#Dominoes1

[aemcndtargaryen]

AEMOND POV MY BELOVED

when i say seeing the notif for this pop up (and reading it ofc) just made my entire week, im not even kidding

i knew i was gonna love the glimpse inside aemonds head and boy did this not disappoint, IT WAS EVERYTHING I HOPED FOR AND MORE

✨the highlights✨

not aemond thinking of lady L as some daughter of Lord Lannister and swearing to hate her and that she could never be his friend, boy has No Idea-

also aemond 30 seconds later:

He tells himself that he’ll hate her.

Then he meets you.

aemond going feral for her in that singular moment where shes scowling at him and wanting to bare her teeth at him for scaring her and making her spill water on herself

aemond being absolutely normal about the whole situation and in fact swearing to himself that he has control and hes being absolutely normal about all of this, then lady L says her name and its freeze frame, record scratch for our boy

i loved their first meeting and lady L being a lil smartass, the whole you could be aegon, aemond or even daeron who decided oldtown wasnt doing it for him and now seeing aemonds reactions to it all? Just Chefs kiss

being embarrassed to be wrong in front of lady L when homeboy doesnt even know what hes wrong about or why hes feeling that way

waxing poetic about her smile in his head, like I've seen many wonders of the world in my short years on this earth but none compare to the smile on your face

then immediately after; at least she isnt dumb💀

Well mannered. Pretty. A true lady. I’m the second son in a family where even the first son receives nothing. No one is excited to see me.

Viserys im in your fucking walls

ALSO otto telling aemond hes gotta make up for aegons weaknesses and aemond taking that personally, as in he has to study and be good at literally everything took me out😂💀

just lil aemond already simping for lady L, albeit cautiously🥺😭🤧💜

finding her beautiful, smart and kind and frankly too good to be true

when he couldnt believe she wanted to spend time with him? Just Aemond? i-🤧

ALL HIS BLUSHING AND LADY L WASNT EVEN REALLY TRYING LOL BOYS SO GONE FOR HER ALREADY AND I LOVE IT

You beam, bright and happy, and he wonders if the real treasure in the Rock wasn’t its gold or its wealth but rather the daughters it produced.

EXCUSE ME WHILE I GO SCREAM

lil babes already swapping notes on fav books and the mention of symeon star-eyes

also aemond basking in the sun/lady L’s voice as she read to them

my boy knowing he needs to stay focused so he can be the strength of his fam so theres no room in his life for distractions, not even in the form of a pretty lil lioness, so he hopes she will leave him alone BUT NOT REALLY HE DOESNT WANNA BE SO UNLUCKY I-

dominoes cascading in a line — the meeting

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

You beam, bright and happy, and he wonders if the real treasure in the Rock wasn’t in its gold or its wealth but rather in the daughters it produced. or moments in aemond's life with a lady of house lannister

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 2.1k notes: surprise! i'm starting a companion piece of oneshot moments in the pawn in every lover's game (my current ongoing fic) from aemond's pov! this will be updated sporadically so enjoy this first one (:

Aemond is ten when his mother announces that Daeron will be fostered in Oldtown by their Hightower kin. Daeron is seven.

As an adult, his memory of the incident will fade like an old picture; the colors will lose their shine, details will vanish, the pain will dull. But one thing he will never forget is how Daeron hadn’t cried.

He had trembled, his eyes had gone wide, and he had seemed so small, even smaller than he already was.

But he hadn’t cried.

Daeron didn’t cry when they had packed his things or even Mother had gotten the habit of bursting into tears at the mere sight of him. He hadn’t even cried when their father had shrugged off his leaving, merely giving his youngest son a more than awkward pat on the head and empty platitudes.

He didn’t cry.

Not until Helaena had mournfully informed them all that she couldn’t go with them to drop Daeron off since some daughter of Lord Lannister was coming to King’s Landing to keep Lord Tyland Lannister company and to be her companion. She had to stay to greet her. Mother had insisted.

Daeron had sobbed then. Big, glassy tears had poured down his face as he had gasped loudly for breath. Helaena, fighting her usual aversion to touch, had wrapped her small arms around him, awkward and stiff, but Daeron hadn’t minded, burrowing himself into her arms and wailing.

Aemond had sworn then and there that he would hate the little lady of House Lannister coming to be Helaena’s companion. She could be his sister’s friend. She couldn’t be his.

During the entire trip to Oldtown and his entire stay, Aemond had created a vision of the Lannister girl to hate. She’ll be mean. She’ll be snooty. She’ll sneer at Helaena and her bugs and mock her to the other ladies in court. She’ll laugh at him and his lack of a dragon, whisper about how he is no true Targaryen if he can’t claim his own House’s sigil.

Perhaps she’s only coming to the capitol to marry. That’s the only reason a noble girl would leave her family’s seat of power behind and travel after all. Maybe she’ll even marry Aegon and they’ll have cruel, nasty babies together and they’ll laugh at Helaena and Aemond for the rest of their lives.

By the time he returns to the Red Keep with one brother and without another, he swears that he’ll hate the daughter the Rock has sent and he always will. He repeats this in his head as he heads to Mother’s sitting room, where Helaena always spends her time, and he convinces himself that she won’t be there because she must be cruel and vapid and mean to keep Helaena away from Daeron. He tells himself that he’ll hate her.

Then he meets you.

When he slams the door open, prepared to comfort his surely heartbroken sister, he finds you. The slam of the door startles you and, with a small shriek, you nearly drop a jug of water, catching it awkwardly so that the water spills all over the front of your pretty gown, soaking it.

He stares. You don’t look at him for a moment, too busy staring down at the jug in stunned disbelief, but when he calls out to ask if you’re alright, you turn to face him.

And Aemond swears his heart skips a beat.

He’s seen pretty girls before. Of course, he has. They’re everywhere in the Red Keep. From serving girls to noblewomen, there’s beauty to spare in the capitol.

But you’re different. There’s a moment when he knows your mind hasn’t realized that he’s a Targaryen, when he’s just a boy that made her spill water on herself, and you scowl fiercely, looking as if you would bare your teeth if you could. It’s a short moment but a glorious one and Aemond feels his cheeks flare with heat against his permission.

Luckily, it looks like you’re just as caught off guard and you duck into a curtsey, calling him my prince.

The form of address has never sounded so nice.

“I think I’m at a disadvantage,” he says after a moment, feeling as if he’s failing a test he didn’t know he was supposed to take. “You know who I am but I don’t know who you are.”

“Oh!” You say, looking terribly flustered, and Aemond fights down a smile, struggling to stay focused. He swears he has control, swears he’s being absolutely normal about all of this, but then you do say your name and his mind freezes.

Lannister. Lannister. Lannister.

Your House name runs circles in his mind, mocking him, teasing him. You’re the lady he’s sworn to hate.

He barely has time to process when you continue talking and it’s only through years of etiquette training that he hears you.

“My uncle Tyland is your father’s master of ships. And… at the risk of sounding impertinent, my prince, I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

He blinks at that, feeling that all too familiar humiliated flush creeping up his neck. The worst part is that he doesn’t even know why being wrong in front of you would embarrass him so badly. “How am I mistaken?”

Aemond has seen the Hightower in Oldtown, looming high above the port city, topped by a massive orange flame, an impossible wonder. He’s seen Sunfyre, gleaming and golden as he flies through the sky, a moving marvel rather than a ferocious beast. He’s seen the Iron Throne, the thousand swords taken from Aegon the Conqueror’s enemies, ugly but striking, the very seat of House Targaryen’s power.

And somehow none of them compare to your smile.

It’s humiliating, it’s shameful, it’s the truth. Your smile lights him up from the inside, warming him up entirely, and he wishes it wasn’t real. What if you’re cruel? What if you’re mean and selfish?

You keep smiling at him and, for just a few moments, Aemond tells himself that maybe you won’t be. He has to believe it, if only to just finish this conversation. “Now you know who I am but I don’t know who you are. I know you’re a Targaryen prince, that much is easy to tell, but there are three of those. Are you Prince Aegon? Or perhaps Prince Aemond? You could even be Prince Daeron, having decided that Oldtown isn’t to his taste.”

At least she’s not dumb.

He looks at you, looking for any sign that you’re setting him up, but, finding none, he finally smiles back. “I’m Prince Aemond. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

If he thought your smile was beautiful, it’s nothing compared to your laugh.

“Small mercies then,” you say after a moment, beaming at him. “Your sister told me that you and I would get along.”

“She did?” He asks, head spinning. “Me? And you? But you’re so…”

Well mannered. Pretty. A true lady. I’m the second son in a family where even the first son receives nothing. No one is excited to see me.

“She said you liked to read? And study?” You say, cleaning your hand with a wet rag, and Aemond notes with a start that your finger is bloody. “I’m no great scholar but I like to read the histories of the Westerlands and the other kingdoms. It’s important to know our past to be best able to predict our future.”

For a moment, Aemond hears his grandfather’s voice, lecturing as he hands him book after book about politics and the Seven Kingdoms.

You must succeed where Aegon fails, the Lord Hand says in his mind, stern and unyielding. You will be his strength where he is weak.

Aemond had taken that to mean that he must study everything.

Caught off guard, Armond can only manage out an awkward, “You like histories?”

“Of course,” you reply, wrapping your finger with a spare piece of cloth. “Perhaps you can share some of your favorite books with me? I’m about to go meet Princess Helaena in the gardens. You could join us?”

That shocks him the most out of everything.

Being smart was one thing. Being kind was another.

But asking him to spend more time with you? Knowing that he’s Aemond Targaryen, the forgotten second son? Perhaps if he were Aegon, the rightful next king, or even Daeron, sweet Daeron who hadn’t even cursed you when you had stolen Helaena away from him, but he was Aemond. Just Aemond.

He can’t help it. He blushes. He blushes more than he has ever blushed before in his life and he ducks his head, wishing he wasn’t. “I would be honored, my lady.”

You beam, bright and happy, and he wonders if the real treasure in the Rock wasn’t its gold or its wealth but rather the daughters it produced. “I’ll meet you in the gardens then! Please allow me to get changed and could you inform Princess Helaena that I’ll be late?”

“Of course,” he stammers, embarrassed at his own weakness, and you smile once more at him, giving him a curtsey as you leave in a swirl of soaked fabrics.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, feeling as if Balerion the Black Dread has bathed him in his flame, burning him away and leaving nothing.

Eventually, he does make his way down the gardens and, when he finds Helaena, crouched in the dirt with her hands cupped around an earthworm writhing in the moist soil, he forgets that he’s been gone for several moons.

“Is your companion kind to you?” He blurts out, skipping the emotional reunion completely in his daze. She’s lying. She has to be lying.

Sweet Helaena, however, doesn’t mind, looking up at him with glazed eyes. “Beasts of the sky, beasts of the rock, feed well the land,” she says in that odd way she always does. Before he can say anything, however, she blinks hard before smiling at him. “She’s nice. She likes embroidery. Whenever I ask, she reads me my favorites. I hope she’ll be my friend and not just my companion.”

Aemond watches her, looking for any hint of a lie, but Helaena never lies. Never ever.

He drops to the ground next to her instead, shaking his head to clear his thoughts as best as he can. He talks to his sister then, about Oldtown and Daeron and her bugs in their glass enclosures. He almost forgets.

Then you come again, carrying a heavy book, one that he instantly recognizes.

Mother had given it to Helaena on her eighth nameday — a Maester’s guide to the different beetles in the deserts of Dorne.

After getting the customary greetings out of the way, you slide to the ground, uncaring when your new dress gets covered in dirt and bits of grass. Head bowed over the book, you flip through with a practiced speed, landing on a chapter about the golden scarabs that crawl in the shadows of Sunspear.

You read with a calm and steady tone, perfectly enunciating every word, never faltering or stammering. Closing his eyes, Aemond leans back and listens, the words floating away so he only focuses on the sound of your voice, the melody.

He’s warm in the sunlight.

It ends too soon with the shrill call of Helaena’s septa ordering the pair of you to your daily lessons. Quickly, you snap the heavy tome closed, rising to your feet a beat faster than Helaena.

“Oh, before I forget,” you say, spinning to smile down at him. “What’s one of your favorite books? I’d love to get to read something other than just about the Westerlands.”

The answer pops out without his permission. “The Watchers on the Wall. Some of it is legends but it’s about the Nightfort. You know, the Rat Cook. Symeon Star-Eyes. The Night’s King.”

Your eyes gleam. “My mother used to tell me and my sisters about the Rat Cook to scare us into behaving. She said it happened to King Tywell II and if we weren’t kind to people, they might make us eat our children in a pie like him too.”

“Some say it was a king of the Vale instead,” he replies. “I hope it wasn’t your ancestor.”

“Aye,” you laugh. “I hope it wasn’t him either. I’ll be sure to read the story. Maybe I’ll be able to convince myself it wasn’t him either.”

As you leave, leading Helaena down to the frowning septa assigned to teach the both of you, he prays you won’t read the book. That you’ll take your pretty smiles and your quick replies off to Aegon to charm. He has to focus. He has to be the strength of his family and there’s no room or time for any lady.

Even still, a part of him hopes that he isn’t so unlucky.