarters. “A boy? Well done.” The pride in your heart that you had a new baby nephew blinded your head.

“Why are you walking.” His question pulled you out of your happiness for a moment seeing her limp in pain. “She wishes to see him.” You looked up at her confused. “Who?” You asked while she looks down at you and a light smile appears. “Your mother.” Confused you followed behind while listening to them and you stood behind rhaenrya incase you had to catch her if she falls. But she had other plans as she turned back to you and he followed, “I do believe you are needed by your teacher.” You shook your head no but she placed a caring hand on your cheek.

“I will let you hold the babe later but now you must do your duties, my sweet girl.” Even though you didn’t want to leave her side it was best, even though you did not know the situation she was going into, you knew you wouldn’t be aloud to follow. “Keep her safe leanor,” kissing the babies head and giving a final goodbye you walked off to your training hall. 

After training you had hoped to watch the boys train with your father as you had hope to give him company. He was getting worse over the years and it left a pit in your stomach knowing you’d lose him before you should but you still had time. “Father!” Yelling as you saw him sitting down over the edge of the wall next to his hand, Lyonel Strong he was Sir harwin father and you liked them both. Viserys brighten up and opened his arm out to you, kissing him on the cheek and giving him a small hug.

“How was training my sweet girl??” He asked. “As well as it can be though I am not sure my teacher sees it that way.” Humming you looked over at the training ground and saw your family. He nodded and laughed and told you that you’ll get better as time passes.

You saw Harwin bending down picking up the swords and other things while Cole walked to him but you couldn’t hear what was said. You watched as harwin froze then turned around to punch him in the face and you gasp. The scene played out and you gripped your dress as it got more violent and Harwin had to be pulled back as Coles face was blooded.

You heard him shout to ‘Say it again’ over and over while cole got up from the ground. “Take y/n to her mother.” Viserys told his hand but you shook your head, “No.” Before they could stop you, you had already taken off to the stairs and out into the grounds. The first one to see you was luke and he ran to hug you with Jace following. “Are you alright?” You asked both of them kindly.

“Princess you shouldn’t be here.” The bloody knight, cole stated. “I shall do as I wish no offensive, but I am not a weak maiden.” Rushing over to him you handed him your handkerchief and smirked. “Perhaps you remember the claw scar on your arm the last time we fought.” he just smiled and laugh. “I remember well princess.” He patted your head while looking at harwin as he glared at him back.

Showing the man that you came to his side before him to rub it in his face, there was tension again. “Let him go for a second.” You walked over to harwin and patted his hand, you waved your hand and he bent down. Everyone watched as you whispered something in his ear and as he smiled and laughed. You pulled back and they took him away.

“Secrets aren’t very nice, y/n.” Aegon yelled and walked over to you. “When have you ever cared about being nice?” He laughed at your response. “Have you come to train with me? Because these little boys know knowing.” He glanced at them and they rolled their eyes. You looked at him for a second and then your eyes got mischievous.

“Prepare to lose brother.” 

[beware-of-pity]

Just before tonight's episode airs, I wanted to get out of the way some of the little thoughts that still wander my head from last Sunday's one. I know this post will hold little to no meaning or significance after the episode airs, because it could probably completely change the trajectory of where the relationship between Rhaenyra and Jacaerys stands seeing as we already got teased a conversation with these two, but there was something that did bother me about how they choose to portray these two th last episode that I feel the need to talk about it.

I really, really, cannot get down to what they want to do with the dynamic with these two. I really do not understand where Jacaerys and Rhaenyra's relationship is heading as of last Sunday's episode. While it seems like they can have moments where they communicate and understand what they're both feeling and going through, most of the time these two are on screen they do nothing but misunderstand and be angry at each other.

Rhaenyra treats Jacaerys just like how Viserys treated her under Otto's influence, as seen in episode two of the first season. She ignores him, doesn't listen to his suggestions except for when she's on board with them, and shuts him down at every turn- and yet she deliberately tells Mysaria that Jacaerys is rebelling against her, a feeling that showrunners like Sara Hess back up as the truth of the matter.

And all I can do while watching all of this unfold is ask myself if I've either lost the plot of what's in front of me or if I'm just not seeing what the showrunners want me to see. All I've been seeing for the past six episodes is an inactive Rhaenyra being angry at her council for.... something I'm still not exactly sure about. I understand, her, feeling diminished and put down and perhaps still not being taken seriously as a woman in a room full of men but every time there's a council scene and Rhaenyra is in it, I can kind of also understand why she's still not being taken seriously. Every time she recoils with uncertainty because she does not know what to do, how to retaliate, or how to get her faction back on her feet, her mind leads her to what she knows best, participate with Syrax. When she's told that her getting on her dragon and becoming an active participant in the war is a bad idea, she scoffs and becomes annoyed because she doesn't know any better. Rhaenyra doesn't know what to do because with the little education she was given by her father battling a civil war with her half-brother was certainly not on the curriculum. And while I wouldn't blame young Rhaenyra for not knowing better, adult Rhaenyra should have certainly foreseen that her ascension to the throne would have been challenged, challenged enough that a dragon war breaking out would have been on the cards that she would have to, one day, play.

This hesitation is what costed her rook's rest. Had she already started cooping up the men-at-arms of the houses whose support she had on her side, she could have had the means to face Cole with an army. But the writers were literally obsessed with turning Rhaenyra into another version of Viserys, that instead of us getting the Rhaenyra that's grieving and wanting to avenge the death of both Luke and Visenya, we got the Rhaenyra who doesn't even mention the death of her only daughter, the one she was desperately dreaming of, not even once and treats the death of her son as something of a matter of fact, something that happened that we have to get over with, something that the show almost wants us to believe Lucerys either deserved or had it coming for him. Something that will not have anyone mention the faults of Aemond's intention and doing, with him not even once being called or denominated as a Kinslayer, while he actually goes down in history as being the prime epitome of said act.

Jacaerys feels virtually and emotionally alone, there is no other way to put this. His half-sister and cousin, as well as his three little brothers, were sent off for their own good and the only person that he feels comfortable enough to open himself up to is Baela, but even he understands that he cannot put and vent all of his feeling and frustration on her. He knows he cannot burden other people with the things he shouldn't even have to go through. The person he has ever felt closest to, both in age and in as a human being is now gone, and he cannot even let himself properly grieve him because of the war he now has to put himself to the bone for. The person he openly seeks out to consolidate and ground himself is his mother, the only other person who can feel his pain to the fullest and because of everything going on Rhaenyra cannot see what Jacaery wants in her in those times he tries to seek her out. And it's both tragic and makes you want to bash your skull on the nearest wall available at the same time.

[lemonhemlock]

THANK YOU I AGREE WITH YOUR AEMOND POST 1 MILLION %. Some of the replies are so frustrating, all you were doing is discussing the writers' decisions this season regarding Aemond, and how simplistic it would be for Aemond's motivations to betray Aegon to be based on the brothel scene. You put into words everything wrong with Aemond's arc this season and I tremendously agree! I feel that the writers are flip-flopping with Aemond and Aegon's relationship, first they were enemies as children, then Aemond lost his eye and they seemed to be on the same page, then AEGON'S SON WAS VICIOUSLY BRUTALLY MURDERED AND AEMOND IS (besides showing no character evolution driven remorse to speak of) BACK TO HATING AEGON AGAIN?! THAT'S HIS BROTHER. HIS NEPHEW. HIS SISTER'S KID. Aemond had zero fucks to give!

The fandom's reaction to Aemond has been so embarrassing! Why is he not held accountable for ANYTHING. EVER. I defended Aemond all through S1 and will always defend him from TB but HE'S A GROWN MAN NOW. He just doesn't show empathy for Aegon after Jahaerys' death, your brother is grieving and he swears Aegon is his King and he's his hitman and he will always serve his ass. IF THEY HAVE AEMOND MURDER AEGON BECAUSE HE TEASED HIM IN A BROTHEL WHAT EVEN IS THIS. Really bad writing. Really cringe too.

So don't worry there are some of us who whole heartedly agree with you and don't coddle Aemond a grown man, with the same standards season after season and hold him accountable for the sin of hoping he grows as a character even if he is heading for a darker turn.

thank you so much, anon, for this unexpected reply, as i'm hanging out at the airport with not much to do 😅

yeah, i think that, ON PAPER, aemond turning on his brother as a result of years of bullying is believable, sure, BUT. the bullying truly needs to be horrific to explain away the urge to commit basically three of the most grievous crimes in westeros: kingslaying, kinslaying and usurpation. like. no one takes those things lightly. and, i'm sorry, but teasing just doesn't cut it. i think that a lot of people may be kind of projecting their own personal grievances with school bullies onto aemond, which is natural to an extent, but they have to step back a little and realise that being rude or hurtful to someone just doesn't, in any way, merit a reaction so disproportionate that it amounts to soul-drenching crimes

in that regard, last season i was 100% on aemond's side as well, because, well, MUTILATION might warrant such an escalation in violence. compared to all that pent-up anger aemond felt for luke, the aegond rivalry is just not really well done. it COULD have been, but, without having seen ep 4, it feels very milquetoast and, most of all, unearned.

honestly, i think gwen emphasized really well the fact that we're in a fandom obsessed with their headcanons and brainrot, to the extent that it becomes difficult to separate the backstory one has created for some character with what has actually appeared on screen. what we've seen so far has only been mockery, and i get that, when you're a kid, it's very difficult to go through, but we are talking about murdering your sibling here. i mean, no, i don't think "it makes perfect sense". ALSO. pointing that out doesn't mean you're invalidating the trauma of bullying victims, let us please separate people's real experiences from fictional experiences, which 1. are fake and 2. can be improperly presented in media, which is what we are critiquing in the first place

on a final note, i have had people on my post clinging to this idea that, just because the writers had aemond say (in the most bored tone in existence) that he regrets "the business with luke" (or however the hell he phrases it) means that the writers want to communicate to us that he feels sorry over jaehaerys. please. they must either be aliens that are just now learning about human emotion OR they want to relay that aemond isn't really all that bothered fundamentally. his reaction is basically the stoned out version of this gif!

but, anyway, as dumb as aemond's reasons are or aren't, what ultimately brings the whole rivalry down is that they really didn't invest in creating any dramatic tension between these two. think of the scene at storm's end, it's the literal version of "you could have cut the tension in the room with a knife" and it's only a few minutes long. so it can be done. they just don't care OR, because of this stupid trend of reducing the number of episodes in a season, aegond was just one of those things that hit the cutting room floor. so we can all blame capitalism for rook's rest. 😅

[its-actually-minicika]

so, feel free totally ignore this if it makes you feel uncomfortable, but I can't stop thinking about a jace x reader fic where reader is sort of dealing with the aftermath of the battle of the gullet.

her and jacerys were involved romantically and when he dies, reader goes berserk and out for blood with the greens: she gets captured eventually and is left to rot in a cell in harrenhall or something, where she talks smack to aemond and reminisces about her time spent with jace...

idk maybe she breaks out and aemond falls in love with her in a reverse-stockholmly way?? it's more like he becomes obsessed and starts taunting her with Vhagar like he did with luke.

or maybe she ends up dying in the cell from exhaustion and all her untreated wounds (because there's no way canon book aemond would ever help the lover of an enemy lmao) and meets jace again in their weird version of westerosi heaven

idk i just need them both so bad lol

The Harshest Winters (!18+!)

Pairing(s): Jacaerys x Reader, somewhat implied Aemond x Reader ??? it's just really fucked up, man;

Warnings: major character death, strong language, mentions of SA, some spoilers for Fire&Blood, book canon Aemond, blood and gore, psychological horror, manipulation, manhandling, mentions and descriptions of sex;

Author's Note: whiew, this was definitely something! Thank you so much for the request, Nonny - I loved diving into this one :") I hope that this is to your liking!!

Part 2 is out now!

She was sentenced to forever remember him by name only - Jacaerys' face would dim with time across her memory, leaving only a distant face in the back of her mind.

As she rots in the coldest pits of Harrenhal, (Y/N) remembers him, day after day and night after night.

"Promise me you'll come back alive." The girl hushed into the quiet war room. Her eyes scanned over the firelit table, traveling to Jace's sprawled out hands and broad form.

His eyes lit up. Brilliant brown hues, filled with so much love for her. His calloused fingers, still trailing over the waters of the Steptstones, that versed well into the Gullet.

"I promise." Jacaerys spoke to her, tone serious and somewhat strained. "My love..." He mused at the notice of her furrowed brows, and took three wide steps towards her.

As his hands reached for her, she leaned into his warm touch, so palpable and real.

The two hugged for what felt like an eternity. The Prince of Dragonstone kissed the crown of her head tenderly, his heart beating in a calming tune, that could have once lulled the woman into the deepest of sleeps.

"You've never lied to me before." She sniffed into his wide chest, pressing herself against him with renowed ferocity. "Do not let this be the first time."

Jace only smiled and cupped her jaw soothingly.

The nights without him were the toughest.

(Y/N) was irritated, on the verge of frenezy - the ghosts of her past played cruel jokes on her health of mind, making her see red before her - his face, whenever she closed her eyes to sleep.

In the three weeks that she spent in the prison cell, after having been captured and enslaved by Aemond, not once had she seen his face apart from their first fated meeting.

How stupid she was, drawing her sword to him, engaging him in a field of falling men.

How could she not see his flock of Green Loyalists, who suddenly came behind her back?

The heavy wound in her lower abdomen and the numbness of her left foot were all her fault. The puss that was dripping from her daft fingers, as well.

At least she had beat the shivers, she told herself insistently. But how long will it be, until she meets the Stranger due to her horrid wounds?

Left all alone, trapped well within those four walls of damp stone, the girl could do nothing but mumble and think to herself:

Aemond Targaryen had fought bravely, she had to at least give him that. Although she too would have had balls of steel atop a dragon - and one not even close to Vhagar's size.

He had granted her the courtesy of letting her die in the pains of cold and hunger - flesh eaten away by the ghastly infection, rotting to a point that had one's stomach churn and wail.

A small tear rolled from her shut eyes, and her jaw clenched tight - no one would come to rescue her, and it was clear as day that even the soldiers who came to guard her cell at night stopped bothering to show up. Perhaps the reek of death proved to be too much for them.

Perhaps they preferred to sit outside, and bask themselves in the fine light and smell of putrid ash.

Perhaps.

Slowly, yet surely, (Y/N) tried to sit up straight, but a blinding pain sent her right on her exposed back again. She hissed from the pressure that her inexperienced bandage applied on her closing wound, but relentlessly tired to get up again and again.

Eventually, she stilled as she got up on her right foot, and leaned into the wall for help in supporting her raw weight.

"Fucking shit, fucking assholes, fucking Greens, nasty cock-suckers, fucking die...!" She sobbed into the breached wall, gripping the stone edges with all her might and heaving out one pained breath after the other.

"I didn't know I was keeping a whore alive, in the stead of a respected Lady." A croaky, albeit mellow voice rang out.

(Y/N) could feel her knee wobble in fear.

She bit her tongue in an attempt to stop her snarl, and steadied herself with her hands still clinging to the wall.

"Kinslayer." She spoke in a brittle voice, and cursed herself for the undeniable softness that was laced in her tone - she was far too weakened to talk to him. And much less to fight once more.

Aemond's nostrils flared, in a weird concucsion of both anger and grief. His jaw tightened as his hand curled into a fist.

"Traitor." He grates out in retaliation, but lets a bemused expression to curl up his lips. His face narrows, and a flicker, a spark of fury dances in his remaining eye.

"You grace me with your presence, Prince Aemond. You really shouldn't have." (Y/N)'s eyes trail to the sword that rests upon his hip, and she can feel her blood turn cold once his feet carry him so awfully close to her defenseless form.

Her chest rises and falls in pent up frustration. Even if she tried to, she couldn't kill him now. But maybe she could gouge out his good eye.

Before her thoughts can come to a close, Aemond cruelly smirks to himself, and unsheats his sword to lower it to (Y/N)'s face. "It's a pity. You've never been a beauty, but now you're rendered to almost completely useless." He tuts lightly, turning her face with each languid movement of his sharp blade.

"I had in mind to let my men fuck you." He remarks dryly, but lets out a disappointed sigh. "But I don't think any of them would get it up to your whorish face."

His words startle the woman, and her eyes widen in disgust, as her throat tightens in and over itself.

"No... A look so wild and a grisly body such as this are better suited for dogs than men."

(Y/N) is shaking with fear and rage alike. She takes in a deep breath, and closes her eyes to listen.

He's bluffing. This is a test. This is a challenge. And either way, he has a sword. He could cut you up in a thousand little red ribbons of flesh if you uttered the wrong word.

The girl repeats the same mantra in her head, and swallows thickly. Soon, very soon he will get bored of taunting her.

But why? Why, why come now? Why pay her a visit after weeks of captivity?

He wants you to do something for him, in exchange for fresh air and a clean set of clothes, a small voice inside her head whispers to her.

Aemond hums wistfully and brings a hand to play with her house's crest, that rests atop her caved chest in a twisted necklace.

"You are Elmo Tully's only daughter." He asserts calmly, and reaches to twirl around her darkened strands of hair. "The Lord of Riverrun pledged his banners to that withered cunt because of you."

His eyebrows raised in mock surprise, and his sword came to a halt below her jaw. Attentively, he grazed her skin with the hilt of it, paying attention not to break in a single cut.

"But now... there's no reason for them to fight on her side, is it? You're ours to spare or kill, and your bastard lover boy is rotting in the sea."

His words sparked a fire inside the girl's soul. Without thinking, she took a step forward, and gripped her hand atop his over the hilt of the sword. In just a second, her free hand had found a way to his pale face.

The aftermath of the loud slap echoed throughout the dark room, and Aemond grabbed the lady by the hair, bringing her to her knees with a strong, downward pull.

"I will put a muzzle on you if you don't behave, tie you down and feed you to Vhagar, but not before I berate you in front of everyone still alive from the Twins to Harrenhal."

A small whimper escapes her lips, and the One Eyed prince gives her one last harsh tug, before freeing her dirty locks.

"Look at the mess you've made." He chastises with a click of his tongue, bringing his grimy hand to her face again. "You dirty fucking whore, I should make you lick me clean."

His furious stare melts into an amused one, and Aemond the Kinslayer laughs.

"I bet you would love that, wouldn't you?" He cooed while glancing down at her, forcing a finger into her resisting mouth. "You've been Jacaerys' slut for so long, haven't you? Wouldn't you like to be fucked by a real man, too?"

Aggravated by his running mouth and exherted by all her remaining patience, (Y/N) bit down on his fingers, hard, drawing a metallic taste in her mouth and a guttural groan from Aemond.

"I thank you for your gentle offer. But I heard you're already busy enough with that - fucking a bastard of your own in the darkness of these cursed halls."

The Targaryen prince clasped her by the arms tightly, pulling the girl up on her feet and snarling in her face.

"For that, I will give you your brothers' heads."

"Mayhaps they will give me yours."

Aemond's hands would leave her bruised. Of that much, she was certain.

Another permanent reminder of his abuse on her, she mused, letting out a pained sigh.

She grazed the bottom of her lower lip, immersed in deep thought.

Aemond wouldn't kill her. At least, not until the last of her purpose ran up. He might have had Harrenhal secured, but that meant little to his usurper brother and the capital, especially when the Reach provided them with no other allies.

Aegon's cause needed her. They desperately needed her alive, to strike up a deal with her sickly grandfather, and convert both houses Frey and Tully to their side.

Family.

Duty.

Honour.

Her grandfather would do anything to ensure her safety - that much was, again, for certain.

And if Aemond wanted to win this thing, he wouldn't touch a single hair on her delicate head - he couldn't afford to set off the Riverlords.

Having said that, (Y/N) wasn't surprised when the maesters came flooding in, or when her clothes were changed and her bed replaced.

What did surprise her were Aemond's visits - after their initial clash, he came by her cell more and more often.

Sometimes he would speak to her. Ask her about the gravity of her wounds, if she found the lack of light scary. If any soldier made to guard her had talked to her or made her uncomfortable.

Those were what (Y/N) grew to call his "good days".

Most of the time, Aemond would come to her well into the dead of night, scaring her and making her lose sleep for days at a time.

He would apologize with a small quirk of his head, and simply stare at her. Stare for what felt like hours, until he would hum, satisfied, and make his leave.

It was during one of those latter visits that (Y/N) finally spoke:

"Has my grandfather turned his banners? Did he send any lease for me?"

Her question, although innocent enough, angered Aemond. He rose to his feet, eye wide in ire, and he punched the wall of the prison cell - hard.

"From this day onward, you'll sleep in a chamber more fit for a Lady." He hoarsely muttered over his shoulder, as he made his way up the twisted set of stairs. "Soldiers will escort you tonight. Tomorrow, a maid will bathe you."

Although hid from her field of vision, the Tully girl heard how his footsteps came to a halt. The One Eyed Prince clasped his fists painfully, and gritted lowly:

"If you try to escape, you'll meet your end by the way of my blade, My Lady."

The night Lady Tully stepped outside of her prison cell was supposed to be one of the happiest of her entire life.

At the very least, the girl found the night sky to be of a comforting beauty - and the lack of sunrays would be good for her eyes, that got so used to the engulfing darkness of the Dungeons.

Still, she couldn't wait to see the sun.

... Her contentment was short lived - as soon as the smell of ash and blood had hit her nose, the girl almost collapsed.

No matter where she looked, she saw only the bites of fire. Where it spread - over the fertile lands she loved so well -, it left dust and cinder in it's wake.

Her home was ruined.

The fields she used to play in... gone.

The grief and anger replaced the sadness and despair. (Y/N) felt herself shake to the core, and, as she was dragged to the highest tower in the Harrenhal Keep, she swore to kill Aemond for what he'd done.

Yet, a much merrier resolve was going on back and forth in Aemond's chamber, who, after his interaction with (Y/N), was left very wanting and more than frustrated.

Alys was writhing beneath him, mewling in pleasure at his rough touch and merciless pace. Her dark hair was sprawled all over the goose feather pillows, covering her face and lustful stare.

"Mmhh, faster... faster!" She urged him with a breathless moan, moving her hips in unison with his, meeting his thrusts half-way.

Aemond groaned, holding her firmly by the nape of her neck, and closing his lilac eye tightly. His loins were begging for release - a release that was coming very hard to him.

Thoughts that disassociated him from what was happening at present surged through his mind: what he would have to do tomorrow, where he would have to take Vhagar.

Did (Y/N) reach her room yet?

The latter of them sent a pleasant shiver down his spine - with renewed vigour, Aemond pounded into the woman under him. He had found the lead towards his release, and he was not about to let it go.

Images of (y/h/c) replace the dark whisks of hair on Alys' head - her soft skin, her beautiful (y/e/c).

(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N)...

His member twitches urgently inside of Alys, and Aemond continues to defile the Tully girl in his mind, imagining how her face would twist in pleasure as he slowly entered her.

He would be gentle. So, so gentle - he would make her into a babbling mess, so numb from bliss, that her legs would shake around him. He could be selfless with her, find his high only after he was satisfied with the orgasms he pulled from her.

Aemond moaned loudly once he felt Alys tighten around him, and soon spilled out his seed, panting wildly.

Finally, he opened up his eye, and felt the disgust and dissatisfaction that came after his mind-blowing release.

How could he, the Prince Protector of the Realm, think of his nephiew's lover during sex? That ugly, headstrong and frogish looking girl - making the Crown Prince lose his mind in want and lust.

Shit.

He had to see her.

He had to touch her.

He had to have her.

He craved to feel her - even if she were to slap him as she did months ago; he would take anything she gave him. And he would enjoy it tremendously.

Aemond sighed, still planted deep above Alys - he peeled himself from her lean arms, and rolled his shirt back and over his head. Next were his trousers, shoes and leather tunic.

"Where are you going, my love...?" Alys whispered, pressing her naked body on his working back.

Aemond hums expectantly, and turns his body to trap the woman in between the cold wall and his budging arms. He brings his hand out to caress her skin, toying with one of her breasts, until he pushes her roughly against the wall and pulls her by the hair.

"I told you not to call me that" He muses coldly, letting go of the fistful he grabbed mere seconds ago. "We talked about our arrangement, Alys." He tuts lightly, grazing her jaw with his long index finger.

Aemond sighs and lets go of the caged woman, as he straightens his back and begins walking towards the door.

"I want you on the bed, with your legs spread waiting for me. I won't be too long."

Curse Aemond and his meticulosity, the young lady chastised inside her head. The tower in which she was supposed to spend the rest of the war - or however long Aemond wished her to, really - was at the highest level possible. There was no way for her to jump out the window and survive the fall.

But, should there be a need for it... death by falling wasn't the worst of fates. If you managed to break your neck, that is.

A shuddering thought, (Y/N) scorned herself, and not one she could afford at the moment.

Jacaerys was dead - and part of her would be lost with him forever. Above all else, she wanted to feel his soft kiss again, his strong arms protecting her, his gentle caress that never failed to give her butterflies.

One day, she would find him again. One day, they'll reunite, and be back together - as the Gods intended to.

But that day was still far away.

She prayed her grandfather hadn't turned his banners against Rhaenyra's cause. She hoped that her family was safe, and that Riverrun didn't suffer the same fate the fields near Harrenhall had.

Jacaerys was dead. But above all else, she had to stay alive. Fulfil his wish, take care of both their families, until she could allow herself to rest.

Her shaky hand reached for her eyes. She had been crying.

The dirt on her cheeks must have washed away, leaving streaks of her paling skin to poke behind.

She would avenge him. She would avenge them all. Even if that was the last thing she ever did.

The brisk opening of her chamber door made the girl jump in place and turn rapidly on her heel.

Behind the oak aperture, a head of shoulder-lenght silver hair could be seen, followed by a pair of untrusting violet eyes.

"Didn't your mother teach you never to enter a lady's room without knocking first?"

The reprimantion left her lips before (Y/N) could catch herself.

She had to remember that no matter how much Aemond needed her, he was still quick to anger - a true prince of the Blood of the Dragon. Brazen, relentless, cruel.

She was a first daughter, yes. But a third child, coming after two strong boys, that hence secured the Tully line from before she was even born.

He was a man. She was a weakened woman. They were near a window at a plenty ample height, and even she had heard what happened to Queen Helaena.

His footsteps approached her slowly, like a predator would it's prey. It took everything inside the girl to stay put in place, fighting his empty stare with her own.

"It's cold outside." Is all Aemond said, before he strutted towards the open window and closed it back up again.

A myrriad of questions were on her mind. But 'Why are you here?' was replaying the most.

Her back was turned on Aemond. (Y/N) was frozen in place and, although she knew how dangerous it was not to look at him, she feared that a singular look of the man who played a part in killing the love of her life would be far too much.

Seconds turned to minutes. And minutes felt like they were turning to hours.

Before long, Aemond let out a low hum and grabbed a piece of her modest gown with two of his fingers.

"I'll have a nightgown be made for you tomorrow." The Targaryen prince concluded, gingerly letting go of her sleeve.

Without another word, he turned his body stiffly, and walked towards the doors that separated her from the outside world. As they closed and clicked with the turning of a key, the girl let out a relieved sigh, and quickly glanced upon the floor.

"Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit, you Gods' damned fucking asshole." She hissed in utter resentment, snarling at the place the one eyed prince once stood.

At least the promise of the morrow could bring forth a better day.

If she ever wanted freedom, she had to make Aemond trust her. But that was easier said than done. And it would take time.

So far, he had taken her outside twice - both times, during nighttime. To not be seen by anyone, and to be able to walk with the Prince without being perturbed or interrupted by keen eyes and weary mouths.

They walked in silence: neither knowledgeable enough in the other to know what to converse about.

And as they made their third and final round of the garden, the girl took in a deep breath, and whisked her skirts gently to one side.

Aemond, like all the other nights before that, escorted her himself back to her secluded chambers, but stopped abruptly at her door.

"Where is your bretheren?" Aemond demanded to the knight assigned to watch over (Y/N) coldly.

His body stiffened momentarily, until a muffled voice could be heard past his helmet. "He went outside to take a piss." Sensing Aemond's stillness at his words, he added hurriedly, "Your Grace."

Unconvinced, yet unwilling to press the matter further, Aemond hummed, and opened the door, to allow the woman to step inside.

Like all the other nights before that, he stepped inside as well, to stare at her and later leave himself to rest in his own right.

(Y/N)'s hands were tightened in fists, and the woman strutted to her bed to play with the silk bedding.

"Thank you for bringing me here. You're... so very kind." She forced herself to say the words that left such a bitter taste in her parted mouth.

For a while, Aemond seemed stunned. He felt his jaw clench in anticipation for her next words. His eyes trailed over her, mesmerised by her tempting form, so meek and small and perfect.

Had she always been so beautiful?

"Hmm." He purrs from deep inside his throat, unable to form any other sentence. His lilac orb being glossed over with something akin to fear and lust - how could such a lowly girl spark such a consuming feeling within him?

The tightness inside his trousers becomes unbearable, and Aemond can feel his palms gripping over his thighs.

"Well..." (Y/N) finally turns to face him, biting her inner cheek. "G... Good night, Prince Aemond."

He takes in a sudden breath, and has to restrain everything inside him not to walk towards her and take her over the mattress.

But she was still a Lady. And he had to be patient. There will be more than enough time for that, he told himself pleasingly.

Still, his cock twitched into the confining space, and the girl had to stop herself from gagging at the sight.

Men were really just mindless beasts, after all. Yet she had to at least be thankful - she now knew for certain she wasn't indifferent to him. There were worse things to be working with than lust.

Lust was better than ire. Lust was better than... nothing.

"Good night, Lady (Y/N)." Aemond's groggy voice echoed through the empty room.

Seemingly satisfied with what he told her, the Targaryen Prince shot her body one last hungry gaze, before leaving to hold her under lock and key.

A minute, maybe two pass, until the girl's body can relax into the soft bed. Her eyes go over the ceiling, and she starts recounting her steps.

A sudden click of armour alerts her of what is going on outside - she shifts and turns, eyes fully on the door.

Had Aemond come to her again?

Dread seeped into her veins. Had he come to rape her? Use her? Or perhaps he grew tired of playing host, and was ready to kill her.

Not sparing another second, she swiftly jumped back on her feet, and reached for a candle holder, clasping it tightly within her hand.

Her breathing accelerated, until... the shining helmet of the knight outside greeted her tentatively, instead of the terrifying white hair she'd grown accustomed to.

"My Lady!" He breathed out, relieved, and hurriedly showed her his face.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and hot drops of tears suddenly threatened to escape them.

"Ser... Ser Cain? Is that really you?"

"Aye, my Lady, in the flesh." He remarked happily, closing the door, before (Y/N) surprised him by running towards her sworn protector, with an embrace that could shatter stone.

"I thought you dead after the battle at Tumbletown...!" She hushed into his chest, swaying him from side to side.

"It should take them more than usurping bastards to kill me!" Cain Waters assured her. His body pulled away from hers, and he spoke back in a more serious tone. "I'm here on order of your father. I'll take you to a safe place. But we must leave now."

"How...?" The girl questioned hopelessly, "The Kinslayer is ruthless, and he keeps a close watch on every corner of the keep at all times."

"Not all the time." Cain offered her a reassuring squeeze, smirking slightly. "I have reason to believe he's occupied in his chambers right now."

His attitude turns somber, and he reveals a hood tucked in his breastplate. "Wear this, my Lady. I'll keep guard outside until you're ready - but be quick about it. We'll have plenty of time to talk after we're out of this horrid place."

(Y/N) didn't need to be told that twice - she made great haste dressing up, and, before she could realise it, she was running down the stairs with her heart hammering out of her chest.

She felt as though she was in a trance. Ser Cain knew the castle like the back of his hand - no doubt, her father had been planning her escape for a very long time -, and, by the will of the Gods, the two traveled unspotted to the burnt forest behind the Gates of Harrenhall.

"Our horses are tied here." Cain huffed at the heaviness of his armour. "My Lady, give me your hand."

He mounted the woman on a tiny black horse, and secured her belts in place. He then turned to his own mare, and ensured to tie their bridles together. Before long, both horses broke into a dizzying gallop.

Thus (Y/N) Tully and Cain Waters managed to get lost into the night, right from under Aemond's nose.

The rays of sunlight shone over Aemond's bare form, still entangled with the one of Alys Rivers.

His limbs felt heavy - though none of match to the uneasiness he felt in his heart.

Wordlessly, he peeled himself off the warm body that laid next to him, and dressed up to pay his cherished captive a morning visit.

His dull footsteps bounced in the echo of the war keep, as Aemond's marching came to an abrupt end.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary.

Nothing, save to say for the unguarded door to the girl's chamber.

His blood ran cold, and his hand jerked open the entry to her resting place, only to find it... empty.

There is a scream from deep within that forces it's way from out of his chest. An anger so blinding, that it threatened to burn and extinguish any and all who would dare come his way.

Anger isn't a good look an anyone. But on Aemond One Eye, it looked downright terrifying.

A punch is thrown on the nearest wall to his trembling form. Then another. And another. And another.

Vhagar's mighty roar all but breaks the sky in two - and those who lived to tell the tale swore it echoed throughout all the Seven Kingdoms.

An exaggeration, no doubt, though not the most far fetched one in their bloody story.

The tearing skin of his knuckles lets a numbing feeling wash over Aemond. With his eyes upon the rattled fields, he lets out a low chuckle.

"I'll find her. I'll find her if I have to burn down all of the Riverlands."

They say that everytime a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin.

[melrosing]

some seasoning for hotd that would please me personally

Rhaenyra terrorised by vague visions of doom which she believes only she can prevent. unclear to the audience if these are genuine visions or simply Rhaenyra’s anxiety manifest in nightmares. all this exacerbated by the loss of Luke etc means her paranoia increases and she is willing to pursue means of escalating violence. she despises Daemon yet clings to the security their connection once afforded her, seeks to imitate him in his absence believing that will lend her strength only it sends her further down a path of senseless violence and desperate clutching at power

Alicent’s hypocrisy is steadily revealed. she wrestles with the fact that she did trade Rhaenyra’s inheritance for her children’s security, and yet she loves Rhaenyra more than her children. also Alicent’s love for Rhaenyra is twisted up with her jealousy of her as a peer, where Rhaenyra was given more autonomy to choose her partners, got to experiment sexually, was protected by her father when she produced bastards, whereas Alicent was raped by that same father and victimised by her own, and felt she had no autonomy whatsoever and resents every bit of agency that Rhaenyra claimed for herself. and when she tries to do the same as Rhaenyra (e.g. conceiving Daeron w Criston maybe??) she hates herself for the fear and guilt it makes her feel and hates Rhaenyra for being able to persevere through that and love her children and look them in the eye whereas even the sight of Daeron terrifies Alicent and fills her with shame…. anyway she’s increasingly losing her mind with fear and regret and the fact that all this was for a bunch of kids she was never able to truly love

Aemond always having believed himself the victim, now struggling with a dawning suspicion that he was the villain all along after what he did to Luke. starts losing himself in increasingly violent acts, losing the comfort he once took in his relationships with Alicent & Helaena bc he is growing to despise himself and the weakness they make him feel

Helaena is also having visions of the Long Night and the Others, maybe more real and vivid than Rhaenyra’s. she is trying to tell Alicent what she sees but Alicent pushes it away, cannot accept the true meaning of Viserys’ words. Helaena growing increasingly despondent, collapsing in on herself, Jaehaera suffering the loss of her father, mother and brother at once

Jace struggling w the fact that he doesn’t actually feel entitled to the iron throne bc he knows he’s a bastard, resents Rhaenyra more and more as the burden of war grows

Resentment between Rhaena and Baela?? like Rhaena cannot help the jealousy she feels - that Baela is destined to be Queen whilst she is left to guard the children. maybe she has an egg she’s obsessing over, becoming more and more alienated from her family especially since the loss of Luke. she’s a lone figure. maybe she later plans to go to Daemon’s side, thinking she can claim the relationship w their father that Baela always yearned for, and finds him improved enough that he helps her exercise some power of her own at his side - she realises she doesn’t even need a dragon etc. however, she’s left Rhaenyra’s youngest children in the process, which causes more fracture on Team Black, esp as Daemon defends Rhaena against Rhaenyra and Baela takes Rhaenyra’s side

Baela and Jace are likewise falling apart bc she’s more passionate about fighting this war than he is, which leads to his feelings of emasculation and like she’s the true Targ, not him. Rhaenyra revealing Aegon’s prophecy makes this worse because he doesn’t feel like a Targaryen or a hero, and he’s terrified that this means it will all be for nothing. this ultimately leads to his death in the Gullet when he seeks to prove himself, leaving Baela w feelings of guilt and like she’s only capable of pushing away those she loves. she takes an increasingly nihilistic approach, only recovering after the war when she reconciles with Rhaena and they start to rebuild their family

also Rhaena’s egg finally hatching Morning in the series finale. she didn’t need a dragon to grow and claim agency, yet at the end of all things, fate granted her the last dragon of them all. this is deeply bittersweet as all the other dragons are gone, and Morning is a symbol of both peace and the end

Aegon fine

Daemon mostly fine also i guess i just really need the development that would come with meeting Nettles and finding some connection outside of house Targ

I don’t know how to fix Criston

[presidenthades]

I've lost all my faith in this season, my favorite characters seem to have been written as an afterthought or are just standing there without doing much (or worse, they were completely eliminated) Aegon is not my favorite (he's not my least favorite character either, Aemond and Alicent exist for a reason) but tgc makes that loser really endearing and seeing him call his mom at his most vulnerable moment made me feel things...

I was thinking of an au where everything stays the same as the show but Jace is a girl, maybe she could bond with Rhaenys like she did in the Golds universe (dark-haired Targaryen women, heirs to the throne but with a male relative who puts her right at risk) Rhaenys could take Jace with her to Kings Landing as her ward and when everything goes to hell Rhaenys flees without being able to take her granddaughter with her. How do you think the greens would deal with Jace among them? Do you think this Aegon would become obsessed with having his niece in his power now he's king? Maybe Jace would play her cards well and take advantage of Aegon's need for approval and love for her and her mother's benefit...

Imagine the scene of Aegon crying after Jaehaerys' death and after Alicent leaves without comforting her son, Jace enters the room to do exactly that or when he inevitably complains because Otto rejected his idea of returning the sheep to the farmer and Jace comforts him by telling that it was a good idea and even offering to help him prepare to talk to the Council. I know that if Aegon had a Jace by his side (even when she has her own agenda) many of the disasters to come would have been avoided and Aemond would have no chance of naming himself regent because she can work with her drunken uncle but will never allow her brother's killer to sit on the throne

I’ve been thinking about this prompt a lot. I know we’re trying to keep things as close to show canon as possible, but there are some questions that must be asked.

Between Jace (who is Laenor’s bio daughter) and Luke (who is presumably Harwin’s bio son), who is Rhaenyra’s heir and who is Driftmark’s heir? I established in The Golds that, based on what Rhaenyra said to Rhaenys in S1E8, Rhaenyra might make a son her heir over her daughter. But show!Corlys is very “history remembers names,” so would he also prefer a male heir? Or does his granddaughter being biologically Laenor’s change things?

Either way, Rhaenys definitely shows favoritism to Jace, even more than in the Goldsverse. This would add to tension between Jace and her siblings. Jace feels like Luke is the favorite for being the eldest boy, while Luke feels like Jace is the favorite for being legitimate. There’s even more tension if Rhaenys takes Jace as a ward in Driftmark for a few years. In this AU, Jace might not be very close to her siblings, though she would still love them.

The Last Supper might go differently since Jace wouldn’t retaliate to Aemond’s Strong toast. Maybe Luke tries to take on Aemond by himself. 😂 But even if Rhaenyra takes her other kids back to Dragonstone, one could argue that Jace stays with Rhaenys as her ward. So that’s how Jace ends up stuck in KL when everything happens.

This is one of the best case scenarios for the Greens. Even if Jace isn’t as close to her mother and siblings in this AU, she’s still a very valuable hostage. Honestly, if Rhaenyra’s daughter is trapped in KL, I have a hard time imagining Rhaenyra doing much of anything out of fear something happens to Jace. But Daemon in this AU doesn’t care much about Jace, so maybe we can do what the show does and blame all the bad TB decisions on him. 🤷🏻‍♀️

On the Green side, Otto wants to make doubly sure they’re keeping Jace, who is a dragonrider and whom Greens would argue is the only legitimate heir to Driftmark. It would be kinda funny if Otto suggested marrying her to Aemond. 😅 Aegon would, of course, lose his shit and do his best to stop it from happening. He probably starts writing to the High Septon about whether they can bring back polygamy.

Let’s say Storm’s End still happens, because even if Rhaenyra is afraid for Jace, she reasons it’s still OK to send out messengers. When Jace hears about what happened, she DEFINITELY doesn’t want to marry Aemond. She has a decent survival instinct, and I imagine she and Aegon were still close as kids, so she may intentionally latch onto Aegon to improve her odds. Aegon is happy to be latched onto.

If Jace is there to give Aegon all the love and validation he wants, stuff like Rook’s Rest probably doesn’t even happen because he isn’t pushed over the edge/Jace talks him out of it.

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (3)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, smut, angst, incest, obsession, violence, swearing, humiliation, chauvinism, mention of injury ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When he learned of the death of Daemon's wife, he knew it was a sign from the gods that his time had come − Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragoness in the world, was left without a rider.

He thought that at last he would make his father proud, that he would take his niece to Essos as he had promised her.

It seemed to him that the heavens were finally smiling on him, that everything made sense and was slowly beginning to come together, that he could see above the mist that surrounded him his destiny.

As he fled from the fortress in the middle of the night he thought only of the fact that he might die and hoped that if he did, his betrothed would mourn him greatly and never marry any other man.

Her sign of love and loyalty, of respect for his sacrifice for her and their future family.

Vhagar was frightening and huge, like a giant, dark, moving mountain, with her every movement the earth shook around her; he couldn't believe it when she obeyed his command, his body trembled as he climbed the ropes to the great saddle on her back, he screamed with fear and joy as she flew with him into the skies.

He was like Visenya, like Aegon the Conqueror, and his future wife was like sweet Rhaenys.

Everything was as it should be.

He ran through the underground caverns to wake her and tell her everything, to kiss her, to spend the night in her embrace and listen to her assurances that he was fearless, that he was brave and that she was proud to become the wife of the man who had become the rider of the most powerful dragon flying in the skies in their lifetime.

It was then that he came upon them.

He thought he would never let them humiliate himself again, that bastards or weak, quivering little girls who couldn't even tame a dragon would never stand in his way again.

All that mattered was her, and though he knew she would be upset, he felt that she would forgive him, that she would understand that this was revenge for all the years of humiliation he had suffered from them.

And then Luke cut his face with his blade − he suddenly heard his own loud, squeaky, almost girlish scream and grabbed his left eye where he had lost his sight completly.

He was given poppy milk to ease his pain and a stick was put in his mouth that he was told to clamp his teeth on; his mother cried out loud, horrified when she saw what had happened to him, the maester said the eye could not be saved and would have to be taken out.

That he would be a cripple.

He wailed and screamed, feeling the cut of the heated blade on his skin, struggling and writhing like an animal, tied to a chair, and then he stopped feeling anything, staring dully ahead, his mother and Aegon unable to look at it.

He saw her as if in a dream, and though she always smiled at the sight of him, this time she screamed loudly, terror and fear in her eyes.

She covered her mouth with her hand trying to hold back the sounds that came from her throat.

Then he understood.

So what if he had claimed a dragon, if she would never desire him again?

How would she force herself to marry someone who was from now on supposed to look like him?

He returned to King's Landing with the thought that all was lost and he didn't want to see anyone, much less her.

He didn't want her tears of sympathy, her assurances that she still loved him, her pity, the fact that in order not to offend him she would refrain from showing how disgusted she now was by his face.

He was no fool.

Her letter only angered him − he tore it into little pieces clenching his lips, thinking she was an idiot, giving him books now that he had lost one eye, reminding him that he would never see well again, that he would always be defective, that he would have to learn everything from the beginning.

However, as soon as he did so he immediately regretted it and burst out crying, looking at the pieces of parchment lying on his sheets, thinking of how he wished he could read it again because it was her handwriting, her words to him.

His conviction of his ugliness and the fact that what had happened crossed him out in her eyes as a man she could desire deepened his state into complete withdrawal, sinking into the darkness of his thoughts, fears and desires.

He needed someone to loathe, to throw all his ill emotions at, and he had chosen Luke as such a person, however it was the thoughts and dreams of her that kept him awake at night.

Waiting for her letters was his obsession.

She sent one every two months, always on the same day, for many years. At first they were short and full of uncertainty, but then it seemed to him that she had the impression that he didn't read them anyway, so she began to write and confide in someone who no longer existed, revealing to him the darkness and suffering of her own heart.

He was embarrassed by his own reactions, that whenever he saw a sealed message from her lying on his table, he would take it reverently and sit down on a chair by the fire, as if in some kind of ceremony pulling off the lac and unrolling it slowly, feeling his heart beat fast.

Dragonstone appears to me like a prison, like a black coffin, the sky above me full of clouds. I can't remember the last time light dawned in my heart − when I wake up I wonder for a moment about the meaning of it all, only to realise that thinking about it is pointless, it only sinks me further into the darkness.

It seems that the more I move away from what surrounds me, the greater the silence that settles in my head.

After what happened something inside me died.

Not in the aspect of my body, but in the sense of a conviction that something is missing, like when you look in a mirror reassembled from hundreds of pieces and, even though it is whole again, you can clearly see its cracks.

I wonder, are you sleeping well, uncle? Are you having nightmares again? I often return in my dreams to that night. I see you and although I want to say something, I can't get anything out, just as I did then. I wake up with the conviction that I am still a child.

I pray a lot, although I don't know myself to which gods anymore. I guess to any of who would be willing to listen to me. They don't answer me, just like you.

He repeated to himself in his mind that he would read her despairing, feminine ramblings to mock her, but in fact he was immersed in her thoughts, in her world, trying to imagine her, analysing each word with pietism, returning to the sentences that had taken the most root in his heart and would not leave him afterwards for days.

He read her letters for hours, treating such evenings like a sacred day, running his thumb over his lower lip, staring dully ahead in the light of the blazing fire, thinking of her words.

Although he pretended that what she wrote meant nothing to him, once in a while, usually when he was waiting for her next message, he would take all her letters and read them one by one, analysing how her handwriting had changed, now much prettier and assured, how her choice of words had evolved, rich and full of metaphors.

He knew that, like him, she read a lot.

She never brought up the matter of his or her family, the details of their conflict, their betrothal and the fact that his mother had insisted that he marry one of Lord Baratheon's daughters.

When he learned that Rhaenyra planned to marry his niece to her cousin of House Arryn he grabbed all her letters she had sent him over the years, which he kept locked in his wooden drawer, and almost threw them into the fire, hesitating at the last moment, squeezing them in his hand, panting with rage.

Although he kept repeating to himself that it was a good thing he wouldn't have to take a bastard wife, immediately his mind went into a fury at the thought that she might have become someone else's mistress, borne children to other man, and he found himself sinking into her letters again, as if re-appropriating her in this way.

He feared nothing more than that one day she would stop writing to him.

He dreaded what he would do then.

The days when Aegon could mess with him were long gone. His older brother the drunkard knew he was no match for him in hand-to-hand combat, he was taller, smarter and stronger than he was.

Yet it was Aegon who was to inherit everything that would not fall to Rheanyra as future queen.

He wanted to be his opposite in every sense of the word; his appearance made him even more isolated from the opposite sex and he didn not look at women at all, spending long hours in the Great Sept with his mother praying at her request.

If it had been up to him, he would have prayed to the gods of Old Valyria, but he saw her loneliness and loss, and wanted to be a support for her, a son she would be proud of.

Despite what he tried to tell himself, the tension he felt as a man grew stronger within him, even more so in the evenings when he leaned over her letters again, when he thought of her scent, of her hand holding the quill.

He wondered involuntarily what she looked like now, what he would notice if he undressed her, if he exposed her bare breasts to him.

Would they fit in his hand, would they be soft and warm?

Would she moan sweetly if he touched her there?

He tilted his head back, trying to read further, settling himself more comfortably in the chair, his free hand slipping under his breeches, gripping his already half-hard, throbbing manhood.

He imagined that it wasn't his hand but hers that was touching him, that she wasn't disgusted by him, that just like before her hands were stroking his cheeks, her lips were finding his in a sweet, warm kisses.

A murmur escaped his throat at the thought, a wave of heat surged over him and he quickened, fucking himself with his own hand until he came with a low sigh of relief, imagining that she was sitting on top of him, that he had just filled her with his seed, that she was begging him not to stop.

However, when he regained his sanity he felt rage and shame.

He hid her letters in a drawer and did not take them out for weeks, as if offended that it was their fault he had to pray again and beg the gods for forgiveness.

He promised himself that this would not happen again, however, it always ended the same way.

The knowledge that he could not forget her enraged and calmed him at the same time, as if this state was natural, the parallel hatred and desire for her became one and the same in his eyes.

He hated her because he desired her, desired her because he could not have her, could not have her because he hated her.

He locked himself in this circle, not allowing anyone to see what was poisoning his mind and heart.

If in the poems women appeared innocent and bright, she was to him the symbol of his downfall, his flame of his eternal suffering, which burned him every day, but which he did not dare to extinguish knowing that complete darkness would then prevail inside him.

When it became known that Vaemond Velaryon had challenged Luke's claim to the throne of Driftmark he laughed out loud at the Small Council meeting, amused, embarrassing his mother and grandfather.

He thought the gods were cruel but fair.

The grin disappeared from his face, replaced by a strong heartbeat when their Queen conveyed that Rhaenyra, along with her entire family, would appear in King's Landing in a few days to settle the matter.

With her entire family.

He sat by the fireplace that evening, running his thumb over his lips, feeling that there was complete panic in his mind, hundreds of thoughts running through his head.

He wasn't ready for this.

He didn't want to see her.

He wanted nothing more than to see her again.

He was disgusted by her and her brothers, by the fact that he would be sitting at the same table with her.

Would she touch him with her soft hand? Did she still smell of vanilla? Would she whisper that she missed him?

What was he to answer if she did?

Mock her, tell her that she should retain the remnants of her dignity.

Tear off her gown, press his lips to her soft, bare body, saying that he would sooner kill her than let her marry someone else.

He let out a loud shuddering breath, burying his face in his hand, feeling like his head was about to explode, his heart pounding like mad.

He had the feeling that he was losing his mind, that he was descending into madness.

When he saw Jace and Luke among the crowds, when he saw how small and skinny they were compared to him, when he saw their mouths wide open in shock as they realised who they were looking at, he thought he had never felt more satisfied in his life.

"Nephews. Have you come to train?" He asked in a deep, teasing voice feigning concern as he played with the hilt of his sword in his hand, flipping it between his fingers.

He wanted nothing more than to humiliate them in public.

His musings and wild excitement were interrupted by Vaemond's entrance into the courtyard − he grinned broadly at the sight of him, feeling a sense of satisfaction, sighing quietly, thinking of how the gods had rewarded his patience.

He turned impatiently, extending his hand to his servant, willing him to hand him another wooden shield and froze in half-step, out of the corner of his eye noticing a silhouette looking at him from the cloisters.

It seemed to him that his heart knew who was standing there even before it reached his mind, for it began to pound like mad, his breath stopped in his throat.

He forced himself to look there again and that's when he saw her − he couldn't believe how much she had changed.

Although he could see the obvious features and similarities by which he recognised her immediately, her eyes, her eyelashes, the shade of her hair, the shape of her nose and face, it seemed to him that if she had been a bud when she left the Red Keep, she was now a flower that had blossomed, a ripe fruit that begged to be plucked, to bite into its flesh.

He imagined his swollen lips brushing the hollow of her bare neck, the soft skin of her shoulders, the scent of vanilla he would smell and he shuddered, ashamed and horrified at how hard his manhood throbbed in his breeches.

This sight, so clear, blunt, final, completely shocked him, and though it lasted only a moment, he managed to remember the shape of her breasts and hips, the shape of her parted mouth, her terrified gaze full of longing.

He turned away from her, furious, thrusting his sword at Criston, their blades clashing in the air with a loud clang of steel.

That evening he felt that something hung in the air. He felt her presence in the keep and had the impression that if he turned he would see her silhouette behind him.

He played between his fingers with his dagger and looked at it, wondering if he would feel relief if he killed her, if he would then regain control of his body and mind again.

Maybe it was the right path.

Maybe it was because of her that he was unable to move on.

He shuddered and tensed all over when he heard a quiet knock on the door to his chamber − he felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck, knowing that it was her, that destiny had reached him.

He felt it in his bones.

He wanted to remain silent, he wanted to show her that she no longer had access to his world, that he recognised years ago that there was no way for them that they could walk together.

I pray a lot, although I don't know myself to which gods anymore. I guess to any of who would be willing to listen to me. They don't answer me, just like you.

He closed his eye, feeling a squeeze in his throat at the thought of those three sentences that echoed through his mind and heart like a bell, that undeniable desire on her part to be reunited with him that he pretended not to share.

"Come in." He said coldly, feeling the thrill of excitement, his heart pounding so hard that he felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.

The door opened with a quiet creak of wood, and she appeared in it, surrounded by the glow of candlelight, looking like a saint, like a ghost, like an innocent, sweet maiden who was lost in the black maze that had always been meant to lead her to him.

He resigned himself to the fact that there was no escape from it.

She closed the door behind her and turned to look at him; he wasn't sure if it was the flames that was trembling or if it was her body that was quivering all over with fear, in her big eyes terror, desire, suffering, everything she had written to him about.

Only after a moment did he realise that his jaw was clenched, that he was involuntarily still playing with his dagger in his hand as he looked at the indistinct silhouette of her naked body peeking through from under her nightgown, her long dark hair loose, its curls falling freely over her back.

He felt his length throbbing hard at the thought of her coming to him dressed as a lover, as if she were his.

He licked his lower lip with his tongue, catching himself breathing loudly.

Gods, how long he had waited for this.

"Did you received my letters?" She asked quietly, as usual without any further pleasantries, her voice trembled slightly betraying her fear.

He shuddered to hear that she no longer sounded like a child, the way she spoke was melodious and pleasant, soft, warm.

"Yes." He replied in a low, deep voice, sounding like an echo in an endless, dark bottomless well.

He saw that she blinked rapidly, as if she hadn't expected such an answer; she pressed her lips together and swallowed loudly, gathering the courage to say more.

She knew she had ventured into the dragon's cave and might never leave it again.

He knew, he felt that she was aware of what was on his mind, that she saw it in his gaze.

"Have you read them?" She asked at last, there was something final in her question.

He parted his lips slightly, lifting his chin in a defiant gesture, stretching comfortably in his chair, wondering if he should humiliate her with words that he had burned them all.

To let her know that she no longer meant anything to him.

He wanted to say it, but he couldn't.

"Yes, my Lady Strong. I have read them all. Many times, here, in this chair." He hummed, running the blade of his dagger across the armrest, making a deep, chiseled line on it.

Go on, he thought, ask me why I didn't write back, what I thought of your tendentious, weepy musings, what I thought of your feminine, touching guilt, of your weakness, of your coming to me now like a dog to beg forgiveness.

She, however, asked nothing.

He shuddered and threw her a surprised glance as she suddenly moved ahead with a grave expression on her face, as if she had lost interest in the subject, making him feel discomfort.

"Does your mother-whore know you're here?" He asked dryly, wanting to take away her confidence, to embarrass her, to strike at her dignity, reminding her that she herself had come to a grown man in such a shameless negligee.

She, however, merely threw him a surprised glance as she approached his bookshelves, the small one he had been given as a child replaced by three new ones, made of oak wood, high to the ceiling, filled to the brim.

She reached for one of the volumes and he felt a squeeze in his throat when he saw that she had taken out The Reflections on the Dignity of the Ancient Philosopher Areon.

"My, as you put it, mother-whore, never knew when I visited you, uncle. I was very determined not to be caught." She said calmly, but with an air of regret and weariness, as if the situation between them was tiring her, as if she believed that facing him like a ghost from the past would allow her to move on.

He thought they both could have done it, but he wasn't sure if the blade he held in his hand wouldn't have cut her neck then.

He snorted, turning his gaze to the flames, involuntarily turning his dagger in his hand − he grinned despite being tense and bitter.

"Do you often visit men like this?" He asked reluctantly, though inside he was dying to prove to himself that surely she had already slept with her guards or other men who would give her pleasure, that the sweet, innocent girl he remembered was long gone.

He heard her footsteps and felt her presence; he lifted his eye to her, surprised, and noticed that her gaze was cloudy, her brow furrowed.

She looked as if she had been exceptionally offended by those very words.

"Have you no shame?" She asked him in a cool, trembling voice; he could feel the pain in the way she asked the question, his lips tightened into a thin line.

He was struck by how direct the question was.

He wasn't used to being spoken to like that.

But before he had time to respond with anything, to finally stab her in the back with words that were like poison, she began to speak, as if a dam had suddenly burst inside her and her thoughts poured out at him.

"I don't know who you are, the man who sits now before me, but if there is even a fragment of the boy I was meant to marry in you, let that boy know that he was and will be the only one in my heart. He was my beloved friend and I failed him. It is hard to live with the thought that someone you loved so deeply has died in a way, but there is neither a grave to pray over nor any hope of peace for his soul. What I fear is that the boy I knew has disappeared among the darkness and is dying in it every day."

He was ashamed that he felt a squeeze in his throat, that he felt a burning under his eyelids, that his heart was pounding like mad, that he froze completely in disbelief and shock as he stared at her wide-eyed.

She bursted into sobs in front of him, as if she was really mourning someone's death, and he didn't know what to do – even if he wanted to humiliate her, tell her to leave, he couldn't get anything out of himself.

He drew in air loudly and his whole body stiffened, the dagger fell out of his hand with loud clatter when she surprised him completely by sitting down on his lap, snuggling into him like a little child.

He had the feeling that she was not embracing him in the here and now, but a figure from the past that she missed so much.

"– forgive me – forgive me – forgive me –" She whined in a desperate, trembling, quivering voice.

He felt he was struggling to catch his breath, his nostrils filled with her scent, the smell of vanilla, her familiar warmth, his manhood hidden beneath his breeches swelled in response to this sudden, unexpected closeness, hitting her stomach.

She shuddered feeling it and looked up at him, her face flooded with tears, terrified and ashamed, her gaze asking him what she had just felt underneath her.

He began to breathe through his mouth, feeling the panic rising inside him because of the heat and tingling he felt in his lower abdomen.

There were drops of her tears on her eyelashes, her eyes big, her gaze hot, tender, terrified, her cheeks flushed with emotion, her lips puffy and plump, slightly parted in an accelerated breath.

"– can I kiss you? –"

He wasn't sure if he really heard it, it seemed to have only resounded in his head as his memory of that sunny day, but involuntarily he leaned lower.

He sighed as if relieved when her arms suddenly embraced his neck, her plump breasts snuggled into his tunic, and her wonderfully wet, soft lips pressed against his in a sticky, loud kiss.

They both moaned into each other's mouths as they felt his erection throb under her again, harder this time − he wasn't sure if it was his will that guided the movements of his hands as one clamped down on her hip and the other on the back of her neck, holding her in place, not allowing her lips to pull away from his as he slid his tongue deep into her throat.

They both trembled as he tentatively began to rock his hips, rubbing against her from below, teasing her palate with the tip of his tongue, overwhelmed by her familiar closeness and scent, her so-needed, gentle hands stroking his hair and cheeks, her thumb running over his scar under his eye patch.

The sight of her body, her sweetly parted lips, her hot gaze in which everything lurked, and her scent, the smell of fucking vanilla filled his entire mind.

He rubbed his already hard cock against the place between her thighs again and again, panting heavily, sliding his free hand under the material of her nightgown, placing it on her naked, hot hip, digging his fingertips into her wonderfully soft skin.

He saw the blush on her sweet, innocent face, her hips in a slow, smooth motion began to move back and forth, pressing what was underneath her; he shuddered all over feeling it and they both sighed quietly as her fingers ran over his jaw.

"− uncle −" She whispered softly into his mouth, exactly like in his dreams, like when he touched himself between his thighs with his hand.

With longing and desire.

He was unable to remember when she pressed her sweet-tasting lips to his again, hugging her soft breasts into the fabric of his tunic, what the reason for their disagreement was, it seemed to him to be completely trivial and unfounded.

He thought it was obvious that the lovers had argued with each other and then reconciled.

That was all he thought about as he undid the ties of her nightgown, sucking and caressing her fleshy, moist mouth, her jaw, her neck, her shoulders with his swollen lips, leaving wet, hot marks on her skin – his hands slid it slowly off her arms, revealing her bare body, her lovely breasts, unashamedly before him.

He delighted in this sight, almost mythological, noble, for breasts were the joy of husbands and the source of milk for their offspring, something beautiful, admirable.

He could feel her trembling all over in his hands, terrified by her negligee; he was sure now that no one had ever seen her naked before him and this thought spread like a wonderful, hot wave through his body.

"− easy − your uncle will treat your body with proper respect −" He murmured in a deep voice trembling with arousal, his large hand grasped one of her breast and squeezed it tentatively; he sighed feeling how warm and soft it was.

She moaned innocently in front of him, making his long erection press against her lower abdomen again.

He grasped her cheeks in his hand, with a brutal, sudden movement drawing her face closer to his, his fingers ran over her soft, wet, full lips.

"− please −" She mumbled, her gaze warm and hazy, her little body trembling in his embrance.

He decided to take pity on her, sliding his tongue deep inside her throat, stifling her loud mewl.

His thumb began to tease and play with her nipple, making her whole body shivered; he felt her hands tighten in his hair, her lips melt into his in a quick, hot dance of saliva and teeth.

"− uh − it tickles − here –" She muttered, rubbing against his swollen erection with her hips, as if she really didn't know what was happening to her, as if she wanted him to help her understand what her body was trying to tell her, however he, hearing this, lost his temper.

Despite the material of his breeches separating them where their bodies met, he could feel her moisture.

She was wet.

She wanted him inside her.

"− it's understandable − you missed your uncle − hm? −" He murmured into her mouth with a kind of tenderness and understanding that surprised him, as if it had been obvious that this was how it would end.

She nodded quickly like a child who agreed with his teacher, who wanted to be guided, to be shown what was right.

She squealed as he stood up with her, holding her in his arms, just thinking about the fact that he hadn't felt this calm for years, the sight of her, the smell of her made his head spin.

He couldn't even remember why he was mad at her, why he hadn't written her back, why he wanted to kill her.

How could he ever hurt her, his sweet little wife?

"− lie on your back − yes, just like that −" He murmured with delight, looking at her partially exposed body; her lips was pink and puffy from his caresses, her breath heavy as she looked at him dreamily, watching as he began to undo the fastenings of his tunic, getting rid of it, leaving only his shirt and breeches.

He climbed onto the bed with a loud creak of wood, not quite sure what he should do, sensing subconsciously, however, that this was the day of their reunion, their reconciliation after years of separation, the figures of Lord Baratheon's daughters and Lord Arryn's son seemed to him nothing more than a joke.

He knew that he couldn't take her maidenhood, deprive her of her virtue even it was the only thing he desired now and, desperate, he reminded himself about what his brother said to him one day.

Then he was embarrassed by his words, but now he thought that he could make use of them.

Aegon spoke to him of how wonderful it was to taste the woman between their thighs, that they quivered with delight when he licked them there, and since he would devour her whole if he could, he decided to try.

She was horrified and distraught when she saw his face between her thighs; he thought, lifting the material of her nightgown above her hips, that her womanhood reminded him of a flesh of a fruit, pink, moist and fleshy.

She tried to push him away, asking him fearfully what he was going to do as he leaned down, but she only tilted her head back as his tongue ran over her leaking, throbbing, hot slit, the sound she made surprised even him.

"− o-oh, gods −" She whimpered as he licked devotedly what spilled out of her, the taste and flesh of his future wife, her proof that she didn't despise him, that she still wanted him, that her little cunt was waiting for him and for his caresses.

"− have you touched yourself here? −" He gasped between one lick of his tongue and the next, her thighs trembling in his hands, her fingers clenched in his hair, trying to rub against his face.

He grinned involuntarily sensing her desperation, seeing that she nodded and ran the tip of his nose over the puffy bud hidden between her folds, making her moaned loudly.

Encouraged, he grasped it in his mouth and began to suck on it, licking it with his tongue; her whole body arched, uncontrollable whines erupted from her mouth. He tried to cover her lips with his hand, fearing that someone would eventually hear it, but she clamped her hands on his wrist, blocking his movements.

"− please, uncle, too much − too much −" She whimpered, trying to escape; he stopped, seeing that her body was shaking in convulsions, surprised how sensitive the female body was and how many secrets it hid.

He thought he now understood why it was Rhaenys that Aegon the Conqueror wanted in his bed.

In the art of the body, one could not be aggressive and brutal as on the battlefield.

What they were doing was some sort of a feast, tasting and satisfying their desires, full of moistures and hot embraces.

He hummed as he leaned down again, intrigued, and slowly slipped his tongue deep inside her, feeling how rough and wet her fleshy walls were, groaning quietly as her wonderful taste spread across his palate.

"− uncle − mghmm −" She mumbled, breathing hard, with each flick of his tongue inside her drifting away more and more, he could feel her insides pulsing all over around nothing.

"− it'll be wonderful to feel it clench around my fat cock one day − don't you think, sweet niece? −" He asked, pressing his face closer to her body, licking and rubbing her walls in place that when he touched it with the tip of his tongue she trembled the most, moaning helplessly, her hips coming up to meet his face, her breathing getting louder and louder.

"− oh g-gods, Aemond − oh gods,oh gods,oh gods −" She mewled, startling him as she raised herself up on her elbow, tilting her head back, bliss and delight painted on her face, her plump, glossy lips parted in sweet moans as if in disbelief that something so wonderfully pleasurable had shaken her body.

It was the first time he had ever seen female fulfilment and it was a stunning, wonderful sight.

He groaned low as he felt how much moisture flowed out of her, kissing her hot, throbbing entrance devotedly, slowly licking everything off, not wanting to waste a drop, even though she begged him to stop.

Everything he drank from her was for him, the wonderful nectar of his sweet wife.

He rose on his knees, wiping his face with his hand, looking at her in disbelief, panting loudly; she lay as if without strength, with her hands spread on either side of her head, her plump, puffy lips slightly parted in ragged breath.

His niece.

"Touch me." He demanded, slipping off his breeches, taking her hand in his, with a desperate, sudden movement clamping her fingers on his swollen, twitching erection, leaking from his own wetness. They both moaned helplessly when, with movements of his hand, he showed her how she was to touch him.

She looked up at him in shame, squeezing his long, swollen manhood with sure up and down strokes, feeling it throb all over in her grasp; he rocked his hips involuntarily, sensing that he was embarrassingly close to fulfillment.

"− fuck − fuck, come here −" He gasped, grabbing her by her hair, forcing her to rise up and kiss him − their lips collided in a sticky, messy kiss, the combination of their tongues and their saliva, the smell of her, the sight of her bare body, the scent of her sex, her moisture around them, proof of what they were doing.

Against their gods, against their family.

He didn't care what happened next.

"− don't fucking stop − faster − fuck-fuck-fuck −" He hissed and groaned low, surprised at the helpless sound that came from his throat, coming with a sigh of relief onto her nightgown, his translucent, pearly spend spurting out onto her, startling her; he hushed her with his kisses, whispering to her between the sticky brushes of their lips.

"− easy, it's just me − shhh −" He whispered, letting go of her hand, allowing her to release her grip, her fingers all sticky with his seed.

"− lick it off − don't waste a drop −" He growled, wrinkling his eyebrows.

She swallowed loudly, all red with shame at his lewd words, obediently licking her finger after finger, looking him straight in the eye. He watched her with satisfaction, grinning, thinking of how obedient and good a wife she would indeed be.

"− you are going to spend the night with me −"

______

From the author: In Stay and love, leave and die oneshot Aemond would not allow her to enter his chamber, he would remain silent - in his opinion, she had forgotten about him and suddenly wanted to regain his favor, which he found pathetic and irritating, not worth his attention. None of her letters reached him through the years, having been intercepted and burned by Otto. The next day, he informed his mother that either she would leave the Red Keep or he would, and she decided to return to Dragonstone so as not to escalate the conflict. In that universe, they actually speak to each other only in Strom's End.

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Four: Before the Storm

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Hello everyone! How are we doing after the last chapter? I went on a vacay and enjoyed some time with my family and dog, but now we're back to business. I wanted to say that I'm not a literary genius. Later in this chapter Helaena says some lines from a piece of work by Hélène Cixous called Love of the Wolf. I'm not taking credit for her work by any means, but I couldn't help myself not to add it. It was just too perfect. Well, anyways, thank you for reading!

Chapter Warnings: mentions of childhood SA and trauma related to it, sexism, bullying.

Birdsong accompanied you in your daily lessons with Septa Marlow, her parchment-thin flesh wrapped over her shaking bones as she pointed to the large map of what you assumed was Westeros. It wasn’t that you couldn’t identify the outline of your own country. You didn’t care. The tiny sparrow that decided to make its nest on the branch of an oak tree outside the tutor room window was far more interesting.

You could hear the sounds of swords clashing outside over the creature’s call, an added instrument into the melody of the Red Keep. There was no doubt your brothers and uncles were practicing their swordplay, Ser Criston teaching the pairs of children. How you longed to be out there with them, with your family, with your twin, learning of things much more exciting than what region of the country produced the most red wine.

You only wanted to see them and to be entertained. It wasn’t that you wanted to learn the sword, though you wouldn’t say no should someone ask.

But this resulted from the actions from the previous day when you disobeyed the Dragonkeeper’s commands. It surprised you when your mother failed to mention how your brothers and Aegon gave Aemond a pig, but you weren’t planning to go out of your way to tell on yourself and receive any more repercussions. You were already confined to the castle walls and forbidden from seeing your dragon for the next sennight. You couldn’t imagine what your mother would have done in response if she knew.

“Princess, pay attention,” the old crone’s wavering voice commanded, causing you to jolt.

You attempted to follow her instructions, rattling off the names of Houses and their most profitable exports, but metal clanging stole you from your duties once more. Why couldn’t you be with your brothers and uncles? You understood that today’s extra lessons were a punishment, but why couldn’t you join them? You and Jace were the same age, though you were a few moments older, and Luke was younger.

You could comprehend the importance of learning such knowledge, but your brothers were able to understand this and swordsmanship. Why could you not? Seeing as your mother had not learned it, you did not believe it was a skill you needed. This was the only thing that separated you from Jace, and you hated it.

Suddenly, everything went silent. The birds, the clang of steel, your mind halted into a noiseless silence, leaving the only sound of Septa Marlow’s droning, shaky voice. Screams you knew belonged to Aegon and the shrieks of your younger brother, Jace, briefly sounded, causing your feet to twitch in the direction of the sound. You knew your brother. That was not a noise of happiness but one of determination and fear, but once again, it plummeted into silence.

Then, it erupted. Shouts and thick, repeated thumps of what could only be skin on skin replaced the dull thudding of swords, only this time, it was of grown men.

Disregarding your Septa’s scolds of disobedience, you stood, rushing from the creaky wooden desk and chair with a soft wince from the pain between your legs. You ran to the window, face pressed against the glass, to see the situation unfold.

Ser Harwin kneeled over a man in polished armor you couldn’t see as he drove punch after punch into the man’s face. It was a member of the Kingsguard, judging by his attire as onlookers gathered around the two of them, attempting to remove Harwin from his victim.

Why would Ser Harwin be attacking a Kingsguard?

You pressed your face closer to the glass, fogging it with your breath. Soon, your mother’s protector was thrown off, revealing a bloodied, smug Ser Criston Cole, a proud smirk on his tan face as he spat viscous scarlet liquid. Ser Harwin spewed words of anger you couldn’t hear as you observed with wide eyes from above.

“Princess!” Marlow shouted, stomping her slippered foot in exasperation. “Return to your seat at once.”

“Ser Harwin is attacking Ser Criston!” you countered with a whine as you disregarded her demands. Without thinking of the consequences, you ran for the exit only to be met with the face of your sworn shield, halting you from seeing the commotion.

You were stuck. These were the repercussions of your actions, and now you had to sit in dull solitude with a Septa so old that your mother had her as wild possibilities ran through your head as to why Ser Harwin Strong attacked Ser Criston Cole.

Finding where your uncle Aemond spent most of his time was effortless. He was unlike the rest of you, who loved to be outside in the dirt, running about the gardens as you and your brothers played any game you could think of. Aegon and the trio of you teased Aemond for the fact that he was different in this way, your eldest uncle impressing the idea that his brother’s likes of science, math, history, and philosophy were weird for a child. You also enjoyed subjects similar to your uncle’s, thirsting for knowledge of everything related to herbs, flowers, and other plants, but you never brought it up. Aegon would undoubtedly tease you for it if he knew.

Aemond’s interests weren’t typical, but you didn’t see it as something to look down on him for. But since Aegon did, you had no choice but to agree.

The library in the Red Keep was a lonely and shadowy place, rarely visited by anyone, not even the servants. The absence of lit candles or a crackling fire contributed to the eerie atmosphere, creating a sensation of fear that seemed to grip your very core as you stepped inside, as though you were venturing into an endless void of darkness. Despite the unsettling ambiance, you summoned your bravery, clutching your cherished collection of fairy tales for comfort, and gained the strength to push open the library doors. The sound of metal clanging echoed in the silence.

Motes of dust swirled in the beams of light pouring through the windows as you combed through the towering wooden bookcases. Your search was targeted and honed on a particular individual who, besides Lord Lyonel Strong and the rest of the council members, was known to make regular visits to this room. It was just a matter of time before you laid eyes on him.

After the sixth tall hickory bookshelf, you found Aemond resting on a window seat filled with lush fabric cushions, the sunbeams casting him in a yellow glow. You took a step forward, hesitating as you thought about how your uncle would react to your goodwill gesture. Despite anticipating his initial skepticism and harsh words, you held onto hope that persistence and authenticity would eventually make him see you for who you are.

You wished for it to be true.

“Have you come to mock me again, niece?” Aemond asked, interrupting your indecision with his nose still in the pages.

You swallowed as your mouth became dry, stepping out to reveal yourself fully. “No, Aemond. I came to read,” you replied, taking a gasp of air and summoning courage, “with you.”

Your uncle’s attempt to mask his surprise was unsuccessful as his eyes widened in astonishment. He quickly glanced at you and returned to his book, hoping to conceal his reaction.

His usual scowl deepened, pulling down at his freckled cheeks as he interrogated. “Why?”

A lopsided grin scrunched your plump cheeks upwards to crinkle your eyes as you shrugged. “Because I want to.”

Aemond flipped onto the next page with a skeptical face, yet his violet orbs never moved from the same spot. You had his attention. Hiding a victorious grin, you stepped towards him before he could protest, plopping onto the pillows beside Aemond. He quickly recoiled in exaggerated disgust, as if you were no more than an annoying fly that landed on his arm as he slammed the tome shut and briskly left.

This was an expected outcome, and you hurriedly chased after him, your shorter legs struggling to keep up with your uncle’s pace as he fled around a corner from your attempted act of bonding. You understood this was not a simple task and already built the mental stamina to outlast Aemond’s antics as he jumped down the stone steps of the Keep two at a time.

Eventually, he managed to escape you, his notable mane of blonde hair disappearing before a crowd of courtiers in the courtyard.

You huffed a sigh as you observed the sea of people, sweat stinging your privy part, but you ignored it, standing on the tips of your toes to peer over the wall of the pale redstone landing above the yard.

Suddenly, you spotted him at the far end as he caught your gaze, violet eyes widening in horror as if he saw one of the monsters from your stories. He turned away. His confident walk soon turned to a worried jog as you ran as fast as your limbs could carry you, shoving your way through the throng of people. You were used to playing chase with your brothers. Doing it with your uncle was the same, if not more manageable, with the help of his iconic hair and green garbs.

As you reached the area where you spotted your uncle, he was nowhere to be found, and you turned, looking across the vast meadow of the court that ebbed and flowed like the swaying of a wheat field, focused on their afternoon destinations. None of them paid any attention to the two dragon royals, both more than a head shorter and too self-absorbed to care.

With a sharp yelp, you fell to the ground, soiling your gown and dropping your book on the packed dirt as you caught yourself with your palms. They ached at the impact, tiny rocks embedding into your soft skin as you swiftly turned to the person who shoved you and saw no other than your uncle Aemond staring over you with rose-dusted cheeks. His arms securely bound his book to his chest as he looked down upon you with his nose, catching his breath and taking three paces back before you righted yourself.

“Why are you following me?” your uncle shouted down at you as he attempted to make his voice sound like a grown man.

You huffed as you swiped the dirt from your turquoise dress, gritting your teeth to control your frustration. This was one of your nice ones! Of course, Aemond would ruin it. Your mother would surely scold you when she found out.

“I told you I only wanted to read!” you screeched with a stomp of your foot as your arms flew into the air, flailing wildly. “And now you’ve ruined my favorite collection! The spine is loose and the pages are dirty!”

Aemond said nothing as you studied the now-tattered book before you. Every night, Ser Harwin or your father read a short story from this as you sat atop their laps, drifting off into a restful sleep filled with dreams of nymphs playing in a forest creek. Your book, too, was ruined—another consequence of wanting to be kind to your uncle.

“What’s it about?” he suddenly asked, prompting your watery eyes to move to him. The blush that covered Aemond’s face deepened, now traveling to his ears and throat as he dug his nails into the leatherback of his tome. He looked almost pained to inquire about anything that had to do with you.

Your first instinct was to bite with sharpened fangs of hurt, but you stopped, remembering your goal as you batted your watery lashes in disregard. “It was a volume of different stories,” you sighed with disappointment, afraid that if you showed any other emotions, you would revert to your old ways.

“I see.”

You stared at Aemond expectantly, waiting longer than what was proper for him to continue any sentence or explanation. Still, he did not, only observing you with a calculating expression. The low murmur of bustling court members filled the long silence, the occasional gust of wind and rattling metal low in the background. When your uncle refused to proceed with the conversation, you opened your mouth to do it for him, but much to your chagrin, he turned away before you could, not speaking a word as he kicked pebbles with his boots.

You scoffed in response, stunned and appalled by his actions. For a brief moment, one that didn’t last longer than a blink, Aemond showed kindness to you. You felt like an idiot for believing in that small part that thought last night changed your standing with Aemond, yet a ray of hope still lingered in your chest like the flame of a burnt wick on a dwindling candle.

You sighed in frustration as you looked over the worn and tattered pages of the stories. The determination you once had dwindled, and you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you deserved this. Memories of mocking Aemond’s odd behavior of the pig and making fun of him with your brothers and Aegon weighed heavily on you, intensifying the shame. A soft sigh of defeat escaped your lips as you reflected on your actions.

Ser Harwin was leaving you. After his fight with Ser Criston in the training yard, he was stripped of his title as Commander of the City Watch and was sent back to Harrenhal the next day. You were devastated, fat tears running down your hot cheeks as he said farewell to you, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey before sleep.

Harwin had been with you since before you were born. He was there to help sort out quarrels between you and your brothers whenever one stole toys and refused to share. Harwin accompanied you to your lessons when your brothers were learning the art of swords or hunting. He taught you how to ride a horse when your father was out at sea with your grandfather Corlys and dried your tears whenever Aegon and Aemond were harsh. Ser Harwin was family as far as you were concerned, and returning to the Riverlands was akin to losing a member because Ser Criston claimed he cared too much about you and your brothers only to be a sworn protector.

You weren’t blind to the rumors surrounding your parentage and the resemblance to the Commander of the City Watch. It was all your uncles could do not to bring it up each moment they laid their Valyrian eyes on you. The word bastard haunted the now four of you wherever you went, a cloak of shame that threatened to devour your girlish body whole.

Jace often raised concerns about who your birth father was, but he was never brave enough to ask your mother about it. It was an open question of uncertainty that never seemed to find the correct answer, yet, no matter what, you knew that even if you were not of Laenor Velaryon’s blood, they could never deny that you were your mother’s. You were a Targaryen, just like your aunt and uncles, and that was something that could never change.

“Be good to your mother. I’ll visit when I can,” Ser Harwin said tenderly, kneeling before you, Jace, and Luke as your mother cradled Joffrey. He stood with a grunt as he observed the four of you, a misty look in his eyes that you could mistake for tears. “But that may be some time.”

Sobs stained the white cotton sleeves of your nightgown gray, sniffling as you wiped away more snot and salty water. You would miss Ser Harwin terribly, and he knew that, but that did not make this any less painful as you clung to Jace’s side and he, your mother.

“I will return. I promise,” Harwin expressed with a gravelly voice as he tenderly brushed loose strands of your hair that hid your wet eyes. You listened to the same voice as you sat on his lap, resting your head upon his chest as he read you and your brother’s fairy tales before bed.

Harwin would tell no more stories in that deep, rumbling tone that soothed your soul beyond measure, and you felt your heart crack more at the thought.

Harwin moved to say his final farewell to Joffrey and your mother, kissing the babe’s forehead as you buried your face in your brother’s neck. “You will be a stranger when we meet again,” he said to the bundle of fabric that cooed in your mother’s arms.

And that was true, not just for Joffrey, but for all of you.

Ser Harwin bid goodbye to your mother with a simple “princess” as they shared a long, meaningful glance with layers of emotion and scores of history behind them. He said no more and gathered his sword, swinging it over his shoulder as you released a cry, running to the comforting embrace of your mother’s bed. You could no longer watch Harwin as he left your life, a new wave of sobs taking over as you shoved your face into her feather pillows. It smelled of her, home, and happiness—fresh lavender and sage on expensive cotton sheets.

Despite your mother’s reassurance that you would see Ser Harwin again someday, you could not help but feel like this was a death sentence. As if you stood in front of his coffin and buried him beneath the dirt and worms yourself. He would no longer be the sworn shield he was when he left at this very moment, as you heard the sound of hurried footfalls exiting the room.

Luke followed you to the wide bed, tucking himself into your side and resting his temple on your chest as you both cried in an agonizing yet loving embrace. You could hear Jace talking to your mother outside the doorway, little Joffrey babbling as she softly bounced him in her arms. Whether it was to comfort your babe brother or her, you did not know.

“Is Harwin Strong my father? Am I a bastard?” you heard Jace ask. His fierce and unwavering inquiry only made you sadder. On instinct, you covered Luke’s ears as he hiccuped into your chest. He did not need to have doubt burrow into his mind at such a young age.

Your mother was silent. The only sounds coming were from you, the soft crackles of the fire in the hearth, and your little brother’s heaving breaths as you struggled to cope with the loss.

“You are a Targaryen. That is all that matters,” she finally answered, tone strong. Her words were rehearsed and practiced, and they did not quell the thirst for the truth in either you or Jace.

Your barely younger brother returned to the room. His thin lips downturned, and his head hung low as he sat on one of the plush settees littering the area. You could tell he was unsatisfied with your mother’s response, as were you, but he understood he would get the same reply should he push the matter. Your mother followed in soon after, observing the three of you with tired yet loving eyes.

The same question was on your lips, threatening to break free at any moment, lilac orbs landing on your brown ones as she stared at you with your newest brother still in her arms. She was not inclined to answer, and yet you knew. It was written plainly in the fine lines of her face, the slope of her nose, and how tears lined her lashes as your mother inhaled a fierce, shuddering breath. Much like her, you refused to say the words aloud, electing to bask in the grief-stricken sadness that enveloped your family.

The hour of the owl was upon you before you finally went to your chambers, unable to find rest in your kin’s arms. Your brothers choose to stay with your mother inside hers as their tiny bodies pressed against each other after the tears have long dried.

The halls and corridors of the Red Keep were noiseless as you trekked through them with keen eyes. The portraits of your ancestors you passed daily seemed to follow you with their purple gazes, their accusing stares boring shame into your soul and setting your hair alight.

Alicent’s warning rang through your head as the squeak of a rat sounded, her rich voice echoing inside until it was all you could hear. The end could not come fast enough as you shut the large wooden doors to your, Jace’s, and Luke’s shared quarters, swiftly hiding under your blue bed sheets, heart hammering in your chest.

Your bed was cold and safe, and your pulse calmed steadily. Now, more than ever, the uncertainty behind your birth was thrust before you.

It was always easier to deny the fact that you were most likely a bastard than it was to accept it. Those who accused you did not understand that they weren’t only saying your blood was not Laenor Velaryon but that you and your brothers were a sin, your very existence an insult to House Velaryon, the king, and to all those who dutifully suffered unkind marriages.

Bastards were not heirs. They were creations purely out of selfish lust and desire.

It called into question all four of your legitimacy of inheritance. None of you had claims to the thrones or titles you were set to receive upon the death of your parents, and no prospects would want to wed a bastard should you accept it.

You understood why your mother did not admit the words allowed in the confidence of the now four of you. If you spoke them into existence, it would only make them real. It left you no choice but to deny, deny, deny until your tongue withered and lips fell off. Living a life of refusal of admittance would be difficult. Still, it was the only way to ensure you and your brother’s places would be secured until the Stranger decided to take another companion.

The empty well of tears soon filled once more as you sighed deeply in surrender to the turbulent path ahead, tucking your hand underneath your pillow for the relief of rest, but unfortunately, it did not find you.

Your vanity mirror shined like a beacon in the darkness, reminding you of that night. You still needed to move it back to its original place and give your maids the excuse that you wanted to see what it would look like there. It was a lie.

The idea that Aegon knew of a passage into your rooms haunted you when you set foot into the space. You were scared, anxious, no… terrified that your eldest uncle would waltz into your bed chamber at any moment. The unknown was what frightened you—of what he would do. The notion that he could enter pushed you to rise from bed, planting the soles of your feet onto a maroon Myrish rug as you grabbed the legs of the vanity and pulled it back into place. You would have to think of another lie to tell your maids.

“Why is Uncle Aemond unkind to us?” a timid voice rang out into the once private space.

Nearly jumping out of your skin, you turned to see Luke with a wooden toy dragon curled into his tiny fist. It looked as if he had just awoken from sleep minutes ago, which you assumed was the case judging by his messy hair and crusted eyes. As you caught your breath, clutching the skirt of your pale gray nightgown, you disregarded any questions about why he was here instead of your mother’s room.

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be,” you answered as your racing heart calmed. “Why do you ask?”

“I saw him push you over in the courtyard,” he ardently explained, his dark brows rising against his pale skin. It reminded you of your father when he tried to speak earnestly with the three of you, yet Luke’s boyish voice had no similarities to his.

You sighed, recalling the now ruined book you hid in your trunk alongside your tattered dress. “He was angry.”

You did not want to tell Luke about Aemond’s rejection, as the embarrassment was still fresh. He would no doubt try to tell you how you were wrong for attempting to befriend him after the mean things he’d said to you all your life.

“He’s always angry, but we haven’t done anything,” Luke countered with a frown on his small lips, fiddling with his fingers at his sides.

You paused for a long moment, unsure of what to say. The three of you were not nearly as cruel to Aemond as Aegon was. Your mother raised you to be kind to your uncles and aunt no matter what they did to you, and while you were not perfect, any jokes or rude remarks were not made with the intent to hurt him. With a great sigh, you lead Luke in front of the gated fireplace, where a collection of your toys rests in the orange glow. He picked up a polished wooden horse, running his tiny thumbs over the varnish as you spoke.

“I think he believes we don’t belong here,” you said. The explanation was vague, and it irked you beyond measure. The truth of your words threatened to surface like an apple thrown into a barrel full of water.

“We live here. This is our family,” he replied in confusion, dark eyes so wide you could see the entire white. He wasn’t wrong, yet the truth of the matter clawed at your throat to become free.

“We don’t look like Targaryens. You must have noticed.” You could not stop the words from being said. You were such a good liar. Why was it impossible to lie about this?

“You mean our hair?” Luke questioned with a tilt of his head, scratching his scalp in confusion with one of the wooden toys.

You didn’t want to tell him and put the burden of knowledge onto your younger brother that you and Jace were cursed with, but it was something you understood would follow the now four of you for the rest of your lives.

Luke was still younger than you, yet his simple statement of your hair tested your last bit of resolve. “Our hair, eyes, and everything!” you exclaimed exasperated.

“But I have a crooked little finger like Mama,” he reasoned with the raise of his hand, showing his small digit. You deflated, sighing a drawn-out breath to calm your temper as you picked up one of your rag dolls from the pile.

“A crooked little finger isn’t enough,” you decided to say as you stroked the button eyes on your toy. Why couldn’t he comprehend that no matter how many similarities you had to your mother, the fact of who your father was remained uncertain?

“Well, if we aren’t Targaryens, where did we come from?” The sap inside the fire popped, startling you and your brother as you stared into the flames.

You were Targaryens. That much was obvious. You cannot fake exiting your mother’s womb. It was the matter of your father that sparked rumors, but you did not want to give Luke any more thoughts over the subject, coming to accept that he was not old enough to understand what your uncle was being mean about.

“We were born here. Mama is our mother, but there’s something else and Aemond knows it,” you answered obscurely, clutching your dolly into your chest as the night air howled outside the glass windows.

It felt like the Keep was listening to your conversation, the walls groaning in response to your words. The very castle you lived in understood the truth, and the pressure of it weighed heavily on your soul. Just like the paintings of your ancestors, the Red Keep knew of your shame.

“I do not wish to be different,” Luke confessed with dejection, too sad for your liking, as he stopped playing with the toys.

You didn’t want to cause anyone’s sadness, let alone your brother’s, and you frowned, taking Luke’s hand in yours and scooting across the floor to hug his side.

You loved your family more than words could describe as you held your younger brother closer. Jace, Luke, and now Joffrey did not deserve the torment they would face for the rest of their lives at the hands of your uncles and the court. As the eldest, it was your responsibility to protect them from things your parents could not, to take care of them and dry their tears, not to burden your mother or father, but this was something you understood you could not fix, yet it did not deter you from trying.

“Nor do I,” you finally spoke, holding Luke close to your heart and kissing him on his cherubic cheek. “So let us be good children and please those who love us so they may forget what we lack. Come. It’s time for bed.” Your mother would say that as you took your brother by the hand and led him to your bed.

If you couldn’t change what people said, you could at least change the contents they discussed.

You would excel in your place as the unspoken heir and accept your duties no matter what with your shoulders back and your chin held high. You would learn the history of your ancestors, the politics of your country, and whatever else you believed was dutiful to prepare yourself for the responsibility you would inherit after your mother. Not feeling the same fear you did earlier, now with your younger brother at your side, you pulled the covers over both of you as Luke snuggled into your side’s comforting embrace.

Aemond felt he lacked something compared to his siblings, niece, and nephews. Some of him believed that if a dragon hatched from his egg, or he claimed a living one, things would be different from how they were now. He would not be the subject of people’s taunts nor feel the prominent sensation of inadequacy that weighed on his soul, but it seemed as if Aemond was destined to suffer within the shadows of his family’s success no matter how hard he tried to step out of it.

His older brother possessed the skills of conversation and humor he didn’t have and constantly teased him for it, though Aegon was not without faults. His brother would tell him to stop being a “twat,” to get his nose out of books, and that he was dull, sullen, and far too severe for his age.

Because of this, Aegon preferred to spend time with Jace, Luke, and his niece, but it didn’t help that they were much easier company. His half-sister’s children seemed to have a bond closer than his siblings, each with dragons, which was the one thing he didn’t possess. Aemond would never admit he was jealous of his niece and nephews, for that would mean that he saw them as equals of comparison, which was something they weren’t. They were beings of lesser standing, though they thought themselves on par, as they had been raised with the same extravagance he was.

Aemond knew you would be looking for him the next day as he watched you skip to the library the following morning, your smile so bright on your face that it made him sick. Seeing how the joy fell from your face when you saw he was not there gave him a deep sense of satisfaction.

Did you think him stupid?

He could see the telltale signs of tears welling in your eyes as you realized your hidden plans of ridicule were foiled: the scrunch of your dark brows, rapid blinking to get the droplets at bay, and then the pursing of your lips. This time, you held firm and refused to let your emotions guide you. At least, that was what Aemond believed as he observed you exiting the library deep in thought.

He knew you would not give up so easily, and instead of taking solace in his usual places of inhabitant and risking you finding him, he chose to watch you. You could not see him if he was three steps ahead. Aemond was glad that you weren’t nearly as bright as you believed, and as long as he stayed out of sight, he could be sure you wouldn’t bother him. The irony of the situation that he would now be following you to avoid you didn’t matter, and he certainly wasn’t concerned about your well-being after what Aegon did, either.

You were as foreign to one another as Old Valyria; there was no reason for him to care. Aemond would do this every day for the rest of his life if it meant he would never have to spend a moment with you again.

“Brother, what are you doing?”

Helaena’s voice drifted through the halls like summer wind through tree leaves, startling Aemond as he watched his niece’s dark head disappear around a corner. Her fair blonde locks, a copy of her brother’s, were braided around the crown of her head, a tiny metal cage in her lithe fingers, and a curious expression on her visage directed towards him.

“You’re avoiding her,” Helaena declared with a resolute lilt to her tone, taking the insect out of its confines. “After what has been stolen.”

Aemond stared at his sister with perplexed eyes, quickly looking to ensure you had not heard the conversation and came to investigate.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Aemond said distractedly, wringing his hands at the pit of unease in his stomach.

There was no possibility that she knew what occurred during the night. Aegon would never willingly admit something like this, and you would undoubtedly keep what happened a secret, seeing as you refused to tell your mother in fear of punishment.

Helaena was silent as she observed the olive-and-brown grasshopper in her palm, petting it with her index finger before it tried to jump away. She held the open metal cage in the bug’s intended direction, and it landed inside, swiftly flicking the door shut before it could attempt to escape again.

“Tis our fate, I think, to crave what is given to another. If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away,” Helaena declared with the furrow of her blonde eyebrows, the insect thumping against the metal bars as she looked at her younger brother.

Her words were cryptic, and Aemond felt a bead of sweat run down his spine as he observed his older sister. He didn’t understand what she meant. She intensely focused on it, so he assumed it was about the grasshopper. Aemond wordlessly shrugged, disregarding his older sister’s vague observation as he peered anxiously at where he last spotted you.

“Tis not difficult for the ewe to love the lamb. But for the wolf?” Helaena began again, standing beside her brother with a soft swish of her satin skirt. “The wolf’s love for the lamb is such a renunciation, it’s the wolf’s sacrifice—it’s a love that could never be requited. This wolf that sacrifices its very definition for the lamb, this wolf that doesn’t eat the lamb, is it a wolf? Is it still a wolf?”

Aemond paid no attention to her now as Helaena spouted what he felt was nonsense and decided to push forward in search of you, ensuring with noiseless strides you would not see him once he got close.

Helaena was someone he felt was misunderstood like him, but now was not the time to go on with poetry and riddles.

“But sometimes it’s the wolf that falls into the jaws of the lamb. Out of love, the wolf falls backward into the circle of fire. It goes around fast. It so happens that the lamb catches the wolf,” Helaena continued, her voice soft like morning spring rain as she followed her vexed younger brother. She was inside her world, purposely or ignorant of her brother’s frustration.

“There is no greater love than the love the wolf feels for the lamb it doesn’t eat.”

Aemond groaned, losing his temper, which he rarely did in the presence of his sister. His niece had irked him, causing his heartbeat to quicken and his lungs pant.

“Helaena, will you please stop with this nonsense? I have important matters to tend to,” Aemond barked hushedly as a servant passed by, blocking the sun from the windows.

Any other day, he would allow his sister to speak for however long and about whatever she wanted, but this was not one of those times. You could happen upon him at any moment, and the prince did not want to risk the chance of a repeat encounter.

Helaena refused to listen to him as her musings became louder and sharper as if she was trying to convey a point without the proper words, no doubt alerting you and everyone else in the Keep to where he was. Aemond felt the blanket of defeat shroud his figure as the sound of light hurried footfalls sounded in the hall.

“The lamb loves its wolf. The wolf turns white and starts quivering out of love for the lamb. The lamb loves the wolf’s fragility, and the wolf loves the frail one’s force. The wolf is now the lamb’s lamb and the lamb has tamed the wolf,” his sister concluded, violet-eyed with an understanding she attempted to impart onto Aemond with the harsh squeeze of her digits on his arm.

He gasped, his brows arched in pain from Helaena’s sharp nails piercing through his tunic, and tried to wretch his arm free with a panicked grunt, but to no avail. Before he could blink, your pitched voice pierced Aemond’s ears, and he felt like they would burst.

“Uncle! There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The loose strands of your neatly styled hair bounced with every step as you approached Aemond with a broad grin on your lips. “I was hoping we could read today. I chose a book I think you would like. I know you don’t enjoy fairytales.”

“Love blackens the lamb, leaving fire and blood to light their way,” Helaena whispered, her violet gaze directed towards the tall window as a bird flew past. She released Aemond’s arm as if she suddenly realized she still had it. She looked back to her grasshopper, wordlessly displaying it for you to see.

“Oh, is that a new one Helaena?” you asked with a bright curiosity in your tone. Aemond didn’t believe you truly cared about his sister and her bugs, curling his lip in disgust at what he thought were false niceties. “Where did you find it? We’ll have to go there sometime to see if there are more!”

You didn’t care about Helaena and her hobbies. You were more like Aegon and made fun of her for the bugs she collected. At least, that was what he had in his mind. Aemond felt conflicted as he watched his sister nod in agreement, asking when your punishment was over so you could spend time together again.

When he noticed Helaena’s faint smile as she left, grasshopper in tow, a warmth blossomed inside his heart. His sister only showed happiness when she truly felt it, not to be polite like most, and it caused Aemond to turn to you, his face pale. You were his annoying, spoiled, bastard niece who got anything she wanted, so why were you not acting like it?

It felt like butterflies were inside your stomach as you took another step toward Aemond, a book clutched to your chest like before. Aemond watched as his sister left the two of you alone without a word, like she was in a world of her own. He wanted to reach out to her to be not alone with his dreadful niece, but Helaena was gone as quickly as she emerged, leaving her younger brother with the girl he hated most in the world.

“I have a book I think we both would like today, uncle. It’s one about the warrior Queen Nymeria and her journey to Dorne,” you announced, a slight sway in your step as you tried to quell your anxiety.

Aemond huffed as he looked for a way out of this and sighed in defeat when he found none, clenching his thumbs inside his palms to control the ire that swelled in response. Your uncle didn’t want your pity or your friendship. He knew you were only spending time with him since you didn’t wish to Aegon and could not be with your brothers because they were in their lessons. You would have never done this if his eldest brother could control his impulses. It made him feel like a second choice, another painful reminder that he was always second to his kin, yet not good enough to be a spare.

Walking away in surrender, he led you back to the library, where no one would see the pair of you, and the sun provided the only light. He knew Aegon would tease him beyond what he could take if he saw you together, and after that night, Aemond did not want to see him anyway.

You set the book of Queen Nymeria’s adventures on a dusty wooden table and giggled as you fanned the air. Aemond was not amused, sulking in the chair beside you as he opened the leather back of the book. You sat next to him, shoulders touching, ignoring his reaction. He mockingly covered his mouth as if he smelled something terrible when he inhaled the citrus scent on your skin. This made you feel a bit upset, but you tried to hide it by tugging at your dark hair and avoiding his gaze.

You read the first page together silently. It stated how the queen looked, how beautiful she was with long, flowing, swarthy hair cascading down her waist with sturdy hips, her skin a smooth, youthful complexion with brown eyes to match. Yet still, she was a fierce warrior with an indomitable spirit who led her men into battle and took no cowards. You imagined you would be like her when you grew up, a beautiful warrior queen who ruled her kingdom with an unwavering though gentle and cunning fist, who people loved and respected her rule.

“Can I turn it?” Aemond asked dispassionately, cutting through the silence. You hadn’t realized you had been so lost in your daydreams that you had not retained a single word written on the page, but to not make your uncle perceive you lower than he already did, you nodded.

You leaned closer to the pages before you decorated them in elaborate colors of blue and red, studying the new page and picture. Aemond glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, unnoticed by you as you were lost in the vast expanse of your mind, your cheek right next to his.

He was surprised at how different you were, apart from the apparent fact of age and sex. His eyelashes were almost white and translucent, while yours were black, long, surrounding dark eyes that glistened with natural wetness that threatened to suck him into their depths if he stared for too long. Aemond’s skin was pale and dusted with sun kisses, yet yours was plain, flushed, and full of life, your lips more defined and moist than his. You possessed a pug nose matching that of your brothers rather than his aquiline one, a softer, more plump face than his, as Aemond’s was more defined even for his age. His hair, the color of Targaryen’s, the white you didn’t have a hint of and mocked you for, was visible proof of who your father was.

Though Aemond immensely enjoyed pointing out the idea that you were a bastard, he reluctantly realized that you weren’t unattractive, at least by Westerosie standards.

“I will be like Nymeria when I am queen,” you announced to Aemond, breaking the silence. He gave you a sidelong glance and sighed. It wouldn’t hurt if there were some conversation between you. It didn’t seem like you would be mean to him, and he supposed you were indebted to him after all.

At your hopeful expression, your uncle didn’t have the heart to tell you that neither you nor your mother would rule the Seven Kingdoms. Women were not fit to rule and carry such a burden. They were too gentle of creatures to make the harsh decisions that ruling required.

“Are you certain you’ll be a good ruler? You can barely get your brothers to listen to you. What makes you think the Lords of the realm will?” Aemond questioned with a trace of bitterness you couldn’t understand the cause of.

Turning to him with a face painted with a serious expression, your brows scrunched together and lips tight in a severe line as you took his hand. “Just as Nymeria burned her ships to prevent any cowardly men from fleeing, I will burn all those who try to hurt my family and oppose my reign.”

You stated the words with such a decisive coldness that it caused Aemond to shiver. He was shocked and in awe at your declaration, stunned into silence filled with momentary admiration. Aemond never imagined that would come out of your mouth. He always pictured you as soft-hearted when it came to violence, having seen you cower when Aegon would hit your brothers too hard when training.

“What would you do if they didn’t allow your mother to be queen? You wouldn’t have the power to do that,” your uncle reasoned, giving you a devoted attention he never gave before. It made you pause.

“Perhaps I was a bit rash,” you reasoned with the gentle tug of your hair, letting go of Aemond’s hand in nervousness. He swiftly snatched it back before you could think, a surge of excitement rolling in the pit of your stomach with the action. “It wouldn’t only be me, though. I would have Jace, Luke, and Joffrey when he becomes a rider. We would help our mother if anyone tried to prevent her, and I would have my husband, too. He would be my Mors Martell and help me conquer all of Dorne!”

You looked at Aemond with uncertain eyes as your gaze flicked from him to the open book the two of you barely read.

“You mean Aegon. Someone with a dragon,” he countered snidely, turning his flushed cheeks away from you.

“No,” you snapped quicker than you could have imagined. “I don’t want Aegon to be my husband.”

Aemond needn’t ask why.

You hadn’t heard your eldest uncle’s name since that night, and hearing it made something within you break. You despised Aegon for his actions. Did he feel entitled to mistreat you because of the betrothal plan? It filled you with blackened fury. You took a quick breath to calm yourself and looked to Aemond, who appeared remorseful.

“You don’t need a dragon to be powerful,” you explained with a gentle tone, but Aemond only scoffed.

“That’s easy for you to say when you have one,” he bit, causing the tips of his ears to grow pink in anger.

You attempted to hide your huff of annoyance at his sulking but failed, rolling your dark eyes as you answered him honestly. “I do believe you’ll have a dragon one day. There are too many around for you not to. You just need to find the right one, but even if you don’t, there are other ways to have power. You could ride with me and Gaeli, too, if you like? If you never claimed one.”

It was an offering of peace, of goodwill, telling your uncle without the words that you were sorry for having played all the jokes you did on him for not having a mount. You wanted him to know he was welcomed into the world of dragons without one, that you would still see him as an equal, if not better than you in some aspects. He was already showing prospects of being a fine warrior.

“Really?” Aemond perked, violet eyes setting alight with happiness you had never seen him show. He felt childish, but he couldn't help it. You offered for him to ride a dragon!

You giggled, unable to hold your joy back as you bobbed eagerly. “Of course, Aemond! As soon as Gaelithox is large enough to ride you will be with me. We can learn together for when you finally mount one!”

It was the first time you saw your uncle smile with genuine, untainted mirth, displaying a set of dimples you didn’t know he had. The pair of you fell into a deep conversation long into the late evening, causing your mother to pace with nerves until you returned, discussing thoughts of the future, of what dragons Aemond could claim, and how, if he never bonded with one, you would make him feel as if he was a dragon rider like the rest of your family.

The following days, Aemond rose with the sun, a sensation he had never felt before in the pit of his stomach as his servant dressed him in traditional green garbs.

Excitement.

He was filled with eager anticipation for the days ahead now that he had something positive to look forward to. It was something only he had now. In a way, though Aemond would never admit it, for it was such a horrendous thought that brought him great shame, he was glad that Aegon raped his niece. If he hadn’t, Aemond would never have gained one of the two things Aegon had that he didn’t.

First, he took the companionship of the only person who steadfastly supported his old brother. Next, all Aemond had to do was acquire a dragon, and finally, he would be equal to Aegon, if not better.

As Aemond traveled the halls, understanding full well that he could read within the privacy of his chamber, he went to the library to read ever since he and his niece shared words of the future. He met you in the same place in the library after your lessons, whether to read, chat, or enjoy the peace of the other’s company.

Though Aemond was proud that he took something from Aegon, he was afraid that his brother would see you together one day, but Aegon never ventured into the noiselessness of the library. The eldest son had never been much of a student.

You typically sparked conversations, and Aemond would answer back in kind. It made him feel better about himself—more of a man to have someone solely seek his attention and knowledge in a way no one else had before. Aemond always ended the day with a pleasant flutter in his heart and tingling in his fingers for what tomorrow would bring.

One night, as Aemond lay fast asleep with visions of the sun blinding his eyes, green scales, and a head of dark hair that flew in the wind, he woke with a start to the sound of his chamber doors opening. He feared it was Aegon and his nephews who were once again trying to make a mockery of him.

He rose within the lush emerald bedsheets, terrified, as the torchlight shone from the hallway, outlining the figure in the door frame. The person stepped forward with a loud creak of the metal hinges.

“Aemond?”

He heard the quiet mumble, the voice softer than that of the feather pillows he lay his head on at night. Aemond could barely see your silhouette in the darkness, squinting with sleep-clouded eyes to ensure it was you. He could hear your soft sniffles and quick breaths as concern hastened his heart.

“Can I sleep with you?”

You could hear your uncle shift on his bed, mind still reeling from being woken up from a deep slumber. The silence stretched long between you and Aemond, and you feared he might refuse your plea for comfort.

“What? Why?” he hissed with venom. There was no privacy from Aegon here. At any moment, his older brother could walk into his room and see you conversing. He didn’t need another excuse to be ridiculed. You had to leave now.

Your hiccups were loud at his rejection as you wiped at your tears, unable to form coherent sentences as sobs racked your lungs. “I…I had a dream. Ae-gon came… back. He hurt me again, and I… I couldn’t…” You cried, palms scratching at your scalp as you tried to speak.

“Go sleep with Jace,” he retorted, ready to return to bed. Spending time together privately was one thing, but this was invading his space, his place of solitude without siblings or nieces.

“I can’t! He and Luke have been sleeping with Mama since Ser Harwin left,” you babbled in despair, glancing over your shoulder as if the monster called Aegon would emerge from the shadows and devour you whole.

Your desperation stung Aemond's heart, and sympathy clouded his sense that the fear you felt was something he, too, experienced. After a long pause, your uncle shifted to the side, noiselessly lifting his sheets and making room beside him.

Breathing a loud sigh of relief that reminded him of a fish gasping for air, you closed the door, running to Aemond’s bed and immediately clinging to his side. He knew you to be affectionate, but he still carried concern in his mind. Yet how you trembled like a frightened fawn, told him this was not a rouse. You were sincerely terrified that your eldest uncle would return and no one would stop him this time.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know you don’t like me,” you sobbed into your uncle’s green nightshirt, gripping the fabric so tight that Aemond worried it would rip. “Please, please, please don’t let him hurt me again, uncle. I can still feel it between my legs.”

Aemond froze at the sudden burst of intimacy, slowly wrapping his arms around your quivering body. Despite the context of the situation, having you so close sent a pleasant tingling down the base of his spine. He tried to focus on your breathing, waiting for it to calm down before he spoke again.

Though he was beginning to tolerate your presence, having you within his bed chambers was not something he wanted.

Aemond recalled the last time you experienced panic like this, a type too intense for your body to manage, ripping your hair straight from the root in response. He hated to realize he didn’t want you to suffer like that again, and unconsciously, he began to stroke the crown of your head.

It felt good to be needed, so desperately wanted by someone that they tried to crawl inside him, seeking protection, and Aemond felt an overwhelming urge to protect you how a wolf does its pup. He would shelter you from all monsters and people that sought you harm so long as you returned to him with the same wet eyes and arms full of love.

When you finally relaxed, no longer shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind, he spoke, praying that your exhausted mind would forget his confession in the morning.

“When I have a dragon he will not hurt you so long as you’re with me.”

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Oh, sweet prophetic girl. You know so much yet can do so little. Cursed with the knowledge of what will come and what has yet to be. Let's all pour one out for Helaena, besties.

I hope this chapter makes up for how sad the last one was. I love writing for angsty young Aemond. As always, thank you for reading!

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp , @britt-mf , @marvelescvpe , @haikyuusboringassmanager , @discofairysworld , @lottiemsgf , @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist

[corviids]

Since you’re one of the most prolific content creators for Lucemond, and you always answer your asks so eloquently, I was wondering if you could share some insight. When Aemond and Lucerys were first introduced and people latched onto them as a ship, it was easy to see why this pair seemed fated. Mirror images, Shakespearean tragedy vibes, second son syndrome, etc. it’s always been easy to see in both canon universe and the fandom why Aemond is so tied to Luke. He’s obsessed with him for obvious reasons (eye!) and jealous of Luke’s status so it’s easy for fans to make the jump from hatred to obsession to lust to love (be it toxic or wholesome in their headcanons). But the more I think on it, what do you think would draw Luke to feel the same in any regard to Aemond? Aemond is both pretty pathetic in the book and in the show. Authors and artists have their own takes on the two falling for each other mutually because the nature of fanfic and headcanons allow for it. But lowkey I can’t really see Lucerys actually becoming interested in Aemond while vice versa it’s SO easy to see Aemond falling for Luke. Could you give your own insight on why you think either show Luke or book Luke would become interested in Aemond in any sexual/romantic capacity? Asking as someone who is trying to find the logic in this pairing because they trying to take a stab at writing for them. It’s so easy for me to conceptualize reasons why Aemond is obsessed/in love with Luke, but I’m struggling with canon reasons why Luke would be interested in Aemond. Luke has everything Aemond does not making him a giant fixture in Aemond’s desire for glory—while on the other hand Aemond is just some dude who Luke stole as eye from and then never talked to for a decade (at best he’s a rival?). I know this is also difficult to answer because the characterization of book Luke and show luke are so different so seeing the necessary requirements of him falling for Aemond are vastly different too. Thoughts? Basically me asking you to explain to me how/why Lucemond works so well despite my own difficulty in seeing Luke’s interest in Aemond. Thank you!

hmmm i’m trying the best way to articulate this cuz you ask a good question and i wanna give an answer that isn’t just “targaryens horny for each other”

i don’t think luke would be attracted/want aemond for anything he could “give him”. like you said, aemond doesn’t have much to offer beyond his literal self. i think lucemond works specifically because of their unique dynamic which cannot be applied to their other ships. luke, as a person/character, is mostly characterized by his innocent bravery, vulnerability, and insecurity — which aemond is directly linked to a lot of those feelings in luke. personally, lucemond (in writings) only works when there is proper build up to it (so no real insta-love).

to me, luke’s attraction to aemond is an evolution of his fear and dislike of him. given luke’s upbringing and the relationships he’s had as an example, i envision him as being weirdly receptive to,,, non-traditional courtship and behavior. i don’t think he’d go out of his way to initially seek aemond out (i’m a proponent of aemond is down bad to an atrocious degree, as evidenced by his canon obsessive tendencies) but when it’s initiated, he kinda likes it. luke is much more emotionally driven. i don’t think his attraction to aemond would be for rational or even reasons that can be entirely understood and i think that’s the beauty of the ship.

but again it comes down to how you write to that point! this is just a bit of my own thought process when it comes to writing luke. my tldr is that i think luke’s interest in aemond would stem as a response to a mixture of familiarity, fear/caution, as well as thrill. (there’s also the fact that i think luke has “i can fix him” energy. not necessarily optimistic but something that stems from a feeling of never being good enough and needing to prove he can be)

[mondstaub1]

Lucemond fanfiction: Better for our children

Alicent was horrified. She could not belive what just happened, could not belive what she had just heard. Once she would come to terms with the happenings of the last hour she would curse her father. He had sold her off to the king like a horse, she would not allow him to do the same to her beloved Aemond. No he would not suffer the same fate she did.

Her father wanted to sell her son to some old lady who apparently wanted a young man to relive her glory days and as arm candy. Her blood boiled. That woman was older then her father, for gods sack! This was not a match that should ever be even thought of, it was absurd. Pure madness! Just because the old crow had a lot of gold and a big army. They did not need an army or gold. She would not start a war, she would not challenge Rhaenyra, why would she? Aegon did not want to be king. Viserys did not want him to be king and Rhaenyra would be good queen. So why spill blood for no reason?

Now she needed to find a match for Aemond and quickly. Someone who would make her darling boy happy and not take him to far away from her. "It doesn't even need to be a Lady", she thought remembering the day she learned that all Targaryens could carry children. She shuddered thinking back to her fathers face when he talked about that detail. He looked disgusted and at the same time like he was cauculating how to make the most of it. He would use her son like he used her years ago. No! No more! So she did what she should have done all those years ago, she went to Rhanerya. Hurrying towards her friends rooms she was so bussy with her own thought that she paid no mind to her way, so it was little suprise that she ran into someone.

It was Lucerys, who had just come out of his mothers chambers. The young man apologized and hurried away. Alicent seight, she should not have let her resentment out on the boys, no wonder they avoided her. She went on and knocked on the door, after a few moments Rhaneryaś voice could be heard "Enter". When she entered she saw her old friend look up at her in suprise "Your Grace how may I help you?", she asked. Alicent cringed at her icy tone and the use of "your Grace". She desirved it but it didn't make it better. "Nyra I need your help", she answered silently. The use of the old nickname made the Princess raise an eyebrown but she didn't reply so Alicent continiued, "It is about Aemond. My father wants to sell him off to some old hag and force him into an unhappy marriage. I know I may have no right to come to you but he doesn't desirve this." "And what do you want me to do about it?", Rhaneyra asked a bit softer. "I need you to help me get Aemond out of this. I need your help finding another match for him. And covince the king of it. I should have come to you when my father.... I should have come to you all those years ago. But I didn't but now, I know I have been awful but please Nyra..." Alicent rambled. So much needed to be said and she did no know where to start.

"A new match for Aemond hm", Rhaneyra mumbled before meeting the Queens eyes. "I'll help you Alicent. No matter if I like it or not Aemond is my brother and I wish him happieness." Alicent breathed a breath of relive, good she would help. "Any idea who could be Aemonds match?", Rhaenyra asked. Alicent shock her head no, she had being so paniced, she hadn't thought about it. "No", she answered, "I don't really care who, so long Aemond is happy. And close by, if possible."

"In that case I might have an idea", the princess said. Alicent raised her eyebrown, silently asking who. The other woman chuckeled: "You see Alicent, Luke was here before you came and told my some very interesting thinks. It seems that, well our sons have become close again." Alicent was silent, she didn't know this, in fact Aemond seemed more obsessed then ever with his nephew. Could Luke know of someone Aemond was interested in? But Rhaenyra looked at her like she missed something. "Alicent with close I mean Targaryen kind of close, Luke and Aemond are chrushing on each other." Alicent's eyes widden. Luke. Lucerys Velaryon who was here and was heir to Driftmark, who was kind and gentle and young and pretty. Luke whose union could heal the rift between them. Luke who had taken her son's eye. "Are you sure?", she asked carefully. "All I know is what Luke has told me", the future queen answered, "So let's have a talk with them, you talk to Aemond and I to Luke. Let's see what they think of the match and them maybe a courting period or a long betrothal. Alicent agreed and left to search for her son.

--------------

Aemond was letting his fustration out on a trainings dummy, which was by now almost in pieces. Hours before his grandfather informed him of the match he intended for him. He had always known he would one day have to marry and make alliances, it was his dury to his house and family but this... The Lady was older then his grandfather, the thought of marrying someone like that, of what he would have to do... it made him feel sick and disgusted. Aegon had a plast when he heard, his brother had not stopped bullying and teasing him his unpleasent future. It made his blood boil. He was a prince of house Targaryen, a son of the king, the rider of the biggest dragon in the world, one of the greatest fighters in Westeros, jet he was to be sold to an old hag as an armcandy. The shame of it made him burn from the inside.

Secund son of a secund line, stand to inheared nothing, nothing but a empty title, Aemond One-Eye too terrified for Ladies to look at. His mind wispered hurtful but true words. Not like Rhaerya, fathers golden daughter, the realms Delight, the heir to the throne, not like Daemon, a famous figher, war hero and the prince and future king consort, not like Jacerys the furure king and not like Luke, sweet lovely Lucerys heir to his own seat Driftmark, one of the riches houses in the realm, loved by everyone, beautiful Lucerys whose egg hatched in his cradle. Lucerys with beautiful big eyes and soft locks, Luke who was completly out of his leage.

The thought stopped his onslaught on the dummy, he sight deeply and put the sword away. Ever since Rhaenyra had returned with her children he found himself drawn to his nephew. It had not taken all that long for him to realise that his feelings for Luke were not longer vile and hateful. He had changed a lot, gone was the small boy with chubby cheeks and in his place stood a young man of four and ten, still smaller then him but wiser, preparing for his role as Lord of the Tides, who was himself almost of marrying age. He gridded his teeth at the thought of someone else marrying his sweet nephew. Aemond had noticed some time ago that he did not show that kind of interest in women that his brother had, truth be told he found it hard to show interest in anyone but the was more drawn to boys and men then to girls and women. He had never really admitted it to anyone, not even himself but with Luke around denying his interest became harder and harder till he came to an rather unfortunate conclusion. He was in love with Lucerys! But even if he would have ever find the courage to confess to Luke and even when by some miricale Luke would feel the same there could never be anything between them because he was to be sold off.

So in his thoughts Aemond had not realised where his feet were taking him, so when he mentally came back to presents he found himself in the goodswood and there under the tree with a book in his lab and a bowl of frute by his side sat his nephew, sweet Lucerys. For a moment Aemond stilled unsure if he should make his presents known but before he could make his decition Luke looked up. "Oh hallo uncle", the boy said a soft smile on his face, "have you come to give me some company? Come sit with me." Aemond could not find it in him to correct Luke so he sat beside him and listend to his tale about the book he was reading right now. Aemond smiled, oh how he wished it was Lucerys he was set to marry.

This how Alicent found them. Setting beside each other and smiling without a care in the world. She could not hear them but the smiles on their faces said everything she needed to know. Rhaenyra had been right they would make a good match. She hesitated before calling her son, she did not want to disturb them in their moment of happieness but Alicent knew her father, she had to act quickly. So she walked over to them and asked her son for a moment of his time while telling Lucerys that his mother wanted to see him. Alicent pretended not to see the worried look Lucerys gave her. If she wanted them to be a happy family, she would have to try and fix the relationship with Rhaenyras children.

But for now she had to focus on her son. One obstical after the other. "Walk with me", the queen told Aemond as she towards the gardens. Once she was sure no one was around Alicent turned to her son. "I'm aware that the match your grandfather has planed for you is far from ideal", Aemond grimanced and she smiled in sympathy, "I've noticed that you have shown certain interest in Lucerys." Aemonds head shot up and she stared at him, it seemed that he thought she would disapproved but before he could open his mouth Alicent continued, ,,I've talked with Rhaenyra regarding your match and it seems Lucerys returns your feeling. But you surely know that already." Aemond blushed "I hoped he would. But would Rhaenyra even agree. Lucerys is her favourite son after all and I have no land of my own." Alicent took hand in hers before answering: "Oh none of that Aemond. Don't speak so lowly of yourself. Rhaenyra and I have spoken about Luke and you having a courting period or a long betrothel.

Aemond kept staring at her "You approve?", he asked confused. Alicent smiled and took his hands in hers before answering: "My son, all I wish for is your happieness. If this is what makes you happy and that is all I need to know." They hugged and then Aemond excused himself, no doubt wanting to talk to Lucerys. Alicent smiled while watching him leave before sighing in relive. Let's hope this would help aviod the disaster which her father had planed. She scuffed, his plans had always been stupid.

When Alicent went to the family dinner that evening she saw Aemond and Lucerys stitting next to each other wishering and giggeling like the lovebirds they were. Meanwhile Otte glanced at them disapprovingly like they were talking the vilest things. As she sat down she meet Rhaenyras eyes and the princess nodded. A feeling of relief sweeped through her body. She new that with Rhaenyras help she would get the king to agree to the proposal without problems, in fact her husband would probably be thrilled, oh how she would enjoy the look on her fathers face. When the desirt was surfed the princess stood up and raised her glass and Alicent find herself giddy with excitment. "It fills me with such joy to see my family together like this and hopfully we can keep such unity in the future. To this end I have a probosal to make, a union to bind our house together permanently." Alicent saw Viserys light up while Otto looked to but it politly pissed of. "I match beween my son Lucerys heir to Driftmark and my bother prince Aemond." Both Lucerys and Aemond lit up like dragonfire, grinning like they were trying to split their faces in half. "A wounderful idea my dear", the king said, taking his daughters hand before Otto distroyed the moment by opening his damn mouth. "Your grace, I already made a good match for the prince. Surly there are other ways-" before he could continue Aemond slammed his fists into the top of the table. Everyone when quiet while staring at her secund son "Absolutly not", he hissed fury on his face, "I will not marry some old cow so that you can still your lust for power that is not yours. I will marry Lucerys and no other. You have meddeled enough in the buisness of other people and my love life is none of your buisness, none at all hand or not! As much as might to like it you are not the king and you are no Targaryen, what makes you think you can control dragons you old fucking cunt. How dare you!"

One could have heard a pin drop when he was finished. Everyone was shocked and stared wide eyed at he prince. Daemon was grinning like the cat that had gotten the cream. To everyones suprise it was Luke who broke the silents: "Grandfather please, Aemond and I are very fond of each other and want to bind our family together. It just feels right. We hoped you would bless this union." Luke looked at his grandfather with his big innocent eyes that could meld the wall. The old man softend like warm butter and he nodded: "Of course Lucerys. If you both wish for it then it shall be so." Lucerys smiled happily turning to Aemond and giving him a small kiss on the cheek. Alicent smiled at the sweet display which calmed her son immediately. Her father was dumpstruck, seemingly not following with what just happened. The queen looked towards her childhood friend and when their eyes met both women grinned and lifted their glasses in a toast.

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