#Cassandra WILL be the dark heir

[rrainydaydreams]

My friends: “are you rereading that book where the main character’s the villain?”

me:

[clockworkbee]

give us this one night (desperately)

—Queen Suren, The Stolen Heir

—Julian Blackthorn, Lord of Shadows

—Jacks, The Ballad of Never After

—Lev Fedorov, One For My Enemy

[lilychxn]

not a fic writer or a fic reader but instead a much worse third thing (I get visions of the what-could-have-been and mentally fall to my knees)

[ofstarsandmoonlightt]

Christopher Jonathan Herondale

“Ah Watson, you may yourself not be luminous but you are an extraordinary conductor of light.”

[darlingofvalyria]

❝Ask me, my prince. What a storm is to a dragon.❞

[ Aemond can only breathe through your lungs, through your adoration and love. But when betrayal is nigh, what does it truly beget? ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 6,935 ] | Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader, minor, sort of (not really) Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers.

THIS IS A DARK FIC. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

contains— angsty, smut - DD:DNE: kidnapping, coercion, manipulation, possessive & obsessive behaviour, power imbalance, violence (not to reader) (a little bit to reader... i wrote this too close to book canon!aemond), murder, death, massacre, war - canon typical targcest, canon character deaths, canon divergence - dark!aemy - pregnancy, child, allusions to infidelity, mentions of bastard - i took liberties with canon (as i usually do) - #ripellyn you (sorta) will be missed shshs - the only specific reader descript. i did is the baratheon dark hair ok? ok - nsfw: male masturbation, dubcon/noncon, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— there was this villain playlist on yt that was slowed and sexy, and my brain just. clicked. here it is if you wanna check. the real reason this is long is cos i can't help but add backstory ok? ok. lol. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

Storms have always been your favourite view in any window.

It is cliche to say, a proud daughter of the Stormlands, of course she enjoys the dark skies! But you do. There is nothing short of comforting in the rolling, fat clouds darkened in shadows. Occasionally, if the weather moved to your whim, lightning danced between plumes before you hear the boom and crack of it striking.

"It is a privilege to enjoy weathers such as these," your father once said, a hand on your darkened hair, a bluer tint to it, but Baratheon through and through. "It is our might that holds us at paramount, and thus, our privilege beckons warm fires and strong, stone fortresses to watch it all in comfort. To find enjoyment in the dark skies."

"Ours is the Fury," you replied immediately. Your father smiled.

"That, precisely. The paramount of our might and power is one we have taken and given with fury. Never forget."

"Even better than the Targaryens?" Your father's displeasure crumpled his face, and you were at an old enough age to understand his displeasure was not something you enjoy. But you had been learning all day, and the topic that day with your septa had been House Targaryen. You had learned the King's name, that he had a Queen that died, and that his heir is a girl.

His hold on your shoulders was heavy, but you do not flinch. Eyes bore into your own as if he was speaking the words into existence.

"We are the blood of the Kings too, my daughter. The White Hart proves our mark in the world, long before the dragonlords ever whispered in these lands. And what are dragons against the dance of storms?"

You had been little then, no more than six. The smallest of your sisters; Floris, though short in stature, looked elongated. A beauty. A fawn in the making. And your father is not the cleverest of men, but his words shelved itself in the corners of your brain. It eased and assuaged your fears like a quick spell.

Your spine straightens and your chin tilts upward. You are made of fury and storms, the blood of kings of old and solid, impenetrable fortresses.

You fury is your own, and 'neathe your fingers, under your very being, is a storm.

A good reminder, as when you had exchanged childhood for girlhood, a missive had been sent by the Queen Alicent Hightower, requesting for a daughter from Lord Baratheon's Four Storms, as companion for the Princess Helaena.

"Cassandra would do well."

"She hungers, husband. I am afraid of what might happen if we send her to the courts at her age. I do not yearn for a scandal."

"She would not shame her family so, do you reckon?"

"She is the eldest. You know how she is."

A sigh. "If she had a cock, she would be a good heir for my seat."

"Borros!"

"Apologies. Very well, mayhaps a good husband with no grit to him would do her well. She will lead the Stormlands by the hold of his— er, well, yes. Maris? She is clever."

"Far too clever. Even her tongue irks you, no. Definitely not. Her brain works too fast for her mouth. She will say the wrong thing and end us in war."

"You exaggerate, surely."

"I bore them, Borros, but they are your daughters. They live and breathe with your name and your House's banner under their own. What do you think? Bad enough they take so much of your heritage with them, and their looks, but they also plucked and chosen parts of you I'd rather not have for lady daughters."

Your father grumbles incoherently, you laugh under your breath.

"... Floris is too young. So..." The last one. You. You press your ear harder against the wood of your father's study, heart in your throat.

"She will be best," she says softly, insistently. She knows in her heart of hearts that though her husband is a hard, proud man, he has a softened heart for you. "Though she is clever, she minds herself well. Polite. Kind. She will do well with the Princess and her, er, eccentricities."

"Bloody weirdoes, the lot of them." A sigh. Another chastise from your mother, but she too, sounds exhausted. It has almost been a moon since the missive has been sent. Another one is bound to arrive, more order than request. It is all a political game. Princess Rhaenyra had no Baratheon ward under her court when she still resided in Kings Landing, for you and your sisters had been too young and your father had no sister. It is by chance that gives the Green Queen advantage to take a ward under your father's banner now, with a daughter she seeks to be Queen Consort.

"Send her then," your father announces. Though defeat clouds his voice, the Lord in him speaks each vowel clearly. "She will do best to represent the House out of them all. We might have a betrothal in our hands soon enough."

"She is pretty enough for a prince."

An angry snort. "She is more than pretty enough for a prince. Far better than the lot of them."

Softly, "That is because you like her best."

"Why would I not?" your father replies gruffly, making you smile. "A storm grinds and brews inside of her, wife. Even Maestre Loes, the old gnat that he is, sees my bloodline thick in her. Even if the King asks for her hand at this very moment, I would refuse. I would throw him off Storm's End with a smile on my face and a boot on his back."

You fight off a snort as your mother grumbles about treason and Maris.

"She is far better than the best of them." Another sigh. Heavier. "Why are we sending her?"

Your mother sighs. "Because as she is the best of them, she is the best of us. She will survive far better in that cesspit they call a keep than any of our daughters. Her storm can tame dragons."

You would argue that that too is treasonous given the context, but your father merely laughs. His laughter is a crackle and a boom.

"I would upheave our coffers to witness that."

Though you find her odd, you enjoy spending your time with the Princess Helaena. Mostly, she is quiet, in her own little world. Though it took time to get used to her many-legged friends, you soon realised the best times you spend with her are when shipments and gifts of pinned butterflies and books that have reached as far as Yi-Ti, to get to Kings Landing about bugs, and undeniable excitement unfurls in the Princess' face. More like a girl, a sweet one.

It makes her already cherub features appear more child-like, and she grasps your hand voluntarily as she points at each and every critter she recognises. It is so very rare to see true happiness in the princess' visage, and in her enjoyment, you see your sisters.

That is how you meet him, the Prince Aemond.

Princess Helaena had gone for tea with the Queen. It had not been planned. Though she often spent tea with family, either the Queen or the Lord Hand, or either of the Princes. Something had occurred, so now that Princess was having tea with her Queen Mother and her husband. If you had to guess, it was likely that Prince Aegon was being punished in some way.

Though there is no love lost between siblings, it makes you sniff at how blatant the prince's obscene indulgent for vices are. Princess Helaena didn't mind, rather, she didn't care unless they needed to spend time together, a clockwork patch of routine, and that was when you usually came in— you later realised, your primary job — soothing her nerves and distracting her thoughts before she had to enter her marriage chambers.

There is a resigned defeat in her, a woman's duty bearing down, looming like the Mother, and it makes you want to soothe her harder. Make her laugh.

With the change of plans, it was up to you to check for the new shipments of the Princess' things. A dictated note in your hand of the princess' handwriting, you were going through her boxes when a hand, gloved, rests on your shoulder.

"Do not move," a cool voice says behind you. Far too close for propriety.

You freeze. "Pardon?"

"I do not want to scare you, my lady, but there is a critter atop your head." The cool, calm voice waves off a steady rhythm to your heart, calming it further from the earlier panic of someone laying a hand on you (although this, is still not better. You are a lady and unmarried after all). "I will rid of it immedi—"

"No."

"... Pardon?"

"Where is it? Just atop my head?"

"... Yes?"

"It maybe poisonous, pease do not touch it." Before the owner of the hand and the calm voice could react, you pat your head until you touch a hairy, small thing with many legs. Relief spreads. "There you are."

"There you are?" The voice says, almost mocking, incredulously.

You huff, taking the spider in both of your hands, before you tilt your chin behind you, only seeing the gloved hand. "Please take your hand away from me."

The hand retreats. You turn.

Valyrian features are most uncommon than your own, and the jolt of recognising the pale, white hair is a strike to your being, a gasp falling from your lips. It is the one-eyed mask that tells you immediately who it is, but you string everything else you know of the prince.

Prince Aemond had been travelling to Oldtown, a visit requested by the Queen in the guise of seeing family, his brother. But there had been whispers of something more, as the chatter of the maids who cleaned up in the King's quarters talked about how ill he got day by day.

You had seen flashes of him before this, but fate had kept you two apart. You were not there when he visited the princess— on another errand or two, and he starkly ever looked at the ladies surrounding his sister with a vehement light as their voices, high pitched and dreary, tire him so on a good day, increasingly irritating on a bad one, and anyway, the silence that falls in a stone room just from his arrival is enough to irk him.

But here is he now, with one eyebrow rose, a good eye of icy blue iris, and the very visage of a warrior in black leathers, a braided hair pulled to one side, and pursed lips in both amusement and annoyance.

He hums. The sound kicks back your manners, blushing lightly at having gaped at him for far longer than pleasantry dictates, and you pull yourself into a bow.

"My apologies, my prince, I didn't know it was you. I was scared you were going to hurt the Princess' new friend."

"They are bugs," he says steadily. "Not her friends."

"Like so, but just because they have many a legs do not mean we cannot befriend them." A small smile plays on your lips before you place back the spider in the cage he got out of. It is something you had once said to the princess to make her laugh. You feel his stare burn at the side of your face. "Is there a matter, my prince?"

"You are the Lady Baratheon, are you not?"

"I am." A small, ironic smirk tugs at your lips. "Is it the hair?"

He makes a soft sound that exhales like a laugh out of closed lips. He's still quite close, you can feel his warmth and idly wonder if all Targaryens truly do have the blood of the dragons in them for you can feel the contours of him, burning at the edges of his being. Like a comforting little furnace.

"Hm. And the princess has taken quite the liking to you. You are all she talks about during sup."

You can't help it, you're smiling. So many rumours concerning the young prince, not all of them good, but there is a certain novelty in basking under the attention of a prince of the realm. A Valyrian beauty that brought an ethereal glow to him. As so intently stares, catching pieces and niches as if you are the most fascinating creature.

The attention makes you feel like a blushing lady.

"My apologies then, my prince."

He cocks his head, the braid dipping and you catch the movement in your peripheral. "Whatever for my lady?"

You turn to him, unable to curb the cheek to your smile. "For interrupting better conversations with the topic of my name plaguing your sups so."

His mouth twists into a smirk. In Aemond's mind, it is not oft that ladies, especially Helaena's ladies, would care to... flirt with him. Because this is you flirting, is it not? The coy gaze, the curl at the edge of your lips? Aemond has seen these faces in ladies and maids alike, but directed at others. At Aegon.

Directed at Aemond... bereave to keep their conversations to themselves, and though it is not always a fault of theirs for his stoicism is his most valued armour, one would resign oneself of an arranged marriage that will take long moons before his lady wife would see the truest him, that he would not be able to experience such... coy conversations with the opposite sex.

Yet here you are, a light dust of red in your cheeks, a quirk in your mouth, and the playful joust in your eyes, daring him into a swords' dance.

It is thrilling.

"Plaguing is too harsh of a word to say so about a lady of your stature, Lady Baratheon." He steps closer, aware of propriety standards of how close two unwedded people should be, but he feels intoxicated of the whiff of life exhuming from your visage. A light citrus, oranges? Lemons? Tart and sweet, with a powdery finish. It is so very ladylike.

Addicting.

The perfect smell for a lady wife, a musing thought.

"Is that so?"

"Intriguing, I would say, would be the better word."

You laugh, low and sweet. It sends a pleasant warm to his centre. "I'm afraid my memory is failing for I do not remember any wily adventure or conversation the princess and I had for a prince of the realm to say I intrigue him so."

"It is less... about wily adventures or interesting conversations that pique my interest, but the lady herself." His eye, though lone, the other remaining hidden behind an eyepatch with hints of scarred, twisted skin underneath, bore against yours as if he wished to gather all your strings and see what each would give him. What you would show him.

"I'm afraid to disappoint you, my prince, but I still fail to see how I can ever so pique your interest." You meet his gaze, smirking. "I am just me."

Before he can answer, step forward— whatever, he is staring at the curve of your lips so, at the enchanting shimmer of your eyes, and Aemond Targaryen felt breathless — your named is called, and the spell is broken. The prince steps back, taking more space between you that is more appropriate.

His hand flexes.

But that is not the last you see of the prince, nor the last time you are able to hold a conversation with him. It seems that since then, you find yourselves orbiting each other in the fringes before one steps forward and engages. There seems to be a band that tightens either of you so obsessed with seeing the other in the periphery, the topic whatever may came, even as inane as the weather.

It is a dance of swords, kissing blades of sharp quips and interesting parry. You are interesting. Beguiling. Devouring. Aemond searches for you in most places now, unable to stop himself from asking his dearest sister about you— even his mother and grandsire have taken notice, eyebrows rose between shared looks.

"House Baratheon is of a Great House," his mother hesitantly brought up, too focused on her soup for it to just be idle chatter above sup.

"It is." His forced passivity is not as apathetic as he can make it. For any mention of you and your origins thrums his heart in a dance.

"And the Lady Baratheon has many admirers, a kind and dutiful lady, and Helaena likes her so."

He turned to his mother then, humming. At the barest hint of a smile in her son's face, Alicent beamed.

But others from court also soon took notice, and when Aemond realises the wagging tongues had come to note your name— unkind whispers besmirching your person, he disappears from you altogether.

The differences become stark to him; realising what a foolish endeavour it is to want you. Though he is a prince, he is mutilated, a monster that will ruin you. You are too good for him, a warmth he had forgone in the face of misery, apathy, and hatred. The urge to conquer your every thought and sound, from your fingertips to the top of your hair... it is a gasping thought, one he shamefully sins at the blackest hours, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of what you had looked like that day. The sound of your laughter, the pull of your lips when you smiled, the gasp you let out when you touched water that had been too cold— his mind bends and moves, and images of you, images that he will have to pray for the in morrow but cannot stop—

Moves him to completion, a strangle grunt of your name from his lips.

And yet, every night since, it happens again and again.

The more he pulled away from you, the more he wanted you. It is a debase urge, one more fit for his drunken cur of a brother than he, more creature than man.

But he cannot stop, so the torturous cycle continues.

Until you've had enough.

You know that during hours of inky night, the prince prefers the sanctum of the library. Not always, and lately, not often, but if there are a few things you learned in the hunting trips your father brought you that your mother never approved of, is that lying in wait, patient, deals a hand much better.

And on the fourth day of your waiting, your hair in a braid, a book on your lap, and a small candlelit close by as to not alert any spooked princes— the door opens at the Hour of Eel, the familiar and sorely missed footfalls of a quiet but sure-footed prince enters.

You admire him for a moment, hidden as you are, your stare drinks in the ever smooth of his twilight-spun hair, those pursed lips and straight lines. He's lithe but you know, having been offered his arm on every walk, he is made of hard muscle. Aemond always walks so smoothly, like a panther, or a gazelle, with the barest hint of austre he can never hide.

It's the prince in him, you giggle to yourself.

A sweet pang in your chest is the reminder of how much you missed his presence. And that ends tonight.

With his back turned, perusing a shelf, you shuffle and make yourself known with a soft, almost admonishing voice.

"Good eve, my prince."

He stiffens, hand poised against a spine of a tome. He barely turns, only his head to the floor, in the general direction of you. "My lady. I did not expect you to be here."

Frustrated, you sigh loudly. "Have I offended you so horribly? Dishonoured you in some way?"

"What?"

"Why can't you even look at me, Aemond?"

A sharp intake of breath. When he speaks again,his voice is changed. "You forget yourself, my lady."

There is an ache to your being, pursuing your lips. "You had given me permission with your given name, my prince, or have you forgotten?" Anger overcomes propriety. Fuck propriety. You charge toward him, heavy, angered steps until you're close enough. "Can't you at least look at me, look at me as you push me away as if I amnothing—"

He turns abruptly, one eye flashing as he grasps your elbows in a grip. His eyes zero in on your lips as a gasp falls, eyes widen— if you could see better, you'd notice the darkened gaze drinking you in. Your widened eyes, your open lips— and Sevens, only a robe hides your nightgown, the smooth expanse of your skin is more bare to him than ever before.

His beautiful, beloved stag.

"You have never been nothing to me, nēdenka riña brave girl," he hisses. "Konir sagon se drīve That is the reason."

"Prince A-Aemond?" you say. He is against the shadows of the moonlight, only his hands holding your own is illuminated.

A wrangled exhale falls from his lips. You follow the sound, worried.

"Are you? Injured? Are you okay?"

"I have not been okay for the moment I met you," he rasps, hands bruising in his hold.

"Well. Gods. I'm sorry. If it's such a offense—"

"It is an offence!" he growls, pulling you abruptly that you yelp, bathed in shadows and darkness together, your eyes adjust as you scramble to have thoughts apart from just being this close to him. Hearing a voice you had never heard of him before, untethered from his princely visage, from manners and proper, and it makes you burn.

The thoughts of wanting him close, of taking more of that space until you are chest to chest are blushing thoughts.

But there is honour still, for he holds you at least an arm's away.

"I have wanted you the moment I have laid eyes on you," he whispers, voice rough, exhausted. "And each day I spend with you, each hour— my honour stands in shambles, in ruins at my feet for I want you as a man wants a woman. Honourably and... and carnally."

You swallow, and he follows the movement like a predator tracking his prey. The blush in your cheeks, the way your lips press together as if you are just as starved of him as he to you— oh, you want him too, don't you?

One hand moves from your elbow to slowly reach up. Your arms, your collarbones, your neck. A thumb brushing your cheek and your eyes flutter.

Aemond wants to devour you.

"You plague me so, and I crave you."

"Then have me," you sigh.

His eye closes. "I cannot sully—"

You grasp his neck, bringing your mouth close to his. "You cannot sully what is freely given. If you crave me, I want you."

Honour unbound, a snap is tightened by the hunger that uncoils from a dragon that wants you. Aemond had grabbed the back of your head, tangled his fingers, and made a mess of your mouth.

Gasps and teeth, touching skin from where you can feel it— touching skin from where you unbuckle, tear through hem and push against cloth. When he slams you again the shelf, a moan so lewd falls from your lips that he groans, pulling your nightgown until he feels the heat from your very womanhood, and so, so wet, that when he flicks his thumb, curious and entranced, moving it around experimentally, you are a mess of sound and feeling, gasping his name, A-aemond, oh gods, please, and he is whispering, forgive me, f-forgive me, like love letters, like penitent, like a kiss from a traitor so wrong but so tasteful against your skin as he pulls himself from his confinements, holds you steady, and breaches your tight cunt.

Just before a scream tears through your throat, he devours your sound, holding you steady, until the pain bleeds pleasure and you are holding him like an anchor in dangerous seas. You cannot think or feel anyone else but him; what you are and who you are do not stand a chance as Aemond Targaryen swallows your senses.

It is harsh and fast, it is sweet and devouring, and more, more, more, you don't know what you're begging him, you feel like a devout and he feels like a god, grunting against your skin, biting through anything his teeth grazes. When he shifts you at an angle, finding a spot that feels like a lightning striking through your entire being, you are screaming, twitching, reaching a high so blinding it feels like white death.

"Is that it? That sweet spot?" he purrs, a breathless laugh, shocked and delighted drinking in your trembling and pleasure. "Your cunt is tight against my own, holding me like you never want to let go." You cry out when his cock hits that spot again. Your combined wetness makes an obscene squelch, just as pretty as the sound you utter. He smirks. "Can you hear that? Not even a whore can make a sound so sweet, hm?"

His teeth grazes your lips, sending shivers through your body as he licks the roof your mouth. "I want more of that sound. As your prince, you would grant me this, yes?"

But he isn't waiting for an answer, planting his feet and holding you steady, angling you back to that spot until he is snapping his hips, fucking into you as you can do nothing but beg and cry and tremble in the arms of a dragon taking what is his.

And you are.

You are his.

Maybe you had known it since then.

You definitely do when his seed floods your womb.

You want to say that that night was a fluke, a mistake that must be regretted. But once your gaze meets another, the fire burns, flickering and dancing, and it repeats. In quick fucks in dangerous spots, to slow, sweet love making in his room.

You are his, in mind, body and soul.

"Death is nothing but a friend," he murmurs against your neck, holding you close. Sweat cooling between your naked bodies. "It cannot stop me from finding you."

"I hope you say that to my father well," you tease.

" Marrying you is but the next step, my love. You are already mine as I am yours." He plays with your hair, brushing it past and kissing a bruise he made on your breast. "In face of every god and more, they will understand that we are but one soul."

You can plan the future in rose-coloured gaze for as much as you can, but the truth of marrying into a family with war brewing inside of it, held together by a dying king's hope and corpse fingertips— it is another matter entirely.

It all comes to a sharp clarity when Viserys I dies... and they keep his rotting corpse a secret.

And then they crown a whoremongering drunk.

"Aemond," you break into the silence, your entire being too cold for comfort. You had just come back from a privy council, a Green Council where the Queen had ordered you and your betrothed to reach Storm's End before the night fully breaks.

As if she knew where your loyalties are.

As if there is no question you will support the usurpation.

You turn to Aemond, busy with packing his things for they have bared the maids and people the of Keep. Because they are making Aegon as king and they know a revolt is underneath the floorboards.

"Aemond!"

"What? What has happened?" He looks confused, irritated. "We must make haste, my love, if we are to beat the storms at—"

"Princess Rhaenyra is Queen," you whisper but it could have been a scream. Saying it aloud gives you confidence, strengthening your resolved. You turn to him. "She is the King's heir, no one else. Aemond, this is an usurpation, unlawful in the eyes of—"

It takes little strides for him to reach you, for him to hold your neck in a tightened grip of warning.

"She," he spits, slow and careful as if you are a simpleton in need of teaching, "is a whore who is attempting to place her bastards on the Iron Throne. Rhaenys Targaryen held no chance of it, just as she. My brother is the firstborn son. He is king." His fingers dig into your skin. "You will do well as my wife to not speak of such blasphemy once more, do you understand?"

Your shock and fear melt from your visage, making way for compliance. You nod once. "Yes, my prince."

"Husband," he corrects, holding you much gentler but the weight of his hand is still there on your neck. A reminder. "Have you forgotten? We only come to Storm's End to officiate our union and your House's loyalty to the King. Once done, we will marry, yes?"

You nod, hands fisting. "Yes."

When he kisses you, harsh and needy, imprinting his will unto you— you close your eyes and plan how you make known to your Queen of their plots.

But Storm's End doesn't go as planned, does it?

Lucerys Velaryon, the Queen's son who had come as nothing more but an envoy for the rightful heir, and Aemond—what you thought to be your Aemond but a monstrous man who needed his revenge, who needed to draw blood for a grudge so deep, for an existence he finds so abysmal — had chased after him and came back to you bloodied, tearing up your dress, rutting in you in harsh, rough thrusts, as you listen to the storms from your window and think,

The Queen will never find his body. Her poor, sweet boy. Half in the belly of a beast, the rest spread and sunken into the water.

"I will not allow any marriage until the realm is at peace," your Lord Father rumbled with finality. He is not a smart man, truly, but he is a father. His gaze meets yours, full of meaning, of promises, before looking back at the seething prince. "You will have my bent knee for your king and for your war, but my daughter's hand shall be her own until the realm is at ease."

Your mother steps forward, her courtly smile on her face. "We want for her to have a grand wedding, my prince. She is the first of our charges to wed, and to a prince of the realm no less! By sure, at the time of war, we must err on the side of caution, as our coffers will no doubt focus on our troops. A future princess of the realm must be mindful, of course."

She bows in deference, your sisters following suit. Maris is the first to look up, defiance burning in her eyes.

You remember a conversation with him, feeling like a lifetime ago.

"Ask me, my prince," you teased. "What a storm is to a dragon. A creature is a creature. Even you must acquiesce to the way of nature for she has bowed to no one since her existence."

Aemond may be blood of the dragons, but he is surrounded by storms on all sides. The fiercest.

And your father will never marry you to a Kinslayer.

Yet you stay beside him, your duty now clearer than ever. Every new information you can grasp is sent back to the Queen and her council. In a courtier of the Greens and Traitors, you are the sole Black Stag. You use Aemond's adoration for you, his possessive obsession of what he thinks is love, as a protection and guise.

Any time he beds you, you sneak in moon tea. His bedding of you is just as much his hold on you and his defiance against your father's refusal. Once caught, you remind him he would not enjoy a bastard child. Especially at a time of war. Not after what they had done to his nephews.

"Do you want for me to suffer as your sister does?" The tears in your face then had not been a folly, for your heart broke for sweet Helaena and her sons. For Jaehaera. The world bleeds and bleeds, and all who die that reaches your ears are nothing more but innocents.

Aemond does not bed you after that, but he keeps you in his chambers, pulls you close as if he is trying to mould your skins as one. Times like this, your heart stutters. Your love to him and your morality as a person is at a test of swords.

You are in love with him,

He is a monster,

He has lost his nephews,

He has killed his own.

And it makes you wonder if you are a monster too, lying beside him as his bedmate, caring for him, wanting him still as his heart beats as your own, so connected to the umbilical of fate and chance while war rages, bodies falling all around you both, most from his own hand and word.

The war rages, and Harrenhal comes to view.

With it, a slaughter and a witch.

The worst of the massacre is the steely, lulling silence.

No one tells you that most of what an execution is that silence. That it amplifies each scream, each shout, each thick drop of a head as it falls on cobblestone. The sound is wet and a mouthful. Then it is nothing, consumed by that silence again.

You are locked in a room with a window that doesn't face the horror of what Aemond is doing. As if this is enough to shield you from what he is, what he truly is doing to win this war.

The worst part, committing genocide of an entire house is nothing more but a horrific grudge.

Strong blood spills, enough to make a lake.

By the time that night bleeds and a maid had entered with dinner to light a fire— your body is still so cold. No food has touched your stomach since the day before yet you retch.

Does loving a monster meant that you are just as monstrous?

Mayhaps it is still worth it, you muse in your silent madness, tears tracking your cheeks as the heaviness of your being stays. For who can say a monster can love you so monstrously? Who else can?

When Aemond comes back to you, freshly cleaned and a reminiscent of the prince that you loved, and he is making excuses of wanting you as you are, pawing at your clothes, you let him. You make love in the silence suffering from the massacre he had just finished. You hold him and kiss him in a desperation as you know this will be your ending.

That your Aemond is gone, or worse. He had never truly existed.

When you are both spent, satiated in a sweet glow, your head pleasantly quiet, he speaks about a plan.

A woman, a Strong witch, that promises him an assurance of winning with her sights and blasphemous magic. He had spared her among others, and that itself makes you look at him, truly look at him.

In exchange of what— for such things do not concede so easily as gratitude to mercy of one life, yes? Because desire devours itself. A snake eating itself.

"A child," he whispers against your battered head and bruised heart. "From my blood."

"A bastard," you murmur as he stiffens. "From a bastard Strong. Surely the irony is not lost on you? You have started this war by killing your bastard nephew, and you plan on ending it by fathering—"

"Do not question me," he says softly, grip tightening against your arms. Your eyes close, heavy with the weight of being a spy. Of loving him. "I will fuck a babe in her how many times it takes, and when the war is won, I will kill her and it. For your womb is the only place my lineage will live. I am doing this for the good of the realm. For us."

When he thinks you are asleep and leaves— you take your things and make haste to leave. Not once has your people left you in the arms of the kinslayer. Always one maid, always three guards from your father's army, loyal to only you.

You bundle up quick, and rush for the passage, you are blocked by a woman. Pale skin, dark hair, and eyes greener than wildfire. You know her before she speaks. You hold yourself to fight, and the witch of Harrenhal laughs.

"You have changed the tide of destiny, my lady." Her head tilts as if she can see past you and through you. "Once your choice has affirmed, your thread chosen, I cannot stand in the side of the One-Eyed Kinslayer without the Stranger coming for me. So instead, I will grant you one gift. One that will require no sacrifice."

"I do not want it."

"Ah, but it is a gift." She nods at your torso. "Your belly will soon take size, in it, his heir. You will not escape him as soon as he knows." Her head twists to the window. A raven flies. A storm grumbles. The sound comes first before the lightning strikes. A false storm. "Time is flowing, changing and twisting. He may have betrayed his kin, but he is still a prince. He will know soon."

Her green eyes glint as if she is seeing now and tomorrow. Now and a moon. Moon from a year. "You must run now. Hide and hide well."

You hold your stomach, bile rising in your throat. "Where? Where am I safe?"

A faint smile rises to her lips. "Your heir looks more like him than mine did. You will not escape him. But go north. As far North as you can. The fjords can hide him for a while. He will grow well there."

She moves away, letting you pass.

You never look back.

Dark locks. Baratheon hair.

A tuff of silver lock atop his head.

And the rest... his nose, his eyes. With your fingers, you pull his lids. Bloom in mullish blue with the faintest tint of iridescent violet. You know from your histories, that faint tint will overpower the blue.

Oh, he is utterly beautiful. Utterly yours. And utterly his father's son.

Rough breaths strangle out of your raw-bitten lips, brushing blood away from your babe's face, his head, his wet, silvery hair. Few they maybe, unmistakably Valyrian features they still are.

"Oh, he is beautiful," your mother murmurs, tears stain her cheeks. "Quiet as you were, as a babe. Looks just as much as you."

She is weighing his Valyrian features too. Your blood tried, but it seemed as if Aemond's grudge grasped your womb and affected your shared blood.

"We cannot stay," you say, still staring at him, admiring him. Your heart locking in place, steeling itself as you prepare to do your utmost to protect him. "We will have to travel posthaste."

Your mother swallows her grief. She had almost lost you. She will lose you again, now along with her only grandchild. "Where?"

"North. As far as North as we can."

Your mother nods. Ever a lady. "I will send a missive. The Lord Stark is loyal to the Queen and knows by how much you have sacrificed for this realm. He will protect you on his honour or he is no Stark."

You will need to hide. You will need to hide well.

You pull him close to your chest, hot tears freshly spilling from your eyes.

The witch had not lied, for your boy grew up amongst ice and warmth. He grows up with love from you, from the Lord Stark and his people, and love from his father in the way that he resembles him.

The slope of his nose, the sweet purse of his lips.

When your boy had gotten angry once, nothing but a quick burst, it shocks fear and tears from your eyes for you had seen the prince.Nothing more than a flash.

You pull him close and wound him to your heart as he cried, apologising for scaring you.

The North had granted you reprieve from the war as it came and went. Your betrayal to the Greens had mounted to the Black Queen's win. The betrayal of House Baratheon as House Stark and their bannermen joined the fray had squandered any rebellious thought on which sovereign will preside.

The last you heard of what became the Prince Regent was his surrender at the Battle Above God's Eye.

When you had cried that night, you did not know if it was from relief. Or fear.

But a black stag on white snow is easy to spot.

It takes years, yes, but the Stranger is but an old friend.

For when the day of your wedding to the Lord Stark arrives, a familiar screech of a dragon that your marrow will never forget— tolls the bell of death.

And when you looked up, snow swirling, holding onto your son that looked up in awe at the man who looked so much like him—

Aemond is smiling.

Sweet came the word— dracarys! — as Vhagar split her mouth opened and obeyed her rider.

What have I told you?

You are mine as I am yours.

In face of every god and more, they will understand that you and I are but one soul.

[cregansdingdong]

ɢᴜᴀʀᴅᴇᴅ.

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Wife!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: he does get snappy for a second so very slight angst, his boo thang doesn't tolerate that so don't worry, period-typical misogyny, gets a tiny bit suggestive at the end but nothing crazy hes eating her coochie out off camera; lovers spat but he can't resist her this is so Honeymoon by lana del ray also love and war by Fleurie

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Aemond was not a man of many words. His wife knew that upon their marriage. She knew he had a fortress around his heart and his mind in order to better protect himself, and it wasn’t something she took complete offense to��there was no point in taking it personally; the walls would not come down because they took vows in front of the High Septon. Day by day, she would have to chip at him, speck by speck, brick by brick, until all that was left…well, she had yet to figure that part out. But still, she persevered. Their nuptials were built on a political agreement in the night—like everything else among the highborns—her father brutally negotiating his terms to bend the knee to King Aegon. She remembered what it felt like being stirred out of her sleep by her handmaiden, dressing in the dark to make an appearance for their princely guest. There had been little explanation at the moment, and even her sisters hadn’t a clue.

Until they saw him. One-eyed and formidable; standing there, the silver-haired Targaryen Prince didn’t need to do much to strike fear in the hearts of Borros Baratheon’s five daughters. Lined up like prized cattle, they waited for him to take his pick. She thought he’d pick Cassandra—the son they’d create together would most likely be the heir of the Stormlands. That was the smart choice. Instead, as she stared ahead humiliatingly, a gaze of amethyst locked onto the slope of her shoulder, trailing the silhouette of where her jaw met her neck. Her throat. It was predatory, almost, the way he inspected her. A viper choosing the most appetizing little mammal it could find. Then he approached her, somehow even taller than he seemed—he stood close enough that she could feel the heat of him emanating into her chilled skin, his even breath fanning lightly against her cheek. “This one.”

The words were so final. There was no arguing, no further negotiations to be made. He’d chosen her. That was all. A year passed, and it was a long one. His betrothed did her best to ignore the whispers of the men of her father’s court. One-eyed Kinslayer, they’d say, the youngest is his bride. He’ll come to claim her soon. The day did arrive when the Targaryen prince returned on dragonback to collect what he was entitled to. There had only been the bare warning of a raven just a day before, leaving her enough time to decide what she wanted to take to King’s Landing and send her trunks ahead. Vhagar arrived after dawn, her rider as stoic and unyielding as he’d been the last time they met. Saying goodbye to her sisters was difficult, but she managed, remembering the very firm prompt Lord Baratheon had given her about crying in front of the prince. And she didn’t, despite the indignation that came with being sold like a broodmare. Her entire life she’d known her birth would only be useful as a bridge between Houses—but being a bride of war felt shameful, vile, and held no pleasantries.

Meeting the dragon churned her stomach terribly. Other than a few of the quiet shushes in High Valyrian, Aemond hadn’t said much during the exchange. The ancient beasts hadn’t cared to eat her, thankfully. The first hurdle was over with. She rode on the back of Vhagar that morning—which was somehow more terrifying than it sounded…and a tad humiliating for how long it took her to actually climb to the mount. She’d expected him to rush her, to make a comment, but he remained silent and unusually patient. The journey itself felt longer than it was, her fists clenched around the hem of his doublet, but it was over soon enough. They’d married within the week, barely having said a word to each other. Every day after that was a power struggle. Aemond must’ve thought she’d be meek, or perhaps quiet, but he’d been either sorely mistaken or genuinely misled. But the deed was done, the marriage consummated thoroughly. He made his bed and he had to lie in it. Whatever the case was, their shared chambers—his idea—worked dually as a bedroom and a battlefield. While she was successful at times in penetrating his armor, the circumstances did not change even after half a year of marriage.

“What is wrong now?” She hummed, watching him stare down into the flames of the lit hearth, hands pensively behind his back. She knew his habits like they were imprinted in her skin. He only stood like that when something was bothering him. Her embroidery was paused in her lap as she waited. Aemond turned his head slightly, his eye flicking over to her. He said nothing for a few more moments, as if he was debating entertaining such a question at all. Sometimes he liked when she pushed at him. She wasn’t sure if this was that sort of evening. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with, wife.” There wasn’t as much bite to his words as she expected there would be, but if he wanted to start, she would finish. “I would like to concern myself, thank you, lest you go blind staring into the fire before our anniversary. What has you in such a foul mood, husband?”  She puts her craft down on the table, staring at him impatiently. He stiffened at her words, and she knew then that she struck a nerve. It seems to work though. Aemond’s features harden, the slightest bit of the real him seeping through his endless stoicism. “Small Council.” Was all he said. She gets the gist of it. “I see. Would you like to share anything else?”

“No.”

Something about the blatant rejection thrilled her. She was no fool as to what probably happened—the King was drunk, angry, or plainly at odds with whatever it was that her husband and the rest were trying to suggest to him. She’d heard from the Dowager Queen they had begun talks of making a match for young Jahaera. Aemond was a hard man to read, but he wasn’t completely indecipherable. “I’m going to offer you my council then.” She doesn’t wait for him to respond, legs uncrossing upon her standing. He doesn’t move as she strides toward the fireplace, as unyielding as she’d been the moment she entered the sept and became his wife. “His Grace, the King, is courageous and inspiring. He’s a man of the finest breeding and a formidable, yet merciful, attentive ruler–”

“If you’re going to give council that I did not ask for, at least speak plainly.” He grumbles, irritation emitting from his poreless face. “In this room, it is only you and I, and neither of us wish to lie. I care not to hear compliments of my brother fall from the lips of my wife.” She considers her words for a few moments. “Alright. The King is a drunk who lives in his own world—but he is still the King, and that means the ideas of his advisors can be very easily dismissed by a mere word if he so wishes. Attempting to speak sense into him, or to convince him, will never work when he has such power.” 

“If you’re suggesting I play into his drunk delusions, I will not.” He scoffs, eye narrowed in reproach. She tries not to get angry right away. “That is not what I’m suggesting. Before you so rudely interrupted me, I was going to say that your best chance is convincing the second highest person in the realm. The Queen.”

“This is a matter between men. Helaena is just as much in her own deluded world as he is—worse, even. She is dreaming her life away. Speaking to her is not unlike catching a cloud, wife.” Aemond says, walls coming back up to ignore her again. His coldness returns in an instant. “Your council has proven useless as I knew it would be. You should return to your embroidery.” And now she was angry. “We’re the perfect pair then, aren’t we, my prince? You dismiss me as Aegon dismisses you.” Her words came out like a challenge, daring him perhaps to actually consider what it was she was trying to say. He reacts accordingly. A long, slender hand wraps itself around her arm in an inflexible grip, yanking her to him seemingly to remind her of their roles. It didn’t hurt. The words were gritted from between his teeth. “What did you say to me, wife?”

“You heard me. Your unwillingness to accept another perspective of how to get what you want will be your downfall. And to think I was almost about to offer to speak to Helaena on your behalf. Perhaps she is a cloud to you, husband, but she’s quite tangible if you treat her like a human being.” She huffs. Aemond pauses at that, in thought as his hand loosens ever so slightly. “I should bend you over my knee for speaking to me that way—you’re lucky I’m not in the mood for it. Talk to Helaena then. Tell her Aegon is behaving like a stubborn fool and convince her that the Lannisters are the strongest choice for Jahaera if she cannot produce another male heir—I’m not asking.” His gaze stared down into her face, imploring her to refuse and see what was going to happen.

“Is my husband demanding my help?” She grins, something absolutely infuriating to him. Help. He loathed that word. “You said it yourself. You’re not asking. My idea must truly be valuable to you—my bond with Helaena even more so. I thought it was a matter between men?” The taunt in her voice was exhaled against every nerve in his body urging him to act. To show her how maddening she was. To fuck the teasing out of her right there beside the fireplace. He was itching to have her do as he wished, and to do with her as he wanted. “You’re testing my patience.” He warns, something uncompromising burning behind his eyes. So different, and yet exactly the same. His wife leaned in closer, undeterred. “If you’re not willing to say please verbally, husband, you can do it another way. Or, of course, you can hurry along to the next council meeting if you’re so eager to be at Aegon’s mercy. What will it be?”

“Another way?” He murmured, eyes locked down at the juncture of her throat. “Hmm. It seems we’ve come to an understanding, wife. Lift your skirts.”

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[witchofhimring]

Under the shadow of the Crown

Synopsis: Your life as Princess Baela's lady-in-waiting is ripped apart. Queen Rhaenyra decrees that you marry her younger half brother Aemond. Terrified, you are in no position to object. Such are the lives of those in the shadow of the crown.

Pairings: Aemond x Y/n

Part of my Dynasty of Blood AU series, built of this concept.

You had never payed attention to the second sulky son of Alicent Hightower. If fact you had not even come to mainland Westeros to marry him in the first place. Of course marriage had always been in the cards. As heir to Blackhalt, your families ancestral seat just off of The Reach. A great match had always been in store for you. Lord Cregan Stark and Jeoffrey Velaryon had both been put forth. Only Lord Stark's had been seriously considered as the third born son of Queen Rhaenyra was not yet ten. It was only a pity the eldest two of her boys were to be wed. Well, Lucerys and Rhaena had not been wed at the time you arrived at Kings Landing. Crowned Prince Jaecerys had already taken Baela Targaryen to wife by then. Your role, until it was time to take up the mantel of ladyship, was to serve the royal family and cultivate whatever ties you could.

You were placed in the service of Princess Baela. She was around your age, born within the same year. Admittedly you were more than a bit intimidated. Use to being the second highest ranking lady in the room it was strange to be standing in front of the third greatest lady in the land. Not only that but Baela rode a dragon. Her beauty was intimidating as well, with thick silver hair and wide violet eyes. Her skin was dark and smooth, the scars she obtained in battle only giving highlighting her features. Normally scars could not be considered pretty, but Baela seemed to wear them as one would their jewels. Clad in black and red the princess looked almost like one of those Valyrian gods. Not that you had ever met one before. But perhaps this was how they were depicted.

The two of you would forge a friendship. A combination of personal liking and ambition. However it was with Rhaena that you first became friends with. The younger of the two, Rhaena was less assuming compared to Baela. That did not mean, as many mistakened her for, a wilting flower. She simply preferred to be more guarded and taken to court etiquette more easily. The two of you had much in common, a love of fine dresses, music, poetry and an ability to connive when the situation so called for it. When you were free of duties the two of you would hide under the Weirwood and read poetry.

Two years passed and a new year was upon everyone. A New Years ball was to be arranged and it was up to a team of ladies (including yourself) to organize who was wearing what. It was already agreed upon that Baela would be wearing a high collared red gown with rubies sewn into it. Not that she knew it yet. The rest of you would wear colours representing your houses to show a symbol of unity. "I think everyone should wear a red ribbon to symbolize the princess." Rhaena pulled out a silver box from underneath a tall tower of various items. Let it not be said this was an easy job. A new years celebration was nothing to scoff at. Especially as this one would be a pre-celebration to the marriage of Rhaena to Lucerys. Rhaenyra's second son had been off to learn what it mean to be a lord. This had been to the great distress of Rhaenyra. But she finally relented, unusually, and allowed Daemon to teach her son everything there was to know about being Prince of Dragonstone. Now that he had experience and was a man it was high time Lucerys married.

"Oh dear." Lady Cassandra stifled a laugh as she held up a pair of ludicrously high heels. Lady Cerelle of Casterly Rock paled and looked to Rhaena. She would find no security in her look as Rhaena sighed. "Let me see." You took the pair from her hand and examined them. They were exquisite in design and any woman would be thrilled to have them. Except this was Baela who would likely be as friendly as Vhargar when it came to overly constraining dresses.

Rhaena sighed and slumped in her seat. She looked up at the ceiling, exasperated. "Baela is going to kill me." You looked up at her. "Why you?" Rhaena sat up and stooped down to gather loose fabric. "Because I was the one who commissioned Panella to make the dress. And I swear I told her to make the dress to Baela's tastes. But the Queen ordered her to make it luxurious as possible." Queen Rhaenyra was well known for her expensive tastes. Just a glance at her dresses was enough for anyone to know. This had worked in your favour when the Queen gifted you a dress of pink silk and pearls. You had yet to wear it but the dress was truly magnificent. However, at this moment, was it worth it if Baela ripped your head off?

Deliverance came in the form a knock. One of Dowager Queen Alicents handmaidens entered. She first curtsied to Rhaena and then turned to you. "Lady Y/n, the Queen Dowager has requested your presence." Getting up you bid the ladies farewell before leaving. Hopefully you would be kept away long enough to avoid Baela's terror.

Lady Alicent had settled in the Hands Tower, much to the annoyance of the actual hand Ser Corlys Velaryon. The moment you entered green clouded your vision. On the steps of a dais sat the women serving Alicent. They mostly hailed from the Reach and Westerlands. Sitting on a throne like chair was Alicent. She looked older than her thirty and four years, a statue of regality and sternness. Had you done something to incur her ire? There was nothing you could think of. So you curtsied, hoping that if she was upset a show of supplication (even if it irked you) might mollify her. To your surprise she smiled, or at least it looked like a smile. This unsettled you to a degree.

"Lady Y/n, the Queen, your father and myself have chosen a husband for you." Several things went through your mind, excitement, anxiety and hope. You had been endlessly curious as to who would become your husband and the future lord consort to Blackhalt. "You will be marrying my son Prince Aemond. Everything dropped out from beneath you. Not literally, but it felt like someone had just hurled you down a dark tunnel. Out of everyone why him!? You could not say Aemond was well known to you. Only the stories and the looks he gave anyone attached to his elder sisters house. As you were a member of Baela's household his dislike over spilled into you as well.

Was this your fathers idea? Or your mother, who despite not being the ruling lady held great sway. Always you had known you'd marry, such was the duty of every lord and lady. Never had you though as you did now, that this was all some great mistake.

You curtsied to the third most powerful woman in Westeros and said how honoured you were. An honour it may be, but not one you cherished.

"Absolutely not!" If one though Baela had been angry beforehand it was nothing to her tirade over Aemond taking one of her handmaidens. "My Princess, I can still serve you, surely." You held her hand in your own. In the greatest state of anxiety Baela hardly seemed to notice. Suddenly she bounded to her feet. Cerelle leapt back in fright and Cassandra rose to her feet. Baela seized your hand and headed out the door. She strode forward with such a great fury you nearly tripped. You could hear the other two following, also having difficulty in catching up. It was only when you entered a staircase lined with red tapestries did you realize where it was Baela was taking you. Before there was even time to protest Baela waved the guards aside and burst through the door. Queen Rhaenyra lounged on a plush chair, surrounded by her three youngest sons, little Princess Visenya and four ladies. As usual she was bedecked in the finest robes imaginable. Jeoffrey came to his feet and rushed towards Baela. Despite the animosity between Baela and her good-mother she was fond of her husbands siblings. Once they broke apart Jeoffrey rushed back to his mother. Tention filled the room was two Targaryen Princesses stared each other down. Baela may not be Queen yet, but she had enough spirit to outdo almost any other. Rhaenyra may have been older, but the fire dwelling within her blood was no less furious. Despite their differences they both had something starkly similar. They were the very blood of Old Valyria.

"Princess Baela. Please take a seat." Baela simply stood there, not budging. Nervously you stood there. While Baela might get away with this you may suffer the brunt of Rhaenyra's anger. She was quick to anger and slow to forgive. So you hung your head in hopes that she might consider you unworthy of her anger. "He who bends may rise again", it was a Greyjoy saying, yet your mother mentioned it had a great deal of merit.

Lady Cassandra quietly entered, paid her respects to the Queen, then stood there. "Lady Velaryon, please take my daughter to her room." Lasfy Velaryon, a cousin of Baela, rose and took the hand of little Visenya who had only recently celebrated her third name day. With some fussing the princess was spirited away. Rhaenyra waited until her daughters little footsteps disappeared. When Rhaenyra focused her attention back onto Baela she looked as gentle as a dragon. They said the Queen was quick to anger, slow to forgive. You prayed her anger did not fall on you.

"Your impertinence is noted, Baela. Remember I am Queen so watch your tongue." The subject of Queenship had always been a tense, provocative one. When King Laenor died the crown passed to his wife. At the time Prince Jacaerys was only ten and considered too young to rule. Fearing a war over regency as had happened in the time of King Jaehaerys they had the boys mother become Queen. It was all wrapped up in a neat little bow. No boy kings and the succession going down the natural path. Or it would be so if it were not for the face Rhaenyra's sons were not Laenor's. Whispers floated down the halls that it was the former Captain of the City Guard Ser Harwin Strong who had fathered the boy. If the succession had gone down the true legitimate line then it would have passed to Laena's line. Baela was Laena's eldest child. But Rhaenyra was quick. She married Laena's widower Daemon Targaryen and married their children together.

Baela, who should have been Queen, stood in front of her stepmother who was Queen. Veryone else shrunk back. Even little Jeoffrey. "I hear you mean to marry Y/n Blackhalt to Aemond." She practically spat out the last words. All these years later Baela was still smarting over the injustice of Aemond taking Vhaegar from her sister. The feeling was mutual. Aemond had hated the Velaryon girls ever since that terrible fight on Driftmark. After the funeral of Princess Laena Aemond had stuck out and claimed Vhaegar which had once belonged to Aegon, consort of Queen Visenya. Words were said and Baela punched Aemond. A brawl ensued and Aemond lost an eye. The relationship between the families of Viserys Targaryen's first and second wives had never been smooth. Rhaenyra was left imbittered after her lady-in-waiting Alicent married her father. The two had never reconciled. Or so you heard.

"I am aware. Myself, Lady Alicent and your father have all agreed to it." Baela puffed up. "As a lady in my service Y/n is under my care and therefore I should have been informed." "My brother is a prince of the realm. Lady Y/n should feel honoured." Rhaenyra's amethyst eyes then settled on you. Oh Gods no.

"Lady Y/n, what do you say?" This was possibly the worst situation you could be placed in. Either way you would offend someone. Your best friend and future Queen, or the current Queen. Your mothers lessons went through your head. What would she do in this situation? Feigning calm, you spoke. "My opinion hardly counts. I will do what is best for the realm." You prayed this appeased both Targaryens. Rhaenyra had a look of satisfaction on her face. Baela's you could not see.

"There we have it. Is there anything else you would like to add?" It was not because Baela had been calmed that she turned and left. You could see the tension in her shoulders and knew Baela only left to stop herself from doing something truly rash. She had let go of you and both you and Cassandra were forced to race behind. All the way to her room the three of you ran. Rhaena and Cerelle were still in Baela's room. Rhaena opened her mouth but Baela spoke first. Once inside she immediately rounded on you. "So you want to marry him!" The fury in her voice made you cower. Unable to speak, it took everything in you not to cry. "You betray me in front of the Queen! You! Are you truly my friend or will you open your legs to any many who will have you!" Everyone gasped. Cassandra dropped the pearls, Rhaena clasped a hand to her mouth and Cerelle had silently fled.

You could not even cry. Your fear was so intense you remained rooted to the spot, stuck dumb. By no means were you a coward. Under any other situation you would have defended your honour. But not only was Baela your friend, but a Princess and future Queen. Baela's furious person glowered at you. Trembling, you only just begun to think of anything to say when Baela turned on her feet and stormed out.

There was no air in your lungs. Or at least that was what it felt like. Everything seemed to be falling away leaving you in a deep sea of despair. One by one you imagined everything being taken away, leaving only burned friendships and a disgraced name. Baela shot you one last disgusted before turning on her heel and leaving. With a bang the door shut.

Everything swam before you. Darkness began to rise and suddenly you were swallowed by it. Fading voiced echoed and drifted further and further away. A dull pain echoed in your head.

Then everything was black.

Pain was the first to greet you. The sun nearly blinded you and the world came into blurry focus. Every movement was slow and it ached. The bed dipped slightly as a face hovered above yours. "Y/n?" You recognized Rhaena through her voice. Then another joined your view. With vision clearing you realized it was a Septa. A cold hand pressed against your burning forehead and she spoke. "Can you see?" The words that came out of you sounded strange, like someone was yelling across the great hall. "Yes. But faintly, I think?" Wincing you held up a hand. Your vision was clearing and almost perfect again. "Sit up if you can." A hand behind your back helped you up. Propped against pillows a cup was placed by your lips. Cold water wetted your parched throat. It made a world of difference. Your senses were clearing and the remains of grogginess disappeared. Unfortunately it also brought pain into sharper focus. Reaching behind you felt a bump.

"Thank the Gods that is all. It could have been so much worse." Cerelle was nervously chewing her fingernails. You noticed that Cassandra and Baela were missing. "Cassandra was summoned by Baela. But she is very worried." Said Rhaena noticing your mood. "Does the Princess know what happened?" "I don't know. Not unless Cassandra told her." Defeated, you laid back. Still coming out of a haze your thoughts darted here and there. All this information, Baela's anger, the betrothal and Queen Rhaenyra's animosity made you want to faint all over again.

Cerelle and Rhaena said nothing else as you lay back down. The three of you stayed in that room, the sun setting. All the while you wondered if this was the right decision.

You should have been happy at the choice of husband. Aemond was young, handsome and a prince. But on the morning of your wedding all you felt was dread. During the early hours of the morning you lay awake, Rhaena snoring a few inches away. As a princess-to-be you got new rooms in the Red Keep. These ones opened out onto the garden, a combination of roses and salt lingering on every surface. You would rather have been in the old rooms. At least Baela had been your friend back then, and Aemond had not been your betrothed. You missed those days were you were just Lady Blackhalt. After the wedding you would be sent back with Aemond to Blackhalt island. Away from the place which had been your home since childhood.

Everyone but you seemed happy. Only Rhaena seemed aware of your mood. Cassandra and Cerelle were with Baela, they would no longer be with you. And Baela...who knew. They washed you within an inch of your flesh. Scrubbed till it hurt they finally pulled you out and lathered on a sweet smelling cream. Every inch of you were fussed over by an army of women. When that was done they dressed you, a whole new ordeal. For the first time you wore the Targaryen black and red. The three headed dragon was sewn onto your bodice with rubies glittering on silk strings. For a moment you forgot every worry when looking in the mirror. Every move sent sparkles dancing around you, and as princess you would always have such gowns. At least that was one comfort.

The dress became a burden when it was time for the procession through King's Landing. They placed you on a chariot for all of the smallfolk to see. They called out to you, blessing you with good fortune and many children. You smiled and waved, ignoring the heat and painful corset. Yet to have so much adoration gave you a warm feeling. You tried to focus on that. White petals were thrown into the air. Several getting caught in your hair. Finally you arrived back at the Red Keep. The remaining court which had not come with you was waiting. Helped off, you were delivered into the arms of your father. Lord Blackhalt was a stranger to his daughter. Having barely seen him in years it felt strange to have him hand you off. Baela might as well have done the honours. Speaking of Baela she was there. It hurt when she barely looked at you. And after this you would likely hardly see her again.

They were now closing in from all sides. Walking into the Great Hall you felt all their eyes on you. 'From now on I will always be watched.' You thought. You would go from lady to princess. A member of the royal family. Waiting for you at the end was the High Septon and Queen Rhaenyra, looking on in satisfaction. You hated the queen, her satisfied look making you want to throw up down the stairs. How dare she act all pleased! And then you saw your betrothed. Aemond stood inches from his sister. His black leather made you want to shrink away. 'Don't you it.' The warning spurred you on.

Aemond's hand was calloused and cold. It was a shock compared to the heat of this morning. For the first time you looked Aempnd in the face. As a body you feared him, as a man you nearly ran. And now you would spend the rest of your life with him. His purple eye was hard to read. No expression passed his face. It was worse than showing anger, at least you would know what to expect. Right now you knew nothing. In truth despite the proximity for so many years you knew nothing about him. Always it had been the words of Baela and Rhaena which painted a picture. Now on your own there was a blank canvas.

'With this kiss I pledge my love.' Empty words. His lips were cold against your own ones. Your black and white cloak was whipped off, replaced by the Targaryen sigil. No longer Lady Y/n. Y/n Blackhalt, Princess of Westeros. You felt naked, unprotected. And now your girlhood was ended.

Notes: I just want to reiterate that this is not a story in the sense I will organize it into chapters. It will be a collection of one shots based off of scenarios. If anyone wants to further discuss these characters I am happy to do so!

About the characters: Cassandra is much nicer in this version. I suspect that the reason she was so bitter in Fire and Blood was because she went from a possible heiress to House Baratheon and promised to a prince, then promised to a King. Only she ended up married to a man well below her station. Personally I think she was definitely ambitious, but is less malicious in this version due to being Lady Baratheon by right. So she certainly has less to be bitter about.

Now, about the readers wedding. Because this is a world were women inherit the reader will keep her last name. But because she is marrying into the royal family she wears their colours. So that is why she wears the Targaryen cloak.

Rhaenyra does come off as cruel in this one-shot however she will get more development. Her actions are a combination of spite against Baela and to show her place as Queen. Baela resents Rhaenyra for taking the place she thinks is hers. I will at some point write a one-shot from Baela's point of view.

The other ideas I have in mind:

-Rhaenyra and the reader talking about their dead ancestors

-Baela and Daenerys (reader's daughter) talks about queenship

-Reader's friendship with Baela and Rhaena

-"Monarchs of Westeros" (part 1) Covering every monarch of Westeros in this AU from Visenya the First to Rhaenyra the Second.

[leth-writes]

Companion, part 2

yandere house of the dragon x reader

Summary: your first day in court.

Warnings: typical for my blog

As you walked toward the hall where you would attend court, you tried to surrepticiously ask Cassandra as many questions as possible. It was hard, trying to get her to voice her opinions; she was so nervous to so much as speak the Queen’s name, let alone truly express any opinions that reflected negatively on the nobles. However, you did manage to learn the basics; there was a current, ongoing war between two factions for the iron throne. It seemed that at the moment, the Greens held control, represented by Queen Alicent and her heir, Aegon, as well as her son Aemond and daughter Helaena. The blacks in contrast included Rhaenyra, the King’s old heir, Daemon, the king’s brother, and their children, Jace and Luke. Even without so much as seeing the noble family, you could feel the tension building in the castle. It seemed to ooze from the walls, permeating the air and creating a palpable sense of fear and anxiety. Every servant you passed seemed more anxious than the last, some even crying; you could imagine the constant fighting would effect them harder, since they were especially vulnerable.

As you walked, you started to piece together a backstory for yourself. You were the child of a lord, quite a low-down one, who already had an heir in the form of an older brother known for aggression and a lack of interest in the good of the people he claimed to represent. It seemed that you’d complained many times to Cassandra in the past; so you were inhabiting someone else’s body, it seemed, though the person you used to be did not sound to be the nicest. At least she treated Cassandra with respect, you thought.

Your mother seemed to ignore your entire existence, and none of your family had so much as written a letter to you in the many years you’d been by Helaena’s side. You could only hope they wouldn’t suddenly decide to come visit; they’d certainly immediately catch on to your new personality, and you couldn’t risk being suspicious.

Finally, you reached the oak doors that separated you from Helaena’s circle. Cassandra opened the doors and entered in, you following slowly after her, and she announced your presence. The room was imperious, dark and lacking warmth. Both the floors and walls were stone, intricate carvings of dragons lining the walls, with very few windows letting in the midmorning grey light. Candles lined the tables and walls, bathing the room in the flickering warm glow of their fire, though even that seemed to be smothered by the oppressive atmosphere in the room. 4 women sat in chairs in a loose circle, each seemingly working on a sewing project or needlepoint. This, it seemed, was Helaena’s court.

Cassandra nudged you, then went to join the other servants lining the walls. it seemed you had at least one ally. Finally, you reached the small empty stool, joining the group.

“How nice of you to join us, finally,” one woman said. She was tall, willowy even, with dark black hair pooling around her shoulders, pale skin standing in stark contrast to the green she wore. Her dress was opulent, dripping in gold accents, and her arms were coated in liberal amounts of jewelry. She was working on a needlepoint project, clearly the most advanced of the group. She had deep, cruel brown eyes and a nasty smirk, her little button nose accented by a slight smattering of freckles. 2 of the other women tittered. The third, a slight woman with long white hair, barely glanced up, seeming irritated at the interruption. She had small eyes, catlike and graceful, and a roman nose, her small mouth turned down into a small frown. She was beautiful, though unique, a classic beauty. Her dress was a dull olive, covered with a second layer of sheer black swirling dragon designs.

“Dyana,” she chided. The woman in the green dress, Dyana, looked down, seemingly chastised. “Yes, lady Helaena,” she replied. So the woman in the dragon dress was the noble you were to be attending. You nodded gratefully at her, and she nodded back. You picked up a plain needlepoint canvas, ready to begin. Luckily, you’d always enjoyed sewing, so you didn’t struggle too much.

As you worked in silence, you tuned in to Dyana’s conversation with the other two women. The first was short and chubby, with a circle face and beautiful doe eyes. Her skin was a deep brown, complementing her hair, which was pulled back, well. She wore a deep red dress, accentuating her figure perfectly. She seemed to be the nicer out of the two remaining women. From the conversation, you gathered her name was Clarysse. The second was the tallest, though not as thin as Dyana. She had beady green eyes, seeming to bore into the side of your head with anger, despite you not so much as commenting on their discussion of the latest gossip among the lords. her other features were average, and she wore a deep blue dress, simpler than the other women but still fancier than yours, with light silver accents and swirling wave patterns. Her name was Catlina.

“I have heard that Lord Cannion’s daughter is to be married this fall,” Dyana began, smirking. The other girls, excepting Helaena, gasped.

“So soon after her last engagement was broken?” Catlina gasped, chuckling quietly. You weren’t sure how this was such big news, but then again you still didn’t really understand the court gossip being spread. Helaena seemed largely uninterested as well.

“Ah, but the engagement only broke because her fiance was unfaithful, no?” Clarysse responded, looking down sheepishly. She seemed the quieter out of the three, largely unwilling to engage in the cruel gosip both Dyana and Catlina were engaging in.

“Yes, but it’s no wonder… She was to be a terrible bride and an even worse mother,” Catlina chortled, hiding her mouth behind her thin hand.

“She has such a short temper, it’s no wonder…” Dyana added on, smiling.

“Did you hear that Lady and Lord Voss have given birth to a child?” Clarysse changed the subject, looking uncomfortable. You felt bad for her, understanding her discomfort with the chatter.

“Ah yes, the lady Voss has named her daughter Breyna… One wonders if perhaps Lord Brey played a role in the matter?”

Wow, they were unable to so much as be happy for the woman, despite her just having a daughter! You could see that Clarysse seemed to share your feelings.

“Clarysse, how have you been?” You asked.

Dyana’s head shot up and her face morphed into a harsh scowl. “Are you not forgetting something, girl?” You felt the room chill.

“Lady Dyana, please, it is no bother!” Clarysse begged, holding her hands up placantingly.

“Lady Clarysse, you are too kind, but they must address you with the proper title… They have been attending court for years,” Catlina replied, a sharp smirk on her face. Helaena was watching the entirety of the interaction, seeming more interested in the conversation. Her eyes flicked to yours, and you could sense the kindness in them.

“I apologize, Lady Clarysse, I am overtired and did not mean to insult you,” you said, bowing your head slightly. You didn’t really understand what you had done wrong, but you were smart enough to know that it would be a bad idea to get on their bad side.

Clarysse acknowledged your apology, though Dyana looked to Helaena. “Lady Helaena, do you accept the apology?” she asked, tone clear she was expecting you to be kicked out.

“Yes, it was an honest mistake. The rats have yet to bite,” she replied, gazing off into the distance. You couldn’t help but be confused by the comment, but judging by the expressions on the other girls’ faces, you weren’t alone.

Shaking off the confusion, Clarysse answered your question, updating you on her family; it seemed her brother had just completed training to enter the next jousting tournament, and she was excited to see him compete.

As the conversation continued, you caught Helaena glancing at you more often. She had a pensive look on her face, seeming quite contemplative.

Finally, it seemed as though visiting hour was coming to a wrap, the other girls slowly packing up their projects and filtering out. As you finished your piece and put it down, the last to leave, Helaena called out to you. Confused, you turned to face her.

“My lady?” You asked.

“I apologize for Dyana and Catlina’s actions today, they were quite harsh. It is hard, to be a dreamer among those whose eyes are closed…” She continued, ignoring your question.

You couldn’t quite get a read on Helaena. Her words were usually quite confusing, almost as if she was talking to someone else rather than you. You weren’t sure how to interpret the things she said.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but I don’t quite understand…” You responded.

“It’s alright, most do not. I am glad to see you here, though I sense you are different than the last time I saw you. I do not expect you to understand yet, though I hope we can grow close and begin to connect. Would you like to take a walk with me?”

Well, if the future Queen was asking, you couldn’t say no. You turned to Cassandra, who was already out the door, ready to inform Lady Worner.

The two of you went to walk through the gardens.

The gardens were beautiful, teeming with life, though lacking in color; it seemed not even the garden could escape the suffocating tension.

“You are not yet betrothed, correct?” Helaena asked gently, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

“No, my lady, I’m not. Though, I believe my father is working to arrange one.”

She hummed, looking concentrated. You wondered what was going through her head.

“Well, I believe your luck shall soon turn. I see the fire blazing.” She continued, almost as though she was talking to herself rather than you.

“My lady?” you questioned, hoping she would elaborate. She did not.

The two of you continued on in silence.

“Helaena?” Aegon asked, shocked to see his wife up and about so late at night. She was sitting by the lone window in her room, gazing out at the moon. “The little bird’s chirps are so quiet under the roar of the fire,” she answered.

“What do you mean?”

“I believe I have found Aemond a wife,” she responded.

“Who?” He asked, moving closer toward his wife. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture of kindness.

“The little bird in my court, there is something different about her,” Helaena said, turning to look up at where Aegon stood behind her.

“Ah. Of course. Well, we shall introduce her to mother, and see what her verdict is. Then, it will be up to Aemond.”

“We shall need to persuade mother. I see this being a bond to strengthen our family greatly.” With that, the conversation was done.

[themotherofhorses]

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: cassandra baratheon dreams of prince aemond. the same cannot be said for prince aemond himself.

warnings: explicit language. smut. simp!aemond eating out his girl because the feast apparently sucked. slight breeding kink. voyeurism. cass gets her poor lil heart broken for the plot.

notes: i texted @chainsawsangel with the following:

"me when I break cassandra baratheon’s poor lil heart by having her come across aemond eating out his handmaid. #feminism".

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

Lady Cassandra Baratheon stumbles across them next, though by an honest mistake as well.

(It hurts her heart a bit too much to considerate it anything other than that)

Foolish, foolish, foolish girl.

She had always been a prideful child, too high-spirited and headstrong for her own good. Her own lady mother warned her of that. But on her eight-and-ten nameday, her lord father brought up the prospect of a betrothal between her and Prince Aemond Targaryen.

Cassandra liked that very much- the idea of becoming his princess. Each night before sleep, she’d mumble his name into her pillow, a tiny prayer to any listening god that they would make him hers.

Please, please, please…

Prince Aemond…Aemond Targaryen, she whispered, a smile curling on her lips. One day he’ll be my husband, and I his lady wife.

Three months later, House Baratheon arrived at King’s Landing to celebrate the nameday of the Princess Rhaenyra, the realm’s heir.

Cassandra had brushed out her long dark hair until it shone in the evening sunlight and chosen her finest red silks. She had been looking forward to this day for weeks since learning of her possible marriage to Prince Aemond. Prince Aemond, her future betrothed. She giggled at the thought. Just thinking of him stirred butterflies within her tummy, a faint fluttering feeling inside. She was so in love with him.

He was so tall and handsome and strong, with sharp, stern features and hair like moonlight. Everything a prince ought to be.

Prince Aemond, my future husband.

Prince Aemond spared her not a single glance during the banquet, much to her embarrassment. Cassandra had made sure to look her best, all in the hopes of catching his attention. Several Lannister lords complimented her well throughout the night. But her prince remained at the royal family’s long table, seated in his chair with no desire to move. Or ask for my hand in a dance, she thought with a pout.

“Perhaps he does not know of the betrothal?” Her sister, Ellyn, offered. “There could be a chance that he was never told.”

Cassandra was not appeased. “No, the queen would’ve told him; it is in her good natural…perhaps he does not care to dance,” she sniffed in disapproval. She would prefer a husband that would twirl her around the room, the way a prince does with his princess. She picked up her fork, quietly chewing on the roasted meat as she spotted her Prince Aemond then slipping out of the room. Her eyebrow raised, but she said nothing more, too disappointed and sadden to push the matter further.  

“Go talk to him after this,” her mother, Lady Elenda, murmured into her ear, rubbing her shoulder. “Dragons love a stormy sky as much as they do a clear and bright-blue one.”

Cassandra does what her mother told her, walking down the dimmed Keep’s hallway, running a hand across the stoned wall as she searches for Prince Aemond’s bedchamber. If the gods heard my prayers, then I shall soon share it… But as she nears one of the little libraries, she overhears a soft moan, feminine and breathless.

And another…and another.

A hiccup this time.

A whimper for the fourth.

It causes her cheeks to flush pink as she stands for a moment outside the room, hearing more moans and whimpers and hiccups fill the air. Servants, perhaps? She considers that for a slight second before the girl inside moans out a name that makes her breath hitch in her throat and her stomach begin to tauten.

“Aemond…”

No, she thinks, pressing a hand against her breast, feeling her poor heart painfully quickening within her chest. No. No. No. Cassandra shakes her head, not willing to believe such. No. No. No, it cannot be. But…

“A-Aemond…”

Breathing deeply, she leans in, peering into the room as her gaze locks onto a girl perched atop the dark, mahogany desk. Her head is flung back as she trembles and moans, tangling her hand in the silver hair of her Prince Aemond, who is nestled between her thighs. Oh…but Cassandra knows what he is doing. The girl’s chest rises and falls, heavy breasts tugged out from her plain servant dress, her other hand pinching both swollen nipples.

“Ah…! Mmmm, oh sweet gods, Aemond….”  

Cassandra feels ready to faint. Tears swell in her dark eyes as she watches Aemond shake his head and smush his handsome face deeper between the girl’s quivering thighs, strong hands holding her legs apart. “Keep them apart…good girl,” she hears him mumble. “That damned feast outside did nothing to quell my hunger, such a fucking waste of my time.”

The girl bites her lip, her shoulders trembling.

“I want to live here, in between your thighs,” and Aemond lifts his face up from her soaking cunt, kissing the inside of both her thighs. Once, twice, four times, so soft and tender and loving. He brings two fingers to trace along her folds up to her clit, chuckling when the girl shivers and gasps. “My pretty little handmaid- my precious girl.”

“My prince…”

Handmaid? Cassandra scoffs at that, several fat tears already streaking down her cheeks. Her pretty dark eyes are probably smudged and red and absolutely ugly.

A handmaid…she’s lost to a fucking lowborn handmaid, a girl nothing more than the dirt beneath her dainty sandaled feet.

She’d laugh if she wasn’t so fucking heartbroken.

Cassandra keeps her eyes on her Aemond as he rises to his feet, pulling the handmaid’s face up to his for a passionate kiss. She sucks in a breath, hearing the muffled moans and wet noises and the prince’s low groans, and the dirty, sinful words that he mutters against her puffy lips.

“I’m not your prince, my love. How many times must I need to remind you?”

The handmaid shakes her head, shying away before his fingers grip her chin, tugging her face back to his. “All the babes I’ve seeded into your belly, and yet you still think of me as nothing more than your prince….” Aemond chuckles, tracing her bottom lip with the tip of his thumb. Cassandra can see his other hand fall to his pants and hears his belt unbuckling. “Rest assured, I’ll give you a few more months, but then my baby will be in your womb again.”

“But we already have three,” the handmaid whines, leaning back on her palms as she eyes the prince’s hardened cock when his pants puddle down to his ankles. But there is a smile on her lips, and her pretty features are twisted in glowing happiness and excitement. She reaches forward, wrapping a hand around the head of his dick, smirking when he hisses. “Let the twins reach their third nameday, my love, before we consider our next one.”

Aemond hums. “We’ll see.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Cassandra Baratheon leaves soon after that, face tucked within her hands as she curses the gods above for not listening to her prayers.

“Why? Why? Why?” she asks, again and again. “But why would they?” she soon mumbles, blinking the new tears back. “They were foolish wishes. I was too fucking foolish.”

She hears laughter and singing, mocking her misery, and when she flies past the royal nursery, she fails to notice the good Queen Alicent cuddling a brown-haired babe to her chest.

And at her feet sat two pretty twin children playing with their little wooden dragon figurines.

tag list: @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

[sirenpearldust]

Pearl - Part two

series masterlist ⋆ part one ⋆ part three

Pair: Eris x Reader

Word count: 2.599

Warnings: mentions of cheating, fertility issues, insecure thoughts

As months slipped by without conception, your mind wandered to the idea of a baby. You found yourself daydreaming about your future baby, wondering if they would inherit your traits or resemble Eris. 

Maybe your future child would be a perfect blend of both of you, or a mirror image of Eris with his luscious locks, mischievous amber eyes accented by long, dark lashes, and his straight nose.  

You hoped your child would resemble your wonderful husband, with his charming laugh, his thoughtful frown, and all the beauty he possessed.

As you stood before the mirror, you gazed at your belly, imagining it swollen with pregnancy. 

Your mind wandered to your child laughing, giggling, and cooing with joy,  happiness radiating from their bright eyes. 

You felt stressed as numerous people, especially Beron, exerted pressure on you. However, Eris remained your source of comfort, always sweet and wiping your tears, soothing you whenever the healer delivered the disappointing news of another unsuccessful conception.

Eris concealed his relief upon learning of the unsuccessful attempt, careful not to show you his true emotions. Despite this, his desire to fulfill your every wish remained strong, understanding that the timing had to be right for both you and your future heir's safety.

He saw you trying everything—from taking long walks with his mother to eating healthier, experimenting with various fertility teas, and praying.

Despite trying everything, nothing seemed to help. He witnessed your tears and mourning, understanding your sense of shame for not fulfilling what you saw as your only duty. 

Eris, feeling responsible for your anguish, was ashamed, as he was at fault making you feel this way.

To help you relax and ease the strain on your body, Beron ordered that you be sent to your parents' house. The Lady of Autumn spoke with Beron, suggesting that a vacation could alleviate your stress and potentially increase your chances of conceiving.

• •

Being at your parents' house proved to be truly relaxing. The familiar surroundings provided comfort, surrounded by your loved ones. You spent time chatting with your sisters and reconnecting with friends you hadn't seen in a while. 

Enjoying tea and playing cards together, the conversations and laughter helped you forget all of your worries.

In your childhood home, you were surrounded by laughter and joy, you felt whole and content. 

It was a stark contrast to the tension and loneliness you experienced in the forest house, where rivalry, scheming, and jealousy were ever-present. 

There, in the forest house, you always felt on edge, but here, in the comforting embrace of your childhood home, the atmosphere was vibrant and carefree. 

The air was filled with the joyful laughter of children, and the warmth of your friends' companion enveloped you, easing away any lingering worries you had.

You couldn't help but wish for your child to grow up in such an environment. Perhaps not falling pregnant right now wasn't the worst outcome after all, you sadly mused.

Today, the weather was warm, carrying the scent of the black tea your mother brewed and the cherry cake your sister baked earlier. 

Laughter echoed through the garden where you sat, accompanied by the sweet singing of the birds. 

The sun shone just right, casting a gentle glow, and overall, the atmosphere was calm and serene.

The atmosphere was abruptly disturbed by your friend's gasp as she remembered something important.

"Oh my, I almost forgot to tell you what happened to Cassandra, you all remember her, right?" she exclaimed, her shock evident as she jumped in her seat. 

"Her husband had been cheating on her, and despite her attempts to have a second child with him, he remained loyal to his mistress. 

To prevent any illegitimate children with her, he resorted to using a tonic, it hindered any chance of pregnancy. Apparently it is also illegal to use. 

Cassandra's father found out, killed the mistress and punished her husband by law."

"I don't know what happened exactly, but Charles now has a scar across his face," another friend chimed in. 

"And lately, he's been sticking close to Cassandra when they are at gatherings. Apparently the punishment he faced was only halted because she intervened and saved him from her father. Since then, he's been keeping in line."

"That was well deserved," your mother chimed in, sipping on her tea with a hint of satisfaction in her voice.

As you listened, doubts began to creep into your mind.

Maybe someone had tampered with your tea. However, your handmaids assured you that they hadn't seen anyone interfere with your food or beverages. 

Every step of the preparation process, from the ingredients to the serving, had been strictly monitored.

Despite the numerous intimate sessions with Eris each day, it seemed impossible that there could be an issue with fertility. 

However, hearing the conversation about Cassandra's situation sparked a troubling thought: what if the problem lay with Eris? Could he be infertile? 

The notion of him using a tonic seemed absurd, and the thought of him resorting to such measures was too cruel to contemplate. 

He had wiped away your tears and shielded you from harm, from the rumours, the nasty glances directed at you. 

You couldn’t entertain such a devastating possibility—betrayal from him would be unimaginable.

He talked to you about the names he had chosen and the colors he envisioned for the baby's room. Every time you talked about your future child he was happy, excited to help choosing the clothes and how he would play with him or her. He didn’t care if it was a girl or a boy.

You both had laid in bed one night, when he confessed his hope that the child would resemble you. He had held you close, your fingers were intertwined, his head on your chest, he wished that your child would inherit your eyes and your smile.

He wouldn’t cheat on you, no he wouldn’t. Not Eris, never him, right?

You obviously would never openly accuse Eris of such a horrendous act or him using the tonic. 

Accusing the heir could result in dire consequences, you would be risking your life and insulting the  Vanserra family to which you still didn't fully belong to. 

You understood that full acceptance into the family would only come with the birth of his heir.

For now, you felt more like a placeholder, knowing that if nothing worked, you could easily be replaced by a new wife.

• •

The evening neared its end and your friends departed, your family prepared for bed. 

Quietly, you made your way to your father's office, seeking help to calm your nerves before you also joined dreamland.

In the cold hallway leading to his office, you closed the window, the chill dissipating. 

Taking a moment to glance at your reflection, you noticed your hair cascading loosely around your shoulders, and your nightgown, a deep red with golden accents, gave you a regal air. 

Compared to a week ago, you looked healthier, your cheeks now filled out. 

Gazing past your reflection, you turned your attention to the sky, silently praying and hoping that your father held the answers you needed.

Approaching the grand oak door adorned with golden leaves, you knocked twice.

"Come in," your father's voice called from within. 

Upon entering, you found him engrossed in his papers, his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. The office carried the aroma of black coffee and biscuits. 

Closing the door behind you, you stood before him, clearing your throat to gain his attention.

"Father, have you heard about what happened to Cassandra?" you inquired.

He rubbed his face in frustration before replying angrily, " Good evening to you too. Yes, but I prefer not to indulge in gossip or spread it myself. Why do you ask?"

"It's not about the gossip itself, but about the tonic," you clarified.

His eyes widened in surprise as you quickly added, "Don't worry, I'm not asking to brew it myself. I'm just curious why it's outlawed and what it consists of." 

Reassured, he sighed and admitted, "There is a book in the library somewhere. I forgot the title of it." With a smile, you bid him goodnight and wished him a restful sleep. "Goodnight. Sleep well," he replied before you left.

As you walked towards the library, a peculiar sensation stirred in your belly, akin to butterflies fluttering about. Nervousness and a certain cold crept over you, you had a sudden urge to relieve yourself.

As you walked into the library, you skimmed through the books, spending about two hours in the healing section. 

Along the search for the specific book, you stumbled upon some intriguing ones that you planned to read later.

Eventually, you found a small black book titled "Outlawed." Within its pages, you discovered a chapter detailing the forbidden tonic.

It described how the tonic could hinder any pregnancy without causing infertility, with a minty scent and a taste like honey.

You stopped breathing, the realization hitting you like a tidal wave. 

Eris used to drink a similar concoction in his office every morning—minty and tasting just like honey, just as described in the book. 

You remembered how he once swiftly took the drink out of your hand after you had a sip, warning that it wouldn't be safe for a woman.

At the time, you hadn't thought much of it. But now, everything pointed to your husband being the one who used the forbidden tonic. Tears streamed down your face as you realized his betrayal.

You sobbed, as your mind raced through the events of the past few months. 

You remembered how Eris had taken care of you, reassuring you that you weren't at fault for the failed conceptions. You went through every moment you had with him, his reaction, how he didn't mourn.

Now, you saw the deception clearly, realizing what a fool you had been to fall for his lies. 

He had truly lived up to his name—the cruel prince of autumn.

You never anticipated that you would become a pawn in his schemes.

Questions swirled in your mind. Did he, like Charles, have another woman by his side? 

Was he in love with someone else? 

Jealousy gnawed at you. Why couldn't he confide in you? After all, you were friends before you were married.

Feelings of stupidity washed over you. Why did you even care now? He had lied to you, and he was probably involved with another woman. There wouldn't be any other reason to use the cursed tonic, right. 

Why? Why? Why?

Why would he do it?

• •

You cried the whole night, your eyes swollen and bloodshot red by morning. 

Your back ached from falling asleep in the library, and you felt chilled to the bone. Your heart raced with anxiety as you glamoured yourself to avoid questions from your family.

As you dressed and looked into the mirror, doubt crept in. 

Were you truly beautiful and put together, or were you actually ugly? Worries plagued your mind—perhaps you were too clingy, or maybe you simply weren't his type. 

Did he even find you attractive at all?

You forced a smile as you gazed at your reflection, but your eyes appeared lifeless, devoid of their usual sparkle. No amount of glamouring could mask the emptiness within. Tears welled up, but you quickly wiped them away.

With a frustrated huff, you adjusted your clothing, trying to compose yourself. Taking a deep breath, you headed downstairs.

The tearful goodbyes were exchanged as you hugged everyone farewell. 

Standing outside the manor, you waved goodbye to your family before winnowing away.

• •

You arrived in your room after being attended to by the maids, your personal attendants taking charge of your bag.

Finding yourself alone, Eris was nowhere to be found, but he had left flowers on the vanity along with a letter. 

Opening it, you read his words: 

Hello, Beautiful. 

I hope you enjoyed your time with your family. I have missed you dearly I hope you have missed me too.

It was quite lonely without you. I’m blessed to have you. Without you I am not complete nor at peace.

I promise to give you the life you've always wanted and to provide for you. I'll stand by you through thick and thin 'till death do us part. So don’t ever worry about anything else.

Sadly we will need to join dinner today as my Father has invited us.

Please tell me everything you experienced, what you’ve baked, eaten, played and read.

I also have planned a surprise for you (; 

Yours truly, Eris.

You crumpled the letter in your hand, before burning it with a flicker of magic. It would have been sweet if you hadn’t known him to be a liar.

Erecting a barrier around the room to ensure privacy, you screamed and cried out your frustration until your throat grew hoarse and your eyes were dry. Once you stopped, you undressed yourself, feeling the need to wash away the disgust you felt from letting him touch you. A soothing bath would probably help.

• •

Out of the bath, you called for Erica and Grace. Seated at the vanity, Erica dried your hair while Grace selected jewelry for you, presenting it. Today, you decided on wearing a mauve dress, as you were in no mood for vibrant colors like red or orange. Frankly, orange made you look terrible, and you weren't in the mood to deal with that today.

They both appeared nervous, avoiding your gaze as you smiled at them. Sensing their unease, you asked, "What's wrong, girls?"

 "Nothing, my lady," Erica replied, but before Grace could answer, you noticed her hesitation. 

"We don't want to upset you before dinner," Grace added, her voice faltering.

Your smile faltered as well, a nervous feeling creeping over you. 

Your heart began to beat faster as you sensed that something was amiss.

"I would rather know than be kept in the dark," you insisted, turning towards them.

They exchanged a hesitant glance before Erica spoke up quietly, "We have seen the prince meeting with a woman on the days your ladyship was away." 

Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced a tight smile and urged them to continue. "Go on," you said, encouraging them. 

"The woman doesn’t work here, and we tried to find out more about her, but we’ve found nothing," Erica explained.

"Don’t worry, she's not pretty. You are prettier than her," Grace added quickly. 

You couldn't help but chuckle at her remark. 

"She's charming enough to keep my husband occupied," you said wryly, a hint of bitterness in your tone.

"Tell me everything you know," you demanded, your voice steady despite the rage burning within you. 

"She's a blonde and quite tall, with red eyes," Erica began, and Grace nodded in agreement. 

"They also seem to be close. Every time we saw them, they were closely huddled together," Erica continued. 

"They would whisper, but we didn't see them being intimate or kiss. They mostly met in the forest or inside the stables," Grace added, her voice tinged with concern.

Meeting a woman in secret usually hinted at an affair behind one's wife's back. 

"Alright, please keep an eye on them, but don't put yourselves in danger. If Eris finds out, tell him that I, as his wife, had ordered you two to keep an eye on him. If he asks why, tell him he should confront me, as it is our business," you instructed firmly. Both Erica and Grace nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation.

You stood up, inhaling deeply to steady yourself, and forced a smile at them. 

At least now you knew the truth: he had used the tonic, used you for pleasure, lied, cheated, and deceived you. The realization made you feel sick to your stomach. You wanted to take a bath again and scrub your skin.

You knew you had to get out of this situation, whether dead or alive, though preferably alive. Perhaps you could even stage your own death to escape his grasp once and for all.

Main Taglist: @bubybubsters

Pearl - Taglist: @bubybubsters @favsrachz @fxckmiup @st4r-girl-official @starriestarlight @adharanotfound @mybestfriendmademe @se7enteen--black-blog @anainkandpaper @bunnyredgirl @loneliestluvr @justanotherlostreader

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[warnings: kissing, angst, sexual tension]

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

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

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

For the last four years, all her sisters had spoken about was Prince Aemond Targaryen. She knew that he was to choose one of them, as agreed between the king and her father, Borros Baratheon − military intent for marriage seemed for him the right price. On the day when all the findings were confirmed he came to her, took her cheeks in his rough hands and began to speak.

“One of your elder sisters will marry Prince Aemond in a few years. But not you. I want you to stay with me." He said, kissing her forehead.

She didn't understand what he meant then, and she felt humiliated to think that perhaps he thought that she was missing something. Only after a few years did she realize that her father treated her differently than them.

Cassandra, Maris, Ellyn and Floris loved to sew, sing, play instruments, read poetry. They resembled her mother, whom she barely remembered.

Her father once told her that she reminded him of his younger sister, who died when he was only fifteen. Although, unlike her father, she could and liked to read, she went hunting with him as well, Borros watched from a distance as his son and heir, Royce, taught her swordsmanship and archery. Her father decided that she was of Baratheon blood, not her mother's, and that marriage would destroy her.

She accepted the idea that her father had other plans for her, watching her sisters, thinking that she was no match for them in maturity and beauty, their hips and breasts full, their curves graceful.

She, as the youngest of the siblings, was much smaller, her cleavage was not so plentiful, her hips were not so wide, she didn't seem fully female standing next to them, and she was glad that her father had let her escape this humiliation.

On the day Prince Aemond was to make his choice, a great storm broke out. She thought, as she and her brother walked out to the back of their fortress, that this was a bad omen from the gods.

They both flinched as they heard a monstrous, loud roar in the distance, they thought for a moment that a huge dark cloud was approaching them, and then they saw a huge beast appearing from the sky, circling above their stronghold. She felt her heart pounding in terror, shivers run down her spine.

"Do not think about it." Royce shouted at her, throwing his sheathed sword at her.

She grabbed it on the fly, her hair wet, strands stuck to her face; they often practiced in the rain and with how tense things were inside their castle, they both decided to run away and wait until it was all over.

She smiled at him, pale, drawing her sword. They slashed their blades again and again with a loud clang of steel, turning around, trying different positions. Their movements weren't fast or brutal, both of them practicing proper posture and stamina.

Though she knew that it wouldn't make sense in King's Landing, in Storm's End no one asked why Borros Baratheon's daughter practiced hand-to-hand combat.

It seemed obvious.

War has been in the blood of their family for generations.

It almost always rained in Storm's End, and when it didn't, it was usually cloudy, she was used to the fact that whenever she went outside she was all wet, and although her sisters rarely left the fortress for fear of getting sick, she only strengthened her immunity and such conditions did not impress her anymore.

She and her brother both flinched and backed away from each other when they heard a guard run down to them, shouting something at them, she had to listen carefully to understand what he was saying, as he repeated his words.

"Your father orders you to return to the keep immediately, my lady." He said, in the background of his words thunder and loud, rushing rain, she looked at her brother, but he just nodded for her to go.

"It's probably over." He said, obviously wanting to reassure her.

She followed the guard down the corridor, through the cold, stone walls of her keep, trying to keep her composure, feeling her heart pounding hard.

Which one did he choose?

Ellyn, she thought.

She had a charming smile and pleasant curves, bright eyes and ease of speech, she knew that Ellyn desired this marriage and she hoped that the prince would be kind to her sister once he was her husband.

She followed the guard into the great hall and saw her father sitting on the lord's throne, stroking his chin uneasily, her four sisters were scowling at her, grim, she sensed that something was wrong.

She turned her gaze a little to the side and then she saw him.

He was standing in a long, unbuttoned leather coat, resting his weight on one leg, saying something to her sister, but he turned to her when he heard her footsteps, the dagger and sword strapped to his belt.

She saw that famous scar and black eyepatch, his long, white hair partly tied back, there was something terrifying about him, she thought, in that animalistic, menacing look.

She felt the raindrops falling down her cheeks onto the floor, she had the impression that they would soon evaporate from the heat that she felt in her body, at first she didn't even hear her father speaking to her, unable to look away from his face, she turned to him when she heard him say her name.

“This is my youngest daughter, my prince. As I said, I felt that she was not properly prepared to fulfill her responsibilities as your wife." He said briefly, she heard impatience in her father's voice, but also something else.

Fear.

Prince Aemond didn't even glance at him as he spoke, he stared at her intensely, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"I will decide that, Lord Baratheon. Wasn't that the deal?" He asked, and that was the first time when she heard his voice.

Cold, low, slightly taunting.

She felt her hands shaking and swallowed softly, only now feeling her throat tighten, she didn't know where to look.

She saw him avert his eye from her and walk slowly, unhurriedly toward Cassandra. She looked away immediately, red and horrified, when she saw that he had kissed her, her sister gasped.

When she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he released her without giving her a single glance and walked over to Maris.

She saw him repeat the same gesture and felt tears well up in her eyes. She looked up at the ceiling of the great hall that she was standing in, where she had played all her childhood and prayed to the gods that he wouldn't do this to her.

When she heard him walking slowly towards her she didn't look at him, felt his large, cold hand grab her cheeks, forcing her to turn her face towards him. Involuntarily she drew a shuddering breath into her lungs, letting out a soft sigh, her eyes looking pleadingly at him, her mouth slightly parted in shock and fear.

His face showed absolutely nothing.

She felt him move closer to her, but hesitated for a second as she shivered all over, felt his small gesture, how quickly, almost imperceptibly his thumb squeezed and wiped her cheek, as if to soothe her, comfort her.

She looked at him again then and his lips were on hers, pressed against hers in a sticky, warm kiss, she closed her eyes and thought that it wasn't unpleasant, he smelled like smoke and rain.

She didn't purse her lips against him, but she didn't kiss him back either, she thought that he was about to break away from her as he had from her sisters, and she waited patiently, knowing that the end would come soon.

She stifled a guttural groan as his hand closed over her cheeks and he kissed her deeper, more hungrily, sending shivers down her spine.

Involuntarily she put a hand on his shoulder, as if she was both looking for support and wanting to push him away, she flinched as he let out an almost inaudible grunt when she touched him.

He pulled away from her with a wet click and she looked down, red with embarrassment. He didn't let go of her cheeks and was silent for a moment.

"Her." He said suddenly, her heart stopped.

She looked at her father in horror, but she couldn't get the words out of her throat, she heard Ellyn sob loudly, burying her face in her hands.

She thought that it was impossible.

Her father seemed as shocked as she was.

"…as I was saying, my prince…" He began, but Prince Aemond let go of her face, turning tensely as he walked slowly towards the entrance, without glancing at her once more.

"I have decided." He said loudly, coldly, leaving through the main door, outside the windows they heard a loud thunder, which shook the fortress.

She heard her heart pounding loudly, didn't even know when tears were streaming down her face as she slid helplessly to her knees, trying to catch her breath.

She heard her sisters sobbing, Cassandra came over to her, pushing her angrily so that she collapsed on the stone floor.

"How dare you touch him?! He's a prince!” She screamed, possessed by humiliation and pain.

"Enough!" Their father shouted, rising from his throne, running his hand across his face.

"All of you, go to your chambers. Now!" He shouted impatiently, dismissing them with his hand.

She stood up, but she felt her body moving on its own, her mind leaving her loins and drifting away, as she walked down the corridor she met her brother who was speaking to her, apparently asking her a question, but she moved past him, heading for her chamber, closing the door behind her. She slid down, sitting on the floor and pulled her knees up to her chin.

She felt her whole body tremble in convulsions as if she had a fever, she tried to tell herself that it was all a dream, but then she felt his fleshy, full lips on hers again, his hand cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing over her face imperceptibly.

Her stomach tightened at the thought, terrified that she liked this feeling.

They had all been humiliated by him, but especially her sisters.

She thought that they would never forgive her.

They'd wasted years of their lives, preparing to be married to the man who stole their first kisses and then chose their sister who wasn't even considered.

She wondered why he did it? What drove him?

She wasn't even wearing a gown, didn't have her hair combed, didn't look like a woman, a highborn lady.

She thought that he was mocking them and her, that it was his cruel joke, a punishment for the king and queen for forcing him to marry against his will.

Her sisters pretended that she didn't exist for the next few days, when she came to join them during supper, they got up from the table and left.

Her brother comforted her by saying that they were taking it out on her for their misfortune, but she didn't feel better.

All nights since he chose her she cried, burying her face in the pillow.

Her father had no words of comfort for her either. Even though she knew he wanted to, he couldn't keep his promise to refuse him. He hadn't expected this turn of events and was furious, but breaking the agreement with the crown was out of the question.

She wouldn't even dare to ask him to do it.

The prospect of marriage and wedding night left her in a state of constant shock, she knew nothing about these things, and her sisters wouldn't tell her even if she wanted to, her mother was dead and she couldn't ask anyone what it looked like, what she should do, how to behave.

She thought that it would all be a series of endless humiliation.

After a few weeks, Lord Baratheon received a letter from the queen, informing him of the expected date of the nuptials. She was to arrive in King's Landing in the next few days, to properly prepare for the ceremony and acclimate.

She wanted to vomit at the thought.

Her father then hugged her tightly as he had when she was a small child.

He was a big, aggressive, sometimes even boorish man, but she had never known another lord who loved his children so dearily.

"You are of House Baratheon. Nobody will break you." He said, taking her face in his hands and kissing the top of her head, she pursed her lips at his words, not letting tears leave the corners of her eyes until she heard him disappear behind the door.

The night before she left for the Red Keep she couldn't sleep. Her sisters still didn't speak to her, but she and Cassandra always had the closest and warmest relationship. She needed the advice and comfort of another woman.

She took her candle in her hand and walked down the corridor towards her chamber. She opened the door, peering inside timidly, her sister frowned at her, confused.

"What is it?" She asked coldly.

She swallowed softly at the tone of her voice and closed the door behind her, walking slowly to her bed, sitting on the edge of it without looking at her. There was silence between them for a moment.

"I'm scared." She said, her lips quivering hard, her eyes were already red from crying, but she felt tears welling up again under her eyelids, heard her eldest sister shift uneasily under her covers.

"Please, tell me what to expect." She whispered, looking at her pleadingly, her sister stared at her dispassionately.

"Pain."

She swallowed softly, terrified, the way she said the word sent shivers down her spine.

"What do you mean?" She asked softly, her voice trembling at the very end of the question, betraying her desperation and fear.

Cassandra looked at her for a long time before answering.

“You have a duty to fulfill. You must give the prince an heir. This is your only task. Do you know how this act looks like?" She asked, and her younger sister shook her head quickly, looking down in embarrassment.

“The man lies on top of you, between your thighs. He inserts a part of his body into you, from which fluid will flow out, thanks to which you will be able to bear his child. With any luck, he won't tear you apart from the inside." She said indifferently, her face proud, her eyes cold.

She swallowed hard, feeling her whole body tremble, what she was saying sounded terrifying, foreign and painful, she couldn't imagine anyone putting anything inside her body. She clenched her hands on her knees.

"Does it hurt a lot?" She mumbled, feeling herself shiver all over, her sister exhaled loudly through her nose.

"They say the pain is indescribable."

She nodded, swallowing softly, thinking that perhaps this would be some kind of punishment for taking away from her sisters what they wanted.

She decided that she would accept what was about to happen with the greatest dignity as she left her chamber without a word.

That night she did not fall sleep.

The next morning everything was ready and her ship was waiting to take her to King's Landing. She threw herself into her brother's arms, for the first time in her life she saw him cry.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered into her ear, squeezing her tightly, his stubble scratching her cheeks pleasantly as usual, she stroked his hair, closing her eyes.

"Don't worry." She whispered, breaking away from him.

Then her father approached her, also unable to refrain from an affectionate gesture, he kissed her cheek and pulled away from her, pressing his lips together.

She knew that if he could, he would have kept her.

She looked at her sisters who were standing in the distance, only Ellyn rushed to her, bursting into sobs and hugged her tightly. She embraced her, and walked up the long plank, to the deck of her ship.

The journey wasn’t long, but it still felt like an eternity for her. She felt great tension, terror and fear, Cassandra’s words rang in her ears, filling her with anxiety.

When they finally arrived, a man who looked like a knight was waiting for her, she recognized him as Ser Criston Cole, she had seen him fight in royal tournaments more than once. He bowed to her, giving her a calm, gentle smile.

"My lady. Welcome to King's Landing."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[rrainydaydreams]

The first book I read after Dark Heir by C S Pacat was The Iron Trial by Cassandra Clare and Holly Black. Is this a weird coincidence or fate telling me I’m actually a reincarnation of the bad guy I’ve been fighting this whole time?

[kckt88]

A Dragon's Heart III

Summary:

As Aemond struggles cope in the wake of Viserra's departure he makes a confession to Alicent and Aegon confides in Rhaenyra.

Warning(s): Angst, Arranged/Unwanted Marriage, Swearing, Family Drama, Dragons, Infidelity, Uncle/Niece Incest, Smut, Oral Sex, Semi Public Sex, P in V, Revelations, Referenced Character Death.

AEMOND x O.C

Word Count: 8,600

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0

The atmosphere in Storm's End was thick with tension, the sombre weight of the funerals lingering like a storm cloud over the ancient castle.

The discussions regarding the succession had been heated, with various lords and ladies voicing their opinions on who should inherit Borros Baratheon’s seat.

The halls had echoed with disagreements—some advocating for Rhaegar, others for the unborn child Viserra carried, some for Cassandra or Maris. But none had found consensus, and the shadow of uncertainty loomed over the castle.

Rhaenyra and Daemon, their faces stern and resolute, had stayed behind after the ceremonies, not just to pay respects but to ensure that House Baratheon’s future was secured—and their own interests protected.

The arguments had been many, and Daemon’s temper had flared more than once, his hand often hovering dangerously close to the hilt of Dark Sister. 

In a private chamber, away from the prying eyes and ears of the castle, Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Cassandra faced each other.

The tension in the room was palpable, a silent battle of wills playing out between the three of them.

Cassandra broke the silence first, her voice cold and biting. "I wonder what would the Lords of the realm think if they knew of Viserra's affair with the Queen's one-eyed brother? And that her children are really bastards?"

Daemon’s hand clenched around the hilt of Dark Sister, his knuckles whitening. The underlaying insult towards his daughter was almost more than he could bear, and it took all his restraint not to unsheathe his sword then and there.

Rhaenyra, sensing the rising tension, interjected calmly. "There is no need for anyone to know of anything, Lady Cassandra. We can keep this matter between us—if you agree to my terms."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed; suspicion etched into her features. "And what terms would those be?"

"In exchange for your continued silence, I will name you Lady of Storm’s End," Rhaenyra stated plainly, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "Furthermore, I will arrange a marriage between you and Lorian Tyrell and your firstborn child, regardless of their gender, shall be named the heir to Storm's End, plus I will lower your taxes for the next two years-"

Cassandra hesitated, the offer tempting but the bitterness of her loss still fresh. "And what of the murder of my father and sister? Am I to believe that justice will be served?”

Rhaenyra’s expression remained composed, though a flicker of annoyance crossed her eyes. "My council is investigating the incident, but as of yet, no conclusive evidence has been found."

Cassandra scoffed, her anger simmering beneath the surface. "It’s obvious who the culprit is—Aemond. He had more to gain than anyone with my father out of the way. He’s now free to marry Viserra, and by that marriage, he will be the future King Consort."

Daemon let out a harsh, mocking laugh, the absurdity of the accusation too much for him to contain. "Aemond? Do you truly believe he had the means or the opportunity? He was never been absent from his duties. There were countless witnesses who can attest to that."

Rhaenyra nodded in agreement. "The notion is ridiculous. Aemond wasn’t involved. His every movement is accounted for."

Cassandra opened her mouth to argue further, but Daemon, his patience finally worn thin, cut her off. "Enough. You will accept the Queen’s generous terms in exchange for your silence, or House Baratheon will burn."

As if on cue, the castle shook with the echoing roars of Caraxes and Syrax, their fury filling the air, a reminder of the power Daemon and Rhaenyra wielded.

Cassandra stiffened, her face paling as she realized the seriousness of the threat.

Glaring at Rhaenyra, Cassandra finally relented. "I accept your terms."

As Rhaenyra and Daemon turned to leave, Daemon paused, leaning in close to Cassandra, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "Mind your tongue, Lady Cassandra. Speak ill of my daughter again, and you will regret it."

Cassandra swallowed hard, her defiance faltering under the weight of Daemon’s words. She watched silently as they left, the door closing behind them with a finality that left her feeling as though she had narrowly escaped a dragon’s maw.

Outside the chamber, Rhaenyra glanced at Daemon, her expression a mixture of relief and irritation. "Must you always resort to threats?"

Daemon smirked, unrepentant. "Only when it’s necessary, my love. Now can we leave this fucking castle"

"I think it best-" replied Rhaenyra.

"Do you think perhaps we could make a stop on our return journey to the Red Keep?" asked Daemon smirking.

"To what end valzȳrys?"  questioned Rhaenyra, as she straightened the golden crown on her head (Husband).

"I find myself wanting my wife-come ñuha idaña perzys. I know of an inn we can make use of" replied Daemon as he took Rhaenyra's hand and practically skipped his way back to where Caraxes and Syrax were waiting (My twin flame).

Another week had passed, and Aemond’s mood remained dark and volatile. The confirmation of Cassandra’s acceptance of Rhaenyra’s terms had brought little comfort; if anything, it only deepened his frustration.

Despite the successful negotiations, Viserra was still kept away on Dragonstone, and the distance gnawed at him, a constant, unbearable ache.

His frustration boiled over during a training session in the courtyard, Ser Erryk Cargyll had been his sparring partner that day, and things descended into chaos pretty quickly and it took three guards to drag Aemond off Ser Erryk before he nearly beat the man to death, leaving the seasoned knight bruised and bloodied on the ground.

After hearing about the attack, Alicent could no longer ignore the feeling of uncertainty that swirled in the pit of her stomach, she had grown increasingly concerned by Aemond’s behaviour and she needed to speak to him.

She found him the dimly lit library; the heavy silence of the room was only broken by the crackling of the fire.

Alicent approached him, her expression a mix of worry and frustration. "Aemond, we need to talk," she began, her voice firm but tinged with concern.

“About what?”

“I’m worried about you” replied Alicent

"I'm fine, Mother-" said Aemond not looking from the book in his hands.

Alicent’s eyes narrowed, her patience wearing thin. "You are not fine. Your actions speak otherwise. Beating a knight nearly to death, avoiding your family—this is not you."

Aemond’s grip tightened on the book, his knuckles turning white. "I said I’m fine."

"Stop lying to me!" Alicent snapped, her voice rising with a mix of anger and desperation. "You're not fine, Aemond! You're falling apart, and I can see it as clearly as everyone else. You’ve always been the strong one, the composed one, but now-now you’re crumbling, and I don't understand why!"

Aemond’s control finally cracked, and he slammed the book shut, the sound echoing through the library. "I can’t cope with being separated from Viserra any longer!" he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. "I need to see her, to feel her and I want my son!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Alicent’s eyes widened in shock, her hand trembling slightly as she processed his words. "Your-what?"

Aemond scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Oh, come on, Mother. Don’t act so shocked. Deep down, you knew that Rhaegar is my son."

Alicent shook her head, her voice faltering. "No-no, that’s not true. He’s Borros’s son, you couldn’t—"

“I was the one who lost an eye; you have no excuse to be so blind!" Aemond interrupted, his voice cold and cutting.

Alicent’s shock quickly turned to anger, her voice trembling with emotion. "How could you be so foolish, Aemond? To get involved with a married woman, to father a bastard—"

"Because I love her!" Aemond’s voice was loud, filled with a mix of pain and defiance. "I’ve always loved her"

Alicent stared at him, her expression a mix of disbelief and horror. "How long has this been going on?"

Aemond’s eyes were dark, filled with a storm of emotions. "Since the night of the Driftmark petition," he admitted, his voice low.

Alicent gasped, her face paling as the words sunk in. "You-you’re lying," she whispered, unwilling to believe it.

"I’m not," Aemond insisted, his voice steady. "-After the fight with Jacaerys, I followed her to her chambers, and I took her maidenhead. Then at Storms End after she offered her hand in marriage to Borros, I went to her room and spent the night fucking her. Then on her wedding day I fucked her before the ceremony, she spread her legs for me and it felt so good-"

Alicent’s hand flew out before she even realized what she was doing, the sharp crack of her slap echoing through the library.

"How dare you be so vulgar!" she spat, her voice shaking with fury and disbelief. "What happened to my dutiful son? The one who was always so perfect, so obedient?"

Aemond’s eye hardened, a cold smile playing at his lips. "I grew up" he replied, his voice laced with bitterness. "I grew tired of being the perfect son who works for everything and receives nothing. So, I saw what I wanted, and I took it."

Alicent’s heart ached at his words, her mind reeling from the revelations. The son she thought she knew was slipping away from her, consumed by his love and obsession for Viserra.

"Aemond-" she began, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "This path you’re on, it will only lead to more pain. Please, think about what you’re doing."

Aemond’s expression didn’t waver. "I’ve thought about it more than you know, Mother. I will have Viserra and Rhaegar back, and no one will stand in my way."

With that, he turned and left the library, leaving Alicent standing there, her heart heavy with the weight of her son’s choices.

Aegon found Rhaenyra in her solar, the room lit softly by the afternoon sun streaming through the high windows. She was seated at a large wooden desk, a quill in hand, reviewing parchments with a furrowed brow.

He hesitated at the doorway, unsure of how to begin. Rhaenyra glanced up, noticing his presence, and offered a small, polite smile. "Aegon," she greeted him, setting the quill down. "What brings you here?"

Aegon stepped inside, his usual bravado replaced by an uncharacteristic seriousness. "I need to talk to you. It’s about Aemond."

Rhaenyra’s expression grew more concerned, her attention fully focused on him. "What about him?"

Aegon sighed, running a hand through his silver hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. "He’s not doing well. The separation from Viserra and Rhaegar-it’s tearing him apart."

Rhaenyra looked at him, her gaze searching. "Yes. I’ve noticed his temper has been worse lately”

"It’s more than that," Aegon replied, his voice strained. "Aemond’s losing his mind. Granted he’s always been intense, but this-this is different. He’s on the edge, and I’m afraid of what might happen if we don’t do something."

Rhaenyra leaned back in her chair, considering his words. "I sent Viserra and Rhaegar to Dragonstone for their safety and to quell the rumours”.

Aegon shook his head, his tone more urgent. "I understand that, but Aemond can’t cope without them. He’s never known what it’s like to be loved unconditionally. Our mother, for all her attempts to be a good mother, isn’t as loving or nurturing as she should’ve been-"

"Aegon" whispered Rhaenyra.

"-Aemond has spent his life trying to prove himself, to earn love that should have been freely given. Viserra-she’s the first person who made him feel like he was worth something, that he was deserving of love. She completes him in a way no one else can."

Rhaenyra’s eyes softened as she listened, her heart heavy with the truth in Aegon’s words. "I never realized-"

Aegon pressed on, his voice thick with emotion. "Aemond is falling apart without her. He’s been isolated and unloved for so long that when he finally found someone who loves him as deeply as Viserra does, it became everything to him. Without her, he’s lost."

Rhaenyra’s gaze dropped to the parchment in front of her, her fingers tracing the edges absently. "But the scandal—"

"Scandal be damned!" Aegon interrupted, his voice rising with frustration. "Aemond deserves to be happy! He deserves to have the love that’s been denied him his whole life. It’s too late for me—" He paused, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "—but not for Aemond. He has a chance to have what I’ll never have. Please I beg you sister, don’t take that away from him."

Rhaenyra’s heart clenched at his words, the raw emotion in his voice piercing through her own concerns.

She had seen Aemond’s growing instability, but hearing Aegon’s plea, the way he laid bare Aemond’s pain and longing, struck a chord within her.

She nodded slowly, her resolve softening. "I never wanted to hurt him, Aegon. I just wanted to protect them all"

"I know," Aegon replied quietly, stepping closer to her. "But keeping them apart is causing more harm than good. If Aemond is kept away from Viserra and Rhaegar any longer, he’s going to have some kind of breakdown. And when that happens-I’m not sure if anyone will be able to bring him back."

Rhaenyra let out a long breath, the weight of Aegon’s words settling heavily on her shoulders.

She looked up at him, seeing the earnestness in his eyes, the desperate hope that she would listen and act before it was too late.

"I’ll send for them," she finally said, her voice soft but firm. "Viserra and Rhaegar can return to the Red Keep”

Aegon’s expression softened with relief, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Thank you. You’re doing the right thing."

Rhaenyra nodded, her mind already racing with the arrangements that needed to be made. "I hope this will be enough to bring him back from the edge."

"It will," Aegon assured her. "Viserra’s love will be enough."

As Aegon left the solar, Rhaenyra sat quietly, the decision she had just made echoing in her mind. She hoped, for Aemond’s sake, that it would be the right one.

Aemond stormed into his chambers, his mood as dark as the night outside. The maid who had been tidying up startled at his entrance, quickly bowing her head.

Before she could offer any words of welcome, Aemond snapped, "Leave. NOW!" His tone left no room for argument.

The maid quickly gathered her things and hurried out of the room, the heavy door closing behind her with a muted thud.

Alone at last, Aemond began to strip off his armour, piece by piece.

The chest plate, the pauldrons, the vambraces, all discarded with little care, until he stood bare in the dim candlelight.

He wrenched off his eyepatch and moved to the basin where a bath had been drawn earlier, the water still warm. He sank into it, letting the heat seep into his tired bones.

For a moment, he closed his eye, trying to shut out the world, trying to wash away the frustration and anger that clung to him like a second skin.

After the bath, Aemond dried himself off and dressed in a loose cotton tunic and sleep pants. He glanced at the food tray the maid had left behind, his stomach growling faintly. He picked at the food, eating only enough to quiet the gnawing hunger before pushing the tray aside.

He tried to settle down with a book, one of the many he had collected over the years, hoping to lose himself in its pages.

But the words blurred before his eye, his thoughts too tangled to focus. The strain in his eye worsened, a dull headache forming at the base of his skull.

With a frustrated sigh, he snapped the book shut and tossed it aside.

He lay down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind racing despite his exhaustion. His thoughts inevitably drifted to Viserra and Rhaegar.

How he missed them. The emptiness in his chest was like a gaping wound, one that no amount of duty or distraction could heal. He felt foolish for being so consumed by it, for feeling so dependent on their presence, but he couldn’t help it. They were his world, and without them, he was lost.

He thought back to the older women he had bedded before Viserra and he realised that whilst they may have taught him how to pleasure a woman, he himself had never experienced true pleasure until he was with Viserra.

The sex with the women felt good at the time, but after it always left him feeling hollow and empty to the point where he thought something was wrong with him, seven knows Aegon offered bragged about his conquests and the delights of the women he bedded, or sometimes the men if his drunken ramblings were anything to go by.

Aemond never truly understood it until Viserra. Fucking her was euphoric, and it always left him wanting more, no matter how many times he sheathed himself inside her, it was this feral need inside of him to possess her at all times.

Daemon told him that Targaryen's would often call to their own, their dragon's blood singing for one another. Maybe that's what is was.

Was it the reason why Daemon was so insistant in his pursuit of Rhaenyra, and why they would often be seen sneaking off somehwere, but then why wasn't Aegon or any of the others like that?

Did it only affect certain Targaryen's or did finding their perfect mate awaken something inside of them?

As he lay there, his thoughts began to spiral. What if something happened to them? What if Viserra fell ill again on Dragonstone, and he wasn’t there to protect her? The thoughts gnawed at him, feeding his anxiety until finally, exhaustion began to pull him under.

His heavy eyelid drooped, and he surrendered to sleep, hoping it would bring him some peace.

But peace was not to be found. His dreams were vivid, almost cruel in their clarity. He dreamt of Viserra and Rhaegar, holding them close, feeling their warmth, their love. For a brief moment, he was content. But then, it twisted into something darker.

He saw Viserra, her face pale and frightened, Rhaegar crying in her arms. Aemond tried to reach them, but his feet were stuck, as if rooted to the ground. No matter how hard he strained, he couldn’t move.

And then Borros Baratheon appeared, his face twisted into a grotesque mockery of life, his dead eyes gleaming with malice.

He wrapped a hand around Viserra’s throat, squeezing as he dragged her into the darkness. 

Rhaegar’s cries for his mother echoed in his ears, desperate and filled with fear. Aemond fought against his invisible restraints, but it was no use.

Just as the nightmare seemed to reach its peak, Aemond suddenly felt a soft touch on his cheek. His heart stuttered as he heard a sweet, familiar voice.

"ñuha jorrāelagon" (My love).

He opened his eye, the nightmare dissolving into nothingness. Before him, sitting on the edge of his bed, were Viserra and Rhaegar.

Viserra’s hand was still on his cheek, her touch warm and real.

Rhaegar, with his bright eyes and innocent smile, threw his little arms around Aemond’s neck, hugging him tightly.

“Kepa” exclaimed Rhaegar (Father).

Aemond sat up, shock and disbelief warring within him. "Am I dreaming?" he asked, his voice hoarse, afraid to believe what his senses were telling him.

Viserra smiled softly. "No, my love. We’re real and we’re home."

Aemond woke late in the morning, sunlight filtering through the thick curtains of his chamber.

He glanced down and saw Rhaegar, fast asleep, snuggled up to him with one hand curled against his chest.

A tender smile tugged at Aemond’s lips as he watched his son, peaceful and content in his slumber.

A faint rustling caught his attention, and he turned his head to see Viserra sitting at the table, absentmindedly picking at the breakfast foods that had been delivered while he was still asleep.

Her hand rested gently on the small swell of her stomach, a sight that made Aemond’s heart skip a beat. He couldn’t tear his eye away from her—Gods, how beautiful she was.

Even in the simplicity of the morning, with her silver hair loose and her expression relaxed, she was a vision of grace and love.

Noticing that he was awake, Viserra looked up and met his gaze. A soft smile spread across her face. “You looked like you needed sleep, so I didn’t want to wake you,” she said quietly, her voice laced with warmth.

Aemond carefully detached himself from Rhaegar, ensuring the boy remained undisturbed, and slipped out of bed.

He crossed the room in a few strides, his focus entirely on Viserra. When he reached her, he bent down and kissed her passionately, pouring all the longing and relief of the past weeks into that single, fervent embrace.

"I’ve missed you," he whispered against her lips, his hand cupping her cheek.

Viserra smiled, her hand coming up to rest over his. “I missed you too,” she murmured back.

Aemond’s gaze dropped to her stomach, his fingers following. He placed his hand gently over the small bump, his touch reverent.

“It’s only been a few weeks” muttered Aemond.

 “I know-” replied Viserra softly.

“Mayhaps there’s more than one babe” whispered Aemond.

“Don’t even joke about that” said Viserra.

Aemond laughed softly before he leaned in and kissed her again, a tender kiss full of love and gratitude.

Then, an idea seemed to occur to him, and he looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Stand up for a moment,” he requested.

Viserra raised an eyebrow, curious but obliging. She stood, and Aemond took her place on the chair, patting his knee invitingly. “Come, sit,” he said, his tone serious despite the playful request.

Viserra let out a soft laugh, shaking her head slightly. “You can’t be serious,” she said, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

Aemond met her gaze with unwavering intensity. “I’m deadly serious.”

Still laughing softly, Viserra gave in and sat down in his lap. She felt his strong arms wrap around her, pulling her close as he pressed his nose into her hair, inhaling her scent deeply.

It was a sensation he had longed for, missed more than anything else in the world.

“Never leave me again,” he muttered against her ear, his voice rough with emotion.

Viserra turned her head slightly, resting it against his. “I won’t,” she promised softly.

Aemond held Viserra close, his arms wrapped securely around her as he pressed a flurry of soft kisses across her face—on her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose.

Each kiss was a whispered promise, a declaration of the depth of his longing. He breathed in her scent, letting it fill his senses, and leaned in to murmur in her ear, “What if I don’t attend to my duties today? What if we just stay here, shut away from the rest of the world?”

Viserra laughed, the sound warm and soothing, like a balm to his soul. “As tempting as that is,” she replied, her voice laced with affection, “I have matters to discuss with my mother, and I promised Rhaegar that he could play with Jaehaerys today.”

Aemond pouted slightly, the image of the two of them alone and undisturbed still lingering in his mind.

But Viserra placed a gentle hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin as she assured him, “We won’t be far from one another. And mayhaps tonight, Rhaegar can sleep in his own chambers, and we can have some time alone.”

He caught the mischievous glint in her eye, the subtle suggestion in her words, and his heart quickened. “I can’t wait,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with desire. “We have a lot of time to make up for.”

Viserra’s smile widened as she nodded in agreement. “It was torture without your touch,” she admitted, her voice soft. “I spent many nights longing for you-my fingers never satisfying me same way yours do”

Aemond’s lips found hers again, a deep, passionate kiss that sent a surge of arousal through him.

He was lost in the feel of her against him, until a knock at the door broke through the haze of their shared desire.

Aemond growled softly, annoyed at the interruption. “What is it?” he called out, his voice tinged with frustration.

Ser Erryk’s voice came through the door, cautious and formal. “My Prince, I was concerned as you are late to attend your duties as Commander of the City Watch.”

Aemond huffed, reluctantly pulling back from Viserra. “I’ll be there as soon as I’m able,” he replied, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. “I slept late.”

Viserra chuckled softly as she adjusted herself in his lap. “It’s just as well we were interrupted,” she teased, her fingers brushing his hair away from his face. “It wouldn’t do to indulge in our desires with Rhaegar still in the room.”

Aemond couldn’t help but smile at her words, leaning into whisper in her ear, “Tonight.”

Viserra nodded, her eyes sparkling with the promise of what was to come. “Tonight,” she echoed softly, sealing the agreement with a gentle kiss.

Alicent stood at the edge of the garden, her hands clasped before her as she watched the scene unfolding before her.

The sunbathed the Red Keep’s gardens in a warm, golden light, casting a soft glow on the vivid green of the grass and the delicate colours of the flowers in bloom.

Viserra was sat beside Helaena on a wooden bench, their heads close together as they spoke quietly, occasionally breaking into gentle laughter.

Nearby, Rhaegar was running across the lawn, his small legs carrying him after Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, their high-pitched giggles filling the air.

Maelor sat contentedly beside his mother, playing with his toys, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The sounds of children’s laughter echoed through the garden, mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the city beyond the walls.

Alicent allowed herself a rare moment of peace, letting the joyful sounds wash over her. For a brief moment, it felt as though the weight she had carried for so many years had been lifted.

There had been a time when such a scene seemed impossible. The realm had been on the brink of war, sister against brother, a brutal fight for a crown that now rested on Rhaenyra’s head.

Her father Otto had been so certain that Rhaenyra’s reign would mean the end for them all. He had warned her that Rhaenyra would demand Aegon’s execution, that she would call for the blood of her children to secure her succession.

But Rhaenyra had proven him wrong. She had been merciful, more than Alicent had ever imagined possible. Aegon had been spared, and so had her other children. And now, there was a sort of unity among them—a fragile peace that had taken root, nourished by the passage of time.

Alicent’s gaze drifted to Rhaegar, who had just tackled Jaehaerys to the ground in a fit of laughter. The boy’s silvery hair gleamed in the sunlight, and Alicent’s heart clenched with a mixture of emotions.

Rhaegar was Aemond’s son—her grandson. How had she not seen it before? The resemblance was undeniable. The sharp features, the intense gaze, even at such a young age.

He was his father’s son in every way that mattered.

Aemond’s choices had pained her deeply. His involvement with Viserra had been a scandal, one that Alicent had struggled to accept.

The son she had raised to be dutiful and restrained had acted out of passion and desire, entangling himself in a web that could never truly be undone. But now, looking at Rhaegar, Alicent saw beyond the mistakes, beyond the scandal.

She saw a future, a legacy. Rhaegar was a bridge between two worlds—between the blacks and the greens, between her son and Rhaenyra’s daughter. He was proof that something good could come from the chaos, that there was hope for a future.

Alicent sighed softly, her heart heavy with the complexity of it all. She had been a fool not to see it sooner, to recognize the bond between Aemond and Viserra, to see Rhaegar for who he truly was.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she continued to watch, feeling a warmth in her chest that had been absent for far too long.

For now, she would hold on to this moment, to the sound of children’s laughter, and to the hope that the future might be kinder to them all.

Later that evening, Aemond sat tall on his horse, the reins held loosely in his gloved hands as he looked down at Viserra, who was standing beside him with a curious smile.

With one smooth motion, he reached down and offered his hand to her. She took it, and he effortlessly pulled her up into the saddle behind him.

As she settled into place, her arms instinctively wrapped around his waist, and she leaned forward, pressing her cheek against his back. “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice filled with playful curiosity.

Aemond glanced over his shoulder at her, a small, secretive smile playing on his lips. “You’ll see,” he replied, his tone teasingly mysterious.

With a gentle nudge, Aemond urged the horse into a trot. “Open the gates!” he called out, his voice commanding as they approached the main gates of the Red Keep.

The heavy iron gates creaked open, and the horse moved smoothly out onto the cobbled streets of King’s Landing.

As they left the bustling city behind, the sounds of the market and the chatter of the people faded away, replaced by the rhythmic clopping of the horse’s hooves on the ground.

Viserra tightened her hold on him, feeling the warmth of his body through his leathers. She closed her eyes briefly, savouring the moment—the freedom and the closeness.

The road soon gave way to a grassy meadow, Aemond guided the horse through the tall grass until they reached the centre of the meadow, where Vhagar and Vermithor were resting side by side, their eyes following the approaching pair.

Aemond brought the horse to a stop and dismounted first. He then turned and extended his hand to Viserra, helping her down from the saddle. Once her feet were on the ground, she looked up at him, her eyes filled with wonder.

“I thought we could use some time away,” Aemond said softly, his hand still holding hers as they stood before the dragons. “Just us. Somewhere we can be together without the world watching.”

Viserra smiled up at him, her heart swelling with love and gratitude. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, stepping closer to him.

“Helaena has agreed to watch Rhaegar for the night,” he said, his voice low and gentle.

 “That was good of her-”replied Viserra, a smile spreading across her lips.

“Let’s get going, shall we?” said Aemond.

With a determined nod, Viserra turned toward Vermithor and began the familiar climb up the rope ladder to the dragon’s saddle.

She moved carefully, the small swell of her belly making the climb a bit more challenging than usual. Halfway up, she paused to catch her breath, her hand resting lightly on her stomach.

Aemond, standing at Vhagar’s side, noticed her hesitation. “Are you alright?” he called up to her, concern lacing his voice.

Viserra glanced down at him and gave a reassuring smile. “I’m fine,” she replied, determined to reach the saddle.

With renewed effort, she continued her climb until she finally settled into Vermithor’s saddle, securing herself with the straps.

Aemond watched her closely, only mounting Vhagar once he was sure she was safely seated. He climbed the ladder with the ease of long practice, settling into the saddle with a sense of anticipation.

Turning his head, he caught Viserra’s gaze and gave her a small nod. “Follow me,” he said, his voice carrying over the wind.

Viserra took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she felt Vermithor shift beneath her. The powerful dragon roared, his massive wings unfurling as he prepared to take flight.

Vhagar was already in the air, her enormous wings slicing through the sky as she ascended.

Not one to be outdone, Vermithor followed, launching himself into the air with a thunderous roar that echoed across the landscape.

The two dragons flew side by side, the sensation of flying together, of being so high above the world, sent a thrill through Viserra. She could feel the exhilaration in her veins, her dragon’s blood singing with delight as the wind whipped through her hair.

Beside her, Aemond was similarly enthralled, the tension of the past weeks momentarily forgotten as they soared through the skies.

After an hour of glorious flight, the dragons began to descend, circling a secluded spot near the river Wendwater. The area was serene, far from the prying eyes of court and the pressures of duty.

The dragons landed gracefully on the soft sand near the riverbank, their wings folding as they settled down.

Viserra carefully unfastened the straps and began her descent down Vermithor’s ladder. Once her feet touched the ground, she looked around, her eyes wide with curiosity.

The peacefulness of the river, combined with the rustling of leaves in the trees, created an atmosphere of calm that contrasted sharply with the bustling life of the Red Keep.

She didn’t have to wait long before Aemond joined her, landing beside her with a soft thud. He smiled as he took her hand, their fingers interlocking effortlessly.

Without a word, he led her toward a tent nestled among the trees, its entrance partially hidden by the thick canopy above. The tent was simple yet inviting, a small sanctuary away from the demands of their world.

Aemond held the tent flap open for Viserra, his eyes never leaving her as she stepped inside. The interior was cozy, with furs and blankets spread across the floor.

It was a space meant for them, a place where they could be themselves without the weight of crowns and expectations.

“Is this where you and Aegon disappeared off to earlier?” asked Viserra.

“Possibly” replied Aemond smiling.

“I think it’s wonderful”

Aemond gently pulled Viserra into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Tonight, it’s just us,” he whispered, his voice full of promise and affection.

Viserra smiled up at him, her heart full as she leaned into his embrace. “Just us,” she echoed softly, feeling the tension of the past weeks melt away.

Aemond pressed a tender kiss to Viserra's lips, his touch filled with reverence and longing. "I want to make love to my wife amongst the stars," he whispered against her lips, his voice full of desire and affection.

Viserra's smile was radiant, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Then let's do just that," she replied softly, her heart fluttering in her chest.

Aemond nodded, brushing a stray strand of silver hair from her face before reluctantly pulling away.

“Wait here,” he said, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned and disappeared into the trees.

Viserra watched him go, her hands resting protectively on the small swell of her stomach, feeling the life that grew within her.

It wasn’t long before Aemond returned, his arms laden with wood for the fire. He dropped the bundle onto the ground not far from the tent’s entrance, his movements efficient yet filled with purpose.

Turning toward Vhagar, who watched them with keen eyes, he gave the command with a firm voice. “Dracarys.”

Vhagar, ever obedient, opened her massive maw and unleashed a stream of fire onto the wood.

The flames roared to life instantly, crackling and snapping as they devoured the dry branches. Aemond chuckled, waving his arms to ward off the intense heat.

"Little enthusiastic on the fire there, old girl," he commented, his voice light with amusement.

Viserra couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, her laughter filling the air with a melody that Aemond found irresistible.

There was no sweeter sound in the world than her laughter, a sound that resonated in his soul and made him feel more alive than he ever had.

As the fire settled into a warm, steady burn, Aemond turned his gaze back to Viserra. She stood near the tent, bathed in the soft glow of the firelight.

Her braided silver hair shimmered like moonlight against the backdrop of the darkening sky. She was dressed in her riding leathers, the familiar outfit clinging to her form, accentuating the slight swell of her stomach.

That small curve was a constant reminder that she carried his child, their second, and the knowledge filled him with a fierce, possessive pride, his blood growing hot under his skin.

Aemond’s breath hitched as he took in the sight of her, his pulse quickening with each step he took toward her. She was so beautiful, so utterly perfect in every way.

The firelight danced across her features, highlighting the softness of her expression, the curve of her lips, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. She was his—completely, undeniably his—and the arousal that surged within him was impossible to contain.

With a predator's grace, Aemond stalked toward her, his single eye dark with desire. Each step was deliberate, filled with purpose, as he closed the distance between them.

The fire crackled behind him, casting long shadows across the ground, but all he could see was her—his wife, his love, the mother of his children.

As he reached her, Aemond wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest. His hands were firm yet gentle as they slid down her back, feeling the warmth of her body through the leather of her riding clothes.

He pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was both passionate and tender, pouring all his love and longing into the connection. He kissed her with an intensity that left them both breathless, his heart pounding in his chest as he felt the heat of her body against his.

“I can’t wait any longer,” Aemond whispered, his voice rough with need. “I want you, Viserra. I need you.” His hands moved to her hips, guiding her closer to him, their bodies pressed together in a way that made his desire almost unbearable.

Viserra’s breath hitched as she felt the heat of his arousal against her, her own body responding to his touch. She reached up, threading her fingers through his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervour, her heart racing with the anticipation of what was to come.

“Then take me, Aemond,” she whispered against his lips, her voice trembling with a mixture of love and desire.

Aemond backed Viserra towards the entrance of the tent, their hands pulling at each other’s riding leather’s, removing them as quickly as they could until they were a heaped mess on the floor.

“-Aemond” moaned Viserra as he placed his hands on her shoulders and encouraged her to lay on the heap of fur blankets.

He gently covered her body with his as he sucked and licked at the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Viserra moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

Ooo A-Aemond” exclaimed Viserra as he moved down her body, nibbling her at her skin as he went.

He paused at her breasts, his tongue taking turns to swirl around her rosy nipples.

“I can’t wait for these to fill with milk-” groaned Aemond as he pressed his face into the soft pillowy mounds.

“Me either” replied Viserra softly, she knew Aemond enjoyed tasting her mother’s milk, but she enjoyed the closeness and also the relief he would give her, as nursing often left her full and sore.

“So beautiful” whispered Aemond as he lowered himself and pressed a series of gentle kisses to the swell of her stomach.

“T-t-tickles” laughed Viserra as the ends of Aemond’s long silver hair swept across her skin.

“Hmmm”

“Aemond” gasped Viserra as she felt him move lower.

“Such a pretty cunny " breathed Aemond spitting on her before he ran the flat of his tongue up Viserra’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Viserra her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it my sweet. Let me hear you”. 

“YES! It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Viserra.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Viserra, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Viserra. "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh, fuck" whimpered Viserra; her chest heaving.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me” moaned Aemond.

Gods his cock was so hard, it was almost painful.

Finally, he felt Viserra’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Her back arched taut as a bow, and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at his wife whilst she came.

Soon her tense body went slack and pliant, her chest heaving with every breath.

Aemond slowly moved up Viserra’s body, pressing kisses to her soft body as he went, until he reached his desired destination.

“Kostilus issa jorrāelagon” whispered Viserra as she writhed against him (Please my love).

Aemond couldn't wait any longer. He surged forward and sheathed his hard cock into Viserra’s soaked cunt causing her to shriek in surprise.

“That’s it, take all of me” moans Aemond as he begins to move.

Viserra can’t think of anything but the deep penetrating thrusts that greet her, causing her to wail and moan, causing tears form in her eyes, before running down her cheeks.

Aemond wanted to fuck her hard, but he knows he can’t, he doesn’t want to harm the babe.

But she’s testing his restraint as he feels her clenching around him.

“YES! YES! AEMOND! I CAN TAKE IT. HARDER. PLEASE” screams Viserra.

“FUCK!” shouts Aemond.

Aemond lifts Viserra’s legs onto his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock a little harder into her soaking wet cunny.

“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Viserra.

“That’s it baby-come for me” exclaimed Aemond as he felt her clenching on his cock.

His wife always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

Aemond could feel the tension in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to come. Not yet.

“I love you-I fucking love you” groaned Aemond as he moved Viserra’s legs off his shoulders and manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his hands kneading the soft flesh.

“P-Please Aemond” begged Viserra, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the soft fur blankets.

Aemond stuck his finger in his mouth before he ran it over her puckered hole.

“Is this alight?” breathed Aemond.

“Y-Yes. Put it inside me. I can take it” whimpered Viserra.

“Tell me-Tell me if it’s too much” replied Aemond as he slowly pressed his finger inside her.

“Ooh Aemond, yes. Please. More” babbled Viserra as he moved his finger in and out before adding a second.

“Your doing so well-my darling” moaned Aemond as he moved his fingers inside his wife, his other hand taking his cock and sheathing himself inside her once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

Viserra arched her back and screamed as Aemond thrust into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed through the air.

“Fuck-that’s it” moaned Aemond, his fingers still curling inside her.

“P-Please. Valzȳrys” whimpered Viserra (Husband).

Aemond removed his fingers and grasped hold of her hips, thrusting a little faster then he was before, his stomach muscles tensing.

He then took hold of her hair, twisting his fingers in the messy braid before he slowly pulled her backwards, her back colliding with his sweaty chest.

Aemond held Viserra tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“Give it to me Issa zaldrīzes” pleaded Viserra her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder (My dragon).

“Give me another-come for me again” whispered Aemond as he slid his hand under the swell of her stomach and used his long fingers to stroke her pearl.

“Oh-yes-oh” moaned Viserra as her peak suddenly erupted, her hands tangling in Aemond’s hair as she pulled him in for a messy kiss.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside her.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from her wet heat and laid on the blankets.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Viserra breathlessly.

“Ride me baby” replied Aemond as he manoeuvred Viserra on top of him.

His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

“Oh” gasped Viserra as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it ñuha nūmio, take it. Take all of me” (My pearl).

Aemond placed his hands on her hips and marvelled at his wife as she rode him.

Viserra dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Viserra as he moved his hands to her breasts, rolling her rosy nipples between his long fingers.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me again” exclaimed Aemond.

Viserra’s thighs began to burn, as she felt another climax approach.

“AEMOND” screamed Viserra.

“I’m going to fill you with my seed-”

“Y-yessss Aemond, I want it-I want you-” babbled Viserra as he moved her back onto the ground his cock never leaving her warmth as he moved inside her, chasing his own end.

“God. I love you- I love you-” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed.

The morning sun cast a soft, golden light over the quiet landscape as Viserra stirred from her slumber.

Her hand instinctively reached out to the space beside her, but instead of finding Aemond, she was met with the cool, empty fur blankets.

"Ñuha jorrāelagon" she murmured softly as she pulled a blanket around her naked body and rose from the warmth of their bed (My love).

Stepping out of the tent, she noticed that fresh wood had been added to the fire, the flames crackling merrily in the early morning chill.

"Aemond?" she called out, her voice carrying through the still air.

Viserra scanned the area, her eyes falling on the slumbering form of Vhagar, whose massive breaths disturbed the loose sand around her. Vermithor, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Just as she was about to call out again, a sudden shadow loomed over her. Viserra barely had time to react before a heavy thud echoed through the air, and the body of a dead stag dropped to the ground in front of her, its blood spraying across her face and chest.

She screamed in shock, stumbling back as she tried to wipe the blood from her face.

Vermithor landed gracefully beside Vhagar, trilling affectionately as he folded his wings. Viserra grimaced, still wiping the blood from her skin, and shot a glare at her dragon.

"Thanks for that," she muttered dryly, and Vermithor cooed in response, as if proud of his offering. Vhagar, unimpressed by the disturbance, opened one eye, huffed in annoyance, and promptly returned to her slumber.

Aemond emerged from the sea just as Viserra was recovering from the shock, his naked body glistening with seawater as he approached her with a carefree smile.

"Aren't you a sight," he teased, laughter dancing in his eye as he took in her blood-splattered appearance.

Viserra scoffed, still a little rattled. "I guess Vermithor thought we needed feeding,"

Aemond chuckled, nodding in agreement. "He's not wrong. It's not good for you or the babe to go without food for much longer," he remarked, glancing at the dead animal "A stag, how fitting."

Viserra nodded, her initial shock fading as she found herself smiling at the situation. With a playful shrug, she let the blanket slip from her shoulders, revealing her bare form to the morning light.

She couldn't help but laugh as she noticed the way Aemond suddenly stopped what he was doing, his gaze fixed on her, captivated by the sight.

She blew him a kiss, enjoying the effect she had on him, and turned toward the sea. The water was cold but refreshing as she waded in, washing away the blood and grime from her skin. The chill was invigorating, waking her senses and leaving her feeling renewed.

When she returned to the camp, Aemond had moved the stag a safe distance from the tent. A large slab of meat now hung over the fire, cooking slowly.

"I didn't know you could cook," Viserra remarked, her tone light as she joined him by the fire.

Aemond grinned, clearly pleased with himself as he offered her another blanket "What can I say? I'm a man of many talents," he replied, his voice laced with that familiar confidence.

"Indeed, you are," Viserra agreed, leaning in to kiss him gently.

After finishing their meal, Viserra and Aemond sat close together, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the comfort of each other’s presence.

Viserra rested her head on Aemond's shoulder, feeling utterly content.

But then, the tranquil atmosphere was interrupted by the first few drops of rain. They hit the ground softly at first, then more rapidly, until the rain began to pour down in earnest.

Viserra glanced up at the sky, expecting Aemond to suggest retreating to the tent, but instead, he stood and held out his hand.

“Dance in the rain with me,” he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

“There’s no music-”

“We can make our own” whispered Aemond.

Viserra hesitated for only a moment, the warmth of the blanket tempting her to stay put. But the look in Aemond’s eye was irresistible, and she found herself smiling as she abandoned the blanket and took his hand.

The rain drenched them both as they moved together, their naked bodies swaying in the downpour.

They giggled like children, spinning and twirling, water streaming down their faces and bodies.

The cool rain on their heated skin was exhilarating, and they pressed kisses to each other’s wet faces, tasting the sweetness of the rain mixed with their shared laughter.

Then, without warning, Aemond stopped. He slowly descended onto one knee; his eye full of emotion as he placed his forehead against Viserra's swollen stomach.

The rain continued to fall around them, but it seemed like time itself had paused.

“Marry me” Aemond whispered, his voice low and filled with longing.

Viserra’s heart skipped a beat. “We’re already married,” she replied softly, her hand resting gently on his head.

“Yes,” Aemond agreed, looking up at her with intensity. “In the ways of Old Valyria. But after our babe is born, I want to wed you in the eyes of the Seven. I want the realm to see that you are mine and I am yours.”

Viserra’s eyes filled with tears, though whether from the rain or emotion, she couldn’t tell. “Yes-I’ll marry you” she said, her voice trembling with happiness.

“Y-Yes?” questioned Aemond.

“Yes-yes-yes” exclaimed Viserra.

Aemond stood swiftly, pulling her into a passionate kiss as the rain continued to pour down on them, soaking them both.

The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in that perfect moment.

But then, the rain abruptly stopped.

They broke their kiss and looked up to see that Vhagar had extended her wing over them, shielding them from the rain.

The mighty beast huffed affectionately, her huge eyes watching them with a surprising gentleness.

“You big softie,” Aemond laughed, looking up at his dragon with affection.

“Just like her rider,” Viserra teased, her eyes sparkling with love.

Aemond smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I say we change that,” he said, taking Viserra’s hand and guiding it to his already half hard cock.

Viserra laughed, her voice a soft melody in the quiet of the night. “You’re insatiable,” she murmured, though her tone was full of affection.

“Only when it comes to you, my darling,” Aemond replied, his voice husky with desire.

[misguidedasgardian]

The Hour of the Wolf

Prologue

MASTERLIST

Summary: The dark hours before the end of Aegon Targaryen II

Warnings: Cursing, war, death, mentions of killings, genocide and war, threats, talks about bedding and non concensual sexual relationships, threats of mutilation, SPOILERS for ASOIAF, and Fire & Blood, also, might spoil House of the Dragon 

Wordcount: 1.2 k

Notes: A bit short, but I'm setting a tone here

Corlys could sense the tension in the room, everyone, at least, the survivors, were dangerously quiet, they shared concerned looks between them all.

Alicent’s mouth always seemed to be twisted in inhumane ways, but now… the edges of her mouth almost falls down of her face by her chin

“All the traitors are going to die”, said Aegon, twisting his hands, playing with the rings he had placed in his fingers… trying to hide the fact that they were burnt, the skin melted. He used now high colored shirts and vests, but the still raw, tender skin that was never going to heal, could still be seen in the side of his face, no matter he had decided to let his wild hair ungroomed, fall long framed his chubby face.

“We will be overrun”, admitted Corlys, “A Northerner army, a big one, is passing trough Harrenhal right now, they had been joined by people in the Riverlands that still are faithful to Rhaenyra’s cause, and also from the Vale in the Narrow Sea, we will be defeated, and we will burn inside this walls”, he sentenced 

“I think the Velaryon Fleet needs incentive, Lord Corlys, to face the traitors of the Vale”, two years ago, the council would have laughed to the drunken fool’s face that called himself King, but as they looked into his wild lilac eyes… no one laughed

Corlys was the only one to dare directly into his eyes

In defiance

Say it

He begged him with a silent threat in his dark eyes

Do it

Threaten me

“I think we need to send a little message…”, he continued, “I want my little nephew’s cock on a platter, and that little whore… in my chambers by the time we finish here, maybe that way, if we send them a set of sheets with my niece’s maidenhead in them, perhaps we will tell the fucking traitors what will happen to them all”

“Take the black, your grace, step down”

“I will kill them, to every last trace of my cunt of a half sister, i will take away the reason for their rebellion, they were be no other contender to the throne but me, and I will marry Cassandra Baratheon, she will give me true, strong heirs, worthy of the Iron Throne” 

“Your grace”, he said slowly. “maybe, telling them of your marriage with the princess, instead of her bloodied sheets would be more effective”, he counseled

“He is right Aegon”, said Alicent softly, “an alliance between the two branches of the family will ease them, and Cregan Stark, when knowing Rhaenyra’s blood will sit on the Iron Throne one day, he will go back North”, she said hopefully, she placed her hand on his son forearm, but he pulled it, rejecting his mother’s touch 

“Bring her to my chambers tonight”, he said to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he didn't like it, but nodded nonetheless without saying anything

“Aegon”, reasoned Alicent, “she is very delicate, and an innocent in all of this”

“Isn’t she the daughter of my whore of a sister?”, he mocked, Alicent said nothing as she played with her fingers nervously, “isn’t she what you called her a thousand times over? a bastard?”

“That doesn’t mean… we will be surrounded”

“Call in Lord Borros then, they will attack the traitors from the back, and killed them against the city walls”, he mocked

“Lord Borros is dead your grace”, said Corlys, playing with the dragon eye in front of him, he then stopped, and look up at him, he found the twisted King looking back at him with a sick smile 

“Right, sometimes I forget”, he said dismissively, he took the chalice of wine next to him and took it to his lips

5 minutes without drinking

A new record 

“the Lannisters then”, he said

“By the time the Lannister piece together the scraps left of their army, our head will be at stakes at the gates of the city”, Lord Corlys debated, Larys Strong only got quiet, looking to the left and to the right, who was next to speak, who was next to loose his temper. It was truly entertaining 

“We hold the city”, he mocked, “we will close the gates and those savages will be scratching their heads, wondering how they could breach the walls, they don’t have siege weapons

“What they have is the rest of the country’s resources, while they starved us to death”, he fought again

“Not if your armada defeats the Arryn’s, as they should”

Then finally, his crazy, deranged eyes stopped at the face of Corlys Velaryon

“I will cut your granddaughter's ear and sent it to Alyn Velaryon, to go and encourage him to fight the fucking traitors”

That was it

“That is not going to be necessary, your grace, Alyn will fight the Arryn fleet, there is no doubt in my mind, I will send word to him personally”

“there shouldn’t be no need”, he snapped, “I am the King!”, he said, pointing to his own chest, “and they are loyal to me, they will fight”, Corlys nodded 

That was it then

They shared looks with Tyland Lannister

His fate was set 

The small council meeting was done, and everyone return to their chambers, it was already the hour of the owl, the Keep was dark, very lighten up, it lost ghostly, like it had been abandoned 

Corlys walked silently to his chambers, as a maid passed by him, he gave her a small sack and nodded, she barely looked at him and walked away

It was sealed 

“Where is the princess?”, he asked the guard posted at her rooms, he shook his head, the Sea Snake barely nodded, “keep her there”, he commanded, and kept walking

He needed his wits, he was going to need every ounce of diplomacy he still held to survive the coming weeks

A pack of wolves was coming

And they were going to ravage every Green that still drew breath

There had never lived a Stark who forgot an oath

Cregan Stark had promised Rhaenyra he was going to raise an army and march south to guard her and destroy her enemies that still were raising arms

Rhaenyra was dead

And yet the wolf was coming to fulfill his promise 

. . .

“Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros”, she sang softly, grabbing tightly the small incense in her hand, “Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis”, she kept lighting up the candles, “Hen ñuhā elēnī, Perzyssy vestretis”, she wavered, looking up at the skull of Balerion, “Se gēlȳn irūdaks. Ānogrose, Perzyro udrȳssi”, she moved to the next table, lighting up the small candles one by one, it could be maddening, but she had been here every night, “Ezīmptos laehossi”, she continued, “Hārossa letagon, Aōt vāedan, Hae mērot gierūli”, she looked up at the huge skull again, hoping, praying for something, like he was going to brought the black dread back to life

“Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī”, she finished the song with a single tear falling down her cheek

“Balerion, Jaes morgho, mazēdas ñuha lentor, sir gūrogon zirȳla, nyke jorepagon syt se morghon hen dārys”

[Balerion, god of death, he took my family, now take him, I pray to you for the death of the Usurper], she whispered 

She looked down at the candles, as she played with her fingers in the small flames, she could feel nothing, her skin didn't melt, unlike her sleeve

“Morghūljagon”, she whispered, extinguishing the flames from a simple blow of her lips 

Die.

[rachelbethhines]

10 Ways to Fix Cassandra's Arc

From Closest to Canon to Complete Re-Write

Cassandra Wants to be the Hero - It's literally all set up right there in the text. Cass doesn't think Rapunzel is mature enough to solve the problem of the rocks, and therefore she steals the moonstone in order to stop them herself. Only to find she can't control the rocks/moonstone either. Of course this route would require the rocks remaining an active threat throughout season two and the narrative being willing to call out both Rapunzel's and Cassandra's toxic traits.

Make Cassandra's Injury Relevant - In the original show Cassandra's burnt hand is all but forgotten by season three and barely has any real impact on her during season two. Just make the injury an actual problem that she can't overcome through simple training, or since it's magic, make it a curse that could slowly kill her over time. Now the moonstone becomes a 'cure' with a high price to pay for using it. Simple.

Have Zhan Tiri Actually Lie - Zhan Tiri's 'manipulation' in the series proper is a whole lot of nothing because she just tells the truth, which the audience is suppose to take at face value, and doesn't really offer anything to Cassandra that she would logically want. Have her lie about Gothel. Have her present half-truths about the royals. Have her promise something of actual worth to Cass, like fixing her hand or making her the hero.

Have Cassandra Agree with the Other Villains - Forget Zhan Tiri altogether and have Cassandra team up with Varian and/or Lady Caine. Have her come to realize that Corona's government is flawed and not the right and just system she was raised to believe in. Of course this requires criticizing King Frederic and Corona's class system.

Have Cassandra Save Rapunzel While Hiding Her Past - Keep the Gothel twist, but make Cassandra ashamed of it. She's not after mommy's love, but she is trying to prevent Rapunzel from dying by trying to fuse with the moonstone. So what if the world burns? Her sister is safe. Besides, she can keep the moonstone under control... right?

Possessed Cassandra - I think this was the original plan until the last minute re-writes with Varian. But have either the moonstone or Zhan Tiri brainwash Cass and force her to do their bidding. This does take agency away from her but makes her less culpable of her actions. That's why everyone is insistent on 'saving her'.

Make Cassandra and Rapunzel Actual Sisters - Instead of being adopted by Cap, have Cassandra be adopted by the royals. Have her be the child trained to be queen someday all her life, only to have Rapunzel thrust into that position due to birthright despite not really wanting it. Now suddenly all of their pissing contests with each other makes sense. Cassandra may or may not really want to be queen, but she feels she's being replaced by this sister shes never known. Now throw in the Gothel twist and things get even more complicated.

Cassandra is the True Heir to the Dark Kingdom - It's now Cass's duty to protect the moonstone from Rapunzel. It's her heritage and birthright to wear it. You can either keep Eugene as her brother, or drop that aspect of his arc altogether.

Saporian Cassandra - Somewhat playing into Cass's 'wants to be a hero' aspect, only her motives are now about calling out the injustice that Corona's royalty has inflicted on her people. Of course this requires criticizing King Frederic and Corona's class system.

Don't Make Cassandra the Villain At All - Don't have her steal the moonstone. Don't have her betray Rapunzel. Don't try to force them to be 'sisters'. Let her just be the cool best friend that remains by Raps side and finds her own self-worth through service to others instead of seeking glory and praise all the time.

[sweetbonniebel]

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

five

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader (platonic), Qoren Martell x reader

Masterlist <-previous , next->

110 AC King's Landing

You noticed Rhaenyra sitting on her balcony a book in her lap. You smiled and took a seat next to the silver haired girl.

"Rhaenyra" You smiled and the heir snapped her head from the tome.

"Is there something you need?" She asked

"Can't I visit my favourite niece?" You laughed and Rhaenyra chuckled. "I actually came to propose expanding your own court."

The realm's delight raised her eyebrows a curious expression etched on her Valyrian features.

"In what way?"

"As the heir to the iron throne you should build your own court. Invite the daughters of powerful lords to serve as your ladies in waiting or companions. They will secure loyalties of the great houses." You explained

"And who do you propose? I know you already have a list of candidates, their flaws and strengths memorised." She jested and you laughed, it was true your spies have told you everything you need.

"Lord Maths Tyrell has a sister, Elinor Tyrell. Lynara Stark the cousin of Lord Rickon. Your mother's half sister Elys has two daughters perhaps we could invite the three of them I know that they have been quite close as children." Rhaenyra visibly saddened at the mention of her late mother "Borros Baratheon has five daughters I would invite the oldest Cassandra and the youngest Floris, I know you hold disdain towards the Lannisters but they are rich in gold the crown does not posses. Lord Tymond has only one daughter Jocasta she is only nine years of age nonetheless we have to have a ward for the south. The Tullys do not have daughter but we could invite their vassals like house Blackwood, Mallister and Mooton. Lord Veron Greyjoy has twin daughters Lanna and Margot, I think it would be unfair if we separate them" Rhaenyra nodded approvingly.

"And what of the minor houses?" She asked

"I have already sent word to the minor houses with the invite to kings landing, their daughters will serve you and their sons have been offered squire positions of famous knights." You said, the responses have not yet arrived but you knew all of them would be positive. They could not refuse the crown.

"That is good and you know all of these people?" She mused and you nodded.

"Not personally, but whatever my spiders hear I hear." You said and Rhaenyra chuckled. "I shall write to the houses in your steed you will have to seal the letters... Rhaenyra?"

"Yes?"

"I wish to take Aegon with me to Sunspear to be fostered."

"Do you think that Alicent and Otto will agree?" She asked.

"It does not matter if they agree or not. If Viserys agrees the matter is settled."

Rhaenyra nodded playing with the rings on the fingers.

"While on the subject of family I thought that we could pay a visit to the Velaryon's to mend the rift between our two Valyrian houses."

"Rhaenys hates me..." The realms delight whispered.

"She does not hate you, Rhaenys is... conflicted. The realm refused to crown her as heir but she watched as you accomplished what she could not." You liked the dark haired woman, she was strong yet kind. Despite the loss of her inheritance she remained proud and important at court. "Befriending Rhaenys could also provide support from the Baratheons. They posses Valyrian blood and have been our allies since Aegon the Conqueror." 

"Shall we send word to Driftmark to prepare for our arrival?" Rhaenyra asked, a small smile on her lips, you nodded approvingly.

...

The dragon keepers prepared the bronze fury and the golden lady for travel. The two dragons got on exceptionally well, unusual for their species.

"Dohaeragon Vermithor." One of the elder dragon keepers said, y/n noticing the scene interrupted with anger bubbling in her insides. (Serve)

"Zaldrīzoti gaomagon daor dohaeragon" y/n raised her voice, she ran up to her steed dismissing the dragon keepers. Rhaenyra chuckled and mounted her own dragon, Syrax roared happily. (Dragons do not serve.)

"Ivestragī's sōvegon ñuha raqiros" y/n said atop her steed. Vermithor roared and straightened his wings. The bronze fury took off along the golden lady. (Let's fly my friend.)

...

Driftmark is an island in black water bay, the seat of house Velaryon. Next to Drfitmark was Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen. The two Valyrian houses always were close.

Vermithor and Syrax flew alongside each other, the endless teal sea stretching under them. A comforting breeze caressed your cheeks, you could smell the salt in the air and see the mountains of Driftmark in the distance.

Banners of a silver seahorse on sea green background stood proudly at the entrance of castle Driftmark. You and Rhaenyra walked confidently towards the gates, your dragons circling the island flying towards Meleys, Seasmoke and Vhagar.

"Cousin!" You said happily walking towards the black haired woman, she smiled slightly hugging your form. "It is so good to see you."

"Princess Rhaenyra." Rhaenys spoke eyeing the girl. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence."

"Princess Rhaenys." Rhaenyra stared "We have come here to offer a truce."

"A truce?" Rhaenys questioned, hiding her curiosity. She invited the two princesses towards the main hall of castle Driftmark. A servant placed pies, cakes and other dishes along with wine.

"We have never been close..." The heir begun "And I'd like to change that. I know that you feel stripped of your inheritance, but you can't change history. I think that we could help each other."

"With what could you possibly help me?" The older woman asked, she glanced at the servants standing near the walls of the chambers. "Leave us." She ordered

"Cousin you see what happens at court." You said, staring into the violet eyes of the Queen who never was. "Our house grows weaker everyday, the Hightowers claim more and more power. We need to unite the blood of old Valyria." Rhaenys raised an eyebrow, sipping her wine.

"How do you propose we do that?"

"I suggest inviting Laena as Rhaenyra's lady in waiting." You proposed, Rhaenys nodded but pressed the matter further.

"And what of my son?" She questioned.

"Perhaps an alliance could be made." Rhaenyra said, you looked curiously at your niece. She has not mentioned any alliance before. "As you know my father intends for my to marry, thankfully he has given me the right to choose my royal consort."

Your eyes widened at Rhaenyra's words, it would make a great political move but her aversion towards marriage prevented that. Now she was proposing an engagement herself?

"Your son Laenor would become my royal consort our children would become Kings, uniting our two houses." The heir spoke.

"I would have to consult with my husband." Rhaenys said, but deep down you knew that they cannot refuse such a match.

"And where is lord Corlys I would like to pay my respects." You asked but Rhaenys sighed.

"He is deeply injured and the maester's said that he should not take any visitors. But I will pass the message." Rhaenys said and left the hall.

...

You watched as Rhaenyra and Laenor walked on the sandy shore of the sea, engaged in conversation. You glanced from the balcony of your chambers. A knock interrupted your observations, you walked towards the doors opening them to reveal Laena.

"Please come in." The silver haired woman walked inside. Her teal dress flowed elegantly behind her. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I came to visit you, cousin. We have not seen each other since I was considered as a possible Queen." Laena said and took a seat.

"In retrospect if you had been given the choice now, would you marry Viserys?" You ask Laena shrugged her shoulders.

"If I was given the choice I do not think so." She responded.

"You wouldn't want to be Queen?" You asked curiously.

"Too much responsibilities, I would not be able to ride Vhagar instead I would have to entertain dull ladies. And the realm would except me to constantly squeeze out heirs." You nodded at her reasoning, you knew that some courtiers proposed you as a possible wife to Viserys but he quickly shut down those ideas.

"Then I am happy to say that Rhaenyra would not strip you of your right to bond with your dragon, perhaps we could fly together some time." You proposed and the Velaryon smiled.

"I hope we become friends." She said and you nodded.

"I would like that."

...

Coming back to King's Landing with Laena and her mount Vhagar certainly surprised the small folk as well as the court. The Velaryon and Targaryen walked together engrossed in conversation, you however departed from the two girls. Viserys was easily impressionable, Otto didn't have to try hard to manipulate him. So you needed to be quicker.

"Princess y/n Targaryen, your grace." The kings guards announced opening the heavy doors to Viserys's chambers.

"Your grace." you said bowing slightly. Viserys laughed and ushered you inside. " I come bearing good news."

"I am eager to hear them then." Viserys smiled, continuing to work on his old Valyria sculpture.

"Rhaenyra has proposed to marry Laenor Velaryon." His grace whipped his head in your direction. Surprise etched on his features.

"Really?" He asked.

"Yes, I think it is a good match. The Velaryons are the richest house in the realm, they are the blood of old Valyria and they have three dragons." The king nodded "Rhaenys said she has to consult with Corlys, once the word arrives you should officially bethrode the two."

"I will do so, yes." Viserys muttered

"Were you looking for houses were Aegon and Aemond could be fostered?" You asked changing the topic, Viserys raised an eyebrow curiously.

"I have not no. Why?" He asked.

"I would like to take Aegon with me to be fostered in Dorne." You said

"Marvellous idea sister!" His grace said smiling from ear to ear. "I know how much Aegon loves you. It would do him good."

You wanted to laugh, was Viserys so blind as to not see the rift creating in his household? Alicent and Otto will stew in anger at the news.

Many letters and offering were sent to the great houses, y/n's idea to bring influence over the houses of Westeros. She would do anything in her power to help Rhaenyra. With limited time in the capital she worked tirelessly, writing to many lords and ladies in Rhaenyra's name.

Now over four dozen lord and ladies made their way towards king's landing as members of Rhaenyra's court. The houses were delighted for their daughter to become members at court and their spare sons receiving knighthood's as well as a place in the king's guard.

The Targaryen princess poured the hot bronze wax over the folded parchment and placing her houses sigil and waited for the wax to harden.

The small council meeting was to take place today, the matter of Rhaenyra's engagement and Aegon's fostering would be discussed. You knew that they could not refuse, despite only Viserys knowing that you proposed the idea yourself.

Your maids dressed you in a pink dress made from silk, small gems were embroidered on the shoulders of the gown. The sleeves ended at the elbows and a loose, puffy white fabric covered the rest of the arm.

Ser Lorent Marbrand escorted you to the small council meeting, Rhaenyra was already there as the heir. She sat on the right of her father while Otto sat on the left. You kissed Rhaenyra's cheek and sat next to her, taking your place as the mistress of whisperers. The rest of the council arrived shortly after, Viserys arrived last.

"Your Grace." The people present bowed and sat as the King allowed it.

"I came to the conclusion that my son Aegon is of age to be fostered." Otto and Alicent widened their eyes as this was news to them. "I want him to be fostered in Dorne, my sister will take care of his upbringing as the ruling Princess of Dorne."

"And what of Prince Aemond?" Lord Lyonel asked.

"He is too young to be fostered but once the council deems him suitable I propose to foster Prince Aemond in Rivererun. Lord Grover has sons close to my nephews age." You answered glancing at Otto as fire burned behind his eyes.

"A great idea Princess." Lyman Beesbury smiled. "The crown was always close with the river lords. ."

"Thank you, my Lord." The master of coin bowed his head.

"As you know my daughter, your future Queen has been searching for a possible prince consort." Viserys began glancing lovingly at his daughter. "Princess Rhaenyra has decided to marry ser Laenor Velaryon."

The small council stared in shock at Rhaenyra, she in turn smugly smiled.

"The bethrodal has not yet been officially announced as Lord Corlys is ill, but Princess Rhaenys has agreed." Rhaenyra added.

"A fine match, your highness." Maester Mellos responded, that grey rat you thought. He is the one responsible for killing Aemma.

"As per my aunts advice I have decided to expand my own court." Rhaenyra announced.

"In what way princess?" Alicent questioned.

"I shall invite the daughters of the realm to serve as my ladies in waiting and companions, I also intend to provide the son's with squire positions."

"Can the crown withstand such a strain?" Otto questioned glancing at the master of coin Lord Beesbury.

"It should be no problem, lord hand. The ladies shall receive a pensions of a five hundred golden dragons as is customary. The princess and I have gone over a list of possible candidates and it amounts to thirty ladies and twenty lords."

"The princess is right, with the increased demand for spices the crown has gained much gold." Lord Lyman advocated.

"Then it is settled." Viserys concluded. "y/n if you could write to the the lords and ladies."

"The letters are waiting to be send."

...

The red keep was a marvellous building it's construction lasted for ten years started by Aegon the first and finished by his second son Maegor. The heels of your shoes clicked against the stone floor, see Duncans armour rattled with every movement. You nodded at the two guards stationed outside the nursery, they opened the heavy doors and you walked in.

Two maids and a septa watched the green children. Aegon played with the wooden soldiers you have gifted him for his seventh name day, Haelaena watched her younger brother Aemond chortle in his crib. When the door opened and the children noticed your presence they smiled and ran towards you hugging your skirts.

"y/n!" Aegon said happily you smiled and kissed the crown of his head doing the same to his siblings.

"I thought that we could go to the dragon pit and visit your hatchling." You proposed and the boys eyes lit up he nodded vigorously, you laughed at his excitement.

"Septa Tesha I shall be taking the prince and princess to the dragon pit." The holy woman nodded "Perhaps you could join us?" You proposed, but you knew she would not agree.

"Thank you princess but I shall stay here and wait for your return." She answered, the woman was Alicent's servant and yet she talked without a care to your spiders.

...

"Elder Jaqos could you bring Sunfyre?" You asked the elder dragon keeper he nodded and ventured deeper into the caves of the dragon pit. You held Helaena in your arms as Aegon gripped your skirts. You smiled as you heard the familiar screeches of Sunfyre. The small he dragon possessed gold scales with pink membranes. It is believed that the dragon hatched from one of dreamfyre's eggs and was the sibling of Caraxes and Meleys.

You watched as Aegon took little steps towards his dragon, the creature also watched curiously. The boy petted his mount and Sunfyre purred happily. You walked over with Helaena, you hummed a Valyrian lullaby and kneeled next to the dragon. Its head turned towards your from, you gently grazed his horns. Sunfyre leaned into your touch.

"y/n how come every dragon likes you?" Aegon asked watching the golden dragon smile.

"I do not know sweet boy." You answered "Why do you think they like me?" The boy raised her faint eyebrows.

"I think it is because you like them. They can sense the respect and love you hold for them." He responded after pondering on the question.

"That is a very smart Egg." You mused and caressed the boy's silver locks.

"Aegon would you like to go with me to Dorne?" You asked to boy, his violet eyes shone brightly and he nodded quickly.

"And what of my sister and brother?" He asked letting Helaena grip his finger.

"They will stay here, Rhaenyra will take great care of them."

...

You watched from the balcony as carriages arrived at the courtyard, the sigils of house Stark, Reed, Bolton of the north the Tullys, Blackwoods, Mallisters and Mootons of the riverlands and Arryns, Royce, Waynwood of the vale waved lightly in the wind. The children of house Tyrell, Redwyne, Tarly and Oakheart of the reach have arrived a few days ago. The Lannisters along with their vassals Banefort, Clegane and Payne have arrived first along with the Baratheons, Dondarrions, Buckler, Errol and Selmy of the storm lands. Now the only house you were waiting for were the Martells.

You watched as Rhaenyra along with Laena exchanged pleasantries with the new arrivals, gifts and thanks were given to the realm's delight. You nodded at your servants to tend to the noble houses and show them their new chambers in Aegonfort. They were instructed to pay close attention to the lords and ladies what they say, how they act, the look in their eyes, everything.

Ser Steffon Darklyn stood behind you as he observed the royal courtyard. You turned towards the knight and whispered in his ear.

"I want your most trusted men to observe the new guests." The knight nodded. Ser Steffon became your sworn shield, a strong and seasoned knight second only to the lord commander of the Kingsguard ser Harrold Westerling. You did not worry for the commander as he held great love for you and Rhaenyra. He was your and your nieces guard for almost ten years. His loyalty was certain. Your sworn shield nodded and followed after you as you descended the stairs standing next to Rhaenyra and her sworn shield Ser Criston Cole.

"My servants are tending to the new guests." You said in high Valyrian bowing your head at every lord and lady that kneeled before the two of you.

"Good, I am rather bored greeting all these people. Did you have to invite so many?" Rhaenyra questioned and you let out a laugh.

"If not me then who?" Rhaenyra chuckled and you did the same, your arms entertained as you greeted the guests.

...

Your maid Annora quietly walked into your solar, you put down your book and raised an eyebrow at the red haired girl.

"What is it?" You asked curiously and pointed to the chair next to you she swiftly took her seat.

"A party with Martell banners has been spotted on the King's Road few leagues away from King's Landing." She whispered and you nodded.

"Thank you Annora, you may leave." The maid nodded and left your chambers.

You sighed, things very hectic with the arrival of the courtiers you had to arrange a wider net of spiders. Accommodating the new guests was also tiring, you wrote down every extra expense and consulted with lord Lyman Beesbury the master of coin. It gave you an idea to find new and more successful ways for the crown to make money. In your investigation you found that most of the lands that belonged to House Targaryen in the crowlands have been unused. The lands were scattered with abandoned mines containing materials like iron, copper, gold and even gems. You could not believe that Viserys has forgotten or ignored such viable land. The smallfolk have been offered work in these mines and soon the crown was making more money than ever before.

The hours passed by quickly and soon came the word that the Martells have arrived in King's Landing. The whole royal family came to greet the prince of Dorne. You were curious of Qoren, the last time you saw him was nine long years ago. Four great black stallions pulled the carriage of the Dornish prince. Their sigil a red sun pierced by a golden spear decorated their orange banners.

Qoren Martell grew to be tall, slender and golden skinned. His face is slender with thin eyebrows, deep brown eyes and a sharp nose. His hair is lustrous and black. A thick and short beard covered his chin. He was the epitome of Dornish beauty. He bowed before the Targaryen's and smiled showing off his white teeth. As soon as he left his carriage his brown eyes met yours. A blush spread on your cheeks, as a small fond smile formed on your lips. Your little interaction was interrupted by Alicent.

"Prince Qoren we thank you for coming such a long way." Alicent spoke breaking the silence.

"The pleasure is all mine your grace." He responded, a small smile appeared on your lips. Daemon and Rhaenyra looked with disdain at the Dornish man.

Pleasantries were exchanged and servants led him to his chambers. One of your maids have instructed him to come to your chambers for supper. Despite being betrothed you wanted to avoid scandal, two of your trusted maids would be present during the ordeal.

You waited for the prince to arrive, dressed in a black and purple dress you sat in the comfortable armchair. Soon a knock interrupted your inner monologue.

"Your royal highness." He approached and bowed his head, you stood up and nodded.

"My prince, please sit down." You offered the seat across from your own. "I hope you will not mind that we are joined by my chaperones." You said cutting the food on your plate.

"Not at all your highness." He answered "I am glad to see you again." Qoren said and a rosy blush decorated his slender features.

"As am I, Qoren... I am very sad for your loss." You added. "From what I've heard your mother was a great person and ruler."

"Thank you, princess. But it was years ago." Qoren added.

"I didn't have the chance to say my condolences in person, I can only imagine how hard it is to loose a mother."

"It was hard, but I suppose time heals all wounds." The prince hummed. "After all you have lost your mother too."

"Oh, I do not remember my mother." A sad smile ghosted over your lips. "Perhaps that made it easier, as I never got to know her. Losing her didn't hurt."

"I'm sorry... no child should grow up without parents." Your betrothed offered his condolences.

"You have changed." You tried to change the moody subject.

"As have you, I never thought you could be even more beautiful and yet you have." He coyly said and a blush reddened your cheeks.

"Such flattery my prince."

"I cannot help it, my betrothed."

"I remember how you used to stumble over your words, now it seems the gods have blessed you with a silver tongue."

"You remember that?" Qoren smiled sheepishly, even though he was a man grown you could still see the boy you once knew shine thorough him. "I had hoped you would have forgotten." He placed his large warm hand on yours, the large sigil ring caused goosebumps on your skin.

"How could I forget, my prince? I remember the time we spent together fondly, as children life was much easier was it not?"

"Yes." Qoren agreed. "I am glad you remember me fondly."

"I do, after all you were the first friend I ever made."

...

You saw Rhaenyra surrounded by her ladies, they chatted, laughed and ate cake. When the time comes you will help your niece find suitable matches for the young ladies.

"Sister" Daemon said sneaking up on you, you gasped surprised.

"Seven hells" You whispered "What is it Daemon?"

"I have come to ask if you were serious?" He accused and you raised an eyebrow.

"Serious about what?" You countered

"That Dornish cunt." You sighed deeply, the last thing on your mind was Daemon's jealousy.

"What about him?" You questioned, Daemons eyes narrowed.

"Why are you marrying him?" He asked anger evident in his tone.

"Why shouldn't I? He's handsome, kind and the prince of a kingdom." You shot back not understanding this sudden outburst.

"You can't marry him." He ordered, a laugh escaped your throat at his child like behaviour.

"Daemon my sweet brother what do you expect I do? I have agreed to the bethrodal in fact I proposed it. Why would should I listen to a desperate plea from a man who inherits nothing, has no real position at court and his only allies are his family." You answered anger boiling in you insides.

"Careful little girl." He said menacingly.

"Or what Daemon? You'll kill me? Be serious, you had opportunities laid at your feet and you snubbed or ruined them." You had enough of him on his high horse.

"We should have wed in the traditions of old Valyria." Daemon said angrily, his silver brows furrowed.

"Maybe in another life we could have... But we don't get what we want simply by wanting." You answered and left Daemon alone.

...

Your insides were boiling, thoughts swarming your mind. You rode to the dragon pit eager to visit your friend. You stomped through the hidden passageway moving with knowing expertise among the many caves and crevices. Vermithor rested comfortably in his den, the burned stone and animal carcasses decorated the stoney cage.

"Vermithor?" You asked walking to the creature's snout, he lazily opened his yellow eye. The dragon screeched and straightened his wing so you could climb upon his back. The bronze fury gilded gracefully through the dragon pit the roars and screeches of other dragons resting in their dens brought you a sense of comfort, the heat from their flames only increased this feeling.

Without saying a word your mount soared to the sky, his mighty wings lifted you leagues into the sky. You smiled the cumbersome thoughts fleeing from your mind as if they were petals blown by the wind.

...

It is said that over one hundred crows have been sent on the eve of the first day of spring. And soon enough over four dozens members of the nobility travelled to king's landing. Many believe that the whole ordeal was singlehandedly arranged by Princess y/n Targaryen. In doing so she gained many wards of the great and minor houses of the seven kingdoms. Some gave her a new alias the good Tyanna of the Tower.- From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.