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anyarose011 · 3 months ago

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"Nursing on the Poison that Never Stung" {Aemond x Reader}

Summary: It was the one night you were supposed to have off from work. Naturally, that was when Aemond Targaryen came in to bother you (for good reason). He came in for weeks after that to "bother" you some more. Yet, one night changed all of that.

Part 3 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): SMUT, PIV sex, oral sex (f and m receiving), loss of virginity, porn with plot, fingering, riding, titty sucking, dirty talk (High Valyrian style), eye trauma, cussing, mention of past child SA, attempted SA (not done by Aemond), canon typical violence, and someone's throat gets ripped out.

I'm so sorry it took me SOO long. Not only is my life kind of falling at the seams, but this chapter is also hella long so I hope it was worth it! There's a bunch of High Valyrian in this chapter. I myself am not fluent, but I tried to search up phrases and familiarize myself with some of the grammar, so I hope it's accurate. This chapter has a bit more sensitive themes (but mainly at the end, most of it is just porn with a little plot).

Word Count: 9.8k

It had been a week since Aemond Targaryen helped walk you home; and touched you so intimately in your childhood bedroom of all places.

You would see him come and go once in a while from Sylvi’s brothel and talk with him every so often, but not for long. Not even long enough to do anything but greet him, ask him how he was, and then have him be whisked away by Sylvi. It was always a flip of a coin for her to either glare at you or smile every time she did.

Tonight was the rare night you would be at the brothel not to prepare for your ‘Woman at the Well’ act, but to mend the clothes of the women. It was something you did only once every moon, but it was a nice break in between your more so risky job.

Because you mended the clothes so rarely, it would take hours upon hours to do. That was why you begun it at dinner with the girls who usually helped pretty you up.

And, just like the week prior, their minds were filled with-.

“-I heard that war will come to King’s Landing in a fortnight.” One of the younger workers theorized.

Chansey scoffed, eating her dinner. “I heard that you run your mouth with gossip when it should be running down a man’s chest.”

The girls laughed, and you joined along with them momentarily. Then, Valda broke it up.

“I heard that it’s a curse the Kingsguard put upon the land by parading the skull of a dragon through the streets.”

Silence filled the air as if Death himself walked in. Once again, it was Valda who spoke first. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them burned the city to the ground simply to take revenge.”

She stormed out of the room with the slam of the door. Murmurs followed, questioning and complaining of her concern.

“Don’t mind her, girls.” Chansey shook her head. “She’s only upset because she got the clap.”

It was unfortunate for her, but fortunate for you; you had someone to talk to and not worry about a smelly man bursting in to ask for sex.

So, there you were in one of the private suites wearing only your corset and a skirt. You were sitting comfortably on the bed mending a thin dress as Valda laid her head on your lap. It was only the third day of the week; there was no way that many rich suitors would want to reserve a private room.

“How’s your side?” She asked.

“Tender,” you answered. “but I feel much better. How’s your clap?”

“It hurts to piss.” She groaned. “And do you remember when you got shitfaced and saw that fella kissing my cunt?”

Giggling, you nodded. “I do. Against popular belief, I remember many things about that night.”

“Like Prince Aemond?”

“What’s this about your cunt kissing fella?”

“He said he was going to come back tonight.” She whined

“And you’re sure he’s not the one who gave you the disease?”

Sighing, Valda sat up, playfully glaring at you. “Even if he did, he’d have the decency to come up and apologize.”

You chuckled, finishing up your final stitch on the dress before moving onto a sock. “If he does, he’s not kicking me out of this room.”

“You can join us if you’d like.” She joked. “Or just watch, whatever you want.”

“And get the clap from you?!” You laughed.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

You sighed. “At this rate, might as well get it out of the way.”

Valda hummed. “You don’t mind just ‘throwing’ your purity away now?”

“I’m the only woman in this building who hasn’t.”

“Yes but…”

You eyed her. “But?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I like that you’re a little romantic; that you want it to be with someone you love and trust.”

You ceased your stitching, dropping your eyes. “Of course I’ll do it with someone I trust but…I’d rather do it now so it would feel good later.”

Valda gave you a look, saying your name warningly.

“No more talk of this.” You smiled. “I’m glad your tantrum ended.”

She rolled her eyes. “Who said it ended?”

“Why are you so upset?”

“I love my life.” She sighed. “Regardless of where I work, or how much I make, I am happy. If the Targaryen children or Rhaneyra’s bastards want to make a war because they do not know how to-.”

“-Hold your tongue!” You whispered. “What you say is treason, what if anyone were to hear you?”

She laughed. “We’re in a private room.”

“Someone could be outside and be listening in.”

“They’d make out anything over the moans of men and the women that are faking them?”

“Valda-.”

“-They say Rook’s Rest was a victory, but my brother says otherwise.”

Yes, her brother, Mikhail. No, not a knight of the City Watch or the Kings Guard, but a sailor. Still, he was a sailor who had a silver tongue and could make anyone speak simply with his charm. If it wasn’t secrets he specialized in, it was exporting goods. Sometimes, it was an ordinary transportation of ordinary goods. Other times, either the goods were illegal, and anyone found with them would be hung, or the transportation of them would be off the books (therefore illegal) and a man would be publicly scourged.

Luckily, Mikhail avoided it all.

“What does your brother say?” You questioned, interest piquing.

Despite her early protests of anyone being unable to hear you, she leaned in. “That the king and his dragon fell from the sky while bathing in fire.”

A chill ran down your spine, but she wasn’t finished.

“He also said your little prince had been there on his dragon.”

Taking a deep breath, the first thing you said was “He’s not my little prince.”

“That’s what upsets you?” Valda chuckled bitterly, saying your name gently. “You understand what this means?”

“Say it.” You dared.

She sucked in a breath. “Mikhail’s told me that-.”

“-Mikhail told you that some random man told him what?”

“That it was Aemond Targaryen who lit his own brother aflame.” Valda hissed lowly.

Swallowing the growing dread within you, you said. “Were you there?”

Valda said your name, almost as if she was begging you. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Like our Madame has told me.”

“Sylvi is jealous, I am genuinely fearful.”

“Jealous? She’s jealous of me?” You scoffed. “As-as if I stole something that was hers, when in fact, he isn’t hers because he is a person and she-!”

The sound of rushing footsteps and a body clashing into the wall stopped your thoughts. Valda opened her mouth but was met with the door slamming open. There, only wearing a pair of trousers, was Aemond; his hand clutched over his left eye, writhing in pain.

You called his name, standing. “What’s wrong?”

“Take it out.” He huffed.

“What?”

“This damned thing.” He grunted. “It’s burning.”

Only being able to nod, you gently took his arm and led him to the bed. “Sit, sit, sit.” You turned to Valda. “Do-do you know how to do this?”

She shook her head, just as much terror was on her face. As she opened her mouth to respond, you watched as Sylvi burst through the half-opened door. “My prince, what is the matter?!”

He groaned in response, digging his nails into your arm.

Sylvi turned to you and Valda. “Both of you, head down to the healers and-.”

“-Leave us.” He heaved in pain.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Yet, once you rose from the bed, he didn’t let go of your arm. “Stay.”

“What?” Your voice broke.

Sylvi shook her head. “Aemond-.”

“-Leave us!”

Valda leapt off the bed, giving one last look of regret to you before she left. Sylvi continued to stare at you as if you had been the one to scream at her, before turning and hastily leaving, slamming the door.

You were truly on your own.

Taking control as best as you could, your eyes darted to the opened sewing kit on the vanity. Tweezers. Last time you checked, they should’ve been in there!

You dumped the box upside down, several needles creating almost a trap around you until a pair of tweezers landed on your foot. Picking them up in a snap, you stood in front of the prince.

“Aemond, Aemond,” you clutched his shoulder. “you need to remove your hand.”

When he did so, you winced at the sight before you: the creases of his eye were as red as the morning sun, and the sapphire in his eye was as blue as ever. You set down the tweezers and reached over to the nightstand beside the bed, grabbing the small tub of cream Valda had for her own condition.

“It’s a cure all.” You could only say, opening it. “It should help.”

He gritted his teeth in reply.

Dipping your fingers into the tub and hesitantly rubbing in over the redness. He hissed at the coldness of it, and you mumbled an apology. Once his skin was covered, you set the tub down, and your gaze hovered over the tweezers on the bed.

“Just take it out.” Aemond begged.

“It’ll hurt.” You warned, more so for yourself.

“Please.”

Your throat tightened at his voice; a voice you had never heard him use before. Taking a deep breath, you ripped a piece of your skirt, bunching it into a small cloth and placing it onto your lap. You hovered the tweezers over the sapphire eye in one hand and cupped his cheek with the other.

“Close your eye.”

He listened with trembling breath.

“Cou-count to three, and I’ll do it.”

Aemond nodded. “One-,”

You dug the tweezers into his left eye. A scream tore through his throat and into your ears. You forced yourself to keep steady, pulling on the sapphire. It was barely budging, but it still was moving.

“I’m sorry!” You yelled over his cries.

Aemond forced his screams into raged groans, clutching the sheets of the bed beneath him. “Keep going.”

“If you need me to stop-.”

“-No.”

You went back in, twisting the tweezers instead of just pulling. The sapphire was moving more than it had been, and with one final tug, it was out. Instantly dropping the tweezers onto the floor, you took the cloth off your dress and covered his left eye as he brought up his own hand to hold it.

“I know, I know,” You whimpered, still holding his face and kissing his left brow, mumbling against his skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

With a final kiss to his forehead, you pulled away and looked at him as his body shuddered from the pain. He opened his eye, fresh tears escaping. It was only then, in his vulnerability as he stared back at you, did you realize:

You had just placed your lips upon him.

“Aemond I-.”

He silenced you, his right hand clutching your neck. Your breath stilled, as if you were to breathe, you wouldn’t be able to anymore. His one eye burned into yours, silently begging him to have mercy on whatever would happen next.

Then…he kissed you.

It was as if he was trying to devour your face when your lips weren’t enough. His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer as he tried to kiss every inch of skin. His teeth got into the mix of it, leaving temporary marks.

Setting your hand on his bare chest, you pushed him away once you began to see stars. Your chest rising and falling as if you had run for your life, you looked at him. No more tears had fallen from his right eye, and from his left…there was skin still reddened and irritated from your prodding and pulling. The long scar had been most apparent to you that night.

You must have been the first person to have truly seen him like this. Not as a fearsome prince with one eye, not as a killer…

But a man; a man who ran to you and only wanted you in a time of great distress.

With one, brave breath, you placed the lightest of kisses across his scar; barely touching his skin. You hand traveled into his hair, pressing your lips down the bridge of his nose until you finally made it to his mouth with the same gentleness.

He followed your pace, wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing you impossibly closer. You were on your knees, practically hovering over his lap when his kisses became more feverous little by little. It was when he bit your bottom lip you finally pulled away.

“You should go to the healers downstairs.” You said, just remembering why he came up to you in the first place. “The best one is named Alezander. Or-or you have those fancier ones at the Red Keep, right? Perhaps they’ll know more how to-.”

Aemond only hummed loud enough to get your attention, but other than that, spent more of his time unlacing your corset.

“Out of all the days to wear undergarments…” He shook his head, teasing.

“I apologize that I didn’t dress appropriately for your liking tonight but-Aemond, I’m serious!” You grabbed his hands from around your waist, stopping him. “I don’t want you to get an infection.”

His smile did not waver. He took one of his hands out from your grip and stroked your cheek. “Please.” He mimicked.

Oh, you were fuming now.

“I’m not going to ask you again-.”

He laid you down on the bed, then traveling down to your legs, and his head disappearing under your skirt. A squeak escaped your mouth when you felt his lips upon your right ankle, then your knee.

“What-what are you-?”

Your leg was soon resting over his shoulder, and you felt his nose brush your pearl before his lips followed.

Another groan left you as he continued to kiss you somewhere you never knew you needed to be kissed before. Valda had told you how wonderful it is…but gods, you never believed her until then.

It was embarrassing how high your cries sounded as he continuously licked strips up and down your sweltering cunt. His fingers soon parted the folds, and just somehow, you became more sensitive, clutching the sheets beneath you.

There was a fire burning in your stomach, but it tightened and tightened like a knot in your hair. You arched your back with each growing pleasure, and you spotted Aemond’s hand reaching for you.

Taking it, you pressed a kiss to each knuckle before placing it on the top of your breast peeking out of the corset. He squeezed it every time his nose bumped against your clitoris, and the fire within you turned into an inferno until you were rocking against his face, moaning with each thrust.

Then, it stopped.

A haze of tiredness you’d never experienced swept over you. You hadn’t realized Aemond came out of your skirt until he was looming over you, kissing your cheeks and down your throat.

“What was that?” Your words slurred.

“My admiration for you.” He nibbled on your pulse point. “You’ve felt that before, haven’t you?”

“Your admiration or that?”

His hand traveled back under your skirt, teasing your clit and inserting part of his finger into you. You gasped at the sensitivity of it. “That.”

You shook your head.

He retracted his hand. “You’ve never touched yourself?”

“Is that why he called it a ‘little death’?”

“Who?”

“The man pawing after me when I saw you with your cock out.” You admitted as if you were drunk. “He said he’d give me a ‘little death’ when I was stabbed.”

Aemond nodded, helping you sit up and begin to unlace your corset. “Do you remember his name?”

“He didn’t tell me. I felt like I died a little just now, that’s why I said it.” You stopped his hands again. “You didn’t ask me if I want this.”

“Do you?”

You nod at first, then shrink into yourself. “I…I don’t think you’ll enjoy it that much.”

“I just want you.”

“Valda said it hurt the first time she did it.”

“She laid with a man who had no idea what he was doing.” He brushed your lip with his thumb. “Just relax.”

You determined that Aemond Targaryen had a way about him; how you somehow could trust him after everything. So that’s why you turned your back to him, making it easier for him to remove your corset. After it was fully unlaced, you slipped it off, revealing your naked back to him.

“I’m not turning until you’re bare first.”

He didn’t give a retort or an insult. You felt the weight of him behind you leave, and heard his trousers fall to the floor.

“Look at me.”

You wanted to then and there, but you didn’t. Instead, you rose up onto your knees and tugged your skirt down. It was all over when you tried to step out of it; falling onto your side with your other leg still in the skirt.

All you could do was laugh at that point. Aemond’s hand rubbed up and down your arm, laying behind you, lightly chuckling in your ear. He helped you slip out of your skirt, and then ran a finger over your side where a scar was beginning to form.

“Does it still hurt?”

“A little, but not horribly.” You rested on the pillow.

Aemond turned you gently onto your back, his eye running down your naked form. You mirrored him, taking in just how lean he truly was. You were just a girl as well; of course, your gaze paused on his cock dangling between his legs. He never looked away as he crawled on top of you.

“This might feel strange.” He warned, lowering himself and pressing his cock just against your center.

“Okay,” you said.

He was right; it felt strange when he inserted himself. In fact, it felt wrong. You whimpered at the feeling, the tightness and the discomfort. Aemond shushed you, kissing your tightly shut eyes.

“Gimin, gimin.” he whispered. “Lykirī. Lykirī.”

Despite not knowing what he was saying to you, you felt at peace. Your breathing slowed as the pain fell away, and you opened your eyes. You took his face into your hands, bringing his lips down to yours, and wrapping your legs around his waist, your heels pressing into his backside.

“Please,” you begged. “just go slow.”

He placed a kiss to your brow before rolling his hips. You had decided that, if and when you were going to lay with a man for the first time, you would never fake your pleasure for his comfort. Whether it was a stranger, a friend, or even a prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

You would let Aemond Targaryen know if he was doing a bad job.

Yet, as he rocked into you at a gentle pace, and the trail of his pubic hair caressed your bundle of nerves, you couldn’t help the small, staccato grunts that escaped. One of his hands took yours, holding and pressing it into the mattress to hold himself up, while the other held your face. Your free hand traveled into his hair, pulling him chest-to-chest with you, and placing your lips on his.

He quickened once you copied his thrusts, wrapping one of his arms around your waist to move you at an angle that felt…oh.

Your cries grew embarrassingly louder, tugging on his hair and causing him to moan right into your mouth. You were barely kissing now, just your lips hovering over one another as he fucked you.

His hand guided yours down to where his cock and your cunt met. At the feeling of something moving against your hand, your eyes flew open.

“Aōla renigon?” He asked. “Do you feel me?”

“Yes, yes!” You gasped as you felt his bulge move within you.

You were lowered back down onto the bed, but he did not slow for a second. His mouth went to your chest, taking one of your breasts in between his lips. His tongue circled your areola, and it was then your hips began to grow sore while his found a new vigor pounding into you.

He was more vocal too, and as his groans reverberated through your skin and the room, the growing pleasure within you was climbing and climbing until-.

Until-.

A cry none like the others tore through you. No, it wasn’t loud. Unrestrained, yes, but it wasn’t so comically deafening. Aemond pulled himself away from you, and took his throbbing dick into his hands, palming himself and tossing his head back in a groan.

Spurts of his cum tainted your stomach and quivering legs as you laid flat on your back.

Both of your chests rose and fell like waves on the sea in a storm, and you couldn’t look away from each other. Never in your life had you felt so…okay with being completely bare in front of a man.

To be fair, it was the first time you were.

Aemond grabbed a spare blanket that was on the bed and wiped off his spent. You hadn’t even asked him to, but he did so regardless. As he worked over you, you moved a piece of hair out of his face.

“You’re beautiful.”

He smiled, sitting up and tossing the blanket off the bed. “I’m the first man that bedded you, of course you say that.”

“No.” You shook your head, sitting up. “I mean it. At least, when you’re being nice you are.”

Looking down at your legs, you saw a strain of blood upon the blanket. “Oh shit.”

“It’s natural.” He immediately reassured. “This was the first time you-.”

“-No, I know. It’s just still unusual.”

Aemond kissed your cheek before crawling between your legs, resting his head on your chest. You combed your fingers through his hair, feeling your heart finally slow. The only sound in the room were both of your steady breaths.

“What happened before you came here?” You asked in the silence.

“I was with Sylvi.” He surprised you by answering. “My eye had felt strange the whole time, until it was too much. I asked where you were, and she told me.”

“You know that’s not all of it.”

As if it would draw your attention away, he placed a kiss to your breast. Rolling your eyes, you pulled him off so he could properly look at you. “When you took me home, you doubled over in pain because of your eye. That was a week ago.”

You saw right through him as he had done to you. Sighing, he laid down beside you, shutting his eye. “I have to take the jewel out every so often to clean both it and the socket. It hurts to do so, and I’ve been busy considering my sister is trying to usurp my brother.”

Rhaenyra, you had to remind yourself for a second, not Queen Halena.

“You’ve kept it in for a while.” You finished for him.

“I have.” He looked back at you. “And before you ask, I’ll get to the maesters tomorrow and have them put it back in.”

“Sylvi didn’t tell you I was here, did she?”

“I asked one of the girls serving me wine.”

You hummed, turning on your side. “Not before putting on your undergarments.”

“I didn’t want to frighten you.”

Laughing, your mind was taken back to that night you wandered upon him and Sylvi as you were bleeding out.

“Gods above, you were naked as a newborn babe when I was being stitched up!”

A grin etched his lips; he smiled more when you were with him those days. “I didn’t have time to cover myself.”

“It was odd though, how you walked out into the open with your cock on display.”

“It was the second time I had done that.”

“I suppose princes are allowed to do that.” You sighed. “I suppose men are allowed to do that.”

Aemond drew his eye back up to the ceiling. “Women are more beautiful in their natural state than men. It’s truly a shame they cannot walk outside completely bare.”

You rose your brow at the statement, turning onto your stomach and poking his cheek teasingly. “Oh? And if you were king, would you let them?”

He looked back at you, his eye briefly running down your body.

“Only a few.”

“You nasty, rotten dog!” You shoved him, laughing.

His face changed into a moment of panic, and you thought you said something wrong until he slid off the bed and crouched on the floor. Sitting up you watched as he frantically crawled on his hands and knees, mumbling in High Valyrian.

You called his name, feet hanging off the bed. “What is it?”

“The sapphire!” He hissed. “I can’t find it.”

Grasping the seriousness, you got onto the floor with him, searching the entire floor for the jewel. You both must’ve searched for just a few minutes until you heard Aemond sniffling. He wasn’t crying, but his face started to turn red from frustration.

“Hey,” you said softly. “if we don’t find it now, we’ll-.”

“-You wouldn’t understand!” He spat. “If I don’t find it this instant than she’ll-!”

He stopped himself, his anger crumbling just as it began. His body was tensed and puffed out like a bird trying to show aggression; but underneath all that, you saw terror.

“What will she do?” You asked, sitting up taller.

His gaze dropped, and his breathing quickened as he rapidly blinked back his tears.

“May I touch you?” You questioned, and he looked at you as if you had told him you loved him. He nodded. You cupped his face in your hands. “Whatever she wants to do to you, I won’t let her. Do you hear me? I’ll kick and scream like a wailing child before I let her harm you.”

For whatever reason at all (perhaps it was because he was afraid, perhaps it was because you were both naked on the floor, or perhaps it was because he had told you a shocking piece of history he had with her), but you assumed ‘she’ was Sylvi.

A woman you had come to trust ever since you were a child. A woman who had in turn, took advantage of a boy the same age you were when she proclaimed she’d never let a man touch you, even if he was Viserys himself.

You still thought that, of course, when Aemond wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, kissing you before then resting his head in your lap. You returned to softly brushing his hair.

“She made the maesters put it in.” He confessed. “She could only look at her son for what he was for only a few moons until she became disgusted.”

…He was speaking of his mother….the Dowager Queen.

It was still heartbreaking; so, you decided to ask. “And what is her son?”

“A monster.”

He didn’t even have to think. Taking a deep breath, you pressed the softest of kisses to his scar. “Would a monster walk me home in the rain and show kindness to the only other person I can call family? Would a monster feel sorrow in believing that he is a monster?”

Aemond hid himself further into your lap. You traced your hand up and down his spine. “It’s late. Perhaps you should-?”

“-Just a little longer…”

Sighing lightly, you teased. “Could we at least be on the bed?”

He didn’t leave your arms for another hour after that; and no one had knocked on the door either.

Two weeks later, three things were apparent. The first was that all of King’s Landing had been put on lockdown, not allowing any person to leave, or any person to enter. The next, was that Aemond had been appointed as Prince Regent, which added to Valda’s statement of him being the one to purposefully set his brother ablaze with his dragon.

And the third: You were completely, and most ardently addicted to him.

Almost every night, whether it was after you put your grandmother to bed, or even after luring and robbing a man in nothing but a thin dress, you would meet him at Sylvi’s brothel in one of the private rooms.

Each time you fucked was better than the last. In the short time you had been with him, you’d gone from being an unsure, inexperienced girl, to having touched every inch of the prince’s body. Some nights were more intense than others; physically and emotionally.

One night, you would be rocking into him until both your skins turned red, and the other, you would be holding him in your arms, talking about nothing and everything.

He taught you how to touch yourself, you taught him how to fully bare his soul to you (or at least…you thought he did).

“I haven’t done this for a while.” Aemond told you one night as you kneeled in between his legs.

You giggled, still high off of how he used his fingers on you prior. “Which part?”

“A lot of it. I hadn’t with Sylvi since…I can’t even recall.”

Swallowing at his words, you asked. “You mean, you didn’t fuck her?”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t even let her kiss me, it felt…confusing.”

“I saw her mouth on you…”

Placing his hand on your cheek, he rubbed his thumb over your lips. “Perhaps I was imagining it to be someone else’s.”

He didn’t have to imagine it that night.

Whenever you arrived at the brothel, the worst reaction from the other girls (mainly Valda) was a disapproving shake of the head, or light teasing. Then, there was Sylvi.

She had her back turned to you one night as she counted coin. You returned from a job (he had pulled your hair, so you would have to tell Aemond to be gentle), and it was the first time you were alone with her. Other nights, she would stare at your from across the room as a man pawed and groped her, all the while, you were on your way to find the Prince Regent.

You tried to tiptoe past her, but she turned as if she knew you were already there.

She spoke your name with a smile. “How was the night?”

You approached her, reaching into the pocket of your dress, then throwing her the small sack. Sylvi opened it, her face lighting up.

“Seven Hells…” She gasped.

“I know.” You shrugged. “I didn’t expect him to be so wealthy either.”

“Did you rob a Lannister?” She jested.

“I wish.”

You thought it was over once you gave her the coin, and so you tried to brush past her to go up the staircase. Only for her to catch your hand.

“Stay,” she said. “I feel like I haven’t properly spoken to you in ages.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can.” She laughed, pulling you around so she could see your eyes. “I’ll call in your little friend to make us cake.”

You sighed. “Sylvi-.”

“-She makes Northern Snow, right?”

“Sylvi-.”

“-You’ve done so well, I say you-.”

“-Can’t you just leave me alone?!”

You hated yelling; you felt like you would throw up every time you did. But she wouldn’t stop, you had to. Her smile dropped. Not in anger, not in sadness, but annoyance.

“Leave you alone to do what?” She challenged.

“I…” You glanced off to the side; there wasn’t anything there, you just didn’t want to look at her. Then, you finally did. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to talk. I know that the arrangement between Prince Aemond and I upsets you-.”

“-You assume I’m jealous of you?”

“What else am I supposed to assume?”

“That I worry for you.” She cupped your cheek.

You pull away, laughing joylessly. “Why is everyone telling me that? You were with him for nights on end and never had anyone afraid for you.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Why? Why isn’t it the same.”

“You’re…you.”

You could only gawk at her; jaw loosely hanging. Deciding not to even grace her with a retort, you turned on your heel and rushed up the stairs.

“What would your mother think of you pleasuring the prince for free?” She asked.

Freezing where you stood, you didn’t even have the strength to turn and look at her. So, you forced yourself to stand taller. “What would my mother think of you stealing a child’s innocence?”

You were no longer in the mood to be kind.

She didn’t say anything for a bit. “His brother was the one to-.”

“‘-I don’t care if Viserys himself came into my brothel. I would be put to the sword before I let a man lay a hand on a child.’” You recited perfectly.

Sylvi breathed deeply, folding her hands. “King Aegon did not come in asking for a child, he came in with one; one I was not responsible for maintaining his honor-.”

“-But taking it.”

“What do you think will come from this?” She taunted. “Hm? Do you seek only carnal pleasure? Pleasure in knowing a Targaryen desires you? Or are you truly a foolish little girl? You think he’ll ask for your hand in marriage, only for him to place it around his cock!”

You still hadn’t turned to look at her. Tears pricked your eyes as you trembled with rage. Gripping the railing, you spoke coolly.

“It doesn’t matter what I seek from the Prince Regent. What matters is you keep your childish envy far from the both of us. Goodnight, Sylvi.”

When you got to the room, you didn’t give Aemond the time to ask what was wrong before you sealed your lips with his. He didn’t stop you.

There were more nights than not he would speak in High Valyrian as you shared your body with him. You giggled while he pressed kisses to your chest.

“You could be insulting me, and I wouldn’t even know it.”

He looked up at you, his mouth traveling lower. “Perhaps I should teach you then.”

Of course, you thought it was just him flirting; saying something tender and personal to make you feel good.

But then he brought you books the next night; books for children on how to learn the language properly, fictional stories in High Valyrian, and a dictionary from Common to High Valyrian. He had meant it.

“Gods above.” You breathed, laying on your stomach, flipping through the pages of a book. “I don’t think I’ve read so much.”

“Is it too much for you?” Aemond pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“No, I actually enjoy it.”

You felt the bed dip on each side of your thighs as he hovered above you. “I’ll take you to the Red Keep one day.” He teased his cock over the globes of your ass. “You cannot comprehend the library until you see it.”

Humming, you shut the book. “I would adore that.”

He hadn’t taken you to the Red Keep at all, and he never would.

It was one night (one damned, fucking night) that determined it.

“Skorkydoso glaesā?” You questioned, lying under the covers with him.

“Sȳz iksan, kirimvose. Se ao?”

“Glaeson.”

He furrowed his brow. “Skoro syt?”

You mirrored him, hesitating on your words. “Syrī tosh ao?”

Aemond stared at you before a grin spread wide across his cheeks.

“What?” You asked.

“You cannot hate my company that much.”

“What?!” You sat up in shock. “I told you I’m doing well because I’m with you!”

“Glaeson, you said. It means ‘Not well’. Glaesan means you’re well.”

Sighing, you laid down flat on the mattress. “I’m never going to get it.”

He traced his fingers over your stomach. “You won’t if you stop now. Again.”

“Can’t you read me one of those children’s books again? The one about the bird and the fish, or something.” You begged. “I’ll translate it.”

“If it gives you any peace of mind,” he kissed the tip of her ear. “you speak better than my brother.”

Huffing, you looked up at him. “May I make a request?”

“I’m not reading another story.”

“It’s not that, I swear.”

“Then what is it?”

“Let us never talk about family when either of us are naked.”

He turned you onto your side, hugging you from behind. “I’ll allow it.”

You relaxed against his bare chest, deciding to fill the air with your first thought. “I had three nightmares last night.”

“Three?” He sounded offput, but still brushed your shoulder with his lips.

“One right after the other. I thought I woke up, but I was still asleep.”

“What happened in them?”

“I can’t really remember.” you curled your hand around his. “There were stacks of dirty laundry and chairs everywhere at some point. You were mean to me in one of them.”

“How was I mean?”

“You called me a cunt.”

“Well, you are.”

You shoved him off of you; not so roughly to hurt him, but not playfully.

He still chuckled. “But you have the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.”

You scoffed. “Now you’re lying.”

Aemond placed his hand on your shoulder as he sat up, turning you to look at him. He said your name genuinely. “I mean it.”

A smile finally appeared on your lips, and you snickered, pushing him away jokingly this time. “How in the world have you not married yet when you say such loving things?”

He sat against the headboard. “I was meant to.”

“Oh…” Well…you weren’t exactly expecting that. “And why didn’t you?”

“I was betrothed to a Baratheon girl to secure alliance. After what happened, Lord Borros wasn’t so keen on letting me be near her.”

No one should blame you for not knowing how to properly respond right away. So, after some thought, you said. “Did you want to get married when you were younger?”

“Not much of something I imagined; I suppose you did though?”

You smiled shyly. “Gigi would read me her fictional novels; many were romance.”

“And you wanted a knight in shining armor to come and whisk you away from your dull life.”

“No, that was Gigi.” You sat up, grabbing a comb on the nightstand and began to run in through your hair. “I much preferred the quiet, knowledgeable boy who was outshined by the loud and brutish men.”

He hummed. There were rare moments like these where you could not see his gaze, but you knew how it burned into your skin. How, despite being given permission to, he held himself back from touching you.

“And which did your mother prefer?”

At the mention of her…you didn’t feel sad. Was this how you thought he was the one for you? How you didn’t feel like he was invading you whenever he asked about her? How you wanted to tell him about her?

“I’m actually not sure.” You looked at him, grinning. “I think she had to see all sides of men and stopped caring for them.”

“They can be ugly, I’m sure.”

You nodded, setting the comb down sitting up and resting your head on his shoulder, “They can, but a few of them aren’t so bad.”

“What do you remember most about her?” He asked.

A memory resurfaced sooner than you thought. “On the rare days she’d wash our clothes and bedding, she’d let me help. I’d get to stomp out the dirt, hit the clothes, but my favorite part was after she’d dry everything. Especially on a hot day when I was little, she’d come in and toss all of the blankets and towels on me; I’ve never felt anything warmer in my life.”

Aemond’s gaze drifted from you to the front of the room. “It must have been nice.”

You tilted your head. “Something’s bothering you. I won’t ask but-.”

“-He got away with it.”

“What?” You took your head off his shoulder to look at him properly.

He sighed. “When we were children, and I had claimed Vhagar, one of them wasn’t happy for me. She said that she was hers to claim because she had been her mother’s dragon. She attacked me, and the other three followed. I fought them off and tried to run, but they caught me. I had struck Jacaerys with a rock, and Luke had struck my eye with his blade.”

“Aemond…”

“I forgave him for it long ago.” He leaned farther back, sighing. “I understand why he felt the need to defend himself; I don’t forgive him for getting away with it…and my mother didn’t for so long.”

She hated him, you knew that already. It hadn’t been any of your business before, but now…

“My mama would’ve liked you.”

The words leave your mouth before you could stop them. That was when he finally looked at you, a smile threatening to show. “Why?”

“Well, you’re funny, and intelligent-.”

“-Oh, stop; but do go on.” He teased.

“And you know that I am more so those things than you are.”

He hummed. “I do?”

“Of course you do.”

“I rebuke this slander.”

“Well, what is it you want me to say?” You laughed, dramatically tossing yourself back down onto the bed. “Oh Aemond, you’re foul and arrogant, but kiss me anyway because you have the most fearsome, biggest dragon in the-!”

He followed your order, leaning over and kissing your lips fully before caging you between in arms. “You should meet her one of these days.”

“Vhagar?” You chuckled. “She’d kill me.”

“Perhaps, but not until I take you up on her.”

You shook your head. “No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not stepping foot on that dragon.”

“I command you to.”

“Oh!” You gasped in an attempt to taunt him. “Oh, you command me to?! What else will my Prince Regent command of me?”

He smirked, kissing the tip of your nose. “As we are in the sky, I will do unspeakable things to you.”

The words did not reach meaning as you heard them. Then, once they did, you began to laugh. No matter what Aemond said to you, you could not stop laughing.

“What is it?” He questioned.

You refuted. “I can’t say it.”

“Your Prince Regent commands you.”

Taking the deepest of breaths to relax yourself, you finally said. “The first time I ride a dragon, it will not be while I’m riding y-.”

His lips on yours silence you once again. Though this time, he wasn’t letting up; diving his tongue into your mouth as he began to place more of his weight on top of you. Before he could completely trap you, you tossed yourself over him, straddling and holding him down, panting.

“I wouldn’t mind it now; if you’re fine with that.”

He grinned like the devil, his hands squeezing your hips. “You can practice.”

Giggling, you took his cock in your hands and rose yourself up before sinking down onto him. You were still wet from earlier that night, so it didn’t take too long to readjust. Once you were fully seated, you rested your palms on his chest, beginning to move.

You switched between rolling your hips and bouncing on his cock. When you’d get tired, you’d lean back and let him chase his own pleasure, all the while, mumbling in his mother tongue.

“No, no.” You babbled, leaning forward and halting your motions. He cursed, but you remained still. “Let me hear you.”

Aemond called your name like he was praying; like he was begging for one of the Seven to hear him. He tried to move your hips himself, but you tore his hands off you, pinning them on each side of his head.

“When I move, you move.” You hissed, then said the next words slowly. “Let me hear you.”

He sucked in each breath, collecting himself before uttering. “Dīnilūks.”

Of course, it was something you didn’t know.

So, you merely kissed along his jaw. “Ñuho glaeso hūrus.”

He grunted when you jolted your hips forward at an uneven pace. Sitting up, Aemond held you against him with no space between you. He thrusted like a madman, sucking on the pulse point in your neck.

“Did-ah!-did I say it right?” You murmured, feeling a coil tighten in your stomach.

“Yes.” He breathed, grasping one of your tits. “Yes!”

A loud knock on the door bounced off the walls of the room, causing a sharp gasp to escape you.

Sylvi said your name. “Open the door, I need you for something.”

You immediately halted your movements, swallowing thickly. Sighing, you went to get off of Aemond, only for him to latch his arm around your hips.

“Keep going.”

You shook your head. “You know she’ll throw a fit.”

“I don’t care.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “Let her hear what I do to you, and I’ll let her hear what she couldn’t do to me.”

With quivering breath, you resumed the movement in your hips, pushing him back down onto the bed. Aemond fucked into you like a wild animal, almost throwing you off balance if not for digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Gods,” he moaned. “ñuha dijītsos, if you could see yourself…”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll make you-fuck-I’ll make you watch yourself one day.” He took your pearl between his fingers. “Watch how I penetrate you, how I desecrate you.”

Whining, you sped up your thrusts, the slapping of skin and the calling of his name from your lips drowning out anything that was not in the room.

You moved with him as best you could, leaning over him to press your lips to his as one of his hands moved to your backside, pulling you even closer. The sweat of your skin glued you to his chest, your thighs starting to cramp from kneeling.

“Ae-Ae-!” You grunted, feeling the burn both from your growing pleasuring and the pain in your legs.

“Give it to me.” He made a weak attempt to suppress his grunts.

Your orgasm hit you with both the suddenness and intensity of a screaming arrow. Vision blurring, your cries grew sharper as you rode it out, and all the while, Aemond was still thrusting up into your cunt. As you were beginning to come down, he let out a moan from his chest, releasing himself into you.

You collapsed fully onto him, it being your heavy breathing now harmonizing instead of your groans.

“What-what did you call me?” You kissed his heart. “I’m your dijistos?”

“Dijītsos.” He corrected, running his hand up your back. “You’re my little desire; although, the word is much cruder than that.”

“Little arousal then?”

“Exactly.”

You both stayed like that for less than you wanted to; again, the knocking on the door disturbing your peace. Sitting up, you pulled yourself off of him, hissing from the pain in your legs.

Aemond sat up. “I’ll get it.”

“No.” You grabbed his arm. “Just put my dress on. I have to look somewhat presentable.”

He reached down, grabbing the thin dress you always wore for your jobs. You placed your arms above your head as he slipped your dress over you.

“You know,” you began. “if I had it my way, I would say we should hide under the covers like children and pretend the rest of the world does not exist.”

Humming, he kissed your clavicle. “Perhaps one day we shall.”

You gritted your teeth once you got up, only then feeling Aemond’s spent travel down your leg. Still, you were high from the overall activity. Which is why you slammed the door open to greet Sylvi as if she still favored you.

“Ah, what a pleasant surprise!” You cheered. “What can I do for you, Madame?”

Her nostrils flared for a moment until she forced herself to relax. “Well, at least you look the part.” She shoved an empty jug into your arms. “Chansey found a man for you to seduce.”

You stared at her before chuckling. “I already did one an hour ago.”

“Two hours ago. This one is actually wealthy. Stupid too, so it shouldn’t be hard for you.”

Sighing, you knew there wasn’t any other way to get out of it. Yes, there was the Prince Regent behind you, but he didn’t seem to want to intrude for some reason. You foolishly shrugged it off.

“Okay, just let me pretty myself-.”

“-Please,” she interrupted, “he’s not looking for an innocent maiden. He’s looking for another warm place to put his cock.”

And she left you standing in the doorway. You glanced into the jug and saw your sheathed knife visible, along with a red ribbon, Sighing, you sat down against the wall and reached in to grab them. You soon felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Do you need help?” Aemond asked, crouching in front of you.

“Sure.” you sighed, hiking up your dress and laying your knife against your thigh. You held the ribbon up to him. “Tie it, please.”

He double knotted the ribbon, placing a kiss to your knee when he was finished. “I shall be here when you come back.”

You scoffed. “It’s getting late. Won’t the council be worried about where the Prince Regent is?”

“Precisely because I am, I choose to stay here. Do not keep me waiting.”

Kissing his cheek, you wished him farewell before rushing down the stairs and past all the couples and groups, pleasuring themselves with a newfound vigor.

The night felt a little darker that night. You didn’t know the exact time, but it wasn’t exactly the darkest hour of night you had gone out; at least, it wasn’t supposed to be. It was more likely you were growing tired and weary from exhausting prior activity as you trudged through the slim paths of King’s Landing.

You still managed to find the man you were meant to be looking for; stumbling around as if it was the first time he was ever drunk. With a sigh, you began to sing the same song, walking in the direction of the well you have come to know for years.

It wasn’t just your body that was weak; it was your voice. That night wasn’t the nicest you sounded, but it had got the job done. Sylvi had been right: It was easy.

Just with from the sight of your blade gleaming in the moonlight, the man cowered like a child, tossing a hefty sack at you.

You didn’t even touch him.

So, with a skip in your step, you rushed back to the pleasure house. You dropped off the money in Sylvi’s room and attempted to make yourself more presentable for Aemond. That being dropping one of the straps off your shoulder; there wasn’t much more you could do. With a smile on your face as you reached the door, you grabbed the handle and pushed it open.

There was a man in the room; a man that wasn’t Aemond.

“Ah, there you are.”

His grin was hideous, in fact, his entire self was. The look in his eyes as they ran over your body caused you to shrivel like a leaf. If it were any other night that you had found a stranger in a bedroom, you would’ve known exactly what to do.

Yet, tonight you were expecting your lover to be there; and he was nowhere to be seen.

“You have the wrong room, ser.” You deepened your voice.

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t.”

He said your name.

How did he know your name?

“You’re not meant to be here.” You attempted to sound forceful, but instead, your voice wavered when he approached you. “I suggest you leave before the man I am expecting-.”

“-Comes back?” He interrupted. “The Prince Regent? Is that whom you speak of?”

Swallowing thickly, he was standing so close you could finally see him better. It was the same man that followed you as you were bleeding out; the man that left only when you stumbled upon Sylvi and Aemond.

You reached between your legs and whipped the knife out from under your dress. Unsheathing it once it was out, you dove the blade to his torso. He caught it as the tip reached his clothing.

“Who do you think told me to be here?” He taunted, squeezing your wrist.

Your foot met his shin, and he stumbled backwards, loosening his grip. With a yell, you rose your hand again and slashed his arm. He hissed, and you made the mistake of looking into his eyes. A fury you had never seen before washed over them.

He grabbed your wrist again, twisting it this time. A horrible crack was heard, and a cry ripped through your throat as you collapsed to your knees, dropping the knife. Gripping your hair, he forced you back to your feet before tossing you into the wall.

Falling onto your side after colliding with the wall, all of the wind had been knocked out of you. Just as you took a breath in, the man landed a kick to your ribs. He picked his foot up as you cried and kicked again.

As he tried to do so a third time, you released a growl, crawling to the knife on the floor. He picked it up just as it was in reach.

“How does a silly little cunt like you know how to use this? Woman at the Well?” He questioned, setting the blade on the bed.

You got to your knees despite how your body stung, and only was able to place one foot on the ground before his knuckles met your nose.

He snickered as you laid on your back, breathing unstable. “It’s not your style to give up, isn’t it?”

The man got onto his knees, essentially straddling you. He brushed his hand over your face, and little whines left your bloodied lips as you tried to push him away.

“Gods,” he sighed, moving one of the thin straps down your shoulder, exposing your breast to him.

“Stop.” You sniffled. “Please, stop!”

Wrapping his arms around your aching body, he brought your lips up to his and kissed you like you had never been kissed before. It was violent; hands tearing and grasping your dress, teeth dug into your flesh.

And you reciprocated.

You placed your hands upon his cheeks, attempting to respond with the same vigor. You pulled your lips away, pressing them to his cheek, then traveling downwards.

His chin.

His jaw.

His neck.

You lingered there, forcing out little noises of pleasure when his hand traveled up your thigh, dancing closer and closer to your center.

That was when you sunk your teeth into his throat. For just a moment of euphoria, he thought it was a love bite.

Then, an involuntary scream left his mouth.

Blood colored your teeth red as you bit into his skin until each little strand of flesh was torn off from his neck. He’d let go of you long ago, and you landed on your back from the force of pulling yourself away.

You watched as he crawled backwards, hand on his neck as he groaned out in agony. The adrenaline made it to your legs, letting you stand effortlessly. As if you were a spectator of your own body, you watched yourself spitting his own throat onto him, before picking the knife off of the bed.

Kneeling over his body, you jammed the blade into his neck.

Again

And

Again.

Red painted your body and dress like it was a canvas. It was almost impossible to find the color of your own skin when you were finished.

It was exhaustion that forced you to stop. You didn’t know what silence truly was until you did. You didn’t know when he stopped screaming, or when he had stopped breathing. When you were forced to sit down and catch your breath, did you only then realize you were alone.

You tasted blood and tears on your tongue as you whaled, your hands shaking so horribly the knife dropped without you knowing. The rest of your body slid to the floor, crying into the creaking wood.

As a puddle formed underneath you, you brought your head up, and something shimmered in your sight. Rubbing your eyes, you looked again, and saw something shine under the bed.

Crawling with what little strength you had, you reached for it, clutching something smooth with somewhat of a rough texture. Your breath stilled when you brought it out into the light.

Aemond's sapphire. The one that was in his eye and lost for weeks...under the bed the whole time.

“Seven Hells...”

You clutched the sapphire in your hand, snapping your head up at the voice. Once you saw Sylvi, wide-eyed and mouth hung open, you wept.

She dropped to her knees, taking off her shawl and wrapping it around you. She shushed you, caging you in her arms and pressing kisses on your face.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” She soothed as you tried to fight out of her hold. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

You finally gave into her embrace, tears and blood coating her neck as you buried yourself into it. She kissed your messy hair, squeezing you tighter and tighter until you squealed.

Sylvi loosened her hold. “I’m sorry. Sweetie, what happened?”

You blubbered your response. In your mind, you were forming words, but your mouth was doing otherwise. You had said something of ‘Aemond’ at some point, and that was when she spoke up.

“Aemond?” She repeated, and you nodded. Her eyes had grown impossibly larger than when she had first seen you and the man’s body. She said your name gently. “Gods above…I saw him leave and speak with another man but I-I hadn’t thought he…I’m so sorry.”

“He-he said he would,” you stammered out. “he said…”

He would wait for you to come back.

That was what he told you.

“I’m sorry.” Sylvi lamented, hugging you again.

You pulled away from her. “I-I want to go home.”

“Let me just get the healers to check you-.”

“-Mama,” you shivered. “she-she’s home by now.”

Sylvi took a quaking breath, saying your name again.

“I-I’ve never been out this late,” you forced yourself to stand. “I don’t want to worry her or-or Gigi.”

“You shouldn’t be walking right now.” She followed after you.

Everything was abnormal after she said that. You could hear her saying words, but your mind wasn’t letting you process what any of them meant. You stumbled your way down the stairs and out of the pleasure house; no one had stopped you.

It was as if you were a babe again: learning to walk, and all the words around you were nothing more than babbles and strange sounds.

And no one had bothered you that night. You realize now that you were either extraordinarily lucky, or the Seven do exist.

When you made it back to your house, you hobbled in through the door and the living room; trying your best not to make a sound.

You thought about going into your mother’s bedroom, not minding the fact you would have to sleep in between her and Gigi…but your hand stained the door with blood once you touched it.

No, you weren’t going to dirty the bed; you and your mother had just cleaned the sheets. She’d be mad at you.

You tiptoed into your room, shut the door, and collapsed into your childhood bed.

The sapphire you had forgotten about dropped from your hand and onto the floor, but you didn't even hear it fall.

If you woke up tomorrow, than this was all just a bad dream.

GOTCHA BITCH!

No, this ISN'T the last part, I just overestimated how much I'd write and wanted to scare the shit out of you guys.

Also, you may be wondering: WTF is the timeline?

Well...I'm wondering too

High Valyrian

Gimin, gimin. Lykirī. Lykirī: “I know, I know. Be calm, be calm.”

Aōla renigon?: "Do you feel me?"

Skorkydoso glaesā?: “How are you?”

Sȳz iksan, kirimvose. Se ao?: “I am fine, thank you. And you?”

Glaeson: “Not well.”

Skoro syt?: “Why?”

Syrī tosh ao?: “I'm with you?”

Glaesan: “Well.”

Dīnilūks: “Marry me.”

Ñuho glaeso hūrus: “Moon of my life.”

Ñuha dijītsos: “My little desire.”

#aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond #game of thrones #hotd season 2 #hotd imagine #house of the dragon

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flamingtwiggy · 5 months ago

Text

HoTD ABOverse Jacegan-centric fic idea.

I cannot write a full fanfic for the life of me because my grammar is shit and there’d be so much repetition, and I don’t want to give out crap. But I’ll share this idea out because I want it out of my head.

(Notable) Alphas:

Viserys I Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Harwin Strong

Daemon Targaryen

Cregan Stark (b. 108 AC; presented at age 11)

Rhaenys Targaryen

Baela Targaryen (b. 116 AC; presented at age 12)

Aegon II Targaryen (b. 106 AC; presented at age 12)

Aemond Targeryen (b. 110 AC; presented at age 10)

Joffrey Targaryen (b. 117 AC; presented at age 12)

(Notable) Betas:

Corlys Velaryon

Laenor Velaryon

Criston Cole

Otto Hightower

Larys Strong

(Notable) Omegas:

Alicent Hightower

Helaena Targaryen (b. 109 AC; presented at age 10)

Daeron Targaryen (b. 114 AC; presented at age 12)

Jacaerys Targaryen-Strong (b. late 114 AC; presented at age 14)

Lucerys Velaryon (b. late 115 AC; presented at age 15)

Laena Velaryon

Rhaena Targaryen (b. 116 AC; presented at age 12)

Arra Norrey (b. ~116 AC; Cregan Stark’s first mate; presented at age 10)

Unpresented (because they’re children):

Viserys II Targaryen

Aegon III Targaryen

Jaehaerys Targaryen

Jaehaera Targaryen

Rickon Stark

Valyrian Alphas and Omegas are rare, a class where the old Valyrians would (with magic at the time) change their sexes accordingly to match the ideal parts of their presentation (Alphas with cocks, Omegas with cunts). The change is most painful for a male Valyrian Omega, as it often involves castration and months-long process of the body developing a womb and vaginal productive system. The change often made it easier for male omegas to handle birthing, and for female alphas to bond with and mate male omegas.

Jacaerys is a Valyrian Omega. He spent nearly half a year a-bed during his presentation.

Baela is a Valyrian Alpha, Daemon’s particular pride and joy.

Alpha-Omega relationships are most ideal, as well as Alpha-Alpha. Omega-Omega is not common. The only pairing that is subject to criticism and often humiliation is Beta-Omega.

True or Fated bond mates exist, but are rarely encountered (among high-folk mostly because arranged marriages and such). Characterized by an irresistible draw to each other, and the inability to mate with any other if they’ve met their fated mate. Any pre-existing bonds are often rejected and dissolved (by magic ABO happenings). Cregan and Jacaerys are one such pair, of course.

Side note: I cannot believe that while looking up when all the characters were born, that Arra Norrey was apparently born sometime before 116 AC. Jacaerys was born late 114 AC, so if we go by that reference of age, Arra may have been a child bride. Then again, she was said to be Cregan’s childhood best friend, and Cregan is about 6 years older than Jace.

Also, these ages are so screwed, it’s a whole mental map trying to set everything so they don’t conflict with times and each other ages. :P Also show timeline does not match book timeline, so that adds another hiccup. At this point, I’m basically mix-and-matching.

Basic Plot Points:

What if Rhaenyra did worry about what her first pregnancy with Harwin’s child that resulted in Jace, about his looks? And she grew so worried and disappointed when he did inherit Harwin’s colorings that she gave him away out of desperation.

A few days after Jacaerys’ birth, when rumors grew of Rhaenyra’s infidelity to Laenor, Rhaenyra arranged to have Jacaerys “kidnapped” or “killed” and one of her ladies-in-waiting took the babe away from the Keep and gave him to a random woman on the street, who turned out to be one of the whores of the Street of Silk. Could be Mysaria. Vermax had hatched and bonded with Jace, so Mysaria is stuck with a baby and his dragon.

Despite her disapproval of Rhaenyra’s affair with Harwin Strong resulting in a child, Alicent found it more insulting and repulsive that Rhaenyra obviously arranged the disappearance of her first-born. It grew more bothersome when Rhaenyra continued the affair and produced Lucerys and Joffrey, and kept them to avoid anymore suspicion that she was getting rid of her bastards. Rhaenyra was also weighed with the guilt of giving away her first baby boy, and heavily regretted it after experiencing the joys of motherhood with Lucerys.

Time skips galore to Laena’s death and funeral, where Aemond bonds with Vhagar. On the joy ride that is his first flight, he encounters Jace riding Vermax, but he doesn’t get to speak with him. He doesn’t mention the encounter to anyone, especially after Lucerys, Baela, and Rhaena confronted him about Vhagar and he loses his eye. When he’s better, he investigates Jace and Vermax, and they become close friends over a few weeks. Aemond is the one to teach Jacaerys High Valyrian, starting with basic dragon commands.

Alicent eventually finds out about Jacaerys and his parentage, she and Otto resolve to foster him in the Keep, to one day use to their advantage. They manage to manipulate a sickly Viserys into legitimizing Jacaerys as a Targaryen and Lord Strong of Harrenhal, all while keeping the news from reaching Rhaenyra on Dragonstone. This is around 126 AC.

(Current) Titles:

Prince Jacaerys Targaryen, Lord Strong of Harrenhal

Prince Lucerys Velaryon, Heir to Dragonstone

Prince Joffrey Velaryon, Heir to Driftmark

Lady Baela Targaryen

Lady Rhaena Targaryen

Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell

According to the timeline I set, it should be about 128 AC when Jacaerys presents as an omega while he is living at and helping restore Harrenhal. Upon receiving a raven about his falling ill while presenting and 3 months passing since Jacaerys last was conscious, Aemond took residence at Harrenhal and vigilantly protected him. This is also the year that Arra Norrey canonically dies while giving birth to Rickon Stark.

Baela and Rhaena present in 128 AC as well.

Around 129-130 AC, Lucerys Velaryon presents as an omega, and Joffrey as an alpha. Viserys hosts a tourney in their honor, celebrating the presentation of his favored grandchildren (miffing Alicent as there was no such celebration held for her own children). Rhaenyra and Daemon convince Viserys to invite among the lords, Cregan Stark, after learning of his recent widowing in the hopes that they can secure an alliance with the North by betrothing Lucerys to Cregan.

The hosts traveling from the North are welcomed midway at a near-completely renovated Harrenhal by Jacaerys and Aemond. They spend a day resting, and those who do not wish to rest are invited to join a small hunting party with Jacaerys leading. Vermax is about as big as Syrax, having grown more free-range at Harrenhal than most dragons. Jacaerys bonds with many of the knights and lords in the hunting party, but gets along the most with Cregan.

Upon arriving at King’s Landing, the host of Harrenhal, including Aemond and Jacaerys, accompany that of the houses of the North. Jacaerys and Aemond are the last announced after Cregan Stark, having landed Vhagar and Vermax together on the beach, and this is the first time Rhaenyra hears of Jacaerys.

Jacaerys knows that Rhaenyra is his mother, and he holds resentment towards her. At some point during the festivities, he publicly or privately confronts Rhaenyra with the show!canon monologue:

“Did you think I would have dark hair? When you took Harwin Strong into your bed, did you think I might favor him, or did it not cross your mind?”

Rhaenyra attempts to calm him and show that she regrets her past decision heavily, but Jacaerys cannot forgive her for the years of anguish he went through without his true mother. Much of his resentment lies in that after abandoning him, she went on to have two more children just like him.

Meanwhile, Lucerys attempts to bond with Cregan, driven by Daemon and Rhaenyra’s suggestion for him to consider the Lord of Winterfell as a possible mate. He is constantly in the company of Baela, Rhaena, and Joffrey as they observe all the knights and lords. Daeron Targaryen is also present, and he is Lucerys’ rival for Cregan Stark’s attentions.

The relationship between Jacaerys and Lucerys is bitter. Lucerys sees Jacaerys as a threat to him in every facet of his life, and he cannot believe that Jacaerys may be his older brother who his mother abandoned. Jace being legitimized as the son of Rhaenyra and Harwin poses a threat to Lucerys and Joffrey, as it casts a heavier shadow onto the boys. And Rhaenyra refuses to publicly acknowledge Jacaerys as her own at the expense of Lucerys and Joffrey. As a result, he is antagonistic towards Jace, and his closest friends Baela, Rhaena, and Joffrey support him. He is also slightly scared of Jace because wherever he is, Aemond is sure to be close by.

Daeron and Jacaerys aren’t necessarily friends as Jace is with the rest of Daeron’s siblings, but they aren’t “enemies” like Luke and Jace. He manages to spy upon Cregan and Jace, and realizes that he and Lucerys have no chance at Cregan, so he backs off seriously considering him as a mate. He does continue to rile Lucerys up with taunts, because he finds it funny and cute, in an odd way.

The highlight of the tourney is the crowning of the Queen of Love and Beauty, which is an honor for the tourney champion to bestow to a lady or omega of their choosing. Despite being a lord, Cregan is known as one of the best swordsman of Westeros, therefore his participation is expected. It becomes rumored to all attending that either Prince Lucerys Velaryon or Prince Daeron Targaryen are expectant to be crowned by the lord, and their respective mothers Rhaenyra and Alicent may betroth their omega son to the lord as a result. It comes as a surprise to most of the royal family when Cregan crowns Prince Jacaerys instead (except for Aemond and Helaena because they are his closest friends, and Helaena could sort of tell with her dream-seer powers; Aegon bluntly states that it was obvious to anyone not lovesick for Stark).

Cregan officially courts Jacaerys, and they decide to marry/mate any or all of three ways: by the Old Gods, respecting Cregan’s heritage; the Faith of the Seven, respecting Jacaerys’ beliefs; and the Old Valyrian tradition, respecting Jacaerys’ heritage as a Targaryen.

Side note: An alternative and more dramatic take to this is Daemon and Rhaenyra successfully arranging with Viserys for Cregan to mate with Lucerys after the tourney, but frustrated and driven to his wits end, Cregan mates Jacaerys under the Weirwood tree the night before the last day of the tourney, during a feast/dance. Rhaenyra tries to resolve this by proposing Cregan follow Aegon I’s example and mate Lucerys for duty while keeping Jacaerys for love. The issue is that once an alpha takes his true omega, attempting to claim another tends to get rather bloody. Historically, most alphas or omegas tend to be torn apart by both the alpha and their true mate if they try. And also, Cregan did not want to have two or more mates. As he tells Rhaenyra “You would submit your son to an empty life. I would never love him as I love my Prince Jacaerys. I would never bed him, not even for duty. He would waste away in the cold of the North, constantly longing for a better life til his dying day.”

A couple of tiny and side moments:

Jacaerys and Mysaria being mother and son, because she raised him for a bit before he was discovered by Alicent.

Jacaerys wears some extravagant and more…revealing outfits than in the show. May be influenced by being raised in a brothel house…also he is an omega so they do have a bit more freedom in dressing pretty. Jacaerys is a very beautiful omega, basically.

Cregan and Jace have some training battles, because Jace is also a fighter and a Lord, so he must know how to fight. Cregan appreciates that Jacaerys is not a dainty and demure omega; he proves to have a raging fire that can conquer the coldest of winters in the North.

Jace and Daemon do not like each other. Daemon despises Jace’s very existence because his position threatens Rhaenyra’s claim as well as their little peace. And he gets in the way of everything. And the Strong host just loves messing with Daemon and humbling, as is show canon. Simon Strong is definitely with Jacaerys the entire time of the tourney.

Jace and Baela would’ve definitely been betrothed were they not sort of enemies on circumstance. However, my stance on incest is that I don’t support it, not even slightly. So I don’t see any potential for a threesome between Jace, Baela, and Cregan.

Sara Snow may be a part of Cregan’s party in tourney, if she’s not taking care of Rickon in the North. And if she is, Cregan asked her to craft the crown of flowers that he gives to Jace. It’s this crown of flowers that has all the omegas and ladies attending the tourney bumbling with excitement that they might be on the receiving end of it.

Corlys and Rhaenys become more upset at the evidence that Jacaerys, and by extension Lucerys and Joffrey, are not true Velaryons. Rhaenys always firmly believed Rhaenyra got rid of Jacaerys because he was not Laenor’s, so when it was officially announced, she was done. The only saving grace is that Baela and Rhaena are definitely Laena’s, and they may or may not be betrothed to Lucerys and Joffrey respectively…

Lucerys eventually accepts that his mother screwed them all over and sowed the seeds they reap. Moreover, he reconciles with Jacaerys and learns how to be a younger brother. Aemond still creeps him out by lurking in the shadows.

End Notes:

I am not TG, and I do cast a dark light on Rhaenyra and Lucerys especially with this narrative, but I needed some drama with it. Anyways, I’m glad I could blurb this out to stop thinking about it so much. Sorry I won’t be writing a full fic to anyone who would be interested in reading it.

#house of the dragon #jacaerys targaryen #fanfic #cregan stark x jacaerys velaryon #cregan stark #jacegan #brokeback winterfell #rhaenyra targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd fanfic

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anjelicawrites · 5 days ago

Text

STUDYING WITH ACADEMIC SLUT!AEMOND

Where I hoard all the asks about academic slut!Aemond. All the asks are NSFW and 18+ only!

Academic slut!Aemond's origin story Academic slut!Aemond coming untouched when giving head Edging academic slut!Aemond while he's explaining you High Valyrian grammar Edging academic slut!Aemond in a little book café

#studying with academic slut!aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n

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jellolegos · 4 months ago

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you mentioned that palaeography in hotd can be considered your special interest, yet the only thing i know about it is that it studies writing in historical context

SO please tell me more?? was it high valyrian that sparked the interest? if it was, what moment did? and has grammar changed over the years? does it have an interrelation with cultural events? i will read literally anything you would like to ramble about

genuine curiosity of a linguistics major

and, cannot miss a chance to say, your art is absolutely utterly stunning :)

thank you in advance!

Oh of course! My apologies, I think I may have been misleading, I've mostly been interested in the type of script they are using in the show. Unfortunately I've always been a bit more numerate rather than literate (as I am certain you'll pick up on as you read my writing, it has never been my strong suit) so honestly I haven't a clue about linguistic aspects! But, I believe the creator of the languages in the HotD/GoT universe is actually on here, his blog is: @dedalvs :)

Mostly what I meant by 'Palaeography' is since we have such a lovely opportunity to see book pages in HOTD I've been very much interested in what script model the artist was attempting to imitate.

I, I think like a lot of other hobbyists of niche interests, am always interested to see what gets translated from real life to screen. Just as I'd imagine you're interested in the conlang aspects of HotD! So I've been really interested to see what they're trying to do with the books in HotD. Without futher ado...

Hotd, Palaeography, and a Needlessly Thorough Examination of a Manuscript Page

All manuscripts I talk about here have clickable digitised links, so if you want to take a peep beyond what I talk about, feel free. They are really lovely manuscripts!

Disclaimer before the yapping commences that I am a Pre-Conquest gal and most of what I'll be talking about is Post-Conquest, and also that my research at a graduate/post-graduate level has been more involved with manuscript materiality (which I am again, happy to talk about, just not on this already-overly-wordy ask), rather purely palaeographic pursuits.

I should also say that none of this analysis is significant for any reason relating to the plot; this is just an examination of the prop art!

Also I am definitely NOT an expert in any way, shape, or form, so there are absolutely things I am missing here, there, everywhere... you have been warned.

Onto the yap...

Explaining the Frame

Before I fully get into it I think it is a little bit important to establish why historians study scripts at all. In a modern world, where writing is ubiquitous and literacy rates are high, it can be sometimes hard to understand why scripts are historically consequential (and why Pre-Reaganite/Thatcherite austerity, there were such things as tenured Professors of Palaeography!).

I think the best way to frame this is to use an example:

Above are two paintings. They are depicting the military action and are created with the same tools and by artists living in the same century and a half and in broadly the same geographical location. Now, if I were to say something like 'These are both paintings of military actiom, therefore they are the same', technically I wouldn't be incorrect. But I would be missing a huge component of these pieces!

In other words, just like painting, the form is just as important as the content itself; a scribe does not simply choose to write differently one day to the next but rather scripts, like any other art form, are nuanced and just as worthy of study as the actual text itself. As vehicles of text, how that text is manipulated, displayed and otherwise portrayed, can often tell us (as historians - amateur or not) a great deal about the surrounding historical period.

So something that is important to remember as I describe what is essentially, font analysis, is that the value placed on said font in an academic context is the result of historical weight placed on script that is almost entirely alien to a world where I can easily swap between Arial and Papyrus.

So, what script do they use in the HotD manuscript??

I can tell you its most certainly attempting to imitate a form of textualis. As one of the most profuse (spatially and temporally) script models, I would say it's a great choice. I think it the popular conception of manuscripts (what a manuscript should look like), this is what people would probably choose precisely for that reason! Textualis is/was popular from the thirteenth through the fifteenth centuries across Europe.

MS545 -14thc.

It was developed as a documentary script (aka used for documents, such as charters) but came to be used more often in prestige non-documentary manuscripts (like liturgical volumes, or conceivably, like Nymeria's history).

A charter with the seal intact from Magdalen College, Ox

It comes in different forms called 'grades', what those 'grades' are really depends on which scholar you want to follow. From my teaching, they are precissa, quadrata, semi-quadrata, and rotunda (from highest grade to lowest grade). Without getting into too much detail, different grades of textualis are often determined by the shape of the minims (aka bottom of the letter).

(Clockwise from upper left: Precissa [all letters are terminated neatly at the baseline - MS233 -14thc], Quadrata [all letters have little diamonds at the bottom - MS545 -14thc.] Semi-Quadrata [minims with intermittent attempts at feet - MSStowe17 - 14thc] Rotunda [rounded out minims - MS Add. 2. 263]).

Part of the reason this distinction is made, both between different grades of textualis and also between scripts used for documentary text and those used for non-documentary text is because manuscripts were/are valuable objects. It will obviously take longer for a scribe to diamond off every. single. minim. than it would for them to have letters flow into each other.

Something that is often forgotten in our modern period of relative book ubiquity is that manuscripts were objects subject to market forces as much as they were art pieces or vehicles of text. All things 'manuscript', from the scribes writing it to the pigment and vellum, were subject to various degrees of scarcity and luxury (which is actually what my research is about!). Below is an example of a scribe advertising their different grades of script.

MS e.Mus 198* - 14thc.

A closer look...?

Beyond just going 'yea they kinda look similar!' (deceptively, a lot of what manuscript scholarship is, lol), I can pull out a few things point me in the textualis direction. Let's take a look at the shapes of 'O' 'N' and 'G'. Our 'o' here is distinctively six-sided, which is also present on the main body of the 'g'. The 'n' similarly has a pronounced parallel line shape, with tapering on the curves.

Generally textualis has a very compact look with attention to downstrokes and neat parallel lines creating almost a 'box' effect with the x-height (aka how tall the x's are). I'm not sure how best to explain this but there is a keen dynamism in different parts of the stroke, with drastic differences in width between various parts of the ascenders/descenders in a letterform. The thick and thin elements of a letterform (such as the short corners on the 'o' or the often hairline strokes that connect the upper loop on an 'a' to the bottom loop), are really exaggerated in these scripts in a way you don't see with other earlier or later scripts.

For reference (an oversimplification to be sure, but a helpful one! Note that some of these scripts are geographically restricted, used only in Insular or Continental scribal environs)

^ Here are some real life examples of those same letter forms (L to R - LPL MS209 13thc, LPL MS75 13th c , LPL MS545 14th/15thc,)

While textualis was one of the more popular script models, other scripts were also popular in England at this time (roughly, lol). Anglicana and then Secretary hands rose to prominence, as you can see they look quite a bit different from textualis.

(MS Ashmole 35-15thc.)

These were considered lower grade scripts, used more often for documents as they can be written more quickly (important when you have many things to write!). So if we were able to take a peek at some of those scrolls that are in the Dragonstone Library, maybe we'd be able to find HotD's equivalent.

There is some crossover between these scripts and some sticky stuff about regionality, I know very little beyond surface-level, so I'm just going to point you to the resources I linked at the end.

Am Dipl. Dan LX- 15thc. with some other ones

The broad point is that textualis is most certainly a major mediaeval script, one I believe served as reference for the HotD manuscript, but it was not the only one present during the high middle ages. Now... would this script have been used at all during the succession wars that served as HotD's inspiration...?

Inspiration and Historicity:

If we're going on what scripts would have looked like in the period of the Dance's inspiration (Empress Mathilda), I would say this particular script is a bit late. Textualis reaches its more formalised state beginning at the end of the twelfth century (really, the thirteenth but..), so a little early for Rhaenyra's/Mathilda's 1115. Instead, assuming that this is entirely like our own mediaeval period, we'd be looking at the script that precedes it, called protogothic. Here are some examples:

(MS Digby 83 - 12th c England)

(CC MS 95 -12th c England)

A vernacular hand (aka. non-Latin, here old English), may look a little different. Here's one example, in what I would call Anglo-caroline script. Again, just like our documentary/non-documentary, purpose, and cost factors weigh into the script model chosen for a piece of text, so does the language (although Anglo-caroline was not restricted to vernacular!):

(MS 180, 12th c England)

You can probably see how the more formal textualis is an evolution of protogothic, rendered more professionally as the high middle ages came to pass. There is definitely a lot of interesting discussion about how script models take hold as lay literacy rates increase, as scribal practice begins to move from monasteries and limited courtly settings to 'professional scribes', but I won't get into it here.

The Critique (that no one asked for):

If I had to give an artist who did the HOTD prop a few pointers (my opinion that they definitely didn't ask for + I think they did great overall + mandatory 'script is highly variable, some of these pointers may not apply'), I would say the following:

1. Textualis in the real world, generally but not always, tends to have a two compartment 'a', it retains this from protogothic which in turn stole it from Anglo-caroline. Scripts in England prior to Anglo-caroline (which was a combination Anglo [English/Insular] and caroline [Continental/Carolingian] - see timeline above) more often used single compartment 'a's, so the dual compartment is a bit of a bigger deal.

MS Douce 366- 13thc

2. 'S' letterforms in textualis tend to be very compact. They often come in two shapes, the 'long s' and our more familiar 's' shape. In both forms there is attention to maintaining a compact figure, so when you have an entire page the x-height is strictly adhered to. By having some extra little whirly lines, the page image in the HotD manuscript is less neat overall. One exception tends to be sentence-initial 'S' letterforms, which are exaggerated because they start the sentence.

MS Bodl476- 13thc

Above are three 's' letterforms, spelling 'zacharias. Susci-(tavit-cutoff). We finish 'zacharias' with a familiar s. The next sentence starts with an exaggerated word-initial 's' which is purposefully larger and with significant spurs to signal the start of the sentence. Finally, we also have a 'long' s which looks like an l with an overhang, or an 'f' without the cross. You'll notice that the first 's' does not exceed the height of anything else in the word. Similarly, the 'long' s generally fits with the aspect of the script model, made with a thick downstroke. Only the second 'S', which is the largest, is purposefully flared to start the sentence.

On rewatching, we do get something similar-ish to majuscule letters to start sentences on other pages

It may seem a little silly, but I think the HotD script lacks this same internal logic and the flairs, which aren't technically incorrect, work against the overall appearance of the page, rendering it messier.

3. Some addtl. silly ones: 'i's in textura are not frequently dotted, those marks above letters are abbreviation marks e.g. p(er), domin(us). 'T's are usually crossed at the top rather than the middle until the late mediaeval period (again, carry over from previous scripts). Plausibly, it could look like this one from the lower Rhineland, which is less attached to that compact look overall:

MSDouce 185- 14thc.

But you'll notice a few things. The 'i's are marked with hairline marks (Michelle Brown calls these 'a light serif'), not the big dots we get with the HotD manuscript, and those 't' bars are really pretty high with exception where one letter flows into the next ('noctis' and 'peste' in line 1, 'est' with a long 's' is one I also often see with a high t bar).

A lot of this criticism on the letterforms, which is most certainly very annoying (who really gives a fuck), again just comes down to the fact that all historical scripts had an internal logic to them, and so these tiny tweaks could make the page as a whole look a little better.

4. There appears to be a great deal of space (imo too much) between the lines of text. Vellum is expensive! Even when there is deliberate space left empty in manuscripts, its not generally between the lines of text; the goal is to be relatively economical with your space, keeping significant breaks in text for mostly 1) thematic changes (ends of chapters, verses, etc.) 2) poetry lineation 3) dramatic visual effect.

(MS 52 - 9thc, - notice how space is filled with punctuation and drawn out terminal strokes to keep the diamond shape [dramatic visual effect], MS218 - 10thc. [poetry lineation])

5. Very very annoying but: in my opinion would be very difficult to rip a manuscript the way that Rhaenyra is able to. There is a very good reason why we have so many manuscripts from 1400 years ago, and that is because those things are BEASTS. There's definitely a phenomenon of survivorship bias, but any royal manuscript would be made with a well prepared skin and would be very difficult to tear.

I am aware that the very clear message of the scene is Rhaenyra's disregard for history and norms (literally ripping apart the annals of history with her bare hands), I wonder if we could have the same effect but with Rhaenyra pulling out a pen-knife or the like. She would still be destroying the manuscript, just with the weapons of war rather than with her hands.

Example of embroidery to repair a manuscript (Morgan Library)- Again, absolute beasts compared to modern books.

On manuscript physics...We also see one of the manuscripts have this wild separation between the text block and the spine:

Unlike modern book manufacturing, manuscripts usually have a very solid connection between the text block and the spine. This might be harder to verbalise than it is to show, so...The House of Stopan has lovely videos of the process, which I will be stealing for example here. Pages are sewn together on "cords":

Those cords are then cut short and frayed, then pulled through the book boards (which were usually actual pieces of thin wood, here however he's using a thicker cardboard). They're then glued to the boards.

A piece of leather (or other material), is then draped over and glued to the spine + on the outside of the boards. Those points of elevation on the spine, which I've seen added for purely aesthetic reasons in modern books (such as collector's editions), in manuscripts are actually the leather being smoothed over and shaped to the cords underneath.

The leather/material is prepared specifically so it conforms to the text block beneath. Pieces of thin cardboard or supporting material may be added between the cords on the spine.

If we take a look at this intact 11th c. Greek binding (sorry, only one I could find available!) you can actually still see the cords. In other words, I believe that an entire separation of the text block from the spine wouldn't really be plausible with a high grade manuscript (such as a courtly copy). I am no expert on manuscript manufacture, but within my knowledge of bookmaking, it stood out to me a bit! Happy to be corrected on this one especially :]

MS1175- 11thc

6. If I had to make one final note, so much of the series emphasises the fact that this is 200 years before GoT. There are attempts to archaeise various aspects of the keep and the armour. I would personally choose a script model that is a little older. I think there was probably a choice made about how accessible they wanted the manuscript text to be (so that dweebs like myself could actually read what's on the page), and I think using a slightly older script model like uncial/half-uncial would still reach that benchmark while appearing 'older'.

The Rushworth Gospels- 9thc.

Quite strangely enough Merlin, for all its historical inaccuracy actually does a really good job of hitting most of those notes I mentioned above (two compartment a's, neatly written 's's, etc.). Whether this would've been the actual script model used in Merlin's actual period is a whole different thing... and actually closer to my research interests!

As I mentioned at the beginning, I am not an expert in any sense of the word. For further reading you can check out Guide to Scripts Used in English Writings up to 1500, Cambridge History of the Book in Britain Series, A Guide to Western Historical Scripts from Antiquity to 1600 (although the plates kinda suck ass so beware.. the tragedies of photocopy technology), as really lovely books/series if you are interested! I find them to be very approachable reading for specialists/non-specialists alike and they are written by really the people who actually know about these things.

Scene.

#misc #asks

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ruhua-langblr · 1 year ago

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how does duolingo suck?

I'm going to assume this is a genuine question in good faith!

In general, I do not think that DL is effective for achieving linguistic fluency. However, fluency is not everything and is not everyone's end goal! It can be a great introduction to many languages and get people fired up about starting to learn a new language—all which are good things. Before I address the recent problematic changes to the app that make it "suck", I want to be clear that even before it really wasn't that great. It had a good UI, constant expansion, and a very enthusiastic marketing team, but none of those are really important to actual language learning. Outside of popular European languages (Spanish/French/German) the quality is incredibly hit or miss. When I started learning Chinese I checked out DL and it was just not good! It's pretty common knowledge that DL is not good for learning non-latin based languages. Not to mention that the levels in those languages do not get you far. I was able to do speed runs of the Chinese course for fun early on in learning Chinese because it tops out at about HSK 3. (If you're unfamiliar with the HSK system, real Chinese "fluency" is HSK 6+ depending on if you're going by HSK 3.0 or not.)

The reason the post I made took off now is a combination of profit-driven decisions made by DL in the past year, culminating with laying off actual translators—a field I happen to be in!

The major decisions I'm referring to above are the following:

The "pausing" of the Welsh course and ending the partnership with the Welsh government. The National Centre for Learning Welsh did wish to continue the partnership, stating "Should Duolingo change its policy the centre would be happy to help with the work of developing the Welsh course,". Languages that offer business partnerships, like High Valyrian, don't get paused.

Removal of Forums and Sentence Discussions. Because DL never truly "teaches" you grammar, you are expected to pick it up from pattern association and repetition. This would work fine if languages weren't complex and notorious for having exceptions. These spaces were places for people to better understand the language, but that's not a profitable thing! It's more profitable to charge people to have an AI "explain" a sentence. Also people liked DL for the community aspects! Native speakers could answer your questions and you could joke about how wacky a sentence was.

Final nail in the coffin:

Pivot to AI and laying off translators. For the record, I don't think AI is innately evil. I think in moderation it can be helpful and if an app's upgraded tier is just AI chat then whatever. However, as a translator, I can tell you that it just doesn't work well. Having done post-editing of AI translations, it just sucks. It makes mistakes humans would never make and trying to unravel them is a pain. When I edit a human's translation, I can figure out what they were thinking and how they got it from the text. AI translations frequently just... skip parts that don't make sense to it. DL had already integrated AI into the app on a premium content basis, but now it's fully hit users that never asked for it. I've seen a lot of people talking about how their language is having mistakes now. People want to use DL to learn a language, and if the app is teaching them the language wrong that is a huge problem. It is unlikely that DL will be satisfied with this, but rather continue to replace as much of its workforce as possible with AI.

In short: Duolingo's first priority is bringing profits and shiny objects like AI to dangle in front of its shareholders. That is what makes Duolingo suck.

#duolingo #langblr #language learning #question

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malisorn · 2 years ago

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⚔ || 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝

Pairing | Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary | May the Smith mends the bond that he broke far too long and forges you back to him with a longing promise ๋࣭ ⭑

Warnings & Suggestions | Fluff, Angst, Comfort, Messy Translation, Aemond rizzing reader up, Reader is a caretaker of a dragon and a relative of the Dragonkeeper but there are no physical description of her

Notes | The translation of English and High Valyrian is like a death trial. I pick up the grammar from Duolingo and mashed them up with website's translation.

The first time Aemond met you, he was merely a boy of three and ten. He didn't know what crossed his mind at that moment. Perhaps he just wanted to have his own dragon like his brothers and his nephews or maybe it was “The Pink Dread”. He walked down the tunnel of the pit as everything got darker and warmer. He would claim whichever dragon he encountered, but instead he came to face Dreamfyre. One second, he was falling to his knees thinking the stranger had come to take his life, but a moment later, a girl of his age dragged him out of the tunnel, saving his life.

“Bē morghūlis” He almost died. You were talking to a member of the Dragonkeepers. Aemond couldn't pick up exactly on what you said, he had yet to master High Valyrian, only knew the basic instructions and a few commands. To be fair, he didn't have a father to teach him and his mother barely embraced Targaryen customs. But he heard you call the older man “Kepus'', which means father's brother. Now, it makes sense why your High Valyrian is so fluent. You are a niece of the Dragonkeeper Elder. They exclusively spoke High Valyrian and served their loyalty only to the House of the Dragon. Aemond looked down at the floor. He knew he was in great trouble, until he felt your touch on each of his shoulders, “Dōro bartoso iksā” You are brainless. What did you just say to him? He assumed from your expressions, soft and understanding. Were you comforting him? Before he could ask you, he was guarded back to The Red Keep.

His mother was furious as she tried to comfort him. She promised she would seek justice from the King and that her son must never be a joke to poke at. That night, he cried himself to sleep with all the humiliation flowing through him. His mother insisted on him to never set foot on the Dragonpit again and that one day he would have his own dragon.

And he did. He gained himself a dragon, but at what cost? His left eye was slashed, yet he had to face the reality that it was an even exchange. It was not, he lost half of himself that night. The sight of him frightened girls and boys his age. His mother allowed him to visit Dragonpit later but only under the protection of Kingsguards. He saw you again when he went there with Helaena to claim a dragon. From the look on your face, you were rather fascinated than frightened. You ran up to him, started questioning him but he couldn't understand you. When you realize the barrier of a language between you two, you repeat the most obvious word “Eye, Eye, Eye”. Aemond took an offense from that “Shut up” He thought you were making fun of him, immediately left to stay in the carriage the whole time while Helaena finally claimed the she-dragon, Dreamfyre.

He would accompany his brother or his sister to the Dragonpit from time to time. While the first few impressions between him and you didn't come close to good at all, he would learn that you are actually quite fun to be around. He took High Valyrian lessons very strictly, memorizing as many terms of each word as much as possible. Your conversation started to go somewhere, he learnt to ask for your name in High Valyrian just as you learnt to ask for his in the common tongue. You are preparing to be a caretaker of the Dragons. It was a difficult process but you were chosen by your uncle due to how you manage to be gentle and understanding, especially with young dragons.

“Vhagar rōva issa” Vhagar is big. He opened his arms wide to let you see how big she is. “Bōsa se drāñe” Long and wide. He continued to describe her to you as you clapped in excitement. “Rōva Vhagar! Rōva Vhagar jorraēlan!” Big Vhagar! I love big Vhagar! You giggle together, his mother suggested him to find someone to talk to rather than hiding in his chamber. She knew he needed someone to listen. “We” you pointed to yourself then him, “Ride” taking his hands in yours “Together?” and tighten your hold on his. “Yes” A simple answer that brightens your whole face. “Hēnkirī Kipili?” We ride together? You pointed to yourself and him again, he nodded in agreement “Hēnkirī” Together.

While your friendship with the prince started to improve, he suddenly vanished out of your life after that day. He knew you were waiting for him every time the carriage arrived at the Dragonpit. The thing is, you appeared at the very vulnerable times of his life, the part he hated the most, the deep core of his weakness, he doesn't want to be weak anymore. Aemond believes that by cutting off any resemblance to his past, he would feel better as he turned into a person he never thought existed in him. He became a vengeful man full of rage and a thirst for blood. Abandoned the friendship you built together. But instead of you becoming a forgotten memory, you still wander in his mind sometimes, most of the time.

Dragonpit became one of his least favorite places after all the memories that taunted him, but at the same time, it's also the place he longed for the most. Although he didn't longed for a dragon anymore, he already claimed one and paid a great price for it. Instead, he longed for you. He has heard about you, how you become skillful at your position, taking care of each dragon in great detail. But he never order your attendance for Vhagar, he even forbidden from allowing you close to his dragon, despite knowing the obsession that you have with Big Vhagar. Aegon even talked of you, once, a pretty face wasted her years sunken in a pit.

At the darkest night, Aemond found himself thinking of you more and more. He imagined how your voice would've sound like, how tall you could've been, how fluent you would be in common tongue now. The grip that you have on him has never been loosened, if it ever did, it only seems to tighten more.

So he swallowed his pride as he stands here in the Dragonpit, at the same place but over half a decade different. Looking for you, many thoughts crossed his mind. Wondering if you have forgotten about him, unable to recognize your short-time companion anymore, or do you still remember him in great detail just as he did of you, angry at the sight of him and banishing him away. He wasn't sure if that was really you, a beauty standing with a bucket in each of your hands, a newly born dragon on your shoulder. You looked as if you're a Dragon goddess coming to life. “Sȳz Taoba, Morghul” Good boy, Morghul. You compliment the little dragon and he nods in pride as you feed him more fish, clapping at his wits.

When Aemond gets closer, you look up to him. He didn't know if it was surprise, displeasure or delight in your expression, a combination of all even. “Dārilaros” Prince. Your voice has matured and deepened through years, “Ruklītsos” Little Flower. A name he once heard your uncle called you. “Are you here to claim another dragon? Is one not enough for you?” the way your tone changed into bitterness blew away all his pride, but at the same time, he's quite impressed by your common tongue. “I am here to see my childhood companion” when he noticed the way your head tilted, he knew he better be careful with his next words. “I have not met her for so long, but she has grown into a lovely woman, a smart one too I've heard” you stand up with the little dragon in your hand. “A childhood companion you've neglected” A sly tone through your words to see if he can go anywhere from this. “I have not said it was you-”

“There's no any other childhood companion of yours other than me” If someone heard, they would've call you out to respect the prince. Before he could answer, you paced to the tunnel of the pit. He quickly followed you before he realized where he was heading to, until the darkness took over and suddenly he was three and ten, facing Dreamfyre again. Except this time, he was facing you. “Are you well? Aemond” you noticed the way he turned still “Aemond, sȳz iksā?” Aemond, are you well? Instead of answering you, he took a step back and left. He left you again.

It was a bad reunion after being apart for so long. You have changed and so did he. He shouldn't be a fool to think you could be friends again. That night, he thinks of all his life decisions. How stupid it is to end your friendship when everything goes well. He was a fool to treat you that way and to ignore you even when his sister told him that you have asked about him endlessly. Would it be possible for your friendship to heal its wound which he caused? “May the Smith mends the bond that has been broken far too long and forges us back as we have always meant to be together” That night he hopes to wake up with the strength of The Warrior to face you again.

As the sun rises in the east, he thinks of you as he eats, he imagines you as he reads and he finds himself on a journey to the Dragonpit again. There's a feeling enlightened inside of him, an affection he has not felt since he was a boy. A feeling of hope, excitement and wish that died when his eye was taken away.

The last interaction you two had before he completely disappeared from your life was one of the happiest he felt before he shut himself down from everyone. This was the moment he became merciless while you grew to be nurturing and forgiving. He waited until you walked out with loads of food in your hands. Dragons are rarely sick, but their need for food to survive is one of the most important things. They eat a lot and some of them do not hunt, especially the young ones. Your job was to make sure they ate well and remained at a balanced weight. “Skorkydoso iksā?” How are you? When he catches your attention, he gets closer. You step back, “Lenton jagon” Go home. It's no wonder you're mad at him, he is also mad at himself but he is trying to fix it. “Daor” No, he said firmly, opening his palm to reveal a gift he prepared for you. A golden ring shaped like a dragon's body, the head and the tail ended with a precious stone placed in the middle. “Daor” No, you make sure to say it the same way he did. “I will leave you alone but you must take this first” He tried to convince you but you didn't react in any motion so he continued “Vhagar wanted you to have this”. That seemed to convince you. You took the ring from his palm and took a closer look at all the details. “Fine” You said to him and he took your hand back, putting a ring on your finger. “Take this as a promise” He placed a kiss on your knuckles. Never in his life would he try to be this romantic, especially in public. Expecting to see a loving stare from you, instead you raised your eyebrows and took your hand from him. “Now, go home”.

He returned to Red Keep in a lighter mood. Is it possible to wed you? Would his mother give him her blessing? You have been living close to Dragonpit for so long with your uncle, he was a senior member and very trusted by his family. While your uncle swore his oath, you have yet to do the same.

Today, you didn't bring yourself to forgive him yet, he understood that it would take time but it needs to be quicker. He paced back and forth, thinking of how he could have your mercy. To give you what he has promised since that day.

He didn't bother you for a few days, keep it all to himself. His mother noticed the change in his behavior, how he wasn't “himself” from time to time. He finds thousands of reasons as his excuses, “I've changed” he once said to her and her expression was concerned.

As afternoon passed, he prepared to give you a surprise that would reunite the two of you after being apart for so long. He was dressed in leather, the weather would be colder, there might even be rain. Instead of taking a carriage like he used to. He took a horse instead and headed to where he had always found you. You were putting on a cloak, preparing to go somewhere else. “Vhagar is sick, she needs your help” His heart beaten, it's really happening. “Big Vhagar is sick?” You still remember, calling his dragon Big Vhagar as a reminder as if it's not the most noticeable trait. “Yes, she needs your help” his voice was heavy and you immediately fell for it. He seated you in front of him as he took you to Vhagar's lair. It was far outside the city to prevent any damage possible. Your back against his chest, you two were so close yet there's still a gap that killed him slowly.

When you arrived, you were amazed by the size of Vhagar. She really is big. You instantly take a look around Vhagar to see if there were any injuries, but there was nothing. “Liar” You called Aemond. “I could take your tongue for that, girl” Did he just threaten you? No, he meant to jest, he hoped you understood his intention. “I fear no knives” Your tone was ignited in flame, he had thought before that if you were a Targaryen, you would be unstoppable. There's already too much fire flowing in your blood.

“Are you meant to hurt me? Fooling me here to kill me?” He doesn't understand why you would think of that. “Never, I wanted us alone together, that's all” he noticed the ring on your finger, “You wear my ring” taking ahold of your hand. “Why wouldn't I?” Aemond didn't take his gaze from you. “Why did you leave me? after that night, why?” your voice weaken, “I waited moons and years! you just stopped and never returned to me” he can hear the sadness through your voice and see the tears on your pretty face. “I was protecting you” his excuse annoyed you even more. You came close to him and gripped his arms, “From what?” Your face and his were close, “From me” But instead of getting any closer, you push him away. “Then why did you come back? to hurt me?” He cornered after you into the cave. It was dark and warm. “To do as I promised you” In the darkness, you can feel his face close to yours. “A Promise?” you whisper, “Don't you remember?” He holds your face in his hands “Hēnkirī Kipili” We ride together.

Aemond holds your body as the two of you mount atop of Vhagar. The sun was about to set with the sky brightening in red, white and blue. With Aemond's command, Vhagar rises from the sandy beach. You screamed from the thrill through your body. As the sky got closer and closer, you clutched his hand hard and looked at him. Is this the moment when it happened? While he was composed on whether he should do it or not, you kissed him straight away. It was a release after years of resistance and avoidance. High up here in the sky, no one can see or judge him and you. He felt like himself again, but not like he was beaten to weakness anymore. With you, everything was at peace, he would shield you from the ruthless world and fly across the known world to give you everything.

When Vhagar landed, you were in delightful. Stroking the rough skin of the she-dragon. “Kirimvose, rōva Vhagar” Thank you, big Vhagar. Turning to Aemond, “I have not fully forgiven you” You seat yourself on horseback, return to the city with your childhood friend and likely, your lover.

masterlist for more

images' credits ๋࣭ ⭑

Tuesday Riddell

Triptych of Adriaan Reins - Hans Memling

Martha and Mary Magdalene - Caravaggio

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen x you

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dedalvs · 1 year ago

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I can't seem to get a hang on the High Valyrian syntax. Do you have any recommendations for learning? Or which language its close to?

High Valyrian is a head-final language, so a lot of it will be backwards for English speakers. The one thing that's the same is adjective placement (the adjectives comes before the noun) and possession, if you think of the genitive -o forms as -'s forms (so don't think of valo kepa as "the father of the man" but as "the man's father"). With everything else, it will help to reframe it. So it's not "The dragon I saw is large", it's "The 'I saw [it]' dragon large is". It really helps if you think of those relative clauses as extended, wordy adjectives.

What might help is studying another verb-final language. The most obvious that jump to mind are Turkish and Japanese. It can take a while to get the hang of the syntax of those languages, but if you do, I think High Valyrian will seem a lot simpler, because the rest of it is morphologically more familiar.

The one thing that's really difficult to wrap your head around is the relative adjective. If it were a pronoun, it'd be a lot simpler, but since it's an adjective, it's very important to remember that its case and gender will match the things it modifies, and it just means "that" or "who" or "which". In English, it gets its case marking from the embedded verb (so it's "The man whom I saw", not "The man who I saw"). In Valyrian it's not even a noun, so it just kind of meekly agrees with "the man" in that sentence and whatever gender or case it may have.

I hope that helps...? I'm at the end of the explanation and I honestly have no idea if it will. >.<

#conlang #language #game of thrones #hbo #valyrian #high valyrian #grammar #high valyrian grammar #house of the dragon #hotd #got #turkish #japanese

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huramuna · 1 year ago

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the calico bastard - chapter 4.

aemond targaryen x strong bastard oc (series) previous part | next part

summary: After his takeover of Harrenhal, Aemond encounters a dreamy-eyed, wistful bastard of House Strong, who piques his interest and changes the course of Westerosi history.

warnings: smut (eventually), angst, canon typical violence, canon typical misogyny, depictions & descriptions of death

wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: this is a bit of a shorter chapter, but it gives an insight into what is going through our favorite kinslayer's head, and sets up events for further chapters. peep the music change for this chapter 🤭

art by me of alysanne • an edit by me of alysanne as a child • aesthetic board

decode - paramore • lonely day - system of a down

How did it come to this? How did Aemond go from being Prince regent of the Seven Kingdoms— the crown of Aegon the Conqueror upon his head, sitting on the Iron throne— to holding onto an unconscious Strong bastard girl?

He looked down at her, pale and small in his arms. He could see her eyes fluttering behind her lids, obviously seeing something.

Aemond knew from the first sentence out of her mouth that she wasn’t normal— not even a little bit. She reminded him of Helaena, and even moreso, mayhaps one of Helaena’s bug companions, like a moth or mantis— so odd, and perhaps bad omens in their own right.

He shook his head, why in the Seven’s name was he thinking about Helaena’s bugs? Why was he holding this bastard?

This isn’t who he is— he isn’t gentle, he shouldn’t care if she fell unconscious and cracked her head open— he shouldn’t even care if she stung herself on nettle in the first place.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed, feeling a creeping ache in his eyesocket. The sapphire was heavy, pressing against his skull.

He never considered himself a vain man— he could care less about the leathers he wore, about how proper he looked to others. No, he only cared about what he could evoke in other people when they saw him.

As a child, mayhaps he wished to evoke promise, pride— studying in history and practicing Valyrian to which he excelled all of his siblings in. He wished for his father to notice, to note on his progress, how he surpassed all of the other children in literature, the ability to hold full conversations in High Valyrian with near perfect grammar and cadence, as well as studious penmanship.

As a young man— or whoever he became after he lost his eye, the emotion he wished to evoke in people was fear. Fear, reverence, superiority. He wanted them all to bow before him, kiss his boot and sing him praise as if he was the second coming of Visenya herself. He studied the blade, becoming twice the swordsman most men ever were with only one eye.

But evoking emotion in presence alone is a rare feat— so mayhaps a reminder of Lucerys Strong’s folly against him would serve as a good reminder. The sapphire was such a reminder.

It reminded not only everyone around him, but himself as well— the incessant pain it caused him was a constant prompt of what he’s lost.

But then he looks to Vhagar— what he’s gained.

He can live with a little pain, no matter how much it ached and drove him half mad.

Aemond looked down at the bastard girl, focusing on the small expressions she made, the tiny noises emitting from her as she dreamed. Helaena’s dreams were never so… obvious. They were usually small outbursts or cryptic mutterings.

But this girl, she seemed to fully delve into whatever she was seeing— and it’s happened twice now with Aemond.

Her mutterings softened and her eyes cracked open. He stared down at her, looking into those eyes. They were easy to get lost in— especially her violet eye, it felt much like a mirror…

He caught himself drifting slightly, clearing his throat, “What did you see?” he asked then, his voice soft. Gods, why did he sound so pathetic?

“Kinslayer.” she murmured.

His posture stiffened— but he didn’t let go of her. If anything, he held her a bit tighter. His throat felt tight, his chest squeezing his heart. “Y-you,” his voice cracked slightly, to which he gave himself a moment to gather his wits— damn this bastard for disarming him so easily— “You saw that.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes looking everywhere but into his.

Look at me, look at me, you fucking bastard— he felt the same rage begin to bubble up in his sternum as he did at Storm’s End— the same fire and flame that he wished to collect a debt with—

But then she looked at him. In his eye. She truly looked at him, as if she could see every fiber of his being, every stitch and crosshatch in him that was wrong, and the loops and threads that were right.

He felt her exhale, her hands shaking slightly— he didn’t realize he was shaking as well— one of those small hands reached upward to him, her lips parted ever so slightly—

Her palm rested on his cheek, the scarred one. She was warm, she was soft where he was sharp, he was all angles and hard lines— she was silken and gentle. Gods, when was the last time someone had touched him? Touched him out of their own volition?

And it was over too soon. She retracted her hand, looking away. Her expression was that of embarrassment and exhaustion, her usually pale cheeks peaked with a rosy shade of blush.

He felt himself chasing that feeling. It felt similar to flying upon Vhagar, elation and joy.

And fear. He was fucking scared— scared of the emotion he felt in that moment. A girl— a Strong bastard girl no less— broke down all the barriers he put up since that night in Driftmark in an instant.

He wanted to run. He wanted to drop her and run, climb atop Vhagar and burn something, anything. Anything to feel like he had control of himself and his surroundings. He was a dragon, was he not? And she just a bird— a stupid bastard bird with captivating eyes and soft skin and—

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He shook his head and placed her gently on the ground, then removed himself from her proximity immediately. One, two, three paces backwards.

He clenched his fist, the throbbing of his damaged nerves in his eye socket returning— this time with a vengeance. He cursed under his breath, “I trust you will be able to return to the keep yourself?” he asked then, looking for an out from the situation.

She fisted her skirt anxiously, “Mm… hm…” she murmured with hesitation, “Where’s… Banshee?”

He scanned the treeline, seeing the gray beast hoofing the ground, mimicking his rider’s anxiety. How curious a bond they had.

Aemond took a deep breath, “He’s just over here— how do you… lure him over?” he asked awkwardly. He rode the largest dragon in the world, and yet was hesitant about her monstrous horse.

“I… I can— don’t worry yourself with me, please,” she mumbled. She clicked her tongue loudly; once, twice, thrice.

The gelding bobbed his giant head and began meandering over, eyeing Aemond, his nostrils flared. Slowly, Alysanne got to her feet. She stuffed the remains of the now slightly squashed chamomile flowers into her pockets and began her ungrateful ascent atop the beast. Her mismatched eyes flitted around nervously before landing on Aemond’s— his breath hitched as they made eye contact once more.

“Thank you, my prince,” she said softly, leaning forward on Banshee’s back, her arms wrapped around the horse’s thick neck. Her head was tilted slightly and the color was returning to her face.

Aemond nodded slowly, his throat feeling dry. He was the first one to break eye contact this time, glancing off into the distance, “Think nothing of it. I simply was doing my duty to help a lady.”

This earned a half chuckle from her, he heard. He could see the corners of her mouth perked into a small smile— a smile? He resisted the urge to look, lest he fall deeper into the pit of whatever he was feeling right now. But Gods, he wished to look.

“I am no lady, dear dragon,” she hummed, “but it is interesting that you see me as such. Mayhaps I could get used to being called a lady— if only maybe by you.”

His jaw twitched— what the hells did that mean? He was coming to the conclusion that maybe she didn’t even know what she was saying herself, so how was he supposed to make sense of it? Gods, how could he let himself be so soft for a maddened woman?

“Hm,” he muttered, “Take care of yourself, little bird.”

He took her silence as an out to finally walk away— he didn’t wish to hear what else she had to say, if anything at all. Every word from her mouth sent him on a deeper spiral into a madness just like hers.

The prince ran his hand along Vhagar’s scales as he approached her, earning a low rumbling purr. He climbed back atop her, “Sōvegon, Vhagar.” Fly, Vhagar.

He kept his gaze forward, not even daring to see what happened to the bastard on her horse. His fists clenched and unclenched on the reins— what the fuck were the use of these anyway? It wasn’t as if Vhagar could feel them being tugged on— she did what she liked. Storm’s End was proof enough of that.

Once they were at a high elevation and coasting above the clouds, he let go of the ropes. His hands went down to his waist and legs where he was strapped into the saddle. Thinking back to the bastard girl on her horse; no saddle, no reins, just pure instinct and bond. If she could do it, why couldn’t he?

It was a novel thought— and mayhaps a stupid one. If he fell to his death off of his dragon and splattered into a dozen pieces, his brother’s war would likely be lost without a rider upon Vhagar. He would be remembered as the One-Eyed Targaryen who idiotically rode his war dragon without being properly saddled.

Fuck that— his legacy was already tarnished, having his eye gouged out by a bastard boy playing heir to Driftmark, then subsequently killing said bastard. He was accursed, a Kinslayer, a one-eyed prince.

He unlooped the straps from his legs and waist, pulling them away from his body until he was free of them. Free of expectation, free of safety and concern for what the maesters would write in the histories about him.

He let go of the reins, giving no command to Vhagar. Instead, he tried to emulate the bastard girl’s posture— it was almost lazy wasn’t it? Like a leisurely cat, draped upon the neck of her steed. He leaned forward, his hands touching the weathered skin of Vhagar’s shoulders. Aemond could feel the power, the pure destruction laced within her very being.

It sang to him like a siren’s song; Dracarys, Dracarys, Dracarys–

And so he spewed dragon’s fire– raining down upon the Riverlands like the second coming of Visenya in Dorne.

Burn.

taglist:

@heavenly1927 @keylin1730

#aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #the calico bastard

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shesjustanothergeek · 2 years ago

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His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Ten

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: You would laugh when I tell y'all the hours I spent trying to study High Valyrian and make sure I used proper grammar. Because, like... who does that?? I still don't think I used correct grammar and sentence structure, but who's going to know? This chapter takes place over a few years. I wanted to clarify that ahead of time in case of any questions. I also wanted to say that the woman depicted in the cover art is not necessarily what I imagine the main character to look like. She has black hair like her mother, and she's not conventionally skinny. She has a semi-muscular but broad body due to her training, and her eyes are as described. Other than that, the MC can be whatever you picture. xD ANYWAYS... Thank you so much for your continued support as we embark on this journey together. It means so much to me.

Chapter Warnings: Gaslight, gatekeep, girl boss, time jumps, italics equal High Valyrian when speaking.

"I survive off the idea that one day my rage will be witnessed by the men who poisoned me with it in the first place." - Maya G. Wolf, Being A Woman.

Prince Daemon was excited when you arrived at Dragonstone. He dreamed of having a son of his own. One to train and spar with. Though he loved Baela and Rhaena, they were not encouraged to take up the sword, nor did they want to. Rhaenyra's sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys, were trained in swordsmanship but were less committed than Daemon would have preferred. They had much heavier things to worry about, like ruling entire kingdoms.

You were the only child in Dragonstone with no future prospects. You had no claims to land. None would be passed down to you as everything was already set to your father's true-born daughters. It did not matter if you were the eldest and held the most seniority. You were a bastard, and bastards were nothing but a stain on noble houses. You were lucky even to be allowed into the same wing as your father's family.

Even though you were a smudge on the Targaryen name, the Targaryens treated you as anything but and welcomed you with open arms and hearts. You were hesitant, at first, to accept their love, only clinging to a man you shared a slither of a connection with.

It became Daemon's project to integrate you into the family. It was what gave him joy in the never-ending days tucked away at Dragonstone. Furious at the world and everything around her, he transformed an angry girl into a warrior.

He saw you reborn through his gruesome training, sand melted and forged into glass. The lessons he taught began to shine through as time progressed. You eventually viewed those curly-mop-headed boys as your brothers and Rhaenyra, your mother. The family became the most important thing to you, your love for each stored close within your heart. You all were that each other had.

You had heard the rumors that plagued Rhaenyra and her children concerning their lineage. It was surprising how much people would let slip around the "bastard of Daemon Targaryen." You could not help but feel a sense of empathy for them. You needed to protect one another from the world, from the cruel whispers that trailed not too far behind each of you.

But if one of your brothers decided to pull your hair one more time when you weren't paying attention... the Stranger would have two more souls to guide.

***

You and Daemon had developed a routine here on the sandy beaches of Dragonstone.

You would run in the morning when the sun had not risen yet, and the wind still held the same damp, nightly chill in the air. He would send you around the inner grounds of the castle, then up and down the many rocky and steep hills leading to Dragonmont, and finally, around the beaches, where he would begin your proper training.

"A warmup," he would call it as you vomited on the shore, panting like a dog the first dozen times you did it.

He pushed you, sometimes too far, you thought, when you screamed, exhausted with tears in your eyes. Daemon would always say the same thing every time you nearly gave up.

"When you are at your lowest, stand back up, and spit in the face of your enemy. They will not take pity when they see your weakness. They will kill you. Do not let them get the chance." You could not argue with his logic, your pride beginning to mirror his over time. Weakness was never an option for a bastard in the House of the Dragon.

Within years, your limbs were not the soft linear sticking of bone they once were but toned, strong, and sturdy from the many bags of grain you carried. Your body no longer reflected the malnourished peasant girl but a warrior, the likes of which no one had seen since Queen Visenya.

***

"Tell me again, Maester Gerardys, of the dragons here on this island," you asked sweetly, resting your jaw on your palm.

You wanted to hear about something other than the hierarchy and the politics of the North, your mind entirely elsewhere. You knew that if you batted your lashes enough, the Maester would forget about today's lesson.

"Well, Princess, we have had many over the years, but currently, there are your family's dragons. Caraxes, ridden by your father. Syrax by your mother. Vermax by your younger brother Prince Jacaerys, and Arrax by the second youngest, Prince Lucerys." You nodded along, seeming to care about the claimed dragons honestly.

"I heard rumors from the servants of several unclaimed dragons. Ones that steal the common folk's livestock and another that is so silver that it blends into the sea mist. What of those?" You pouted your lips slightly when you talked, leaning forward in your palm.

"Ah, yes. There are wild dragons that reside on the island. Some are in the cliffs overlooking the port, Dragonmont, or in other hidden caves where we cannot find them." You smirked slightly, appearing to have no ulterior motives in the conversation. "There are three riderless dragons. Seasmoke, which belonged to the late Lord Laenor Velaryon, Silverwing, who belonged to Queen Alysanne, Vermithor, who belonged to Jaehaerys Targaryen, your second Great Grandsire. Vermithor resides inside the Dragonmont and has a large body of bronze. They called him the Bronze Fury, and oh, was he a sight to see in the skies! The way the sun would shine on his scales was magnificent!"

Maester Gerardys shook his head, smiling to himself and getting rid of the memory of the beautiful beast. "There are three wild dragons which have been attempted to be claimed, but none have ever succeeded. They are nasty, those three. And should you ever come across them, run in the other direction."

He began to turn back around, beginning to continue the lesson from before. You couldn't let him finish; you still had many more questions.

"What do those wild dragons look like," you quickly asked, almost showing a worrying amount of enthusiasm.

The Maester swallowed, returning to you as you display your best puppy dog eyes. You knew they were his greatest weakness—the brown orbs reflected in the candlelight, the small ring of violet shining around your pupil.

"Gods, be good," he whispered, clasping his hands behind his back.

"The first is Grey Ghost, the one you heard the servants talking about. He has a pale coloring to his scale and almost becomes invisible when he flies within the sea mist. He does not bother the smallfolk much, leaving for long periods. The second is Sheepstealer. He is a real nuisance to the smallfolk, always snatching any mutton he can wrap his teeth around from here to Driftmark and Wendwater. " You nodded along, urging him to keep talking until you had every drop of knowledge one could obtain.

"The worst one, Princess, is Cannibal. He is said to be as black as coal and has green eyes that would scare the most battle-hardened of men. He is the largest of all three wild dragons and by far the most dangerous, feasting on his fellow species. His den is said to be covered in the bones of those who have attempted to claim him."

Maester Garardys was worried he might have scared the poor Princess with the discussion of the fearsome dragons, but when he looked at your face, your features showed no fear. You had a slight grin gracing your flushed skin, your eyes bright, and your mind hanging onto every word he said.

"Where does Cannibal reside, Maester?" You questioned eagerly, forgetting yourself.

He squinted his eyes momentarily, unsure if he should give you the answer considering your demeanor. "He resides in the back of the Dragonmont on the eastern side." He began to turn away but stopped, feeling uneasy. "Princess, why do you have a sudden interest in the dragons here on the island? We had a lesson on them barely a fortnight ago, and if you do not mind me saying, you seemed somewhat disinterested in it."

Your smile did not falter momentarily, a lie quickly finding its way onto your tongue.

"I had decided to do some extra reading on my family's history in my spare time and was somewhat confused about which dragon was where, who rode what, and what they looked like. There is so much for me to learn," you fidgeted in your seat, wringing your hands, "and my brothers have such an advantage on me with having you as their teacher for their whole life... I feel very inadequate compared to them."

Maester Garardys gave you a pitying look that made your blood boil as you continued your defeated expression. "Oh, Princess, do not be too hard on yourself," he cooed. "This is not a traditional education that women like yourself get, but your father insisted you be taught the same as your brothers. I will remember for the next lesson to take more time with you."

"Thank you, Maester Garardys," you said, feigning bashfulness as your nails dug into your palms. The urge to jump over the wooden table that separated you and punch that soft-hearted look off his face was strong, but you held fest, continuing the doltish girl act. "If it would not be too much, ser, could you please not tell my father about what we discussed? I do not want him to think I am incapable of doing what he assigned me."

"Of course, Princess," he smiled kindly as if he was talking to some simple-minded fool and not a growing woman with the compacity to understand simple subjects.

Finally, he returned to the original lesson, speaking slower than before and explaining things in more detail than you thought necessary. You swallowed the anger threatening to spill past your lips as you adjust your posture.

You would show him. You would show all who thought the same as him how wrong they were about you. You were not to be spoken down to and underestimated, and you would make sure anyone who did would live to regret it. You were not some peasant girl with a fancy title; you were a Targaryen. You are the firstborn of Daemon Targaryen, the brother of the King, the husband of the heir to the Iron Throne, and they would do well to remember that.

***

You only had a few hours before someone would realize you were gone. You had told Rhaenyra that you were nursing a severe headache after your training with Daemon today and could not participate in your daily embroidery lesson for the afternoon. She, of course, understood, knowing how her uncle could be if left on his own with a sword and a weaker opponent.

There was only a slightly guilty feeling in your chest as you lied to her.

Years of the gruesome time your father had put you through paid off as you snuck past countless guards and servants, using the hidden passages within Dragonstone's walls to escape. There were no maps of the caverns inside Dragonmont, which left you nothing but the information Maester Garardys gave you and your instincts to guide you.

The first half was easy, you told yourself. You only needed to sneak inside Syrax's lair and steal an egg. Daemon had come boasting not too long ago about how the she-dragon had laid a new clutch of eggs, a sign that his "Targaryen seed was strong" and your mother was surely with child again. You felt bad that you could be taking a dragon away from one of your future siblings, but you only needed one, nothing more. Indeed they would survive if you just took one.

Syrax was nowhere to be found as you silently crept into her den, placing the torch you had for light in an empty holder. You sighed in relief as you gazed upon six eggs laid on a pile of sand she had made, a nest to keep them warm. Plenty would be left. You smiled as you stuffed an egg inside your satchel, positioning it with your other supplies.

The low rumble of heavy steps shook the ground, signaling that Syrax was most likely returning from where ever she was, and you needed to get the Seven Hells out of there. You cursed the Gods for this unfortunate timing, snatching your torch and scrambling out of the cave and in the opposite direction of the cold-blooded animal.

You ran further into the darkened caves, the idiotic nature of your plans finally coming to fruition as you realized you were lost. You could feel the panic beginning to rise in your chest, your breathing speeding up. Tears pricked at your eyes, and you stumbled, dropping your only light source and tearing the seam of your dress as you fell onto the rocky ground. You cried out in pain, your body forcing the tears to fall against your will as you wiped at your face.

"You will not be weak," you said, echoing along the warm stone. "You are not weak," you gritted out again, digging your palms into your eye sockets.

You yanked your arms away, readying to push yourself up and continue your quest as you opened your eyes. Standing over you in the dim lighting was a creature as black as night, its scales reflecting off your lost torch as a rush of hot air wafted your cheeks. Cannibal's piercing green eyes stared back at you, his pupils dilating as he scanned your frightened form.

Quickly, you moved to create a safe enough distance between you and the beast, wincing as you noticed the blood dripping down your shin. He tilted his head at you, seeming confused to see such a small and pathetic thing so far back into Dragonmont as he stepped closer. You grabbed the egg faster than Cannibal could move and placed it between you and the dragon, offering peace between two isolated individuals. He proceeded instantly, walking over to your discarded torch and consuming the egg in one bite, bits of shell flinging across the cave floor.

The fallen torch illuminated his body over top of the light. Rows of black horns protruded along his head and neck, teeth the size of your forearm glistening with yolk. His feet had shiny black claws that could slice a man in half. He was not the majestic creature that songs were sung about. He was a monster. A monster you would scare a child with so that they would come home on time.

No one would think you were weak with a dragon such as him by your side. They would all cower away as the Bastard Princess sat atop her Cannibal dragon. It was divine fate that brought you to this moment, face to face with the most dangerous dragon in all the realm. A creature that many men had tried to claim, but all failed, their bones scattered across his den.

You were no man.

Courage filled your limbs as you stepped closer to him, your chin held high as you took about another item you had brought. You had stolen pork legs on your way to the caverns, the kitchen maids too preoccupied with other tasks to see a cloaked figure hiding amongst the shadows. You took a deep breath, holding the first leg out as Cannibal's nostrils flared at the smell.

"Dohaerās (serve)," you commanded, and the dragon stared, unmoving. "Māzīs naejot (come forward)," you tried, insecurity creeping into your mind when he did not move. "Māzīs," you repeated, with more force, still holding the pig leg before you. "Māzīs naejot issa (come to me)," you barked.

You knew this would take some time, but surely, waiving a piece of raw meat in front of a dragon named Cannibal would yield quicker results. Still, he ignored you, his head lowering to the ground as he sniffed it, beginning to lick it.

"What in the Seven Hells are you doing?" You questioned, exasperated as you stepped closer to him.

At speed too quick for a dragon of his size, his head snapped up, his green eyes becoming black as a low growl came from his chest, looking as if he would charge at any second; you threw the leg and retreated. Once again, he swallowed it in one bite, returning to the same spot on the ground.

You looked closer, forcing your eyes to adjust in the darkness as you realized that was the spot where you fell, seeing the dried blood. Your body was faster than your mind, swiftly finding the dagger Daemon had gifted you for your first name day with him and cutting your hand, smearing your blood on the raw meat. Finally, did you have Cannibal's full attention, his nostrils flaring as he smelled the air.

You steeled yourself again, holding the pork out.

"Māzīs (come)," you demanded proudly. He snarled, the sound booming inside your ears as you repeated yourself.

You could sense his anger at this tiny creature believing she could command him, and when you repeated a third time, his patience wore thin. Cannibal inhaled, his throat grumbling as you saw him lift his head and open his mouth. You were not an idiot. You knew what came next, seeing it countless times with Caraxes, but with nowhere to run, you stared at the bright orange flames.

***

The sound of clinking silverware and laughter echoed in the dining hall of Dragonstone, even with one less member of the family. Jace had butchered a Valerian pronunciation, Rhaenyra attempting to stifle her laughter, and even Damon chuckling in amusement. Everything was going normal, each person blissfully unaware of the Princess deep inside Dragonmont.

"Mother," Luke spoke during a lull in the conversation, "could I bring sister some dinner?" No one had seen you since high noon, not wanting to bother you while being ill.

"I am sure she would love that, sweet boy," she said gently. Rhaenyra smiled, nodding to Luke and motioning him to come in for a quick kiss before going to your chambers. He proceeded on the usual route to your apartments but stopped short as he looked down at the plate the servants had prepared for you.

Luke knew how much you loved sweets, sneaking him and Jace under the rouse of them wanting something in the kitchens and not you. Both boys would always play along with whatever schemes their rebellious half-sister thought of for the day. Either racing across the halls and seeing who was the fastest, playing with wooden swords inside the castle, or putting pins on her Septa's chair if she was a "particular cunt" that day.

Lucerys went down the small passage leading to the kitchens rounding the corner with your plate of cooling food still in his hands as he surveyed the freshly baked trays of pastries. He could not decide which ones you would like more. Sadly, nothing with apples was made.

"Could I help ya' young prince?" An older woman asked, her gown a drab grey woolen color and a white bonnet on her head.

"Oh yes," the young boy answered, slightly startled by her sudden presence. "My sister is not feeling well this evening, and I wanted to bring her some dessert to help her recover."

The woman hummed, nodding in agreement as she missed tying off her stained apron. "That's a mighty fine idea, my prince. May I help ye' in yer selection?"

"Oh, yes," he repeated, "her favorite is apples, but I cannot seem to find anything with some."

"Ah. Apples are not in season at the moment, so our imports of them have been scarce, but I'll see what I can do for the young Miss. I am sure we'll have some somewhere."

The woman began her search for the fruit wandering off into small rooms and digging through random barrels until she found what she was looking for. "Do you know what the lady prefers?" She questioned as she began to rinse the red fruit.

"I believe she likes something called apple muse. I think that is how she called it," he said, unsure. The woman nodded again and smiled as she gathered some bowls, pitchers, and utensils.

"She's a girl after me own heart," the lady commented, peeling the apples. "We eat this all the time for dessert, and it's very easy. I'll be done faster than a crow's fly."

Luke smiled and sat on a stool to watch the woman work, picturing your joyful face when he brought you the food.

***

Luke finally reached your grand oak doors, knocking with his free hand. You were not feeling good, so he knocked again and opened the door, calling out your name. You did not answer, which he wasn't surprised about. He still had the same grin, excited and happy to do something nice for his sister.

"I have brought you some dinner," he said gleefully. "It is your favorite. I even had one of the servants make you some Apple Muse." Still, you did not answer as Lucerys moved further into your apartments.

Your seamstress hid hints of the Targaryen crest throughout the different items in your entry room. Black and red decorated every fabric with curtains to match. Leather-bound books and armor were thrown haphazardly on velvet chairs and benches. No doubt you had told your maids you would clean it up later.

He figured you would be in your bed chambers, knocking again on a smaller door as he entered. He nearly dropped the plate he had put some much heart into when he saw your empty bed, the sheets undisturbed from when they were made early this morning.

Swiftly, he sat the food onto a nearby stand, ringing the bell for your maids. Within moments three women came up, surprised to see the young Prince Lucerys instead of their Princess. They all bowed, one readying to speak before she was cut off.

"Where is my sister," he asked quickly.

"We are not sure, Your Grace. She has not returned since her bath after training," the one he believed was called Edith said.

"How do you mean? She must be here," he denied, panicked. She told my mother she was retiring in the evening due to a headache."

The three girls looked at each other, each bewildered and confused. "I am sorry, Your Grace, but we have not seen her since then."

Luke nodded curtly, hurrying out of your rooms and back to the dining hall, his red pants swishing with each step. He would catch the rest of his family leaving if he were fast.

He ran past servant after servant, dodging some carrying stacks of linen, some with brooms and dusters, and others he bumped into without apologizing. Luke felt betrayal in his chest, his heart cracking into pieces as his eyes began to water. His young mind went to the worst possibilities, remembering how you told him of the terrible punishment to your former Aunt and handmaid for trying to abduct you. Perhaps someone else from your old life attempted it again? That would be the only reason you would lie.

How could you leave them? They were your family. They loved you. He loved you.

He sprinted blindly, wiping at his eyes as he ran into a warm body, instantly recognizing the floral smell.

"My sweet boy, what is the matter?" Rhaenyra asked kindly, stroking her second son's curly hair.

"It's Sissy," he cried, reverting to the old name he called you before Jace teased him. "She is not in her rooms, and-and none of her maids have seen her!"

"Calm, Lucerys. Take a deep breath and tell me again," Rhaenyra said calmly, with a nurturing, motherly tone.

"I went to give Sissy her food, but she is not in her rooms, and her servants said they have not seen her! I think they took her! Like before," Luke cried into his mother's thick skirts.

"Why do you think she was taken, Lucerys? Perhaps she is just along the beaches resting as she as done before?" Luke couldn't argue with her reasoning, but he still could not help but feel a sense of worry. She gave him a wry smile, looking over to her husband, who had a concentrated look on his face, his eyebrows creased.

Before Daemon or Rhaenyra could think of their next move, a Kingsguard ran toward them, their polished armor clanking.

"Princess," he nodded to Rhaenyra, still out of breath. "Prince Daemon. We believe in having spotted the young Princess on the eastern cliffs of Dragonmont," the knight known as Ser Steffon paused, glancing at the floor momentarily before looking back at Daemon, "naked and riding a dragon."

Rhaenyra's eyes widened in shock, covering her mouth as she went to grab her husband's hand. He took it without hesitance, squeezing it reassuringly as he pulled her closer. Jace and Luke both made disgusted faces at the mention of their sister without clothes, their true maturity showing no matter how righteous they tried to act.

"I will mount Caraxes," Daemon declared, his voice becoming what he used in war. "Gather serval knights, Ser Steffon, and alert the Dragonkeepers."

"I will go with you, father," Jacaerys interjected, puffing his chest out proudly.

"No," he said with finality, "Vermax is still not fully grown, and you do not have proper control over him yet. It would be too dangerous."

"But-" Jace pleaded before Daemon cut him off with a wave of his hand, rushing to his dragon. Jace stepped back dejectedly, nodding his head as his eyes fell to the floor.

***

The wind tore through your hair, ripping it out of its pinned style. Water leaked from your eyes as Cannibal flew through the skies at lightning speed. You held onto the horns on his back for dear life, your palms sliding as he did a sharp turn. The air was freezing on your bare skin, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins kept you warm.

The black dragon had been soaring wildly through the orange skies, accelerating to altitudes where you thought you might lose consciousness before he suddenly dipped back down. You had forgotten the commands you had memorized in High Valyrian, more focused on not falling to your death and having your family find your crushed, naked dead body.

Your mind was still reeling from the fact that you were alive. Cannibal had bathed you in his dragon fire, burned every inch of clothing on your body, and even melted the dagger your father had gifted you. But you were alive. You were still alive. A dragon had breathed its fire on you, and you lived. You had only heard fables of something like this happening. You did not believe it yourself. Experiencing the contents of myths and legends was not something you thought possible.

Suddenly, Cannibal made a sharp turn causing your body to slip to one side and dangle as he righted himself. He was a wild and untamed beast, possessing the stamina of a Dornish sand steed and taking you to places you did not want him to go. You knew if you did not gain control of him soon, everything would be for naught as he brought you close to the blue waters of the Narrow Sea, his spiked wings cutting through.

"Dohaerās (serve)," you shouted over the wind whistling in your ears, but Cannibal did not listen. "Dohaeragon aōha kipagīros (Serve your rider)!" As if he was trying to defy you, he started to ascend, his body a near verticle line as he flew towards the sky.

You realized you could not direct him from where you were sitting, making the split-second decision to use the horns along his spine as a ladder to reach his head. He began to straighten out, acting as if he was just going to glide across the fluffy yellow-tinted clouds, but then, he suddenly dipped, descending to the water below at blinding speeds. You were sure you felt like an insect crawling on his back, pesky and annoying as it moved just before you could swat it.

You grabbed the horns on his skull, leaning all your weight backward to stop your fast descent. Cannibal released a thundering roar, furious that someone would try to control him as he shifted to his side, his wings pointing above and below. You grabbed the horns on his skull, leaning all your weight backward to stop your fast descent. You captured the horns on his skull, leaning all your weight backward to stop your rapid decline. You held steadfast, shifting your weight in the opposite direction he went. He repeated the same tactic, moving too much into your opposing grip and rocking you back and forth.

"Nyke emagon claimed ao, zaldrīzes. Nyke aōha kipagīros, se ao līs dohaeragon issa lest īlon both morghūljagon! (I have claimed you, dragon. I am your rider, and you must serve me lest we both die!)" You screamed into the air, counteracting his next attempt to shake you off.

A piercing screech cut through the skies, both you and Cannibal turning your heads to where it came from. You had no doubt who it was. Your family had most likely discovered your absence and decided to send your father after you. Fear rushed over you as you saw the Blood Wyrm cut his way through the clouds, its skin a terrifying granite of red and black, your father's lean body sitting atop it.

Cannibal moved to turn and face Caraxes, known to have a deep aversion to other dragons; he no doubt would try to kill him and your father in the process.

"Daor (No)," you bellowed as you countered his attempt, jerking his head in the opposite direction. "Udrāzmī ao rȳbagon naejot issa (You obey my commands)." You leaned down into what you assumed was his ear, "Tegon, sir (Land, now)."

Cannibal slowed. You could sense he was thinking, debating whether or not he would win a fight against a battle-hardened dragon, and if he did win, would he even be worth the kill?

By an act of divine intervention, he moved, descending at slower speeds than he had before, succumbing to the power of a tiny girl. He landed on the southern shores, his breath releasing small puffs of smoke.

Cannibal lowered his head, which startled you, but you tried not to let him see as you climbed off the dragon. Your hand slid along his neck feeling his blood pulsing in his throat as your eyes locked onto one another. You wanted to thank him for letting you be the one to break him but could not find the proper word. He let out a low sound, not quite a purr, but you knew he could sense how you felt as he turned away, his green eyes blinking slowly.

Your father and his dragon landed on the same beach, far enough away that Cannibal wouldn't feel threatened but still too close for his liking. He didn't recognize Daemon as a threat as he walked towards you carrying something in his arms.

You had prepared yourself for his harsh words before you even set foot inside Dragonmont. Nothing he could say would make you falter. You slinked out from behind Cannibal's large body, your chin held high and your hands clasped behind you proudly.

"You are naked," he said blandly, scanning your body with a judgemental smirk.

You gasped, all your mental preparation from before crumbling as you remembered your current attire, attempting to cover your body. Daemon laughed, throwing the bundle he had in his arms toward you. You raised your eyebrows at the pair of brown trousers with a shirt to match, questioning if that was really what he wanted you to wear.

"Come," he motioned his head, and you followed. "You have claimed a dragon in which there is much to learn. Though I am happy," he spoke leisurely, kicking the sand with his boots, "your mother is not. I suspect you will deal with a great tongue-lashing once we return to the castle."

You sighed through your nose, the sound blending into the folding waves on the shore, pursing your lips as you nodded. "It is easier to seek forgiveness than ask for permission," you quipped, pulling up the pants he had given you.

He laughed softly, smiling as you struggled to keep up with him in clothes two times your size.

In truth, Daemon was still shaken. The moment that Lucerys had come running back from your rooms with tears in his eyes he panicked, his mind going to the worst places imaginable. He did not believe you would go willingly if someone from your past life had managed to sneak their way onto Dragonstone. He knew you had found comfort in your current life. Your indulgences for the finer aspects told him all he needed to know, but he could still sense the reservations whenever Rhaenyra would display an array of gowns when a Lord arrived. Though they may have been small, the habits of your old life were still there. He just didn't know how much was left.

Despite how terrified he was near moments ago, Daemon displayed nothing of the sort. Laughing and teasing his dragon rider daughter as you walked toward the castle. He was giddy that there was another aspect he could add to your daily training and could barely contain his excitement of eventually seeing your frustrated face when things didn't go as you wanted.

It was another challenge he could guide you through as your father, doing what his mother did for him and making up for the years he did not know of your existence. How he wished he could return to the past and change things. So many things...

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I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! I feel like it was pretty controversial for me to choose the Cannibal as the reader's dragon, but out of all the options that she had, I feel like this resembles her the most. I'm sorry about the no Aegon, but we gotta bring some juice to the story. Some meat and potatoes, if you will.

The main character I created is strong. She's raw, visceral, the feeling of triumph when you cross the finish line and win the race. She's the rage you have bottled up throughout your entire life from everyone telling you to contain your emotions, act a certain way, and accept the wrong you have been a victim of. And Cannibal is the only dragon I feel canonically embodies the same fucking rage and power the reader has.

Well, I may have given you too much info on the reader that you could figure out on your own as you read.

I also wanted to say that, canonically, the Targaryen's are not fire proof. We've seen them get burnt to death by dragon fire and just regular fire. The MC only survived because she inadvertently used blood magic and sacrificed a dragon egg. So, sadly, she is not fire proof. She's just lucky. It would be cool if the Targaryen's were tho!

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @buckysmainhxe-deactivated202303, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @minttea07, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan,@dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfilit, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @iiamthehybrid, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee,@sunny-boy-06

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sena-seastar · 5 months ago

Text

Burning Desire

Aemond x Older!sister Reader

Summary: You rush off to confront your brother Aemond after discovering he hurt your sister, only to find him crying. You are angry at him for what he has done, but you cannot stand to see your little brother suffer.

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Sibling incest

A/N: This was supposed to be an angsty comfort fic, but it very quickly got out of hand. All dialogue in italics means that the characters are speaking in High Valyrian. I was just too lazy to attempt to translate it. No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes. (Gif is not mine!)

You stormed through the castle halls, ignoring the maids and knights who quickly stepped out of your way. Usually, you would give them some sign of acknowledgment, but tonight, you couldn’t— not when your anger was boiling over. Your hands trembled with repressed rage, and your fingers curled into fists as you tried desperately to refrain from lashing out. There was only one person who was deserving of your wrath, and you were headed to find him now.

When you arrived at his door, you entered the room, not bothering to knock. The loud sound of the wooden door slamming close behind you echoed in the air. The room was dark; only a few candles were lit, though they were burning dangerously low. You squint your eyes, searching until you find the silver-haired man hunched over in his chair. Your robe made a slight whooshing sound as you stormed over to his side.

“How dare you!” Your voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade, every word dripping with venom and contempt.

Aemond says nothing. His head is lowered, and his long silver tresses conceal his face.

“You dare to lay a hand on our sister?! Has she not suffered enough?! And now you wish to send her into battle?!” Your chest is heaving wildly as you lose what little composure remains to you.

Once again, you are met with a deafening silence that angers you even more.

“Have you nothing to say?!” you yell, each word cracking like a whip. Your brows furrow and your lips curl into a snarl.

Yet once again, your words go unanswered. You open your lips, prepared to berate him even more until quiet sobs reach your ears. Your blood runs cold, and you freeze. Aemond’s body jerked with every gasp that escaped his throat.

“I am alone,” he whispers . “As I always have been.”

His words move you to tears.

“Aemond,” you whisper, stepping closer.

You reach out a hand to touch his shoulder but pull it away just before reaching him. Your mind is suddenly conflicted. Your rage is quickly converting into sadness with every second that passes. The two of you rarely saw eye to eye these past few weeks. His actions above Shipbreaker Bay had left you horrified. The abhorrent murder of your nephew, Jaehaerys, happened not long after. You blamed Aemond for that and did not bother trying to hide it from him.

Then, Aegon returned from Rook’s Rest, burned and broken beyond repair. Your mother came to you shortly after, sharing her thoughts about what had happened. She believed Aemond to be responsible, but you could not bring yourself to believe it at the time. But as the days passed, you found yourself becoming increasingly unsure. Especially after today, when the horrific details of his actions at Sharp Point reached you. Most days, you could hardly even recognize him—this strange man who shares the face of your sweet little brother.

You take a deep breath before reaching out. Your hand trembles as you place it on his shoulder, but he does not flinch from your touch. He leans into it. Aemond raises his head just enough to look you in the eyes. His face is stained with tears, and his eye is red and gleaming with tears, ready to fall. His silver hair is unusually messy and unkempt. The leather eyepatch is gone, exposing the beautiful sapphire embedded into his eyesocket. It is a sight he has entrusted very few to see.

“I am sorry,” he cried. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I know,” you whisper, pulling him close.

He buries his face into your stomach. His large hands gripped tightly at your sides, and you did your best not to wince. You lift a hand, brushing down his unkempt hair. You were angry at him. You had come here to yell at him, maybe even hit him, but you couldn’t. Not when it filled your heart with great sorrow to see your brother in so much pain. Your little brother. The boy you had always tried so hard to shield from the cruelty of this world. The boy who had always run to you for comfort after being humiliated by Aegon time and time again.

Aemond continued to sob. His tears made the thin fabric of your nightdress stick to your skin, and the cold wetness sent a chill down your spine. You gasp as you feel him pull you down, sitting you on his lap. He held you close, burying his face into the curve of your neck. Your hands rested against the warm, bare skin of his back as you held him. He must have been preparing for bed not long before you arrived as he was only dressed in a pair of black lambswool breeches.

“You are not alone,” you reassure him, gently kissing the scar that marred his brow. “I am here, as I always have been.”

There is a slight chill in the air, but the heat radiating from his skin keeps you warm. Aemond sniffles but says nothing. You can feel his tears sliding down your neck. You move a hand up to his head, toying with his hair. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, seemingly inhaling your scent. Aemond shifts in his seat, spreading his legs a little wider, making the position more comfortable for you. A quiet gasp escapes your throat as you feel the taut muscle of his thigh pressing into the most intimate part of your body.

The feeling sends a rush of heat through your veins. Your breath quickens as you try to push the sensation aside. Your face burns as shame begins to overwhelm you. He just wanted to be close to you, searching for comfort in your arms as he had done many times before. But your body is turning it into something perverse.

Aemond bounced his knee ever so slightly, almost like a tremble. You squirmed, trying to press your thighs closer together in hopes of stopping the heat growing in your stomach. One of Aemond’s large hands rests firmly against the small of your back. The other moves to grip the outside of your thigh.

“Aemond,” you gasp as you feel his lips grazing against our collarbones.

“What?” He asks, his voice so nonchalant.

“I think I should go,” you replied, trying to stand up.

But his hands hold onto you tight, refusing to let you go.

“Please stay,” he begged, burying his face into the curve of your neck once more.

“Alright,” you whisper, trying to calm him.

His hair tickles your nose. You lift your head a bit, resting your chin on the top of his head. You trail the tips of your fingers against the muscles of his back. Aemond nuzzles his face against your neck. He bounces his knee a bit harder. You wonder if he is doing this on purpose.

“Aemond, stop it,” you mumble, trying to ignore the fire sparking in the pit of your stomach.

“Stop what?” He asked, ghosting his lips over your jaw.

“You know what,” you whine.

He ignores you; his lips press soft kisses against your jaw. Aemond bunches the skirt of your dress into the hand that grips your thigh. He steadily inches it up higher. The cold air touching your now bare legs makes the hair on your body stand up. Suddenly coming to your senses, you gasp, slapping a hand over his as the skirt of your dress reaches just above your knees. He tries to continue, but you use all the strength you can muster to keep his hand still.

“We must stop,” you command, trying to stop yourself from giving in to him completely.

This was wrong. You were both betrothed to other people—him to some Baratheon girl and you to the Lord of the Arbor. They were political matches, as most marriages are. You held no love for Lord Redwyne, but you would do your duty as was expected of you.

Aemond easily pushed past your hand, slipping his hand between your thighs. You gasped, trying to squeeze them together to keep him at bay. Your stomach flutters as his thumb rubs across the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your fingernails dig into his forearm. You pull back, and he lifts his head to look you in the eyes.

He removes his hand from between your thighs, moving it up to your face. You find yourself melting into the warmth of his palm. The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips, but his eye never leaves yours.

“You were supposed to be mine,” he says in the gentlest tone.

“Aemond,” you whine, trying to push him away.

But he refuses to let you go. The hand on your back kept you from standing. His fingertips trail down the side of your neck down to the neckline of your nightdress. His touch on your skin leaves you feeling almost delirious. The fire in your stomach is fully ablaze now. You squirm in his lap as his fingers graze over the tops of your breasts. You cursed yourself for this, as the feeling of his tense muscles sends waves of heat straight to your cunt. The hairs on the back of your neck raise. Your eyes close, and you bite your lip to stop crying out.

“Look at me.”

It is a command that you are unable to ignore. Aemond is the prince regent. In this moment, he speaks with the king’s voice. His absolute authority leaves you fearful and painfully aroused. Once again, your eyes meet his. He says nothing, simply watching you like a predator stalking its prey as his hand moves over your nightdress, cupping your breast. You gasp, slapping a hand over his. You know you should push him away, but you don’t.

A chill runs down your spine. Under his gaze, you feel completely exposed, almost powerless—a feeling you usually dislike greatly. You were a princess of the realm and a dragon rider. You were anything but helpless. Yet you find yourself wanting nothing more than to surrender yourself to him, to escape from your worries and sorrows, to be free from all the tiring expectations that have been placed upon you since your birth.

“Am I so hard to love?”

His voice trembled, as he struggled to hold back tears. The authority is gone, replaced with something much more vulnerable. The sight broke your heart in two. You had always worried about Aemond, your sweet, sensitive little brother. Since he had come of age, he had changed. He was colder and more distant, not just from you but from everyone, even your mother, whom you know he cared for greatly. It was like he believed he had to be this... pillar of strength, or all would crumble.

You remove your hand from his, moving it up to cup the scarred side of his face. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss on his brow. You have done this so many times over the years, yet it has never felt as intimate as it did now. Aemond closed his eye, leaning into your touch. A sharp pain stabs at your heart as you watch how desperate he is for your comfort.

The hand on your breast slid back down to your thigh. Aemond’s fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. Your thumb traced down the deep scar that marked his cheek. You lean down, peppering kisses from his cheek to his jaw, where the scar stops. He turns his head slightly, so that your lips hover above his, almost touching. You rest your head against his. His violet eye stared into your own.

“What of Floris? She is to be your wife.” You say, hoping he may come to his senses, as yours have fled from you completely.

“You will be my wife... for tonight.” A single tear drops from his eye as the words leave his lips.

It is such a beautiful, harrowing sight. One that leads you to shedding tears of your own. Aemond’s hands grip you by the waist, hoisting you up just enough for you to straddle him. Your knees rest on both sides of his legs, trapping him between your thighs. A wave of heat runs through your veins as your bare cunt presses against his clothed bulge. He leans forward, capturing your gasp with his mouth. One of your hands cups his face while the other pushes his hair away from his face.

The two of you shared passionate, frantic kisses. You had not been prepared from when Aemond’s tongue slid into your mouth. You whine, caught off guard, but do your best to follow along with him. You had no experience with such things. The only kisses you had ever experienced came from tall, handsome knights in your dreams. But even then, those kisses were nothing like this. They were short and sweet. A quick peck on the cheek or lips, but this was much different. Aemond kissed you with such urgency, such deep burning desire.

Aemond lifts his hips, pressing himself against you. The feeling of his hard cock pressing against your aching cunt makes you cry out, though your noises are muffled against his lips. The feeling is so foreign, yet exciting, that you can’t stop yourself from reaching down to palm him through his trousers. His hardened cock is thick and throbbing beneath your touch. A newfound confidence blooms in your chest.

A sound rumbled in his chest; his large hands gripped your ample hips. Your hands moved to grip his shoulders as you rocked yourself back and forth, your bare cunt grinding against his clothed bulge. He hissed, knitting his brows together. You watch as his face contorts into one of pleasure. Your own burning desire is growing too much. Your desperate, heavy breaths fill the air as you grind yourself against him even faster, desperate to reach your peak. He looked up at you; his mouth hung open slightly as he watched you use him for your own selfish gratification.

It’s exhilarating- him watching you- seeing you in a way no other ever has, touching you in a way no other ever has.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises.

His praise sends another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. The room suddenly feels unbearably hot. You’re so close; you can feel it. The pressure building up in your stomach is eager to be released. You roll your hips even faster, harder. But it is not enough. The throbbing in your cunt is almost painful. You are nearly sobbing at this point.

“I want more,” you whine. “I need more. Please, brother.”

“I am at your mercy, sister,” he smirks. “Take what you want.”

You reach down, huffing as you struggle to untie the laces of his trousers. You can feel his chest vibrate against you as he chuckles.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you grumble.

“My apologizes-” he shudders as your hand wraps around his thick cock. Finally freeing him from the confines of his trousers.

A triumphant smile crosses your face. You give his cock a few strokes, admiring the way it stands so prettily for you, so thick and full. Suddenly, you begin to fear the thought of having to fit it inside of you. Aemond seems to sense your worry. His hand cups the back of your neck, making you look at him.

“Take it slow,” he warns.

You nod, lifting yourself on your knees a bit. Your wetness coats your fingers and his cock as you press the tip into your aching cunt. You whine as the head breaches your walls, and you clamp tightly around him. The stretch is a bit uncomfortable but not painful. You may be a maiden, but you still had desires. Many nights, you have had to satiate your hunger with your fingers.

You lower yourself on him slowly. Thankfully, your wetness makes it easier to take him. You take a deep breath as you take him to the hilt. It takes you a moment to adjust to his size.

“Are you okay?” Aemond asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

“Yes, I just ... need a moment,” you breathlessly laugh as he lifts a hand to trail his fingers against your jaw.

He nods, raising his chin to kiss gently against the corner of your mouth. You turn your head, pressing your lips to his. A soft tongue gently licks at the swell of your bottom lip, and you grant him entry. The gentleness comes to an end. He licks into you with a fervor that steals your breath away. Your thoughts fade, and you melt into his arms.

Aemond kisses you like he wants to devour you, and you want nothing more. You lift your hips before lowering yourself. Aemond finally breaks the kiss, and his hands move to your waist.

“Ah-h,” he whines against the corner of your lips.

You begin to move slowly, easing yourself into up and down on his cock. Your eyes never leave him, watching as he presses his head to the back of the chair. His chest moves with his deep breaths, his eye is closed, and his mouth is partially open. He shudders, and a desperate, eager moan emits from his throat. It is a sight to behold.

He lifts his hips, pressing deeper into you, making you cry out.

“Aemond!” You whimper, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

His eye fluttered open as he watched you struggle to find the right pace. He gripped your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your fleshy sides. He guided you, raising you up and down on him. The newfound pace made you mewl pathetically, but you were too desperate to reach your peak to care. He called out your name. It sounded almost sinful coming from his lips.

You drop your head, resting it against his. Your mouth hangs open as you gasp and moan. The faint scent of pine and smoke fills your nose. It’s him, his scent. The smell is almost intoxicating. Your mind is swimming, dizzy from the pleasure of him bucking up into you.

You feel one of his palms cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He lifts his chin, closing the small distance between you pressing his lips to yours. You try your best to follow the frantic rhythm he sets. He swallows every sound you make as he holds the back of your neck, refusing to let you pull away—not that you want to.

Aemond plants his feet on the ground for leverage as he pumps into you. His thrusts are more erratic now as he approaches his end. The air in your lungs is incinerated, and a shameful, high-pitched moan escapes from your lips. You move your hips, rocking against him, dangerously close to finally reaching your peak.

He doesn’t stop, bucking into you with a force that would be strong enough to toss you off of him if not for the hand holding onto your waist. Your hot cunt clenched around him, the muscles in your legs burned from remaining in this position for so long.

It’s not fair- how good he is at this- how good he is making you feel. It’s all too much. Your poor wet cunt is overwhelmed with pleasure. The hand on your neck moves down, and the pad of his thumb rubs circles around that sensitive button between your legs.

“That's it,” he coaxed, his hot breath fans on your mouth. “Let go, give it to me.”

You don’t stand a chance. Not when his cock makes you feel so full, reaching that one spot that makes you throw your head back. One of your hands tangles in his hair, tugging. Your chests’ are flushed against each other as you both rock against each other. You clench around his cock as you finally reach your release, hard and blinding. The world around you seems to disappear. It’s only you and him who matter.

“Ha-ah ... ah,” he sputtered, becoming more desperate.

You cry out as you fill his hot mouth, which latches into one of your breasts. He suckles at your breast like a starving babe. His tongue lashes back and forth around your hardened nipple. The sensation is strange but has you clenching around him even tighter.

His teeth graze against your nipple. Every grunt and moan that leaves him vibrates against your breast. You can feel his thrusts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated. His cock pulses inside of you, it feels too good. Aemond releases your nipple, resting his forehead on your breast. Choked gasps and grunts slip past his lips as he reaches his peak, releasing inside of you, filling you with his seed.

The two of you stay pressed against each other as you come down for your highs. Aemond’s hips relax, his body melting into the chair. Your body sinks into him, boneless and spent. You lay your head on his shoulder, resting your chin on his collarbone. His fingertips trail over the curve of your back. Your eyes feel heavy as you struggle to keep them open.

“I am sorry for what I’ve done,” he apologized.

“I know,” you reply weakly.

You can feel his warm breath against your ear. His scent, mixed with his sweat, fills your nose, bringing you comfort.

“Our sister has too much of our mother in her. I see that now.”

You frown but say nothing, letting him continue. His lips press against your ear. He nudges your face with his shoulder, making you pull away. He grasps your chin between his thumb and index fingers. Your eyes flicker between the sapphire and his violet iris. You lift a hand to trail your fingers along his sharp jaw.

“But you and I,” he says, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “We are two flames kindled from the same fire. We were always meant to burn as one.”

“Aemond,” you sigh.

“I am afraid,” he admits, rendering you speechless. “I cannot fight this war alone, sister.”

“You are not alone,” you argued. “You have Daeron.”

“Tsk,” he turns his head. “He is still young, as is his dragon.”

“Young or not, Tessarion is still a dragon.”

Aemond says nothing. His eye stared at the plain stone wall of his bedchamber. You watch him silently, trying to read him.

“Come with me,” he asked, turning his head back to you.

“What?” You gasp.

“Mount your dragon and go with me to Harrenhal.”

“Mother would never allow it,” you shake your head.

“Our mother has made it clear that she does not hold our best interest at heart.”

“She means well,” you protested, trying to defend your mother, no matter how true his words seemed.

“If we do not fight, we will die. Rhaenyra may spare you and Helaena, but she will not be so merciful to the rest of us. She will have to take Aegon’s head, mine, and Daerons's as well. So long as our father has a living son, she will never be able to rule in peace.”

“You don’t know that-”

“I do,” he insisted. “Is that not what our mother has told us our entire lives?”

You blink, and memories of your childhood flood your mind. He was right. Over the years, your mother had repeatedly stressed the dangers that would follow should your sister ascend to the throne.

“Come with me,” he whispered.

Your eyes flickered from his trembling lips to his tear-filled eye. It was not an order but a plea. He was afraid and desperate for aid. You were afraid as well—you had been since Ser Criston placed that crown upon Aegon’s head. It has only been a few weeks, and already, your life has been turned completely upside down.

You had no desire to fight this war. Many times, you have had to stop yourself from climbing on your dragon and leaving. But you could not abandon your family, just as you could not abandon Aemond now.

You nod your head. He smiled, a look of relief crossing his face. One of his hands finds yours, lacing your fingers together before bringing his lips to yours, giving you one last sweet and adoring kiss. Once he pulls away, you lay your head back down on his shoulder.

“Can I go to sleep now?” You mumble against his skin.

“Yes,” he lets out a breathy laugh. “You can sleep now.”

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srim01997 · 10 days ago

Text

Second Change| Aemond T. X OFC

Paring: Aemond “One-Eye” Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Aemond Targaryen x Viseara Targaryen (OC), Implied Aegon II Targaryen x Celtigar! OFC

Fandom: House of The Dragon (HBO)

Warning: Slight NSFW, Larys being creepy

Writer’s note: Sorry for my grammar and I used this web to translate High Valyrian >> This web <<

Please ilke, comment and reblog!!

Previous Chapter | Second Chance masterlist | Next Chapter

Chapter 8 The enemy of an enemy is my friend

Viseara acknowledged that, as of late, Aemond had been shadowing her closely, especially when lords approached her. Most of them quickly retreated upon noticing the ominous presence of the one-eyed prince looming behind her. The exception was Aenys, who still managed to converse with her without drawing Aemond’s ire.

Her son, the offspring of the Rogue Princess, remarked with a flat tone during their conversation in her chambers (Aemond was away training with Ser Criston): "Mother, why is that one-eyed prince tailing you like a shadow these days?" The young man with golden-brown hair scowled. "I don’t like him... and he’s got Hightower blood."

"I don’t know," Viseara replied, though her tone betrayed her weariness. "But what I do know is that you should check on Prince Aegon and your sister."

"Ugh, Mother—you should see Cousin Aegon. Lately, Elia has been making him sleep on the floor!" Her eldest son’s voice held a faint note of pity, though she couldn’t deny Aegon’s behavior had shifted significantly since his marriage to Elia.

Before Viseara could respond, Maeria entered the room. Aenys greeted his twin sister casually.

"What’s new, Maeria? You seem swamped lately."

The young woman, dressed in a pale blue gown, rolled her eyes. "Swamped, indeed. Our dear mother seems to have stirred some trouble again—Queen Alicent has been glaring at me more often than not!" She dropped onto the seat beside her mother. "But I’ve learned a few things about Lord Larys through some friendly handmaidens I’ve befriended."

Viseara, ever cautious, rose to close the door before sitting back beside her daughter.

"Go on," she urged.

"The maids claim that Lord Larys often carries information to Alicent, spying at her behest in exchange for... certain favors. They wouldn’t say what those favors are, but from what I can guess, it’s something scandalous enough that the Queen would never speak of it aloud." Maeria folded her arms. "What do you think, Mother?"

Viseara’s brows furrowed as she tapped her knee. "I’ve always wondered... about the fire at Harrenhal years ago. Some whispers claim the blaze started inside, not outside as most believe."

"Someone staged it?" Aenys interjected. "But Harrenhal is cursed. No one questioned the deaths of the Strong father and son. And now Larys holds the title of Lord of Harrenhal, as Harwin had no heirs. Digging this up again seems pointless."

"The second sons are often overlooked," Maeria remarked, "but Larys gaining Harrenhal only strengthens the Greens. It’s a clear disadvantage for us—especially concerning our nephews."

Aenys ran a hand down his face, groaning softly. "What can we do? Rhaenyra and Laenor tried to smooth things over, but it was futile. It’s no surprise they struck an agreement with Ser Harwin. If the children had been born with silver hair, no one would suspect a thing. But with their dark hair, what excuse can we use?"

"Baratheon and Arryn blood," Viseara said suddenly, slapping her knee as if struck by inspiration. Her twins turned to her with raised brows.

"Baratheon and Arryn? Why those, Mother?"

"Rhaenys’s mother was Lady Jocelyn Baratheon—she inherited her dark hair from her father’s side. And Rhodrik Arryn, the father of Queen Aemma, was an Arryn."

"You’re going to claim that Rhaenyra’s three children inherited their dark hair from their great-grandparents?"

"Oh, Aenys, you understand so little."

"I’m trying, Maeria!"

Viseara pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering, "The real problem is still Ser Vaemond, Lord Corlys’s brother. He’ll find any excuse to disinherit Lucerys from Driftmark."

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Aenys rose to answer it, only to find Aemond standing there. He groaned inwardly but forced a greeting. "Dear cousin."

"Cousin," Aemond replied, his gaze shifting past Aenys to Viseara. "Am I intruding, Aunt? I noticed both of my dear cousins were here."

The eldest Celtigar son narrowed his eyes. "You come and go from my mother’s chambers quite often, cousin."

Viseara sighed at her son’s attitude. "Enough, Aenys. Maeria. Both of you, leave us."

Aenys opened his mouth to protest, but his twin sister grabbed his arm, dragging him toward the door. As they exited, Aenys shot a glare back at Aemond, muttering curses under his breath as he noticed the faint smirk on the one-eyed prince’s lips.

"Aemond, you—"

"Apologies, Aemond," Maeria interrupted with a nervous smile, "I’ll take Aenys to calm down. Feel free to speak with Mother." She shut the door, hoping her cousin only came for conversation.

As soon as the room was empty, Aemond sprawled onto the couch, resting his head on Viseara’s lap. She scolded him lightly, but he ignored her, clearly seeking comfort after his hours of sword training.

"Aemond."

"What is it, dear Aunt?" he murmured, eyes closed, his face nuzzling her stomach through her gown. "Can’t I rest here?"

"Go rest in your chambers, not on my lap!"

"My chambers are far away. Yours are closest to the training yard," he replied lazily.

What nonsense, Viseara thought, though she let him be.

Aemond’s thoughts drifted as he lay there. The age of Viseara’s children crossed his mind. They were older than him—close in age to his half-sister Helaena. The idea of them having a stepfather younger than themselves amused him. He smirked at the mental image.

"What are you thinking about, Aemond?" Viseara asked, her voice suspicious. "You’re smirking."

"Nothing. But if you want to know, I’ll tell you," he teased, his single eye glinting mischievously. "Do you?"

"Keep it to yourself!" she scolded, lightly hitting his chest. "If anyone hears, they’ll spread rumors."

"Then they’ll be Vhagar’s next meal if they dare slander you," Aemond replied, sitting up slightly to meet her gaze. His hand absentmindedly toyed with her hair. He finally noticed something—her eyes were mismatched: one violet, one deep blue.

"Aunt, do you know how beautiful your two-colored eyes are?" he asked, cupping her face.

"What? Are you planning to gouge them out?" she joked.

Aemond shook his head, leaning closer to whisper in her ear. "No. I was just thinking how stunning it would be if my children inherited eyes like yours."

This boy is too bold! she thought, her mind racing.

"Am I too old for you?" she asked, attempting to redirect the conversation. "You could marry Helaena. You once said you’d do it for duty—"

"That was a long time ago, Aunt," he interrupted, his tone firm. He leaned in closer, forcing her to recline slightly against the couch. His hands found her waist as he murmured, "And now, I only desire you."

Viseara acknowledged that Ser Gwayne Hightower was quite different from his father. His kind demeanor reminded her of her late husband, yet something about him made her feel he wasn't the right person for her. Dressed in a black gown embroidered with red sequins, the Targaryen woman longed to leave the gathering but pondered how to do so without seeming rude. She needed an excuse that was more convincing than simply walking away. After all, the man before her, with auburn hair, was the Queen's brother.

Her mismatched eyes glanced across the room and spotted her second nephew standing at a distance. Aemond leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring at his uncle with his lone eye, his gaze unwavering. Viseara swallowed hard, involuntarily tensing her lower body as memories of the morning with her one-eyed nephew crept into her thoughts.

“Uncle! Come train with me!” Daeron's voice interrupted her reverie as the youngest prince ran toward them. Viseara offered a polite smile, playing the role of the ever-gracious aunt.

“Go on and train with our nephew, Ser Gwayne. Oh! Perhaps you could invite Aegon to join as well. It might help you bond with our eldest prince,” she suggested cheerfully.

Sorry, Aegon. I just need to escape your uncle.

As soon as the area cleared, leaving only the two of them, Aemond made his way to her. Without hesitation, he pulled her into a firm embrace, unbothered by the risk of anyone seeing them.

She tilted her head to meet his gaze and quipped, “Aōha laesi jurnegon raqagon someone iksos planning naejot ossēnagon aōha iāpe.” (Your eyes look like someone is planning to kill your uncle.)

Aemond hummed, his tone carrying a hint of mischief, before replying, “Nyke kȳvanon naejot gaomagon ziry raqagon nykeā accident, nykeā tepagon zirȳla naejot issa zaldrīzes naejot ipradagon.” (I plan to make it look like an accident, or feed him to my dragon to devour.)

“Aemond!” she exclaimed, lightly hitting his shoulder. Her protest only earned a pleased growl from him.

“Ñamar... Ivestragī's gūrogon nykeā kipagon va īlva zaldrīzes.” (Aunt… Let’s take a ride on our dragons.)

Her protests faded as his suggestion lingered in the air. His confidence and possessive charm were impossible to ignore, leaving her heart pounding with a mix of frustration and anticipation.

As their dragons rested contentedly side by side, the two riders sat against a tree a few meters away. The Targaryen woman absentmindedly braided a small section of her nephew’s long, pale blonde hair as he rested with his eyes closed, unaware of her actions. She froze when his eyes suddenly opened.

“How did you bond with your dragon?” Aemond asked, his voice curious but calm.

Viseara hesitated, not because she didn’t want to answer, but because the story was too embarrassing to share. She averted her gaze, but Aemond’s strong hand caught her chin and gently turned her face back toward him.

“Tell me. No one else has ever explained it to me.”

“Do you really want to know?” she asked, her tone teasing.

The genuine interest in Aemond’s lone eye was unmistakable. Sighing, Viseara finally began. “Well… I bonded with Nyx before I turned ten. At first, I wanted to claim Meleys, but Nyx caught my eye instead. She was only slightly bigger than me—well, for a child under ten.”

“And then?”

“So, I ran up and stepped on her tail,” she admitted with a sheepish smile.

Aemond turned sharply to face her, blinking in disbelief. “You stepped on her tail?”

“Yes...”

“And she didn’t burn or bite you?”

“No. I bared my teeth at her until she relented and bonded with me. The dragon keepers and my father nearly fainted when they heard about it.”

“If I were your father, I’d have fainted too,” Aemond muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Viseara chuckled. “Do you know why my father and grandfather, Baelon, earned the title 'Baelon the Brave'? He got that title after hearing that his brother had bonded with a dragon. In a bold move, he ran straight up and punched Balerion the Black Dread on the snout, trying to bond with Aegon the Conqueror’s ancient dragon. Following the incident with Princess Aerea, the dragon keepers had to persuade him to bond with Vhagar instead.”

Aemond’s gaze softened with understanding. “Now I see where my madness comes from,” he murmured.

He glanced at Viseara before asking, “Did my father ever ride Balerion?”

“He did, but only once. By then, Balerion was so old that he could only manage three laps around King’s Landing before passing away. After that, your father never bonded with another dragon,” she explained.

Aemond nodded thoughtfully, his gaze shifting to the reddening sky. “Have you ever been to Valyria?”

“Jaehaerys forbade anyone from going there, Aemond. Ships, men, and dragonriders alike are banned under penalty of death due to what happened with Princess Aerea,” Viseara replied, her tone serious. “Only King Jaehaerys, Septon Barth, and Maester Bennifer know the full details of her death, or what could have wounded Balerion so severely.”

The two shared a moment of silence before Viseara stood and stretched. “We should head back before your mother sends soldiers to tear the city apart looking for us if we miss supper.”

Aemond helped her mount her dragon before climbing onto Vhagar. The two returned to King’s Landing just as the Kingsguard began searching for them. As Viseara dismounted, removing her leather gloves, she froze at the sight of Larys Strong waiting by the stairs. She forced a cordial smile, though her hands instinctively clenched at the thought of what he had done to her father and brother—not to mention his manipulations with Alicent.

“Good evening, Lord Larys,” she greeted, her tone measured. “I’ve just returned from a ride.”

“Did you go alone, Princess?” Larys asked, his limp evident as he stepped closer. “Or were you accompanied by someone—”

“She was with me, Lord Larys,” Aemond interrupted, stepping beside Viseara. Without hesitation, he took her hand and led her away, ignoring the lingering gaze of the clubfooted lord.

Now safely in her chambers, Viseara paced while Aemond lingered nearby.

“Did he do anything to you?” Aemond asked, his voice laced with concern.

She shook her head quickly but bit her lip, deep in thought. An idea had begun to form in her mind. If she truly wanted to deal with the Greens, she needed help—and who better than someone who knew their side as well as Aemond?

Stopping in her tracks, she turned to face him, her mismatched eyes gleaming with resolve. “Aemond… would you help me with something?”

TBC.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x oc #aemond fic

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