#Dark!aemond targaryen

[youraverageaemondsimp]

“Made for me.” // Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Thank you everyone for 1K followers, I am so grateful for all the support I've received for my fics, it's kind of an emotional moment for me cause I never thought I'd get this far, so here is the fic from this poll! this is short since I did not have much time and I do not want to delay my 1k celebration fic further! <3

MDNI // DD:DNE // reader discretion is advised.

Summary: As far as Aemond can remember, he had liked you, not in a way a brother loves his sister, no, in a way a man loves a woman, finding out that you were soon to be betrothed to a Tully for alliance, he feels devastated, until he decides he can prevent it, by ruining you.

WARNINGS: heavy noncon to dubcon, mindbreak, mindfuck, canon typical incest, creepy aemond(?), possessive aemond, dark!aemond, jealousy, obsession, breeding kink, tiddy sucking, virginity loss, mentions of blood, purity culture, medieval age standards (no smut until 18+), cum eating, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, porn with little plot. + not proofread.

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to avoid seeing dark content from me.

WC: 3k

For as long as Aemond can remember, he had always been smitten with you, his little sister, someone very dear to him, he had loved you since the moment you were born, immediately becoming someone he swore to protect.

He was rumoured to have some romantic feelings for helaena, which wasn't entirely false but if anyone were to look closely, they would realise that the longing gaze he holds for helaena is nothing compared to the one when he looks at you.

As he grew into a man, these feelings developed further, and as he watched you grow into a woman, desire managed to get a hold of him. He remembers the first time he felt carnal attraction towards you, it was your sixteenth nameday, you had worn a beautiful green dress that showed a little cleavage, something his mother would've been against but she let it slide that time, he remembered as you bent over in front of him to get something from the table, giving him full view of your tits which he immediately looked away from.

That night he had rushed back to his chambers as fast as possible to tug on his length at the thought of you.

He was never the same after that, every touch ignited a fire in him, when you would lay on his thigh as you both sat beneath the godswood while he read, he had to fight the urge to take you right then and there, taking your maidenhead in front of the gods to bind you to himself forever.

As the years passed, his feeling for you grew stronger and stronger.

“Aem!” There was your sweet voice calling him once again, his gaze lifted from the book on the table to your form which stood a few metres away from him, you smiled when you noticed his gaze was on you, walking over to him so you stood next to him, peering down on the book he was reading.

“What are you reading?” you ask curiously, voice leaking with inquiry, he looked down at his book before glancing up again, “Just a book about our history, valyria.” he tells you and you lean down slightly over his shoulder, your platinum blonde locks falling over and curtaining the side of his face as you read the text.

“Would you read it to me?” you inquire and he nods, before you shoot him the bright smile that never seemed to leave your face, and pull the chair beside him, causing the wood to make a noise as it glid against the floor, and sitting down on it.

He began reading and you listened to him for quite a while, before your eyes started becoming droopy and closing as sleep tried to overwhelm you, it wasn't because you were not interested in the history, no, it was due to the fact that your older brother's voice was extremely comforting.

He chuckled when he tried your efforts to keep yourself awake and closed the book, “Sister, you must not fight when sleep finds you, go to thine chambers and rest.”

“But brother! You have just gotten to Aegon's conquest.” you pout, and he chuckles, “I shall read it to you tomorrow, now go rest.” he manages to convince you and obey his word.

Aemond sighs as he watches you walk away, you were the Apple of his eye, everyone knew, he had been protective of you since you were younger, though he developed certain type feelings, the kind that a brother shouldn't develop for his sister, but alas, targaryens have queer customs, after all, his elder sister was married to Aegon, their older brother.

It was only time until mother betrothed you both, and he would wait patiently for that, he would often imagine how married life with you would be, it would be perfect.

But all those dreams were crushed when he finds out that your mother was planning to betrothed you to a tully, to get their alliance in case of Aegon's claim for the throne. Angry was an understatement, he was extremely pissed off, and what did you do? You gladly accepted it, even managing to look happy at the proposal.

Just then he remembers his elder sister's words. ‘If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away.’

He could not have that.

He can not have you be taken away from him, that too by an undeserving house such as tully.

You knew something was extremely odd when Aemond came to your chambers at night, he never did that, always deeming it inappropriate for a lady and a man to be together after the moon has risen unless they were husband and wife. So it was extremely shocking as to what he was doing in your chambers, knowing he took the secret entrance since the guard did not mention Aemond at all when you entered.

“Brother? What are you doing here so late?” you ask as you approach him, he is sitting on the chair near the fireplace, turning his head to the side as if to acknowledge your presence, the light bouncing off his face making his features look much more angular and intimidating.

“I have missed you, dear sister.” he stood up and turned to face you, and you peered up at him confused, “I had heard about your betrothal to a tully, though I do not remember his name, I came here to wish you pleasantries and a prosperous marriage.” he tries his best to not scowl.

You smile widely.

And that immediately sets him off.

“Thank yo-” before you could finish your sentence, Aemond grabs you harshly by your cheeks, pulling his face towards his own, “You're happy? You're fucking happy?” he growls as his breath fans your face, “Aemond-” before you could say anything, the same hand that was gripping your cheeks goes to your hair, pulling your head back, your hands fly up to his to make him release his grip as the tug at your strands were incredibly painful.

He doesn't say anything but slams his lips against yours, moving against yours in a frantic rhythm, your eyes widen at this and you push at his chest to pull him off, but he uses the grip on your hair to further push you against him, and soon you're all flush against him, weakly trying to pushing him off while the hand in your hair keeps tightening as the other holds your waist gently.

A true contrast.

He pulls away to breathe and he looks at your teary eyes, as you look at him, “Aemond- you're scaring me.” you say weakly, shaking as his eye narrows, “I love you.” he blurts out and you look at him shocked, “But- we're siblings–”

“We're also targaryens.” he cuts you off, and lets go of your hair.

You squeal when he lifts you up roughly, before making haste over to your bed and throwing you on it, and before you can get up, he traps you in his arms.

“I do not wish to see you married to someone else, you have been mine, since the day you were born, sister.” he whispers in your ear before pressing a kiss to it. You gasped when you felt his hand grope at your clothed breast giving it a tight squeeze and you tried prying his hand off to no avail.

“Aem- please stop-” you beg but he doesn't listen and his eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you, “Sister, tell me the truth have you not felt anything when you stay with me? A warm feeling in your heart?” your breathe hitches as he asks you that question, and you look away from him, feeling ashamed that you held feelings for him, they very well hidden, you felt ashamed whenever you would feel heat pool between your legs as you watched Aemond do quite literally anything.

He undoes his breeches and pulls his cock out, undeniably hard, “If I ruin you then mother won't marry you off to him, besides, no one would want a woman that is ruined, especially by her own brother.” he says and you sob, shaking your head and you gasp as you feel his dick pressed against your core.

Your silence gave him the answer he needed, he tore your dress apart, the stitches popping off with a noise, as he changed his grip and undoes your clothing.

You try to push him off and hit his chest, in defiance, but he is much stronger than you, pinning your hands above with his one hand as the other pulls off the shredded clothing, with your final strength, you deliver a hard kick to his crotch which causes him to groan and plop on the bed next to you in pain, and you use that change to try and scramble up and off the bed but to your disdain, he immediately recovers and pulls you down with a tight grip on your leg but pushing them apart, placing himself between them and then wrapping his hands around your neck, the grip cutting off air circulation rapidly as you struggled against him.

“Fucking cunt.” he says before spitting on your face and you cry, you feel your brain go dark as you start loosing consciousness at the lack of oxygen only for him to let go, cause you to take a deep breath on relax, snapping you awake at once.

“Sister, look how much you are leaking, way too much for someone that pretends like they hate it.” he rubs his cock against your folds, coating it in your juices and he groans, before he leans in, kissing your neck and then your breasts before pulling back.

“Brother please- ah!” you gasp when you felt his hot fingers press against your bud, rubbing it, making you squirm as you grip his hand and try to push it off but his grip stays firm and you eventually give up, hands falling to your sides and gripping the sheets below as he plays with cunt.

He knew you'd eventually break.

He did not want to hurt you or force you.

But you weren't making it easier and he did not have much time either, so he had to resort to this.

You reach your peak with a loud moan of his name which went straight to his cock, he leaned down and kissed you once more, holding your legs apart by force and then grabbing his cock before lining it up against your entrance, slowly pushing the thick head in, your hands shot up to his shoulder to grab them, nails digging into the skin as he rips you apart on his cock, bullying into you without mercy, his hand covering your mouth as you let out painful whines to shush you up. You whimper when you feel him fully sheathed inside you, feeling too full, your cunt clenching around him painfully tight to push him out but he stays there.

“Look at you, taking my cock so well, like you were made to.” he whispers in your ear before pulling his hips back and snapping them forward, causing you to let out a scream, although it was muffled, at the pain. The orgasm before had only helped a little, he was too thick and big.

At first he starts slowly, pulling back and snapping one at a time, trying to give you time to adjust until you whimpered his name, which made him lose any and all control he had as his pace became faster, brutally slamming his cock inside you as you whined and moaned beneath him.

The sound of wet slapping noises soon fill the air and the smell of sex starts taking over, your mind becomes all hazy at what was happening to you, you watch as Aemond takes one of your breasts in his mouth, suckling on the nipple, drool spilling all over it while his hand gropes the other, massaging it. Your hand travels to his hair and you arch your back, shoving more of your breast in his mouth, making him groan in delight.

He pulls back with a pop and you look at him gasping and wide eyed as he thrusts into you, eyes dropped as slight drool leaks from the sides of your mouth, letting out moans when he hits that sweet spot inside you.

“Fuck- you're so perfect, made just for me.” he grunts, supporting himself on his hands above you, hair curtaining around your face as you stare directly in his eye, watching him close it in pleasure, gasping when he feels you clench around him.

“You're mine right?” his eye opens and he looks at you intensely, you nod, agreeing with what he was saying, your mind losing all of its ability to think rationally the moment he entered inside you, you felt your stomach tighten.

“Use your words.” he commands and you gulp, “Yes only yours— ah! Fuck aemond!” you throw your head back as your second orgasm hits you, moaning out loud and he let's out a shaky breath before you felt his thrusts become sloppy, “Fuck, I'm gonna fill this cunt up, watch my seed take root in your womb, you're mine, mine to fuck, marry, breed, you'll give me many heirs won't you?” he goes off, voicing his thoughts and you feel warm and turned on at his words, “Yes- brother, I'm all yours, only yours.” you say, grabbing his cheek and rubbing a thumb on his scar and he finishes inside you with a loud moan, pushing himself to the hilt as his cock spurts thick ropes of cum inside you.

He pulls out, still somehow hard and lays down beside you, and you feel so empty without him inside you, so you whine, “Aem- I need you.” you pout and he looks at you wide eyed, and you don't know what comes over you, but you find your patience running thin as you wait for him to do something, so you take matters into your own hands, getting on top of him, grabbing his blood soaked cock before rising your hips and sitting down on it.

“Sister?” Aemond asks questionably, as he grabs your hips, watching you bounce on top of his cock, breasts moving up and down as you moan loudly into the chambers, only his name, on repeat and that's when he finally understands what happened.

He broke you.

He fucked your mind.

He should feel bad, knowing how now you're seeking him and his cock out like a bitch in heat but he doesn't, he feels more accomplished at that, knowing you desire no one but him. He moans when he feels your cunt spasm around him as you reach your peak, and instead of stopping, you continue riding him, wanting to bring him to his peak as well, you take one of his hands and guide it to your breast, making him grip it and play with your nipple.

“Brother please! Please cum inside me, I want you to fill me up.” you beg and Aemond groans at that, “Want- want you so bad! please haa, I need to have your children.” you moan and Aemond felt himself reach his peak harshly at that, filling you up once again.

Aemond changes the position, getting on top of you again, cock still inside and you give him a small smile before grabbing his face and pulling him in for a kiss, his lips move passionately against yours, before he pulls away, kissing down your neck and to your breasts, he pulls out and slowly trails kissing down to your down, watching as his loads of cum leak out from you, he pushes his tongue out and collects his juice on his mouth, before shoving it inside again, engulfing your cunt in his mouth, you grab his hair and grind your hips against his face, moaning his name loudly as he works his mouth, his nose shoved against your clit, creating friction whenever he moves his head, and soon enough, you reach your peak once again, “Brother!” you moan as you arch your back and he groans into your cunt, lapping up at the juices being secreted from you, before pulling away from it, placing wet kisses on your inners thighs and coming up towards you again, and kissing you, shoving his tongue inside your mouth, making you taste both your combined juices, and you groan into the kiss at the taste.

You both spent that night just like that.

Your mother was horrified when she had heard about this, and tully had walked in on the conversation, scrunching up his face in disgust and calling off your betrothal, you stood with your arm wrapped around Aemonds arm as he explain his mother what happened, looking away and hiding in his arms as she yelled at him for ruining and spoiling you, before inevitable deciding to betroth you both as result.

And you both were married, two moons later.

The maesters were extremely confused when you went into labour earlier than what they had predicted, they thought that it was going to be a stillbirth, yet they were confused to see when a healthy silver hair babe popped out, crying and cooing. They considered it a miracle but only Alicent and Aemond knew the truth.

Aemond stood there with his child in his arms as he gazed lovingly upon him, a son. You smiled at him as he cooed in high valyrian.

“Maester, When can I take her again?” That question caught the maester off guard and he cleared his throat before speaking up, “I would suggest waiting 6 weeks until she is fully healed, or 3 moons time.” and Aemond hummed.

The maester leaves the room, leaving you, aemond and the babe alone, the baby cooing at his father, small hand entangled in his hair.

“After you heal, I shall put a babe inside you again, dear wife.” He comes down and sits next to you and you smile, “As you wish, husband.” you tease and press a kiss on his lips.

———

[arcielee]

Ābrazȳrys

Summary: Aemond goes to see if the king is truly dead and finds his wife instead. Paring: dark!Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader Word Count: 1900+ Warnings: MDNI, dark[ish]!Aemond, Reader AFAB, noncon elements, ghostly voyeurism? rough sex, p in v unprotected, creampie, breeding kink when you squint. Author’s Note: So, this is not for the poll I just had, but something that came from rambling with my muses [thank you lovelies]. This is dedicated to @namelesslosers whose recent piece already had my mind thrumming with dark!Aemond ever since I read your story. Thank you, Mari, this is mostly your fault. 😆 Not beta read, my mistakes are my own and I am woefully sorry for them all. Also, Sȳz ābrazȳrys is Valyrian for good wife.

An accord was struck between the Warden of the North and King Viserys; you were then packed to be sent away to the capital, to wed his second son, Prince Aemond. Your purpose, you learned, was to placate the growing rift within the house of the dragon, but you soon realized it was not something that could be easily mended. 

Aemond was complexity carved from marble, both beautiful and statuesque as the blood of Old Valyria was rumored to be. You saw his ire was not unfounded when the crowned princess had returned to flaunt her sins at her side, their tousled dark hair as bold as the crimson curve that cut through the left side of your husband’s face. 

You felt the shift, saw the hatred now etched onto his sharp features at the sight of them. “Bastards,” he had murmured loud enough for you to hear. His tone was dark, his hold on your hand stopping the blood from reaching your fingertips.

The tension brought with their arrival was palpable, weaving through the Red Keep and pouring into the Small Hall where dinner was held, as per the king’s request. The pleasantries seemed forced and it ended with a scathing toast, an outburst, and when you tried to follow after Aemond, he had been quick to dismiss you.

You often struggled to find your place in King’s Landing. Aemond was courteous, but cold; both diligent and disinterested in the same breath. He treated you as his duty and it left your heart aching for more. It could not be sated with his family: Aegon was too lost in his cups, as was Helaena but with her dreams, and you had never met the youngest prince, as he was tucked away at Oldtown. 

This left you to shadow the queen, which was how you now found yourself quietly at her side, your gaze accompanying her own–her brown eyes were wide and wet and fearful all at the same time. Her handmaiden had brought you to her quarters to hear it firsthand: the king was dead. Now you watched as the Silent Sister finished the wrappings on the body. 

There was an attempt to mask the smell of death with the tapers lit, with the cloves and fresh herbs crushed for a smoldering incense that curled upwards into the air, but the lifelessness remained, prominent still. You could only assume it was something so intricately knitted with the late king, a man who had lingered so long on the precipice that life had long rotted away before he had taken his final breath. 

Alicent waited until they left before she took the crown and placed it on top of the body. You watched her shudder with a choked grief, her hands pressing onto the altar to hold herself upright until she could regain her queenly composure. She then excused herself without a word, leaving you alone with the dead. 

The body in front of you was not your family, but only your king. Your own unshed tears were from the fear you felt, from the loss that would come with the inevitable civil war; you saw flashes of red from the blood to be spilled, black from the ash that would rain over the kingdoms. 

“He is even smaller in death.” 

You knew the voice, so low but it still wrenched the air from your lungs. You looked up to see your husband poised in the doorway. “It is something that comes for us all, it is inescapable,” Aemond finished, his eye now trained to you.

It seemed a murmured thought and you were uncertain if he would continue it, uncertain if the words spoken were even meant for your ears to begin with. You swallowed thickly, your throat dry from the smoke. “My husband,” your voice cracked with compassion, “I am so sorry–”

“I am not.” 

It cuts through you, halting your tongue. You watched him carefully, warily, as his lips curled upwards. “For too long I have watched him slowly wither beneath the crown handed to him by a council,” and he looked back to the altar, a bitterness brewing. “He hid behind some want for a faux peace, but only because he lacked the conviction and the spine to speak the truth.” 

His tone clipped, his smile now cruel and cutting into his cheeks as he stepped towards you with his slow, distinct gate. You remained rooted, unwilling to wilt under the weight of the harsh truth that could now be spoken out loud and without repercussions. 

You tried again: “Are you certain of this? Of her misdeeds–?”

This time your voice caught once he was close enough for his fingers to trail along the side of your face, coming to cup your cheek and hold your gaze. His palm was callused from his sword, but gentle to touch, igniting a warmth that pooled towards your core. Your eyes flickered over his smile that remained, your breath knotting in your throat as you realized how tall he now stood, as if a weight had been removed from him. 

“Ābrazȳrys,” he murmured, his hold now moving to curl behind at the base of your neck and pull you closer to him. Your hands touched his chest, falling into him and his heat, his sandalwood and smoke, the amber scent that belonged so intimately to Aemond. 

You burned from his direct attention, something you had pitifully sought after since you arrived, and it was now being handed alongside the corpse of the king. 

And it felt so wrong.

His finger curled under your chin, tilting your head back to look at him. “Perhaps if I put a babe in your belly, you can see how strong the blood of dragon truly is.” 

And yet–

“Aemond,” you gasped as his other hand moved to clasp around your elbow, pulling you closer until his mouth captured your own. 

The room swam in smoke; you felt drunk from the warmth of his lips and with the way his hands roamed your backside, pulling you flushed against his chest. You could feel the swell of his cock pressing against the seams, a heat that permeated through and spread to ignite your nerve endings. 

You sighed sweetly with how you fit against his chest and Aemond deepened the kiss with a desperation that you matched against your own volition. Your arms lifted to wrap around his neck, pulling yourself closer still, and Aemond let out a low groan, a vibration that trilled and tightened in your core. 

“Aemond, we should leave…” 

His passion would not be abated and instead his mouth claimed yours again. Aemond wrapped his arms around your waist to lift you and pull you away from the dead with staggering steps back towards the enclave of bay windows the sun streaked through. His large hands tore through your layers to touch the soft divot between your thighs, until the pads of his fingers pressed to the wet patch that was growing; he hummed. 

You broke away and his mouth then latched to the curve of your neck, biting you, marking you, his passion reborn from the tips of his teeth. You cried out from the mixture of pleasure and pain, your body betraying you with how it responded, with how it craved for more. 

You tried again: “Aemond, we mustn’t–” 

His hand caught your jaw with a hold that dimpled into your cheeks. “You must know by now that the walls are thick, as my ancestors designed them to be,” his eye looked over your kiss-swollen lips and the blood that was staining your features. “Also, the dead also cannot hear us.” 

Aemond then surged against you; you could not fight back, you would not fight back. Instead, your hands balled into his tunic to balance yourself, to return the kiss until all the air left your lungs. You felt his smile against your mouth, his arms returning to snake around your waist and guide until you fell down to the rug that covered the floor; a delicious contrast of the warmth he emitted to the cold of the cobblestone beneath you. 

He rucked your skirts up around your waist, his hand moving to pull away the small clothes intimately wrapped around before he slotted himself between your thighs. You felt his length grind against your bare cunt and you gasped, only for the sound to be swallowed with another heated kiss that seared the blood now coursing through your veins. 

Aemond paused to look down at you. His hair spilled silver in the sunlight and he watched your corset push against your cleavage, the desperate rise and fall to catch your breath. His one arm propped himself up while the other tugged away at the strings laced at his crotch; your fingers slipped into his loosened waistband, pulling it down until his cock was freed. His fingers then wrapped around his base, flushed crimson with his passion, and you nearly cried as he rubbed his swollen head along your folds, silken with your arousal.

His arms caged you and he pushed into you, filling you with his slow thrusts to fit, until he was fully sheathed within your cunt. Your lips parted wordlessly as your pleasure began to kindle with the slow roll of his hips, something that spread towards the ends and returned to build within your core. 

You mewled as his paced quickened, the wet sounds of bare skin suctioning as he fucked you into the rug, bruising your backside against the stone with each snap of his hips; you lifted to cant your own, welcoming the bruising pace. You were breathless, your walls fluttering with the first waves of pleasure coiling tightly at the base of your spine.

“Touch yourself,” he rasped, his breath hot against the curve of your neck.

You hand moved between with a fumbling touch to your pearl, swollen and wet and wanting. The pressure was enough to elicit another cry from you, the tears pearling earlier now spilling. Aemond saw this with the black that possessed his eye and his head dipped to lick your tears; his murmured, “Sȳz ābrazȳrys,” scorching against your skin.

It burst forth with flashes of white, a euphoria brimming on too much as his pace continued, until he was spilling and pulsing within your velvet walls. His weight then rested against you, his head turning to place a sweet kiss to your neck before he pulled away to stand, reaching to bring you back onto unsteady feet. 

You swayed a moment and he grabbed you, waiting until you met with his stare. Your eyes were wet as they rolled from him and took in your surroundings; you let out a shaky exhale when you saw the body that had been prepared. 

Aemond let go to tuck himself away and then stepped to block your view. He leaned forward to press a kiss to your hairline; your lashes were clumped together from your tears shed, wet against your cheeks when you closed your eyes, savoring the softness of his lips. 

“We will win,” his confidence now laced his low tone. He repeated: “Do not worry, we will win.” 

And then he left you alone with the dead, with nothing but the remnant pulsing sensation of the pleasure he took, his pearly spend now spilling down between the insides of your legs. 

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @sylasthegrim @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes

arcie's masterlist

[lovelykhaleesiii]

hi there! would you be up to writing smut

Dark!Aemond? something for example with age difference, daddy kink, corruption kink, degradation and breeding? If you are comfortable then Reader could be a Targaryen what would be great but if you aren't comfortable then Stark is perfect too

Twisted, Beautiful Minds.

PAIRING: Dark!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Niece!Reader

WORDS: 2,677.

WARNINGS: mentions of warfare/murder, mentions of death-threats, swearing, degradation kink, choking, Daddy kink, corruption kink, breeding kink, manipulation, narcissistic tendencies, male oral receiving [cock sucking], mentions of p in v sexual intercourse.

A/N - you know I'm always down for some dark!Aemond... I want to also dedicate this piece, as a small bday gift to my wonderful friend Mar @aemondsmoon you have been an absolute light for me on this hellsite, and one of my dearest friends... thank you for always being there for me, and thank you for being you. you are an absolute gem, don't ever change. ilysm! 🤍

The turmoil and toils of war had finally come to an end, when Aegon the Elder, your Uncle, had commanded Sunfyre to set your beloved mother, Rhaenyra, and younger brother, Aegon III, to death by dragonfire. Your heart shattered, and mind numb, you were certain your own death was imminent in the moments after: at the very least, your Uncle would punish you with a dragonrider's death... Yet that would not be the case at all.

It seemed other plans had been set in stone. Chained and escorted by the Kingsguard to return to King's Landing once more, where you had only days previous, fled in fear, were you welcomed by the cold stares of the "Green" Council. Your chains removed, as neither the King nor his Mother, had seen you as a threat, you felt no purpose to resist nor to fight back... Your family dead, your will had died along with them.

"Fetch for Aemond. Tell my younger brother that his betrothed has returned."

His stern words felt incomprehensible in your thoughtless mind, lagging to understand the notion. You felt a cool, chill course through your weak body, rigid as though you had turned to stone, and yet, you were still breathing, still ever so present. No one had consulted you on such plans or schemes. And you were certain that Aemond himself would definitively refuse to marry the daughter of a traitor [as you presumed he would justify]. Your Uncle, Aemond, was a formidable man, fought against your late father, and had emerged the victor... And as the war, and the recent imprisoned days had taken its toll on you, your eyes darkened with the lack of sleep, unable to eat a crumb of bread, you did not look as you once had in your frivolous court, as he had once remembered you.

Although, as he sauntered into the room with such poise and stature, a certain charisma of that of a victor oozing about him, with not a single word exchanged, other than a devious smirk supplanted across his once serious face...It seemed there was more to the union than meets the eye.

Since your captive return to King's Landing, a place in which you had once considered your home, felt nothing more foreign. The stone sand walls that you had walked and run through as a child, now looked strange, the unfamiliar symbols of the Seven proudly hung around every available wall and space, gave an ominous feel. The halls seemed less brighter, even during the break of day, with the sunlight blatant in the sky, you instinctively felt as though a shadow lurked around every corner, attentive to your every move.

Dragonless, and defenceless, you were less of a threat than the younger Princess, Jahaera. The King and his Council had deemed you stable enough to roam the castle grounds freely, with a close knight in pursuit, only to ensure your own "protection" [as Aegon would admit that Aemond insisted], although you saw it more as means to deter you from being tempted to run away.

Regardless, Aemond had not spoken a word to you since hearing of the betrothal. He attended dinners with you in sight, although you rarely spoke yourself, mostly pleading and bickering with Alicent to remain in the desolate confines of your chambers. She was incessant about you joining the family, as the union was to be set in a moon's turn.

He dared not even to sit beside you: constantly at opposing ends. Although, there were rare occasions you had caught the younger Prince, brazenly staring at you with his one good eye. Unapologetically, his full attention spanned towards you, even if he had noticed you had become aware, he did not cease gawking.

Something about his looming gaze made you feel uneasy, very much on edge: a dark tinge to his violet eye, his pupils darkened as they seemed dilated. It inevitably made your stomach churn, only forcing you to resign in defeat, often excusing yourself to bed.

And often you were left undisturbed to recluse in your chambers... Although tonight, it seemed you were not alone in your ventures.

Retracing the exact steps you would take most nights, often on your lonesome return to your quarters: this time there was an accompanying sound in the distance, echoing down the hallway behind you. Heavy footsteps that caught your immediate attention. Slowly panning around, the shimmer of his lengthy, silver hair against the pale moonlight that peaked through the open crescents of the corridor, was alluring to your eye. Halting in your tracks, your breath hitched against your throat, all in trepidation, as Aemond effortlessly caught up with you in a few short strides. This was the closest he had ever truly come up to you, his towering height against you, made him even more daunting face to face.

"Running off to bed again, I see. And why is that?"

The sudden eruption of his deep, low voice breaking the stillness of the castle passage, startled you uneasily. You had exchanged many words and conversations with your elder Uncle before, during an ancient time long before the Dance had spurred. Although, the dynamics had inevitably changed, blood had been shed viciously and cruel words spat. Despite the same Valyrian blood coursing through your veins as of your betrothed, you felt solitary in their surrounding presence.

"I-I lost my appetite, U-Uncle. I wish to retire for the night," You aimlessly stutter, too weak to hold eye contact with Aemond, whose gaze remained fixated on you. His vibrant lilac orb luring over every inch of your timid body.

"Do you think it wise to roam the castle your lonesome self? Has the war not taught you otherwise? Is my niece still that same stupid, little whore I have known?"

His harsh remarks shadowed by that familiar, sly grin struck across his slim face, was plenty to furnace an incoming reaction from you, your blood boiling beneath your tender skin.

"Ah- tongue tied now, princess? Have I struck a chord with you, hmm? Mayhaps you are as weak as your father was... Now, how would he feel knowing you are to marry me? That I'll fuck his little girl, like the common whores he saw."

Your mind had no correlation to your hand, and yet the simmering rage that blistered through your body sent your mind to abyss. The small palm of your hand, strikingly latched across Aemond's face furiously. And yet, although a sharp stinging sensation poured across your hand, Aemond remained unfazed and sturdy. It seemed you had smacked the grin across his face, and in its stead, that familiar, unnerving dark tinge in his eyes scorned across at you.

Before you knew it, Aemond gripped your sides firmly, forcing your body forward, as he harshly shoved you against the cold, stone wall.

"You think that wise, whore? After the mercy I fucking showed you. I could have your fucking hand for that, or worse your head. My pretty wife's head on a spike, I'll have it right outside my window."

The cruelty that oozed from his precise lips was relentless. You wanted to burst into tears or more, burst into flames there and then...

"Do you know how long I have waited to have you under my very touch? All the sacrifices I made, the arguments I fought against my own Council to keep you alive? Ungrateful fucking bitch. Did your Daddy not teach you to be a good, obedient girl?"

One of Aemond's calloused, rough hands reached up hastily, his long fingers wrapping just so lightly around your throat, as his thumb gently stroked at your lips. His viable eye ogling tentatively over your mouth, smacking his lips innately.

"I'm your fucking Daddy now. Teach you how to be a proper lady, and a good fucking wife. I'm going to fuck that pretty pussy of yours, till you are dripping of me. I'll have you begging like a pathetic, stupid whore. I'll fuck you till I have heirs of my own, till I see fit that you have disgraced your extinct, traitorous bloodline."

"A-Aem, U-Uncle-" You breathlessly whimper in fear: freshly, swelled tears glaze your vision, as they begin to clear with each shedding streak.

"What did I just fucking say? I'm not your Uncle anymore, bitch. I'm your fucking Daddy. You would be helpless without me. Probably dead without my doing. You fucking owe me."

"Y-Yes-" Another breathless whimper, although Aemond's grip loosened, his other hand began to slowly move its way over towards your breast. His uninjured eye moving in motion with his hand, eagerly wandering over your bust. That same, very hand, began to keenly grope at your plush side, kneading at your breast tenderly, it felt foreign and sensitive under his strange touch.

"All fucking mine... Finally. Did you really think, I would let some insolent lord have you to himself? I'd start a war for you, I won the war for you. And now you're going to repay me, just so-"

A mindless moan flew out of your wet lips, catching you abruptly by surprise, and by the looks of it Aemond, as his blackened pupil dilated with a ravenous hunger, his ears pricking and leaning forward in delight.

"I'll have you moaning for more, precious. Now on your fucking knees-"

Even with the hatred that roared deep within your belly, you felt reluctant to retaliate, as you knew Aemond would effortlessly overpower you. As he had in your youth, when you were caught in a brawl with him, often ending with him wrestling you to the ground. And after his detailed spill of such vile threats, you dared not to risk the second chance of life, you had been granted.

Your knees hit the concrete floor with some brutality, although you regained from the ache. As you steadied your propped position, your hands gripping tightly at Aemond's slim waist, he began to undo his grey, washed out trousers.

The sheer sight of his cock, was intense enough to have you questioning whether you could even take him. Although slim in girth, his length was extraordinary. A reddened tip just oozing lusciously with a white, clear film glistening over the crown.

"Suck Daddy real good, bitch. Show me that, that mouth has other good uses than for talking back."

Your attention lurking from below, dropping from Aemond's face to his cock and back up once more to his face: the sudden change in his mood shifting was palpable. The momentary, light-hearted look of ecstasy dismantled as a cold, unsettling gaze resumed across his handsome face, lingering over your kneeled state.

"Make me fucking repeat myself one more time, whore and I'll treat you worse than a whore. I'll have you forget that you are a Targaryen princess."

Aemond's large hands found their way at the base of your skull, teasingly stroking your loose strands away from your face, within a few seconds the sudden shove towards him, left you physically speechless. Your mouth slightly agape, was enough for Aemond's stiffened, pulsating tip to propel its way into your tight mouth. The friction of his hard cock against your silky, warm flesh inside, was enough to set Aemond's breathing into a speedy pace. Lean chest heaving, the mindless groaning on his behalf was somewhat alluring. You had never seen nor heard such sounds or vulnerability in Aemond before.

"F-Fuck, that feels so fucking good- Just as I prayed to the Gods. I'm going to make your mouth so numb, so fucking filthy of me, you'll be tasting me still in the months to come."

No coherent words exchanged from below his waist, only muffled moans and breath hitches, as you sulked with crave. As much as it infuriated you, pained you to admit, the feeling of Aemond's rigid, throbbing cock in your mouth, was elevating. You had to admit, in your youth, previous to the blood that had been shed, you had a childhood feverish crush on your elder Uncle, although thought it unlikely that anything would flourish from it.

"Seven Hells. Such a pretty whore, with a pretty mouth. J-Just the p-prettiest whore in the Seven Kingdoms."

With each plunge, rhythmically bobbing backwards and forwards, the raw taste of Aemond's cum, tastefully filling your mouth to capacity, as a mixture of his reside and your own saliva oozed from your crevices. The dreading thought of being caught in such a contentiously vulnerable position, especially before being wedded, was disturbing enough, for you were not yet widely favoured by the Council...

"Ughh- Swallow and get up, whore."

Self-disgust stirred nauseatingly in the pit of your gut, as you reluctantly devoured small mouthfuls of Aemond's load, almost convincing yourself you would retch it all up in a matter of seconds. Much to your relief, you remained poised, meekly wiping away the mess across your lips, shying away from Aemond's unmoving regard. As you regained your normal pace of breathing, Aemond lent a hand over, grasping your undivided attention. With such ease, Aemond aided you, lifting you up to stand, before confining you closely between the wall and his heated body once more, closing whatever space was made between.

"Now let's see what that cunt has to offer."

His skilful hands hiking your layered gown up, making way for his arms to snake around your bare thighs, lifting you idly off the ground.

"Can't wait till the wedding to tarnish you, I've waited long enough."

A sudden bolt of lightening pain shot from within your inner thighs, as your tight walls stretched out ceaselessly to accommodate, as Aemond shoved his rigid cock inside. Your back flattened against the sandstone wall, its texture rough against the delicate silk of your gown. Burying his length deeper and deeper with each harsh thrust, his heavy balls collided with your silky folds as he vigorously pumped himself back and forth. His pace, although rough, remained steady. His raw, sensitive tip pummelling at your cervix, felt scorching inside your lower belly.

"And if I fuck you so good, that you begin to swell with my child... What would your dead family think of their precious daughter then, huh? These tits belong to me now, and the mother's milk that comes with it. Your entire being belongs to me now. That babe in your belly will be all because of me, and you'll fucking love every bit of it."

"I-I owe you my l-life, D-Daddy-"

The words mindlessly slipped from you lips, and yet it felt instinctual to say. As Aemond's mouth lapped at the sensitive crook of your neck, you felt the smirk of his grin against your skin, his sharp teeth faintly biting at your soft flesh.

"That's right, baby. That's so right my needy, little slut. You have a Daddy now that can really take care of you, protect you... Love you."

The epitome of his words, the calm depth in his voice, had reached its glorifying peak, as Aemond's hot load shot up directly into you, reverently coating your insides. Like some royal orchestra in unison to his final thrust, did a growling moan escape his lips, followed by an whisper of a swear. Leaning his exhausted, heavier mass over you, as he safely guided your legs back down to the surface, his breath densely hot against your ear, his outstretched palms cladded against the wall for support.

"Clean yourself up, Y/N... Wouldn't want anyone else to see you as the whore that you are, and get any ideas-"

His heavy breathing made his voice less formidable and more husky. Eyeing over your form, as you once more scoured and polished up the mess he made between your thighs, with the inner layer of your gown. You simply nodded in response to his demand, before hastily attempting to rush back to the confines of your quarters.

Yet, a firm pull tugged at your elbow, causing you to halt in your tracks, unavoidably.

"I will seek you out again tonight... Be ready for me."

general taglist - @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1 @aegonslawyer

Aemond taglist - @megatardisbaby @harrypotteranna23-blog

credit for divider - @/itbmojojoejo

[captainlunaxmen]

Dragon's Healer

Chapter 1

Daemyra x fem!reader (very brief mention of Harwin Strong x fem!reader)

Dark!Aemond x fem!reader (in future chapters)

I'm trying new things... I just hope you'll like it.

Let me know if you want to be tagging future chapter and let me know what you think❤️

Chapter summary: The reader is Rhaenyra's lady-in-waiting. They share more than a friendship. This, first chapter follows the events leading to the questioning of Luke's legitimacy.

Warning: death, hinting at infertility, very very vague hint to rape.

I walk as quickly as I can, trying to hide my excitement and eagerness from the eyes of the courts, towards Rhaenyra's chambers.

The maesters apparently needed more ointments right this morning, adding to Rhaenyra not wanting me to help her through labour, I suspect I'll be the last one to see the baby. Once I notice I'm alone, I literally rush to her door and knock softly on it.

"It's me." I softly say, "may I, princess?"

"Come in." Her muffled voice comes from beside the door.

I open the doors, quick to close them again when I see Harwin Strong holding the newborn. I fondly smile at him then my eyes fall to Rhaenyra's tired figure.

"How are you feeling, princess?" I ask, walking to stand next to Harwin looking at the baby.

"You already know the answer." She weakly chuckles.

"He's so pretty." I say and look at the guard nodding his head, "he got your nose."

"And the family's insolence, apparently." Rhaenyra adds and I chuckle, "I believe he might have your mouth."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, my dear." I sadly tell her, smiling nonetheless.

"You know you're his mother just as I am." She tells me firmly.

"She's not wrong." Harwin agrees and I playfully glare at him.

"It's a nice thought." I say, caressing the little boy's cheek with a finger.

"Well, Jace and Luke consider you like a second mother." She insists.

"It's not the same thing."

"You love them like they were your own. They can feel it." Harwin says softly, making me look up at him catching his loving gaze on me.

"Don't look at me like that." I jokingly scold him.

"You know, I think he took her insolence." He teases, talking to the Targaryen princess.

"She's part of the family, my statement remains truthful." She smiles brightly and I decide it's time to join her on the small couch.

"Are you okay?" I check on her.

"I am."

"Why are you all dressed?" I ask, just noticing her wearing one of her dresses.

"The queen wanted to see the baby." She sighs, I'm at loss for words, briefly looking at Harwin.

"Right after you gave birth?" I ask and she nods, "gods... couldn't she come herself?"

"And give her the satisfaction?"

I sighs deeply, shaking my head.

"Let's just hope he won't take after you in stubbornness." I softly smile at her, caressing her cheek with my hand, she moves hers to gently grab mine and hold it to her. "Do you need anything?"

"I promise you, I'm fine." She nods, letting my hand go.

"So... does he have a name already or?" I ask, standing up again to walk to the baby in Harwin's arms.

"Jeoffrey." Rhaenyra answers.

"Jeoffrey?"

"Laenor chose it." She tells me. That gives me everything I need to understand, I nod my head and go back at looking at Jeoffrey.

"So so pretty."

"You two would look amazing as parent." I hear Rhaenyra's soft voice commenting. I sadly smile at Harwin, he returns it.

"May I?" I ask him to hold the baby.

"Oh of course, my lady." He says, carefully passing the baby into my arms, "I have duties to attend to anyway."

"Go and protect us, Commander." I smile at him.

"Princess." He nods at Rhaenyra, "my lady." He nods at me, I see him linger for a moment before exiting the room.

I walk to Rhaenyra, rocking the baby in my arms to keep him asleep.

"He's really pretty, love." I say.

"After all the effort I put, I hope so." She smiles.

"Did Alicent say anything?" I ask.

"Nothing... as always she merely implies things." She winces slightly sitting up.

"Careful." I scold her, "get some rest."

"Yes, yes," she dismisses me, "I meant it, you know."

"What?" I absently ask, smiling at the baby as I put him in his crib.

"You and Harwin would make amazing parents."

"Rhae... you know I can't..." I sadly say, sitting with her.

"You never tried again..." she gently takes my hand.

"The maesters said it's impossible... and I don't see it happening with Harwin... not after all these allegations, at least." I squeeze her hand, "it's okay, you said Luke and Jace consider me like a mother... that's enough."

"But..." she sighs, determined, I admire how even in her tired condition she's still stubborn as always, "maybe your condition changed and..."

"Rhaenyra," I stop her, "I've never bled... I've never... before your parents took me in, there have been situations in which I could've... fallen pregnant, yet... I never did, in those cases thankfully, but still... I don't think it will ever happen" I sadly explain to her, "it's okay. And, I mean, marrying the commander would probably imply me moving away from here. Him becoming lord and me his lady wife... would you want me away?"

"I would never, you know that. I just see you with Jace and Luke... even with Alicent's children. And you deserve it." Her smiles warms my heart.

"I'm happy as I am. I promise you." I lean to kiss her softly.

She kisses me back, I can feel she's still tired from labour, so I let her lay a little more.

"If it ever becomes too much for you, I want you to tell me, please?" She tells me, firmly but keeping a hint of sweetness in her tone.

"Is that an order, princess?" I tease.

"It definitely is." She grins, "and just you wait until I'm fully recovered."

"Ooh is that a threat?" I grin too, standing up.

"It depends on how wet it gets you." She winks and I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. Her grins only widens, "I got my answer."

"Oh, fine... let me get you to bed so you can rest and stop teasing me." I offer my arm to her, she gladly takes it and let me guide her to her bed.

"Just you wait." She teases.

"I'll wait." I smile, "do you need anything? Want me to call a maid?"

"I'm fine, my love." She reassures me, "I'll see you later."

"Alright. Rest, princess." I say before leaving her chambers.

--------------

I got announced by the guard, not that I care much to wait as I enter the room, glad to have found Alicent.

Before I could start speaking, I notice Aemond's hurt expression.

"What happened?" I ask, confused as I also notice the boy's state.

"He went into the caves to... claim a dragon." The queen sighs deeply.

"Again?" I ask, turning to Aemond, his hurt expression turns slightly into one of shame, almost, and I too sigh, "what did they do?"

"What do you think they did?" Alicent slightly snaps at me. "Those kids made fun of him again.."

"I'm not asking you." I state, firmly, "you weren't there, were you? Tough, I'm pretty sure your oldest son was." I glare at her accusations, "you were too busy summoning a woman who had just given birth to show you the baby."

"I didn't as-"

"We can talk about it later, your highness." I cut her off, "that is not the pressing matter right now, don't you think?"

"It is not." She reluctantly agrees, "that's why I need to speak with the king about it." She then adress her son, "remember what we said."

Aemond nods, not exactly convinced, but he does. Alicent gives me a look before exiting the room.

I let out a long sigh, then I cross my arms in front of me and look at Aemond, who keeps avoiding my eyes, looking down at the floor.

"So? Should I try to guess or you want to tell me?" I adress the matter again, the boy briefly looks at me before letting out a puff of breath.

"They made fun of me again." He simply says.

"Yes, your mother said so." I nod, "but what happened?"

"They dressed a pig like a dragon... they made wings and all." He explains, looking at the ground.

I face soften, now noticing a small bruise on his forehead.

"Come, let's put something on that bruise." I motion for him to go sit by the table.

I walk to him as I take out a small bottle from the bag I always carry around, and a small tissue.

"Why do you think I don't have a dragon?" He suddenly asks, before I could raise the tissue, I stop my movement and sigh, lowering my arm.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm not the right person to ask that."I say softly, raising again my hand and finally cure his small wound.

"You can't stop it anymore." I hear Haelena mutter, I pay her no mind for now, I instead focus on Aemond.

"I don't understand it." He says.

"Maybe you're destined to claim one of the famous unclaimed dragons. Or maybe you just need to wait a little longer than them." I sigh, softly, hoping to make him feel at ease, "regardless, do not listen to their mockery. You all are still kids, nothing you say or do is always what you truly mean. Don't take their action to heart, you are not what they claim."

"And what am I?" He asks, almost defeated. I out down the tissue, and I make sure he looks at me.

"You are a smart kid, I've never seen anyone learning old valyrian as fast as you. You understand things on a deeper level, you're not defined by a dragon. Remember that, okay?" I urge him, he nods and I sweetly smile at him, patting his shoulder and standing up, "and never say never, maybe you'll claim a dragon tomorrow," I walk to the door, " or the day after, or the day after that. Now c'mon, I believe you have training with Cole."

"Yes, I do." He nods and he walks towards me.

"I guess I'll try," I whisper, "Haelena, would you like to join me in the gardens?"

"I'd like to, but I'm needed here." She says, flatly.

I look at Aemond who shrugs and shakes his head.

"If you change you mind, send for me." I wait a moment for an answer that never comes, and with Aemond walk out towards the training ground.

--------------

As soon as I heard what happened with Cole, I went looking for Harwin, hoping to find him alone.

I'm lucky enough to find him alone, I saw his father walking away, understandably upset. I walk to him and, silently, I tell him to follow me.

Once we're in a more secluded area, I check one more time in case there are unwanted ears nearby. Then I turn to him.

"What were you thinking?!" I whisper yell at him.

"I'm... I'm sorry, I couldn't see anymore." He softly says, looking down.

"Clearly." I sternly reply.

"I just... he treats them with less respect then the queen's, he-"

"I know that. He's always done that, what the fuck happened for you to hit him?" I ask, frustrated, I'm scared something bad could happen to him.

"He wasn't giving them any useful instructions, cruelty instead of tactics, then the insinuating started..." he explains.

"Harwin..." I sigh, "people's been insinuating since Jace was born, why lose your temper for something Cole ever said? He's just a bitter man, finding comfort in humiliation and cruelty."

"He tried to subtly call you a whore." He finally raises his eyes to meet mine, "tried, because I didn't let him finish the sentence."

His proud smirk make me chuckle a little, but I recollect myself quickly.

"Everyone has called me that at some point, Harwin, it's not the worts I've heard." I take him hands in mine, "they've called me worse than that." When I catch his questioning look I go on, "I've been called an opportunist, I've been called a snake, a non-woman, broken or contagious... whore is just... nothing."

"I couldn't stand him saying it." He grits his teeth in frustration, "and you're not broken, you-"

"Harwin, while I appreciate it when you compliment me and are so sweet to me, this is serious. You could be sent away." I remind him.

"My father was kind enough to explain it again." He rolls his eyes.

"Well he's right, your outburst will be used as fuel to all the rumours." I scold him, "it's treason, Harwin."

"He said that too." He look away again, annoyed, annoyed because he's know we're right.

I sigh, closing the distance between us, to make him look at me.

"I don't want to lose you, Harwin." I say, "I can't."

I see his eyes softening, he leans his forehead on mine.

"You won't." He pulls back a little to look at me, "you know, I've always dreamed of running away with you."

"You've said that, maybe once... or twice." I cheekly smile at him, trying to hide my own fear.

"Taking two horses and run ride away, just us." He softly whispers, "but I never asked."

"You know I-"

"You couldn't leave her." He finishes for me, "I know, and I couldn't ask you to leave her behind. I wouldn't ask you to."

He lifts my chin just enough to leave a small kiss on my lips.

"Don't ask me to say goodbye to you either." I warn him, "I won't."

"I know." He kisses me again.

--------------

I didn't say goodbye.

I didn't. I simply watched Harwin leave with his father. I cought for a moment his eyes on me as he left, and I wanted to go to him, but I couldn't.

The days after that have been... caotic to say the least. After Harwin departure Rhaenyra decided to move the whole family to Dragonstone and Rhaenyra and I tried to comfort each other. The news of Harwin's death, still fresh, broke something in me.

"I'm really sorry, my love." She told me one night as we sat in front of the fire.

"It's not your fault in any way, Rhae. Do not blame yourself." I tell her.

"If I let you marry Harwin, maybe you-"

"You didn't force me to stay by your side, Rhae, I wanted to. Harwin understood that, if anything, he deserved better than me." I sighed, "he deserved better."

"You chose to stay with me, like he chose you. He wanted to be with you, and see you happy, that's what he cared about." She told me, sternly, to avoid me entering a bad place in my mind.

We didn't say more, we just held each other in front of the fire.

But the days after that were even crazier, Laena's death was like a thunder while the sky is clear, unexpected and shocking, and so was Laenor's "death", at least to Rhaenys and Corlys. A cruel, but necessary mean to an end.

But I still remember the incident so well...

I remember hearing noises outside my chambers, I arrived to a room where Jace and Luke's bloodied faces greeted me.

"What happened?!" I exclaimed kneeling in front of them and checking their wounds.

"Ask them." Alicent furious tone told me.

I looked up at her, just then noticing Aemond sitting with a Measter close to check him. I walk to see why he deserved more care than the others and saw his wound.

"Gods..." I exhaled, "how..?"

"I told you to ask them." Alicent repeated.

I watched Alicent closely, then I looked at Jace and Luke, Rhaena and Baela scared close to them.

I looked back at Aemond and the Maester's work.

"Leave it, you're butchering his eye." I tried to shove him to take his place.

"He was-" Alicent started.

"Butchers do cleaner jobs, I assure you, my queen." I said, taking the needle and started to stitch the wound myself, along with my oils, "just hang on a little longer, my prince."

"How could you allow such a thing to happen?" King Viserys demanded "I will have answers."

"The princes were supposed to be abed, my King." Harrold answered.

Alicent came right next to me to check in on his son, I let her because I understood her anxiety.

"Who had the watch?" Viserys kept his interrogation going.

"Young Prince was attacked by his own cousins, your grace." Criston chimed in and I forced myself to contain a scoff.

"You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!" The King exclaimed, furious.

"The kings guard has never had to defend princes from princes, your grace." Criston tried to defend himself.

"That is no answer." Viserys shouted at him.

"It will heal, will it not?" Alicent asked, "will it not, lady Y/n?"

I could feel all eyes on me.

"I..." I sighed, keeping my hand as steady as possible, "the flesh will heal. Yes. But, I'm afraid, the eye is lost."

"Where were you?" Alicent stood up abruptly to ask Aegon.

"Alicent.." I tried to calm her, since I finished with Aemond's wound.

"Me?" Aegon couldn't even ask before Alicent slapped him, "what was that for?"

"Thay was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool"

"I'll get you some oils to keep on in to make it heal faster," I told Aemond, "and you just lost an eye, your life is not over. Remember that."

In that exact moment, Corlys and Rhaenys arrived demanding explanation.

I stood to better check on Luke and Jace, when Rhaenyra came in too, followed by Daemon. When I met his eyes, his usual smirk made its way to his face, and he winked at me.

"Are they okay?" Rhae's voice was what got me our of staring at Daemon.

"Uh, yes, yes, just a few scratches, princess." I assured her.

"Who did this?" She asked.

"They attacked me!" Aemond immediately answered, starting a chorus of children shouting to be heard.

I deeply sighed, and looked again at Daemon, the smug expression ever present, I looked at Rhaenyra as they all fight back and forth, alost tuning out their voices. I suspected they did... something. Rhaenyra always felt a pull towards her uncle, not that I couldn't blame her, but I was worried said something could've had consequences.

When my eyes landed on Alicent's hand holding Visrys' dagger walking directly to Rhaenyra, I snapped out my dazed state wanting to put myself in between them, but Rhaenys' hand held my elbow.

"Do not mourn me, Mother." Aemond started to speak earning the attention of all presents, "it was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon." He finished, proud of himself.

"This proceeding is at an end." The King commanded.

Just then, Rhaenys let me go, letting me walk by her side to check on the cut the dagger left.

Daemon joining our side of the room as well.

Something that night shifted, not in the best way.

--------------

The sun coming from the big windows puts a smile on my face as I watch Daemon walking back to the castle, the hard look on his face creates a confused frown on my face.

"Something happened?" I ask once he's close enough, "the eggs?"

"Three healthy eggs," he assures me, caressing my cheek briefly.

"Then what's troubling you?" I ask.

"A raven." He answers, handing me said raven, "Vaemond wants to question Luke's claim to Driftmark."

I groan in frustration.

"I always hated that man." I say, following him inside.

"Makes me want to test the sharpness of my sword on him." He grins, clearly annoyed by the news.

"That's a wonderful idea." I agree.

"Don't agree with me on this, it turns me on." He playfully warns me, to which I respond with a little shove.

"It seems we have a message to report, my prince." I remind him.

"We sure do, my lady." The seriousness is back on his face and together we join Rhaenyra in the map room with Jace.

"Leave us." Rhaenyra commands as soon as she sees us.

Jace takes Jeoffrey and with the maesters and the handmaid, exits the room.

Daemon and I walk closer to the Princess, she looks at us with a mix of intrigued and perplexed expression.

I give her the message and she reads it. Me and Daemon waiting patiently.

"He means to call into question Luke's legitimacy," she realises, in disbelief, "and by extension Jace, and by extension my own clain to the throne."

I gently grab her hand to reassure her.

"Vaemond cares only about Driftmark and the Velaryon line." Daemon explains, "not about out politics. Has he made common cause with Otto Hightower yet?"

"Mh, this is what I fear." Rhaenyra humms, re-reading the letter, "Rhaenys has flown to court." She looks at me, her own gear moving in her head.

"She can't be planning to uphold his intentions." I assure her.

"No, exactly," Daemon agrees with me, "whatever disagreements we may have had, she's not cruel... or stupid enough to do that."

"Disagreements?" Rhaenyra questions, "she believes we had her son killed so that we might marry." She specifies.

"Yes... and yet, she's taken Baela to ward." Daemon tries to reassure her.

"Yes. It is Laena's memory she honors. She has no love for us."

"Has the vipers' venom spread so far?" He smirks, almost challenging.

"Those vipers rule in my father's name, and my father..." she sighs, defeated, "what choice do I have?"

"We defend." I tell her.

Daemon gently strokes Rhaenyra's belly with one hand, and with the other brush a finger on my cheek affectionately.

"To King's Landing, then."

--------------

Letting Rhaenyra and Daemon arrive a day before me was my intention, they're married, I'm just her lady-in-waiting to the court's eyes, so I insisted on them arriving on their own.

When I do arrive I sense immediately the tension in the air, symbols on the Sevens are hanged around the castle, instead of the Targaryen's crest. I try to ignore this feeling of uneasiness as I walk the vaguely familiar corridors.

"Y/n." I hear a familiar voice calling from behind me.

"My queen." I say as soon as I turn around, bowing to her. She gets closer, followed by Criston Cole as always.

"It's good to see you again." She kindly greets me, gently taking my hands.

"I share the sentiment my queen, these years have been kind to you," I smile at her, "beautiful as always."

Seeing her here, in front of me again after that night, all memories of us three together years and years ago making their way to the surface.

"You're still too kind," she smile, almost forced because she's not used to it anymore, "you're even more beautiful than I remember, my lady."

"Thank you, your highness," I thank her, quickly glancing at Cole beside her, "I was heading to the King's chamber, I wish to say hello."

"I'm afraid he's resting," she quickly tells me, "princess Rhaenyra's arrival was a lot for him."

"Is his condition that severe?" I ask, worried.

"I'm afraid so." She apologetically replies, "maybe after the council today."

"Will he be present?" I ask, hopeful.

"The masesters are opposed to the idea," she explains.

"Let me see him, maybe I can help." I insist.

"He does need his rest, my lady," she sternly says.

I swallow my tongue and cease my questions.

"Very well, my queen." I bow once again, "I'll go visit the library then, the gods know I missed King's Landing's library."

Alicent merely nods and lets me go without any more words.

I can't help all the suspects forming in my mind, I try to shake then out of my head, maybe I'm just exaggerating. I focus on remembering the route to the library instead, and thankfully I find it pretty easily. Juste as easily I get lost in the books.

I find a book I used to read all the time, a book about herbs and art in ancient times.

I get so lost in the book, I get startled when I suddenly hear footsteps behind me, turning around immediately.

"Apologies, my lady, I didn't mean to stratle you." The man in front of me says.

"Nothing to apologise for, I was merely lost in the book, I..." I trail off as I look at him better, noticing an eyepatch, "Aemond?"

[peterparkersnose]

Spoil

pairing: Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen x reader

word count: 3.6k

warnings: lowkey dark!aemond, alys river type themed, reader’s family gets killed, reader is a plaything, sexual themes and descriptions (not a smut), fluff at the end :)

a/n THAT GIF OML uuhhh this came to me in a fever dream apologies.

summary She’s his spoil of war, and his new found confidant.

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read time: 13 mins 26 seconds

A spoil of war. 

Is the one thing you had been demeaned down to. From a visiting Lady to Harrenhal, a betrothed to one of the Strong sons, and now to nothing. A spoil of war. 

The first time you ever saw him was weeks after the fateful night that your life collapsed. You still remember the cool breeze in your nightgown and the loose hair around your shoulders. How the moon shone so brightly, but only in the early evening before the fight began. Smoke then filled the air as your new home was captured. 

And then they were gone. 

The Blacks had just packed up everything and… left? The castle you once knew to be lively, despite its cracks, was suddenly sullen and empty. Few staff remained from the ones who fled. You clung to your betrothed along with the rest of his family. Life felt like a ticking time bomb. 

It was midday when you heard the roar of the great dragon, Vhagar. A strange time to invade, but there wasn’t much to do. A glimmer of hope, you thought. A glimmer of hope. 

Hope is only something a fool would believe in now, you truly believed. 

The Strong family was rounded up by the one-eyed Prince. You had heard of him before and knew what the people whispered about him. Kinslayer. Evil. Egotistical. Irrational. 

A plea for help, you thought. How foolish you feel now. The Kinslayer swiftly went one by one, killing every single last Strong, down to the grandchildren. All you could do was scream. Your betrothed was gone, and so was his family. The women and the children were all gone. And all that was left was you. 

The worst death of all, you supposed. It was certain now, you were the last one on your knees pleading for your life. Perhaps in another lifetime, you deserved this. Watching your new family die one by one, knowing of your fate. As the Kinslayer approached you, his sword bloodied in his hand, blood splattered all over his armor, and his face, his white hair matted with the blood of your betrothed. His facial expression was unreadable as you stared him dead in the eyes. A soft prayer came from your lips as he looked at you like you were the most disgusting thing he had ever seen now, as a scowl moved to his lips.

His hatred for the Strong family was inconceivable. Why did such a man hate a family that much? 

He stared you down, taking in every single inch of you. An evil snarl approached his lips as he grunted. “Mmm…”

“She’ll do.” he called out to a man in armor, an older one than the Prince and with Dornish features. 

She’ll do? What in the Seven Hells is that supposed to mean?

The Dornish Knight took you by the shoulders and forced you off your feet and whispered into your ear softly as he was escorting you to horseback, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Just be quiet and listen. Pledge your allegiance to King Aegon. Then you’ll be fine.” His words were far from comforting as he intended them to be. Your betrothed blood was still fresh on your hands. 

A war camp was your new home. One of the dirtiest places on earth, not for a Lady such as yourself. Men were constantly poking and prodding at you, calling and shouting at you all sorts of terrible names. When you first arrived, you were brought into a quiet tent away from the evil eyes of the soldiers. The Dornish man sat with you and spoke softly. He seemed as if he didn’t want to scare you, but he still did nonetheless. You pledged your allegiance to King Aegon and kept quiet, listening to the first piece of advice he gave you. He introduced himself to you as Ser Criston Cole. You feared for your life, and the only thing seemingly keeping it here was this Ser Criston Cole. 

After a while, Ser Criston left you alone. And for a while, you sat confused as so many things were running through your head. Your cries continued as well did the trembles in your hands, the hands you couldn’t pull your eyes from as they were covered with your love's blood. 

A maid who was silent the whole time came in with a tub and began to bathe you after you were alone for a while. Why? You had no clue. A bath did seem nice though, you wished to be rid of the horrors that painted your body. You cried as the maid washed you, traumatized by the events of that day. The clear water turned a murky brown as your old life was washed away. A new dress was gifted to you. One of a deep green and a sinch in the middle, tied with golden strings. It was long-sleeved and floor length, keeping you warm in the harsh, cold, rainy environment where the camp was located. And along was an optional green coat of fur, embroidered with beautiful designs. Something you would never normally choose, but there wasn’t really a choice. The dress was soft and felt a bit snug around your body, but you didn’t feel like complaining would be a good idea at the moment. 

Your hair was combed by this maid as her quick hands moved through your locks. It reminded you of your old life and your old Lady maid. Who you thought must be dead by now. The soothing words of your old Lady maid calmed you for a bit, as you closed your eyes and pretended you were simply not there. 

The maid dressed you and quickly left. You didn’t know the Dornish man was guarding this tent until the maid left, and you saw a glimpse of his armor from the flap of the tent that was exposed when she left. 

Ser Criston returned and looked you up and down. It was not in a perverse way though, more of an inspection. Like you were some… some item being prepared. He sighed. 

“He’ll be happy.” Ser Criston stated, crossing his arms. 

“Who, may I ask?” you finally spoke. 

“Prince Aemond.” Ser Criston replied, giving you one last look up and down. “He spared you for a reason, my Lady. You should be eternally grateful for him and his grace when it came to you.” 

Prince Aemond? Having grace? 

Ser Criston escorted you to another tent. The men whistled and whooped as you walked by, looking like a fresh piece of meat to the soldiers who hadn’t felt the touch of their ladies for weeks. Heat rose to your cheeks as you looked at your boots, praying this nightmare would end. But oh, it had just begun. 

Prince Aemond sat in his tent. It was identical to every single one each soldier had on the outside, but on the inside, it was quite different. The delicately carved chairs and a large bed of hay with many pelts over it caught your eye before the Prince did. You didn’t even notice Criston leaving your side until you turned to speak to him, and he was gone. 

He was sitting in front of the fire. His armor was gone, and his hair was cleaned. His stockings were hung by the fire as they seemed to be drying as he sat in a chair, not looking in your direction. You stood still, fear wracked your body as you tried to think of something to do. Should you speak? Just stand there? Wait for him to approach you? 

“Come,” he said commandingly as he flicked a few of his fingers towards you, beckoning you over to his side. The Prince didn’t even look your way. His voice was much calmer than it was at Harrenhal. You listened, approaching him with hesitance. 

He looked up at you, taking in your features with the same blank look as he did at Harrenhal.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked harshly as you stood next to his chair awkwardly. You nodded. “Mmm…” he hummed once again, moving his hand in a way to ask you to sit in the opposite chair. The chair creaked a bit as you sat, giving an unexpected chill down your spine. 

“When I speak to you, you respond to me in words. No nods. Understood?” he scolded you, his tone of voice making you twitch. 

“Yes.” you squeaked out, almost silently. 

“Yes, what…?” Prince Aemond asked you, testing you to see your limits. “Yes, my Prince.” 

“Good girl. You learn quickly.” he purred, standing up from his chair to approach you. You froze as he did, not wanting to mess up. This was your only chance at survival. The Prince circled you, almost as a lion did to its prey not once, not twice, but three times. You couldn’t meet his gaze. 

“What is your name…?” he asked, now standing in front of you. You answered him swiftly with your name and your house. 

“Your father bent the knee to the Princess Rhaenyra, is that correct?”

Your heart skipped a beat. He had? You genuinely had no clue, as you were already living in Harrenhal with your betrothed as the war broke out. 

“M-my father, your grace, I have not seen him in many moons.” you quivered, your eyes fixated on the brick of the fireplace. 

“But yet you are his kin…” Aemond sighed, picking up a lock of your hair in his hands. “Such a shame. Ironic, isn’t it? He had pledged his allegiance to Rhaenyra, and yet you are mine.” he chuckled. His laugh sent chills down your spine. You stayed silent.

“How old are you?” he asked, dropping your piece of hair and looking down at you menacingly. 

“Twenty, your grace.” you replied hastily, afraid of his presence. “And I suspect you were betrothed to a Strong boy, is that it…?” 

You nodded.

“Use your words,” he said demeaningly, his long lanky fingers meeting your chin as he pulled your sad eyes up to meet his gaze. “Yes, my Prince.” “Good girl.”

His words went straight between your thighs. “I think I’ll like you,” he says, letting go of your chin. Tears brimmed your eyes. “Do not worry. I will not touch you tonight.” he says somewhat softer, as he grabs your hand. You didn’t even realize they were shaking. “Touch me?” you asked, looking up at him. 

“Oh yes. Don’t you understand what this is…?” he asked, making her feel like an idiot. The way he spoke was so demeaning, making her feel like she was the stupidest person alive. How had she not figured out what this was yet? “No.” she whispered. It was all making sense now. 

“You are mine. Mine to do with what I please. My spoil, as some say. You will do as I say, won’t you?” he asked, letting go of your shaking hand. You felt like your tongue was numb as he spoke. No emotion was shown on your face as you felt him kneel down in front of you. He placed a hand on your thigh. 

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked after a while. You met his gaze as he looked up to you, he seemed like an evil spirit had possessed him. His face was different, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. You were speechless again. Aemond was getting obviously annoyed by your lack of response. “You should be,” he said, his grip on your thigh tightening as your breath quickened. “Tell me, my Lady. Are you going to be a good girl and listen to me? Be my plaything, my lover, my company… or would you rather join the Silent Sisters? I cannot kill such a beauty as yourself.” 

His other hand moved to caress your cheek. He awaited your answer. 

“I-I…” you stuttered. The Prince grew impatient. “Answer me, now!” he yelled at you. You finally cracked.

“Yes, yes, I’ll listen, I'm sorry.” you cried, cringing at the sudden raising of his voice. His cruel smile only widened. “Good girl.”

-

He was gentle to you at first, but every time after grew harsher and harsher. He often prided himself on seeing you at his mercy, his hand on your stomach as he fucked you slowly. He liked the way you muttered his name as he held you in his arms as you were about to reach your peak. He enjoyed watching you leak his seed out on your thighs as you rested in bed after a long night of pleasure. 

Even if he was rough, he never treated you as his whore. He would often put your own pleasure above his, which was quite unexpected. In many senses around the camp, you were seen as his Queen. Even if that was far from the truth. 

He never liked it much when you spoke. He had no desire to know about your life, your dislikes, and interests, or anything remotely personal about you. He used you. He took and took and gave nothing in return, besides a mutual pleasure for each other. He took your company, as you would sleep next to him in his bed every night. He never held you or whispered sweet nothings to you as you fell asleep. He took your time, as you waited around for him all day. You had grown quite lazy and bored, with close to nothing to do. He took your worth. Yes, he didn’t treat you as his whore. But he would call you names that made you feel like one. You figured it made him feel better about himself, making you beg for his cock and calling you a slut afterward. Aemond would often tell you mid fucking about how beautiful you would look bearing his bastards. Or how good you looked with him buried inside of you. 

Aemond had returned for the night. You had gotten used to the angry footsteps and the sudden whooshing open of the tent door flap when he would return from his days. You hadn’t seen him for five days. You heard of his return to the camp by a few passing soldiers and expected his presence in your chambers tonight. But tonight seemed different. It was eerie how quiet he was. He was usually eager to get his armor off and to fuck you, but tonight was more solemn. He angrily threw his eyepatch on the floor and kicked his armor. It startled you a bit as you watched him seemingly throw a tantrum. Mentally preparing yourself for a night of torture, you began your routine as you had in the past few weeks and began undressing.

“No,” he said, emotionless, not facing to look at you. You stopped. This had never happened. He took off his armor and set it aside, and made his way slowly to the bed in his underclothes. You sat on the bed, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t look at you. Aemond could sense your confusion and your uncertainty. 

“Not tonight.” he said, his voice sounding weaker and weaker with each syllable. “Oh.” you said quietly, adjusting your nightgown back on comfortably. You sat in bed next to him. 

He reached up a hand and took a lock of your hair in it and twirled it in his fingers. He hummed. You just looked down at what he was doing and watched his fingers, then looked into his gaze. He seemed to have revealed an emotion, for the first time in weeks. Sadness. 

You wanted to ask what was wrong but decided to keep your mouth shut. He didn’t like when you talked. 

He waited a long time before he spoke. He sat there, not moving, and seemingly staring into space. Groups of soldiers marched by, the only sound breaking the deafening silence between the two of you. You knew better than to speak. 

“How has Hilda been treating you?” he asks quietly, still not meeting your gaze. 

“Hilda?” you asked, confused. “Your maid.” he said annoyed that you didn’t know what he was talking about. His tongue had a sharp, defensive tone to it. 

“Oh,” you replied, confused as to why he was making conversation. He never usually did. “She’s been kind.” 

Aemond nodded. He was trying. So hard. He just didn’t know how to approach you with what he really needed tonight. Kindness was something he had not equipped in a while. 

“Come,” he said, placing a hand on your back suddenly. You were hesitant. “I won’t hurt you.”

You listened to him and scooted over in the bed, lying next to Aemond as he wrapped his arms around you in a sudden movement. Your stomach was filled with butterflies and fear as he did, he pulled you closer to him. You had so many questions, questions you wished to ask and knew you couldn’t. And you stood still as touched you, confused as to what he wanted from you.

“Do you want me to embrace you?” you asked softly. He nodded, burying his head near your chest and the crook of your neck. You could feel his warm breath on your neck.

What the fuck was this…?

One of your hands wrapped around his head and cradled it as the other moved to his back and gave him some small circles with your fingers. He let out a long sigh. 

He looked up at you as he rested in your arms. His eyes were wet and his face was one you had never seen before. Aemond seemed like a complete stranger at that moment. “Do you love me?” he asked her with a tired voice.

She most certainly did not. But that was not the answer he was currently seeking.

“I do,” she said, caressing the side of his face and moving stray strands of hair out of the way. He just held her tighter and placed his head back on your chest, his breathing becoming shallow as he tried to hold in the tears. You were so utterly confused. He knew she truly didn’t love him. But he needed to know if she was obedient enough to lie for him. To hold his secrets, to be an extension of just his thing to toy with. He needed somebody desperately right now, and the only thing he craved was touch. Touch and your attention. He didn’t love you and you didn’t love him. But it hurt nobody to just play the part they were supposed to that night. He was in need.

“I-I went to Rook’s Rest,” Aemond began to speak. His tone was different from his usual commands, he sounded scared. You had never seen this side of him before. She nodded, stroking his hair as he spoke. “My brother, Aegon, and I…” 

You had never heard him speak of the King so informally. 

“We fought our cousin Rhaenys and her dragon… and we won but-” his voice hitched. He was… he was shaking? “It’s okay.” you said softly, daring to speak as your lover shook in your grasp. 

You knew tears were now falling down his cheeks but didn’t dare to say a single thing about it. You knew deep down, he was just a scared little boy. Aemond was only twenty as you were. His big persona of being a ruthless kinslayer was peeling back and he was revealing himself to you. It was something he never did, only in the solemn private moments with his mother years ago. 

He had broken at the sight of what he was about to tell her.

“Aegon got hurt. Really bad.”

He was telling you confidential information about the King. He was trusting you. “I-I’m sorry.” you replied sincerely. His hands moved around your ribcage and the other snaked around your back. He felt the fabric of your dress and played with it between his fingers as he tried to calm himself. “H-he can’t walk and he’s burned terribly and he’s barely conscious, and his dragon is injured, and... You-you mustn't tell anyone.” he whimpered, his tone stiffening at the last sentence as his ramblings came to an end. “Never,” you whispered, combing through his hair with your fingers to try and calm him. 

“I’m- they made me… they made me Prince Regent.” Aemond confessed as the words left his lips with a sour taste. You could tell he was terrified. 

Oh shit.

Aemond in a sense, was King. She finally understood how dire King Aegon’s condition was and understood why Aemond had been acting so strangely that night. 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” you asked him softly, trying to look to the positive side. If the positive side even existed in this situation. 

“No!” he seemingly barked at you suddenly, making you tense a bit. “I’m sorry…” he whispered, running his hand over the side of your ribcage and down to your hips. You had never heard this man once apologize for anything. He looked up to you with his red eyes as he craved your touch. You cupped his cheek, clearing the tears from his right cheek with your thumb. You knew he was afraid. Shocked. Terrified. And he was asking for you. 

“I will pray for the King’s recovery, your grace.”

“Aemond…” he said softly. You were confused and he read it on your face. “When-when we’re like this. Don’t bother with the titles. I am just Aemond.” 

You nodded. 

“I will pray for the King’s recovery, Aemond.” you corrected yourself. “And that your reign may be successful.” 

She kissed the top of his head. He held her close. 

“Everything will be okay.”

He held you like that for the rest of the night. No violence. No sex. No words. Just you and him, in a moment where he could have his last bit of clarity before he had to put the mask back on and perform for everyone else in his life. He was quite thankful for you that night. Aemond wept quietly as you held the most powerful man in Westeros all throughout that night. 

-

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[propheticbride]

Bastards and Dragons I

𐙚 As you return to Kind's Landing to help defend your brother's claim to Driftmark, you find yourself entangling yourself in old resurfacing feelings.

𐙚 Aemond x Reader (tw: manipulation, incest)

It had been years since you had graced King’s Landing, staying in Dragonstone along with your other siblings, at your mother's behest. The memories of your childhood stung, the castle you had left behind simply just a memory of a different time.

You were not stupid. You knew why Vaemond was questioning Lucerys’s birthright to Driftmark. Everyone did. Although you loved Laenor, you felt a disconnect from him. He was a good father, and tried his hardest to make sure you and your brothers knew comfort and love. But deep down, it didn't feel right.

You hadn't been in Kings Landing for even a day, before you and your brothers found yourselves in the training yard, Jacaerys leading the tour.

"See? I told you this would still be here." he smiles at your youngest brother. "And you thought you could swing Criston’s morning star. And you almost took your own head off."

Lucerys looks around nervously, shrinking into his form.

"What's your problem?" Jacaerys shot Luke a look.

"Everyone’s staring at us." Luke sighs. "No one would question me being heir to Driftmark…if…if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon than Ser Harwin Strong."

"It doesn't matter what they think." you remind him.

Crowds of noise begin to cheer, as you and your brothers turn around to see all the fuss.

You find yourself staring at the man with long silver hair moving between a man you did know, Criston Cole.

Suddenly, the silver haired man turned, and the image of young Aemond was quickly replaced by a dashing prince. Aemond stood tall in the courtyard, keeping his feet moving as he swung his sword against Cole. Fast and quick in his movements, eventually besting the much older knight.

The spectators all clapped, including you and your two brothers.

"Well done, my Prince." Criston nods at Aemond. "You’ll be winning tourneys in no time."

"I don’t give a shit about tourneys." Aemond's eyes find yours, not your brother's. "Nephews…and my darling niece. Have you come to train?"

You hadn't seen your uncle in so long, he had changed from the once quiet and bullied boy that you had known. You once exchanged words with him every so often when able, until your mother had moved you all so abruptly to Dragonstone, cutting off any connection you had formed with the prince.

His eyes focus on you, taking note of how curious you glanced back at him. You had changed. The soft meek girl who hid behind her mother’s skirts was now a beautiful woman, standing before him with an air of interest for him in her.

"It seems time has passed faster than I thought", he remarks with an undertone of mockery.

“I haven't seen you since...the incident at driftmark.” you smile at him, manners always first.

Aemond lets out a dry chuckle at your words, his eye narrowing. "Yes, the issue at Driftmark", he says with a bitter tone, "It seems like yesterday."

The memories of that night were never far from his mind. Every night you were gone, he had thought about how your screams alerted the guards, allowing them to pull apart the bastards that attacked him. You had cupped his face, sobbing as you took his gashed face in. Aemond had gripped your skirts so tight, almost feeling bad for bloodying your nightgown.

“Childhood must’ve been fond at times, no?” you ask, trying to search his eye.

"Fond? I suppose for some, it was...", he huffs, "But for me, you could say it was quite the opposite.”, he adds, his voice bitter as he glances at your brothers briefly before turning his gaze back to you.

You knew Aemond’s childhood hadn't been the best. Thanks to Jacaerys and Aegon’s cruel treatment of him. You remember warning Jacaerys that beaten dogs always bite back, completely sure that the incident at Driftmark was that: the dog finally biting back.

You look at Jacaerys then back to the prince, “But god you've grown so tall…I remember Aegon being the taller one.”

Aemond can't help but smile at that. It was true, he had grown considerably since he was younger, and he was now taller than Aegon. Giving him some power trip over the other man.

"Indeed, I have", he says with a smile. "I grew far more than my brother did".

“And what a fighter you have become.” Lucerys speaks up.

“Quite the fighter? And what do you know of Knights, boy?” Aemond questions the smaller one, who shrinks at his crueler tone used for him.

“Nothing. Lucerys knows nothing, but he is to learn, is he not? If he is going to be the heir to Driftmark.” you try to ease the tension you can feel building up.

Aemond laughs at the mention of Lucerys being the heir to Driftmark. "Yes, the little bastard shall be the Lord of Driftmark…” Aemond turns to look at your brother. "Though I wonder if he's truly worthy of such a title.”

“Aemond.” you say with a mixture of disgust and shock.

You weren't stupid, very obviously aware of you and your brother’s brown soft locks instead of the traditional silver hair Targaryen’s donned. But your mother had explained sometimes it wasn't the promised color, evident of Rhaenys’s brown hair.

Aemond merely smiles at your reaction.

"Oh, come now…” he says, his tone mocking. "Surely you know the truth. Lucerys is a bastard, and he has no right to claim Driftmark.”

“Then that makes me a bastard as well, does it not?” you are quick to defend your brother to his words.

The prince only glances at you before leaning close into your ear to whisper, "Yes, I suppose it does. But tell me, have you ever felt anything akin to jealousy knowing that you are to be nothing more than a mere bastard, while your younger brother will be lord of the tides? And your other one, heir to the iron throne? You could be so much more, if the opportunity would arise.”

✮⋆˙

“Mother?” you are quick to enter her chambers.

Rhaenyra looks up at you, at her feet Viserys and Aegon play. “Yes my love?”

“I ran into Aemond earlier, training with Cole..” you say, sitting beside her on the velvet chair.

“Oh you did, did you?” Rhaenyra’s face turns, not liking the idea of you with her brother. She quickly glances up at you, reading your face almost immediately. “What is it?”

“Mother, he called us bastards. For all of the training yard to see and hear."

“He did what?” she looks concerned.

“Mother, he said that Luke wouldn't inherit Driftmark, because he is a bastard. And that he's not worthy of it, like Jace isnt of the throne…” you sigh at your words. “That I would seek nothing, because I am a bastard.”

Your mother’s face softens a bit. She would never allow any harm to befall her children, she’d rather die. “Hey.” she soothes. “My sweet, do not listen to him, for he speaks lies. You are not a bastard, you are my daughter and you are everything. Do not ever forget that, hm?”

Tears form in your eyes. “I am not stupid mother. I see the way Queen Alicent looks at me, and has looked at all three of us for years. How the court sneers behind our backs for the color of our hair.”

Rhaenyra’s heart aches once again, as she reaches out, she tilts your chin up. “Do not listen to them, my love.” she speaks softly. Rhaenyra would not allow your innocence to be taken from you at such a young age. “You know the truth…you are my daughter, my beautiful girl. No one can argue that.”

“Is that why Vaemond is questioning Luke as heir?” you ask.

Your mother’s hand falls from your face and she sighs, “No my dearest. The truth of it is that he is a greedy and restless second son scorned.”

“Lots of theatrics for a second son.”

Rhaenyra gives you a small smile, “It’s the height of ambition, is it not? And foolishness.”

“Where is Daemon?” you ask as you glance around her empty chambers.

Rhaenyra pauses for a second, “Why?”

“You shouldn't be alone while we’re here.” you look back to her.

Your mother chuckles softly, cocking her head so slightly. “I’ll be fine, little one.” she assures. “I don’t need him watching me every second of the day.”

“I still don't like you being alone.” you frown, allowing her to pull you into her.

“And why is that hm?” she asks.

“Because I do not trust the queen. Not at all.” you declare.

“You too then, hm?” Rhaenyra laughs slightly. Of course you didn't. It had always worried your mother how much you truly did pick up on. “And why do you not trust her?”

“Because of how she treats us. Treats you.” you point to the scar on Rhaenyra's arm, left by Alicent years ago.

Rhaenyra pauses, recounting how you and your brothers had witnessed that moment. Alicent went mad, stupid enough to bring a knife to the heir of the throne, but to actually cut skin and cause the blood of the dragon to stain the floors, was another act entirely.

“I am so sorry you and your brothers had to witness that. You should have been in your chambers.” her voice is soft.

“Alicent should've died for that...you are the heir to the throne!” you shake your head, voice shaking slightly.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen, her stomach turns from your words. She places her hands on your face, “Do not say such things.”

“Why not? Are you saying that grandfather allowing her to live was right? That she saw no punishment...no justice, was right?” you stand to your feet, almost upset at what you are hearing.

Rhaenyra stands as well, sighing as she shakes her head. “It does not matter if it was right or not.”

“Yes it does!”

“She-” your mother pauses and takes a deep breath. As if she was choosing her words carefully. “I do not want you thinking or bringing up anything from that night. I am your mother and you are my daughter, I do not wish to hear it come from your mouth. Do I make myself clear?”

“You're defending her.” your eyes widen at the realization. Your mother was defending the very woman who had bullied her for years, tormented you and your brothers with vile gossip and drove you all from your places in King’s Landing.

“I am not-” Rhaenyra huffs in frustration. “I am merely protecting you-”

“You are not protecting me from anything! Do you think when you took Harwin Strong into bed, you'd be protecting us?” you know the words will sting her, but at the moment you are too angry to care.

Rhaenyra looks at you, almost as if you were a stranger in the moment. “You-”

“Everyone knows mother, you can tell by how they stare at us.” your voice is quiet, defeated.

“Darling, look at me.” Rhaenyra demands. “There's my daughter. The one who's kind, smart and fierce. Words have never hurt you before, you shall not let them hurt you now.”

“You don't understand what it's like. When it’s all anyone can see! I am meant to be a Velaryon, yet I am barely that if that at all!” hot tears stream your face, your own frustration growing.

“I don't understand?” Rhaenyra’s voice breaks. “I wouldn't understand? What it’s like to be stared at, to be whispered about as I walk the halls? What do you think happened to me when you were born? Or the years before that?”

“It isn't the same!” you stress. “You are a Targaryen! You have the silver hair! I have the brown hair that shows proof of your-”

“Of my what?” your mother’s face falls.

“Everyone knows…that Harwin Strong is our father.”

Rhaenyra swallows, a look of hurt painting her face. “You should not focus on that. You should focus-”

“On myself, yes. The bastard of the great House Targaryen.” with your last words, you can't help but not stay for the argument that would ensue. You quickly leave her.

✮⋆˙

The door to his chambers stood before you. You knew his chambers by heart because before you were ripped away from King's Landing, they were once your chambers.

You inhale a breath, debating if doing it is really worth it. What answers could he have that your mother was not giving you. Honesty perhaps being one.

You knock slightly on his door. After some footsteps are heard, his door swings open to him standing there. As he takes your image in, his face turns into a mix of surprise and curiosity.

“Aemond. I did not wake you did I?” you ask softly.

“No, you did not.” he shakes his head. “I simply was reading.”

“Can I come in?” you give him a soft smile, hoping he takes note of your kindness.

“Very well.” Aemond stands back, opening his chamber doors to allow you in. “You may enter.”

You enter his chambers and remove your robes, leaving you in your nightdress.

Aemond raises his eyebrow as he closes his chamber door, taking in your form.

“I spoke to my mother earlier today.” you break the silence that hung between you two.

Aemond’s figure leans against one of the stone walls and simply stares at you. “Oh? What about?”

“I know Harwin Strong is my father, but she won't deny yet won’t say the truth plainly.” you look at the ground, refusing to make eye contact as you say the words.

Aemond’s only eye widens.

The rumor of Harwin being you and your brother’s true father was a nasty rumor that had circulated the court for years. Hanging shame on the crown princess, and her children as people whispered whenever they were present. A rumor he know his own mother had begun, backed by a simple ‘Just look at their hair, that is no true Targaryen nor Velaryon’

It was an open secret, nasty gossip. Never confirmed.

Not until now. You stood before him, confirming what your mother tried so hard to keep quiet.

He studies your face for a fleeting moment before speaking, “So it is true then? Harwin Strong is your father?”

You nod as tears begin flooding your face, “He is. Perhaps I always knew, but just wanted to deny it. But as I grow older I cannot. I've come to you because you know what it's like to...not belong where you are supposed to.”

Aemond watches as you wipe your tears, his expression turning soft as he pushes himself off the wall and walks towards you. He knew exactly what you meant. He had been an outsider for years, looking in as Aegon and your brothers relentlessly tortured him.

“I do not know what to do. I feel like I will not fit no matter where I am. Like a broken piece of a glass that cannot be put back.” you sob.

Aemond cups your face, bringing you to look directly at him. And in that moment the shy bastard he once knew flushed away as now all he could see was your gorgeous face, inches away from his.

When did these feelings exist? He felt butterflies as you searched his face.

“I know what it's like…to feel that way,” he admits. “It's an unbearable feeling that threatens to swallow you whole.”

You lean in, “I never hurt you, I couldn't. I knew my brothers were so cruel to you, along with Aegon...I felt so bad.”

“No, you never hurt me sweet girl.” he murmurs. “But you also never stopped them. You were the oldest of your brothers, you should've…”

“I'm sorry!” you cry. “Please do not be mad at me, I cannot have you against me as well.”

“I’m not mad at you.” he assures. “I could never be mad at you. It's just…sometimes your indifference pained me more than their cruelty.”

“I should've said something, told someone. Maybe if I had, you'd still have your eye.” you admit. Not sure you believe your words.

“Perhaps you should have.” Aemond smiles a little, the idea of your empathy towards him over taking the side of your brothers made him feel different towards you. Feelings he had tried so hard to ignore, pouring back in. He shakes his head, “No need to ponder on the painful past. What’s done is done I’m afraid, and we must live with the consequences of our actions.”

You stare at Aemond's lip, desire burning in your eyes, “Did you ever think of me? All of those years?”

Aemond nods at you, of course he thought of you. More than he'd care to admit. "Yes", he answers. “I thought of you. More often than I should have.”

“I thought of you too...would stare out from the balcony of my chambers towards the shores of King’s Landing...missing you.” your years have cleared up now, face inches from his. The tension is too much.

“You missed me?” he asks in disbelief.

“Yes uncle, I missed you.”

Aemond’s breath hitches at the use of the term, something you had called him playfully as children.

‘Yes uncle, coming uncle.’

Aemond’s restraint, all of it that he was holding back so desperately, shatters. He leans in, closing the gap and presses his lips against yours. You immediately react, holding his face just as he holds yours.

You pull back from the kiss, “what did you mean? Earlier you said I could benefit from a situation that would arise...what would you want with a bastard like me?”

Aemond’s expression changes, still caught up in the fact you willingly kissed him back. Something he only dreamed of when he was younger.

He let out a sigh, "Yes, bastard or not, I have desires. Desires that you, as a bastard, could fulfill for me.”

You weren't sure you liked his tone. “And what desires are that?”

He takes in your form again, and takes a deep breath. “Desires better shown than spoken about.”

You didn't know he had felt this way about you. Only a child’s crush that faded only so slightly when you were forced from your home.

“I cannot give you anything, but perhaps children with brown hair I’m afraid...I'm nothing.” you insist, shaking your head.

Aemond sighs dramatically, “Do not speak of yourself like that. You are much more than that whore’s bastard daughter. And as for children? I’ll give you beautiful silver haired boys to dote after.”

“You...you'd give me princes?”

He smiles at you, hands returning to your face. “Yes”, he says firmly. “I would. I'd give you princes and princesses. Legitimate sons and daughters.”

“But I am not your wife, they would be bastards.” you remind him.

His heart aches at the truth of your words, but you were right. You were not his wife. They would be bastards. But you didn't need to be married for them to be conceived.

“Make me your wife.” you whisper. “Take me the way Daemon has taken my mother.”

“The old Valyrian way is a blood oath…you would want that? I thought all princesses dreamed of fancy feasts and wedding ceremonies.” Aemond laughs a little.

“I'm not one for feasts...or for dramatic gatherings of strangers. I know your mother wouldn't allow it, nor would mine. Besides, once married, one of us would have to die for it to be void.”

Aemond’s eyes darken slightly. “Our mothers, at each other’s throats for us and our safety, yet not knowing where our hearts truly lie.”

“So you’ll have me?” you ask, desperate and vulnerable.

“Yes.” he nods. “I’ll have you��in every way.”

You kiss him, it's desperate and almost pathetic. Moaning against his mouth as you try to rid him of his clothes. He groans into the kiss as well, feeling your need for him. The need he's felt for you for years, desperate for this.

He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily. “You're eager aren't you.”

“I’ve needed you since we were younger, Uncle.” you nod.

“And i’ve wanted you.” he begins to shed you of your nightgown. “From the moment you first spoke to me when we were children. I knew you would be my wife, you had to.”

“Take me.” you beg.

“I’ll take you.” he says breathlessly. With one swift movement, he carries you to his sprawling bed.

“I love you, Uncle.” you manage out. The words are surprising, even to you.

Aemond lays you down against the soft blankets, “I love you as well sweet girl. More than I should…more than I intended.”

You kiss him again, reaching for the growing hard on you can visibly see through his pants.

He groans at your touch, growing weak in your hands. “Impatient aren't you?”

“Waited for so long...waited my whole life to be with you!” you tell him.

“I’m here now. I’m yours.” he promises.

He moans at your touch, getting lost in the pure lust of it. “Fuck.”

“Stop teasing me…haven't we both waited enough?” you cry. You wanted him now.

“You want me?” he smirks. “Perhaps I won't hold back.”

“Don't.” you insist.

“Oh you’ll have me. All of me.” he demands. He pins your wrists above your head, covering your body with his.

You both deepen the kiss as he begins to press and roll his body against yours, the small flame inside you flickering. Pure pleasure rattling you.

“You feel good,” he murmurs. “so good.”

He lifts your hips up, pinning you against him, rolling his hips harder. You moan wildly, and desperately. All of these feelings were so new to you, as you imagined they were new to Aemond too.

“Have you done this before?” you ask him.

His face riddles with guilt, and your heart drops slightly.

He nods, “I have.”

“Oh…”

“Aegon…made me. Said it would turn me into a man. It meant nothing.” he insists.

“You laid with a maiden?”

He shakes his head, “A whore.”

Your heart feels better at this. Whores were an easy outlet to the men of Aemond’s kind. You knew that. It meant nothing at the end of the day.

“I’m still…a maiden.” you tell him.

A bastard who was still a virgin.

“How intriguing. I would not have guessed-”

“You think I am a whore?” you scoff.

“No. I know you know better than that…but with your mother leading by example, one must wonder.” he corrects you.

“I wanted to save it…for someone special.” you admit silently.

His eye widened, “You saved it for me?”

Deep down he figured that in all those years, Rhaenyra had married you to your brother, Jace. And that by the time you returned you would have made Rhaenyra a grandmother. To his surprise, you weren't married to him, nor did you bear any of his children. It made him know that you simply were his.

“You did not marry Jace?” he asks.

You shake your head, “I love him, the way a sister loves a brother.”

“And me?” he stares at you.

“I do not love you the way a niece should love an uncle.” you take a sharp breath.

“And how do you love me then?” he lays his forehead against yours.

“The way a wife loves her husband.”

[fan-goddess]

Author recommend for dark!Aemond & dark!Aegon?

Of course my dear! I’ve gone through my whole following list and have found authors who write at least more than once for either dark!Aegon and dark!Aemond or if they write both! Hope you enjoy reading them all, I certainly did!

There are probably a lot more authors but like I said these are just from from following list. I encourage other authors to tag people they think should be added!

Dark!Aemond authors:

@asumofwords

@adragonprinceswhore (one or two not too many but still so delicious to read)

@thought--bubble

@aemondsbabe

@youraverageaemondsimp (THEY WRITE SUCH GOOD DARK!AEMOND!!!!)

@themotherofhorses (SO GOOOOOOD)

@ripdragonbeans

@targaryenrealnessdarling (you’re looking for dark, ‘consequences’ will change you)

@flowerandblood

@ewanmitchellcrumbs

Dark!Aegon authors:

@lovelykhaleesiii

@scaly-freaks (they write in pretty sure mainly on AO3 but the link is on their tumblr page)

@aegoniiwifey

Authors who write both:

@asharasasylum

@sylasthegrim

@bucknastysbabe (they’ve written more dark!aegon than dark!Aemond but their dark!aemond in space is so good I’m on my knees every time I read it!)

@factorydefaultlu (note they don’t write for HOTD anymore but looking back in their work it’s so good. You’ll need to search a bit for what you want but it’s so worth it.)

[bookishcarmela]

Dark Desires

warnings: none

pairings: jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader, aemond targaryen x targ!reader

synopsis: Princess Y/n, the eldest daughter of Daemon and Laena Targaryen, faces a tumultuous life after her mother's death. Her father marries Rhaenyra Targaryen, and Y/n is betrothed to Rhaenyra's eldest son, Jacaerys. Over time, Y/n and Jacaerys grow to love each other deeply. However, their lives are thrown into turmoil when Y/n unexpectedly reunites with her cousin, Aemond igniting new emotions. As the threat of war looms, Y/n grapples with her feelings and the competing demands of love, duty to her family, and her betrothal to Jacaerys. She must navigate this emotional and political minefield to find her true path amidst the chaos.

Chapter 1: Drift Mark

 Y/n Targaryen felt the cold bite of winter against her skin as she rode Silverwing through the crisp morning air. The dragon's scales gleamed in the early light, a beacon against the pale sky. The flight from Dragonstone to Driftmark was short, but the chill in the air tinted her tan skin a soft pink. As she approached High Tide, she saw the pale stone towers peeking over the clouds. The welcoming cry of her grandmother's dragon, Meleys, echoed in the distance.

Landing gracefully, Y/n spotted her sister Baela waiting for her. They laughed and embraced each other warmly.

"Sister, it’s been too long," Y/n said, though it had only been a fortnight since their last meeting.

Baela’s silver hair was now cut short and braided, a change Y/n noticed immediately. As they let go of each other, Baela still held her hand.

"Come, sister," Baela said. "We have much to talk about."

They made their way down the corridors of High Tide, catching up on everything they couldn’t fit into their letters. Entering the main room, they saw their grandmother, Rhaenys, sitting upon the driftwood throne. She stood and embraced Ayra warmly.

"My sweet girl, it’s been too long. I’ve missed you," Rhaenys said.

"I’ve missed you as well, Grandmother," Y/n replied.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the maester and their uncle Vaemond. Y/ns' heart sank as she remembered her grandfather, Lord Corlys, who had been gone for six years fighting in the Stepstones. The maester spoke solemnly of how Corlys had been injured in battle and had contracted a fever that many hadn’t survived.

Rhaenys thanked the maester, asking him to prepare for Corlys’s arrival. Y/n could see the mix of emotions in her grandmother’s eyes.

"The Sea Snake is strong, Grandmother," Baela said, trying to comfort her. "Truly, it’ll take much more than a fever to best him. The Sea Snake is much too stubborn."

"I’m afraid not even my brother’s stubbornness can save him," Vaemond interjected, stepping closer. "I have seen blood fever overcome men half his age."

"I will not suffer the talk of crows in my house, Vaemond," Rhaenys said sternly, giving him a pointed look.

"I love my brother," Vaemond continued.

"If you loved your brother so much, then you would be doing your best to help him, not trying to usurp his seat while he is ill," Y/n said, interrupting.

"I speak only the truth, niece," Vaemond replied, turning to Y/n. "We might greet that ship only to find my brother already gone. Who will sit the driftwood throne then?"

"My grandmother seems quite comfortable here," Baela said.

"She resides only in the absence of her husband," Vaemond snapped. "Upon his death, the seat passes."

"To Lucerys Velaryon," Rhaenys interrupted, her voice firm. "As is my lord husband’s wish."

"I am the Sea Snake's own blood, the closest he has left," Vaemond said, looking at Rhaenys.

"I would mind my words if I were you, Uncle," y/n said. "One could take your words for treason."

Vaemond’s hard gaze turned back to Arya as he stepped onto the dais where Ayra and Baela stood on either side of their grandmother.

"I speak the truth, niece, and you know it. All of you know it," Vaemond said, looking at all three of them. "It has been decided," Rhaenys said, her voice steady but tinged with anger.

"By a man whose ambition has brought calamity upon us," Vaemond said, raising his voice. "My brother cares only for the history books, but the Velaryon line is to be snuffed out, supplanted by the pups of House Strong. Driftmark is mine by all rights. I should like your support," he said, looking Rhaenys dead in the eyes, "but I do not… need it. The winds have shifted. The crown has good reason to take my side."

"My cousin, the king, would have your tongue for this," Rhaenys said, her voice venomous.

"But it’s not the king who sits the Iron Throne these days, good sister. It is a queen," Vaemond said, stepping closer.

"You best mind yourself. She is still the lady of this household, and you are no more than a second son," Ayra said.

"Why, you little—" Vaemond started, straightening himself, his words cold.

"I would choose my next words carefully," Y/n said. "You forget yourself, Uncle. I am a princess of House Targaryen. You best mind your tongue before you lose it."

"You’ve overstayed your welcome, good brother," Rhaenys said, standing. "You may take your leave."

Vaemond tilted his head up and sent pointed looks to both Ayra and Baela before leaving in angry steps.

After her strenuous morning, Rhaenys excused herself back to her rooms, leaving Y/n and Baela to spend the day together. They walked along the beaches of Driftmark, the ocean seemingly calm today. The waves lapped gently at their feet, and the salty air filled Y/n with memories of her mother.

The sea always made Y/n think of her mother: her long curly white hair, her soft skin, and the way she used to hold Y/n. She remembered those last days before her mother passed, the day she had claimed Silverwing. She had rushed into her mother’s room, filled with happiness, to announce that she had finally claimed her own dragon. Her mother, sitting in a long white dress with a hand on her pregnant belly, had been so proud.

Her mother had promised that after the baby came and she healed, they would fly together. Such a simple memory, yet it brought a heavy weight to Y/n heart. Baela’s voice brought her back to the present.

“So, dear sister,” Baela said with a mischievous smile, “how is your betrothed?”

Y/n let out a giggle. “Jace is fine. He’s still struggling with his High Valyrian, but he’ll get it in no time. Vermax is big enough to fly now, so we’ve been flying together over the Dragonmount and the Blackwater.”

“You seem quite taken with him,” Baela teased, laughing. “You’ve come so far from playing kissing games with Father’s squires.”

Y/n nudged her with her shoulder, laughing as well. “If I remember correctly, I wasn’t the only one playing those games.”

“Yes, but you are the older sister. You’re supposed to set an example,” Baela replied in a light, airy tone.

“Oh, please, Baela. You were just as much trouble as I was. Besides, now I’m too old for kissing games,” Y/n giggled.

“Yes, we do much more than kissing now,” Baela said, laughing and bumping into Y/n.

“It is unladylike to speak of such things,” Y/n teased. “All I will say is that Jace does not leave me wanting for anything.” She winked, and both girls erupted into laughter once more.

After laughing until they were out of breath, they looked at each other.

“I’ve missed this,” Y/n said. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Baela replied. “How much longer will you stay here, Baela?”

All the humor left Baela’s face. “I don’t want to have this conversation again, Y/n.”

“Baela, please,” Y/n said. “You cannot stay mad at Father forever. Rhaena misses you. I miss you. Father misses you. We have two younger brothers who barely know you. You have to let this go. You have to come home.”

“Dragonstone is not my home,” Baela said. “Driftmark is my home, as it was Mother’s. My place is here with Grandmother. You see how things are here—Grandfather’s not dead yet, and still, vultures come to try to take his throne. I must stay here with Grandmother.”

“You and I both know that Grandmother can take care of this on her own,” y/n said. “With Meleys, she would make quick work of anyone who tried to harm her or her house. Don’t use her as an excuse to stay here. You’re five and ten, Baela; you’re too old for these games.”

Baela kept quiet and looked away, towards the sea, watching the sun slowly set as the sea swallowed it whole.

“The hour is late, sister,” Baela said. “Our grandmother is waiting for us.” The rest of the walk was quiet, and once they were within the walls of High Tide, they took their separate ways.

High Tide had always been an odd place for Y/n. They had lived in Pentos until she was four and then made their way here because her mother wished for her children to be raised in her childhood home. Y/n could tell that her father never really liked it. He never fully adjusted to High Tide, yet he stayed for her mother’s sake.

As she made her way into her childhood room, closing the door behind her, it seemed almost frozen in time, unchanged since she was a girl. No one ever took it. High Tide had a lack of guests ever since the death of her mother and uncle Laenor. Y/n quickly stripped out of her riding leathers and bathed herself, changing into an airy dress.

Its top was a light blue silk, almost so light it looked silver, with two silver dragons connected at her waist. The bottom of the dress was white lace. It was rare to see her out of her house colors, but she did love the blues and silvers of House Velaryon.

A servant took her to where her sister and grandmother waited. She sat opposite Baela, who only glanced at her. Y/n looked towards her grandmother, grabbing her hand.

“How do you fare, Grandmother?” Y/n asked.

“I am well, my dear. These leeches try to take everything from me, but I am of my father’s blood. I will stay strong,” Rhaenys replied, pausing before continuing. “My dear, I need you to write to your father about what has happened today. I have received word that Vaemond is readying to go to the capital to petition for your grandfather’s seat. We will leave on the morrow.” She looked at both her granddaughters, grabbing Baela’s hand as well. “We must stand as a united front. I need you both to ready yourselves for anything that might happen. It has been too long since we’ve been in the capital, and I fear we have no friends there.”

The rest of dinner was light, filled with simple conversations and old memories. When they were done, Y/n excused herself and went back to her chambers. As she wrote to her father, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of excitement. It had been too long since she had been in King’s Landing since they had all been in King’s Landing. Once she was done, she lay in bed and readied herself for what the morning held.

next chapter

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash - EPILOGUE

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Mentions of grief, war, blood, loss.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, Cregan Stark X Reader

Note: Whelp... Here we are.... This is it. This is the end. The end of Smoke, Fire and Ash. We are ending with this Epilogue in a five year time jump. And oh boy.... I can't believe it. I really hope that you enjoy how I finish this era lmao, with over 370k words.... someone needs to take my computer away from me. Again, I can't even begin to express my love and gratitude to you all, I just hope that you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it! <3 So as always.... ENJOY!

EPILOGUE : His Song of Ice and Fire

Time jump: 5 years into the future. 

There was a chill that had come early to Kings Landing that season, all those years ago. A chill that had swept across the stones of the Keep, cool air creeping into your bones through your gown.

But now, as you stood where you had many moons ago, there was no crisp breeze that sent goosebumps rising on your arms, nor was there a bite to it that came as a subtle and precursory warning for what was to come.

The courtyard of the Godswood was warmed by streams of glowing sunlight that blanketed over the cobblestones and grass.

A soft breeze rolled through as you walked forward towards the tree, having missed being in its presence over the years passed, mostly spent on Dragonstone.

It had been five years since your mother was seated upon the Iron Throne. Five years since you had been named her successor. Five years since Lords, Ladies and Heads of Houses pledged themselves to you and the Queen. 

Five years since the death of Aegon and all those responsible for the usurpation. 

Since you commanded dracarys and watched as Alicent was devoured by flames. Since Larys laid on the flagstones, blood seeping from his stomach.

Five years since your father had gone to Storms End and slayed Borros Baratheon for his play in it. 

Five years since Baela and Rhaena flew to Oldtown and rounded up all the Hightower's who had shown support for Otto and his kin. 

And five years since his death.

Five years ago, in these very walls of the Red Keep, you had plunged a dagger into your husbands neck. Your uncles neck. Your childhood companion. The man you had loved.

And not one day that had gone by did you not think of it. Did you not dream of it. Did you not see him in the corners of your eyes, or in the shadows of your chambers on Dragonstone.

Did you not see the blood that stained your hands when you would wake, or witness with bouts of anxiety.

In your hand, the old and worn cover of your favourite book, ‘Ten Thousand Ships'. A novel in which you had read under these very branches of the Godswood. On the grass your mother had sat with you, or your brothers, or your uncles and aunt. 

You watched as a small head of silver raced ahead of you, shoulder length hair billowing behind him, with two tidy braids holding the sides behind his head.

“Careful, Lucerys.” You called out gently, watching as your son climbed atop the roots and settled right into your favourite spot. His black and red robes crinkling as he leant back against the root of the Weirwood tree. 

The smile on your face stretched widely as you moved to sit beside him, the small boy crawling into your lap as you brushed his hair back behind his ears. Little hands reached out to play with the necklace at your neck.

Aemond’s sapphire.

Ever since Lucerys was born, he had always longed to touch or hold it, violet eyes always finding it with ease against your neck, fingers outstretched to play with it or caress it. He tapped it up and down upon his finger as he looked at it with content.

There was so much of Aemond in him, it was hard for all not to see. It was especially true with his eyes. Eyes that you had loved since you were a child, reflected on your own sons face.

His were, much like Aemond's, a way to read him almost immediately, showing so much emotion and character in them as he thought, or played, or argued. Long silver lashes blinked up at you, and you could not help the tug of your heart as you bent your head to kiss his forehead.  

The young boy scrunched his nose at you in mock disgust before grabbing the book from your hand to hold it open in his lap, finding the page that you had been up to not just the day before.

The bridge of his nose was dusted with light freckles, and there was such a boyish charm to his rosy cheeks, whenever he smiled his teeth would show, bar the one he had recently just lost. 

Little Lucerys was as Aemond had been as a young boy. Inquisitive, soft spoken, kind and daring. He had a longing for knowledge, and sought it out whenever he could in Dragonstone's library or by picking your brain with a continuous stream of questions and consciousness.

But then there was so much of you in him too. His nose, his sure fire temper when things did not go his way, and his utter refusal to back down, even when it brought him to tears.

You read to your son beneath the tree as you reminisced on your days before. On how you had sought solace beneath the branches many times. How your mother had read to you here. How your brothers and Helaena would sometimes join you or play. And how Aemond would sit behind the trunk and listen to you read aloud, your voice carrying enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to let him know that you knew he was there.

And as you read, you felt his presence, there on the other side of the Godswood, where he would sit as a boy, listening as you read to his son. Watching as he always did. There as he always was.

Always and forever more, would the ghost of Aemond haunt you. 

You read louder, just so you could be confident that Aemond could hear, just as you had when you were young, even though you knew he was not truly there. But it felt right. It felt the way it should have been. What could have been.

Familiar. 

That is where your mother found you, nestled where she used to, reading a book she had once read to you to your son, and loud as though you wished for your voice to carry to some unknown spectator.

You felt the eyes of the Queen and lifted your head, pausing your reading if only for a moment, and Lucerys, being as perceptive as he was, looked up and spotted his Grandmother, leaping from your lap all elbows and knees and ran towards her. 

The Queen opened her arms widely as she chuckled, bending down slightly to catch the young boy who launched himself into her arms, crown unmoving from the top of her head.

“Grandmother Nyra!” He had cried as she lifted him into the air, sitting him atop her hip as you dusted your skirts down and made your way over.

“It feels right to see you there. I can remember how eager you used to be.” She smiled, turning her head to look at the boy in her arms, “Did you know your mother had me read to her there too?”

The boy nodded his head, silver hair bouncing atop his shoulders, “Uh huh. And father too!”

Rhaenyra’s smile softened as she looked at the boy and back to you, “She did. Your father loved her reading.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in to kiss your mothers cheeks, son still in her arms as he played with the crown at her head.

“Are you ready for this evenings feast?” Rhaenyra asked, swaying the boy gently as she pressed another kiss to the top of his head, once, twice, three times, exaggerating the noise as she sucked air through her pursed lips.

“Of course,” You adjusted the necklace at your throat in nervous habit, “We flew all this way for this evening, didn’t we?”

“Vermithor is grumpy, Grandmother. But he lets me on his back!” 

Rhaenyra opened her mouth and raised her brows, “Does he? Why, you must be the youngest rider ever!”

Lucerys beamed.

“Muña has been taking me to see Vhagar! She flies with us sometimes.” Mother.

The smile on Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, if only for a moment, before she regained her composure.

“Does she now? Vhagar must know that you’re your fathers son.”

Little Luc nodded his head, “I’m going to claim her. Muña said I shouldn’t because she is too old and grumpy and dangerous, but I know father wants me too.”

You cleared your throat, “That’s enough of that. Grandsire will have a new clutch soon, and you will have your own egg.”

“But I-“

“-Hush, my sweet.”

Turning back to you, Queen Rhaenyra lowered the boy back on to the ground, letting him run circles around the courtyard as you spoke, “Is he still having dreams?”

You bit your lip anxiously, before nodding, “He knows things he shouldn’t. He is much like Helaena in that respect.”

Your mother gave you a reassuring smile, “A gift from the Gods no doubt. A most precious one.”

You nodded in agreement, but in some ways you didn’t agree at all.

Was it really a gift if it aided in driving Helaena to madness?

Rhaenyra held one of your hands, brushing her thumb up and over your knuckles soothingly. You didn’t dare look down, knowing that they would be bloodied, “There will be allies from all the realm tonight. I cannot believe little Rhaegar is to have his first name day already.”

Rhaegar was a small boy of silver hair and tanned skin, one violet eye, and one brown. The third son of Jacaerys and Baela, with yet another on the way. Baela had told you in secret that she wished for a girl this time around, but had been surprised when the small boy had been born. 

None were more surprised however, than when he had opened his eyes to peer up at your brother, besotted by his son already, staring down at the violet and brown eyes that looked back up at him.

Aelor, the eldest, was but a few moons older than your Lucerys, and the two got on more fiercely than even you and Aemond possessed. It was a beautiful bond the two boys had, full of love and loyalty. 

The middle child of Jacaerys and Baela was a sweet and quiet boy named Rhaelor. He had the most beautiful of curls like his mother, who braided it closely to his scalp with clips of gold and silver dangling from each. 

"I cannot believe it either.” You agreed, casting a quick glance at your son, “They grow so quickly.”

Rhaenyra took your other hand in hers and squeezed them, “You grew the fastest of all. You shot up far before your brothers. I feel like I blinked and then there you were, a woman grown.”

Chuckling, you squeezed her hand back, “Will Rhaena be joining us this evening?”

Rhaenyra turned to lead you away from the Godswood, Lucerys running up beside you to hold your other hand, “Rhaena sent word that she senses the babe to be with us any day now. It is too far to travel from the Vale to Kings Landing in her condition, but has told us we must all be ready to come see the babe once it is born.”

Rhaena, upon the death of Lucerys, had refused to wed for years. She had stayed loyal and adamant that she would not be betrothed to another, but then she had met Ser Corwyn Corbray, a knight of House Corbray one evening at a feast.

They had immediately connected, an older man with flowing black hair and deep brown eyes that almost looked black. Corwyn was a kind man, if not fierce and skilled as a swordsman, wielding an ancestral longsword of Valyrian steel named Lady Forlorn. 

“A shame that I will not see my half-sister again, but I’m delighted to hear the babe should be born any day now. We shall be having many name day celebrations close together.” You smiled.

As you left the cobblestones of the courtyard, you turned your head back to gaze upon the ruby red leaves of the tree. They shimmered in the light of the sun and rustled softly with the breeze.

And there, sat beneath its branches, was Aemond.

His head was leant back against its trunk as he watched you, sapphire missing from the empty socket of his lost eye.

He had not left you.

He did not speak as Helaena and Lucerys had. Not in full sentences anyway. Not anything but the familiar name of endearment that he had called you.

Zaldrītsos.

It was whispered to you in the dead of night, or in the darkest of rooms when your hair would stand on end. Or at times, whispered to you when you were with Lucerys.

It was never malicious.

Or at least, thats what you liked to tell yourself. Though it never felt like he was there with bad intentions. It felt neutral. And you liked to tell yourself that he was there to watch and keep you safe. To keep you company. That a piece of your mind had made him up so that he could live a life with you, and watch your son grow.

There would always be a part of Aemond with you no matter where you went. Whether in your son, or in your visions, or upon your neck and scarred skin.

Your heart ached at the thought.

Rhaenyra walked you back to your chambers, entering as your four maids bowed and began to get preparations in order to ready you for the feast. The chamber doors opened as they left, held open as the tall and built body of your father entered.

“Grandsire!” Lucerys screeched, and you winced as the sound sent fear racing down you spine.

Your heart jolted, the echoes of screaming in your ears as you plastered a smile on your face, eyes twitching, watching as Daemon lifted him high into the air, throwing him up once and catching him to hold him tight against his chest.

Loud noises sometimes did that to you. Threw you back to your time in the Keep before your parents had arrived. Sparking fear into your very core, to the point where sometimes you could not breathe, as though your brain stopped functioning and you were gasping for air, clawing at your throat.

In those moments, Aemond would whisper to you.

It had been especially hard when Lucerys was first born. His cries would wake you and send you into a fit panic, racing to grab the dagger beside your bed as you would check the chamber for danger, wide eyed.

It took several months to learn to live with it, with his presence there, and you would be lying if you didn't say that looking down at Lucerys in his crib as a babe made you feel a guilt that you could not fight away with common sense. A melancholy that ate away at you viciously.

You had fallen into a state of depression, and in your confusion you had sent a letter to your mother and father via raven asking for star fruit. Your mind was so confused, so lost. You barely slept, or ate, and were in a perpetual state of fear.

Daemon came at once, and ended up spending almost an entire year on Dragonstone with you to help, before he finally convinced you to come back to Kings Landing with him so that your mother could help too.

It was months of screaming through the night, months of support, months of pacing your chambers, wondering if it was all worth it. Wondering if it was worth living, worth staying another day in such Hell.

The same thoughts had replayed in your mind over and over.

My son will hate me for what I have done.

I took his father from him.

He will never love me.

He will resent me for my sins.

The thought of climbing out the window as Helaena had done became an almost daily occurrence. And it was hard. Hard to not give in to it.

But you couldn't do it. Cowardice be damned, you could not leave you son alone. You would not abandon him. You would not do it.

So after months of the turmoil that chipped away at you day by day, you told them the truth of it, the whole truth of it, and by that time, after voicing such things aloud, little by little, you felt a bit more of yourself.

Lucerys had had his second name day when you were ready to go back to Dragonstone.

“Se skorkydoso iksis ñuha byka Dārilaros?” And how is my little Prince? Daemon grinned, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek as your son wriggled in his arms.

“Merbugon!” Hungry!

Daemon plastered mock shock upon his face, something that he would do often to you as a child, "Arlī? Yn ao sepār iprattan.” Again? But you just ate.

“Kesan ipradagon ao!” I’ll eat you! Lucerys growled, fake biting at his Grandsire’s arm.

The young boys High Valyrian was good, but nowhere near perfect. 

Daemon and Rhaenyra spent ample time teaching him, as did his uncles Jacaerys and Joffrey when you'd come to visit, or them you. His other uncles, Little Viserys and Aegon the Younger were not too many years older, similar to the age gap you and your uncles had had. They often played with him and Aelor.

Daemon dropped the boy onto the floor, messing his hair with a rough hand before pushing him away to go play with his toys, Saria and Aella sitting with him on the floor. Your fathers lavender eyes landed on you and he smirked.

“Tala.” Daughter, He greeted you, voice almost playful, “Do you look forward to tonights feast?” He pried, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“I look forward to spending time with all of you, of course.”

“Kostilus kessa ao ūndegon iā arlie valzȳrys.” Perhaps will you see a new husband, He smirked. 

Rolling your eyes, you sighed, “Kepa.” Father, “Kostilus, daor bisa arlī." Please, not this again.

It was a conversation that had begun to come up more often than not. You knew the reasoning behind it. You were heir. And you would be expected to wed again, and soon. But all the Lords in Kings Landing you had met had not once sparked any sort of interest for you. And Rhaenyra had vowed to let you marry whom you wanted, when you wanted.

She had kept true to her word thus far.

Rhaenyra sighed, tilting her head up at her husband as she looked at him in exacerbation, “Henujagon zirȳla sagon.” Leave her be.

Daemon held his palms up in surrender, looking over you before he brushed your cheek with his knuckle quickly, “Ao jurnegon gevie hae va moriot. Hae aōha muña.” You look beautiful as always. Like your mother.

You smirked, “Don’t try and get in my good graces now.”

Rhaenyra grabbed Daemons hand, “We shall leave you to get ready, and see you at the feast.”

You watched as they left your chambers, Rhaenyra whispering to Daemon in your mother tongue.

You were readied by your maids, the two who had been in service for you for many years, and the two who had been your saving grace in the Keep for all those long and trying months. The four sworn to you, and almost never leaving your sight.

They dressed you in a style you were more familiar with, a style you had worn prior to the war. Tight bodice with dripping cleavage, short sleeves and dragons embroidered all over. Your hair was left in waves down your back, with braids nestled amongst them. Against your neck, the same necklace as you wore everyday. 

Lucerys joined the feast for a time, eating with the other young children, Maelor and little Jaehaera included, before they were taken back to their chambers by maids.

The ale flowed heavily in the Hall, and all wore smiles on their faces, the frowns and wrinkles caused by the tension of war having been smoothed from their skin.

You sat beside your mother, Jacaerys and Baela to your other side. 

Baela was glowing, stomach round with the new child and cheeks rosy from smiling. Jacaerys cheeks were rosy from ale, but parenthood suited him all the same. He had matured, that much was obvious, but his love and devotion to his family and wife had only gotten stronger. 

“Little Aelor is growing so quickly.” You smiled, bringing your wine to your lips to sip as you felt nothing but joy to be where you were. To be where you always should had been. The room aglow with your mothers supporters and love. All around you joyous and bright.

“Little Aelor,” Baela leant towards you, “Is a little shit. Not once did I ever behave such a way. He bit Rhaelor this morning because he wouldn’t play with him.”

Jacaerys chuckled and Baela elbowed him in the arm.

“It's all Jacaerys, I’m afraid. He used to bite me too.” You grinned.

“I did not! Not once did I bite you.” 

"You did too. I have scars to prove it. Even ask the Septa, she's the one who tore you from me like a rabid dog.”

Jacaerys turned to his wife for support, who only bit her lip to try and hide the smile that broke on her cheeks, “My sister condemns me with these lies. Do you hear her?”

Baela smirked, sipping her wine, “I believe her. You were terribly wild. I seem to recall you have bitten me on more than one occasion.”

Jacaerys blushed, tongue in cheek as he looked at his wife.

You made a teasing face of disgust, "Incorrigible, the both of you."

All three of you watched on as Lords and Ladies danced in the middle of the Hall, loud music bouncing off of the walls by the band that played in the corner, and all laughed and clapped with joy as they watched.

“It is good to be home.” Jacaerys grinned, watching the celebrations, “Driftmark, though close, feels miles away.”

“You’re both always welcome to visit me and Lucerys at Dragonstone again, perhaps a longer stay? I am sure he would love to have you and the boys more often.”

Jacaerys nodded, “We will come promptly then. If the heir beckons, we shall come.” He teased.

“You have been summoned then." You put on your most pious voice you could manage, bursting into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

As your eyes looked into the sea of people, a familiar face came into view. 

Jacaerys and Baela, also noticing, turned to face you.

“You know,” Jacaerys began, leaning towards you, “He only comes to these things for you.” He whispered, watching the way a soft blush creeped on your cheeks. 

“He comes for you, brother. You are friends after all.” You breathed, feeling your heart race in your throat as the man got closer.

“Kessa, yn ziry umbagon syt ao.” Yes, but he stays for you, Baela snickered.

“You are both as bad as each other.” You griped, finishing the rest of your wine quickly, hoping to distract yourself by pouring another. 

As you reached for the goblet, the tall figure of Cregan Stark stood before you at the table, donned in brown and black leather robes, his long dark hair tied back away from his face, and stubble casting a shadow across his defined cheeks and chin. 

His stormy grey eyes bored into yours, and the soft and yet polite smile of Cregan Stark greeted you.

“My Lady.” He bowed his head politely, “Jacaerys. Lady Baela.”

“Cregan.” They nodded.

Jacaerys and Baela turned their heads away, conversing with themselves in an attempt to give you mock privacy.

Though you knew they were listening.

“Cregan Stark. You have journeyed far for such an occasion.” You gazed up at him, watching as his eyes flicked downwards and then back to you.

“Of course, My Lady. It is not every day my good friend’s son has his first name day.”

“You could not have missed it, I would have never forgiven you.” Jacaerys chimed in, cheeky smirk on his lips.

Cregan chuckled, deep and heartily, “You’d burn me alive if I did not come. I think those were your words that you sent via raven.”

“Good memory, Stark.”

You smiled, loving the banter the two men had, “But to travel all the way from the North, it must be a tiresome journey, is it not?”

Cregan’s broad chest expanded as he pulled his shoulders back, hands held behind him, “Aye, a tiresome journey if on the backs of horses, and not dragons. Though I am gladdened to know I shall be well rested before my return. His Grace has offered for me to stay at the Red Keep for the month.”

You turned your head towards your father, who’s eyes were already on you, smirk on his face. Your gaze told him you would have a word with him later.

A stern word. 

Turning back to Cregan you gave him a smile, "That is wonderful news that you will be here with us in Kings Landing for longer than expected. I had not imagined you to be here at all.”

“Apologies if my arrival has offended you, My lady.” Cregan jested, and you felt a blush creep across your chest.

“Please, Cregan, enough with the formalities. You may call me Y/n. I think we are well acquainted enough by now.”

Cregan smiled, showing a line of white teeth, “Y/n.” He tested the name on his tongue, as though it was the first time he had spoken it.

He stood for what felt like an eternity as you looked at him, neither of you sure of how to continue this conversation. 

Jacaerys, being the meddlesome man that he was, decided that his false conversation about the weather with his wife had ended with perfect timing, looking up at his old friend with a shit eating grin.

“My sister here has been approached by many men this evening, all who call her the Beauty of the Realm. Do you find my sister to be beautiful?” He smirked.

Cregan blanched, but answered almost immediately after, “Aye. It would only be a fool who could not see it.”

You blushed, drinking half of your wine in one gulp.

“Then will you continue to do her the dishonour of not asking her to dance?” Jacaerys blinked at his friend from atop the rim of his cup, hiding his grin behind the silver.

Cregan looked as though he was ready to chastise the Prince, perhaps even hit him, but instead turned to you, bowing his head, “Might I ask for a dance, Your Grace?”

You looked at the tall man before you, dark hair that curled lightly in waves, with eyes as stormy as winter. 

“If only you call me by my name, Lord Cregan.” You pushed from your seat, turning to give your brother and half-sister a furious glare that the Stark could not see as you turned away from the table, moving towards Cregan who waited diligently for you, hand held out, palm up. 

Cregan was much taller than Aemond had been, broader, and when your hand slid into his, you felt your chest come alight. A rush that you had not felt in a long, long time. A sense of butterflies that fluttered about behind your ribs like a makeshift cage. 

Cregan led you down to the sea of people, feeling the eyes of your family upon your back. When finally amongst the crowd you turned to face each other, dancing with the rest as your hands intermittently connected. 

“I must apologise, Your Grace-”

“-Y/n.” You corrected him.

“Y/n.” He smiled, “It is not often that I dance in the North. I fear I may be a terrible partner.”

“You are yet to step on my toes. I think you are doing perfectly well, if not a little clunky.” You smirked at the tall man, watching as he looked away bashfully.

“There is still time for that I suppose.”

Each brush of his hands atop your body caused warmth to spread through you, tiny little tendrils winding their way up your flesh wherever his skin would make contact with yours. Your hands, arms, shoulders, waist. It was almost overwhelming, and the only time you had ever felt it before, was many years ago.

Five years ago, to be exact.

“Ao jurnegon gevie.” You look beautiful.

Your legs got tangled with themselves as you came to a halt, looking up at the grey eyed man who looked down at you wistfully.

“What did you say?” You breathed, uncertain if you had heard him right, or if it was your mind playing tricks upon you.

“I said you looked beautiful.” Cregan’s eyes roamed your face, brows beginning to furrow, “I apologise, Your-“

“-No.” You shook your head, “Ao ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie?” You speak High Valyrian?

A warm chuckle erupted from his chest, “No, My Lady. Just that and some other small things. Your brother has been a great teacher thus far.”

You tilted your head, trying to get your feet to unstick from the floor, blurs of people moving around you, but in that moment it felt as though they had all disappeared, and you were left alone with the man before you.

“He is a good teacher because I have taught him.”

“Then perhaps I must ask of you to teach me instead.” Cregan gazed at you hopefully.

You hummed, “Do you have need to learn it? I did not think the North had any speakers of my mother tongue.”

Cregan opened his arm towards the side, weaving you through the crowd to the edge of the table, grasping a goblet of ale and procuring a goblet of wine for yourself.

You sipped on the wine, eyed widening.

Dornish wine.

Of all the wine on the table from this realm, to the Redwyne's vineyards, from Essos, to Dorne. Cregan had given you the one wine you liked the most.

How did he...

“We do not." He replied, "The North has no need for tongues of fire, our breath is ice.”

“Indeed. I am not too fond of the cold, I am afraid.” You teased.

Cregan’s large hand moved to swipe at his chin with a thumb, stumble rubbing beneath it in thought as he looked at you, “And have you been to the North? It is far more than just ice. Winterfell has a garden that may rival the one in the Red Keep.”

The spiced Dornish wine was sharp on your tongue, “So I have heard. I have not had the Gods graces to witness it for myself. I have however, been gifted a Winter Rose.”

Dark brows pulled together as the Stark looked at you in confusion. Brown hair cascaded over his shoulder as he tilted his head at you, the earthy smell of oakmoss, ginger and pine surrounding you.

Oakmoss, ginger, pine. 

Not at all, smoke, leather, and sandalwood.

It was earthy, warm despite his origins, and gentle. Like a breath of fresh air. Like a scent of safety and calm.

“Winter Roses do not grow in Kings Landing. How were you gifted one?”

You swallowed, looking away momentarily. 

The energy around you shifted.

“My husband- late husband, had a knack for gifting me rare things in atonement for his temper.” The words came out sharp, crinkled on the edges, and tasted of iron.

Cregan nodded solemnly, “I am sorry for your loss.”

You blinked.

Not once, had a man or woman or any person who you had spoken to over the past five years, ever said they were sorry for Aemond. Not once had anyone offered condolences, except the silent stares of your family. In fact, most times, people congratulated you for your bravery, your strength, your ability to drive that dagger into his throat. 

People congratulated you for killing the man you loved. 

But not him. 

Not Cregan.

And it intrigued you.

You finished the last of your wine, “I have not had the chance to thank you for supporting my mother after all these years.” You began, taking a glance to look up at her, as she gazed lovingly at your father in small conversation. 

“Thank me not. A Stark never forgets their oath, and we made one to your mother.”

A smile wound its way on your lips, “And how cold does it get in the North, Lord Stark? How does one not freeze in the walls of Winterfell?”

Another warm chuckle floated from his chest, “There is much to be frozen in the North, but Winterfell was built atop hot springs. Brandon the Builder built it amongst giants. The hot water flows through the walls to keep us warm.”

“I thought I had read as much in a book once.” You smirked, feeling warm from the wine, “But I had never imagined such a thing to be true. Giants?” A cheeky laugh fell through your lips.

Cregan smirked down at you, goblet close to his mouth. It wasn’t a smirk that set you ablaze, nor did it create anger or contempt or suspicion. It wasn't a smirk to provoke you. Instead, it made warmth spread steadily through you, like the hot springs in Winterfell. 

“Aye,” He laughed, “What is hard to believe about giants? Your blood rides upon dragons, do you not?”

“I suppose you are right. I do ride upon a dragon, a large one to be sure. I wonder if it would marvel at the size of your giants.”

“We shall never know. Perhaps you might ride upon the great beasts back to Winterfell?”

Your heart began to beat quickly in your chest, fingers tapping on the side of your cup, “My great beast would swallow you whole for calling him such a thing.” Jest on the tip of your tongue.

“It would be an honour to be devoured by a dragon.” Cregan shamelessly flirted. 

Devoured.

I want to devour you, zaldrītsos.

You swallowed thickly, “And what would Lady Stark think of three dragons coming to Winterfell? My son has not seen snow or ice, I have little question if he would enjoy it.”

Cregan placed his ale upon the table, “There is no Lady Stark, unless you are referring to my Lady Mother. Winterfell would welcome you and your son with open arms, and furs to warm you.”

You felt heat in your cheeks, “Why would I need furs if Winterfell is as perfectly insulated by hot springs, as you say it is?”

Cregan Stark pushed his tongue into the side of his cheek as you gazed up at him, quick witted response ready to be fired back instantly.

“For all its warmth, there can be a biting chill that occasionally drifts through the cracks. Or if you are to be outside, say in the Godswood, you would need furs.”

“You have a Godswood?” Interest peaked.

“Aye. The Old Gods have not been replaced by the New in the North.”

“Good, I should hope so. The New Gods are an abomination in the eyes of the Old.” You paused, watching as grey eyes flitted down to your lips, if only for a moment, “And what of Dragonstone. Have the Kings of the North ventured as far?”

Cregan huffed a laugh through his nose, “No, I can say we have not.”

“Then perhaps you should see the great Dragonstone Keep. Its walls are the last of Old Valyrian stonemasonry. Fire and magic created it. Dragons live in the Dragonmont, and I am sure they would welcome the Wolf of Winterfell with open arms, and there would be no need for furs to warm you.”

“The Dragonmont sounds like the perfect place to be eaten by the dragons that live there. I may ask to be pardoned from venturing inside, a bite from a dragon would surely be the end of me.” Cregan’s eyebrows were raised, goblet to his lips again, smile peeking over the top.

There was something about this man. Something that drew you to him. Something that made you feel safe, wanted, unafraid. Like an invisible string was pulling you to him from the centre of your chest, the need to be closer to him, the want to be closer to him amplifying with each second spent in his presence. 

In all your five years past, you had not wished to be in the presence of any man again, said for acquaintances and family. 

But Cregan?

It was different.

It was the same pull you had felt in the throne room when he had sworn himself to you.

And that was why the next words that left your lips were playful, light, alluring. You wanted to draw him in. You wanted to taste him. You wanted to get to know the man who had helped to change the tide. The man who had stayed loyal to his oath. And a man who had travelled across the realm, just to kneel before you and swear his House to you, despite him not needing to do so.

“I will only bite if you ask me nicely.” You purred.

A blush crept across the mans face, and you felt your heart soar. 

He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, his eyes half lidded, “I will come to Dragonstone when you beckon. But I fear a wolfs bite may rival that of a dragons.”

Grinning you tilted your head, looking up to the table, to find all eyes on you both again, a large smirk on Jacaerys’ lips. 

“I do not like to make commands, but I shall beckon you. If,” Your hand came to graze his arm gently, sliding down, before your finger traced along his that held the goblet of ale, “You show me these hot springs in Winterfell, and that you have furs for me and my son to be kept warm. I make no illusion to thinking there would be furs enough for Vermithor.”

Cregan’s finger twitched beneath yours as you dropped your hand back to your sides, sliding them together behind your back.

He bowed his head, “Of course, Your Grace. But there may not need to be a use of furs to keep you warm. Your blood is of fire, and I have a strange inclination that you would wish to be warmed in another manner.” Your cheeks grew hot, warmth sliding down to settle in your gut.

Cregan wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, “I will await your invitation, Princess.”

You smirked, “And I, yours. Though, you are to be here until the next turn of the moon. I am sure we will see each other more often than not in these walls.”

“I should hope that I would have the privilege of your company whenever you would wish for mine.”

“That you will, and that I do.”

With a nod of your head, you turned, walking back up to your table, spring in your step, and heart pounding against your ribs. You could feel the warmth of Cregan’s gaze on your back with each step you took to the table. Jacaerys, Daemon and Baela all watching you with knowing eyes as you moved to sit back down once again, cheeks ablaze. 

You ignored them all, reaching to grasp your goblet and sipping the wine as your eyes instinctually found the pair of icy grey ones that watched you from across the room. He lifted his goblet to his own mouth, mimicking your action as you sipped in tandem. 

The sound of laughter and chattering surrounded you, and it was hard to not get yourself lost in the excitement of it all. 

How things had changed.

Jaehaera and Maelor, Helaena’s children, had been taken in by your mother immediately, and at first, had been terrified, and quiet, and reserved. But now they had now grown into beautiful, soft and sweet children who doted on their nephews with care and familial excitement. 

Jaehaera was so much her mother, and often was woken in the night by terrors of her twin being slain before her eyes. But as time went on, the nightmares lessoned with age, but her visions grew stronger.

There was no denying that the little girl had the same gift as her mother, the same brilliance, the same intuition. And your Lucerys and Jaehaera often understood each other on level that others didn’t, an almost instant connection sparking between the two, and you watched as Jaehaera doted on your son with fierce devotion and loyalty. 

Maelor, was very much like Aegon.

Loud, boisterous, terribly cheeky at times, but kind. Something that he was allowed to grow into with the nurturing of your family, the nurturing of your mother. Something that he would continue to be. Maelor was a whisper of what could have been for Aegon, if he had not been raised with the vile whisperings of the Hightower’s in his ear since birth. 

He had the same round face as his father, the same round face that Alicent had. But there was no sadness in his lavender eyes, no hollowness that settled behind them. And for that, you were most thankful. 

They both especially got along with Lucerys, and that gave you a greater joy like no other, and often stayed with the two of you on Dragonstone.

If you were to say that you had gotten used to being surrounded by so many people, you would be lying. But there was no doubt in your mind, that as the years went by, you would eventually find yourself again, or at least the fragments of her that had survived. 

You had changed. 

But so had they.

And there were some things that would never change. 

Some things that would always stick.

And the visions of your brother, your aunt, and your uncle, would remain forever more. 

Or at least, you hoped they would.

As a reminder.

As a punishment for your deeds.

As a comfort.

Whilst the Lords and Ladies in the court danced, and drank, and sang, and cheered, three familiar faces watched from within the crowd, unmoving, unblinking as they were. 

Observing, watching, with two smiling softly.

The third face however, had not smiled in years, and would never smile again. He watched you, from across the room, hidden behind dancing bodies, long silver hair cascading down his back, an eye of violet, and a shadowed socket peering up at you. 

He never left. 

He was always there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Your hand came to play with the sapphire that sat heavily against your chest.

“What did you and Cregan speak about?” Jacaerys inquired, leaning towards you, breaking you from your stare at a man you missed most terribly.

“Hm?” You turned your head blinking at your brother.

“Cregan, what did he say?”

Baela leant an elbow on the table as she watched, a hand rubbing her swollen stomach in soft, gentle circles, soothing the babe inside.

“Merely asked how I have been, how I have been faring. Pleasantries is all.”

Jacaerys’ brown eyes danced with delight, “Pleasantries? Spoke of pleasures did you? You know, I wouldn’t let him speak to you if he was not a good man. He is a Stark. Dutiful, full of honour, kind, and a skilled swordsman.”

“And I have a dragon. Swordsmanship does little against fire.”

Baela snickered, “And why would he be near dragon flame? Have you promised him a ride upon Vermithor?”

A blush settled across your cheeks, “He wouldn’t.” You argued, feeling exacerbated by their prying, “I was just saying, swordsmanship does not warrant a marriage.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” Jacaerys smirked, and you felt your mouth go dry. 

You gripped your goblet and tossed the rest of its contents greedily down your throat, shivering at the heat that settled in your bones, most of which not caused by the alcohol, but instead the memory of his warmth, eyes, and touch.

Sighing, you looked at the pair beside you, “You have been all but pushing us together for the past five years.”

Jacaerys snorted, “I have not. But there is no denying the pull you two have to each other. You’re allowed to be happy, sister.”

And Jacaerys was right. 

There was a pull. 

And no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, brush it off of you like water, close eye and look the other way, it was there, and it pulled at you. 

“I am happy.” You argued, but it felt wrong. False.

Jacaerys had his chin on his fist as he gazed at you, curled brown hair looking a mess as many a hand had brushed through it. His cheeks were rosy, and pink lips plump from smiling or biting at them to keep his mouth shut. It was clear that the ale had gotten to him, but Jacaerys was never one to lie to you, especially about someone he considered a good friend.

And Cregan was his closest companion.

“It’s a perfect match,” He began, and you groaned loudly, rolling your eyes, “You being hot headed-“

“-I am not hot headed-“

“-And him being cool and patient. Blood of the North and Valyria. Perzys se Suvion.”

Fire and Ice.

A strum of recognition tickled in the back of your mind as Jacaerys continued.

“Opposites attract, even you out, and all the other nonsense some love sick fool would tell you. You would be good together, Y/n. He would calm you, and you would warm him.” Jacaerys teased.

“Don’t tell me you’re in love with Cregan, brother.” You teased back, watching as Jacaerys narrowed his eyes, “All this talk of opposites being perfect for each other, why do you not take him as your second wife? I am sure Baela would not mind sharing.”

Baela smirked, rubbing her stomach, “I wouldn’t mind a break. And Cregan looks good in-“

“-Keligon bona.” Stop that, Jacaerys chastised his wife, turning his attention back to you, “Think on it. He would be good for you.”

“I don’t need a man to make me whole or 'be good for me'. I will be Queen one day, and a husband will do naught but hold me back.”

“You will have to marry again someday, you know this as well as I do. And he would help you forward, if only you let him.”

You huffed, looking back out at the sea of people again, eyes immediately falling on him.

He was talking to a Lord, who’s gold and yellow robes shimmered in the light of the chambers. But as though he felt your gaze upon him, Cregan turned his head, and his eyes immediately met yours.

Instinct.

That pull.

“He invited me and Lucerys to Winterfell.” You told the two of them, seeing Jacaerys and Baela give each other excited looks in your periphery, as a soft smile found its way on Cregan’s as he looked at you, your own stretching your cheeks.

“Will you go?” Jacaerys’ voice hopeful.

As you watched Cregan, his gaze still on you, man beside him still talking, not having noticed his companions attention had been taken away, you felt the pull again. A sharp tug in your chest, the string having wrapped itself around a rib thrice, just below where your heart would sit.

It tugged again, and your hands curled into fists in your lap, desperate to keep yourself seated as you looked at him. Desperate to fight the urge that made you wish to go to him, stand by him, be close to him.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you watched him, your brother and half-sister staring at you from your periphery as you feigned thought. 

But you knew your answer already. 

You knew it before he had even asked, before Cregan had even spoken to you. 

Instinct.

“Yes.”

Hen ñuha ānogar māzigon Kivio Dārilaros, se zȳhon kessa sagon Vāedar Suvio Perzo.

From my blood come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of Ice and Fire.

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[ladylaviniya]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐳𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫, 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐬. 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭- 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫.

'𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬?'

𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧, 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐰𝐚𝐬 ���𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠-𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐳𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤!𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐗 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐎𝐅𝐂

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐄𝐚𝐭, 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭-𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐃𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐦 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐊𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐄𝐱𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

Author Notes:

★I would like to express the knowledge that I do not approve or perform of any of the actions the characters of this fanficition demonstrate.

★This story is not fit for every viewers eyes and it will be glorifying acts of trauma and characters that shouldn't be in reality.

★If you do not wish to see this content please block #thebronzedragon (scroll and you'll find it is the first tag.)

★This story might be alarming and severely upsetting for people who have had experiences with rape, abuse, bad demonstrations in BDSM lifestyles and bondage play and cnc play, domestic violence.

★If you'd like to be included in or removed from the Taglist, please comment below

★CHAPTERLIST★

Chapter 1 — Word Count: 3K

Chapter 2 — Word Count: 4.4k

Chapter 3 — Word Count: 3.7k

Chapter 4 — Word Count: 5.9k

Chapter 5 — Word Count: 4.6k

Chapter 6 — Word Count: 4.6k

Chapter 7 — Word Count: 8.3k

Chapter 8 — Word Count: 7.4k

Chapter 9 — Word Count: 4.2k

Chapter 10 — Word Count: 10k

Chapter 11 — Word Count: 9.4k

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[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Consequences | One

Word Count: 4.9k~ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, heavy dub-con/noncon, mean Aemond, manipulation, abusing power, gore, blood, violence, major angst, oral (m receiving), Aemond being a possessive horny weirdo with a power complex, a dash of religious guilt if you blink

Series Masterlist

It was then the Prince had insisted that he had wanted her for himself. For her maidservant duties of course. 

The other maidservants were delighted with the new gossip, tittering amongst themselves at the reasoning that the One-Eyed Prince had taken a special interest in the new maidservant for which they’d come up with all sorts of reasons. 

Perhaps it was because of her pliant, quiet nature and she could slip into the chambers largely unnoticed and one wouldn’t be able to truly see her presence until she spoke. The other women had often described her as such. That she was like a shadow, silent, but always looming behind someone else. That she was like a breeze, gentle and discreet, as every maidservant should be in the presence of her master.

Or perhaps, they speculated, that it was because of another, darker reason. That Prince Aemond intended to make some fun for himself and torture the poor girl with his mere presence and shrinking stare with his one good eye, the other sapphire one on full display, rooting fear into the shy, young thing. That he wanted someone to torment, as he had so often been tormented himself and found the power behind it exhilarating.

Nobody could have expected the true reasoning behind his newfound desire for her company. Not even she herself. But the other maidservants were at least grateful they no longer had to enter his chambers.

Having only Prince Aemond to run after was a nice change of routine, albeit a strange one. For a man who had requested she be at his beck and call, he was rarely ever in his chambers past the morning. Usually, he could be found in the training yard for hours on end, and it occurs to her that this is how he’s managed to build the form he has, by mercilessly pushing himself to his limits for hours everyday. It must be hard work, she thinks to herself. 

He would only return in the early evening, to prepare himself for supper and then once again later for his bath and then bed. It was a rigorous routine, but it was nice to have some consistency in her life for a change. 

One morning after placing her week’s wages into the pocket within her pillowcase, she smoothes down her apron over her maidservant dress, intending later to send some of the copper coins to her young siblings, for without their parents to provide, as the eldest it landed to her and her alone to care for them.

Everyday she thinks of them and how they had begged her to not leave them in the care of the smelly widow from next door after their father had finally succumbed to illness. Her younger brother had stomped his feet, with each thump he would say 'she smells like cabbages' and the young woman would bite back her laugh, tell her brother that he was to be polite to their neighbour and that he was not to mess with the purple plants at the front of her home, or else she’d have him for supper.

She’d kissed her younger sister, the middle child, but several years younger than her, on the crown of her head and gave her a sad smile, apologising that such responsibility had fallen onto her at such a young age. Her sister had given her a tight hug, not wanting to play the big sister and fall into the endless cycle of domestic prison that could be seen once the eldest had disappeared. But she’d eventually relented and let her older sister depart for her new position in King’s Landing. With a warm wave, she’d boarded the stuffy carriage with other smallfolk, using all of her coin for the passage there and bid them goodbye.

She said she would come back for them.

And at the time she meant it.

It filled her stomach with dread and fear, to know she may never see them again, doomed to live her life in the manner of which she was born as a peasant to do. To do the same dirty, back-breaking work, day in and day out, for the same measly copper she was paid until the day her legs gave out. Or perhaps until they found no more use for her.

At least she could give them funds, she thought. 

Only a week had gone by, but she felt as if she could walk the short distance to his chambers blindfolded. She always knocked, but in the middle of the day, he was never there. So when she swings the chamber door open and shut behind her, she goes about her usual duties with a contented sigh. 

His chambers were usually always clean and not so much in need of excessive housekeeping. Once his bedsheets were made, the cotton taut to the corners of the mattress, she moves onto her cleaning duties. The fireplace needed a good dusting, so she takes her outer skirt and tucks it into her apron to keep it out the way and turns up her sleeves over her elbows. She’s used to getting dusty and grubby in her work, but fireplace work with soot and the burning stench is possibly her least favourite.

Suitably covered in soot, she continues to sweep up the black dust into the bucket beside her, wiping her face with her clean forearm, fingers too dirty to brush that stray curl from her face, so it hangs there annoyingly. 

“Working hard as always, I see.”

His voice makes her hairs stand up on end and had she not been head first in the fireplace, covered in soot and blackened ash at her cheeks, she might have been less embarrassed. But her cheeks flush at her dirtied appearance and she is immediately stood to attention, brushing whatever she can off her apron.

“Your grace, I apologise for my appearance,” she blubbers hurriedly, clearly distressed.

Aemond stands at the doors and she is amazed to find out that she didn’t even hear them open in the first place. He must have light footing, which surprises her since she has seen him train so aggressively and knows that hefty, adept and quick skills are needed for such activities. He wears his usual black leather doublet, hands behind his back as if he is hiding something and that signature lob-sided smirk he seemed to wear whenever he had found his little maidservant in his chambers. 

She is now accustomed to his trained silences in between conversations and has come to understand that it is because he is thinking so deeply about something that his mouth cannot move at the same time. And yet, he stands, basking in the uncomfortable feeling he gives her, rather enjoying it and letting his eye wander over her. He pauses and smiles wider at seeing her outer skirt tucked into her apron, showing the cream skirt underneath and when she notices, she quickly plucks it out and lets it fall around her ankles. 

Aemond lets the chamber doors close behind him, striding past her for the side table where the wine decanter sits. He moves past her with such speed that the stray curled strand of hair wafts a little in the still air. She cannot deny the aura this man has and the sheer authority he gives off, despite not being the first born of the King and Queen. Every time he enters the room, he commands the space and everyone in it with little but his gaze and even now, she stands where she had been, dirtied hands clasped before her, waiting for him to address her, command her, anything.

Emptying the first cup of wine, he sighs, tongue darting out to fetch the stain of it from his lips and he looks upon the petite little maidservant, waiting patiently.

“Continue.” 

She need not be told twice. Instead of tucking her dress back into her apron, she folds it behind her as she kneels before the fireplace once again, collecting the ash and old logs to fill her bucket, replacing them with new ones for later in the evening when the fire will be lit.

Aemond thrives in her obedience. The way she just does as she is told without speaking. So polite, he thinks. So as he sits in his armchair, shamelessly watching her, he finds he cannot tear his eye away from her profile, how soft her features are for someone who works doing such arduous and menial tasks everyday. He thinks her hands must be calloused, but when he looks upon them, they look so soft.

She had a profile that would rival the ladies at court. If he told her to wear the right dresses, hold her head high, keep her mouth shut, she could be his lady.

But he will certainly not say such things to her.

It may give her ideas above her station.

As she sweeps the soot off the tiles, he watches the way her body moves with the effort, the way her lips are parted in concentration. Such little, pink lips. 

He taps his finger against the cup, biting on his cheek when he feels the pained strain of arousal in his breeches. Such an innocent little maidservant, obedient and pliant. He knew from the moment he saw her what to do with her. What he could do with her. The week following their first meeting, Aemond had barely had his cock from his hand, tugging it as he thought of the way she always calls him ‘your grace’ with a flush to her cheeks. The way her eyelashes flutter when she strikes a match to light his candles. And today, seeing how she is dirtied and bent over the fireplace, he thinks why wait, he could just have her right there. Why wait.

The question becomes more difficult to answer the more he looks at her.

She stands with the bucket heavy in her hands, making towards the door.

“Wait.”

And his cock twitches in his breeches when she does, looking back at him with those eyes, the ones he imagines glazed over with lust, looking up at him as he fucks her. His tongue pokes his cheek as he stands, taking his time while walking towards her, not missing the way her grip tightens around her clasped hands out of nervousness. 

He scans her face as he stands before her, blackened soot smeared across one of her cheeks, making the colour of her eyes look as if they are illuminated by light.

He swears he could spill right into his breeches as his hand reaches out to her cheek and her lips part to let a puff of surprised air out. His thumb brushes her cheek, wiping away the soot and he finds his own lips part at the feeling of her warm skin against his hand. 

Although his touch is warm, she can feel something akin to fear pool in her gut and something else she does not quite understand. A shiver also runs down her spine when his hand twists that stray curl between his fingers, as if intrigued by her.

She can quite literally feel her lungs contract when his thumb brushes against her bottom lip, barely breaching them, but collecting the wetness that sits at the waterline. He watches her little pink mouth, reddened and wanting. He wonders what her mouth would feel like wrapped around his cock, fingers threaded in her hair to guide the rhythm to his liking. Would she like it? Would she swallow his spend like the good little maidservant she is? Was she a maiden? Aemond knew she was. And for some reason, it made him want her even more, knowing that no other man has had her, or would ever have her like he wanted to. Like he would.

Her eyes never leave him the entire time, frozen in place, pupils shaking and breath slow, quiet and scattered. Aemond wonders for a moment if she is standing there, cunny wet at the thought of him, at his actions. What would her slick taste like mingled with his? He finds he can't wait to find out.

She breathes again when he steps back, drawing his fingers away from her skin, leaving behind the hotness of his touch.

“Leave.”

Is all he commands. She swallows thickly, her mind busy at what had just happened. But she takes her chance when he has turned around to refill his cup, the bucket clanging in one hand as she allows the chamber door to shut behind her.

Should she tell someone? Hedi perhaps? Should she tell them that she fears that Prince Aemond has unclean intentions, but she fears even more if that assumption is even warranted. He had not been unkind to her, nor had he been particularly kind in any way either. But he had no need to be, she was a lowborn servant and he was a prince of the realm.

She could not disappoint her siblings by risking this job and not sending them money. Risking their lives for a silly little thought of Prince Aemond’s intent with her? Based on no real evidence?

She couldn’t.

So she steadied her breath and instead resumed her duties, largely ignoring that gnawing pit in her stomach. Fearful thoughts knocked upon her mind, and she couldn’t help but feel it deep in her bones.

She should have listened to her gut. She now realises.

Having lit the fireplace for his return after supper, she sat on the cold, flagstone floor with a needle and thread in one hand and one of his black doublets in the other, fixing the frayed hemming. The heat of the fire licked at the side of her face, warming her soft features as she delicately did her work, faintly humming the only song she knew the words to in her head.

Aemond had come back to his chambers in a mood, quickly shutting the door behind him so hard that it seemed to rattle the very Keep. At once, her wide eyes looked up and she stood to attention, hands clasped, and a timid ‘your grace’ from her lips, softer and quieter than she realised. 

He looked absolutely livid, shaking with rage, fists clenched so hard that the knuckles were white and pale. His mouth was taut in a thin line and even his scar managed to look angrier beneath the leather of his eyepatch, one good eye was still, unnaturally so. His chest inflated with silent breathing, trying to calm himself down. In the several weeks she had been attending to him, she’d come to realise the depth of his frustrations for various reasons, but never daring to step beyond her station to ask why.

She breathed as quiet as she could, as if she were in the dark and someone dangerous was looking for her. For a moment, his eye flitted to the floor and then back to her. Briefly, she thought he was looking at the doublet she was fixing, but it took her a moment to realise he’d been looking at her, dragging his gaze over her form. This fact alone sent gooseflesh on her arms and a shiver down her spine, unable to tell if this feeling was fear or not.

With a low hum, he stalked over to the side table for a cup of wine as he often did, thinking that he would dismiss her shortly, not knowing the aching arousal that he was trying with all his might to conceal. He stood for a moment, not saying anything as he sipped the spiced wine, allowing himself time to decide what to do. She was right here, his obedient little thing, nervous with gooseflesh on her skin and cheeks a dusty pink. 

He turned around to look upon her, warring with himself.

Out of sheer nervousness, her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

And that’s when Aemond decided. He needed to have a taste of the little maidservant. Or rather she would have a taste of him.

He stood before her, tall, broad and all encompassing, and she waited to be addressed. He simply glared down at her, as if angry, but in truth the hold he had on his own reins were slipping by the second with every breath the little maidservant let free. He finished his cup of wine, sighing as he looked upon her. 

“Take your braids out,” he commanded. 

She blinked, unsure if she had heard him correctly. But when he raised an eyebrow, she took a steadying breath and reached behind her. Not one to refuse a Prince and a passionately angry one at that, she pulled the two pins that kept her braids in place away and tucked them into her apron. She looked down as she began to unravel them, one by one, the hair coming apart in waves around her shoulders. Once all the hair was freed, Aemond hadn’t moved an inch and she flicked her hair over her shoulders to run down her back.

Aemond sighed quietly, looking over her in this new state, hair loose and shockingly casual. He was intrigued to see that the rest of her hair, like the wayward curl at the side of her face, was also wavy from the braids she’d put in everyday. And he wondered if the beautiful patch of hair that framed her cunny would be the same. He hoped so. And he wondered what the heady scent of her sex would be like, if it would be addictive and once he’d had it, would he be able to stop?

She stood there, eyes averted to the fire and Aemond watched as the flames danced off the colour of them. His breath shuddered with anticipation, watching her pulse thrum in her neck.

Placing the empty cup on the mantle, he cannot hold back any longer.

“Kneel.”

She looks at him again, now her eyes spell confusion. Does he want her to kneel to prove her obedience? She doesn’t know. 

Her lips part, “pardon me, your grace?” she says in a whisper. 

“I will not ask twice,” he barks back almost immediately.

She swallows thickly and smoothes her hand over her apron, tucking the dress beneath her knees as she obeys, slowly sinking back to the floor. She clasps her hands before her, not sitting back on her feet, eyes trained to one corner of the room to ignore the fact that Aemond’s thighs are right before her. She can feel her heart thumping in her chest and she is sure he can hear it as well. It was like she was hiding, waiting for someone to come and find her.

She flinches when she feels his thumb and forefinger grasp her chin, the touch is light but determined and he pulls her head up to look at him. From this angle, Aemond can see all her delicate features and with her lips parted, he sees the wet inside of her pink mouth, warm and inviting. All for him. He can feel his cock needing relief in the tight confines of his breeches and the urge is beginning to overpower him.

“You are my good little maidservant, are you not?” he asks, voice low and commanding.

She can feel her breathing struggling against the front of her dress and she dare not look away.

Finding her voice, she can all but whisper, “Yes, your grace”

He hums lowly, his thumb travelling up to her lips, dipping the tip of it between them. His fingers still cradle her soft jaw, keeping her where he needs her, while the flat part of his thumb finally slips across the warm muscle of her tongue. Aemond holds back the desire to outright moan at the feeling of it against his skin, collecting the wetness of her saliva against it, moving forward to completely allow his thumb to be enveloped by her hot mouth.

All the while, she keeps her eyes on him, afraid to look anywhere else. She feels strange, like a constant chill is making its way around her body, overtaking every nerve and replaced with a kind of dark, gnawing ache. It halts in her gut, where she feels it the heaviest. 

After a moment, he pulls his thumb free and coats her lips, making them glisten. He wonders if his spend would look as good as this smeared all over them. If she would be good, and dart her tongue out to lap it up.

Powerless to hold back any longer, Aemond hands move to the laces of his breeches, his pupil blown wide with lust at the innocent confusion on her face. 

“Now, sweet girl,” he says, the name making her hairs stand up on end, “will you be good for me.”

Again, not a question, more a demand. And she is so shaken, all she can do is nod. 

“Have you been with a man, sweet girl,” he asks, as he pulls his cock from its confines, using his hand to give himself a few pumps, the tip, red and glistening with early arousal. He already knows the answer. Just wants to hear her say it.

She shakes her head softly. “No…your grace,” she answers with a shake in her voice. She tries to avert her eyes from this member, hard to attention right before her.

One corner of his lips turns up at her bashful nature. One hand threads through her hair, right at her neck, not tugging but not letting go either. She gasps at the action, now unable to move her head. 

“Good.”

He holds his cock in one hand, aching to bury himself in her mouth. But he holds his animalistic desire back, for the sake of not scaring her too much.

“Open your mouth.”

She obeys, pushing her embarrassment aside for the sake of politeness to her prince. Her lips part to open her mouth, still unsure of what he will do, her innocence skewing the reality of what's happening to her.

"Wider," he says, now just a low whisper, “that’s it, sweet girl” he coos as she does so.

She cannot say she has seen a man’s parts before and now that she has, if he does intend to do what she thinks, it’s unknown if it will even fit. The thickness of it combined with the length daunts her slightly. As he taps the tip of his cock against her glistening lips, she grips her dress tighter, more out of embarrassment and nerves than anything else. Who would she be to refuse the orders of a Prince anyhow.

His fist tightens in her hair as he slips his cock past her lips, only halfway in he feels her tensing up at the foreign feeling, “breathe,” he orders quietly, “through your nose”.

She whimpers at the uncomfortable feeling and wishes not to see anymore, so she shuts her eyes tight, attempting to do as he says and breathe through her nose. His taste is strange, salty and yet not unpleasant. His member is warm and heavy in her mouth, despite not being all the way within and she can feel her mouth aching to accommodate his sheer size. His fingers are tight in her hair, an attempt to hold himself back, and she whimpers around his cock at the feeling of the tugging of her follicles, the vibrations of her mouth against him make Aemond tip his head back just slightly. He sighs at the feeling of her warm, wet mouth squeezing him so deliciously and he holds back the desire to deliver his spend right into her there and then.

Once he feels she has sufficiently calmed down, relaxed her jaw, Aemond sheathes himself all the way in, briefly touching the back of her throat, making her whimper around his cock again. Her hands fly to his thighs to push him back for reprieve, but he is much too strong for that and he only tightens his fist in her hair more.

Without waiting a moment longer, he cants his hips against her mouth, sliding in and then out slightly, enjoying the friction her mouth gives him. He sees that she still has her eyes shut, hands tight on his leather breeches now and he gives a shuddered moan, tipping his head back all the way now, losing himself in the feeling of fucking her mouth, guiding the rhythm with the hand that’s in her hair. 

Caring not that she is a maiden, he hastens his pace and her little whimpers are becoming too loud for him to really enjoy this.

“Quiet” he demands, much more spitefully than he intended .

And she is. Which makes him even more aroused than he could possibly be right now. So obedient. Just the good, sweet girl she is. 

At the ache in her jaw, tears begin to pool at the corner of her closed eyes and fall in thin lines down her face. Aemond is lost beyond control, his thrusts sloppy and unforgiving as he feels the tight, wound up pressure of his peak creeping up on him at breakneck speed. He dares to look down at her, accepting his cock into her mouth like a cunt, his shaft now wet with her saliva and thrusting into her with the soft beat of his hips. His other hand comes to the side of her face, using his thumb to wipe the streak of her tear away, before he uses it for more leverage.

He’s never felt more powerful in his life. To have such control over someone he so fervently lusts over. It’s other-wordly. And he has no intention of stopping, not as long as she continues to be the malleable, sweet little thing she is now.

His thrusts cease, and he presses his hips right against her mouth as a strangled and uncharacteristically loud moan escapes his throat. He can feel his spend shoot at the back of her throat, and her flinch when she also feels it. But doing as he says, she makes no sound. Not until his cum begins to pool in one corner of her mouth and only then does she emit the tiniest of sounds. He can now hear the hurried breathing out her nose as she waits for his next command.

Aemond allows his breathing to even out, savouring the look of her, eyes softly shut with his spend and cock in her mouth, before he slowly pulls out. Her lips tightly shut when he does eventually vacate her mouth.

“Look at me”

She can feel something dripping down her face and when she looks at him, he looks a different person entirely. Breathing ragged, hair slightly tousled, looking nothing at all like the prim and proper royal she is used to. Her eyes are glazed, cheeks a dusty pink from the efforts of what he’d done. She waits.

“Swallow”

Assuming he requires her gaze still, she looks between his eye and eyepatch and to the best of her ability, swallows the strange, salty and thick substance in her mouth. She thought it wasn’t unpleasant, the taste of it, but that her jaw ached and she felt the gnawing agony of shame sink in through her skin. Aemond moans outright when he sees her throat bob and her deep exhale after she’s obeyed. 

He uses his thumb to collect the line of spend that had leaked from her mouth and puts it back into her mouth, humming at the sight of depositing it against her tongue. She need not be told, and she wraps her lips around the digit, sucking whatever she can off of it, before Aemond is sure that it is clean and pulls out. She shuffles where she is knelt, her knees now aching from the stone, and she feels the slick between her legs as she does so, coating the inside of her thighs. And it confuses her. What is this strange sensation, seeming to come from nowhere, deep and ancient. 

Aemond sighs contently and stuffs his softened cock back into his breeches. 

“Leave. Now” is all he says to her, not sparing her a second glance as he strides towards the side table once more for another cup of wine.

With a shaky breath, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, still being able to taste the heady, potent taste of his spend. Scrambling to her feet, she dare not look back to him, fearing that the shameful belief within would intensify if she did.

Once the door was shut, she wipes her cheeks of any remaining tears and takes a moment to recover, trying to understand how she feels, what just happened, and what this means for her. Is she a maidservant or a whore. Perhaps she is both now. Living two separate lives for him once the sun has gone down. Does she enjoy the duality of it, she cannot say either way. All she knows is that she cannot possibly refuse him and that she’s not sure if she even wants to. The wetness between her thighs may sway her in one direction, she fears.

She offered up countless prayers to the Mother. For forgiveness. To make her understand. 

But the Mother never responded. 

General Aemond Taglist: @risefallrise​ 

Consequences Taglist: @iiamthehybrid @manitskatrina @dahlias-and-marigolds @okfashionista @the-common-cowgirl @toodlesxcuddles  @darkenchantress @magnificentdelusionr  @tinykryptonitewerewolf @tssf-imagines @mandiiblanche @xdeath-soulx

[youraverageaemondsimp]

A chance for salvation. // WitchHunter!Aemond Targaryen x Witch!Reader

Halloween Special 🎃

DD:DNE ; DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT.

Summary: being a witch, there was someone who you've avoided after the rise of witch hunts, Aemond Targaryen who was the leader of the hunt, you thought you had avoided him successfully until— well, he catches you.

WARNINGS: NONCON/DUBCON, dark fic, mdni, smut, dark romance, enemies to lovers(?), highly religious themes (faith of the seven), slight misogyny, hexing kinda, description of witch hunts and trials, tiddy sucking, unprotected p in v sex, dacryphilia(?), body betrayal, mind betrayal, breeding kink, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing, reader is helpless, aemond is narcissistic as fuck, asshole aemond, hatred against witches. + not proofread.

WC: 3.3k

A/N: this fic contains dark themes and content, if you find it uncomfortable please just scroll away instead of dwelling on this, please do not take the warnings lightly if you cannot stomach it, do not read it, do not interact. With that said, it's been a while since I properly sat down to write and finish a fic so it's a little rusty, don't mind it <3 // divider credits @cafekitsune

The smell of burning flesh penetrated your nose as you scrunched up your face in disgust watching the woman before you burn at stake, her agonising screams echoing throughout the town centre.

“THE WITCH SHALL BURN, THE WITCH SHALL BURN” They all chanted while you stood on the sidelines watching the entire scene take place.

You stared at the man that stood by the burning woman, his posture tall and calm, he didn't react nor did he attempt to put out the fire. Why would he? He was the one that set her ablaze in the first place.

You swallowed a lump in your throat as you watched him, he had gotten another witch, he was very good at hunting them down. A skilled witch hunter one might say.

You knew who he was, why wouldn't you? The witches had to be on the lookout from him, not wishing to cross paths. He might be blind in one eye but he has a very sharp eye, catching witches with just one look.

He was none other than the King's second son, Aemond Targaryen.

For some odd reason, he was out on a mission to hunt down all the witches as they had been spreading very fast, causing havoc and chaos, but he failed to understand one thing.

There were both good witches and bad ones.

It didn't matter to him who were who, you just had to be under the suspicion that you were a witch, you'd be put on trial immediately and once proven guilty, you'd be burnt at the stake.

The once human form began to fall apart on the stake like a melted wax figure, Aemond stood there with a stoic expression before he came down.

“Poor woman,” You heard a woman standing beside you say and you look at her, she was the daughter of a local baker “But she deserved it, she was a witch after all.” She snickered cruelly and you felt nothing but intense disgust towards the woman.

Maybe you'll hex her later onwards, you hated scums like this, the ones who thought they were doing better for the human race, while doing quite the opposite.

You left the scene immediately, travelling back to your cabin that was located deep in the woods before shutting the door tightly and going to the shrine you've set up in your house, praying to the forsaken god to give you power and to protect you from these creatures.

You placed the fabric of the dress torn from the woman who encouraged and celebrated the death of a witch onto a doll before closing your eyes and placing a curse upon her. You pick up a candle.

“Ye will not be able to consume food without consequences. Ye will suffer sickness for a month until you are cured.” You whisper into the ears of the doll circling the doll in the wax that was dripping from the candle before blowing the candle out.

It was the next day, your daily routine consisted of casting spells and creating healing potions for your sickly younger brother that lived in the village, you woke up and grabbed the potion in the vial, putting it in your bag before venturing out into the woods and out to where the civilians lived.

You decided to visit the bakery, to see how the woman is doing, it was surprising to find it closed as you probably knew the reason. The family must be worried sick for their daughter. You shrugged it off before going to the house your brother lived in, you knocked on the door to be greeted by your mother who gave you a hug before she invited you in.

You saw your younger brother, still laying in bed but looking more alive than before. “It's been weeks since you visited us ya know? But your brother has been recovering slowly.” Your mother speaks out and you nod, “The work at the castle is tough, tending to all the sick ones is tiring that I merely have time to visit, they don't give me any time for myself.” You lie. The reason why you hadn't been visiting them was because you were trying to hide from Aemond Targaryen's eye. To avoid it so you don't have the same fate as the other witches.

Your family doesn't know you practise witchcraft either, they believe that you study medicine and make healing nectars which work really well. You give the vial to your mother before sitting down alongside with her, she immediately dilutes it with water before feeding your brother.

“Have you heard? About the witch hunts lately?” You stiffen at the mention of the hunt, “I have heard, Aemond Targaryen, The prince is going around eradicating all the accused.” You reply and your mother shakes her head, “He's humiliating them by burning them alive at the centre of the town each week, I'm surprised at how many women he's catching.” She continues to talk about the hunt which makes you anxious, but just nod along.

You spend some time at your mother's before saying your goodbyes and leaving home, you've decided to stop by a small shop on the way to grab something to eat, you smile at the woman after you've purchased bread and some jam. You carefully hold them in your arms before you continue on your way towards your house.

It seemed as though fate had other plans for you when you reach your house and see a horse waiting outside with a man with platinum blonde hair standing outside. Your eyes widen at realisation.

Aemond Targaryen.

Before you could hide, he looked in your direction, his face stoic and blank. “Do you live here?” He asks, his voice monotone but underlace with malice. You gulp before nodding and making your way near him. “Y-yes my prince, why?” you reply, he just hums looking at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“There seems to be activity of a witch here, may I look inside?” He questions raising an eyebrow, you gulp knowing that if you refuse he'd force himself in anyway, but you can't comply either for there is a shrine of the forsaken inside.

“I-i'm afraid it's a little dirty, I can't allow a prince like you to step inside such a dirty place, shall I clean it up?” You ask, you know how stupid you sound but you'd be willing to try before you are sent to your own death.

He scoffs, “So you can clean your evidence of witchcraft? Do not anger me further woman, open the door now before I have to commit to violence.” He grits his teeth and you nod immediately going over to the door and opening it. He steps inside.

You close your eyes, accepting the end of your life, knowing now he'd just apprehend you and take you to the town centre to burn you. He smirks as the evidence of your activity is revealed, your house is donned in herbs and potions with a big shrine of the forsaken god in between.

“Will you burn me now?” You ask him, looking down at your feet not having the courage to look up at him but he remains silent. Your life is literally at stake right now.

“You prefer to be burned alive or stabbed to death?” He asks, drawing his sword out and you visibly flinch, “Or rather, beg for mercy?” He finishes his question staring down at your form and you close your eyes.

“You won't spare me even if I did, will you?” You didn't know where your boldness came from, asking him such a question.

You yelp when you feel him grab your hair and tilt your head to make you look at him, you look directly into his eye with a slight expression of defiance and he just smiles cruelly. “You're right, I won't.” He chuckles, his grip on your hair becoming tighter; making you wince, his nails digging into your scalp.

“I've had my eye on you for a while, you've been avoiding me.” He reveals and you stare at him wide eyed, “You thought I would not notice? That's how you witches give yourselves away, by avoiding me. If you weren't guilty of a crime, you'd not be afraid to face me.” He mutters. “I've only spared you this long because I knew of your family, a younger brother who is bedridden, a mother who relies on you, you've got responsibilities.” He reveals everything he's learned of you leaving you trembling and terrified, wondering how exactly he found all of this out.

“I have my ways, I indeed have a keen eye.” He answers, noticing your surprised expression. His breath fans your face as he pulls you closer, his grip further tightening in your hair which makes you reflexively reach out your hands towards his, trying to pry his hands off. Tears well up in your eyes knowing that you'd die soon.

“You're an odd witch.” He raises an eyebrow, “Not pleading me for mercy, ready to accept your death? I do not like it.” He tuts. “I do think you have a chance for salvation though, you're not as bad as the other witches or too deep in the craft.” He suddenly lets go of your hair causing you to stumble back.

He puts his sword back in the sheath, his eye takes in your features trailing down your body stopping at the cleavage that was slightly exposed before he swallows a lump in his throat.

“Pretty young too.” He comes nearer, kicking the door shut, like a predator stalking its prey, you try to run but he's quick— grabbing you by your waist and pushing you backwards, causing you to fall down. He gets on top of you, pinning your hands with his hand above your head as he straddles your waist.

“I told you, you can be saved, yet it seems like you want to die.” He speaks annoyed by your attempt at escaping. “Confess your faults and beg for forgiveness, you'll be saved. I won't hurt you.” He lies through his teeth. “P-please let me go—” You beg, your body shaking with the amount of adrenaline surging through your body.

He rolls his eye, using his other hand to grab your throat, choking you harshly, cutting off your air supply. You struggle beneath him, writhing your body as you try to escape his grip.

“Beg for forgiveness woman, I never give any witch a chance to live, you should consider yourself of utmost luck.” He tightens his grip on your throat further making you gasp for air.

With your survival instincts kicking in you gasp before choking out a sentence of forgiveness which makes him immediately let go of your throat. “What did you say?” He asks and you take a gasp for air before uttering the same words again. “F-forgive me, I am sorry.” You plead, making his lips contort into a winning smile.

You watch as he breathes heavily, enjoying the power he holds over you, “Beg, beg harder, plead to me, tell me that you're sorry, maybe then the Gods will forgive you.” He leans down whispering in your ear. You shiver in fear before you do as he says. “I- I am sorry, forgive me, I deeply regret my actions—.”

“Take my name.” He interrupts and you furrow your brows “My prince i—” you begin, “No, no, no. My name.” He cuts you off once again staring at you with a wild eye. You take a deep breath. “I am sorry Aemond, forgive me, I repent my actions.” You go on again and his expression changes to that of a pleased one.

Things fall silent between you both after you begged for forgiveness until he let goes of your hands before getting off your body. You sit up right as he stands up, towering over your body.

“On your knees.” He commands and you look at him confused before you notice the visible bulge in his breeches. You stare up at him wide eyed, knowing where this is going.

“You don't think that you'd be forgiven this easily? I'd have to cleanse your body, your mouth that has chanted prayers to your God, get on your knees and close your eyes. Now.” He threatens you, grabbing his sword which makes you immediately obey. You do as he says, getting on your knees and closing your eyes.

You could hear the shuffle of his clothes before a thud of clothes falling down, then you felt it, something pressed up against your lips, it was wet. “Open your mouth,” He grumbles but you hesitate which makes him forcefully open your mouth by himself. Before you could react; he shoves his cock inside your mouth.

You open your eyes, staring at him in terror as he looks at you with a sadistic expression, “Bite and I'll cut your head off.” He grits his teeth before he grabs your hand and shoves his cock further into your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat.

Drool leaks from your mouth, dripping down your chin and neck as he thrusts inside your mouth, using your hair as leverage as he continues his assault in your mouth. Tears stream down your cheek, as you blink them away hoping not to upset him.

He closes his eyes enjoying the pleasure of fucking your mouth, ramming his dick into your mouth at a brutal pace— his balls slapping against your chin. You hold onto his thighs for balance, gripping them tightly, trying to resist his motion but it only further motivates him to gain control.

“Fuck— I'm gonna finish. Keep your mouth wide open.” He pulls out his cock, using his fist to finish himself off. His seed spills on your face and some of it goes into your mouth. “Swallow, it will cleanse you.” He utters expecting you to swallow, and you do; not wanting to anger him.

You hoped that this was the end, that he'd be done with this alone. “Lay on the ground, legs spread.” The command shatters your hope and you stare up at him, shaking your head no.

This angers him, and he forces you down, pushing you hard against the floor, laying you down while grabbing your legs and spreading your legs after hiking your skirt up.

“P-please my prince! Anything but this!” You cry out, pushing against him as he settles himself between your legs. “I need to cleanse you from the inside out, woman. This is very much required.” He grunts, keeping your legs forced open as he lines up his cock against your entrance.

Your eyes widen as you feel him prodding your entrance, before he gently pushes himself, he marvels at the sight of your blood leaking onto his dick “Your maidenhead is still intact? Do you witches take a vow for chastity like Septa's do too?” He mocks before pushing further in.

Your hands shoot up to his shoulders, gripping him tightly while you put in an effort to push him away, yet all of it is deemed futile when he doesn't budge an inch. He lets go of your leg before balancing himself on his arms placed on your sides as he just as quickly moves them to rip off your bodice, revealing your mounds of flesh.

He wastes no time before groping them with his hands, you shriek as he twists and plays with your nipple, leaning in to take your teat into his mouth; all while simultaneously pushing himself gently inside your cunt.

He suckles on your nipple, grazing it with his teeth and swirling his tongue around it, you couldn't help but feel ashamed as you looked at the sight.

The prince of the realm suckling away on your tits.

This sent a shot of thunder down your spine making heat pool between your legs, were you seriously getting aroused by this? You felt guilty as your own body betrayed you, welcoming the intruder into your body by providing the necessary needs.

Aemond pulls away from your breast before focusing on the other one, giving it the same attention as he did to the one before, one of his hands slowly trails down the outline of your waist to your belly before it finds itselfs cupping your heat before he further reaches down to where you both were attached.

He lets out a soft moan of approval when he finds that you're wet; pulling the slick up to where you clitoris is before he rubs small circles upon it. “Mhm, you're so fucking wet down there.” He mutters against your nipple, making you feel even more embarrassed.

Aemond lets out an audible moan when he feels you clench around him, he's now settled in cosily inside you, he lifts himself up and positions himself upright, grabbing your legs and throwing them over his shoulders before he begins to move inward and outward, slowly thrusting into you.

Your body adjusts to his size quickly, coating his cock with the essence of its approval which makes him chuckle. He accelerates the pace, driving himself into you like an animal, rutting against you like a beast in heat.

You find yourself a moaning mess amongst all of this unwillingly, the way his cock penetrating your cunt felt way more pleasing than it should have, and his hand was working its magic on your clit.

“Fuck— you feel so fucking good, darling, I'm lucky to have spared you.” He growls as he increases his speed even more, the stretch of his cock felt so euphoric that you couldn't help but enjoy it. You knew your body has already betrayed you, now even your mind has become its accomplice.

“Oh- I'm gonna finish inside you, my witch, with it you'll be cleansed of your wrongdoings.” He groans, feeling himself near the edge, his hand rubs faster against your clit, determined to make you cum before he does, all the while he's ramming into your sweet spot.

“Aemond—!” Both the stimulation cause a sudden burst of pleasure to explode in your body, its impact being so heavy that you moaned out his name involuntarily which ended up further pleasing him.

He comes to a sudden halt as he moans loudly, spurting his seed inside you; painting your walls white. He rides his orgasm out before completely pulling out and admiring the scene before him.

You were a panting mess with his seed leaking out of you, dripping down onto the wooden floor as you look dishevelled, your clothes are torn up and hair all messed up. You breathe heavily, processing what just happened.

“Do not waste my seed witch, it will cleanse you from in and out after it takes root in your womb.” Those words make your eyes widen at the implication and you slowly gaze upon him in shock as he puts on his pants back before lifting you off the ground.

He grabs your cloak from the nearby hanger and covers your body with it and soon he lifts you up, throwing you over his shoulders. “W-what are you doing?!” You yell at him as he takes you out of your house before throwing you onto his horse, forcing you to sit on it.

“Oh my sweet witch, you didn't think I was done with you did you? I'm taking you back to the castle, you're going to carry my children and give me heirs.” He says nonchalantly before he gets on the horse himself, holding the reins before taking off.

He had taken quite the liking to you more than he wanted to admit, he had no reason to spare you but he did anyway, perhaps witches weren't bad after all?

You survived but at what cost?

That's all you could think about as you leaned against his chest, the air hitting your face and blowing through your hair as he was taking you to the castle.

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

[arcielee]

dōna mandia

Summary: Her brothers convince her to play a game of hide-and-seek. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Aegon Targaryen x Reader Word Count: 4085 WARNINGS/THIS IS A DARK FIC: Targcest, with she/her pronouns, MDNI, 18+ Dubcon, inexperience, fingering, implied sexual themes, oral (m and f receiving), p in v, anal, double penetration, rough sex.  Author's Note: Thank you @hamatoanne​​ for being my muse and inspiring this depravity. Thank you to @sylas-the-grim​​ for beta reading and perfecting. And a huge thank you to @aemonds-fire​​ for helping me with my Tumblr settings that had me ripping my hair out. 💜 Anyway, this is what you wanted from this poll. I hope you are all happy with yourselves. 😂   

Valyrian translations: mēre, lanta, hāre is one, two, three dōna mandia is sweet sister

Tumblr kindred spirits: @aaaaaamond​ @annikin-im-panicin​ @watercolorskyy​ @schniiipsel​ @aemondx​ @fan-goddess​ @babygirlyofthevale​ @httpsdoll​ @theromanticegoist​ @assortedseaglass​ @amiraisgoingthruit​ @theoneeyedprince​ @hb8301​ @lovelykhaleesiii​ 

“Come, sweet sister,” Aegon whispered into the shell of her ear. She felt the warmth of his palms through the layers of silk worn, her robe and her nightgown, with his intimate touch to her lower back to guide her.

She paused for a moment and peered back at her twin. Aemond had covered his one eye, his sapphire glinting from the lighting of the room as his timbre rumbled the numbers off in Old Valyria. “Mēre,” he began, with a slight curl to his lips.

“With me,” Aegon urged, his other hand interlacing with her own to pull, and she could not help the giggle that slipped from her lips as she followed him.

Aemond continued behind them, a low echo against the cobblestone. “...lanta…hāre…”

It was childish, she supposed, but welcomed after the somber family meal earlier this evening. Her brothers then stole away to her chambers, the mischievous grin paired with the suggestion from Aegon that they play hide-and-seek, as they had as children.

But that had been a lifetime ago, long before the internal warfare of the House of the Dragon inevitably spilled its destruction across Westeros.

Her brothers, Daeron as well, had all fought valiantly and victory was had–but at what cost, she often wondered. Rhaenyra was dead, along with their uncle and nephews, and their dragons as well. The smaller children, the ones with the blood of Old Valyria apparent in their veins, had been sent to Old Town with the assurance to raise them with the absolute truth of what happened.

But she knew that the truth would be written by the victors.

Their grandsire served as Lord Hand still, an advocate to reinstate the peace disrupted. This burden shifted on her and her siblings, as Aegon was now king without question, and now the sole focus was to mend the rift between realms, a new age of serenity with his reign. As part of this, their grandsire announced her betrothal to a Northern house, as if she were an olive branch to be extended to the perpetual snow to never be retrieved.

Her pain was written plainly on her lovely features, but their grandsire spoke his words with a sense of finality; it seemed to be no hope to dissuade his mind.

This was how her brothers found her–“Sulking prettily,” Aegon cooed as her handmaiden finished braiding her silver tresses back, dressed already in a pale silk and ready for bed.

Once they were alone, Aegon had brought up this childhood game. What had convinced her, though, was when her twin, Aemond, who was the personified reason knitted amongst them all, seemed almost akin to the idea. His perpetual smirk played at his lips when he offered to be the seeker first.

And now she padded softly along to keep pace with Aegon, breathless, almost gleeful, as they tore through the empty corridors, hands held as they weaved through the silent castle before coming to a door she recognized all too well.

“This is Aemond’s room,” and her voice trailed off with its uncertainty.

Aegon returned his hand to her lower back, his other now grasping onto her forearm. There was a darkness that flickered over his features, but his smirk was quick to brighten, an emotion gone with a heartbeat before she could even register. A coaxing whisper to guide her across the threshold: “This is the one place he would not think us to go.”

It was a room she knew with an intimate familiarity, with an ingress that connected and weaved through the walls, leading back to her own. When they were children, Aemond often would slip into her bed at night, her honeyed tones to soothe him to sleep, and when he had lost his eye, she would go visit with him and listen while Vhagar’s roars reverberated throughout the Keep.

It was tidy, as always, maintained and meticulous, which suited her twin. His musk lingered over, something that was so uniquely his own: the hint of smoke with leather, his skin scrubbed clean with the bath oils gifted from Dorne, the amber and the ash.

It was something that held onto her clothes whenever she would return to her room in the early mornings.

Now, she followed Aegon with timid steps as he moved towards the wardrobe further back, standing tall and solid. He opened to be greeted with the smell of Aemond, mixed with the cedar chips placed to keep the moths away. He then stepped in first, turning to reach for her once he realized her hesitation rooted her to the cobblestone; his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her in, closing the door behind.

It was dark, save the crack between the paneled doors that allowed the bit of golden light from the hearth and the tapers still lit to spill in. Aegon nestled against her, a warmth emitting from him, and her backside flushed against his chest. His one hand moved to her hip while the other began to draw soothing circles against her stomach, an almost tingling sensation through her silk.

She squirmed slightly, an inadvertent hum from his touch; the close proximity and his clashing scent–a soothing mixture of lavender and tea tree oil–caught her breath in her throat. She blushed, her hand fumbling on top of his own, so small in comparison, and he pressed the imprint of his palm to her stomach, the other gripping into her hip bone.

She shivered from his hold, from the warmth that began to pool between her thighs. “Aegon,” she breathed.

He moved to place his hand over her mouth. “Quiet, sister,” and his chin pressed onto her shoulder, his hot whisper tickled with his low baritone and his hold tightened around her waist.

She paused, alert for an indication that Aemond had finally come to the room to find them, but there was only a heavy silence punctuated by the crackle from the fireplace. Aegon burned against her, a pillar of warmth that settled over like a fog, thick with the quiet, almost suffocating in the enclosed space. His hold on her hip loosened and his hand began to trail the flow of silk to the soft divot between her thighs, his fingers moving to trace the outline of her cunt against the thin material.

“Sister,” his tone was dark, but she felt the curl of his lips against her ear. “You are bare beneath this.”

Only his hold on her mouth kept her from reminding him that she had meant to go to bed, but instead she had been caught up in this insipid game–but the thought choked on the fog from his continued motion. His fingers deftly found her slit and he dragged his center digit upwards between, a featherlight touch that seemed to scorch through the length of her spine. She moaned, soft and muted, against his palm.

“Pull up your skirt,” he hissed, moving to cup her cunt fully.

She jolted from his touch, scrambling to bunch the fabric around her hips; the air was cool against her thighs and the wetness between.

Aegon groaned against her skin. “So wet for me, sweet sister,” and he pulled her closer, grinding against her backside, his defined hardness pressing into the softness of her arse.

She mewled and it was muffled still, drawing a dark chuckle of satisfaction from Aegon. “You like that?” and he repeated the movement, his fingers now spreading her silken folds and the silver hair that lined them. “If I remove my hand, will you be a good girl and stay quiet for me?”

His hold only relaxed with the frantic bob of her head and his hand moved to push aside her braid to allow his tongue to run the column of her neck to behind her ear, almost panting against her skin. She shuddered against him. “So soft,” and her skin prickled with the low rumble of his praise, “so wet,” and his one finger curled within, searching until she began to melt, arching against him with a desperation to feel the friction again, his length hard and heavy against.

She pressed backwards and Aegon drew a sharp intake of air before he tilted his chin, his teeth sinking into the junction of her neck, suckling until she left out a small whine, “–Aegon.”

“Quiet,” he hissed again before returning his focus to the curl of his fingers within her velvet walls, to the movement of his hips grinding against. His touch was practiced, precise, and he was now knuckle deep, which allowed the ridge of his palm enough pressure that further ignited the coiled passion building in her lower abdomen.

She gasped with each stroke as he continued his simultaneous ministrations, the mixture of his kisses and nibbles on the curve of her neck, the love bites that would linger but right now brought her to the precipice of something she had never felt before–

–and the doors swung open, where Aemond stood, arms wide, his hair disheveled and his expression unreadable.

Her eyes widened, burning from her embarrassment, burning from her release; she tried to close her thighs, but Aegon pulled it from her, against her own volition and with a startled cry. She trembled from her peak, the flush of color that spilled from her cheeks, to her neck and to her chest, her nipples pressing against the silk and her chest heaving with her labored breath.

Aegon wore his smug satisfaction, pressing a soft kiss to her neck and his eyes never leaving Aemond.

But his sharp features seemed unsurprised by the spectacle. “You are insatiable, brother,” and he grabbed her, pulling her from the confines of the wardrobe. “Your impatience knows no end.”

The silk spilled to cover her leaden legs, her steps staggered but he was quick to catch her. His large palms held her steady, to meet with his bicolor gaze; his sapphire gleamed and his lavender eye trailed her curves, almost admiring. He then dragged her towards the bed, pushing her backwards against it.

“Oh, but I have only prepared her for you,” Aegon continued as he stepped out, his silver hair mussed and his satisfaction bold on his features as he licked his fingers clean.

She wished her voice to not sound so childish with her question. “P-prepare me?”

Aegon tutted condescendingly. “Just as we did with Helaena, and she took us both so well,” he grinned, relishing in the new flush of color that stained her cheeks with the implication of his tone. “You cannot truly believe we would ever allow you to be off to some Northern house as a prize?”

Her heart fluttered with hope, like a captured bird against its cage, and her fingers pressing into the mattress to hold herself upright to look back at Aemond. He stepped closer to touch her, his hand large and warm, his slender fingers sliding to hold the back of her neck, to hold her attention. “I would never allow that,” he vowed, and then he pulled her to stand again.

She had always considered her twin to be handsome, as breathtaking as the sapphire stone he had placed in his scarred socket. It was his melancholy mien that called to her heart; there was a severity that lined his features, that sharpened as the years passed and chiseled away at the remains of his boyhood. After the war was won, she often wondered, she hoped, that she would be given to him, as Helaena had been given to Aegon…

Her eyelashes fluttered when she looked up at him, warming from the close proximity. “Aemond…”

“Trust me,” and Aemond pressed closer.

It was her first kiss and it swept the air from her lungs, his mouth soft and warm and wanting against her own. A soft moan spilled from her and his tongue curled against her own, his gradual pace to allow her time to taste, to allow her own want to begin rekindling within.

Her hands trembled when they reached for his collar, pulling him closer, and he hummed his satisfaction, a vibration throughout; his arm wrapped around the small of her waist, a guiding press back against the bed edge. Her layers of silk were disrobed and puddled on the cobblestone, a heat radiating from her bareness now shown to Aemond and she saw how his pupil swallowed the color of his eye.

Aemond discarded his tunic, his long and lithe form decorated with scars from the Dance of the Dragons, bold colors with some fading to silver. He pressed between her plush thighs, his slender fingers now digging into their softness for hold, pulling her towards the edge until her cunt pressed against the bulge of his trousers.

Another moan spilled from her kiss-swollen lips from the clothed pressure, and Aemond dipped forward, the soft tickle of his silver hair against her skin and his lips trailing the curve of her jaw with an open mouth kiss to the soft divot beneath her ear.

“Lay back on the bed,” was his breathless command.

She trembled to move herself but paused when her eyes darted back to see Aegon in the shadows, still standing, still watching rapt. His tunic was now untucked and showed off the hard peaks of his chest beneath, his hand dipping past his waistline with a slow palming of the length of his shaft, with wine stained blotches on his cheeks.

Aemond captured her mouth, pushing her back onto the bed, his kiss searing with his desperation, his hunger, with the clash of teeth and his tongue curling against the roof of her mouth. She panted, flustered from the attention, flustered with the echo of Aegon’s words–she took us both so well. Even then, plumes of pink bloomed on her pale skin as his kiss stoke the embers of her passion. “Aemond,” she breathed him in, her head light.

He hummed against her neck, moving lower so his mouth could appreciate her curves. He paused at her chest, his tongue flickering over the peaks of her nipples before trailing lower to the soft of her stomach with hot, wet kisses moving towards her core.

She sighed, she squirmed with each placed kiss and as he nestled between, his breath warm against the glisten from her first climax, and her arousal from his touches.

“She tastes so sweet, brother,” Aegon rasped.

Aemond hummed against her cunt, his fingers soft to touch, his lips pressing an intimate kiss to the bloom above her entrance. She arched her back with a sharp cry, sensitive still, and he pinched her thigh.

“Dōna mandia,” his husky tone sent bolts up her spine. “Be quiet.”

Her hands clamped over her mouth as he began to lap the bundle of nerves discovered this night, and he drank her essence unabashedly. His fingers curled within, his touch somewhat similar to Aegon’s but thoughtful, searching until he felt the beginning flutter of her walls. There was the sinful squelch of her wet cunt and she let out a choked sound against her palm, the threat of tears pearling in her eyes–

Then he stopped.

She let out a whine and pushed to her elbows, the flush of rose that tinged her intimately in all the right places, the rise and fall of her chest and her nipples still peaked with her denied pleasure. Aemond watched her, removing his trousers, the hint of satisfaction fleeting with how her eyes widened at the sight of him bare; he then moved to the cradle of her hips, his head dipping with the glisten on his lips and chin, an unfamiliar taste with his sweet kiss.

Aemond pressed against her, hot and heavy. “Sweet sister,” and he sounded apologetic. “This will hurt.”

Once again a hand clamped over her mouth, halting her gasp as he lined to press against her entrance. Aemond groaned into her neck with his gentle thrusts that burned, that stretched as he pushed into her and she writhed pitifully beneath him, the tears now spilling with her muffled sob.

“I know, I know,” his low tone was soothing, his breath tickling the curve of her neck as he continued the slow rut of his hips against her, his hold relaxing for a chaste kiss.

She gasped against his mouth. The burn, the ache dimming with his each thrust and she felt the blossom of a newer sensation that began to trickle through her veins, a coiling passion as he filled her; It was something deeper than neither his hands of Aegon’s reached before. She shuddered against him, her cheeks wet and her fingers curling into his slim hips, his pace rhythmic to her internal flutter pulling her towards an edge.

She let out a soft cry: “Aemond.”

His lips curled and he praised her. “Yes, just like that,” his pace continued, unrelenting. She felt her muscles clenching, spasming with the bloom of her climax spilling through, her sweet moans mixing with his sharp intake of air through his clenched teeth. Aemond stilled his hips, savoring how she shuddered beneath him, her rapid heartbeat and wet eyes that watched him intently.

A whine cut through them both. “Aemond,” and only then did they remember Aegon.

She felt empty when Aemond pulled away, her cresting pleasure fading. The bed dipped as he shifted, his large hands now moving her, coaxing her onto her hands and knees so she now faced the edge of the bed to watch as Aegon moved closer.

He had shed the last of his clothes, his swaggered step that showed his length, his girth, that hung heavy between his thighs. His touch felt clammy against her skin, cupping her jaw and tilting her head back to meet with the glitter of his lilac eyes. “Will you return me the favor?” he mused, his thumb pressing to her lower lip.

Her older brother always held a haunted beauty about him. There were splotches of wine stains, bold on his porcelain skin, and something almost sinister that brimmed beneath the dark shadows that framed his lovely eyes. Aegon watched her, his digit stroking underneath her chin as he watched for her to acknowledge his words.

Behind her, the bed dipped again as her twin moved to place his hands on her hips. Her grip balled into the linen, to try and hold her trembling still; he dragged the tip of his cock through her folds to coat himself in her release, allowing an easier glide as he sheathed back into her cunt; his groan reverberated throughout them both.

She shuddered and felt Aegon squeeze her jaw, looking up at him through the new tears that clung to her eyelashes. “Open your mouth,” was his low command, his hand wrapping around his base and pressing his swollen cockhead to her lips.

It was a tentative taste before she opened to take him bit by bit. “Watch your teeth,” and she widened her jaw, her tongue flattening against the underside of him. “Yes, good girl,” Aegon hissed, his head tilting back.

She gagged when Aemond slammed into her, his hip bones digging into the softness of her arse–this new angle choked a moan from her, and its vibration had Aegon almost giggling. His fingers combed through her silver hair that spilled from the braid, holding her head as he now bucked his hips into her mouth. She gagged again, hollowing her cheeks, saliva spilling from the corners of her mouth and dripping down the sides.

The brothers were in tandem, the brutal pace of her twin and the sensual pull of her hair by Aegon and his large hands. She trembled as she tried her best to balance on one hand, her other trying to wrap around the last bit of Aegon she could not swallow, flushed from the lack of oxygen and her muscles tensing again.

Then it stopped, the satisfying pop as Aegon removed himself from her mouth, an emptiness as Aemond pulled away. She wished to melt into the sheets, but felt hands pulled to straddle the slender waist of Aemond, who was now splayed against the pillows, the flush of color bright on his sharp features. She saw his erection pressed up against his stomach, a glossy sheen of her arousal coating him.

She sighed from his touch, lifting her hips with a soft mewl as he dragged his tip through her silken folds again, allowing her to slowly sink on top with her soft cries. He bucked beneath her, a slow pace to fill and it plumed new pleasure that sparked at her spine, fluttering throughout. Her nipples were rosy and pebbled, her small hands bracing against his chest with the imprint of of red, half-crescent moons littering on his skin.

Aemond moved his hands to cradle her lower back and pulled her forward until she was flushed against his chest. He captured her lips with a renewed fervor, biting her bottom lip, and she whimpered mercifully against his mouth. He broke away and she buried into his neck with a soft kiss, while Aemond gave a silent gesture to Aegon, who retrieved a small vial and palmed himself as he continued watching them.

“You wish to make me feel as good as I made you,” Aegon asked and the bed sank as he climbed onto it, “isn’t that right, sweet sister?”

She twisted to face him, an unintelligible moan to reply as Aemond continued his languid pace beneath her. Her eyes were glassy, soft noises spilling, and there was a movement of silver when she nodded her head.

Aegon hummed with a curl of his lips, moving behind her, pouring more from the vial into his palm. Aemond reached to find her lips again, tightening his hold as she jerked from Aegon’s touch. He made a soothing sound and she relaxed as he slowly circled her rim, a genial coat of oil, so tender it almost tickled.

It stopped and her trepidation fluttered her spine as his thick head pressed against her hole, a searing burn that speared the base as he began to push until he was fully sheathed and flushed against her ass. She trembled and Aegon let out a low groan as he leaned over her, a soft bite and kiss to her shoulder blade. “So tight,” he gasped.

Aemond had stilled his hips, swallowing her cries with his kiss, and only pulling back to lick her tears, his soothing words muted from the roar of blood that was rushing to her ears. He continued to sing small praises while Aegon moved agonizingly slow, his thrusts eventually coaxing a heat in her lower back that began to spread and press to her seams.

Aemond cupped her face to reclaim her attention, her breathy moans fanning his cheeks and her fist knotting into the linen as she shuddered against his chest. He moved his warm palms to her sides, slowly rolling his hips at an alternating pace with Aegon.

The fullness from their hungry, cyclical pace continued the crescendo building in her lower abdomen. It came with sparks of white that flashed before her eyes, the release of that coiled passion flushing her skin with their rhythm. Her tension snapped, painfully, pleasurable, sharing her bones beneath and leaving her weightless with a sobbed release.

She shuddered from the crests of pleasure that continued to crash against her, feeling Aegon’s hips stuttering with his own peak before pulling out his softening cock. And then Aemond gripped into her hips, a biting hold as he rutted upwards to chase after the high, his cock pulsing inside her velvet walls and her lips parting with a wordless cry.

She then crumpled against her twin and he moved her carefully to the side. She was breathless and could feel their pearly seed spilling from her holes and seeping into the linen. Aegon was first to move, to dress and leave the room, but Aemond took a moment, washcloths rung to wipe her clean, taking the time to blow softly on her skin and watch it ripple with gooseflesh.

When he finally finished, he crawled beneath the covers and pulled her against his chest; she sighed as she melted against him, her fingers moving to play with the silver strands of his hair. Her lips pursed a moment. “What do we do now, brother?”

His fingertips stemmed pleasantly against her ribs and she flushed from the vibration of his low hum. “I intend to speak to the Lord Hand tomorrow about making you my wife,” he said as if it was already decided.

Her tongue wet her lips. “What if he is adamant to send me to the North?”

His grin was almost wicked. “Then I will parade these corridors with these very sheets to show you are no longer a maiden,” and he pushed her as she giggled, rolling her onto her back and enjoying the natural spill of her breasts; his narrow waist knitted between her thighs and she sighed, feeling him pressed against the inside of her thigh, heavy and ready once again.

Aemond captured her mouth and his kiss heated her cheeks. He stopped a moment, his tone dark and heady, “I will not be denied. Iksā ñuhon, dōna mandia.”

You are mine, sweet sister. 

[captainlunaxmen]

Dragon's Healer

Masterlist

"Summary": This one is a Rhaenyra x reader x Daemon. It follows the show's plot, and Y/n is an orphan Viserys and Aemma decided to help. Y/n, Rhaenyra and Alicent grow together and all. Y/n and the Princess develop feeling for each other, and they have to keep things secret, but they manage. Dark!Aemond comes in when he starts to develop an obsession with his mother's once friend. And once he's grown up he has to have her.

Chapter 1

[yichuuonvenus]

Beware the Dragon

Aemond "One-eye" Targaryen x Reader

~Description~

You've been the kids' caretaker for some time now after leaving the threat that was Fleabottom but now a new threat has come to take everything you hold dear.

~Warnings~

Rape/non-consent, knifeplay (I tried)

Princess Jaehaera left your sight for barely a millisecond and she was gone. You being you immediately freaked out. You look around the room trying to find anything a toddler would go into.

You were mostly trusted with the kids. They loved you the most, besides Helena. You knew that if someone were to find her first you would never see them again. You would be immediately thrown into the black cells.

You worked your way to the top slowly and tried to be the best you possibly could. It worked out in the end. You had a pretty good life in the Redkeep. Anything would be after living in Fleabottom.

You looked around the room again and again. Even going into the secret doors Jaehaera showed you when she deemed you trustful enough. She was a bright and sweet child for her age, which made you love her even more.

You needed to find her.

You were scared of what Aegon would do.

No, what Aemond would do. The proud, terrifying Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen. Who never seemed too fond of you. You couldn’t place why but you knew he never liked you.

His narrowed gaze would always find yours whenever you were in a room together. It wasn’t often but it was enough to the point you would immediately leave the room or try to find somewhere to hide. When you were with the kids however you couldn’t hide.

You could recall multiple moments when he would glare and furrow a brow at you with the kids. You never understood why but you let it go. You would've told a friend... if you had one but you didn’t have any friends. Maybe Helena was one but could you really call her a friend?

You were a servant and she a queen. Helena was different though. She was kind and treated you like a human. She treated you as a confidant in a way. Telling you whatever was on her mind that day.

The things she would recite to you intrigued you. They sounded like riddles or something from a poem. The court was bland, so having Helena was like a breath of fresh air.

Though sometimes her riddles scared you. You remembered something Helena said to you the night before.

Beware of the dragon that lurks. For the dragon takes, while the mouse suffers.

You remembered the look on her face, a ghostly white. The way her hands shook and tightened around yours. It felt like a warning. A warning you didn’t know what for. It scared you. It was all you thought about throughout the day.

Maybe if you haven’t been thinking about those words you wouldn’t be trying to find Jaehaera now but you couldn’t control your thoughts. They ran rapidly throughout your mind. You thought of what the warning could mean.

You immediately thought of Aegon and what he did to Dyana. He always took his chance to touch you when you both were alone. You couldn’t shove him off not since the whole kingdom proclaimed him king.

You were terrified of him.

It would only make sense for him to be the dragon that lurks and takes whatever he wants.

You couldn’t help but think of Aemond too.

He terrified you beyond repair.

Maybe it was both. You didn’t know. You had to push those thoughts back deep into your mind and search for Jaehaera.

Aegon will most definitely have your head. There was no way he wasn’t going to let you off with a warning if someone else were to find her first.

You left to go to the kitchens. Maybe she was hungry and decided to take a pit stop there. No one was in there besides a few cooks working on tomorrow’s breakfast.

You decided to look somewhere else. Every room that followed after that held no promises. It was like a never-ending game of hide and seek. Only this game ended in your death.

You finally went back to where you started. A different guard was standing at the door. Your stomach was in knots as you got closer to the door. Outside of the door you heard giggling and a deep voice chuckling.

You opened the door to see Jaehaera and Aemond. He held her up towards the ceiling giggling and playfully swinging her arms through the air.

“You found me, uncle!” She said delightfully.

“Of course, I would. You always hide in the same spot,” he chuckled deeply.

He wasn’t as terrifying when he was with the kids. He was joyful for once and his demanding personality was replaced with one fitting a jester. You breathed deeply as you stared at them before entering the room. Aemond slowly sat her back down, but his eyes were only on you.

Jaehaera went back to playing with her toys while Aemond made his way to you.

“Where were you, miss?” His tone was even and his eyes were demanding.

“I- um I was in the kitchens trying to find Jaehaera a snack,” you whispered.

His eyes narrowed like they usually did. You could feel the weight of your lie on your chest and his eyes told you that he knew that you were lying.

“Hmm, so why was Jaehaera left here alone?” He stepped closer to you and you instinctively stepped back.

His hand grabbed you harshly taking you back to where you were before, only closer.

“I- um the other maids was in here they m- must’ve left,” you shook beneath the weight of his gaze.

“Ahh okay, so if I were to interrogate every maid that works here?”

You froze up, your breathing stilled.

“Um-”

He stared at you chuckling a bit.

“So you were lying,” he gasped, “it’s treason to lie to a prince.”

A “please” came out of your mouth before you could even stop it. His mouth quirked up into a smirk. He came quickly to your ear, lips almost touching it.

“It’s okay I won’t tell anyone… only for a price-“

He was cut off by the sounds of Jaehaera calling you over. You immediately made your way to her. He stopped you with a pull of your arm.

“You need to pay the price, my lady,” he whispered as he let go of your arm.

He walked towards the door and said his goodbyes to Jaehaera then left. You sat there shaking a bit. You didn’t know what this price was. You didn’t know what he was going to do.

All you could do was play with Jaehaera and let your thoughts roam.

. . .

“Here take this,” Helena said smiling.

It was a handkerchief with your favorite flowers embroidered onto it.

“What is it?” You asked inspecting it closely.

It was beautifully done, no doubt Helena’s handiwork.

“It’s for you. I’ve noticed how much you liked my handkerchief and how you like those types of flowers.”

“Thank you thank you.”

You smiled at her and hugged her without warning.

“I’m… I’m sorry-“

“No no it’s okay I liked it,” she giggled, “please.”

She opened her arms up and you filled the space. Helena was probably the only thing that came close to a friend and a mother to you. She guided, helped, and trusted you. You couldn’t be anymore thankful for her presence.

The moment was disturbed when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Helena said.

The maid bowed her head but never looked up at Helena. You still saw the look on her face so scared, so melancholy.

“Your grace… The King needs to see you…”

“Oh… tell him I’ll be there,” Helena sighed. She stared at where the maid last stood, never taking her eyes off of it.

“My queen, what is it?” You looked at her and she only slowly blinked.

“Hmm, nothing. Take care of them for me.” She frowned when she finally looked at you.

“Oh okay, I’ll see you, my queen.” You tried to smile at her but her face only fell more.

“Yes, I’ll see you.”

She left the room and somehow it felt colder than usual. You wrapped your arms around yourself and peered over at Jaehaera, Jaehaerys, and Maelor playing. You longed to be a child again. Always laughing and giggling enjoying the small things you have now.

. . .

You woke up to the sound of the guards' screams. One busted into your room.

“Get up you got to go now!”

“What?! What’s going on? Is the royal family okay?” You exclaimed.

He didn’t say anything as he dragged you through the corridors. You noticed that none of the other servants were in the hallways. It was just you and a couple of the guards.

“Where…w where are we going?” You asked shaking, your feet stumbling over.

“Shut up and walk,” one of the guards said.

It was quiet the rest of the way there. The silence was deafening as you made your way through each hallway. The twists and turns made it harder to navigate through the halls.

“Stop,” the other guard said.

You guys stopped in front of a door. Your legs shook and your stomach churned

Without a word, the guard opened the door. The room was dark and dingy. Your gut feeling told you not to go but it wasn’t like you could just walk out. The dust in the room made you cough a bit. You guessed it was a forgotten room from the white sheets covering the furniture.

It smelled of sweat and the air felt as thick as molasses. Still, the guards made you venture on. They closed the door when you went deeper into the room. Your body was trembling. Someone was watching you and you didn’t know where… or who.

Beware of the dragon that lurks. For the dragon takes, while the mouse suffers.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you remembered Helena's words. Your heart was racing, practically beating out of your chest.

A shadowy figure appeared before you. You already knew who it was under the cloak. The stranger slowly pulled it off.

His long silver hair was the first thing you saw. How the silver shined when it touched the moonlight. His lilac and sapphire eyes were second. Seeing both eyes... the one that was always covered. It had you not looking away once. He was a handsome man with beautiful features, but the way he stood, the way his eyes were always telling you something scared you.

You backed away slowly at first, then bolted to the door. He followed, and you knew your screams could be heard across Kindslanding. He walked you both towards the bed and ripped off the sheet cloth.

Your screaming died, when he took out a dagger. He held it close to your throat.

“I found a good way to make you behave.” He smiled a genuine smile.

His dagger traveled to your chest then your waist. You shook in his hold, you knew one slip and he would cut you so quickly.

He pushed you onto the bed, then followed after. You didn’t have enough time to close your legs before he lodged himself between them.

Tears threatened to fall as he ripped your nightgown into sheds with his dagger. He took his time looking over your body. It was almost like he was trying to memorize it. How you trembled. How you breathed.

He quickly pulled himself out of his pants and your fight was reignited. You pushed against him only to be immediately cut by his dagger. The scream that left your mouth was immediately covered by his hand.

“I suggest you stay still.”

You heeded his warning and laid still. The dagger was close to your neck.

He let go of your mouth to travel his hand down your body. His fingers danced over your clit. Slowly rubbing back and forth with light strokes. He slowly dipped a finger inside of you, grinning when he felt how wet you were becoming.

He added another finger and he smirked when he saw how you winced and trembled.

“You’re so tight.”

You felt your face heat up and this tightening sensation bubbling up in your abdomen. You felt yourself going insane. When you opened your eyes his face wasn’t on yours it was on your clit. You felt him enclosing his lips around it.

“Please,” you begged as your gripped the sheets and clenched around his fingers hard.

You didn’t exactly know what you were begging for, but he ignored you and didn’t stop for a second. You heard a deep chuckle on you and you squirmed.

You felt something intense take over you. Your stomach was contracting and your face was on fire. You wanted to push him off. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Then you felt this wave of pleasure wash over you. Everything went quiet for a moment.

You forgot where you were. Some intrusion brought you back. Your eyes couldn’t open fast enough. Aemond was towering over you. His face was hard to read but his lips glistened from you.

You looked down to see his length as he moved it back and forth on you. You twitched from the overstimulation. You turned your face away from him, turning onto your side. He flipped you over. He pulled some of the pillows under you and you were defenseless in stopping him. Too tired to even put up a fight.

He glided himself over you again and again almost in a teasing manner. When he pushed in your whole body was tingling. He was hot inside of you. It was like all the air left your body for a moment.

You didn’t know what to do with yourself. You gripped the sheets as tears were spilling out of your eyes. He held your hips tightly as his thrusts were becoming harsh.

“Don’t move,” he muttered as he slowed down.

You didn’t know what he said until you felt something lightly cut your back. You didn’t know to scream or to cry so you did nothing. You lay there as you felt his tongue glide over you.

“You’re holding me so tightly. Do you like this?” His lips touch your ears, making you shiver slightly.

His hips came flush with yours. Every time he made a nick on you, you couldn’t help but clench around him. It confused you the pain and the pleasure.

He would immediately lick the blood off and kiss the new cut.

He turned you over carefully. Your tears made everything look very blurry you could barely make out his eyes. They fascinated you even in your dizzying state. They seemed to shimmer in the moonlight.

You were too entranced by his eye to notice his kisses on your neck. He still tried to explore everything as if he didn’t do a good job before.

He licked and kissed any skin that was exposed to him. It was sticky when he pulled back to look at you. Blood was glistening on his lips and sweat was glowing off of him.

He looked like an angel. A dark angel at that. An angel that was sent to terrify you. To make you go insane.

Each thrust he pushed into you sent you into a moaning fit. He guided your arms on his shoulders when he noticed you didn’t know where to put your hands.

“Don’t let go,” he said softly.

You did just that. You held him when he started to thrust. His thrusts didn’t feel like his words. Hitting a spot that made you cry every time.

Your hands were clawing his back and your toes were curling at the feel of him.

The spots he nicked still felt tender but it was barely noticeable with the pleasure he was giving you.

You felt as though you were getting ready to explode. You gripped his hair tightly without noticing, making him whimper and curse. That is what finally sent you over the edge. You closed your eyes and felt like you were in bliss.

You opened your eyes to find his staring back at you. His expression was soft. Not the usual hard gaze he stared at you with. He laid down next to you. Just staring at you. You closed your eyes and drifted off.

When you woke back up he was petting your hair. Like a lover of some sort. You remembered what happened and what he did. You back away carefully making him look at you like you did something wrong.

“You… you raped me! You cut me!” You screamed and cried.

Your hands started to swing on their own. They scratched and hit him as best as they could.

“No, I-“

“You sent those guards so you could have your way with me! You’re not any better than The King you’re WORSE,” you screeched at him.

“NO! It wasn’t me who sent the guards it was Aegon!” He screamed back. “If it wasn’t for me you would be dead and thrown into Blackwater Bay.”

You faltered a bit in your pursuit to be free. The King was the one who sent those guards?

“W what..?” You paused as he held your wrists.

You didn’t want to believe him. You didn’t know him well enough to know if he would lie. Helena trusted him a fair bit but never talked about him. Not even once.

“Aegon was the one who sent those guards. He had wanted you for some time now.” He paused looking away as if he was thinking. “I stopped him. I can protect you from him.”

You stared into his eyes. Does he think he’s better than Aegon? Does he think he’s being righteous?

“You can protect me from him?” You wanted to laugh. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you protect the kids. You also need protection.”

When it left his mouth you didn’t think it was the truth. It was deeper than that but you didn’t pry.

“You belong to me now. You are mine.”

You couldn’t help but look away, tears filled your eyes for the tenth time tonight. This was the price of you leaving Jaehaera. You knew it was going to happen. You just didn’t know when. You just hoped that he’d truly protect you when the time came.

[propheticbride]

Bastards and Dragons

𐙚 You had never cared for the court's vicious gossip towards you and your brother’s parentage, until it came from a certain prince.

> darkish story containing dubcon, incest (duh) slut shaming, bastardphobia (lol), manipulation, violence, mind games, betrayal, awful treatment of reader (sorry), kidnapping, technically a hostage situation, cruelty, unhealthy family dynamics.

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