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hisfavegirl · 3 days ago

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Resolve - Aemond Targaryen x SisterWife!Reader x Aegon Targaryen

Summary : the situation rewinds to when you found out you were pregnant, your mother made a tough decision for you and aegon.

You walked slowly through the garden, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot mixing with the gentle rustling of leaves swaying in the breeze. The sun bathed the world in golden warmth, and the air was sweet with the scent of blooming flowers. Your eyes followed your daughter as she ran ahead, her silver hair catching the light like threads of silk. Her laughter echoed like the sweetest melody, filling the empty spaces in your heart with warmth.

A smile tugged at your lips as you watched her chase after a butterfly, her little feet pattering on the stone path. Moments like this were rare — moments where everything felt simple, peaceful, and whole.

But then it struck. A sudden wave of nausea. It was sharp and overwhelming, twisting your stomach into painful knots. Your breath hitched, and your steps faltered. Panic rose in your chest, but you forced yourself to stay calm.

“Not here,” you whispered to yourself, glancing toward your daughter to make sure she was still preoccupied with her game.

But it was too late. The bitter taste surged up your throat. Clutching your stomach, you turned quickly and rushed toward a cluster of bushes near the edge of the path. You barely had time to kneel before you heaved, your body betraying you as you emptied the contents of your stomach into the grass. The taste was foul, the strain on your body harsh and unrelenting.

For a moment, you stayed there, one hand braced on the ground, the other pressed to your chest as you took shallow, ragged breaths. Your heart pounded in your ears, and sweat dotted your brow.

“Mother?” a small, worried voice called from behind you. Your daughter.

You wiped your mouth quickly with the back of your hand, swallowing the bitterness that lingered on your tongue. Turning toward her, you forced a smile, even as your body still felt weak.

“I’m all right, my sweet girl,” you said softly, reaching for her hand as she approached. Her eyes were filled with worry, far too knowing for a child so young. She leaned into you, her small hands resting on your arm as she gazed up at you.

“Are you sick?” she asked, tilting her head.

You hesitated. Your mind turned over the possibilities, your breath still unsteady. It wasn’t the first time you’d felt this way recently. No, it had been happening for days now — sudden waves of nausea, fatigue that clung to you like a fog.

Realization struck you like a thunderclap. Your eyes widened, your breath catching in your throat.

No. It couldn’t be. Not now.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

You were with child. Again.

The weight of the truth pressed heavily on your chest as you sat by the window of your chambers, watching the pale light of dawn spill over the Red Keep. Your fingers absently traced circles on your stomach, a gesture of quiet reassurance — for yourself, for the life growing within you.

You knew whose child it was. There was no doubt in your mind. Aegon. The man who had been your refuge when the world turned cold. The man who saw you when others refused. He had given you warmth when you felt frozen, love when you felt abandoned. This child was his, not Aemond’s.

But love did not erase fear. It did not silence the questions that echoed in your mind.

What will Mother say?

What will they all say?

You knew Alicent would not be pleased. She had fought to maintain control of her family’s reputation, to keep order where chaos always lingered. Her dreams of noble unity had already crumbled once with the annulment of your marriage to Aemond. This would be another crack in the fragile image she sought to preserve.

With a deep breath, you rose from your chair. You couldn’t delay this any longer. She had to know.

The walk to your mother’s chambers felt longer than usual. Servants bowed as you passed, and guards gave you polite nods, but you barely noticed them. Your heart pounded in your chest with every step. What if she blames me? you wondered. What if she blames the child?

When you reached the door, you hesitated. Your hand hovered over the polished wood for a moment before you finally knocked.

“Enter,” came Alicent’s familiar voice from within.

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside. Your mother was seated near the window, a needle and thread in her hands as she mended an intricate piece of embroidery. Her gaze lifted to you, and her eyes softened with that familiar motherly warmth — but also a hint of caution.

“what happend my sweet love?,” she noted, setting aside her sewing. Her eyes scanned your face, always able to read you better than you liked. “You look troubled.”

Of course, she knew. She always knew.

You stepped further in, hands clasped in front of you. For a moment, you felt like a child again, coming to confess some small mischief. But this was no small mischief. This was a truth that would change everything.

“Mother, I need to speak with you,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt.

Alicent’s eyes narrowed, her brows knitting together in concern. “What is it, dear?” she asked, motioning for you to sit.

But you didn’t sit. You couldn’t. You stayed standing, your gaze unwavering as you spoke the words that had been clawing at your heart.

“I’m with child,” you said plainly, each word deliberate, like the clang of a hammer on steel.

Silence.

Her lips parted slightly, her hands falling still in her lap. Her eyes flickered to your stomach, and for a heartbeat, you saw hope there. Hope that perhaps this child was Aemond’s. Hope that this might restore what was broken. But you knew that hope would be fleeting.

Her gaze slowly lifted back to yours, sharper now, more calculating. She didn’t have to ask, but she did anyway.

“Whose child is it?” Her voice was quiet but firm, each word like a blade.

You swallowed hard, your fingers pressing against your palms to keep them from trembling. No lies. Not now.

“It’s Aegon’s,” you said, not looking away. Not this time. You would not flinch.

Her breath came slow, deep, and controlled, the way she always breathed when trying to keep her composure. Her eyes closed briefly, as though she were counting her thoughts, forcing them into place. When she opened them again, they were sharper than ever.

“You fool,” she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of it crashed down on you like a wave. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I know,” you said quickly, stepping forward, your hands gripping the back of a nearby chair. “I know what it means, Mother, but—”

“But nothing!” Alicent snapped, rising from her chair so swiftly that it scraped loudly against the stone floor. “You think love will protect you from the whispers in these halls? From the court? From your enemies?” She stepped forward, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made you feel small again. “This child will be branded a disgrace before it even draws its first breath. You know that as well as I do.”

“I don’t care,” you said, your voice cracking but resolute. “I don’t care what they say about me. I won’t hide it. I won’t hide him.”

“Him?” Alicent’s eyes flickered with shock. “You think it will be a son? Is that why you risk everything for this?” She paced, her fingers pressed against her temples. “The lords will talk. The ladies will sneer. Do you know what they will call you? They will call you whore. They will call the child a bastard. They will call Aegon—”

“They already call him worse,” you said sharply, cutting her off.

Alicent froze, her eyes narrowing as if she had been struck. The air between you turned cold and still, like the eye of a storm.

“Do you love him?” she asked suddenly, her voice quieter now, colder.

The question hung in the air. Not a command. Not an accusation. A genuine question. One that required an honest answer.

You lowered your gaze for a moment, thinking of all the nights you’d spent in Aegon’s arms, of all the times he had pulled you close when the world felt like it was crumbling beneath you. Of how he made you feel seen, whole, and wanted.

“Yes,” you whispered, lifting your head to meet her eyes. “I love him.”

Alicent studied you for a long, unbearable moment. Her eyes, so much like yours, filled with exhaustion, pain, and something else. Resignation. Slowly, she sat back down, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She did not look at you this time. She gazed toward the window, her face stoic as stone.

For a moment, she said nothing. The silence was suffocating, thicker than smoke. Her gaze was sharp, her mind calculating, as if weighing every possible outcome. Finally, she drew in a slow breath and spoke.

“Both of them will need to hear this,” she said, her voice as cold as the winter sea. Her eyes never left yours. “Aegon and Aemond. We will not let this spiral into more chaos than it already has.”

Her words hit you like a blow to the chest. “Aemond?” you repeated, your voice barely a whisper.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “He must hear it from you, not from the whispers of court. If you think this will be resolved in quiet corners, you are mistaken. We face it now. All of us.”

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest. This was no longer just your burden to bear. It was theirs too.

Moments later, you stood in Alicent’s chambers with your brothers. Aegon leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, a sly grin playing on his lips as if he already knew what was coming. His confidence was infuriating but also reassuring in its own way. He glanced at you with a flicker of warmth in his eyes, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary.

Aemond, on the other hand, stood rigid near the window, his one eye fixed on you like a predator watching its prey. His jaw was tight, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture stiff as iron. He knew something was coming. He always did.

Alicent stood between them, her face the very picture of control, though you could see the tightness in her shoulders. The queen had spent years mastering the art of appearing unshaken. But today, cracks were beginning to show.

“Tell them,” Alicent said, her voice calm but commanding.

You glanced at her briefly before turning your gaze to Aemond and Aegon. Your heart felt as though it might break free of your ribs, but you forced yourself to stand tall. You would not falter.

“I am with child,” you said, your voice strong despite the tremor in your chest. The words echoed through the chamber, sharp and cutting.

Aegon’s grin widened, his eyes flickering with something smug but also protective. He pushed off the wall and sauntered forward, his gaze never leaving yours, his voice thick with pride as he glanced at Aemond. “And it's mine.”

Aemond’s face was still for a moment. No reaction. Not a twitch. Not a blink. Just silence.

Then, slowly, his head turned toward you, his gaze burning with quiet fury. Not rage. Not disbelief. But something colder.

The weight of your mother’s decision pressed down on you like a storm brewing on the horizon. Her words echoed in your mind, unrelenting and absolute.

“The annulment will be reversed,” she had said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I will speak with the High Septon myself.”

You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, every breath feeling heavier than the last. Your gaze flickered to Aemond. He was silent, his face a mask of cold indifference, but his eye lingered on you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. His jaw was set, his lips pressed into a thin line, but you could see the flicker of something more beneath it — possession, triumph, control.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms as you fought to steady yourself. This was not a decision made for you. It was a decision made about you.

Then your gaze shifted to Aegon. He stood at your side, his face a mixture of defiance and disbelief. His eyes darted between you, Aemond, and Alicent, and for the first time, he didn’t look like the carefree, reckless man you had always known. He looked angry. No, more than that — he looked ready to fight.

“Mother,” Aegon’s voice was sharp, sharper than you had ever heard it. “This is madness. You can’t just undo it as if none of it ever happened.”

Alicent’s eyes snapped to Aegon, her gaze hard as steel. “I can, and I will. This family is not yours to break apart as you please, Aegon.”

“You think this will bring us peace?” Aegon stepped forward, his voice rising, his arms outstretched as he motioned to all of you. “Look at us! Look at her!” He pointed to you, his eyes filled with frustration and something dangerously close to heartbreak. “Do you think she wants this? Do you think I will let you throw her back into his arms after everything he’s done?”

Alicent’s face tightened, her lips pursed in disapproval. “This is not about what she wants, Aegon. It is about duty. It is about honor.”

“Duty?” Aegon scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he approached her, his voice dropping to a low, biting whisper. “Is it duty that made Aemond lie with Helaena? Is it duty that made you look away when he broke her heart and mine?”

The room fell into a suffocating silence. Alicent’s face paled, her mouth opening slightly as if to protest, but no words came. You could see it in her eyes — the guilt, the knowledge that Aegon’s words had struck where it hurt most.

You felt it too. The truth of it burned in your chest like wildfire. It wasn’t just you who had suffered. It wasn’t just you who had been betrayed. Aegon had, too.

Aemond shifted from where he stood, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “You speak too much, brother,” he said coldly, his eye locking on Aegon. “You always have.”

“And you think too highly of yourself, brother,” Aegon shot back, his grin wild and sharp. “If you think she will ever love you again, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

“Enough!” Alicent’s voice sliced through the tension, her eyes blazing with fury. “This is not a choice for any of you to make. It is mine. I will do what is necessary to protect this family from scandal and ruin.”

Her gaze then shifted to you, and for a moment, you saw her soften, her eyes filled with something like regret. She stepped forward, her voice quieter but no less firm. “You will do this, my child. For your children. For your honor. This is the only way.”

Silence.

You glanced at Aemond, whose eye was now locked on you with unwavering focus. He didn’t smile, but there was something victorious in his expression, like a man who had won a war without ever lifting a blade.

Your heart twisted with disgust.

You turned to Aegon. He was already watching you, his eyes filled with so much worry, so much hurt, and for the first time, you saw something you had never seen in him before. Fear. Not for himself. For you.

You stepped toward him, slowly but with purpose, your gaze never leaving his face. His brows furrowed in confusion, his eyes flickering with hope and doubt all at once.

Then you reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder. Your fingers pressed against the fabric of his tunic, grounding him, grounding yourself. You met his gaze, steady and unwavering.

Then, you turned to face your mother.

“I will do as you command, Mother,” you said, your voice calm, deliberate. “If that is your decision, I will not fight it.”

Aegon flinched as if you’d struck him, his eyes wide with disbelief. “No,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “No, you don’t have to do this.”

Alicent tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing in approval, as if she had known you would see reason. She nodded once, her lips pressing into a thin smile. “Good. You are wiser than I thought.”

But you weren’t finished.

You turned back to Alicent, your eyes burning with something fierce, something unyielding. “But if I am to return to Aemond,” you continued, your voice rising just enough to command attention, “then let me be clear. I will not suffer in silence. I will not endure betrayal and deceit. If I return, it will be as his equal, not his possession.”

The room went still.

Aemond’s face twisted, his eye narrowing in challenge. “You forget your place, wife,” he said slowly, dangerously.

“No,” you said, stepping forward, not afraid this time. “It is you who forgot mine.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His silence was more telling than any words he could have spoken.

You turned to your mother once more, your chin lifted high. “I will follow your command, Mother. But I will not be silent. And I will not be meek.”

For a moment, Alicent said nothing, her eyes flickering between you, Aemond, and Aegon. Then, slowly, she gave a single nod. “Very well.”

Her eyes softened, but there was sadness there. “Go now. Rest. I will speak to the High Septon myself.”

You didn’t wait for permission. You turned away, your hand still on Aegon’s shoulder. As you walked past him, you felt him reach for you, his fingers gently curling around your arm.

“Don’t do this,” he said, his voice low and broken. “Don’t give her what she wants.”

You glanced back at him, seeing the desperation in his eyes. You squeezed his arm once before pulling away.

“I’m not giving her what she wants,” you said quietly. “I’m giving them what they fear.”

Aegon’s eyes widened, his lips parting as if to say something, but you were already walking away. Each step was heavier than the last, but each step was also stronger. You felt their eyes on you — Aemond’s, Alicent’s, Aegon’s — but you did not falter.

Not anymore.

If you were to return to Aemond’s side, you would not be his shadow.

You would be his storm.

You walked steadily down the corridor, your mind racing with every step. The echoes of your footsteps were joined by another — heavier, deliberate, and unwavering. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

Aemond.

His presence was like a shadow, ever-watchful, ever-looming. The closer you got to your chamber door, the louder his footsteps became, a slow, deliberate drumbeat behind you. You quickened your pace, heart pounding in your chest.

But it wasn’t fast enough.

The moment you reached the door, his hand shot out, pressing it shut before you could open it. Before you could react, you felt him behind you — his chest firm against your back, his arms sliding slowly, possessively, around your waist. His breath was hot against your ear, his movements slow but inescapable.

“You can run from me, you can defy me,” he whispered, his voice low, dangerous, and all too familiar. “But you will never escape me.”

His hand slid down, gentle yet firm, resting on your stomach. The touch was light, deliberate, and far too intimate. His fingers moved slowly, tracing small, idle circles over the fabric that covered your belly. Your breath caught in your throat, rage, fear, and something darker mixing together in your chest.

“This child you carry…” he murmured, his lips so close to your ear that you could feel every breath. “It may be his, but it changes nothing. You are mine.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine — not from fear, but from fury. Your teeth clenched, your nails dug into your palms as you willed yourself to stay still, to not give him the satisfaction of seeing you tremble.

“You hear me, don’t you?” he pressed on, his grip on your stomach tightening just slightly. “No matter what happens, no matter whose child it is… you will always be mine. Not his. Never his.”

You closed your eyes, your breath shallow, trying to block out the feeling of him against you. But his presence was all-consuming, suffocating.

“Say it,” he commanded softly, his voice like silk over steel. “Say you understand.”

Your eyes snapped open, burning with defiance. Slowly, you placed your hand over his, gripping his fingers tightly. But it wasn’t the gesture of surrender he expected. You squeezed, hard enough to make him feel it. Hard enough to remind him that you weren’t as fragile as he liked to believe.

“If you think I will ever belong to you again, you are a fool, Aemond,” you hissed through clenched teeth, your voice sharp as a blade. “This child may not be yours, but know this — I am not yours either.”

You pulled his hand away from your stomach, stepping forward out of his hold. Your breath was heavy, your heart pounding, but you did not stop. Slowly, you turned to face him, your eyes locked onto his.

He stared at you, his eye narrowing, his lips curving into a bitter smirk. “Is that what you believe?” he asked softly, tilting his head as if examining you. “You think you’re free of me?”

You raised your chin, your gaze cold and unwavering. “I know I am.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you crackled with tension, the silence louder than any words. His smirk faded, his eye dark with something far more dangerous than anger — obsession.

He stepped forward, slow and purposeful, closing the distance you had just created. But this time, you didn’t back away. You met him head-on, your eyes sharp with unyielding resolve.

“If you touch me again without my permission,” you said quietly, your voice steady as a storm on the horizon, “I will show you that I am not as weak as you think I am.”

His gaze flickered, just for a moment, his jaw tightening. But he didn’t touch you again. Not this time.

Instead, he leaned in, his voice low, quiet enough that only you could hear. “You’ll see soon enough, sweet wife,” he murmured, his eye never leaving yours. “No matter where you run, no matter who stands at your side, you will always come back to me.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, his pace slow, deliberate, as if he had already won.

But you stood there, your heart steady now, your breath even. Because for the first time in a long while, you knew something that he didn’t.

You weren’t his anymore.

And you never would be again.

Time moved swiftly, and your pregnancy had now reached its fifth month. The days in the Red Keep felt longer, yet each one blended into the next. Your body had changed, your belly round with the life growing inside you. The weight of it was both a burden and a blessing.

You often found yourself walking in the garden, seeking peace among the blooming flowers. But peace was a luxury you no longer had. Aemond was always there.

He walked beside you, silent but watchful, his sharp gaze never straying from you. His presence was a shadow you could not shake. His hand was a constant, resting on the small of your back or lightly gripping your waist, steady and possessive. At first, you’d tried to brush him off, but his grip would only tighten, his touch firm yet calculated.

You hated it.

It wasn’t the touch itself that you loathed — it was the meaning behind it. It wasn’t affection. It was ownership. A reminder that, in his mind, you were still his.

But what made it worse was Aegon.

Every time the three of you crossed paths, you saw the way Aegon’s eyes flickered with barely restrained rage. His gaze would lock on Aemond’s hand at your waist, his jaw clenching so tight you could almost hear it. His hands would curl into fists, his lips pressed into a thin line. You knew exactly what Aemond was doing.

He was doing it on purpose.

Every glance, every touch, every lingering second his hand stayed on you — it was all for Aegon. To provoke him. To remind him. To declare, without words, that you were not his.

You felt like a pawn in their silent war. Every look they exchanged felt like a strike in an invisible battle. Aemond’s grip would tighten just a little more whenever Aegon drew near, and Aegon’s eyes would darken as if he were seconds away from lunging forward.

Once, Aegon had stepped forward, eyes blazing, his lips parting to say something. But you had caught his gaze and shook your head, silently pleading with him. Not here. Not now.

He’d stopped himself, but his eyes never left you. They were filled with something deeper than anger. Hurt. Longing.

The nights in the Red Keep were cold, quieter than usual, but not for you. Your chambers, once a place of solace, had become a shared space with Aemond once more. It had not been your choice. He had demanded it.

At first, you had argued, protested, even sought your mother’s support. But Alicent, ever the mediator, had insisted it was for “appearances” — that it would “ease tensions.” You knew it was a lie. It was control. Aemond’s control.

So now, every night, you endured it. You lay on one side of the bed, eyes on the distant wall, while his presence loomed behind you. Sometimes you heard the sound of him sharpening his dagger, the slow, deliberate scrape of metal on stone. Other nights, it was the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing.

But you never turned to face him. You never acknowledged him.

Tonight was no different. His gaze lingered on you longer than usual. You could feel it. The weight of it pressed against your back like a brand. You bit your lip, holding in the urge to tell him to stop.

No. Not tonight.

Slowly, you sat up, your hand resting on your rounded belly, feeling the gentle kick of the child within you. You ran your fingers across it, soothing both the child and yourself. Without a word, you slipped out of bed, letting your bare feet meet the cold stone floor.

“Where are you going?” His voice was sharp but quiet, like a dagger in the dark.

You didn’t answer him. You didn’t even look at him. Your feet moved steadily, step by step, toward the door. You expected him to call for you again, to stop you, to demand you return to him.

But he didn’t.

The cool night air hit you as you stepped into the corridor. It was dimly lit by flickering torches mounted on the stone walls. The silence of the night was broken only by the soft echo of your footsteps and the faint hum of distant voices from guards on watch.

You didn’t care.

Your hand stayed on your belly as you walked, the warmth of your palm against the growing life within you giving you strength. You didn’t know where you were going at first, but your heart did. Your feet carried you with purpose, with longing.

Toward him.

Toward Aegon.

You missed him. You missed the warmth of his arms, the way he held you without hesitation. You missed his laugh, his sly remarks that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even on the darkest days. With him, you didn’t feel like a pawn or a prize to be fought over. With him, you were just you.

When you reached his door, you hesitated for a moment, glancing behind you to ensure no one had followed. The corridor was empty. Silent. Safe.

You raised your hand and knocked once, softly.

A moment later, the door creaked open. Aegon stood there, his silver hair tousled, his eyes heavy with sleep. But the moment he saw you, that sleepiness vanished. His eyes softened, filling with something warmer than you had felt in weeks.

“You’re here,” he said quietly, stepping aside to let you in.

You didn’t speak. You simply stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you. The weight of the day, of Aemond, of everything — it all slipped from your shoulders the moment you were in his arms.

He pulled you close, his hand cupping the back of your head as he pressed his lips against your hair. “I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m always here.”

And for the first time that day, you breathed. Truly breathed.

The night felt endless, but for once, it was not in a way that brought you dread. It was warmth, safety, and peace. Aegon’s arms around you were a haven.

You lay against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Each beat matched the rise and fall of his breath, slow and steady. His hand rested on your swollen belly, fingers moving in soft, slow circles that lulled you into tranquility. Every so often, he pressed a kiss to your hair, your temple, or the curve of your cheek.

“You should sleep,” he whispered, his voice husky with weariness but full of tenderness. His thumb brushed along your jawline as he tilted your face toward him. “You and the babe need rest.”

You tilted your head up, eyes meeting his in the low glow of the hearth. “I don’t want to sleep,” you murmured, your fingers curling into his tunic. “Not yet.”

You didn’t have to explain why. He understood. You didn’t want to let go of this moment. Of him.

With Aemond, you felt like something to be claimed, to be possessed. His grip on you had always been firm — unyielding, controlling. But with Aegon, it was different. He held you like you were something precious, not something he owned, but something he cherished. He didn’t tighten his hold when you moved, didn’t pull you back when you tried to leave.

And that freedom — that trust — made you stay.

“Then stay awake,” he said softly, resting his chin on top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His hand continued to glide over your belly, slow and certain, his fingertips light but firm enough to ground you. You closed your eyes, not to sleep, but to feel him more clearly. The babe stirred within you, responding to the warmth of his touch. It made you smile.

“They know you,” you said, a soft laugh escaping you. “They always move when you’re near.”

He hummed a laugh of his own, low and soft in his chest. “Of course they do. I’m their father.”

His words echoed in your heart. Father. A title that once belonged to someone else. Someone who, for all his sharp wit and intelligence, never made you feel like this. Not like Aegon did.

He tilted your face toward him once more, his gaze searching yours as if he could feel the shift in your thoughts. “Stay with me,” he said quietly, not as a command, but as a plea. “Stay with me, and I’ll give you everything. No one will ever touch you again.”

You stared at him for a moment, taking in the sincerity in his eyes. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe. Like you could be free.

“I’m already here,” you whispered, leaning forward to press your lips softly against his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His breath hitched, and you felt his arms tighten just slightly around you. But unlike Aemond, it wasn’t suffocating. It was safe. It was home.

The warmth between you and Aegon vanished the moment the door slammed open with a deafening crash. The sharp sound echoed through the room like a crack of thunder.

Aemond stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath, his eye blazing with fury. His gaze locked on you and Aegon, his face twisted with something darker than anger - possession.

Before either of you could react, Aemond closed the distance in long, deliberate strides. His hand shot out, his fingers curling tightly around your arm.

"Get up," he snarled, his voice cold and commanding. "Now."

You gasped, feeling the sharp sting of his grip.

"Let me go, Aemond!" you shouted, trying to twist out of his hold, but his fingers only dug in harder. "You're hurting me!"

"You think I care?" he hissed, his face inches from yours. His single eye burned with something wild, untamed, and his grip only grew more unyielding. "You're coming with me. Now."

Aegon was on his feet in an instant. The air in the room shifted, heavy with tension as he stepped forward, placing himself between you and Aemond. "Let her go, brother," he said with a sharp edge to his voice, his eyes narrowed in warning. "Now."

Aemond's lips curled into a bitter, joyless smile. "Step aside, Aegon," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "This has nothing to do with you."

"Everything about her has to do with me," Aegon shot back, his voice steadier than you'd ever heard it. He reached for you, his hand curling around your other arm in a protective grip. "She's not going anywhere with you."

Aemond's patience snapped. With a sudden, sharp tug, he yanked you toward him with enough force to make you stumble. Pain shot up your arm as his grip turned ironclad, his fingers pressing into your skin so hard you knew it would leave a bruise.

"Aemond, stop!" you cried, twisting against him, but he didn't let go.

Aegon stepped forward, his eyes wild with anger. "I said, let her go!" he barked, his voice louder now, filled with a raw kind of rage that rarely surfaced in him. He grabbed Aemond's wrist, his nails digging into his brother's skin. "I'm not asking, brother."

"She is my wife!" Aemond shouted, his voice breaking like thunder. His body tensed, and for a moment, it felt like the world itself was about to split in two. "Mine! Not yours, Aegon!"

"She's not yours, Aemond." Aegon's voice was eerily calm, his grip on Aemond's wrist firm and unyielding. "She hasn't been yours for a long time. And you know it."

The words struck harder than any blade.

Aemond's eye twitched, his jaw tightening so hard it looked like he might break his teeth. His gaze flickered to you for a moment - and in that moment, you saw something raw and desperate beneath all that fury. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by cold, steely resolve.

"If you think you can take her from me," Aemond said, his voice a venomous whisper, his gaze fixed on Aegon, "then you're more of a fool than I thought."

"Try me," Aegon growled, his eyes narrowed, unflinching.

The room felt suffocating, every breath you took shallow and quick. You could feel Aemond's grip loosening, just a little — but it was enough. You pulled back with everything you had, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I am not yours, Aemond," you said with a voice stronger than you thought you had. "I am not a prize to be fought over."

His eye snapped to you, sharp and burning with something between pain and fury. "Don't think for a moment that he'll love you the way I do," he said, his voice quieter now but just as cutting. "He will ruin you."

"No," you replied, your voice steady as your eyes met his. "You already did."

You stood frozen, eyes locked on Aemond, his hand gripping your wrist with unyielding force. His fingers dug into your skin, and no amount of pulling or twisting seemed to loosen his hold. His breaths came in sharp, angry bursts, his chest rising and falling like a man barely clinging to control.

Your gaze shifted to Aegon, who stood just beside him. Aemond's other hand was pressed against Aegon's throat, pinning him against the wall. Aegon struggled, his face twisted in pain, but he still managed to shoot Aemond a defiant glare. His hands gripped Aemond's forearm, trying to pry him off.

"Stop it, Aemond!" Your voice was sharp, laced with urgency. You tugged at his arm, trying to break his focus. "Please, let him go."

He didn't move. His gaze shifted to you - cold, calculating, and yet, behind it, something more. Obsession. Possession.

"He needs to learn," Aemond growled, his grip on Aegon tightening. "He thinks he can take what's mine. Thinks he can touch what belongs to me." His voice was low, dangerous, every word like the sharp edge of a blade. "But I'll remind him. I'll remind you too."

Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat a sharp thud against your ribs. You stepped closer, ignoring the ache in your wrist, ignoring the fear clawing at your chest. Your voice was softer now but firm. "Aemond... if you want me to come back with you, I will."

That got his attention. His eye flickered to you, his brows drawn together, suspicion laced with disbelief.

"I'll go with you," you repeated, holding his gaze steadily. "But you have to let him go." Your voice didn't waver, even though your body trembled. "This isn't the way. Please."

There was a long, agonizing pause. Aemond's breathing slowed, his gaze moving between you and Aegon. Slowly, his grip on Aegon's throat loosened, his fingers sliding away. Aegon gasped for air, coughing as he rubbed at his neck, his eyes still blazing with anger.

"Don't think this is over, brother," Aemond muttered coldly, his gaze never leaving Aegon as he finally released him.

Aegon coughed, his eyes filled with defiance despite the redness blooming on his neck.

"No," Aegon rasped, wiping his mouth. "It's far from over."

Aemond tugged on your arm, forcing you to stumble forward. You shot one last glance at Aegon, heart aching at the sight of him like this. His eyes met yours, a silent plea for you not to go. But you had no choice. Not now.

"Walk," Aemond commanded, his voice sharp but quieter now. He didn't look at you as he pulled you down the corridor. "If you run, I'll drag you."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, keeping your eyes forward, your heart heavy with every step. Behind you, you could hear Aegon calling your name, but his voice grew distant with every step you took.

Aemond's grip on your wrist remained firm, his fingers like iron shackles that refused to yield. His pace was relentless, each step echoing through the empty corridors as you struggled to keep up. Your heart pounded in your chest, not just from the speed, but from the growing dread that settled deep in your bones.

When you finally reached your shared chamber, Aemond shoved the door open with a force that made it bang against the wall. He pulled you inside, releasing your wrist only to grab your face with his hand. His fingers pressed firmly into your cheeks, tilting your head upward so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Look at me," he hissed, his eye boring into yours, cold and unyielding like steel. "You seem to have forgotten something very important."

You blinked, your breathing quick and shallow.

"Aemond-"

he snapped, his voice low and razor-sharp, each word cutting deeper than the last.

"No more excuses. No more lies. You are mine." His grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make your breath hitch. "No one else. Not Aegon. Not anyone."

Your eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape, looking for anything that might help you. But there was nowhere to run. No one to call for.

"You think I don't see it?" he continued, his voice dangerously quiet now, a slow burn of rage that simmered just beneath the surface.

"The way he looks at you. The way you let him touch you." His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Do you think that I'll stand by and watch while he takes what's mine?"

"I'm not a possession, Aemond," you said firmly, but your voice trembled. "You can't control me."

His smile vanished in an instant. His face hardened, and for a moment, you thought you saw something break inside him. Slowly, he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing harsh and uneven.

"If I can't control you," he whispered, his voice laced with venom, "then I will control everything around you." His eye flickered, wild and untamed. "I will burn it all if I must.Do you understand me?" His breath was hot against your skin, his words colder than ice. "I will destroy anyone who stands in my way. Mother. Aegon. It doesn't matter. No one will take you from me."

Fear gripped you for the first time in a way you had never felt before. This was no longer anger. This was obsession. This was madness. Your breathing grew shallow, heart racing as you felt the weight of his words sink in.

Aemond never spoke threats lightly. He never said anything he didn't mean. And this... this wasn't a warning. This was a promise.

"Please, Aemond," you pleaded, your voice softer now, your hands coming up to grip his wrists. "Don't do this. You don't have to do this."

"But I do," he whispered, his voice like silk over steel. His eye searched yours, softer now, but still dangerous. "Because if I lose you..." He trailed off, his jaw clenching. "I won't lose you."

He finally released your face, and you stumbled back, your chest heaving as you fought to stay calm. Your fingers brushed against your belly instinctively. His gaze followed the movement, his eye lingering there for a moment. You took a step back, keeping your eyes on him, never turning away. The distance felt like a fragile shield, ready to shatter at any moment.

"Rest," he said, his voice eerily calm now. "I'll stay tonight." He moved to unfasten his leather jerkin, as though he had not just threatened to destroy everything you loved.

Your heart pounded as you backed away toward the bed. For the first time, you weren't sure if you were safe anymore - not from him, and not from what he would do.

The morning sun filtered through the tall windows as you made your way to your mother’s chambers. Your steps were slow, every movement weighed down by exhaustion and the dull ache radiating from your wrist. You kept your hand close to your side, fingers gently curled to hide the fresh bruises that marred your skin. The blue and purple marks stood out starkly against your pale complexion, a cruel reminder of Aemond’s grip from the night before.

The familiar scent of lavender and freshly pressed linens filled the air as you entered her chambers. Your mother stood near the mirror, her back to you, as her handmaid carefully fastened the intricate laces of her gown. She glanced at you through the reflection of the mirror, her green eyes narrowing with quiet observation.

“You’re late,” she remarked, her tone sharp but not unkind. Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, her gaze sweeping over you as if searching for something. “Sit,” she added with a tilt of her head toward the chair near the window.

You moved to sit, your movements careful and deliberate. Your heart pounded in your chest, every glance she sent your way feeling like she might see through you — see everything. The fabric of your sleeve shifted as you sat, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought she might notice the bruising.

Her gaze flickered to you once more, her brow slightly furrowed. “You look pale,” she said, dismissing the handmaid with a flick of her fingers. The servant bowed her head and left the room, the soft click of the door closing behind her.

Your mother turned fully to face you, arms crossed, her sharp eyes now fully focused on you. “Are you unwell?” she asked, her voice quieter now but no less commanding.

You shook your head quickly, forcing a small, unconvincing smile. “No, Mother. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Her gaze lingered on you, her eyes narrowing in that way she always did when she knew something was being kept from her. She stepped closer.

“Show me your hands,” she ordered suddenly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Your heart stopped. “Mother, I’m fine—”

“Show me,” she said again, her voice sharper this time.

Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your dress, panic rising in your chest. You glanced at the door, as if it might offer you some escape, but it didn’t. Slowly, reluctantly, you raised your hands, keeping your sleeves as far down as possible.

Her eyes narrowed even further. “Pull up your sleeves.”

“Mother, please, it’s nothing—”

Her patience snapped. She stepped forward and grabbed your wrist with a speed you hadn’t expected, yanking your sleeve up before you could stop her. Her eyes landed on the bruise, the ugly blues and purples staining your skin. Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching in her throat.

Her face shifted from confusion to horror, then to something colder, more dangerous. Her grip on your wrist tightened, not in anger at you, but in sheer disbelief. “Who did this to you?” Her voice was low, each word deliberate and sharp like the edge of a blade.

Your eyes darted away, heart racing. You didn’t want to say it. Saying it would make it real.

Her eyes followed your gaze, and slowly, realization dawned on her face. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled slowly. “Aemond,” she said his name like a curse, as if the mere sound of it tasted bitter on her tongue.

She released your wrist, her fingers lingering there for a moment as if she wanted to pull you into an embrace but didn’t know how. Her eyes softened for a moment, but only a moment. Her jaw clenched, and you saw the familiar look of resolve settle on her face.

“This ends now,” she said firmly. “You are not his to break.” Her words hit you harder than you expected. Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

“You’ll stay here with me tonight,” she added, her voice leaving no room for argument. “No one will touch you without answering to me.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt something akin to hope. Maybe this time, she wouldn’t look away. Maybe this time, she would fight for you.

You lowered your gaze, your hands trembling slightly as you tried to keep your composure. “Please, Mother,” you whispered, your voice strained with desperation. “Forget it. Don’t do anything. Don’t say anything to him.”

Alicent’s eyes narrowed with concern as she moved closer to you, her hand gently cupping your cheek. “I won’t stand by while he treats you like this,” she said firmly, her voice filled with quiet resolve. “You are my daughter. No man, not even Aemond, will lay a hand on you and walk away unscathed.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you grabbed her hand, clutching it tightly. “You don’t understand, Mother,” you said, your voice breaking with emotion. “He’s not the same anymore. He won’t care who you are. He said it himself — no one can stop him. Not you. Not even Aegon.”

Alicent’s eyes flickered with something dangerous — not fear, but fury. Her grip on your face tightened ever so slightly. “Then he is more of a fool than I thought,” she said coldly. “He forgets who raised him. He forgets that I am still his mother, and I have not forgotten how to protect my own.”

“No!” you cried, shaking your head frantically. “Please, Mother, I’m begging you. Don’t provoke him. He’s not thinking clearly. He’s not like he used to be.” Your voice broke, and you felt the tears spill down your cheeks. “If you push him, he’ll do something reckless. To you. To Aegon. To everyone.”

Her eyes softened as she saw the fear in you, her strong, brave daughter now reduced to a trembling shadow of herself. Alicent knelt in front of you, her hands resting on your knees. “Listen to me, my sweet girl,” she said softly, looking up at you with a mother’s fierce love. “You are not alone in this. You have me. You have Aegon. You have all of us. Aemond is not as untouchable as he thinks.”

You shook your head again, heart pounding in your chest. “He’ll never let me go, Mother,” you whispered, tears streaming freely now. “He’ll always find a way to control me. He’ll hurt Aegon if he has to.” Your hands clutched at hers, eyes wild with fear. “Please, Mother. If you care for me at all, don’t challenge him. Just let it go.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line as she gazed at you, torn between anger and heartache. Slowly, she pulled you into a hug, cradling your head against her shoulder. Her hand stroked your hair gently, just like she used to when you were a child.

“Shh, it’s all right,” she murmured, her voice softer now but no less determined. “I won’t do anything to put you or Aegon in danger. But I won’t stand by and let him destroy you either. I promise you that.”

Her words were meant to soothe you, but they only made you more afraid. Because you knew Alicent. You knew that behind her calm, measured words was a storm brewing. And Aemond was reckless enough to walk straight into it.

You slowly pulled away from your mother’s embrace, wiping your eyes as you steadied yourself. Just as you were about to speak, the sound of the door creaking open drew both of your gazes toward it.

There she stood — Helaena. Her soft, serene smile as innocent as ever, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her eyes met yours, gentle and kind, as though nothing had happened. As though she hadn’t betrayed you.

Your breath caught in your throat, your body going rigid. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Your mother glanced between you both, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. She could sense the tension.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Helaena said softly, tilting her head. Her voice was light, so sweet and harmless that it made your chest tighten with resentment. “I just came to see Mother, but I can return later if this is a bad time.”

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment too long, her eyes searching yours as if she were expecting you to say something. But you didn’t. You refused to give her that satisfaction.

“No need,” you muttered quietly, stepping back from your mother. “I was just leaving.”

Alicent’s hand brushed your arm. “Are you sure, my dear? You don’t have to go.” Her voice was concerned but firm. She could see how tense you were, how stiff your movements had become.

“I need to rest, Mother,” you said, your eyes focused on the ground. You knew if you looked at Helaena, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from glaring. “I’ll return later.”

Without waiting for a response, you moved toward the door. Your heart pounded in your chest with every step. You could feel Helaena’s eyes on you, following you like a shadow. The air felt heavier with every inch you crossed.

As you passed her, you didn’t look at her. You didn’t acknowledge her. She shifted slightly, as if she wanted to speak, but no words came. The silence between you was louder than any scream.

Once you were past her, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your steps quickened, your heartbeat thudding in your ears as you put as much distance as possible between yourself and that room.

Her smile. Her voice. Her innocence.

All of it was a lie.

You bit your lip hard, willing yourself not to cry. Not again. You had shed too many tears already, and you refused to give her the power to cause any more.

You froze at the sound of Aegon’s voice calling your name. Panic shot through you like lightning. Your breath hitched, and your heart pounded so loudly you could hear it in your ears. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. If Aemond was nearby, if he saw you with Aegon, there would be consequences — consequences you weren’t ready to face.

But you didn’t move either. You stood there, caught between fear and longing.

His footsteps echoed softly as he approached. You could feel him before you saw him, the familiar warmth of his presence just behind you. Slowly, he stepped in front of you, his eyes searching yours with quiet concern.

“Look at me,” Aegon said softly, tilting his head to meet your gaze. His voice wasn’t teasing or playful like usual. It was steady. Serious. “Please.”

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Your eyes stayed fixed on the ground, afraid that if you met his gaze, you’d break.

His gaze lowered, his eyes drifting to your hands. Slowly, his face changed. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing as he took in the dark bruise on your wrist. His fingers reached out, gentle but firm, taking your hand in his.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was low, quiet, but the edge of anger beneath it was unmistakable. His thumb traced the bruise with a touch so soft it almost hurt more.

You yanked your hand back, cradling it against your chest as if to shield it from him. “It’s nothing,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Aegon’s eyes flickered, his jaw tightening. “Don’t lie to me.” His voice was sharper now, his eyes no longer soft but hard as steel. “Was it him?”

Your silence was enough of an answer.

His eyes darted down the hall, his shoulders stiffening like a predator spotting prey. His breathing grew heavier, nostrils flaring as he clenched his fists. You reached for him quickly, grabbing his sleeve with your unbruised hand.

“Don’t,” you pleaded, your voice urgent. “Please, Aegon. Not here. Not now.”

He turned his gaze back to you, and for a moment, you saw the conflict in his eyes — the war between fury and restraint. His jaw worked as he ground his teeth together, his eyes scanning every inch of your face.

“He doesn’t own you,” Aegon said, his voice rough but filled with certainty. “He never did.”

Your eyes stung with tears you refused to shed. “Please, Aegon,” you whispered again. “Just let it go.”

His eyes lingered on you a moment longer, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. But for you, he relented. He let out a heavy breath, his shoulders relaxing just a little.

“Fine,” he muttered, taking a step closer. “But I’m not letting this go forever. He’ll pay for it.”

You shook your head, fresh tears brimming in your eyes. “Don’t make it worse, Aegon. Please.”

He stared at you, his eyes full of emotions he didn’t know how to say. He reached up, his fingers lightly brushing your cheek, and for a moment, everything else melted away.

“I’ll do whatever you ask,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “But if he hurts you again, I won’t wait for your permission.”

He leaned forward, his forehead gently resting against yours. Neither of you spoke, letting the silence say what words couldn’t. For once, it felt like you weren’t carrying it all alone.

Your footsteps felt heavier with every step as you entered your chamber. The air was colder than usual, as if all warmth had been sucked out of the room. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your breath came in short, shallow gasps as your eyes settled on the figure sitting by the fire.

Aemond.

He sat in silence, one elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his fingers idly spinning a dagger. The soft glow of the fire reflected off the sharp steel, casting flickering lights across his face. His gaze was fixed on the blade, his focus so intense that it was as if you didn’t exist in the room. But you knew better. His calmness was a facade—a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

You froze near the door, every muscle in your body tense. Your throat felt tight, and the urge to cry out was almost unbearable. Your eyes darted to the door behind you, calculating the distance, wondering if you could make it before he noticed.

“Enjoying your time with our brother, hmm?” His voice cut through the silence, sharp as the edge of his dagger. His tone was low, quiet, but it held a threat that couldn’t be ignored.

The dagger stopped spinning. His fingers held it still, balancing it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. Slowly, his eye lifted to meet yours. Cold. Unforgiving. Burning with barely restrained fury.

“Not going to say anything?” he continued, tilting his head slightly like a predator watching its prey. “Or perhaps… you think I didn’t see?”

Your breath hitched, and you felt your chest tighten with fear. “Aemond… I’m tired,” you whispered, forcing yourself to sound calm even as your voice trembled. “I just want to rest.”

He stood. Slowly. Deliberately. Every movement controlled and precise, like a lion stalking forward. The dagger remained in his hand, dangling loosely but never truly at rest.

“Tired?” he repeated, his tone eerily soft, tasting the word as if it were foreign to him. “Tired of what? Of your freedom? Of the warmth he gives you?”

He took a step forward, his boots thudding softly against the stone floor. Your back pressed against the door, and your breathing quickened. You had nowhere left to go.

“He touched you, didn’t he?” His voice grew sharper, more venomous with each word. “I saw it. I saw how he looked at you like you belonged to him.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh that sent chills down your spine. “But he forgot one thing.”

He was right in front of you now, so close you could feel the heat of his body against yours. Your heart pounded in your chest as if it were trying to break free.

“You are mine,” he whispered, his voice so low it felt like a hiss of smoke curling around your ear. “No matter how many times you run to him. No matter how many times you let him touch you. In the end, you will always belong to me.”

“No,” you said, your voice cracking with the weight of your defiance. You shook your head, your eyes fierce despite the tears threatening to fall. “I am not yours, Aemond.”

His eye narrowed, and his lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. “You’re wrong.”

He lifted the dagger, the cold steel barely grazing your cheek. The touch was light, almost like a lover’s caress, but the weight of the threat behind it was suffocating.

“I don’t need a marriage to claim you,” he said, his voice colder than the blade on your skin. “I don’t need anyone’s blessing. You have been mine since the beginning. And I will make sure everyone remembers that — including you.”

The tears you had been holding back finally fell, hot trails down your cheeks. But you refused to look away. “If you love me…” your voice cracked as your throat tightened. “If you love me, you will never betray me.”

His smile disappeared instantly. His face went cold, his features carved from stone. He pulled the dagger away from your cheek, his gaze empty but somehow more terrifying than his rage.

“I love you,” he said slowly, as if it were an undeniable, absolute truth. “And that’s exactly why you will never leave.”

Without another word, he turned his back to you and walked toward the fire. He set the dagger down on a small table beside him, his movements calm, methodical, as if nothing had happened. He sat back down in the chair, folding his arms over his chest as he stared into the flames.

“Go to bed, wife,” he said, his voice unnervingly casual, as if the past few moments hadn’t happened at all.

It wasn’t a request. It was a command.

Your legs felt as if they had turned to stone. You couldn’t move. Your whole body trembled as you stared at him, watching the way his eyes remained fixed on the fire, not even glancing your way.

He didn’t have to. You knew he was still watching you.

Your eyes darted to the door behind you. Just a few steps. Just a few.

“If you step out of that door,” he said suddenly, his voice soft, almost gentle. “I will make sure Aegon never sees the sun again.”

Your heart stopped. Your eyes widened, and your gaze shot toward him. He didn’t look at you. He stared into the flames as if they were more interesting than anything you could ever say.

But you knew he wasn’t bluffing.

The tears came harder now, streaming down your face. Your hands shook as you wrapped your arms around yourself, hugging your body tightly. Slowly, painfully, you turned away from the door and took one step toward the bed. Then another.

Your heart felt heavier with every step, as if the weight of the world had settled on your shoulders. Your knees wobbled, but you forced yourself forward until you reached the edge of the bed. You sat down, your eyes fixed on the floor, your hands pressed against your growing belly.

“Good girl,” Aemond said softly, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. “You know where you belong.”

You felt yourself break. Something inside you, something you’d fought to protect, shattered.

You lowered your head, closing your eyes tightly as if shutting out the world would somehow make it all go away. But nothing could block out the cold weight of his words.

Your fingers curled over your belly, cradling the life growing inside you. Tears dripped down onto your lap, and a quiet, broken sob escaped your lips.

But there was no comfort for you here. No warmth. No safety. Only the sound of the fire crackling softly in the hearth and the quiet hum of Aemond’s breathing behind you.

You knew then that you were trapped. Not by the walls of the Red Keep. Not by your duty or your vows.

But by him.

The days passed quickly, but each one felt heavier than the last. You had grown cautious-every glance, every step, every breath weighed down by the fear of Aemond's eyes on you. His presence lingered even when he wasn't there, like a shadow that never faded.

You learned to move carefully, to avoid his gaze whenever possible. Your secret moments with Aegon became even more fleeting and hidden. You met him only in places where Aemond's eye could not reach-when he flew with Vhagar or during his training with Ser Criston. In those moments, you could breathe freely. For just a little while, you could feel like yourself again.

But every night, the suffocating weight returned. No one knew. Not your mother. Not Aegon. No one knew what happened in the darkness of your shared chamber.

Aemond's hand would grip your wrist with bruising force, dragging you to him no matter how much you resisted. You would plead with him, reminding him of your condition. "Please, Aemond, I'm carrying a child." Your voice would break, your tears falling freely.

But he never listened. His response was always the same. "i don't care, i will claim what's mine."

You stopped fighting after a while. It hurt less that way.

Every night, you lay there with tears streaming silently down your face, staring at the ceiling as he claimed what he thought belonged to him. His hands gripped you like a vice, his breath hot and sharp against your neck. Every whisper of his love felt like poison in your ears.

"You're mine," he would say, as if repeating it would make it true.

But in your heart, you knew it wasn't love. It was possession. It was control.

Every morning, you'd wake up with new bruises-faint marks on your wrists, your hips, and your neck. They lingered for days, and you covered them with sleeves and scarves, hiding them from the world. But you couldn't hide them from yourself.

Aemond would watch you dress with that same, sharp gaze. His single eye followed every movement, as if to remind you that no matter where you went, he would always be watching. You never looked at him. You never spoke to him unless absolutely necessary.

But he didn't care.

He knew. He knew you feared him. And he relished in it.

The only peace you found was in Aegon's presence. His touch was gentle. His words were soft. Sometimes he would press his forehead against yours, and for a moment, it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders.

"Run away with me," he whispered once, his voice filled with quiet desperation. "We'll leave them all behind. I'll take you somewhere no one will ever find us."

Your eyes stung with tears. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to take his hand and run far, far away. But the image of Aemond's face flashed in your mind-the cold fury in his eye, the sharp edge of his dagger.

You knew he would hunt you to the ends of the world.

"He'll kill you, Aegon," you whispered, voice hollow. "He'll kill you just to make me watch."

Aegon cupped your face with both hands, his eyes fierce with defiance. "Let him try."

But you shook your head. "No. I won't lose you too."

Aegon pulled you close, his arms wrapped around you like a shield against the world. You buried your face in his chest, allowing yourself a moment of weakness, a moment to pretend you weren't afraid. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, soothing, steady, strong.

"I'll protect you," he vowed, his voice firm with resolve. "Even if it costs me everything."

But in the pit of your heart, you knew that protection would come at a cost. And you were terrified of what Aemond would do when he realized that the thing he cherished most-the thing he believed he owned -was slipping from his grasp.

You were now in the final month of your pregnancy, and the weight of it all — both physical and emotional — had become nearly unbearable. Your swollen belly left you confined to your chambers, your movements slow and careful. The once-familiar halls of the Red Keep now felt distant and unreachable.

Your mother visited often, her presence soothing, though her eyes always lingered on you with quiet worry. She could see it — the exhaustion in your gaze, the unspoken pain you carried. She never asked questions, but her hands would often reach for yours, squeezing them gently as if to remind you that she was still there.

Aegon visited, too. His visits were a much-needed reprieve from the storm that raged around you. He brought laughter, warmth, and stories that made you feel like you were living outside these walls. When he sat beside you, he’d rest a hand on your belly, grinning as he felt the baby’s kicks. “A little dragon with fire in their blood,” he’d say, his eyes crinkling with pride. His smile always eased your heart, if only for a moment.

But there was another presence in your chamber that refused to be ignored.

Aemond.

He allowed Aegon to enter your chambers, but only under his watchful eye. He would stand in the corner, arms crossed, his gaze cold and sharp as Valyrian steel. His presence hung in the air like a storm cloud, suffocating and ever-looming. You could feel his eye on you, always watching, always calculating.

Every glance exchanged between you and Aegon was met with the slow, deliberate clenching of Aemond’s jaw. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. The threat lingered unspoken in the room.

“You don’t have to stay,” you had said to him once, exhaustion seeping into your voice. “I’m safe enough with my brother.”

Aemond’s eye flickered toward you, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smile. “You misunderstand, dear wife,” he replied, voice low and sharp as a blade. “I don’t stay to protect you. I stay to remind him that you belong to me.”

You felt the chill of his words settle into your bones. It wasn’t protection. It was control. It had always been control.

Aegon shifted beside you, his hand still on your belly, fingers pressing firmly as if anchoring himself to you. His eyes never left Aemond, his jaw tightening, his nostrils flaring. For once, Aegon didn’t have a joke to throw at his brother. He didn’t laugh. He only stared.

“You can remind me all you want, brother,” Aegon finally said, his voice quiet but sharp. “It won’t change a thing.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened, his fingers twitching at his side. His eye moved to you, as if daring you to say something, to deny him, to challenge him. But you didn’t. You stayed silent, your hand covering Aegon’s on your belly.

Aemond noticed. Of course he did.

His lips pressed into a thin line, his hands clasping behind his back as he approached. Each step felt like the sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard. He crouched in front of you, his eye level with yours, so close you could feel his breath on your skin.

“Soon, you’ll give birth,” he said softly, his voice deceptively tender. His hand reached for your face, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a gentleness that made your stomach twist with unease. “And when that child is born, it won’t matter whose blood runs through its veins. It will be mine. As you are mine.”

You turned your face away, but his grip on your chin forced you to look at him.

“Say it,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “Say it, my love. Say you are mine.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you bit your tongue, refusing to give him that satisfaction. His gaze searched yours, his patience waning.

Aegon’s voice shattered the moment. “Enough, Aemond.”

The air grew thick with tension. For a moment, it felt as though one wrong move would set everything ablaze. Aemond’s eye flicked toward Aegon, his lip curling into a sneer.

“Be careful, brother,” Aemond warned, his voice low with menace. “You’ve taken enough from me. Do not take her, too.”

Aegon rose slowly from the bed, his eyes locked with Aemond’s. “If she were truly yours, brother, you wouldn’t have to force her to say it.”

The silence was deafening.

Aemond stared at him for a moment longer, his breathing slow but deep, like a dragon ready to breathe fire. But then he rose to his full height, his hands still clasped behind his back. He tilted his head, his single eye narrowing in cold amusement.

“Be careful, Aegon,” he murmured as he turned on his heel, walking toward the door. “You never know which dragons bite.”

With that, he left, his footsteps echoing down the hall like thunder. The room felt lighter in his absence, but the weight on your chest remained.

Aegon sat beside you again, his hand finding yours. You clutched it tightly, your breath coming in shallow, unsteady gasps.

“He won’t touch you again,” Aegon promised, his voice low with conviction. “I won’t let him.”

But you both knew Aemond’s promises were not so easily broken.

As night fell and darkness draped itself over the world, the soft glow of moonlight spilled into your chamber, casting pale silver rays across the stone floor. You sat by the window, gazing out at the vast, endless sky, your fingers slowly tracing circles over the curve of your swollen belly. The rhythmic motion brought you a small measure of peace, a quiet reminder of the life growing within you.

But that peace did not last.

You felt him before you heard him. The subtle shift in the air. The weight of his presence behind you. His footsteps were too quiet, too deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. Your heart quickened, but you didn’t move, didn’t turn. Perhaps if you stayed still, he would leave you alone.

Then, you felt it.

His fingers brushed through your hair, slow and deliberate, as though he had every right to touch you. Your body tensed immediately, every muscle going rigid, and your breath caught in your throat. The tenderness of his touch only made it worse — the careful, possessive way his fingers lingered at the ends of your silver strands, as though you were something precious that belonged to him alone.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to stay still. Do not react. Do not show fear.

But he didn’t stop.

His hand moved to the crown of your head, his fingers weaving through your hair as he leaned down. You squeezed your eyes shut, every part of you screaming to move away, but your body betrayed you, frozen in place. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the faint brush of his lips as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re too quiet tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and soft as silk, but laced with a quiet edge of danger. His lips lingered a moment longer before pulling away. “Are you afraid of me, wife?”

You didn’t answer. Your eyes stayed fixed on the window, your gaze distant as if the stars could somehow save you. Your fingers still rested on your belly, rubbing small circles as if to shield your child from the storm that lingered behind you.

Aemond’s patience was thin. It always had been.

His hand slid from your hair to your shoulder, his fingers curling around it with just enough pressure to make you feel it. “Answer me,” he said more firmly, his tone like a blade pressed against your skin. “Are you afraid of me?”

Your throat felt tight, as though it had been closed off with chains. For a moment, you thought of Aegon’s words. “He won’t touch you again. I won’t let him.” But Aegon wasn’t here. It was just you and him. It had always been just you and him in this room, in this prison masquerading as a marriage.

You swallowed hard, forcing down the fear that clawed at your chest. Slowly, you turned your head just enough to glance at him from the corner of your eye. His face was calm, too calm, his eye watching you intently, sharp and unblinking. The firelight from the hearth behind him flickered, casting shadows over the sharp angles of his face, making him look like something carved from stone.

“No,” you said quietly, your voice hollow. “I’m tired, that’s all.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his eye narrowing as if he were trying to see past your words, past your mask. Slowly, his grip on your shoulder loosened, his fingers sliding away, but not before brushing against your skin one last time.

“Rest then,” he said, his voice a whisper of command. “You’ll need your strength soon.”

He walked away, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. You didn’t turn to watch him go. Your eyes stayed on the stars. Your fingers pressed more firmly against your belly as if your child could feel your silent plea for strength.

Behind you, you heard him settle onto the bed. The quiet rustle of fabric. The shift of weight as he leaned back against the pillows. The room felt colder with him in it.

You stayed by the window for a while longer, counting each breath, each second, until you were certain his gaze was no longer on you. Only then did you allow yourself a quiet, shuddering breath.

He called you to the bed, his voice low but commanding, leaving little room for refusal. Your heart sank, but you knew there was no escaping it. Slowly, with quiet, measured steps, you approached, each movement feeling heavier than the last. The weight of his gaze bore down on you like chains, unyielding and inescapable.

He watched you intently, his sharp eye tracking your every move, and when you sat on the edge of the bed, he tilted his head, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice as smooth as silk, but it sent a chill down your spine.

You lay down beside him, your movements stiff and mechanical. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, and you tried to keep your breathing steady, calm, though every muscle in your body was tight with tension.

He turned toward you, his long silver hair falling over his face, the firelight catching on its strands, giving him an almost ethereal glow.

His fingers brushed against your cheek, tracing the curve of your face with an unsettling gentleness. You didn't flinch, didn't move — you'd learned that it only made him more persistent.

"Look at you," he said softly, as if in awe. "So quiet, so obedient tonight." His thumb lingered at the corner of your mouth, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips. "I could almost believe you've finally accepted your place."

You didn't respond. Your eyes stayed fixed on a distant point beyond him, unfocused, your breathing shallow but steady. His thumb pressed lightly against your lower lip, tilting your face toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Don't look away," he whispered, his voice gentle but firm. "You're mine. You always will be."

Then, without warning, he leaned in, his lips pressing against yours. It wasn't harsh or forceful, but that only made it worse. It was slow, deliberate — the way a man kisses something he believes belongs to him. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss.

You didn't move.

You didn't push him away, but you didn't kiss him back either. Your lips were still, unmoving, cold. You knew better than to resist outright, but giving in was something you would not do.

Not tonight. Not ever.

He pulled back just far enough to look at you, his eye narrowing as he studied your face. For a moment, it felt as though he might say something - a rebuke, a threat, a reminder of who you belonged to. But he didn't. His hand lingered on your face, his fingers trailing down your jawline, before resting lightly on your throat.

He could feel your pulse there. He always did this, as if he needed to remind you how fragile you were in his hands.

"One day, you'll stop fighting me," he said quietly, almost like a promise. "One day, you'll see that there's no one else who will ever love you like I do."

His hand slipped away from your throat, and he settled back onto his pillow, closing his eye as if nothing had happened. You stayed still, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, your heart pounding in your chest.

You gripped your mother’s hand tightly as a sharp wave of pain tore through you, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. Sweat clung to your skin, your back arched as you cried out. The maester and midwives moved around you with practiced urgency, their voices a blur of instructions and reassurances. But none of it reached you. All you could hear was the pounding of your heart and the sound of your own labored breathing.

Tears streamed down your face as you turned your gaze toward your mother. “Please,” you sobbed, voice hoarse from exertion. “Please, let Aegon in. I need him.”

Her eyes softened with concern, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she didn’t answer, torn between your plea and her sense of propriety. Her fingers brushed your damp hair away from your forehead, offering comfort, but it wasn’t enough. “He’s right outside,” she said, her voice soothing but firm. “You’re strong, my sweet girl. You can do this.”

“No!” you gasped, clutching at her hand as another contraction hit, fiercer than the last. Your body trembled, and you shook your head violently, eyes wild with desperation. “I need him, Mother! Please, I need him with me!”

Her eyes darted toward the door, hesitation clear on her face. She knew who else was waiting outside. Aemond. His presence lingered like a shadow even beyond the thick wood of the door. Her gaze returned to you, torn but seeing the raw fear and pain in your eyes.

“Very well,” she relented at last, brushing her lips against your temple. “Stay strong, my love. I’ll bring him.”

Her hand slipped from yours, and you watched her figure retreat toward the door, her skirts swishing behind her. Your breath came in shallow, broken gasps as you tried to focus on anything but the pain. You heard the faint creak of the door and muffled voices beyond it.

The sound of heavy footsteps filled the air.

Aegon’s voice came first — louder, more insistent. “Move, Aemond.” His tone was sharp, like steel drawn from its scabbard. “She needs me.”

“She doesn’t need you,” Aemond’s voice followed, cold and controlled but laced with something darker beneath it. “She has me. She doesn’t need anyone else.”

“Don’t make me push you aside, brother,” Aegon hissed, closer now, each footstep deliberate and unyielding. “I’m going in.”

There was a tense pause, then the heavy thud of something — or someone — hitting the wall. The door swung open wider, and for a moment, you thought Aemond might follow. But it was Aegon who entered, his eyes locked on you, face twisted with concern. His gaze softened the instant he saw you, taking in your tear-streaked face, your trembling form, and your outstretched hand reaching for him.

“I’m here,” he breathed, rushing to your side and falling to his knees next to the bed. His hands were warm as they clasped yours, his fingers curling around yours like he was anchoring you to the world. “I’m here, love. I’m not leaving you.”

Your sobs broke free at his words, and you squeezed his hand like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Don’t let him in,” you whispered frantically, your eyes darting to the door. “Don’t let Aemond in.”

Aegon’s jaw tensed, his eyes flicking toward the door, where the shadow of his brother lingered just beyond the threshold. He glanced at your mother, exchanging a silent understanding. Her eyes were sharp as she moved to block the doorway, her stance unyielding.

“No one will come near you,” Aegon vowed, his eyes never leaving yours. “Not him. Not anyone. It’s just you and me now.”

The pain came again, searing and unrelenting, and your cry filled the room. Aegon’s forehead pressed to yours, his voice a low, steady murmur in your ear. “Breathe with me,” he said, his breath warm and familiar. “In and out. Just like that. We’ll do it together.”

And together, you endured.

The pain was unbearable, sharper than any blade, hotter than any flame. You screamed, your voice hoarse from the strain, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t do this!” you cried, your breath coming in short, frantic gasps. “I can’t, Aegon! I can’t!”

Your body trembled with exhaustion, every muscle burning with effort. Panic clawed at your mind, the weight of it crushing you as you shook your head in denial. Your eyes locked onto Aegon’s, wild and desperate.

He cupped your face, his thumb brushing away your tears with a tenderness that contrasted with the storm of pain inside you. His gaze held no doubt, only fierce determination. “Yes, you can,” he said, his voice low but steady, like an anchor in the chaos. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known. Look at me, love. Look at me."

You blinked, trying to focus on his face as everything around you blurred into the background. The soft glow of the firelight, the hurried voices of the maester and midwives, even the sound of your mother’s quiet prayers—all of it faded away until it was just him.

He pressed his lips to your forehead, letting them linger there for a moment longer than necessary. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” His voice was warm, a promise wrapped in steel. “One more push. Just one more, love.”

The maester’s voice cut in. “It’s time. Push now, my lady. You’re almost there!”

Your whole body shook as you gripped Aegon’s hand so tightly that you were certain you’d break his fingers. But he didn’t flinch. He only squeezed back, grounding you, giving you something to hold on to.

With a cry that tore from the deepest part of your soul, you bore down with all the strength you had left. Every fiber of your being focused on this single moment, this one final push.

“You’re doing it,” Aegon whispered, his voice filled with awe and pride. “You’re doing it, my love.”

There was a searing, blinding moment of pain. And then—relief. The weight in your belly lifted, replaced by the sharp, piercing wail of a newborn’s first breath.

“It’s a boy,” the maester announced, his voice filled with quiet joy. “A strong, healthy boy.”

Your chest heaved with the effort, your whole body slack with exhaustion. But the sound of that tiny cry pulled you from the haze of pain. Tears welled in your eyes as you turned toward the maester, who carefully placed the squirming, wriggling babe into your arms.

He was small, red-faced, and loud—so loud. His silver hair, damp with birth, clung to his tiny head, and his little fists flailed in the air. You stared down at him, breathless and overwhelmed.

“He’s perfect,” Aegon breathed, leaning down to rest his head against yours, gazing at your son with wide, wonder-filled eyes. “You did it, my love. You did it.”

A sob broke free from your chest, this time from joy instead of pain. Your fingers brushed against the soft skin of your son’s cheek, marveling at how small and delicate he was. “We did it,” you whispered, turning your gaze to Aegon, eyes filled with love and gratitude. “We did it together.”

He kissed your temple, his lips warm and lingering against your skin. “He’s ours,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “No one will ever take him from us.”

As you gazed at your son, your heart swelled with a fierce, protective love that drowned out every fear, every doubt. He was yours. Yours and Aegon’s. And no one—not Aemond, not anyone—would change that.

The air in the room grew heavier as Aemond’s boots echoed softly against the stone floor. You could feel each step, the slow, deliberate pace of a man who believed he had every right to be here. Your eyes flickered from your mother’s warm gaze to Aemond’s cold, unyielding stare.

Aegon was seated beside you, his fingers gently stroking the back of your hand. His presence was steady, grounding, and you clung to it like a lifeline. He noticed Aemond’s approach immediately, his posture straightening, his eyes narrowing like a predator ready to pounce.

Your heart tightened when Aemond stopped at the side of your bed. His gaze swept over you, lingering on the bundle of warmth cradled against your chest—your newborn son. For a fleeting moment, something softer passed through his eye, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

He leaned down slowly, his silver hair falling around his face like a curtain, and before you could react, his lips pressed firmly against your forehead. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tender. It felt like a brand—an unspoken claim.

His hand brushed your cheek as he straightened, his cool fingers lingering for a heartbeat too long. His gaze locked onto yours, sharp as a dagger’s edge. “You have done well, wife,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, as though every word was a vow. His eye flickered to the baby nestled in your arms. “Our son is strong. I knew he would be.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You felt Aegon’s grip on your hand tighten, his fingers curling protectively around yours. His body went rigid beside you, every muscle taut with barely restrained fury.

“He’s not yours, brother,” Aegon said, his voice sharp but controlled, like a sword just before it strikes. “You know that as well as I do.”

Aemond’s smile was a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. He didn’t look at Aegon—he only looked at you. “Blood is blood,” he murmured. “No matter how it is claimed.”

You shook your head, feeling the weight of his words press on your chest like a stone. “He is not yours, Aemond,” you said firmly.

He didn’t move, his gaze fixed on you. His eye lowered slowly to your son, and his fingers twitched at his side, curling into a loose fist. “Does it even matter anymore?” he asked quietly, but his voice was like a blade slicing through the stillness of the room.

“It matters to me,” Aegon shot back, his voice laced with venom. He stepped forward, just a pace, and you could feel the shift in his body, the protective edge to his movements. “If you have something to say, brother, say it. But don’t you dare cast your doubts here.”

Aemond’s gaze snapped to Aegon, sharp as Valyrian steel, his lip curling ever so slightly. “I wonder if you’d still be so bold without your guards and wine to dull your senses.”

“Try me.” Aegon’s voice was low, dangerous in a way that surprised even you. "you can't just take what's mine just like that"

Aemond tilted his head slightly, his eye narrowing with quiet amusement. “Take?” he repeated, his tone as smooth as silk but sharp as steel. “I do not need to take what is already mine.”

Your mother’s eyes flicked between the three of you, her face tense with concern. “Aemond,” she said softly, placing a hand on his arm, trying to pull him back. “Leave them be. Please.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might listen. His gaze darted to his mother, his jaw tightening, his breath slow and controlled. But then his eyes settled on Aegon, and something darker flickered behind them.

“Careful, brother,” Aemond warned, his voice low with menace. “You’ve taken things from me before. Do not think I will let you take her too.”

Aegon rose from his seat slowly, his movements calm, calculated. But his eyes were anything but calm. They burned with a quiet, seething rage. He stepped between you and Aemond, his back to you, his shoulders squared like a shield.

“She is not yours, Aemond,” Aegon repeated, his voice low but firm. “Not now. Not ever.”

The two of them stood there, inches apart, their gazes locked in a silent war. It was a moment of unbearable tension, and you feared for what might happen next.

But it was your mother who broke it. “Enough,” Alicent said, stepping between her sons, her voice steady but commanding. “Both of you, enough.” She turned to Aemond, her eyes hard but pleading. “This is not the time for your pride, Aemond. She has just given birth. Leave her in peace.”

For a moment, Aemond didn’t move. He looked down at you, his eye lingering on the sight of you and the child in your arms. His face was stone, but you saw the flicker of something else—resentment, jealousy, longing.

You turned your head at the sound of your sister’s voice. Helaena entered the room, her soft footsteps barely audible on the stone floor. She carried her baby in her arms, rocking her gently, her usual distant but kind smile on her face.

Her eyes landed on Aegon first, and she tilted her head, her gaze as soft as ever. “Aegon,” she called his name with a small, almost pleading tone. “The twins are asking for you. They won’t sleep without their father tonight.”

You saw Aegon glance at you, hesitation flickering in his eyes. His jaw clenched, his grip on your hand lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll be back,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing against your fingers.

You nodded, offering him a small, reassuring smile. You could see the guilt in his eyes. It wasn’t easy for him to leave you here, not after what had just happened with Aemond.

Aegon leaned down, pressing a kiss on your forehead, then glanced at the baby nestled in your arms. “Rest, love,” he murmured softly. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He stepped toward Helaena, and she glanced at you briefly. Her gaze lingered on the baby in your arms. Her smile grew wider, her eyes lighting up with that familiar dreamlike warmth. “He’s beautiful,” she said softly, her voice gentle as a lullaby. “He looks just like you.”

Her words should have brought you comfort, but they didn’t. Not when you knew who was still standing behind you.

You felt it before you heard it—the weight of his presence, the sharp, cold sensation of being watched too closely. Aemond’s breath was steady, his gaze sharp as ever, piercing into the back of your head like a blade.

He moved closer, slowly, as if to make his presence unavoidable. His voice came low and quiet, just for you to hear. The words were soft but sharp as a dagger’s edged.

“Does it ease your heart,” Aemond whispered, his voice like silk and steel, “to think he’ll love you more than he loved her?”

Your chest tightened painfully, the words like a sudden blow you weren’t prepared for. Your breath hitched, but you didn’t turn to look at him. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

But he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, his voice even quieter now, dangerously gentle. “Men like him never stay, sweet wife,” he continued, his words coated with venom. “Not for you. Not for anyone.”

Your fingers gripped the fabric of your blanket tighter, your heart pounding in your chest. You bit your lip to keep from saying something that would make it worse. You didn’t want to give him any more power than he already thought he had.

Behind him, Helaena’s eyes shifted to Aemond. Her smile faded, her brow furrowing ever so slightly. She blinked slowly, as if seeing something others could not. Her eyes met yours briefly, something unspoken passing between you. She knew. Somehow, she always knew.

“Come, Aegon,” Helaena said softly, turning away, her voice gentle but firm. “The twins are waiting.”

Aegon glanced at you one last time. You could see it in his eyes—the promise that he would return. That he wouldn’t leave you alone.

But he left. He had to.

The door shut softly behind them, and you were left alone with him.

Aemond didn’t move for a long time. You could feel him standing there, feel his eyes on you like a brand on your skin. Slowly, he moved around to stand in front of you, his gaze locking onto yours with that same cold intensity.

“You will never be free of me,” he said softly, his head tilting slightly, his eye narrowing. “No matter how far he runs or how sweet his words are, you will always belong to me.”

He crouched down, his gaze level with yours now. His face was unreadable, his voice soft but absolute. “Do not forget, sweet wife,” he said, his eye flicking to the baby in your arms. “I never forget what is mine.”

Your heart felt like it might shatter in your chest, but you didn’t look away. Not this time. You met his gaze head-on, your eyes fierce despite the fear clawing at the edges of your mind.

“I am not yours, Aemond,” you said, your voice steady but firm. “I never was.”

His jaw clenched, his lips pressing into a thin, dangerous line. For a moment, you thought he might strike you. But instead, he reached forward, his fingers brushing lightly over the baby’s head, his touch far too gentle for a man with so much darkness in his heart.

“We’ll see,” he whispered, standing slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “We’ll see.”

He turned and walked toward the door, his steps slow, controlled, each footstep echoing louder than the last. He didn’t look back as he left, but his presence lingered, like a storm waiting to break.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and you exhaled the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

You looked down at the baby in your arms, your fingers stroking his silver hair. His little face was peaceful, unbothered by the storm that surrounded him. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his tiny forehead, your heart aching with love and fear all at once.

“You are mine,” you whispered to him softly, your voice trembling with quiet determination. “No one will ever take you from me.”

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd one shot #prince aegon targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #hotd x reader #aegon x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #prince aemond #aegon fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic

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lady-pug · 2 days ago

Text

i finally FINALLY have the time to catch up on this story that, from the first chapter alone, I can already tell is going to be great!

oh the tension, the angst, the betrayal! i’m really really curious to know why Alys dipped when she was the one who wanted to get married in the first place? if there was a reason at all

and should i expect some summer romance between Aemond and reader? is Alys going to come back and possibly get in the way of things? is it going to come to an end when summer inevitably ends? i’m so excited to find out!!

thank you so much for writing this, i can’t wait to read the rest!!

[TANGERINE DREAMS]

summary: being stood up on his wedding day, Aemond’s life takes a turn for the worse. Heartbroken and humiliated, he finds unexpected help in Helaena’s childhood friend, who helps him move back into his family mansion. Summer cocktail parties and a long stay at the Targaryen residency, Aemond might let the girl who’s always been in his life make a home in his heart.

Tangerines, in general, symbolize prosperity, good luck and happiness. So if these delicious fruits appear in your dreams - whole or in the form of juice - it is usually very positive. A dream with tangerines expresses the desire and the possibility of progress and prosperity

word count: 5.2k+

warnings: angst & fluff! English isn’t my first language<3

a/n: loviessssss welcome to the first chap of my summer romance! I hope you love this as much as I do when I’m writing it! Reblogs & comments are most appreciated🥹🍊 and very special thank you to @namelesslosers for betaing this for me<33🩷

Dividers by @/firefly-graphics

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Updates: every Saturday!

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Chapter 1: runaway bride

He shouldn’t be stressed, should he?

Everything is in the right place; groomsmen are standing behind him while fixing each other’s coats and reassuring him, bridesmaids are in front of him as they talk and giggle, the guests are whispering and the priest is tapping his fingers on his watch.

Alys is a few minutes late, but it’s just a few minutes, there’s nothing to worry about. Aemond knows she must be even more stressed than he is. It’s their big day after all and naturally, the bride is the more anxious one. Surely that’s true, right? But why are his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his coat uncontrollably, why is rocking on the ball of his feet? He can’t be that nervous.

He looks around, finding his mum biting her nails. She searches around the room, looking for someone, anyone, to come and tell her about her bride-to-be’s whereabouts. His eye finds Helaena, watching as she caresses the flower petals before meeting his gaze, smiling broadly at him. He smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes to convince her he’s doing alright. He is alright, just a tad bit too stressed for everyone’s liking, especially Helaena who can sense his nerves buzzing with excitement and fear.

The church Alicent chose for his wedding has been used by Targaryens for years and passed on for generations. The walls covered in royalty tapestries of mythical Valyrian gods have seen many weddings and unions, and now, they will see his wedding.

He sighs, wanting to run his fingers through his hair but remembering his hair is in a low bun and his Mum would kill him if he ruined his perfectly done hair. He sighs again, looking up at the ceiling, his brow furrowing in worry.

What is taking her so long? She should have been here ten minutes ago.

Aemond turns around and looks at Daeron, their eyes meeting for a brief second before his younger brother nods and walks to the corner of the hall before slipping out the door without any hesitation.

“Don’t worry, brother, she’ll come around,” Aegon says, his breath stinking with the three glasses of champagne he’s had from the bar in the garden attached to the church grounds, where they will host the party.

“This isn’t another simple date she can be late to. This is our wedding, Aegon!” He exhales shakily, his voice barely above whispering.

He knows he is right, even Aegon knows he is right, but there is little they both can do. They need to wait for her to show up eventually. She will, won’t she? Of course she will, it was Alys who was too eager to marry, start a family, and take a step towards their shared dreams. She reassured him of his hesitation, and he agreed to do this with a heart full of love.

“Sir,” the priest calls him, “I’m needed for another ceremony in about an hour and the ride there will take a long—“

“She will come,” Aemond’s response is more of a reassurance to him than the priest, “you must have seen this more than us, Sir, the bride always shows up.”

“Yes, yes, my apologies,” the man nods his head, going back to do whatever he was doing before.

With every second that passes and Alys doesn’t show up he grows more restless, beads of sweat forming on his hairline. Aemond is a closed-up person, not really used to showing his feelings and emotions outwardly, but now, he is tapping his foot on the ground while his eye swipes at the guests, finding his half-sister’s family behind his Mum — he averts his eye quickly. The last thing he needs is to get furious over his sister’s goblins.

“What is taking her so long?” He hears someone say from the guests, even their stupid gossip is not enough to distract them from how late the bride is. He is growing desperate at this point, the muscles in his shin are growing tired with how fast he is tapping his foot on the floor, his fingers can no longer fidget with his coat instead his nails are digging into his sweaty palm.

Please, please, Alys, just open this door… He thinks to himself before spotting Daeron sneaking inside the hall with you on your toe. He watches as the two of you make your way toward Helaena, whispering something in her ear before she and Daeron leap out of the hall in a second, catching everyone’s attention.

The hall grows noisier, and the hushed whispers turn into loud accusations and questions; “Where is the bride?”

“I have always known she was problematic!”

“Eight years older? How scandalous!”

“How did Viserys Targaryen let his son marry her?”

“I have heard she has quite the reputation with men, always after their money—“

Now his hands are shaking, he hides them by locking them behind his back before he looks in front of him, trying to mask out the noise. Aemond catches your eye, watching as you give him a reassuring smile before taking slow steps towards him.

“Hey you.”

“Hey…” he replies as best as he can without his voice breaking, “you look beautiful.”

“So do you, little nerd!” You reach to fix his bowtie, trying to calm him down a bit, “not so little though, right? You’re getting married before me!”

“Yeah, I’m younger and I beat you to it,” he chuckles a little, silently thanking you for keeping a leash on his nerves.

It’s always been like this since the two of you remember. Growing up close to the Targaryens as Helaena’s kindergarten friend until now, you have grown to know each of the siblings like the back of your hand, especially Aemond who was a constant presence in your games with Helaena since he could walk — sometimes it feels like you are his best friend and not Helaena’s with how attentive you are to him. As much as he wishes for that to be true, he knows the bond you share with his sister is something so precious and special that no one can break it.

“Just so you wait, Aemond, you won’t be invited to my wedding when the time comes!” You tease him, trying to lighten his mood, reaching to fix a few strands of hair that have fallen out of his bun.

“That’s not fair—“

Everyone falls silent when the door is pushed open, revealing a heaving Daeron and a very anxious Helaena. You both turn around to look at the siblings, meeting them halfway with Aegon following you closely.

“We…” Helaena starts, but she can’t talk. Something bad must have happened for her to be so speechless.

“What?” You ask gently, resting your hand on her shoulders in hopes of trying to get her to talk.

“We found Alys,” Daeron looks at Aemond with an unreadable expression, “but she…”

“Spit it out for fuck sake!” Aegon whispers through gritted teeth, his hand shoved in his pockets as he waits for Daeron to finish his sentence.

“She doesn’t want to get married,” Helaena blurts out, swallowing the lump in her throat as she looks at Aemond with sad sympathetic eyes.

“Hel, this is insane. Did she say it herself—“ you say, frowning slightly.

“Criston is holding her back from running away. There’s a car parked outside, I think—“

Aemond can’t listen to these words anymore, so he pushes past his siblings and you, jogging out of the church towards the attached garden, finding Cole and Alys tangled in a messy fight as she tries to escape from his grasp.

“Alys!” He yells her name, making the couple freeze, but in a second, she knees Cole in his stomach and runs past him, her long white dress drags across the grass as she bolts out of the gates too fast for Aemond to be able to catch up, and once he does, he watches the car leave.

The noises around him vanish, and all he can hear is the thumping of his pulse in his ears, and the sharp breaths he takes. The world around him seems to disappear, and his good eye follows the path the car is taking, his fingers are tingling, his chest rising and falling rapidly while he tries to regain his grip on himself.

He sighs, finally his senses coming back as he looks around him, finding you, his Mum, and his siblings running towards him. Aemond doesn’t wish to talk to anyone, he wants to stay invisible, for the world to swallow him whole and keep him away from the humiliation that is about to be unleashed on him.

“Darling—“

“Aemond—“

The group reaches him, Alicent cups his face in her warm hands as she looks at him with tears stinging her eyes. Aemond can see how devastated she is about him, how she desperately wants to say something and ease his pain but the words are lost in the air when she opens her mouth to utter them.

He reaches and holds her wrists gently, pressing her palms against his cheeks as they silently communicate their emotions — no words need to be said, they understand, Alicent understands his pain, and he knows that she would take it away if she could.

“We should tell the guests,” Aemond says before letting go of his Mum’s hands, striding past his siblings and you towards the salon attached to the church, finding many of the guests already there — his half-sister and her kids with a few other relatives.

He knows they are waiting to hear more of this mess just to taunt him and make his day worse. Everyone knows they are looking for one mistake from him and his family to ruin their reputation, and now, with Aemond Targaryen’s runaway bride, they must be ecstatic.

“What happened, nephew? We thought we were invited for a traditional wedding, but all we see is a lonely groom—“

The glare Aemond gives his uncle and nephews is enough for them to shut up. He tries to put up a strong front, head held high and hands folded behind his back, but if you squint you can see how his resolve is crumbling with each second that he spends in their presence.

He decides not to give in to their silly games and walks towards the bar before he snatches the pack of cigarettes on the stool, leaving the room without saying a word. His mind is foggy as he tries to walk past everyone, he is handling many things at the same time but the bitter and heavy feeling in his chest crushes his strength to process it.

The sound of chatter and gossip fades away as he walks through the back garden of the church; a few little benches and a fountain in the corner hidden from the eyes of the guests with a wisteria tree.

This area could have made a romantic core memory for Aemond and Alys if only things had gone differently…

With a deep sigh, he sits on the ground, his back against the fountain as he fiddles with his bow tie, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, his coat falling on the ground next to him. He opens the pack of cigarettes, pulling one out before he reaches in his pants for a lighter — something he is sure you’d scold him for as you always do, teasing him lightheartedly about his obsession with lighters.

When he inhales the smoke, his mind gets clearer, and he can think a little better, but he is not sure if he would really like to do so. His ex-fiancé left him just a few minutes ago, and his mind fills with dreadful thoughts.

Was it him?

Was he too young for her? Too immature?

Did she change her mind because she loved someone else?

Was he too strict and selfish?

Was it really him who brought this on himself? On his family?

He blows out the smoke, resting his elbow on his knee as he reaches to untie his bun, his hair falling freely around his shoulders while the droplets of water land on the soft silver strands from the fountain.

It is the beginning of the summer, the spring chill of the weather is replaced with an increasing heat, the birds chipper and he can see the peachy hue of sunset in the sky from between the leaves of the tree.

He feels numb, a dull ache in his chest blooming as the reality hits him. Aemond takes another drag of his cigarette, throwing his head back, and letting his hair fall inside the water fountain. He sniffs, closing his eye to keep his tears from flowing down, the storm of his thoughts wrecking his mind once again.

He loves her, she was his everything from the start — his first kiss, first girlfriend, first fight. Alys was his everything, and now, she is nothing but a memory, a memory he wishes to wipe away quickly.

How can you claim to love someone and leave them without any remorse?

There is guilt and sadness, but mostly it’s the doubt and self-hatred that makes him want to sob. Many questions are swirling in his head about how he is the reason she has left. Maybe she was right about leaving him, no one would like to be the wife of a man who deals with heavy pain daily.

He takes another drag, relishing in the feeling of the soft evening breeze that kisses his heated skin, cooling him down a little. The smell of smoke grounds him in this world, making him forget about the mess that is probably happening in the church. He is sure his siblings and Mum are trying their best to talk to Alys’ relatives and other guests, explaining the situation in a hurry.

“Your suite must have cost thousands,” you say casually, announcing your presence as you walk with your long dress in hand, careful with how uneasy your heels feel on the soft grass, making your way to where he is sitting.

“Nothing compared to the decorations she ordered,” he scoffs, putting out his cigarette on the edge of the stone of the fountain before he straightens his neck and looks at you.

“Yeah, I saw them,” you sigh, fisting your skirt before sitting next to him, shoulders touching subtly, “she has a very… interesting taste. Who’d thought a lawyer would be into witchcraft?”

“She likes things no one can understand,” he says, gazing up at the wisteria tree, “I also paid for the dress you are getting wet grass stains on—“

“That was irrelevant because Hel bought it for me! She knew how much of an ass you’d be about it,” you chuckle a little, watching as a ghost of a smile finds its way to his face before it falters and his eye drops to the grass, the smile no longer visible.

“Yeah, maybe that’s why Alys left,” he scoffs in disbelief again, shaking his head a little as he thinks of every bad trait he has, considering all of them could be the reason she decided she was better off without him.

“Her loss,” you say softly, “you are too funny, little nerd, even for someone who can be a stuck-up ass sometimes.”

“You are lucky my sister loved you enough to keep you around because I’d get rid of you the second I could,” he mumbles, huffing out a small laugh when you punch his biceps playfully.

“That’s not nice, Aemond!” You laugh together, rubbing the place where you hit him, “You love me too, that’s why you will never get tired of me,” saying this, you can see his shoulder tensing — love, what a weird word to use.

Does he love you? Does he even love anyone?

Maybe he does, but it wasn’t enough to keep his fiance with him.

Maybe his love was too much for Alys to bear.

“How did you find me?” He asks, his voice hoarse and thick, “I was trying to be invisible.”

“Give me that—“ you grab the pack of cigarettes from him, pulling one out and waiting for Aemond to light it for you. You inhale a puff, handing it back to him before looking up at the sky, “do you remember when you’d steal my books and go into your old stables to read?”

“I do, no one could find me,” he takes a drag of the cigarette, blowing out the smoke before he talks, “but you did.”

“I believed you would do it because you wanted someone to look for you,” you look at him with soft eyes, “and I always did. Your siblings had no idea where you would go, but I knew you like the back of my hand. Or maybe I just wanted my book back!”

He matches your smile, but you can see the pain in his eye, this is not a time to beat around the bush. He wishes to let it out — whatever it is. Perhaps it’s anger, frustration, betrayal, maybe it’s his ultimate desire to vanish into thin air to save himself from the press and humiliation that he’ll be going through.

“What did I do wrong?” He asks, and you must be able to see the agony he is in, he is in grave distress, and the cloud of doubt is causing a tornado in his head that will kill the remaining of his confidence, “did I not give her enough love, show her how much I wanted her?”

“You gave her your heart, something you would never do for someone you didn’t like,” you reach and squeeze his shoulder, “you did your best, gave her your everything. We all saw how devoted you were, it is not your fault.”

“Then why? Why?!” He asks desperately, looking at you with his wide teary eye, the ocean blue orb staring into your soul with need, “I thought I was everything she wanted, she said it herself—“ he looks away before he can cry, throwing his head back to stop the tears from falling, putting the cigarette between his thin lips.

“You are more than enough, Aemond—“

“She wasn’t worth it, was she?” He cuts you off, “she took me for granted,” he sounds so little, so fragile, and he feels so.

“You loved her! I’m sure, Aemond, that your love for her was so beautiful and precious, it was Alys who couldn’t be better.”

“She was the one who wanted to get married as soon as possible…” he whispers, closing his eye as he talks with the cigarette between his lips, “even Aegon made fun of me for not saying no to her, he said I needed to grow up and not give in to her whims.”

“Aegon is a little shit, he can’t even keep one girl in a one-month relationship. He should be the last person on earth to get advice from,” You nudge his shoulder, grab the cigarette, and pull it away from his lips, “loving your partner is not a crime. So what? You liked spoiling her, did you not?”

“Yeah, I did…” he says, looking back down at his fingers rubbing over the fabric of his pants, “Alys used to tell me I was a kid too, that I needed to grow up or else I wouldn’t be a good husband.”

“Oh, Aemond…”

He averts his gaze towards you, tears brimming in his eye, “I did everything I could,” he is helpless, the gut-wrenching feeling is eating him alive.

“Don’t bottle it up, little nerd,” you reach and push a few strands of his hair behind his ear, “you can cry, I’m here.”

And he does; he rests his head on your shoulder and starts sobbing quietly, tears falling on his scarred cheek.

“I’m here,” you whisper, wrapping your arm around his shoulders, making him feel safe enough to pour his emotions out.

Aemond has been avoiding the situation as best as he can; ignoring his grandfather’s calls, not leaving the house for a few weeks, and trying to get a hold on his life again.

All his efforts are in vain.

He still lives in the same apartment in Rosby he and Alys bought a few months ago, their photos and pictures hanging on the walls, the bed they used to sleep on together, their bathroom, their kitchen — everything feels like an old movie reel, a twilight zone he doesn’t know if he likes to leave or embrace and drown in it.

Aemond has been keeping contact with his siblings throughout the past week, refusing their help to come and live with him for a while, saying he wanted some time alone to figure out what he wished to do from then on.

The media is filled with pictures of him standing outside the garden catching the car speeding away — how the paparazzi get there? No one knows but the fingers are pointed at his half-sister and uncle. The pictures are all over the news and the internet, mainly using his Targaryen name to drag him into the dirt.

He plops down on the couch, unlocking his phone only to be greeted with thousands of texts from his Mum and Daeron, begging him to come home and stay the summer with them in Targaryen residency. It’s not an idea he hasn’t entertained before, in fact, he would like to go back home and take some time off for himself. So he texts Alicent and tells her he’ll move in with them for a while until he is better and ready to come back to this forsaken apartment.

He starts packing a few hours later, dirty clothes thrown into the washing machine while he sits on the floor with a huge suitcase ready to be filled. Suddenly his phone starts ringing, startling him greatly. He reaches for the phone on the bed, looking at the screen to see who’s calling him. You. Your name lights up his phone, making him smile a little, thinking probably the word has spread like wildfire.

“Hey,”

“Hey yourself, little nerd!” You say enthusiastically, “heard you wanna move back into your Mum’s place.”

“Hmm, yeah,” he sighs, securing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he talks to you, “a change would be nice, especially for the summer.”

“Then you’re in luck!” You reply, “Hel asked me to come and spend the summer at the mansion too!” he chuckles when he hears you groaning over who knows what before continuing, “Anyway, I’ll come to your place whenever you want so I can help you pack whatever you’d like to take there and then drive to King’s Landing.”

“Sounds great, I really appreciate the offer,” he agrees, grabbing the phone as soon as the washing machine stops, “I’d like it if you could take some time and come here tomorrow?”

“Of course, just send me the location, alright? The sooner we pack, the sooner we can have some of Aegon’s magnificent cocktails!”

“Urgh, that loser will be home too?” He feigns a groan, breaking character when he hears your snort.

“Stop being mean to him, he makes the best Sex on the Beach!” You both chuckle, knowing you are right, Aegon does make the best cocktails known to humankind, “We’ll have fun there, and I’ve missed Vhagar so much!”

“I missed her too,” Aemond says fondly, “thank you again for helping me out, I wouldn’t have reached out if you didn’t call me.”

“Oh I know, that’s why I called. You can always count on me! Anyway, I’ll come tomorrow and help you pack.”

“Alright, thank you, I’ll text you the address,” Aemond says, grabbing the basket to empty the wet clothes from the washing machine.

“See you tomorrow, Little nerd!”

“You should have told me you have a Chevy Camaro, I doubt we can fit anything in this little car!” you hug and greet him when he opens the door, “I brought my things too if it’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, sure, the sooner we pack, the sooner we can leave!” He replies, grabbing your suitcase’s handle, and leading you inside his apartment, “Don’t worry, my car has carried much larger things. This is nothing.”

“Whatever you say! Now— woah, you are packed already?” You look around the room, a few boxes neatly put on top of each other and labeled, one backpack and another half-filled suitcase on the floor.

“I just need some help with my clothes and whether I should…” he points at the framed photos on the walls, photos of him and Alys, “throw them out or send them to her with her belongings.”

“Well, I think you should give it some time before you do something you might regret,” you squeeze his shoulder lightly, “it seems we can go tonight, right? You don’t have many things left to pack.”

“Yeah, just a few clothes! You can get the snack while I put them in the suitcase—“

“No, no, lemme fold your clothes! You should start putting the boxes away, I’ll get everything ready,” you pat him on the chest, walking towards his bedroom to fold his clothes for him.

He nods silently and thanks you before he grabs the boxes and leaves the apartment. You both work quickly, taking a break and having tea together, you ask about how he’s holding up, and he dismisses your questions as best as he can, not really wishing to entertain the thoughts that’ll disturb him.

“Aemond, do you want to bring your books too?” You ask him, groaning as you drop the heavy box on his bed, “because I doubt we’ll have enough space to take all of these with us to King’s Landing.”

“Just those that are already tucked away!” He yells from the kitchen, finishing cooking for you, “We’ll finish it after dinner, c’mon.”

“Okay,” you sigh tiredly, not really expecting the packing to drag on for so long. After all, he said he only needed a few clothes, not half of his wardrobe with his expensive watches and sunglasses.

“I think we have packed enough for at least ten spontaneous parties Aegon will be throwing this summer,” you mutter, sitting behind the island in the kitchen.

“I doubt he’d let an occasion like my birthday let go so easily now that I’m back home,” Aemond shrugs, handing you a plate, “he mostly ignores the occasion but I’m sure he and Mum will do something, and make a huge deal out of it. That’s why I need to be prepared.”

“Well, it’s the first birthday in a while that I’m attending too so it better be something good!” You tease him, thanking him for the delicious meal.

“It will be, or at least Mum’s plans will be great. She has Daeron as her non-assigned assistant now that I’m gone and they make quite the duo. They always host the best gatherings together.”

“Alicent is a perfectionist, of course, she’ll be the best person to throw a birthday party for you,” you agree with him, “but you can’t deny that Aegon’s parties are always better! He’s reckless, and the drinks are the best.”

“Only the best for the oldest Targaryen son, right?” He sighs again, looking down at his plate, “Sorry, it slipped my tongue, I shouldn’t have said it.”

“It’s okay,” you reach and rub his forearm, “you’re dealing with lots of things now, I understand, we all do.”

“I hope I don’t ruin your summer with us with my stupid sappy attitude,” Aemond jokes — or at least tries to.

“Sappy or not, you are my best friend’s brother, and I watched you grow up! There is nothing you can do to make my time with you miserable,” you smile at him softly, finishing your plate before you both stand up to get ready and leave, “I’ll take care of the dishes, you go close your suitcase and we take whatever’s left to your car.”

Time passes quickly and you find yourself getting inside Aemond’s car later than you expected. He makes sure everything is packed and safe both in the apartment and in the trunk before he gets inside the passenger seat — he can’t drive at night because of his eyesight so you’ll drive to King’s Landing. It’s not a long ride fortunately; four hours by car and you’ll be there in no time.

Aemond, despite trying to keep up with the conversation, falls asleep halfway through the road, and you let him take a nap before you arrive there and get bombarded by questions left and right.

When you pull in front of the entrance gates, Cole is already waiting for you, ready to take your bags out and park the car even though someone else could be doing it.

“Hi, Cole,” Aemond greets him with a thick voice, rubbing his sleepy eye before he gives Criston a halfway hug, patting his back.

You shut down the engine, get out of the car, and greet Cole after you hand him the remote, following Aemond in the path leading to the entrance door with a few boxes in hand as you help him take a few of his belongings inside the house.

Alicent is already waiting in front of the door anxiously, slowly rubbing her throat and neck as she waits for Aemond to reach her before she brings him in a tight embrace, not minding the sharp points of the boxes digging in her sides — just having her son with her is enough to remedy all of her pain.

“My darling,” she tears up a little, caressing his hair and kissing his cheek, “I’m so happy you decided to come home, I missed you so much.” “I missed you too, Mother,” he pulls back a little to put the boxes down and hug her completely, resting his head on top of hers as she wraps her arms around him.

Everyone is interrupted when a series of barks echo in the house, and in a second, a huge fluffy black Chow Chow jumps on Aemond, licking his face happily. Vhagar, oh, how he missed his old lady. He chuckles and scratches behind her ears, ignoring all the stares as he reunites with her.

“Babyyyyyyy!” Helaena squeals before she runs towards you to help you with Aemond’s things, kissing you and giving you a side hug, “Thank you for agreeing to come! I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun together.”

“Thank you for having me, lovey!”

“I’m so thankful you helped him, darling,” Alicent pulls away from the pair nearly lying on the floor while one of them is having his face licked, her hand caressing your back as she draws you in her arms as well, “Thank you for bringing home, I’m in debt to you—”

“Oh, no, it was nothing!” You look at her before giving Aemond and Vhagar a cheeky smile, “It was the least I could do, I’m glad I could help.”

“Come, come! You must be tired, your rooms are ready. Cole will take your bags,” she says, leading the way with Aemond who has his free arm wrapped around Daeron, and Vhagar jumps next to his feet while you and Helaena follow them.

“Aegon is asleep, you know him, he has big plans for this summer, especially now that Aemond can use some distraction,” she bumps her shoulder to yours, “meaning we’ll have the time of our lives!”

“Yeah,” you smile at her before looking ahead of you, catching Aemond turning around to give you a quick smile, “What a summer it’ll be.”

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd

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alicents4lawyer · 2 days ago

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#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd memes #aegon ii targaryen

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happilyhertale · 3 days ago

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Advent Desires – Modern Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: You are spending the evening with your friend Aemond. But you are bored while Aemond is absorbed in his book – but you have your ways of getting his attention.

Pairing: Modern Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Sex (p in v)

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.4k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The winter evening settles over the city like a soft blanket, muffling the sounds of distant traffic and the occasional hum of wind against the window. Advent candles flicker on the side table, their tiny flames dancing with every shift in the air. Holly leaves are scattered around the room, a festive touch you had insisted on despite Aemond's indifference to holiday decorations.

He sits in the armchair by the window, an oversized wool sweater draped over his sharp frame. A well-worn book rests in his hands, his long fingers absently turning a page as his good eye scans the text. The glow from the nearby string of fairy lights cast soft shadows across his chiseled features, highlighting his sharp jawline and the silver strands of his cropped hair that fell just slightly out of place.

You lie sprawled on the couch, a blanket over your legs, flipping aimlessly through your phone. TikToks and Instagram stories can't hold your attention tonight, and every now and then, you glance over at Aemond, hoping he’d notice you.

He doesn‘t.

"You know," you say, breaking the silence, "it’s not very festive of you to spend Advent reading an old book."

Without looking up, he replies, "It’s not very festive of you to complain about it."

You sigh dramatically, stretching your arms over your head. The hem of your sweater rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin that catches his attention, even if he tries to pretend it doesn’t. His eye flickers up for the briefest moment before returning to the page.

"I’m bored," you groan, rolling onto your side to face him.

"Then entertain yourself," Aemond says, though there is a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Sliding off the couch, you pad across the room, stopping just behind his chair. Leaning over, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and rest your chin on his head, breathing in the faint scent of cedarwood and the crispness of the cold that still lingers on him from earlier.

"What are you even reading?" you ask, glancing down at the page.

He tilts the book slightly so you can see the title. The Art of War.

"Seriously?" you ask, incredulous. "That’s what you choose to read during the holidays?"

"Why not?" He closes the book deliberately, setting it down on the armrest. His hands are free now, and you suddenly wish you hadn’t pushed him quite so far. There is a glint in his eye—mischievous, calculating.

"I can think of better ways to spend an evening," you say, straightening up, but before you can move away, Aemond catches your wrist.

"Better ways, hmm?" His voice is low, smooth, and edged with amusement.

His grip is firm but not rough as he tugs you down into his lap. The movement catches you off guard, and you gasp softly, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders for balance. His smile widens slightly at your reaction, the kind of smile that is more about power than warmth.

"You’re awfully restless tonight," he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingers linger, tracing a line down to your jaw.

"Maybe I’m just trying to get your attention," you murmur.

"Well, now you have it."

Before you know it, his hand is in your hair, his long fingers interweaving the strands. He tugs gently, just enough to tilt your head back and expose your neck. A spark of heat flares through you, your breath catching as you meet his intense gaze.

"Aemond," you whisper, unsure if it is a warning or a plea.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks. "Still bored?"

The holly leaves on the mantle catches your eye for a brief moment, a festive witness to the sudden shift in the room's energy. The teasing pull of his hand in your hair sends a shiver down your spine, and when his lips ghosted over your jawline, you can't hold back the quiet sigh that escapes you.

The advent candles flicker again, their light throwing soft shadows on the wall. Outside, the wind howles faintly, but in this moment, all you can hear is the sound of his breath mingling with yours as the tension between you grew thicker.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you properly. "Satisfied now, or shall I keep going?"

Your reply is a mix of laughter and a daring smirk, your fingers tightening slightly on his sweater. "What do you think?"

He chuckles softly, the sound low and rich, as his hand tangles deeper into your hair. "I think," he says, his lips brushing yours, "you’d better be careful what you wish for."

You giggle as he leans in again and kisses you. But your giggling dies away as the kiss becomes more passionate. His hands slide to your hips and reposition you until you straddle him. You gasp slightly, your hands slide into his soft hair, pulling gently, drawing a growl from him.

Slowly, he pushes you closer to him, and his hands slide over your ass, guiding your movements. You feel his length pressing against you, only the fabric of his and your sweatpants separating you... but still you feel his cock twitching impatiently. Aemond starts to pull on your sweatpants, “Let's get these out of the way,” he mutters, and you nod eagerly.

You help him, and without much delay, your sweatpants are on the floor. You whimper as Aemond pulls down your sweatpants enough to release his erection. He pumps a few times and you watch his hand slide up and down his twitching length.

“Look how hard you make me... and I just wanted to read a book in peace,“ he mutters, and you bite your lip.

”Somehow I'm not sorry for it,” you whisper a little breathlessly and start grinding your pussy against him.

He growls as he feels how soaked your panties already are.

Your hands slide to the back of his neck as you whimper impatiently again. Aemond pushes your panties aside and lets his fingers slide through your wet slit until he reaches your nerve bundle and leaves circular movements. You moan and move your hips against his fingers.

You move your hips up and down, taking him deeper inside you, and you whimper. His thumb is still rubbing your clit as your hips slam against his. You completely soak his length, your juices dripping onto his balls.

He slides his cock against your opening while continuing to rub your clitoris. Slowly, he pushes upwards, again and again against your opening. Teasing you until the tip of his cock is covered with your juices.

“Gods, you're so wet,” he murmurs a little breathlessly.

“Aemond,” you gasp impatiently, your fingers digging into his neck. And then Aemond thrusts up, feeling your tightness giving way to his length.

He growls, “Fuck,“ as you push your hips down. You moan, your pussy fluttering around his cock, protesting the intrusion.

He leans in and kisses you roughly, while you slide your hand back into his hair, touch the softness and pull on it again. He groans and pulls away from your lips, pressing his face into the curve of your neck and biting you. You cry out as you feel the light sting.

You lean your forehead against his, your panting breaths mixing as he thrusts up, following your movements.

He feels your pussy start to clenches uncontrollably around his length and he grunts, starting to move faster, thrusting deep into you.

Your legs remain wrapped around his hips as you try to take him deeper. Aemond's teeth dig in deeper and you throw your head back and moan without a care in the world. His hips thrust against you, without mercy. Your slick coats his cock, dripping down his tight balls – it was fucking perfect.

“Cum on my cock, babe,” he growls against your skin, and you whimper, slamming your hips down over and over again, while his thumb rubs faster. Your eyes roll back as you come. You scream slightly and Aemond growls as your pussy clenches. Your orgasm triggers his and he covers your clenching walls in white.

Aemond's eye close and his head falls back, your hips still moving up and down, milking his cock. He breathes heavily, just enjoying your movements, until you slowly stop moving.

You lean forward, your face pressed into the hollow of his neck, trying to catch your breath. You smell his scent and kiss his skin gently. His hands glide over your back, caressing you.

“Maybe this was better than reading a book,” he whispers a little breathlessly, and you giggle.

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onthesandsofdreams · 2 days ago

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From Duty To Love

Fandom: House of the Dragon/ASoIaF Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader Summary: Cregan knew that a marriage to Queen Rhaenyra's only daughter would be different. Two people who perhaps were on the opposite ends when it came to their respective houses: Fire and Ice. He could not fault you, much like him, you took your duties seriously. And he wondered if that would only be the only kind of marriage you both would have. Until he noticed. Rating: G Notes: Listen, I just wanted to write fluff, ok?Also, while reader is Rhaenyra's daughter (Velaryon), there are no descriptions. Tagging: @flashfictionfridayofficial

Read @ AO3

Cregan knew that a marriage to Queen Rhaenyra's only daughter would be different. Two people who perhaps were on the opposite ends when it came to their respective houses: Fire and Ice.

He could not fault you, much like him, you took your duties seriously. And he wondered if that would only be the only kind of marriage you both would have.

Until he noticed.

Until his wolf eyes and instincts were forcefully opened about the subtle signs you had been sending. How you'd lean towards him during dinner, how you always tried your best to keep waiting until he returned to your shared chambers. Your offer to take him flying, something he'd yet to accept. How you always had a kind smile for him, how you in your quiet and subtle manner, were actually looking out for him. Too much time in the training yard? A bath with scented oils waited for him. Too lost in books and ledgers? A tray of bite size food and drink on his desk. His clothes always laid for him, and yes, he'd noticed that some of his clothes now bore embroidery in wolf shapes. Your handiwork, he knew it.

It also did not escaped him your kindness and respect towards his people. Your people now too. But, in your short time as Lady of Winterfell, you had earned your placed with those who had served his family, some even before he was born. Even the most hardened Northman, you'd find a way to charm and made them feel at ease. It had helped that, while you had pride in who you were, you did not looked down upon others.

He furrowed his brows, so, why then were you still shy when it came to him?

The reason slammed into him fast, The Hightowers. Of course, you'd had seen how they treated and spoked of your mother, and as such, he understood now that you did not want people to speak in the same way about you.

Not that he'd let them.

If anyone would be foolish to try and slander his wife, they would soon be acquaintances with Ice. He would not tolerate any disrespect towards you. Not now, not ever.

He put his quill down and stood from his desk, and left his solar in search of you. Asking a passing maid, he'd been told you had just gone out to see Silverwing, so, for once he gathered his courage in facing the she dragon and followed you.

He found you leaning against Silverwing's snout. He did not need to announce himself, soon enough, the she dragon moved and made you look. He saw the surprise in your face as you found him there. He watched as you stood and walked towards him.

"Cregan, is there something wrong?" He had insisted that you called him that.

"No, I just wanted to check on you?"

He savored the way your face softened, "I am well, just Silverwing was getting a bit lonely." You bit your lip. "I was thinking of taking to the skies, would you like to come?"

He did not miss the way your eyes shone with hope. And he swallowed his nervousness and fears, "As long as you promise not to let me fall."

He was not prepared for you to turn radiant with joy and all but leap at his arms. The kiss you placed on the corner of his lips felt like fire of a kind he had never known. "Never, Cregan. I will never let you fall."

He let you take his hand, and followed you towards Silverwing.

Perhaps now, duty would not be the only thing that would tie your marriage. He hoped.

#hotd #hotd fic #pre asoiaf fic #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #reader insert #au: canon divergence #reader

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lady-pug · 2 days ago

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oof, i can finally catch up on my reading, all pending assignments delivered, deadlines met, everything in place finally (also btw sorry for taking a while to read and comment, I wanted to do so earlier but life was kicking my butt🥺🥺🥺)

i just wanted to say that this was so so cozy and warm (and hot if you know what i mean 😏😏), i loved it! aemond trying to stay smug but ultimately failing was everything to me! thank you so so much for writing this, it was amazing 💛💛💛

Hi hiiii I couldn’t resist to not slide into your inbox and request a Christmas fic based on this prompt with a Aemond who isn’t used to his girl’s flirty behavior and gets flustered soo easily👀 you can totally ignore this if you don’t like it<3333

“Since I can’t ride in Santa’s sleigh, can I ride you instead?” “Sorry, what?”

HI RUE ✨ Kinda put my own spin on this but I'm sure you'll love it <3

Can I Ride You Instead?

modern!Aemond x reader

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: smut, Aemond being a workaholic while his girl has needs

A/n: It's tiiiiime, happy 1st December!!

Main Masterlist // Christmas Masterlist

One more night in King’s Landing. You look out from the window at the lights in the city; street lamps; lively pubs; offices that have been abandoned until new year; and all the festive lights lining the highstreets. Conquest Street is your favourite place to be this time of year. You love the displays in the shop windows, the market in the square, the little wooden huts selling scarves and handmade jewellery, the smell of mulled wine, sugar and cinnamon, almost tangible in your nose and on your tongue. What you wouldn’t give to be there right now.

Aemond’s apartment is bleak by comparison. He doesn’t see the point in decorations, not when he’ll be spending Christmas at his family’s estate– at Dragonstone, Christmas is Alicent’s territory. Aemond’s place is clean, lit by lowlights with no bursts of colour or fairy lights and no tree.

He’s sitting at the dining table. The cold glare of his laptop shines over his face and reflects in the lenses of his glasses.

This boy never takes a break.

Term technically doesn’t end until tomorrow but everyone you know has already gone home to make the most of the break. Not Aemond. He wants to stay for as long as possible. He doesn’t talk about his family much, but you can put pieces together. You booked your own train ticket home according to his because you could think of nothing worse than leaving him alone on the run up to Christmas.

“Sit down, you’re making me anxious,” Aemond says, not looking up from the screen.

He’s been on the verge of irritation all day. You’re in the kitchen trying to make hot chocolate? Too much noise, he says. You’re at the dining table wrapping presents for your parents? Too distracting.

You take slow steps across the floor, behind his chair, draping yourself over his shoulders. He’s working on some project for an internship and simultaneously trying to get ahead on the research for his dissertation.

You love how he looks when he’s focused, the frown that means he’s utterly absorbed in what he’s doing. It’s not quite so endearing when he could be focusing on you instead.

Your arms wrap around him. He pushes his glasses up and puts a hand over yours, a featherlight touch. You want more.

“It’s getting late you say,” letting your lips ghost over his temple.

“It’s not even six.”

“You should take a break. We could order food?”

“Yeah, when I’m done with this, I just need to–”

“Aemond.”

Your arms fall away from him and he looks up at you with a slow breath. His expression is soft, his eyes slightly hooded, his lips fallen. He knows he's upset you.

“Aemond, it’s our last night together before Christmas.”

He shuts the lid of his laptop and leaves his glasses on the table. As much as you love how he looks with them on, there’s something about the unobstructed view of his face that never fails to take your breath away. Especially his eyes, one blue, one glass and made to imitate a sapphire, framed in a neat scar running down the left side of his face, an injustice of childhood.

He leans forward, snaking his hands to your waist, pulling you in towards him.

It’s an unfair move really. Suddenly all you want to do is run your fingers through his silver hair, tilt his chin up, hold his face in your hands.

“You’re right, darling,” he says, stroking his thumbs in circles where they fall against your belly. You feel the pressure of it through the knit jumper you wear. “Let’s go out. Pub? Restaurant? What’s the market thing on Conquest Street, didn’t you mention that a while ago?”

“It’s a bit late to go out now, I’d have to get ready.”

“We’ll stay in and watch a Christmas movie then, yeah?”

“I didn’t think you’d be in the mood for something festive.”

He makes a quick face. Not that long ago you’d tried to get him to watch The Muppet Christmas Carol, and he was far from impressed. What horrors will you have in store for him next? “Whatever you want. I want whatever you want.”

You coax him to the sofa, big and plush and expensive. Aemond throws a blanket over the two of you and with a few taps of his phone arranges the food. Without much deliberation you put on Love Actually, meeting Aemond’s eye with a wide grin.

He hides his face in his hands but survives the ordeal.

By the time the credits are rolling it’s not particularly late, but you’re dreading the morning. You’ll have to wake up early, pack a bag, then you and Aemond will go to the train station together and go your separate ways until the new year. A whole two weeks apart.

You cozy up to him, breathe in the smell of his aftershave.

“What now, another film?” He asks, trying to find the remote.

Another idea pops into your head. “We could do something else?”

Aemond catches your eye, trying not to smile. “Now let me think, what else could we possibly do, hmm?” He’s awful at playing coy and has been since the moment you met him. He’s too observant, too intent on the details to play dumb.

“Well,” you say, tracing fingertips along the material of his sweats, over his thigh, “since it is the season, and I can’t ride Santa’s sleigh, can I ride you instead?”

His mouth bursts into a messy smile. “Sorry, what?”

You mean to huff out of annoyance but it comes out like a laugh. “I’m trying to be cute!”

Aemond takes your chin in his fingers and your body freezes. “You really don’t need to try,” he says, and leans in to capture your lips with his.

The way Aemond kisses makes you melt every time. He’s slow and commanding, like he’s savouring every precious moment. His hands slide underneath your jumper, dragging along your skin to hold your waist. The promise of what will come next puts you on edge.

Sparse gasps for breath hum in the back of your throat. Aemond smiles against your lips and holds you tighter, dragging you to straddle his lap. He pulls away from your mouth, to your frustration, and places a wide palm at your navel, the waist of your jeans. “Stand up, need to get these off.”

You move off him and go to undo the top button, but Aemond grabs your wrists and pulls you closer. You watch as he smiles slightly, his fingers moving to undo the button and the zip. He’s teasing you, drawing out the anticipation as much as he can.

You sigh in relief once they’re off, dragging them down your legs, tossing them aside and coming back to straddle Aemond.

His hands settle at your thighs. “Look at you, so eager, hmm?”

“You can’t blame me, you’ve been ignoring me all day,” you say, grinding your clothed core against the bulge in his sweats. You can be teasing too, with drawn out movements of your hips.

Aemond’s jaw tightens. You can see he’s trying to stay smug. “Well, we’re fixing that now.”

You press a kiss to his cheek while your fingertips curl at the top of his sweats, dragging them down enough to free his cock. He’s taught you what he likes and if you were feeling patient you might have come to your knees before him, but at the slightest touch of Aemond’s fingertips against the fabric over your clit, you know what you need.

He pulls your panties to the side, dragging you along his leaking cock with a hand at your lower back. He’s hard and you’re achingly wet. He holds you where he wants you, lining himself up to pull you down onto his length. The stretch is sharp and sweet, hollowing you out and filling you perfectly.

Aemond’s head falls against the back of the sofa as you sink down.

“Does it feel good?” you tease him.

He’s breathless, helplessly watching the space where your bodies meet. “Fuck, perfect little pussy– feels so good,”

You cradle your arms around his head as you ride him, unhurried, hands restless as you feel his hair and the sides of his face, along his jaw.

Aemond hardly has to do anything, as soon as his fingertips are on your clit you feel your spine straighten and something inside you tighten. He circles over you lazily, watching your face with a soft, admiring kind of amusement.

“Right there,” you whisper, “don’t fucking stop.”

“Are you gonna come for me, darling?”

Your thighs are burning at the effort but you don’t care. You’re so close, so close.

“Beg me,” Aemond murmurs.

A slew of slurred and breathless pleas fall from your lips. You can feel the slickness between your legs, how easily he glides over you, how deep his cock reaches inside of you, pushing against the right spot.

Aemond hums as he grabs your hips with his free hand, fucking you faster and harder until you’re falling apart, convulsing, melting.

You fall against Aemond, holding each other closer as you wait for the deliriousness to fade away. Suddenly the air is unbearably cold. You cling to Aemond, to his warmth, content in his arms.

“Happy with your ride?” Aemond asks. You can hear him grinning.

You lift your head and rest it against his shoulder. The light of the TV catches in his features, his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, the details of grey in his right eye and the unnatural bright blue of his left.

“Can I go again?”

Aemond leans into you, pressing his nose against yours. “You can ride me as many times as you want, darling.”

No taglist, follow @ficsbygee and turn on post notifs for updates!

#aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon

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slaytheusurper · 2 days ago

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⭑ Family Secrets ⭑

Masterlist

A/N: (s)creaming-

Request: No

Pairing: Perv!Aemond x Niece!reader

Warnings: NFSW, +18 mdni, male mastrubation, aemond fr being a nasty perv be warned no but like fr, female mastrubation/pillow humping, making out, dirty talk in high valyrian, p in v sex and creampie.

Summary: Aemond finds it hard to control his sick desires for his niece and can't help but play with her.

Word count: 5k

The sea waves crashed against the side of the large Targaryen fleet, nerves flowed through you at every shake of the wooden planks. Usually a voyage on the sea didn’t scare you in any way but the windy and stormy morning made it a lot less pleasant. Your brothers however didn’t seem to mind, the clinging of their swords ringing through the air.

They loved to practise whenever they could, and if you didn’t feel so unnerved by the weather you would’ve joined them. You were glad to see one of the servants coming towards you with a flagon of wine. Raising your cup she swiftly filled it with the red liquid. Sipping on the strong dornish wine, you tried to focus on anything but the assault of the waves.

The dragon calls could be heard above, Caraxes, Syrax, your own dragon, Vermax and Arrax soared along the ship. The walls shielded you from the sight of them though. The amber glow from the candles filled the darkened royal cabin, secluded on the quarterdeck of the ship.

The dark clouds shielded the sun from shining its warmth on the waves of the sea and so even on the ship it was quite chilly. But nothing ran a shiver up your spine more than your family's return to King’s Landing. You didn’t understand the need for it but you didn’t have the nerve to tell your mother that.

The future queen was filled with dread herself, you noticed. Word had reached Dragon Stone from Alicent that King Viserys was in a bad condition and even though they had their differences, she felt like a reunion between father and daughter would do her husband some good.

And so the morning after the raven arrived, you had set sail. You wondered how your family was doing, but with the likely chances of this whole visit ending badly, you wished you could only wonder. But there was no turning back now as you looked out the small window and The Red Keep came into view.

And so it was only about half an hour later when your weakened legs stepped onto the shores of King’s Landing, a coach and some members of the King’s Guard waiting for you. Following your mother and Daemon, with your brothers behind you, a hand reached out to help you inside.

The rattling coach did not help calm you as you anticipated the whole ordeal, your mother spoke softly with Daemon about sending for maester Gerardys and your brothers both silently stared out the window. Everybody was tense, the unspoken past lingered in the air. It was only six years ago that your sweet younger brother Luke, took Aemond’s eye.

Even though a little boy like him had no idea what he had done, it was still a grave wound that cut the family in half. What only made the situation worse was the bullying Aegon had led, making it seem like Luke had done it on purpose. Your uncle and yourself were never necessarily friends either, but at the least friendly with each other.

But who could blame him for hating all of you from that moment on? No one. It was only fueled by Alicent as well, her own spite for her step-daughter and her bastards burning inside her. Alas after all these years, you would have to face each other again.

After what seemed ages you finally arrived within the courtyard of The Red Keep, the door of the coach opened and your mother stepped out as a shrill voice announced her, Daemon followed and so did you and your brothers. There, only a few paces in front of the coach were Alicent, Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, Otto and three of the small council members.

Your mother went first to greet them, Daemon by her side, hand on the hilt of his sword. Dragons could be heard and seen flying in circles above you, it gave you comfort that your own dragon was close, if something were to happen. You took a deep breath and followed with your brothers to greet Alicent, Otto and your uncles and aunt. It was awkward enough and thank the gods over quickly.

When you were led inside, nostalgia was the last thing you felt as you peered over your mother’s shoulder. All the Targaryen heraldry had been replaced, all with stars of the faith of the seven. You knew Alicent was quite religious but never had you thought she would dare such an insult.

You could already hear the grumbles of Daemon in front of you, and you shared a look with Jace and Luke. You were all led to a more familiar place, the dining hall where you would share some food together at the start of the afternoon. You were glad when your place was between your brothers, it felt safer. A buffer of sorts.

Servants filed in with various fruits, wines, breads and spreads for you to indulge in and it became a little less tense when there was some food to chew on. Since you had grown quite the appetite from the horrendous voyage here, you gathered some of your favourites on your plate and shared some quiet conversation with Jace and Luke.

It was better to keep them distracted and apart from Aemond, who sat at the other end. After a while, Alicent rose from her seat, cup in hand. “I wish to give a toast, to the Princess Rhaenyra. The circumstances of which we have gathered here are grim, but nevertheless it is a pleasure to receive you, and your family. To the princess.” She uttered, a bit too appropriate.

Everyone raised their cups and took a sip, it was all very stale and tense. But you could tell that especially Aegon and Aemond tried to keep as quiet and ‘nice’ as possible. Helaena seemed almost out of it and Otto kept to himself. It was just Alicent who engaged in some polite conversation with your mother and Daemon, but always about the king.

It was quite dreadful, but when everyone seemed finished, the children were excused to explore their old home and get accustomed again, while the adults went to pay a visit to the king. Your heart rose when you realised there would only be guards around to keep an eye on you and your brothers.

Your mother and most importantly Daemon wouldn’t be able to defend you now, if anything happened. Both of your brothers joined your side as you strolled through the halls of the Red Keep. “Luke, I probably don’t have to say this but still, just- watch your back. He probably won’t try anything but I saw the way he looked at us, at you.” You whispered to your right. You noticed the way Luke’s shoulders tensed but he simply nodded.

“Will you join us in the training yard?” Jace asked, a bit too chirpy. “Maybe I’ll visit you later, I need some air in the gardens, at least I can be certain I won’t bump into our uncles there.” He gave you a soft smile and then took off with Luke to the yard beyond the doors, two guards following them outside.

“Shall I escort you princess?” Ser Erryk asked, joining your side. “Has my mother asked you to keep an eye on me Ser?” He gave you an awkward smile. “Yes princess,” his next words fell to a whisper, “it would be safer.” You only gave him a nod and he stepped back a pace, making sure you still had your own space.

When you stepped outside, the sun had finally made an appearance. A quiet sigh left your lips and the smell of flowers and various plants filled your nose. It was almost the only place left untouched by Alicent and her stars. You strolled through the gardens, took in all the flowers and birds. Even the beautiful butterflies that were almost magically flying around.

A while later you stumbled across a bright ladybug resting on the leaf of a bush. You admired it for a while, having no idea someone was also admiring you...

Aemond’s POV

He was quite grateful the strong bastards kept to themselves. As soon as he had entered the training yard, in search of Criston Cole, the both of them left as soon as they caught sight of the common louts admiring the training weapons. Only a brief look was shared and Cole joined him to turn back inside.

“It is an insult to us, their presence alone. I can come to terms with the fact they live in my ancestors castle far away from us, but them being here now-” Aemond got cut off by Cole. “It is repulsive, them being here. But the best we can do is keep our distance, only look in their direction or even speak to them when absolutely necessary.”

Aemond nodded, “Fucking mongrels, the girl is lucky to have silver hair or they would have her head the second her arse sat on the throne. But who knows, after my sister is dead, what will become of my niece?” He smirked, before turning towards his own chambers. His only place of safety and solitude.

Only he got distracted when he passed a window that overlooked the gardens. There she was, the lucky girl. To Aemond’s displeasure, she looked almost ethereal. The now softened wind breezing through her long silver curls, the sun making her hair almost glow. Her purple eyes inspecting a nearby bug or butterfly he would imagine.

What made his mouth turn even more sour was where his eye almost naturally shifted to. Her body. She had rather matured and was only two years younger than him, her body now...more grown. Beautiful hips, tits that bulged slightly out of the top of her bodice. Long fingers adorned with rings, a necklace resting on her chest.

He scolded himself for even stopping in his tracks in the first place. Her Valyrian features linger in his mind as he resumes to his chambers. Once there he tried to distract himself with some studying. He could hardly focus on the words, when her tits kept reappearing in his mind. Then it only got worse, his mind drifted off while he sat at his desk.

Cock swelling alive at the thought of ripping that gown off her, her nipples would harden through her shift because of the breeze, her curves on better display through her smallclothes. But he would rip that off too, display her nakedness for all to see. Then he would get her on her knees, mouth open, tongue out and ready for him.

His cock was now pulsing, the outline of it extremely visible through his pants. He swiftly undid them and already found that precum stained his breeches. He palmed his cock and hissed at the sensitivity, he loved to wait a longer period between pleasuring himself, knowing that the sensation would be far better.

Even though he wanted to wait just one more day, he couldn’t help himself; he was way too aroused. He started to softly tug the skin over the head of his cock, face contorted in pleasure, a grunt left his lips. Fuck it felt good. He didn’t care what anyone would think, all that filled his mind was his pretty little niece.

Seven hells, the way she would gag and tear up around his cock as he fucked his cock in her mouth. Not giving a shit that they’d be out in public, gods she would probably touch herself too, the little whore she is. He could imagine it all too well, the way her tongue would glide over his sensitive skin. Would she know to lick his slit? Suck on his balls to give him even more pleasure? Even if she did not, he would teach her, corrupt her.

He could feel himself get closer and closer, tugging on his cock faster, his loud breathing filled his chambers, his groans bouncing off the walls. He moved his free hand to massage his stones, a whine leaving his lips at the added stimulation. Imagining it was her. With only a couple more tugs and firmer fondles on his balls, ropes of cum painted his thighs, hands and some on the cold stone floor.

He jerked himself a bit more, to fully empty his satiated balls until he got too sensitive, before fetching a rag to clean his hands and the floor up. Opting for a change of pants either way. Then an idea came to his mind, a sick and disgusting idea. He grabbed his cum covered pants and rolled them up to disguise the item.

He knew exactly what chamber she resided in, it was one of the chambers that was connected to the secluded and utmost secretive halls that Maegor created. And so he moved one of the books in the library, almost no one remained in the halls as it was already close to supper so he had free reign.

The book allowed for a door to open, hidden as just another bookshelf and Aemond stepped inside, even just the thought of what he was about to do made excitement fill his chest. He used the torch he fetched off one off the walls in the hallways to navigate the dark secret corridors.

His cum soiled pants still clutched tightly in his hands as he let the flame guide him, soon enough he was certain he had reached the right wall. He opened the small wooden door and entered a small and short hallway, a wooden screen blocking his way, but he discovered he could open it slightly and peer inside, only to be met with a thinner tapestry.

And pleasantly sensed he could see through the fabric art that hung inside her chamber, and as if the gods had willed it so, she was still out. Her bed was on the opposite side of the room and his mind only filled with more perverted ideas as he realised he could watch her here at night. A new pastime he could enjoy, and she would have no idea.

Placing the torch in an empty holder in the small hallway. He moved the screen and tapestry to the side and strolled over to her bed. He could feel his cock swell alive again as he placed his pants on her bed, not fully spreading it out yet. He wanted to watch her unfold them, and question what the stickiness on it was.

Satisfied with his work, he was certain she must return soon to freshen up before supper. He knew ladies always did. So he left her chambers and waited for her behind the slightly ajar wooden screen, making sure the tapestry covered it again. His perfect little hiding spot. It seemed as if hours passed yet it was only about twenty minutes when the door opened and she entered.

Your POV

“Would you need the help of a handmaiden, your grace?” Ser Erryk politely asked. You shook your head, “That won’t be necessary, thank you. I’ll be quick.” He nodded curtly and closed the door of your chamber behind you. You walked over to the vanity against the wall and found that your household had already unpacked your jewelry, you wanted to change your earrings and necklace for a nicer pair and then would head right to supper.

When you had finished changing them out, you felt a weird sensation. You peered around the room but of course no one was there, right? You blamed the long morning for your weird feelings but then spotted something on your bed. Has one of the servants readied something for you? You walked over to your bed to find out what it was.

It was a black fabric, leather, and looked like what seemed to be pants. Your face twisted in confusion and grabbed it to unfold them and confirm your suspicion. Further confusion washed over your face as the pants were not only for men but they were dirty. Was this some twisted joke?

You quickly let go of it and it fell to the floor, you thought of fetching a maid to get it out but then thought against it. What if they thought you had a man in here and your innocence was ruined? It was too big a risk, then your eyes shifted to the fireplace. Filled with disgust you grabbed the leather pants by the end of the leg and dragged it to the flames, throwing in the pants.

The room filled with an uncomfortable smell of the charring leather and you hurriedly went outside, Ser Erryk trailing behind you as you made your way to the dining hall.

Aemond’s POV

His hand undid the laces of his pants as he watched you eye the black material with caution. Palming his cock as you now dropped it to the floor with disgust. His lips fell agape as he tugged on his cock, feeling more aroused and sensitive than ever before. Fuck it felt even better then the very first time he mastrubated.

He felt his release near when you had thrown the soiled pants in the fire, the smell of burning leather somehow turning him on even more. He stifled his groans with his mouth as he jerked himself to release, his cum painted the floor and his hand, as he was careful not to stain his clean pants this time.

He cleaned his hand up with his own mouth and left the floor for what it was. He moved his now soft cock back in his breeches. Lacing his pants up again, he started his walk to one of the hallways of the Red Keep, he kept his ear to the unassuming door and heard nothing. He found the small servants hallway empty and quickly made his way to the dining hall.

Your POV

Heads raised as Aemond walked in, a soft satisfied smile on his face. “You're late.” Otto spoke. “I had matters to attend to.” He replied coldly before taking his seat. You avoided his gaze as you could feel it on you and continued picking at the rabbit meat before you. The sticky pants had never left your mind.

Supper was not so much different from your shared meal earlier, still polite conversations and the table almost split in half. But this time your eyes kept glancing back at Aemond. Why was he so content all of a sudden? Maybe he just had a good training in the yard with Cole, as you heard they spent a lot of time training together.

You decide to ignore it and finish the remainder of your meal, before long you were excused once again, and this time decided to head straight to your chambers. A bath and a good book afterwards would calm you. And so it did, after a nice hot bath and slipping into a fresh clean nightgown, you had read a bit of your new found book and lulled into a deep sleep, but still Aemond’s eye felt like it never left you.

The following days were filled with garden visits, sowing work with Helaena and some other ladies of court and avoiding your 'green' family at all costs. But much to your surprise it seemed Alicent and your mother got along pretty well, which could only be bad for you.

Happy memories of King’s Landing never left your mind at the cold and stormy island of Dragon Stone, but now you missed it and you missed your dragon. So on the fourth day after your arrival, you headed to the dragonpit along with Jace and Luke. You felt like you could stay on dragonback forever, with your brothers flying close to you but the sun was setting and it was time to head back.

After a meal shared with just your brothers as the three of you were too late for supper, you found yourself back in your chambers. But not without some entertainment, one of the ladies of court was a pleasant company, and you felt relief wash over you as her laughter and humorous jokes fell on your ears.

You were the same age and shared similar personalities, her father was a member of the small council and so she had the pleasure of the Red Keep’s walls protecting her, as well as learning all the gossip and the secrets, which she gladly shares with you. And so she shared all she knew, of how horrible a marriage Helaena and Aegon had, how their children were so unhappy and of putting.

But then she said something that really caught your attention. “I heard one of the maids the other day, she said she was certain she could hear prince Aemond, well- how do I put this, having… fun? With himself? If you catch my meaning.” She giggled. Your mouth fell open and a loud laugh left you.

“I do catch your meaning!” You laughed, she couldn’t help but laugh too. You couldn’t believe it, you never knew men did that too. Your knowledge went as far as that they used whores when they had urges. You thought only women did it, since many men didn’t care about women’s pleasure.

She filled you in on much and more, about how many were certain Aegon has a thing for unflowering maidens and how Larys Clubfoot had an obsession with feet. Much to your dismay, it had grown late and she sadly had to go to her own chambers. As you said your goodbyes, you couldn’t help but feel it again. Like someone was watching you.

You shook off the feeling and called for your handmaiden to ready you for bed. She took down your hair from your beautiful braids that day, helped you undress and bathe. Then she waved your hair in a single braid and helped you into your nightgown. When she left, you slipped into bed, however tonight, sleep could not find you.

You went over the day, as you usually did when you couldn’t sleep. But your mind kept hanging on to what your new friend said, Aemond pleasuring himself. You tried to think back on your flight today but you couldn’t help it. Why was the thought so erotic to you? You shouldn’t think about your uncle this way but still, your hand snaked down between your thighs.

Your cunt throbbed with desire, and you lifted your ass a bit to lift up your nightgown, as it was a hotter day, you had nothing underneath. Your fingers caressed your folds and you couldn’t help the whimper falling from your lips. But it wasn’t enough, you craved more. Then something occurred to you, you shoved the blankets off you and grabbed your pillow.

You knelt on the bed and placed the pillow between your thighs, nerves flowing through you as well as excitement. When you thought the pillow was well placed on the long side of it, you sank down on it and leaned forward a bit. When you felt the position was good, you experimentally grinded your clit against it.

An uncontrollable moan left your lips and you hoped Ser Erryk hadn’t heard anything, you stilled for a moment but nothing happened, so you resumed. You rolled your hips against the pillow again and you allowed for soft whines to leave your lips. The rough but soft enough fabric against your clit had your mind dazed.

You humped the pillow like a bunny in heat, your clit getting the perfect stimulation from your pillow. Soft moans left you as you chased your release and you couldn’t help but imagine your dear uncle. So you let it consume you and let your desire for him flow through you. It made you burn with arousal and you imagined you were humping his lap instead.

It didn’t take long for your peak to overcome you, and you frantically humped the pillow as you were near. The bed creaked with your wild movements and you couldn’t help but moan his name, you were so so close. With a louder whine of ‘Aemond, I’m cumming uncle!’ Your orgasm exploded and your thighs clenched the pillow between them hard. And with a few more grinds, you let yourself fall to your side, mind completely fogged and in bliss.

Then a loud scratch of wood on stone, pulled you out of your daze. You gasped and quickly pulled your blankets over yourself to cover your nakedness. Your eyes were met with Aemond’s single one as he emerged from behind the screen, he walked over to the foot of your bed.

“W-what are you doing here? Get out, at once, get out.” You stammered. But he just smiled. “Is that what you wish? I could give you far more pleasure than your pillow ever could niece.” Your face fell at his words and you held your breath as he came over to the side of your bed. “I heard what you and your little friend talked about, and I bet that it turned you on, didn’t it.”

It was hard to deny since you just came with his name on your lips but you couldn’t speak. Frozen in shock. “Hm. Don’t worry, I think about you too, when I’m having fun with myself.” He smiled. Realisation dawned on your face. “The pants.” Aemond grinned. “A little gift from me, did you like it?”

You couldn’t help but feel wet at the thought that they were from him, but you quickly reprimanded yourself. It was wrong, not only him being here but everything about this was wrong. “Oh come on, you moaned my name so sweetly just now. Don’t you want your Kepus to actually pleasure you?” You could only shake your head.

“Aemond- no, no it’s wrong. We can’t.” He chuckled in response. “Are we going to ignore that your mother is married to her uncle? So how is it wrong? You are mine. And I will have you.” He then raised his knee and climbed on your bed, but you made no move to run from him. Too excited to see what he would do next. “I see you are staying put, you can say no all you want, but I know how much you want me, as much as I want you.”

“Ivestragon nyke, gaomagon ao gīmigon īlva muña ēngos?” Tell me, do you know our mother tongue? You nodded, “Gaoman Kepus.” I do uncle. “Sȳz riña.” Good girl. Aemond smiled. Then his hand moved to the edge of your blanket which you were still using to cover yourself. He pulled it off you and let his eye roam over your naked form.

“Fuck.” He whispered, he was already wet in his pants due to the amount of precum that leaked out of him at the sight of your humping, but now he couldn’t wait. “Gaomagon ao pendagon kostā gūrogon nyke? Kostagon mazemā aōha Kepus?” Do you think you can take me? Can you take your uncle? You knew the weight of his words but desire and lust clouded your senses, your will to refuse.

“Kessa, Nyke jorrāelagon ao sīr olvie Kepus.” Yes, I need you so much uncle. He hurriedly unlaced his pants at your words and took his cock from his breeches, stroking himself at the sight of your tits. But he was a gentleman and wouldn’t treat you like a whore. So he fully undressed, and crawled on top of you.

“Vūjigon nyke tala.” Kiss me niece. You lifted your head to meet his lips, you gave him a peck but that did not satisfy him, he pulled you back and kissed you with greed. His lips harshly moving against you, his hand then massaged your breast, making you gasp against his lips. Then his tongue invaded your mouth.

His hand moved to your cunt and he let his finger inside. He let go of your lips so that the both of you could catch your breath. “Still wet for me aren’t you, so warm and slick.” He groaned, retreating his finger to grab the base of his cock instead. “Kostilus Kepus.” Please uncle.

He had mercy, and let the tip of his cock glide through your folds, before carefully prodding in his tip. He moved just the tip in and out of you for a while, letting you get accustomed to the new sensation. But you were never one for patience. “Sepār gūrogon nyke Kepus, gūrogon nyke. Mazverdagon nyke aōhon” Just take me uncle, take me. Make me yours.

He shuddered at your words, and let his length fully sheath inside of you, the both of you moaning at the stretch and tightness. When he noticed you weren’t in much pain he began to move, rubbing your pearl as he thrusted up into you. You bit your lip to keep as quiet as possible, but the way you uncle was fucking you, made that quite hard.

He groaned and moaned shamelessly. The squelching of your shared juices and the creaking of your bed enveloping your chamber. Soon he sped up his movements and his balls slapped loudly against your ass. Only adding to the sensation. “Kesan mazverdagon ao ñuhon, leghagon ao, mazverdagon aōha iemny hōzigon.” I will make you mine, fill you, make your belly swell.

You finally audibly moaned at his words and it earned you a groan from him. Your uncle was filling you up so good, who could blame you? His cock pounding into you as he rubbed your sensitive clit made you actually see stars as you squeezed your eyes shut. And for the second time tonight, you moaned his name. Your tight walls clenching around his cock making him pant louder and roll his eye back.

He didn’t stop as you came down from your peak, grinding his hips fiercely against you when he cried out your name, his warm seed filling you. He humped his high out a bit and made sure to fully empty himself. When he had calmed too, he removed his now soft cock out of you, making you wince. “Gaomagon daor zūgagon, kesā daor jikagon arlī naejot Dragon Stone.” Do not fear, you will not go back to Dragon Stone.

#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #hotd smut #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond targaryen x fem reader smut #aemond targaryen x fem reader

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hoosbandewan · 2 days ago

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12 DAYS OF AEMOND TARGARYEN-MAS

Day Six: Aemond + weapons

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wodania · 3 days ago

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alys and larys for @asoiafpalestine! commissioner unknown, so please come forward if this is yours!

look out for more updates as I clean everything up!

#larys strong #alys rivers #house of the dragon #my art #extra tags:#fanart #artists on tumblr #art #digital art #hotd #hotd fanart

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novaursa · 2 days ago

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A Fire Worth Burning (ruins of an empire)

- Summary: Aegon loved you since you were children, but your father, Daemon, would never let him have you. Not while he lived.

- Paring: cousin!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for blood, gore, violence and death)

- Previous part: 1

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The world was fire and ruin. The smoke hung thick in the air, choking the sky until it was a dark, ashen gray. The battlefield of Rook’s Rest was strewn with the broken bodies of men and dragons alike, and at the center of it all lay Vermithor.

Your dragon—your great, ancient beast—lay sprawled across the blood-soaked earth. His once-mighty bronze wings, tinged with dull gold, were torn and scorched, his powerful chest rising and falling in uneven, rattling breaths. His golden eyes, dimmed by agony, still turned toward you where you lay beside him. His long tail twitched faintly, a final act of defiance against the death that clawed at him.

You could not move, though you were alive. Your body felt heavy, your limbs pinned to the ground by the weight of exhaustion and pain. Blood trickled down your forehead, stinging your eyes, and you tasted copper with every breath.

The sound of boots—deliberate and slow—crunched against the blackened earth. Through the haze, two figures loomed above you.

Ser Criston Cole stood at your feet, his white cloak now a sullied gray, splattered with soot and streaked with crimson. His expression was unreadable, the gaze of a man accustomed to watching the fallen.

Beside him stood Aemond Targaryen, clad in blackened steel, his pale hair streaked with ash. His violet eye burned cold and bright, fixed on you with a cruel sense of satisfaction.

“You fought well,” Aemond said, his voice even and void of sympathy. “But it ends here.”

You managed to glare at him, though the effort cost you. “I will see you in the Seven Hells before this is done.”

Aemond tilted his head, his lips curling into something that might have been a smile had it not been so devoid of warmth. “Perhaps. But you will arrive first.”

“Put her out of her misery,” Criston said curtly, his voice carrying the air of finality.

Aemond drew his sword, the steel glinting dully in the low, smoke-filtered light. “A fitting end for the Rogue Prince’s daughter.”

The moment stretched, time slowing as he took a step toward you. You forced yourself to lift your head, to summon the last scraps of defiance that burned within you.

But then—a roar.

It tore through the sky, deep and furious, shaking the earth beneath you. Sunfyre descended like a golden star, his shimmering scales glowing through the haze of smoke. His wings struck the air like thunder as he landed with a tremor that forced both Aemond and Cole back a step.

A figure leapt down from the saddle before Sunfyre had even stilled, his cloak billowing behind him like a banner of war. Aegon.

His pale hair was streaked with sweat and grime, his armor dented and scorched from the battle. His eyes—wild and bright with fury—locked onto you. And in an instant, he was moving.

“What are you doing?” Aemond demanded, his voice sharp.

Aegon ignored him. He strode past his brother and shoved him hard, enough that Aemond stumbled back a step, his grip on the sword loosening.

“Get out of my way,” Aegon snarled, his voice a low growl.

“My King—” Criston began, but Aegon silenced him with a glare before falling to his knees beside you. He cupped your face in his hands, his gauntleted fingers surprisingly gentle as he tilted your head toward him.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice ragged. “Gods, you’re alive.” His violet eyes roamed over you, his face contorted with something that looked suspiciously like panic. “I thought—”

Your vision swam, but you managed to rasp, “What… are you doing here?”

“Saving you,” Aegon muttered, as though it were obvious. “You’ve made a mess of things, haven’t you?”

Aemond stepped closer, his face twisted with anger. “What are you doing, Aegon? She is the enemy.”

“She’s not your concern,” Aegon bit back, his voice low and venomous. He looked up at Aemond, his grip on you tightening. “She’s mine.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, his face a mask of cold fury. “Have you lost your mind? She rode against us. Her dragon burned our men.”

“And I don’t care,” Aegon snarled, his words as sharp as steel. “If you so much as touch her again, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Aemond sneered. “She’s a traitor, Aegon. She should die with her dragon.”

“I said shut up!” Aegon roared, his voice echoing across the battlefield. He turned his attention back to you, his hands cradling your broken form as though you were made of glass. His voice softened then, cracking with something raw and unspoken. “I won’t let you die here.”

Criston stepped forward. “Your Grace, you are making a mistake.”

Aegon shot him a glare over his shoulder. “You will say nothing, Ser Criston.”

Aemond’s voice cut through like ice. “This will be your undoing.”

“Then so be it,” Aegon snapped, his gaze never wavering. Without another word, he slipped an arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, lifting you effortlessly despite the weight of your wounds. You let out a soft sound of pain as he moved, but Aegon hushed you, his lips close to your ear. “I’ve got you. I won’t drop you, I swear.”

You wanted to protest, to tell him he was a fool, but the warmth of his arms and the steadiness of his hold kept you silent.

As he carried you toward Sunfyre, Aemond called out one last time, his voice ringing with a warning that felt like prophecy.

“You’ll regret this, brother,” he said coldly. “She will be your downfall.”

Aegon paused at the base of Sunfyre, his gaze sharp as he looked back. “Better her than you.”

With that, Aegon climbed onto Sunfyre’s back, settling you securely against him. The dragon let out a low, resonant growl, sensing his rider’s urgency. As Sunfyre’s wings unfurled, Aegon whispered to you, his voice soft and fierce all at once.

“I’ll keep you safe, Y/N. I promise.”

And as the golden dragon rose into the sky, carrying you far from the battlefield, the last thing you saw was Aemond standing amidst the ruins—his face etched with fury and something else: fear.

The flames in the great hall of Harrenhal danced wildly. The room reeked of smoke and I'll omen. The whispers of Vermithor’s return to Dragonstone without his rider had traveled quickly, and now, the Rogue Prince stood at the head of the hall, his face a mask of fury. The embers of his rage smoldered as dangerously as the fires of his dragon.

Daemon Targaryen was unhinged when angry, but this—this—was something else. He paced like a caged beast, his hands clenching and unclenching as if they itched to draw blood. Dark Sister hung at his hip, and his crimson cloak billowed with every sharp turn he made. His silver hair, usually so carefully kept, had fallen loose around his face, tangling in the heat of his movements.

“Gone!” Daemon roared, his voice echoing off the walls like thunder. “My daughter is gone, and all you fools can tell me is that Vermithor returned riderless?!”

A group of men stood near the far end of the room, silent and wary. Among them was Lord Simon Strong, a nervous sweat glistening on his brow as he wrung his hands. He had known war and bloodshed all his life, but the fury of Daemon Targaryen was another matter entirely.

“My prince,” Simon said cautiously, his voice calm though strained. “The situation—”

“Don’t speak to me of the situation!” Daemon cut in, rounding on the man with a snarl. “Vermithor would not abandon her willingly. He returned because he was forced to—because she is gone!” He spat the word like venom. His dark violet eyes blazed as he scanned the room, searching for someone to bear the brunt of his wrath. “Where were my scouts? Where were my riders? You’re telling me that self proclaimed king—a drunken, halfwit fool—swooped in like a vulture and took her, and no one could stop him?”

Simon Strong hesitated. “The… the king had Sunfyre. And Prince Aemond. It is said they struck as one.”

Daemon’s lips curled into a snarl, his teeth bared like a wolf’s. “Aegon… and Aemond.” He turned his back on the men, running a hand through his hair before slamming his fist into the stone wall beside him, the impact reverberating like the crack of a whip. “Those treacherous, lecherous bastards will burn for this.”

“My prince,” Simon tried again, his tone edging toward pleading, “we must think carefully. This is war, and emotions—”

Daemon wheeled on him, his voice sharp as a blade. “Carefully? Did Aegon think carefully when he stole my daughter from the battlefield? When he carried her off like some prize to his golden beast?” His breathing was ragged now, and his eyes burned with something feral, something unrestrained. “No. This is no longer war. This is blood feud.”

“Prince Daemon—”

“They have made it personal,” Daemon said darkly, his voice dropping to a low growl. “They have taken my child. Do you understand what that means, Lord Strong?”

Simon swallowed, taking an uneasy step back. “It means the war escalates further.”

“It means I will tear them apart,” Daemon corrected, his voice dangerously calm now. “Piece by piece, until there is nothing left but ashes and screams.” He began pacing again, his hands twitching as though he wished to summon Caraxes with a mere thought. “Rhaenyra must know of this immediately. The queen will decide our next move, but I will have my vengeance. I swear it.”

“Perhaps your daughter still lives,” Simon ventured cautiously. “Aegon may have taken her for… other reasons.”

Daemon froze, his back to the lord, shoulders stiffening. The silence that followed was suffocating, and when he turned back to face Simon, his expression was murderous.

“Do you think that comforts me?” Daemon hissed, his voice barely more than a whisper. “If that drunken boy so much as lays a finger on her, I will gut him myself and leave his entrails for Sunfyre.”

The room fell silent, the men avoiding Daemon’s gaze as though the fire in his eyes might consume them too. The Rogue Prince was unpredictable, and at this moment, there was no line he would not cross.

Finally, Simon dared to speak again. “What would you have us do?”

Daemon’s gaze turned sharp as a dagger, a dark smile tugging at his lips as he spoke. “I will take to the skies. Send ravens to Dragonstone—Vermithor must not fly again until he is ready. Rhaenyra will rally her forces; the Black Council will not suffer this insult. But make no mistake.” His voice lowered to something far more dangerous. “I will find her.”

“And what of Aegon, my prince?” Simon asked carefully.

Daemon turned his eyes to the banners that hung from the hall—Targaryen dragons on red and black fabric fluttering faintly in the draft. His smile was cold as death itself.

“Aegon has given me cause to kill him,” he said softly. “And so I shall.”

The wind howled as Sunfyre soared through the darkening sky, his golden scales still glowing faintly with the embers of battle. Aegon sat atop his dragon’s back, one arm wrapped securely around you, cradling you against him as the dragon’s wings beat steadily.

You were still weak, your head lolling against Aegon’s shoulder as your eyelids fluttered. The chill of the air bit at your skin, but you barely felt it. Your body ached, your mind still swimming with fractured memories of the fight.

“Aegon…” you murmured weakly, the words barely leaving your lips.

“I’m here,” Aegon said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. He looked down at you, his violet eyes clouded with worry. “You’re safe.”

“You… stole me,” you said, though the accusation carried no real heat.

Aegon smirked faintly, though there was no true humor in it. “I saved you.”

“You are a fool,” you whispered, your strength waning. “My father…”

Aegon’s jaw tensed, but he tightened his grip on you protectively, as though he could shield you from everything—your father, the war, even the gods themselves. “Let him rage. Let him bring all the fury of the Seven Hells. I’ll face him if I must.”

You managed to look up at him, your voice weak but clear. “You’ll start a war you cannot win.”

Aegon met your gaze, and for a moment, you saw something in his expression that startled you. Determination. Devotion. And something more—something you had never seen before in those violet eyes.

“Then so be it,” he said quietly. “I’ll burn the world if I have to.”

As Sunfyre carried you both through the clouds, the war below shifted. The bloodshed to come would be worse than any before it, for Aegon had stolen the Rogue Prince’s daughter, and there was no wrath like that of a dragon robbed of its kin.

The skies above King’s Landing were blackened with dragons. Caraxes and Syrax descended upon the city like vengeful gods. The sound of their wings beat against the air like the drumming of war, a herald of doom that sent the city’s inhabitants into a panic. Bells tolled, their frantic clang swallowed by the deep, echoing roars of dragons and the cries of terrified smallfolk.

The Red Keep burned with the fires of conquest. The gates had been thrown open, the gold cloaks scattered or turned. King’s Landing belonged to Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The Great Hall was empty of its usual opulence. Banners bearing the golden dragon of Aegon II still hung above the Iron Throne, but now they were a mockery. The weight of silence pressed heavy in the chamber as Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen entered. Rhaenyra strode forward with regal fury, her black and red gown trailing behind her like spilled blood. Daemon followed close, his presence a storm barely contained, his violet eyes glinting with a fire that could set the room ablaze.

At the foot of the Iron Throne stood Alicent Hightower, her face pale but her expression proud and defiant. To her left, Otto Hightower stood with the measured calm of a man who knew his life hung by a thread. Beside them, Helaena Targaryen clutched her hands to her chest, her eyes wide, her lips whispering something inaudible as she swayed slightly where she stood.

Rhaenyra stopped at the base of the steps leading to the Iron Throne, her chin lifted. “Where is he?” she demanded, her voice clear and unyielding.

Neither Alicent nor Otto answered.

“Where is Aegon?” she repeated, her tone sharper this time, as though the words might slice through their silence.

Still, the Hightowers said nothing. Otto’s gaze met Rhaenyra’s, but he offered only the cold poise of a man who refused to break under pressure.

It was Daemon who stepped forward then, his voice low and lethal. “And my daughter?” he growled, his words dripping with venom. “Where is she?”

Otto turned to look at him, his expression unreadable. “We do not know.”

Daemon’s lips curled into something dark and feral as he took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “Do not lie to me, Otto. You’re no stranger to betrayal, but I will not suffer you to speak false in my presence.” He paused, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Where is Y/N?”

Alicent lifted her chin, meeting Daemon’s fury with an uneasy calm. “We do not know where she is,” she said, though her voice trembled faintly. “Nor where my son has gone. We have not seen them since—”

“Since when?” Daemon interrupted, his anger boiling over. He moved forward, and for a moment, it seemed he might draw Dark Sister right there in the hall. “Since you let your drunken bastard son steal her away like a prize for his beast?”

Alicent’s face paled, but she did not falter. “We had no hand in his actions.”

“No hand?!” Daemon snarled, his voice filling the chamber like a clap of thunder. He turned on Otto now, his eyes ablaze. “Is that what you tell yourself, Otto? That you had no hand in this? That you didn’t whisper into your grandson’s ear to steal away my daughter—my child—to escalate this war? To bait us?”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra’s voice cut through the room, sharp as steel. Her expression was cold, though the fury in her eyes burned just as bright. She placed a calming hand on Daemon’s arm before turning back to Otto. “You will tell us what you know.”

“I have already told you,” Otto said, his voice steady. “Aegon vanished. He took his dragon, and she was with him. That is all we know.”

Daemon’s laughter was a low, hollow sound. “So you let your so-called king run like a craven, and now you stand here and lie to my face.” He took another step forward, his hand resting ominously on the hilt of Dark Sister. “Perhaps a few heads on pikes will loosen your tongues.”

Helaena flinched at his words, her whispering growing louder as she clutched herself. “The golden beast flies… the golden beast burns… two heads, one shadow…”

Alicent turned to her daughter quickly, her hand resting on her arm. “Helaena, hush,” she whispered, though there was a tremor in her voice.

Daemon’s eyes flicked toward Helaena, narrowing at her words. “What did you say?”

Rhaenyra’s gaze turned to Helaena as well. “What shadow?”

“The shadow,” Helaena murmured, her voice soft and distant. “Two heads, black as night, chasing flames.”

Rhaenyra turned to Alicent then, her voice biting. “What does she mean?”

“She means nothing,” Alicent snapped, though her calm was finally cracking. “Helaena has always spoken in riddles.”

“And her riddles are no comfort to me,” Daemon said darkly, his voice vibrating with menace. “If she knows something—”

“She does not!” Alicent shot back, her voice rising as desperation bled through her carefully crafted mask.

“Then perhaps you should pray to your Seven that you are telling the truth,” Daemon hissed. “Because if I find out that you knew where Aegon has taken her—if you have kept her hidden from me—I will burn this keep to the ground, stone by stone. I will see every last one of you fed to my dragon.”

Alicent’s face was pale, her breathing shallow, but she held his gaze, her defiance flickering like a flame in the wind. “Then you will find nothing, Prince Daemon. Because I know nothing.”

Daemon’s glare burned into her, the silence thick and suffocating as tension hung over the room like an executioner’s axe.

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her voice cool but unrelenting. “We will find her. And when we do, the consequences of this act will fall upon all of you.” Her gaze swept over Alicent, Otto, and Helaena, before settling on the Iron Throne itself. “The time for mercy is over.”

Daemon turned on his heel, his cloak swirling behind him as he stalked out of the hall, his rage palpable. Rhaenyra followed after him, her jaw tight, her expression unyielding.

As their footsteps echoed down the corridor, Alicent let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she clutched Helaena to her side.

Otto turned his gaze to the smoldering doors of the hall, his expression grim. “This will only end in fire and blood.”

And far above the city, as smoke still curled from the ruins, Caraxes and Syrax roared into the heavens, their cries echoing the wrath of dragons unleashed.

The realm bled for a year under the shadow of war. Villages turned to ash, rivers ran red, and the cries of dying men became the music of Westeros. The realm whispered of Daemon Targaryen, the Black Prince, the Rogue Prince—a man possessed by fury, scouring the land atop Caraxes for the daughter he had lost. Towns burned in his wake, not out of cruelty but desperation, for no whisper of her whereabouts could satisfy him.

It was in the dead of autumn's cusp, beneath a gray and bloody sky, that Daemon finally heard the words he had been waiting for. Aegon was hidden in a long-forgotten holdfast near the Stormlands. And Y/N—his daughter—was with him.

Daemon’s eyes burned as he heard the news, his mind sharpening into a singular purpose. The war would end today. Either Aegon would die, or Daemon would.

The day of reckoning came cloaked in storm clouds. Caraxes roared as he descended over the jagged cliffs of the Stormlands, his serpentine wings casting long shadows over the crumbling holdfast below. His cry split the heavens, louder than the rolling thunder that chased them. Daemon sat rigid in his saddle, clad in black armor as cold and unforgiving as the wrath burning in his chest.

From below, the unmistakable gleam of gold emerged. Sunfyre’s roar answered Caraxes, piercing and defiant. Aegon sat astride him, his polished golden armor glinting dully in the gray light, the green cloak of his house fluttering wildly in the wind.

Daemon’s lips curled into a snarl as he urged Caraxes forward.

The dragons met in the sky with the force of titans. Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, twisted through the air like a snake, his long, sinewy body moving with impossible grace. His scales were deep crimson, as though he had been bathed in the blood of fallen men. Sunfyre, the golden dragon, gleamed even through the storm, his wings vast and mighty, his form a vision of dragonkind’s majesty—terrible and beautiful.

Sunfyre struck first, his jaws snapping at Caraxes’s neck, but the Blood Wyrm was faster. Caraxes coiled his body, twisting out of reach, and lunged in return. His claws raked across Sunfyre’s side, shredding through golden scales with a sound like tearing steel. Sunfyre let out a scream of pain, and Aegon’s grip on the saddle faltered as his dragon dipped through the air.

“Hold, Sunfyre!” Aegon shouted, his voice hoarse as he clung to the reins. Sunfyre, in agony, rallied and beat his massive wings, rising again to meet Caraxes.

The dragons collided mid-air, their bodies smashing together with bone-jarring force. Claws tore, teeth sank deep into flesh, and blood began to rain from the sky, dark and thick. Caraxes sank his talons into Sunfyre’s underbelly, holding him fast as he raked his hind legs across the golden dragon’s sides, gouging deep, bloody furrows into his shimmering hide.

Sunfyre screamed and twisted, his massive jaws latching onto Caraxes’s shoulder. Teeth sank deep, piercing scales and drawing a torrent of blood. Caraxes roared in fury, but his grip did not falter. The two dragons plummeted toward the earth, their wings entangled as they tore at each other, desperate to kill.

“Burn him!” Aegon bellowed as he wrenched the reins. Sunfyre opened his jaws and let loose a torrent of flame. The fire licked across Caraxes’s flank, charring scales and flesh alike, but Daemon did not cry out. He held fast to his saddle, his face a mask of cold fury.

“Caraxes!” Daemon roared, his voice carrying above the winds.

Caraxes responded in kind, twisting his long neck to avoid the flame and snapping his jaws around Sunfyre’s wing. With a sound like tearing leather, Caraxes ripped the wing, shredding the membrane and sending Sunfyre spiraling down in a torrent of blood and broken scale.

Aegon screamed, clutching desperately at his saddle as Sunfyre plummeted to the earth. Caraxes released his prey at the last moment, pulling up into the sky as Sunfyre crashed to the ground with a sound like thunder. The golden dragon screamed, his massive body writhing as he lay broken on the rocky earth. Aegon fell from the saddle, landing hard with a sickening thud.

Daemon descended then, Caraxes landing with a rumbling growl beside the dying Sunfyre. Blood dripped from the Blood Wyrm’s jaws and claws, steaming where it struck the earth. Daemon dismounted, his armor streaked with soot and blood, Dark Sister gleaming in his hand as he strode forward.

Aegon groaned, struggling to push himself up from where he lay. His armor was dented, his face bloodied and streaked with dirt. He lifted his head to see Daemon approaching, and for the first time, fear flickered in the young king’s violet eyes.

“Stay back!” Aegon rasped, his voice shaking.

Daemon did not stop. He stepped over Aegon, barely sparing him a glance as he moved past the fallen king and toward the holdfast beyond. “Where is she?” he demanded, his voice as cold as death itself.

Aegon dragged himself up onto his hands and knees, coughing blood. “You won’t… take her,” he gasped. “Not from me.”

Daemon paused, turning back to look at him. The derision in his gaze was palpable. “You’ve lost, boy. You’re beaten. And you’ll die here with your dragon.” He turned his back on Aegon again, striding toward the shattered doors of the holdfast.

“No!” Aegon cried, dragging himself forward with shaking limbs.

Daemon ignored him, his boots echoing ominously as he entered the darkened stone ruins. Behind him, Sunfyre let out a final, pained roar, his body twisting as blood pooled beneath him.

The holdfast was silent—too silent. Daemon Targaryen strode through its broken halls like a shadow, his steps echoing against the cold stone. Dark Sister hung at his side, its blade slick with the blood of men who had tried to stand in his way. Caraxes waited outside, his roars still rumbling through the air like distant thunder, but inside, there was nothing. Just the heavy stillness of a place long abandoned.

Daemon’s violet eyes scanned every doorway, every shadow, his heart thundering against his ribs. He could feel it—some terrible truth waiting at the edge of his mind, clawing at him as he moved deeper into the ruins.

And then he heard it.

A faint, muffled sound. A whimper? A cry? It came from behind an iron-bound door at the end of the hall. Daemon’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword as he approached, his breath slow and deliberate. He pressed against the door—it creaked on its hinges, heavy and reluctant—before he stepped inside.

The air struck him like a blow.

The chamber was dim, the torches burning low, their light flickering feebly against the stone walls. The smell hit him next—blood, sweat, something sour and sickly. And there, in the center of the room, was you.

You lay sprawled on a narrow bed, your body pale as milk, a sheen of sweat clinging to your brow. A bloody sheet was pooled around you, and your breathing came in shallow, broken gasps. Two attendants hovered beside you, their faces taut with fear, their hands stained red.

For a moment, Daemon did not move. His mind froze, unable to reconcile the sight of his daughter—his child—so small and fragile beneath that sea of blood.

“Y/N…” His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, but it cut through the heavy air.

You turned your head weakly, your glassy violet eyes finding his. You blinked as though unsure whether he was real. “Father?” you rasped, your voice barely audible.

Daemon crossed the room in an instant, dropping Dark Sister with a clang. He fell to his knees beside you, his gloved hands hovering near your face, afraid to touch you. “What have they done to you?” he demanded, his voice breaking with a fury that could have brought down the heavens.

One of the attendants stepped forward, trembling as she spoke. “My lord—”

“Silence,” Daemon barked, his glare enough to freeze her in place. His eyes turned back to you, softening. “I’m here. I’m here now.”

You smiled faintly, a ghost of the child he had once known. “You came…” Your voice cracked as you winced, your body shuddering with another wave of pain.

Daemon looked down—and that was when he saw it. The attendants were pressing bloodied cloths between your legs, their hands stained crimson. It was clear now. You were giving birth, but something had gone terribly wrong.

“No,” Daemon muttered, his voice raw. He turned to the attendants, his expression murderous. “What are you doing? Save her!”

“We cannot stop the bleeding, my lord,” one of the women whispered, her face pale with terror. “It is too late.”

“Liar!” Daemon roared, rising to his feet. “You will save her, or I will have your heads!”

“Father,” you murmured, your voice faint. You reached for him with a trembling hand, and Daemon immediately dropped back to his knees, his fingers curling around yours. “Don’t shout… It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right,” he growled, his voice shaking as he looked at you. His thumb traced the back of your hand, desperate to keep you grounded. “You will not leave me. Do you hear me?”

You said nothing, your breathing growing weaker. A strained cry cut through the air then—a sharp, desperate sound. One of the attendants moved away from you, holding something swaddled in bloodied cloth.

“The babe, my lord,” she said softly.

Daemon turned his head sharply, his gaze narrowing on the squirming bundle in the woman’s arms. He stared at it as though it were a serpent, his expression darkening. For a long moment, there was silence.

You tried to speak, but your words were slurred, barely more than a whisper. “…a boy?”

The attendant nodded hesitantly. “A boy, my lady.”

Your lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, but the light was fading from your eyes. “Good,” you murmured. “Aegon will… be pleased…”

Daemon flinched at the name, his teeth grinding together as he looked at you. “Don’t you dare say his name. He’s the reason for this—he’s the reason you—” His voice broke, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your clammy hand. “Stay with me, Y/N. Please.”

But you were already slipping away. Your breath rattled once more, then went still.

Daemon froze.

“No.” The word was a whisper, trembling and desperate. He lifted his head, his gaze fixed on your still face. “No.”

Silence answered him.

The attendants exchanged nervous glances as they stood, watching him carefully. Daemon sat motionless for what felt like an eternity, his hand still clutching yours as the storm of his grief began to swell.

The babe let out another cry, sharp and thin, cutting through the silence like a dagger. Daemon’s head snapped toward the child, his eyes wild with grief and rage.

The attendant flinched back, clutching the boy closer. “My lord—”

Daemon stood, his face carved from stone. “Give him to me.”

“My lord?”

“Give him to me.”

Trembling, the attendant stepped forward and placed the swaddled babe into Daemon’s arms. The child was small, red-faced, and screaming, his tiny fists waving uselessly in the air. Daemon stared down at him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he tightened his grip, his knuckles white, as though he might crush the life from the boy then and there.

He remembered your pale face. Your soft words. “A boy… Aegon will be pleased…”

Daemon’s breath hitched, his throat tightening as he looked at the helpless child. The babe’s cries softened, his violet eyes—so much like yours—blinking up at him.

Daemon’s hands trembled. His grief and rage battled for dominance, screaming for him to act. To avenge you. To end this.

But he couldn’t.

With a ragged breath, he turned to the attendants, his voice low and unsteady. “Take him. Keep him warm. If he dies, I’ll burn you alive.”

The women nodded quickly, taking the child back with care.

Daemon turned back to you then, kneeling beside your still form. He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cooling skin. “I will avenge you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I swear it.”

Outside, Caraxes let out a mournful roar that echoed through the ruins, as if the dragon himself grieved with his rider. The storm raged on, but in that chamber, there was only silence—and the promise of fire and blood.

The door creaked as Daemon stepped outside, and the biting wind hit him like a blade. The air was thick with the scent of blood, smoke, and rain. He could hear Caraxes breathing nearby, the deep, guttural rumble of the dragon’s rage vibrating through the earth itself. Daemon’s steps were slow and deliberate, each one weighted with grief and fury.

Ahead of him, Aegon lay slumped against the broken form of Sunfyre. The golden dragon, once the most magnificent creature to grace the skies, was shattered, his scales streaked with crimson, one wing mangled and useless. His shallow breaths rattled through his great chest, the rise and fall slower with each moment. Aegon clung to Sunfyre’s neck as though the dying beast’s warmth might save him. His armor was battered and smeared with mud and blood. He was broken—utterly ruined—and yet he still lived.

Daemon approached him, his shadow stretching long over the king. His armor was black as night, spattered with soot and blood, and his face was carved from stone. Behind him, Caraxes crouched low, his red scales gleaming darkly in the storm light. The Blood Wyrm’s slit eyes were fixed on Aegon, as if the dragon knew who was responsible for the pain that had driven his rider to the edge.

Aegon stirred weakly, one hand clawing at the mud to drag himself forward. “Daemon…” he croaked, his voice barely audible. His head lifted just enough for his violet eyes—bloodshot and dazed—to meet Daemon’s cold, unyielding gaze.

Daemon stopped a few paces away, Dark Sister still clutched loosely in his hand. “You look pathetic, boy,” he said quietly, his voice empty of pity.

Aegon coughed, blood spilling from his lips as he slumped back against Sunfyre. “Where… where is she?” His voice cracked, raw with desperation.

Daemon stared at him for a long moment, his face unreadable. “She’s dead.”

The words were simple, devoid of embellishment, but they struck like a hammer. Aegon froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. “No…” he whispered, his voice trembling. He shook his head, tears welling in his violet eyes. “You’re lying.”

Daemon’s expression did not change. “She bled to death alone in that chamber, surrounded by strangers. Do you understand what you’ve done?”

Aegon’s face crumpled. His hands trembled as he pressed them into the mud, trying to lift himself. “No,” he gasped, his breath ragged. “No, she can’t—she can’t be…”

“You killed her, Aegon.” Daemon’s voice was calm, but his words were sharp as a dagger. “You stole her from her home, from her family, and you dragged her into your madness. She paid the price for your pride.”

Aegon let out a broken sound—a sob that caught in his throat. His head fell forward, his silver-gold hair matted with blood and rain. “I loved her,” he choked out, his voice shattered. “I loved her…”

Daemon’s lip curled into a sneer, though there was no satisfaction in it. “You loved her?” He took a step closer, looming over Aegon. “What you did to her was not love. Love would not leave her pale and broken, gasping her last breath while you clung to life like a coward.”

Aegon’s breathing hitched, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his grief. “The babe?” he rasped after a long silence. His eyes flickered up to Daemon’s, wild with desperation. “Our child—where is it?”

Daemon stilled. For the briefest moment, something flickered in his gaze, though it was impossible to tell what. Then his face hardened once more, the mask of a man who had nothing left to give.

“I owe you no answers.”

Aegon stared at him, his expression crumbling further. “Daemon—please,” he begged, his voice hoarse. “Tell me—”

Daemon turned his back on him without another word, his boots crunching over the wet earth. Caraxes shifted as Daemon approached, the dragon’s great head lowering, his nostrils flaring as he regarded his rider. For a moment, the Rogue Prince paused, one hand resting against the Blood Wyrm’s scarred jaw. His voice was low when he spoke, though Aegon could not hear him.

“Let’s leave this wretched place.”

Daemon climbed into Caraxes’s saddle, his movements heavy with the weight of loss. The dragon’s wings unfurled, their span vast and terrible against the gray sky. A single roar escaped Caraxes’s throat as he leapt into the air, the sound echoing through the ruins like a death knell.

Aegon remained on the ground, shaking and broken. Sunfyre’s breathing had gone still, the dragon’s golden form lifeless beside him. Aegon leaned into the mud, his tears mixing with rain and blood as the truth clawed at him.

She was gone.

His child lived, but Daemon had taken it.

And in that moment, the mighty King Aegon II Targaryen was nothing but a shattered man, left alone with the ruin he had wrought.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #fire and blood #house targaryen #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #hotd aegon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #a fire worth burning

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hisfavegirl · 2 days ago

Text

The Twisted Truth - Aemond Targaryen x SisterWife!Reader x Aegon Targaryen.

Summary : story from aemond's side, when he could only stay silent without doing anything because he had destroyed you.

Aemond stood there, his gaze fixed on the door that had just closed with a final, resounding thud. His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths, but his heart was anything but calm. His jaw tensed, the muscles in his face twitching as his eye remained locked on the space where you had once stood.

The warmth of your presence had left with you, and now the cold, empty stillness of the room pressed down on him. The glow of the fire flickered weakly against the stone walls, casting long, shifting shadows that danced like ghosts. For a moment, he remained perfectly still, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

He should have called you back. He knew it. He could feel the weight of the words that had sat heavy on his tongue — words he’d never allowed himself to say. Stay. You’re the one I want. It’s always been you. But he’d said nothing. He had stood there, silent as the void, and watched you walk away.

His fingers uncurled slowly, and he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots with frustration. His breath came out as a sharp, quiet hiss. He hated this — hated himself for it. For all the control he prided himself on, for all the restraint he wielded like a weapon, he had never felt more powerless than in that moment.

His eye flickered toward the chair he’d been sitting in, the firelight catching the sapphire in his missing eye. The glow reflected back at him, cold and distant, like the man he saw every time he looked in the mirror. His gaze fell to the floor, the ghost of your footsteps still echoing in his mind.

You called for the part of me that reminds you of her.

Your words echoed louder than any battle cry, sharper than the edge of his sword. He could still see the way your eyes had burned with fury — not fear, never fear — and for a moment, he hated how much he admired that fire in you. You were the only one who had ever looked at him like that. No fear, no pity. Only anger and pain, as raw and real as the scar on his face.

He moved toward the chair, gripping the back of it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He leaned forward, his head bowing as his breaths came out in slow, controlled exhales. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to push it all down, to bury it the way he always had. Control. Discipline. Restraint. The words his mother had instilled in him from the time he was a boy.

But this time, it wasn’t so easy.

His fingers twitched, and he slammed his fist against the chair’s back with a crack loud enough to echo through the room. His breath came harder now, his chest heaving with every inhale. Why didn’t I stop her? The question burned through him, over and over. The answer was simple. Too simple.

Because you’re a coward.

He swallowed hard, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, his lips pressed into a grim line. His mind was a battlefield, warring between pride and longing. He had spent his whole life being second, being overlooked, fighting for recognition. And here you were — you, the one person who had always been there. You, who had loved him despite the monster the world saw.

And he had let you walk away. Again.

Minutes passed in silence, his breathing slowly evening out as the flames crackled behind him. But the cold remained. No fire could chase it away, not now.

Get up. Go after her. The thought clawed at him, loud, demanding. His feet shifted slightly, his body halfway prepared to move. But then his gaze dropped to the floor, and his hands relaxed at his sides. No. Stay. She will come back.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

This time, you might not.

Aemond strode through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, his steps purposeful but slow, as if weighed down by thoughts too heavy to carry. His face was a mask of calm, but behind that facade, a storm brewed. Each echoing step reminded him of what had just transpired with you — the look in your eyes, the defiance in your voice, and the ache that settled deep in his chest.

He hated it.

He hated how much he wanted you.

But he could never show you that. Not fully. He couldn’t bear to appear weak in front of you, not when he was supposed to be your protector, your husband, your equal. To love you so openly, so vulnerably, felt like surrender. And Aemond Targaryen did not surrender.

His feet led him to Helaena’s chambers. The guards stationed outside gave him a small nod before opening the door for him. He stepped inside, the warmth of the room washing over him like a blanket of familiarity. The soft hum of Helaena’s voice filled the air, humming a tune known only to her.

She sat by the window, her head tilted as she watched the world beyond. The light from the window haloed her silver hair, giving her an ethereal glow. Her hands toyed with the strands of thread from her embroidery, her fingers moving in a steady rhythm. Her gaze was distant, lost in a world far beyond the confines of the Keep.

Helaena turned her head at the sound of his footsteps, her lilac eyes blinking slowly, as if waking from a dream. A small smile tugged at her lips, soft and genuine. “Brother,” she greeted, her voice as gentle as the flutter of moth wings.

Aemond’s tense shoulders eased just slightly. He didn’t return the smile, but his gaze softened. He approached her slowly, standing just behind her chair, watching her in silence for a moment.

“You should close the window,” he muttered, his voice low, as if afraid to disturb the stillness of the room. “The cold air will make you ill.”

Helaena turned her gaze back to the window, her fingers playing with the fabric of her dress. “The cold doesn’t bother me,” she replied dreamily, her eyes fixed on something far beyond the horizon. “It reminds me that I’m still here.”

Aemond frowned, but he said nothing. Instead, he stepped forward and gently pushed the window shut, blocking out the cool night breeze. He lingered by the window for a moment, staring at the glass as if searching for something beyond it. Your face lingered in his mind.

He turned back toward Helaena, who was now gazing up at him with curious eyes. She tilted her head, studying him like one might study a strange creature they’d never seen before. “You look troubled,” she said simply. Her tone wasn’t one of pity or concern — it was a statement, plain and certain, like she already knew the answer.

“I’m not,” he replied curtly, but his gaze shifted away from hers.

Helaena’s smile widened, not with joy, but with understanding. She knew him too well. “Liar,” she said softly, looking back down at her embroidery. Her fingers moved steadily, threading the needle in and out of the fabric with delicate precision. “You only come here when you’re troubled, Aemond.”

He clenched his jaw and approached her again, this time sitting in the chair across from her. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together as he stared at the ground. The warmth of the fire nearby cast long shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheekbones and jaw.

For a long moment, they sat in silence, the only sound being the soft crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of Helaena’s needlework.

“You and she look the same,” he muttered suddenly, his voice low but steady. His eye didn’t meet hers — it stayed fixed on the floor, as if the words were too fragile to be spoken directly. “Sometimes, I forget.”

Helaena’s hands stilled, her gaze flickering back to him. She didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just watched him.

His fingers flexed as he leaned further forward, his head hanging low. “But you are not her,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His eye flickered up to meet hers, and in that moment, there was no wall between them, no mask of pride or strength. He was just a man — a brother — looking for solace.

“No,” Helaena agreed, her voice quiet but firm. “I am not.”

Silence stretched between them again, but it was not uncomfortable. It was the silence of two people who understood each other without the need for words. She returned to her embroidery, and he sat back in his chair, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling.

“She hates me,” he muttered after a while, his tone bitter and filled with something closer to regret than anger.

Helaena didn’t answer at first. Her hands paused for only a moment before she continued sewing. “She doesn’t hate you,” she said finally, her eyes never leaving her work. “She hates that you hide from her.”

Aemond closed his eye, exhaling slowly through his nose. Of course, Helaena would see through him. She always did.

“Do you hate me too?” he asked, his voice quieter now, like a boy afraid of the answer.

Helaena glanced up at him, her lilac eyes soft, patient, and kind. “No,” she said simply, with the certainty of someone who had never hated anything in her life. Her gaze softened further, a smile tugging at her lips. “But I pity you.”

He flinched, his hands curling into fists, but he didn’t argue with her. Because deep down, he knew she was right.

She tilted her head toward him, a curious smile on her face, as if she could see something he couldn’t. Her fingers paused their sewing once more. “You should tell her, you know,” she said, her gaze locked onto his face. “She’ll forgive you.”

His eye snapped to hers, hard and sharp like a blade unsheathed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Helaena asked, tilting her head like she was watching an insect crawl along her windowpane. “Love is simple, Aemond. You make it difficult.”

He said nothing, just clenched his fists tighter, his nails digging into his palms. The warmth of the fire did nothing to chase away the cold in his chest.

Helaena sighed softly, as though she had seen too much of the world already. She returned to her embroidery, the soft snip snip of her needle filling the air. “You can’t love me the way you love her, brother,” she said quietly, not looking at him. Her voice was distant, like she was speaking to herself more than to him. “No matter how much you try.”

His throat tightened, but he didn’t answer.

Because it was true.

He didn’t love Helaena. He never had. He loved you. But it was easier to sit here, in the quiet glow of Helaena’s room, with her gentle smiles and soft words. She didn’t ask him for things he couldn’t give. She didn’t challenge him or look at him like he was a man made of stone.

With you, it was different. You saw him for who he was — sharp edges, broken pieces, and all. And you loved him anyway. But he didn’t know how to love you in return without feeling like he was giving you too much of himself. He didn’t know how to be soft with you, how to be vulnerable without feeling like he was crumbling from the inside out.

So he came here. To Helaena. Because her softness was safe.

But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Aemond sat there for a long time, watching Helaena sew. His gaze grew distant, his mind elsewhere. But no matter how far his thoughts wandered, they always circled back to one thing.

You.

He could see your face so clearly in his mind — your eyes filled with fire, your voice sharp with defiance, your hands warm against his. His heart ached with the weight of it. The weight of wanting you.

He knew where he should be.

But still, he stayed.

Aemond’s laughter echoed softly in Helaena’s chambers, a sound so rare that even she tilted her head in surprise, gazing at him with a curious smile. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself to laugh so freely, so unguardedly. His usually tense shoulders had relaxed, his lips tugged upward in a way that softened the sharp edges of his face.

But something shifted.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a strange feeling of being watched creeping over him. His gaze instinctively flickered to the doorway.

And there you were.

Standing in the open doorway, your face half-lit by the glow of the fire. Your eyes, usually so full of resolve and fire, were red-rimmed with unshed tears. You looked at him as if something inside you had broken. Aemond’s breath caught in his throat, his eye widening as realization washed over him like a cold wave.

No. Not like this.

Before he could rise, before he could say your name, you spun on your heels and ran.

“Wait—” he rasped, his voice hoarse and desperate, but the words caught in his throat. His body tensed, muscles tight as if ready to chase after you, but his feet stayed rooted in place.

He didn’t move.

He couldn’t move.

His gaze lingered on the now-empty doorway, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, the echoes of it louder than the crackling fire. Why didn’t I move? The voice in his head was cruel, sharp, and unrelenting. Why didn’t I run after her?

His hands curled into fists on his knees, his nails digging into his palms until he felt the sting of pain. Coward, he thought bitterly. You’re a coward, Aemond.

“You should go after her,” Helaena’s gentle voice broke the silence, her tone as soft as ever but firm with quiet understanding. She didn’t look at him. Her eyes remained focused on her embroidery, her fingers threading the needle with the same delicate precision she always had. “Before she decides you’re not worth chasing anymore.”

His jaw tightened, his teeth clenching as he forced himself to look away from the door. It’s not that simple, Helaena. It never had been.

But deep down, he knew she was right.

He had watched you walk away from him too many times before. But this time felt different. This time, he’d seen the hurt in your eyes, the betrayal, the quiet resignation of someone who was slowly letting go.

And it terrified him.

“Brother,” Helaena said softly, her gaze finally lifting from her embroidery. Her lilac eyes met his with quiet clarity, a knowing look that sent a sharp pang through his chest. “If you let her go now, she won’t come back.”

Her words struck him harder than any blade ever could. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor with a harsh scrrrrk. His eye was wild now, like a cornered beast. He glanced back at the door, his breathing unsteady.

He wanted to chase you. He needed to chase you.

But the fear was there too — the fear that, this time, you wouldn’t stop running.

Aemond walked slowly through the darkened corridors of the Red Keep, the cold stone beneath his feet biting through his boots. The torches lining the walls flickered, casting long, shifting shadows that seemed to follow him with every step. His breath was shallow, his mind a storm of confusion and doubt.

I can’t lose her. I won’t lose her, he repeated to himself like a mantra. His jaw was clenched tight, his single eye flickering with something between desperation and resolve. But no matter how many times he repeated those words, the path forward remained unclear.

He found himself in front of Helaena’s chambers before he even realized it. His gaze lingered on the door, his heart pounding harder than it should. He wasn’t sure what he was searching for — clarity, comfort, or perhaps just a moment of peace from the chaos in his heart.

He pushed the door open without knocking. The soft creak of the hinges echoed in the quiet room. Moonlight spilled through the tall window, bathing everything in a silver glow. The air smelled faintly of lavender, the familiar scent easing his nerves just a little.

Helaena sat on the edge of her bed, her head bowed as she hummed softly to herself. Her fingers gently traced patterns on the fabric of her dress, lost in her own little world. But when she felt his presence, she lifted her head, her soft eyes meeting his.

“Aemond,” she said gently, tilting her head in that familiar, dreamlike way. “What troubles you, brother?”

He didn’t answer at first. His gaze remained fixed on her, but something was wrong. His eye lingered on her face for too long. The curve of her lips, the softness of her features, the familiar silver hair that framed her face. His breath caught in his throat.

She looks like you.

His heart twisted in his chest. For a moment, everything blurred. His tired mind, strained from sleepless nights and unspoken emotions, began to play tricks on him. He blinked, and for a brief, aching second, it wasn’t Helaena he saw. It was you.

His breath grew shallow. The confusion took root in his mind like a poison. His exhaustion whispered lies to him, clouding his vision. His heart ached, his chest tight with longing. He took a step forward, eyes searching her face as if she were a mirage.

“You’re here,” he murmured, his voice low and broken. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek. The warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips sent a jolt through him. His hand lingered, cupping her face as his thumb gently traced her cheekbone.

Helaena blinked, confusion flickering in her eyes. “Aemond, what—”

“Don’t speak,” he said softly, his gaze full of something raw and desperate. His breathing was uneven, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as they tangled in her hair. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

He leaned in, his forehead pressing gently against hers. His eyes squeezed shut, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions — love, regret, anger, and longing all crashing together at once.

His lips found hers.

It was soft at first, hesitant, like a man who feared he might break the very thing he loved. But then his grip on her tightened, and the kiss deepened, more frantic, more desperate. His mind screamed at him, She’s here. She’s finally here.

Helaena froze beneath him. Her eyes widened in shock, her hands pressing against his chest as if to push him away. But Aemond didn’t stop. He was lost in the illusion his mind had created — a world where you were his, where you loved him without doubt, without hesitation.

“Stay with me,” he whispered between kisses, his voice hoarse with emotion. His hands roamed her back, pulling her closer, seeking warmth, seeking solace. “Please… don’t leave me again.”

But reality snapped back into place like a blade driven into his heart.

“Aemond,” Helaena gasped, her voice sharp this time, her hands pushing harder against his chest. “Stop. It’s me. It’s Helaena.”

Her words struck him like thunder.

He froze.

His breath hitched, his lips hovering an inch from hers. His eye snapped open, and for the first time, he truly saw her. Not you. Her.

His heart stopped. His body went rigid, his hands still on her back, still holding her close. But it was not you in his arms. It was not you who he had kissed. His mind reeled, horror settling in his chest like a weight too heavy to bear.

He stumbled back as if burned, his eye wild with disbelief. His gaze darted from her face to his hands as though he were trying to rid himself of the feeling of her touch.

“Helaena…” he breathed, his voice hollow, broken. His back hit the wall, and he gripped his hair with both hands, tugging hard as if the pain might wake him from this nightmare.

Helaena stared at him, eyes filled with shock and sadness. Her fingers brushed her lips, her brows drawing together in a frown. “Aemond…” she said softly, her voice laced with confusion and pity.

“No,” he hissed, shaking his head violently. “No. I… I thought—” He cut himself off, his breath coming in shallow, sharp gasps. His heart was thundering in his chest, a wild, untamed drumbeat of guilt and confusion.

His eye darted toward the door. His throat tightened. He could see it so clearly in his mind — the image of you standing there. Watching. Seeing everything.

What have I done?

He shoved himself off the wall, his face twisted in pain, his gaze filled with regret. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He took one step toward the door, then another. He had to find you. He had to explain. He had to fix this.

But as he reached the door, he froze.

What if you had seen it all?

His breath caught in his throat, panic swelling in his chest like a rising tide. If you had seen him with Helaena, seen him kiss her — no, you wouldn’t understand. You would think it was love. You would think he had chosen her. You would think you had lost him.

He staggered back, his eye wide with horror.

“No,” he whispered to himself. I can’t lose her.

But it was too late. He could feel it in his bones. The vision of your tear-streaked face haunted him, the pain in your eyes, the way your lips would tremble as you held back sobs. He knew it as clearly as if it had already happened.

He turned toward Helaena, his face a mask of anguish. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said, his voice sharp, almost pleading. His gaze burned with desperation, his eye wild and frantic. “Please, Helaena.”

Helaena didn’t answer right away. She simply stared at him, her hands still lightly pressed to her lips, her eyes distant and filled with sadness.

“I won’t,” she said quietly, her gaze soft but unyielding. “But you should tell her the truth, Aemond.”

Her words cut deeper than any sword. He turned away, his chest tight with pain, shame curling around him like a noose.

“I can’t,” he muttered, his voice hollow. He glanced at the window, where the moon hung heavy in the sky. His face was cast in silver and shadow, his features sharp with grief. “If I tell her, she’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“Maybe,” Helaena replied softly, her gaze never leaving him. “But if you don’t… she’ll never look at you at all.”

Her words struck him like a blade to the heart.

He left without another word, his footsteps quick and uneven, like a man fleeing from a battle he knew he had already lost. He didn’t know where he was going — all he knew was that he had to find you.

But when he reached your chambers, the door was closed. He stood there for a long time, his hand hovering over the handle. His heart pounded harder than it had in battle.

Knock, he told himself. Open the door. Apologize. Tell her the truth.

But he didn’t move. His hand dropped to his side, his gaze darkening. Not tonight, he thought. Not like this.

He turned away, his face a mask of cold indifference, but inside, he was crumbling. For the first time in his life, he knew fear — the fear of losing you.

And as he walked away, the only sound was the faint echo of his footsteps in the dark.

Aemond’s footsteps echoed through the stone halls of the Red Keep, each step harder and faster than the last. The whispers of the servants clung to him like a curse. “She left Prince Aegon’s chambers this morning,” they had said, their voices low but sharp enough to pierce his mind.

His jaw tightened, his breathing heavy with barely restrained anger. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat fueling the fire of jealousy and betrayal burning within him. He didn’t slow down until he reached your chamber doors. Without knocking, he pushed them open with a sharp creak.

You sat in front of your mirror, calmly brushing your hair as if nothing in the world could disturb you. The golden glow of the midday sun highlighted the softness of your features, but there was nothing soft about the cold, sharp presence that had just entered your room.

Aemond stood there for a moment, his one eye locked on you. His chest rose and fell, his breaths shallow and uneven. His face was carved from stone, his lips pressed into a hard line, his gaze sharp with accusation.

“You think this is how you repay me?” His voice was low but laced with venom. Each word was as sharp as a dagger. He took a step forward, his long strides bringing him closer to you. “You think this is fair? After everything I’ve done for you, after everything I’ve endured for you—this is how you choose to answer me?”

You paused your brushing, your eyes meeting his reflection in the mirror. Calm. Unshaken. But your grip on the brush tightened. “I don’t owe you anything, Aemond,” you said softly but firmly. Your voice was steady, unlike his. “Not after what I saw in Helaena’s chambers.”

His face twisted with frustration. He took another step toward you, his fists clenched at his sides. “What you think you saw is not what it was,” he snapped, his voice louder now, his patience hanging by a thread. “You see one moment, and you think you know everything? You think I would betray you with her?”

You turned, finally facing him directly. Your eyes burned with something deeper than anger — hurt. Raw, unfiltered pain. “Don’t lie to me, Aemond,” you said, your voice cracking but still strong. “I saw you with her. I saw you holding her. Smiling with her. You have never looked at me like that.”

His breathing grew heavier, his lips twitching as if he wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. He stepped closer, his gaze locked on yours like a predator watching its prey. “I never touched her the way I touch you,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “Never.”

You raised your chin, eyes unwavering. “And yet, you touch her at all.”

Silence fell between you, thick with unspoken words, unshed tears, and untold truths. He stared at you like a man lost in a storm, searching for a way out but unable to find it. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for you but knew he couldn’t.

“You shouldn’t have gone to Aegon,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his gaze filled with something more than rage — desperation. “You shouldn’t have done this to me.”

You stepped closer, your eyes locked on his, unyielding. “I only gave you back what you gave me, Aemond.”

His face twisted with something between pain and fury. His breathing grew louder, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked as if it might shatter. He took one more step toward you, his body mere inches from yours.

“You belong to me,” he hissed, his eye blazing with intensity. “Not him. Not anyone else. Me.”

“Then prove it,” you shot back, your eyes filled with tears that refused to fall. “But you can’t, can you? Because you don’t even know how.”

His face fell for a moment, his lips parting as if he might finally say something honest. But, like always, he said nothing. His hands remained at his sides. His body stayed rigid. His words stayed locked behind his clenched teeth.

And then, slowly, he stepped back.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his eye flickering with something unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. His steps were slow, almost hesitant, as if he was waiting for you to call him back. But you didn’t.

He paused at the doorway, his back to you, his head tilted down slightly as if in thought. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his shoulders tense with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t.

“You saw what you wanted to see,” he muttered, barely loud enough for you to hear. Then he walked away, leaving you standing alone in the quiet of your chamber, the sound of his footsteps echoing long after he was gone.

Aemond sat on the edge of Helaena’s bed, his hands resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the ground. His silver hair hung loose around his face, casting shadows that made his sharp features look even harsher. Across from him, Helaena sat quietly, her hands resting on her stomach, her eyes distant as if she were somewhere far away.

Her breathing was uneven, shallow, and her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. She wasn’t afraid of the child growing inside her — no, she had faced that before. Her fear was something deeper, something far more personal.

“She’ll think it’s yours,” Helaena whispered, her voice so soft it almost disappeared into the stillness of the room. Her violet eyes, identical to yours, flickered with worry as she glanced at Aemond. “You know she will.”

Aemond lifted his head, his gaze hardening. His jaw clenched as if he were biting back words that threatened to spill. Slowly, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, his fingers clasped tightly together.

“Let them think what they want,” he muttered, his voice low, rough, and filled with quiet fury. “The truth is not theirs to hold.”

“But it is hers,” Helaena replied, her gaze unwavering, her eyes filled with a sadness only she could understand. “She’ll believe it, Aemond. She saw you here with me that night. She saw the way you looked at me.”

Silence hung between them like a noose, suffocating and tense.

Aemond’s eye darted to her, his face hard with frustration. “She saw only what her mind wanted her to see,” he hissed, his voice sharp like the edge of a blade. He pushed himself to his feet, his movements rigid, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “If she had stayed— if she had listened—” His voice cracked, and he stopped himself, breathing deeply to regain control.

“But she didn’t,” Helaena said softly, her gaze dropping to the floor. Her fingers rubbed slow, nervous circles over her stomach. “You let her walk away, brother. You always let her walk away.”

Her words were a dagger to his heart, and Aemond felt the pain sharper than he’d ever admit. He knew it was true. He had watched you leave that night. He had watched you cry. He had seen the pain in your eyes and done nothing. He told himself it was for the best, that you needed to calm down, that you’d return.

But you hadn’t.

And now, the whispers in the halls had grown louder. The maids spoke of you leaving Aemond’s chambers in tears and seeking solace in Aegon’s company. Every word of gossip reached his ears like a hammer to his skull, and every mention of your name alongside Aegon’s made his blood boil.

He hated it. He hated him.

His eye turned back to Helaena, and for the first time, he saw his sister not as a reflection of you, but as herself. She looked so small, so fragile, yet braver than anyone gave her credit for.

“This child is Aegon’s,” Helaena said, her eyes filled with certainty. “But she won’t believe that.” Her eyes met his once more, her gaze piercing. “She’ll believe it’s yours.”

Aemond exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping with the weight of it all. His hand reached up to press against his face, his fingers rubbing at his temple. He felt the coldness of the sapphire where his eye once was.

“Then I will tell her,” he said finally, his voice steady but cold. “I will tell her everything.”

Helaena tilted her head, watching him closely. “Will she believe you, brother?” she asked softly, her gaze filled with something close to pity. “Or has she already decided to believe someone else?”

Aemond’s breath hitched, and he stood there, frozen. Her words echoed in his mind, louder than the whispers in the hall, louder than his own thoughts. Has she already decided to believe someone else?

The image of you with Aegon flashed in his mind. He could see it so clearly — you brushing past him in the hall without so much as a glance, your hand resting on Aegon’s arm as you laughed at something he said. It wasn’t real, but it felt real. It felt real because he knew what jealousy tasted like, and it tasted like ash on his tongue.

His eye burned with something dangerous. “No,” he said through gritted teeth. “She is mine.”

Helaena didn’t respond, only lowering her gaze as if she’d already seen the ending to this story. She cradled her stomach gently, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Then you better make her believe that, brother,” she whispered. “Before it’s too late.”

The sound of Aegon's laughter echoed through the chamber, sharp and mocking like the clash of steel. Both Aemond and Helena turned toward the doorway, their gazes meeting the sight of Aegon leaning casually against the frame, his arms crossed, a twisted grin tugging at his lips.

"Quite the scene, isn't it?" Aegon drawled, slow and deliberate, his eyes filled with mischief and malice. He clapped his hands together lazily, the sound reverberating off the stone walls. "The dutiful husband comforting his dear sister, all while his sweet wife runs to me for solace."

Aemond's entire body stiffened, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides. His jaw clenched so hard it ached, but he didn't move. Not yet. His eye stayed locked on Aegon, cold and calculating, the storm brewing behind it barely contained.

"Do you want to know what she said to me, brother?" Aegon asked, his grin widening as he stepped further into the room, his boots clicking against the stone floor with an infuriating rhythm. "She begged me. Begged me, Aemond." He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "Her voice was so soft, so desperate. 'Make me forget him,' she said. Over and over, like a prayer."

The air in the room grew colder, heavier.

"Shut your mouth, Aegon," Aemond hissed, his voice low and venomous. He took a step forward, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator stalking prey. His eye never left Aegon's face, watching every twitch, every smug smile that only fueled his rage.

But Aegon didn't stop. He lived for this-he always had. Pushing people, testing them, until they broke. And now, he was pushing Aemond.

"She didn't want to think of you anymore," Aegon continued, his smile sharp as a blade. He raised his hand, dragging it lazily through his silver hair as if recalling a fond memory. "You should have seen her, brother. The way she clung to me, the way she moaned when I touched her-"

Aemond moved faster than anyone could have seen. His fist collided with Aegon's jaw, the impact echoing like thunder. Aegon stumbled back, his laughter turning into a grunt of pain as he crashed against the stone wall. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, his eyes wide with shock before they filled with rage.

"You dare hit me, brother?" Aegon spat, his grin gone, replaced by a snarl. He shoved himself off the wall, advancing like a drunk lion ready for a fight. "Over her? A woman who would rather be in my bed than yours?"

Aemond didn't respond with words. He lunged at Aegon, slamming him against the wall with all his strength, his forearm pressing hard against Aegon's throat. Aegon choked, his eyes narrowing, but he laughed again — that same taunting laugh that made Aemond's blood boil.

"Say it again," Aemond growled, his face inches from Aegon's, his voice colder than the dead of winter. His breath came in sharp bursts, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained fury. "Say it again, and I will carve the words from your tongue."

Aegon sneered, his eyes wild with reckless defiance. "You should be thanking me, little brother," he rasped, his breath shallow under the pressure on his throat. "I'm the one who gave her what you couldn't."

Aemond's grip tightened, his nails digging into Aegon's skin. His heart pounded like a war drum, his mind screaming with rage, jealousy, and something else he refused to name. His fingers twitched with the desire to crush, to hurt, to silence the man who had always taken everything too far.

"Enough!"

Helena's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. Her tone, usually soft and distant, was now sharp and commanding. She had risen from the bed, her hands clenched into small fists at her sides. Her wide, violet eyes stared at both of them, filled with something neither brother had seen before - disgust.

"Look at you," she said, her voice trembling but strong. "Fighting each other like beasts over her. Over a woman you both claim to love." Her eyes flickered to Aemond, disappointment clear in her gaze. "What do you think she would see if she walked in now? Would she see the man she loves, or a monster?"

Her words hit Aemond harder than Aegon ever could. His grip loosened, and he stepped back, his breathing ragged, his mind reeling. He glanced down at his hands, his fingers still curled like claws, and for a moment, he didn't recognize them.

Aegon coughed, rubbing his throat as he leaned heavily against the wall. He glanced at Helena, then back at Aemond, his eyes still sharp but his grin gone. "Pathetic," he muttered, shaking his head as he wiped more blood from his mouth. "You'll lose her, Aemond. Just like you're losing everything else."

Aemond didn't react. He didn't move. His eye remained fixed on his hands, his breathing shallow, his mind clouded with doubt. The silence grew heavy, broken only by the distant sound of footsteps echoing through the halls of the Red Keep.

Helena approached Aemond, her gaze gentle but firm. She placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. "If you truly love her, Aemond," she whispered, her voice soft again, "then stop letting your pride destroy everything you have with her."

Her words lingered in the air like the last breath of a dying man.

Aegon scoffed, his grin slowly returning as he glanced between his siblings. "It's too late, sister," he muttered, pushing himself off the wall and heading toward the door. "He already lost her."

His words echoed even after he was gone.

Aemond remained still, his gaze on the ground, his heart heavier than his armor. He felt the weight of every mistake, every missed chance, every time he chose silence over action. He could hear your voice in his head, the way it had cracked when you asked him, "Why am I never enough for you?"

His chest ached with something deeper than pain.

"I haven't lost her," he muttered, his voice hoarse but certain. His eye lifted to meet Helena's gaze, filled with a determination sharper than Valyrian steel. "Not yet."

Aemond stood still, his one eye locked onto you as you burst into his chamber, tears streaming down your face. His heart clenched at the sight, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just listened. Every word that spilled from your lips was like a dagger cutting deeper and deeper into him.

“You think I’m a fool, don’t you?” you hissed, your voice raw with pain. “You think I don’t see it — how you look at her, how you always choose her.” Your voice broke, and you wiped at your face angrily, as if frustrated with yourself for crying in front of him. “But I see it, Aemond. I see everything, and I’m done pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

Each word was a blow, but Aemond didn’t flinch. He didn’t dare. He felt his nails digging into the palms of his hands, his jaw so tight it ached. He wanted to tell you that it wasn’t true. He wanted to shout it at the top of his lungs, to deny it, to beg for your forgiveness. But something stopped him — maybe it was pride, or maybe it was the weight of his own guilt.

“Say something!” you yelled, your voice cracking under the weight of your pain. “Say something, Aemond! Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me that I matter to you!”

He opened his mouth, but no words came. His heart was at war with his mind. He wanted to tell you that you were wrong, that you were the only one who mattered to him. But the words refused to come out. His lips moved, but no sound followed.

You stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief, searching his face for something — anything — that would tell you he still loved you. But all you saw was silence.

“Pathetic,” you whispered, voice low but filled with venom. Your eyes, once so soft and full of love, were now hardened by hurt. “Pathetic.”

That was when he moved, his body finally catching up to his heart. His hand twitched, ready to reach for you, to pull you close and never let you go. But before he could close the distance, you turned on your heel and ran.

“Wait,” he choked out, his voice hoarse and weak, but you didn’t stop.

He watched you disappear beyond the door, his world crumbling as your absence hit him harder than any physical blow. His breath quickened, chest heaving as anger swirled inside him like a storm.

“Seven Hells!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber like thunder. His rage exploded. He swept his arm across the table, sending goblets, scrolls, and plates crashing to the floor. His breath came in sharp, shallow pants as he gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white from the strain.

His vision blurred with red. His heart ached more than his clenched fists as he slammed one of them against the stone wall, the sharp crack of bone meeting stone reverberating through the room. Pain shot through his hand, but he didn’t care. He hit it again. And again. And again.

“You’re a fool,” he hissed to himself through gritted teeth, his forehead pressing against the cold wall. “A damned fool.”

His breath was shaky now, his heart still pounding like a war drum in his chest. His eyes darted to the door where you had disappeared. He clenched his jaw, his gaze hardening with resolve.

This is not how it ends.

His breath steadied, though his hands still shook from the adrenaline. His heart still ached with the ghost of your words, but he wasn’t about to let it end this way. Not this time.

“Not again,” he muttered, his voice like steel. Not again.

Aemond’s grip on the reins was so tight his knuckles turned white, the leather creaking under the strain. His jaw was set in a hard line, his chest heaving with every breath as if the air itself burned him from the inside out. Each word from you and your mother echoed in his mind like a war drum.

“The marriage will be annulled.”

His heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest, trampled underfoot by those very words. His face betrayed nothing, but the storm within him was uncontrollable. It churned and boiled with rage, pain, and desperation. How dare they? How dare they think they could take you away from him?

The horse’s hooves pounded against the stone path with a steady, thunderous rhythm as he made his way to the Dragonpit. His silver hair flew wildly behind him, his cloak billowing like the wings of a dragon about to take flight. The cold wind bit at his skin, but he welcomed the sting — it was nothing compared to the pain in his chest.

His one eye remained fixed ahead, sharp as Valyrian steel, unblinking, unwavering. No one takes her from me. No one.

The guards stationed at the entrance to the Dragonpit stiffened at his arrival but said nothing. They could see the fury in his stride, the storm in his gaze. No one dared to stop him. No one ever did.

He strode through the cavernous hall, his footsteps echoing like distant thunder. The air smelled of ash and dragonfire. Shadows danced along the walls from the flickering flames of braziers, making him appear larger, more fearsome, like the very shadow of death itself.

His eyes sought one dragon and one dragon only. Vhagar. The old beast lay curled in the farthest corner, her massive body rising and falling with each breath. Her eyes opened, glowing with ancient intelligence. She sensed his turmoil, his fury, his need for destruction.

“Come, Vhagar,” he muttered darkly, his voice hoarse but commanding. The great dragon shifted, her scales scraping against stone as she uncurled her massive form. Her eyes remained locked on him, unblinking, understanding. She had seen this before — the rage of a Targaryen in his purest, rawest form.

He climbed onto her back without hesitation, his fingers curling tightly around the leather straps. The air was thick with the heat of dragonfire, and he breathed it in like it was salvation.

“Fly,” he growled, his voice rough with emotion. “Take me away from them. Take me away from her.”

With a mighty roar, Vhagar unfurled her wings, her ancient bones creaking but still powerful. The gust of wind from her wings sent dust and loose stone scattering across the pit. Aemond’s heart thundered in his chest as they rose higher and higher, the Red Keep shrinking beneath them. The cold air stung his face, but he didn’t care. The higher they went, the lighter he felt, like the weight of the world could only be shed in the skies.

His eye scanned the world below, and the city of King’s Landing sprawled out like a living, breathing thing. Its people were ants, scurrying in their small, insignificant lives. It would be so easy to burn it all. So easy.

But it wasn’t them he wanted to burn. It was the helplessness. The rage. The pain.

His hands gripped the straps tighter, his breathing sharp and unsteady. His heart was a storm, a wild, untamed thing, and every beat echoed one thought: She’s mine.

They think they can take her from me?

His vision blurred with tears he refused to shed. His pride wouldn’t allow it. Targaryens don’t cry. Targaryens don’t beg. But his heart didn’t care for the pride of kings. It only knew that you were being taken from him.

“Dracarys,” he muttered under his breath.

Vhagar roared, the ancient sound shaking the very clouds. Fire erupted from her jaws, a golden inferno that lit up the sky. Below, the people of King’s Landing glanced up in fear, pointing at the streak of fire that illuminated the night like a second sun.

Aemond watched it burn, his eye reflecting the flames. His heart was still heavy, his mind still clouded, but at least now — just for a moment — he could feel something other than the ache of losing you.

But the fire would burn out. It always did. And once it was gone, all that remained was the cold, empty silence.

Aemond's footsteps echoed heavily through the stone corridors of the Red Keep. Each step was faster, harder, fueled by the growing rage that burned hotter with every passing moment.

His jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Aegon.

His brother's name repeated in his mind like a curse. How dare he? How dare he humiliate Helena like this? Begging their mother to dissolve his marriage as if it were nothing more than an inconvenient arrangement. As if Helena, their sweet, kind Helena, was unworthy.

The image of her tear-streaked face flashed in his mind. She had sat there on his bed, trembling, her voice cracking as she tried to explain what had happened. Her confusion, her pain — it all became fuel for the wildfire of rage in his chest.

His boots hit the floor harder now, his stride more determined. The servants he passed shrank against the walls, their eyes cast down to avoid his gaze. No one dared to speak. No one dared to stop him. Everyone knew what that look on Prince Aemond's face meant.

He reached Aegon's door. The two guards stationed there glanced at each other, unsure if they should intervene. Aemond didn't give them the chance to consider it. With one swift kick, the door burst open, slamming against the wall with a deafening crash.

Aegon was lounging on his bed, a goblet of wine in his hand, his tunic disheveled as if he'd just woken from a long, lazy nap. He blinked in surprise at the sudden intrusion, wine sloshing over his fingers. His shock was quickly replaced with his usual smirk.

"Well, well," Aegon drawled, wiping the spilled wine on his sleeve. "To what do I owe the pleasure, brother?"

Aemond said nothing at first. His single eye burned like dragonfire, sharp and unyielding.

He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. Aegon's smirk faltered.

"You went to Mother," Aemond said, his voice low but seething with restrained fury. "You begged her to annul your marriage to Helaena."

Aegon raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance as he sat up, setting the goblet aside. "I don't see how that's your concern, brother." He shrugged, his grin returning with a hint of mockery. "If I don't want to be chained to a woman who speaks in riddles and stares at bugs all day, that's my choice, isn't it?"

Aemond moved so fast Aegon barely had time to react. In an instant, Aemond had grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up from the bed with the strength of a man possessed. Aegon's grin vanished, replaced with panic.

"Listen to me, you drunken fool," Aemond hissed through gritted teeth, his face inches from Aegon's. His voice was deathly quiet, but it carried more weight than a thousand roars.

"You can humiliate yourself all you like. Drink, stumble, wallow in filth. I care not."

He slammed Aegon against the nearest wall with a thud, making the wooden frame of the bed creak behind them. "But you will not disgrace Helena. You will not break her."

"Since when do you care so much about Helaena?" Aegon sneered, squirming in Aemond's grip. "Is it guilt, brother? Or is it something more?" He chuckled darkly. "Do you wish it was you in my place? Is that it? You always did have a soft spot for her, didn't you? Perhaps you'd rather she warm your bed-"

Aemond's fist connected with Aegon's face before he could finish the sentence. The crack of bone echoed through the chamber, and Aegon stumbled, blood already trickling from his nose.

"You forget yourself, brother," Aemond growled, his breathing heavy, his heart pounding in his ears. "Speak her name with respect or I will carve it into your tongue."

Aegon wiped the blood from his face, laughing bitterly. His eyes were filled with something darker now, but he didn't move to fight back. Instead, he leaned against the wall, staring at Aemond with a knowing look.

"You act like you're doing this for her," Aegon said, his voice rasping as he spat blood onto the floor. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "But it's not her you're thinking about, is it?" His eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a grin. "It's her. Your little wife. That's why you're really angry, isn't it? Because you can't stand to see me touching her."

Aemond's breath hitched, his hands trembling at his sides. He said nothing. But his silence was answer enough.

Aegon's grin widened, his eyes lighting up with wicked delight. "Hit too close to home, did I, brother?" He tilted his head, eyes full of mock sympathy. "Don't worry. I'm sure she'll come crying to me again. She always does, doesn't she? She likes it when someone actually touches her."

Aemond's world went red. He lunged at Aegon, slamming him to the ground. His fists came down like hammers, blow after blow, each strike fueled by rage and jealousy. Aegon's grunts and gasps echoed through the room, but Aemond didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Not until the fury in his chest burned out.

It took the guards bursting in and pulling him back for him to stop. Two of them grabbed his arms, holding him in place, their strained voices calling his name. "Prince Aemond! Stop! Stop, my prince!"

Aegon lay on the ground, coughing and groaning, blood dripping from his nose, his lip split wide open. Despite the bruises swelling on his face, he still had the audacity to laugh.

"Careful, little brother," Aegon croaked, grinning through bloody teeth. "If you break me too much, there won't be anyone left for her to run to."

Aemond wrenched himself free from the guards' grip, his chest heaving as he glared down at his brother. He wiped his bloodied knuckles on his tunic and leaned in close, his voice deathly quiet.

"She'll never run to you again," Aemond promised, his voice laced with venom. "If you so much as look at her, I will carve your eyes from your skull and feed them to Vhagar."

News of your pregnancy hit Aemond like a blow he couldn’t dodge. His fury burned hot, an uncontrollable fire raging within him. On the training grounds, he swung his sword with unrelenting force, each strike harder and faster than the last. Ser Criston barely managed to block each blow, his face growing tense from the effort it took to hold his ground.

“Aemond! That’s enough!” Ser Criston shouted, raising his sword to parry another wild swing. “Control yourself!”

But Aemond wasn’t listening. His eye was sharp with rage, his gaze distant and filled with something more dangerous than mere anger — betrayal. Their swords clashed, a sharp metallic clang echoing across the courtyard. Sparks flew from the impact. Ser Criston staggered back, his chest heaving as he struggled to steady himself.

“You think I don’t know?!” Aemond roared, his voice rough, strained, like the growl of a dragon ready to breathe fire. His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat on his brow. His violet eye gleamed with raw fury. “They all know. They whisper behind my back. They mock me. She mocks me.”

“Aemond!” Ser Criston stepped forward, his sword lowered in caution. “No one is mocking you. You’re a prince, a warrior, a Targaryen.”

“Shut up!” Aemond snarled, swinging his sword so violently that it nearly disarmed Criston. The Kingsguard narrowly dodged, his face shifting from concern to controlled anger.

“That’s enough!” Ser Criston’s voice boomed with authority, louder than before. “You want to fight them all? Fine. But don’t be a fool and strike down the ones still on your side!”

Aemond froze. His chest heaved as he drew in deep, ragged breaths. His eye locked on Criston with an intensity that could break stone. But then, slowly, his gaze shifted to the ground. His grip loosened, and with a sharp clang, his sword fell from his hand, hitting the stone floor with a loud, echoing crash.

The entire training yard went silent. The guards and servants nearby glanced at one another, unsure of what had just happened.

Aemond turned away, his face as blank and cold as a winter sea. But inside, a storm raged. Guilt. Anger. Shame.

He let you go.

He saw you cry in Aegon’s arms, and he did nothing.

He let you fall into Aegon’s embrace.

And now, you were carrying Aegon’s child.

Aemond pressed his hands against his face, fingers digging into his skin, as if trying to claw the image out of his mind. But it wouldn’t leave. The whispers from the servants echoed in his ears like a chorus of mockery. He could still see Aegon’s smug grin, could still hear his brother’s taunting laughter.

“I should have stopped it,” he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse, barely audible. “I should have stopped you.”

His hands lowered slowly, and his eye glowed with new resolve. His jaw tightened, his face hard as steel. His heart may have been torn apart by guilt, but there was one truth that remained clear to him.

He would not lose you.

No matter whose child you carried.

No matter what Aegon claimed.

No matter what anyone said.

You belonged to him.

And he would take you back.

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