#Hotdfic

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Unsought Betrothal - Part 2 - Part One Here

Dark!Aemond x Reader Velaryon x Cregan Stark

Summary: After attempting to humilate your betrothed by laying with Lord Cregan Stark the night before your wedding in the hopes that Aemond would call the wedding off, you find that not only is he determined to still wed you, but also to punish you for your indiscretions. Part One Here

Pairings: Dark!Aemond x Reader, Cregan x Reader, Cregan x Aemond

Warnings: Arranged marriage, threats of violence, acts of violence, forced voyeurism, dubcon, elements of noncon, naked reader, clothed men, fingering, finger fucking, pussy slapping, p in v sex, creampie, pussy eating, cum eating, degradation, praise, voyeur.

Word Count: 13k oops... sorry

Notes: Wow, whelp, its been a while since I have posted some of my writing, and even longer since I wrote the first part of this abomination, but when you get the urge, you just gotta scratch it. Thank you all for all your beautiful messages of kindness as usual, I'm sorry I've been gone a while. I have had a bit of a rough time this year but hopes for a brighter future! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this, and I hope I can write again very soon for you, hehe ;) Enjoy! <3

The wedding came just as it was planned. Just as it was arranged. Sleep had evaded you, anger and confusion clouding your mind with memories of the night before, ache still throbbing between your thighs. Your little attempt at stopping the engagement had no affect on your betrothed. No affect on the uncle you had grown up with. On the man you would now call husband. 

You had thought that if you could humiliate Aemond in court by flirting with Lord Cregan Stark that he would call off the engagement. That the embarrassment would be too much for the pious prince. That the shame would turn him away from you, making him demand to his mother that they call off the engagement. 

You had thought that maybe if you lost your maidenhead to the Northerner, Aemond would be so disgusted, so filled with rage, that he would call the engagement off, what with him being a dedicated follower of the Seven. 

But you were wrong.

And so you spent an evening limping back into the Keep, escorted by none other than the One-eyed Prince himself and Ser Crispin. The front of your bodice had been ripped by Aemond's hands, but thankfully your hooded cloak covered up your sullied gown, the bottom of it dirtied with mud from where Aemond had bent you over in the alleyway and taken you roughly. With each step you took, you felt his seed slide down your legs, sticking to your inner thighs tackily. 

When you got to your chambers, you used the small basin at your dressing table filled with water to wipe and wash away the blood and seed from your body, pain and a lingering dull ache causing you to jerk with each swipe. 

You didn’t get much sleep that evening, staring blankly up at the ceiling. The urge to run was strong, to just leave out into the night through one of the secret passages and onto your dragons back, but the urge to stay was stronger. You hated him, truly hated him, but the way he had treated you that night, the fire in his eye, it lit something inside of you. It almost made you want him. 

Need him. 

Yet, there was another urge to stay, to make his life hell. To humiliate him at every turn, to ensure that he knew that forcing the engagement to continue would ensure him a life long marriage of discontent and disharmony. 

You were not going to bend to his will. You were not going to bend to his needs, to bow at the husband, and say ‘yes’, and ‘thank you’, and ‘please’. You were going to be who you have always been. 

A Valaryian. 

Your eyes stayed open, watching as the ceiling eventually became light with the sun, indicating the break of dawn, and soon enough your maids were entering your chambers to get you ready to be wed. You were thankful that none of them asked questions about the dirtied ripped gown, or the bloodied rag in the basin, though you knew they were likely already aware. 

The doors to your chambers opened as they pulled your hair back, pinning it atop your head in masses of braids with gold pins, tips glowing red with circular rubies. The colour of your mothers house dripping from you. Footsteps moved through your chambers, your head lifting to find Rhaenyra coming towards you, wearing a dress of black. Her silver hair half up, half down, small braids weaving around the back of her head beautifully. 

A soft smile pulled on her lips as she came towards you, causing you to turn in your seat to fully face her. She looked sad and also lovingly devoted all at once. And whilst you knew it was not her greatest wish to marry you off to her half-brother, you also both knew that it was the only way to prevent bloodshed.

“My sweet.” Rhaenyra cooed, a slender hand coming to brush against your cheek dotingly, the scar on her arm from Alicent peeking beneath the cuff of her dress.

Blood already shed.

“Muña.” You smiled back, pulling her hand down into your lap.

Your mother leant forward and placed a kiss atop your head, “You look so beautiful, my love.”

“Thank you, mother.”

“Are you ready?” Her tone was gentle, as though she didn’t wish to startle you. As though she didn’t want to break the bubble that was the safety of your chambers. 

The last time in your chambers as an unwed woman.

You gave her a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes, and she could see it, “I must be.”

The small smile she had worn slid away, “This is not what I had intended for you. I did not wish to force you as I had been. I wish-“

“-I know.” You squeezed her hand, “I understand. It is my duty as your daughter to be wed to the Hightower’s to prevent bloodshed and war. To ensure your ascension to the throne. Let me perform my duty for you.”

“You know that we love you.” Rhaenyra squeezed your hand back, “Daemon has almost gone mad with rage. He does not wish to see you be wed to him. Luc feels that it is his fault.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from either of them.” You stood, still clutching her hand.

Her violet eyes roamed down your body. 

The dress you wore was similar to the one she had worn for her wedding to Laenor, white with gold and licks of red in the lining. The dress sat below your collarbones and drooped against your shoulders, pearlescent beads sewn onto the short sleeves like dragon scales with a red silk peaking underneath.

“I wish this could be different for you.” She came to your side, placing a white cloak atop your shoulders, the Velaryon House sigil embroidered on the back, readying you to leave your chambers.

You looped your arm in hers, steeling a breath before you gave her a confident smile, “I don’t.”

-

Your heart rattled in your chest as you tried to stop the anxiety that churned nauseatingly in your stomach. Your hand was clenched tightly against Daemons arm, who slowly walked you down the many tables filled with people towards the man who would soon be your husband. 

“Breathe.” Daemon cooed softly in your ear, his hand attempting to soothe you with soft brushes against yours. 

Your eyes had not once left Aemond, who watched you with a dark glare. 

The second son stood before the table, Viserys slumped behind him in his chair, the barest of smiles on his rotted face, half covered by a golden mask as you came towards them all. Your mother and Alicent sat on either sides of the King, followed by your brothers, your uncles, your cousins, and your aunt.

Aemond stood stiffly as he always did, the perfect posture with his shoulders back. He was higher on the stairs so that he looked down his nose at you, which wasn’t different to any other time he did. Each step towards him was nerve-wracking, the Lords and Ladies who had travelled far and wide watching you with keen eyes.

When finally you were standing before him, Daemon let go, coming to stand between you and Aemond momentarily, breaking your eye contact for the first time since you entered the room. Your uncle Daemon’s face was a kind one, and one you had grown to love as a step-father. He did not offer you a reassuring smile like your mother did, nor did he offer a consoling one. Instead, he leant forward to press a kiss to the side of your face before standing straight, towering over the both of you in both height and size before he moved back towards the table, sitting beside your mother. 

And so the ceremony began. 

In the light of the chambers Aemond looked sinister, shadows cast across his sharp face as he continued to look down his nose at you, chin still raised high. The Prince’s hair was styled in the way that it always was; straight and down his back, with two plain pieces pulled away from the sides of his face, tied neatly behind his head. He wore all black, the lining and undershirt the deepest of greens that was almost onyx. A symbol of his mother and her war that she had declared on a night such like this, many years ago. 

The room felt hot, the back of your neck sweating as you stared at each other, all eyes pinned on you as the Septon’s voice boomed throughout the room.

“Father, Mother, Warrior,” The old mans voice was so loud in your ear that you winced,  “Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. Hear now their vows.”

You swallowed thickly, momentarily looking down at your hands before back into his sole lilac one, watching as his posture straightened further, surprised that he could even do so.

“I am yours, and you are mine.” Aemond’s voice dipped lower, “Whatever may come.”

Your throat felt dry, but your gut was filled with anticipation. You were frightened, but there was something else simmering beneath it all. A need for the danger he brought, a feeling of protection from him. Not from him and his anger, but from others.

A possessive desire.

The Septon looked at you impatiently to say your vows, and a small wave of quiet whispers spread across the room as you stood silently. The Prince shifted on his feet, muscles in his jaw clenching.

“I am yours,” You breathed softly, hands gripping each other tightly in front of your dress, “And you’re mine. Whatever may come.”

The purple of Aemond’s eye was half hidden by his lid, his gaze having softened at your short vow. You watched as the corner of his sharp lips twitched upwards lightly into a small smirk.

The Septon continued, “Here in the presence of Gods and Men, I proclaim Aemond of House Targaryen and Y/n of House Velaryon to be man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Man and Wife.

Wed to Aemond Targaryen. 

Your husband.

Now and forever.

An eruption of congratulatory joy spread throughout the room, the noise almost deafening as everyone celebrated what could be your demise. And though the noise around you was distracting, you could not look away from him, even as he shifted closer.

Aemond’s hand lifted and you flinched, the only people having noticed was your family seated behind you. His hand continued despite your shock to cup the side of your face and jaw, and as quickly as it happened, it ended. Aemond’s face grew closer as his eye slid shut, pressing his lips tenderly to yours in a brief moment before he pulled away, hand dropping back down to his side. The hand that had cupped your face grasped your hand for all to see, before he led you around to your seat at the table. 

-

The night of celebrations became a blur, too in shock to really enjoy yourself, but wine still flowing heavily. Most of your evening you spent ignoring your new husband, opting to speak mostly to your mother and brothers, as well as Daemon and his daughters, who threw you pitying smiles, yet words of encouragement. 

Aemond sat by your side, though he made no effort to join your conversations or create ones of his own. He had always been the quiet of his siblings, always sticking to the shadows and tomes of the library, never quite fitting in. 

Helaena leant forward towards you, Otto eyeing her warily whilst Alicent looked as though she was about to chastise her daughter. In your aunts hand was a beetle, all black, though when the light of the candles shone on his shell, it seemed to glow. Greens and blues, and purples and pinks, danced across the beetles wings as it crawled atop her hand. 

Your aunt had always loved insects, and had always been a sweet and kind person. You loved Helaena, and if there was anything that could help you endure living in the Red Keep alone without your family, it would be her. 

“He appears dark,” She breathed watching as it crawled through a gap in her fingers and back towards her palm, “But if you look closely, you’ll find that he’s not.”

You shuffled in your seat, your shoulder pressed to hers as you ducked your head to look closer at the beetle, “He’s quite beautiful.”

Healaena lifted her face towards you, as she smiled at you dreamily, “He is, if you let him.”

Frowning, you looked back to the beetle, “How do I let a beetle be a beetle?”

Helaena did not answer you, instead continuing to twist and turn her hand as the bug crawled around on it. 

Aegon watched from above the rim of his cup, drunk with red rimmed eyes. His hair was oily and wavy, unbrushed atop his round face. You could not help but feel a shiver crawl over you as he smiled.

“Our sweet niece and brother are finally married.” Aegon purred, Helaena barely giving him a second glance as though over the years she had attuned herself into pretending that he did not exist.

“A joyous occasion, uncle.” You smiled falsely back, picking up your own goblet of wine, ready to go back to talking with Helaena. Or the beetle.

Anything to escape Aegon.

“Do you know what happens tonight? After the celebrations of course.” Your uncles voice creeped along the surface of the table like a snake, so that only you and his siblings could hear. 

You swallowed thickly. 

Of course you did. 

You had done it last night.

Bar a bed. Or walls.

In fact, it wasn’t even in the Keep, and instead in a dirty alley in Flea Bottom, hidden amongst the shadows.

“I’m aware.” Your voice was clipped, which seemed to goad Aegon.

“And how does our sweet little niece know of such things?”

You swallowed thickly, head turning to look at Aemond, whose eye was trained on his brother.

“My Septa.” You tuned back to face him, “And your whoring.”

Aegon chuckled, filling up his goblet with wine once more, “I suppose then you know what to expect.”

“Yes.”

“Should you ever be in want of a demonstration-"

“-Leave her be.” Came Aemond’s voice, almost a growl. His hand was clutched tightly around his own goblet as he challenged his older brother to say something more. 

Aegon laughed loudly, eyes on his brothers clenched hand before looking up to watch him, “I only jest, brother! It is a night of celebrations!” He thrust his goblet towards the One-Eyed Prince, “It’s not everyday that my little brother is married off to such a beautiful princess. The daughter of the Realm’s Delight, no less. Do you think-“

Helaena shifted, turning her body towards you, “It isn’t so bad.” She spoke emotionlessly into your ear to distract you from Aegon, “It only hurts the first few times.” Your aunt paused in thought, lavender eyes still on the beetle as it moved, before looking at you, “Or when he’s angry. Or drunk.” She added as an afterthought, “But mostly when he’s drunk.”

Sorrow coursed through you for your aunt, your gaze immediately staring into Aegon’s angrily. How could he do this to her? How could he treat her like one of his whores? If not because she is his wife, but because she is his sister. Aegon seemed to sink into his chair after Helaena’s comment, soft anger simmering off of him in small waves.

But Aegon has never truly known when to stop.

“I am sure my brother here will barely draw blood.” 

“I am sure your interest in your brothers cock speaks loudly.”

Elbows sloppily placed on the table he leant towards you, “I tried to take him once you know, to a whorehouse.” His voice became more hushed, “He hated it. Made me think that maybe our dear Aemond was perhaps like your father, Laenor.”

Blinding rage shot through you, “Don’t speak about my father.” You hissed, “He was more man than you shall ever be.”

A cruel smirk pulled at Aegon’s lips, “I am sure he has had more men than I ever shall.”

Your hand shot forward to grasp your goblet, ready to hurl it across the table at him, peace be damned, but Aemond was quicker and snatched your wrist before the tips of your fingers could even reach the cup. 

A quiet fell over your table as all watched the interaction, your wrist in Aemond’s hand, Aegon smirking cruelly at you, and your face hot with anger.

“I pity you.” You quietly seethed, “Always so desperate to get a reaction out of the people around you, because if you didn’t you would simply cease to exist. Though you are the first son of Viserys, a peasant bastard from Flea Bottom would garner more respect.” 

Aegon’s gassed darkened, his mouth readying to fire back at you.

“Aemond.” Alicent called to her son, a questioning and yet chastising tone in her voice. 

Aemond looked at his mother, and then back to you, checking to see if you were going to continue on with your thought. But you had grown tired of the grip he had on you, his large hand squeezing your bones painfully as they shifted beneath the skin. 

“Don’t touch me.” You sneered at him, snatching your hand away as you stood, chair scraping loudly against the flagstones.

The throne room quietened, all stilling to watch as you stood at the table, seething down at your husband. The rest of your family all watched warily, except for the Rogue Prince who smirked broadly at you. Your chest heaved with anger as you looked down at Aemond, who stared up at you with similar rage. 

King Viserys sensing the tension smiled, though it looked more like a grimace, “Our young lovers wish to dance!” A distraction on his end, and a clever one at that. 

The room erupted into cheers and clapping, and the musicians in the corner began playing music loudly for all. Lords and Ladies stood from their seats and moved into the centre of the room to dance together.

Glaring down at your husband, your hands clenched into fists, waiting for him. Aemond slowly stood, towering over you, a large hand stretched out towards you, palm up. 

“Wife.”

“Husband.” You growled, taking his hand roughly, digging your nails into his skin as you led him down the stairs towards the people.

The court parted to the sides like a wave, creating a path for you straight to the centre as you lead Aemond down to it, almost like a dog. Each man and woman watched with excitement, either for the celebrations or the rising tension between the two of you. You’d be a fool to think that the court wouldn’t love a quarrel to arise so that they may whisper about it in corridors later to come. 

It could be a way to press the wound so to speak with Aemond later.

You stopped in the centre, finally letting go of your husband as you spun to face him. 

He stood as he always did, stiff, emotionless with a hint of arrogance, watching you with a cool glare. The court waited for you to begin, as the music continued to play, but even then you couldn’t push yourself to touch him. To feel his hands on you once more, alighting a fire within you that you did not know was possible, the embers still burning from the night before.

Would they be able to tell?

That he had already deflowered you in Flea Bottom?

In a dirty alley like one of Aegon’s whores?

In a way, you hoped they would. Let it bring him dishonour. Let it bring him humiliation from the court that his wife would take him in such a filthy, commoner way. You wished for his disdain, you wished for his anger, anything but the clear desire which seemed to move through him as he watched you from down his nose. 

“Well?” You snipped, waiting for him to make the first move.

Aemond came forward swiftly, much like he had in the alley, and you had to bite your cheeks to stop the gasp that would have escaped your mouth. 

It came to him so naturally to touch you, to hold you. One large hand immediately grasping yours by your side pulling it up, the other skating up your hip, over your collar bone, slowly down your shoulder, and down, down, down your arm. 

Goosebumps rose on your skin, a shiver running down your back as his other hand connected with yours, and slowly but surely, the dance began. Even with the noise of the room, the music playing, the talking, and laughter, and joy from the guests, you could still hear the small little gasps and breaths you let free as you danced with Aemond. 

It was likely one of the only times you hadn’t bickered after so long in his presence, let alone whilst touching him. The two of you stayed silent, moving this way and that, your gaze occasionally flitting to the table to your mother and Daemon, who watched with kind eyes. 

“Don’t let Aegon goad you.” Aemond finally spoke. 

His hand brushed against your shoulders, and round the back of your neck, a heat beginning to simmer in your gut from his touch. You turned to face him, watching as he observed you closely.

“He won’t stop if you show it bothers you.”

“He always bothers me.” You snipped, but this time with much less anger, “He is like a fly you wish to swat but can never reach."

Aemond’s lip twitched as he looked at you, turning around you slowly, “Mm.” 

“Mm.” You mimicked, turning away from him.

“Behave yourself, wife.” Aemond purred, irritation flitting through you momentarily.

“What? Like how behaved yourself last night?” 

“I could say much the same to you.”

“A shame then.” You sighed, moving to come chest to chest with him, your breath stilling in your lungs as you looked up at him. You would never get used to how tall he had grown over the years, “You bring much dishonour to your mother.”

“As do you. Whoring yourself to a Lord of the North-“

“-King of the North-“

“-In a dirty, whore riddled tavern.”

“A dirty, whore riddled tavern that you knew about.”

Aemond stilled, his head dipping towards you, “Did you think that I wouldn’t know of your movements in Kings Landing? Did you truly believe that I would be so foolish as to think that you would come to me willingly?”

You swallowed thickly.

“No.” He continued, sucking on his teeth, “You forget that I know you. You are much like your brothers. Getting into places where you don’t belong.”

“And what of yours?” You became defensive at the mention of your brothers, remembering how he and his would call you all bastards, “Loudly and brazenly whoring himself to any and all who would dare risk fucking him.”

“My brothers whoring does not concern me.”

“Then I suppose I am not a concern either.” You sniffed, “You needn’t worry, I am sure that he should find his way into our chambers one way or another.”

The hand on your arm tightened to the point of pain, your cheek twitching as you tried to hold in a wince, “I told you, he is not of concern.”

“I know Aegon. I have heard of what he does-“

“-And you know me. Know that he will not-“

“-He will not, what? Sully me? Taint our marital bed? It is already tainted. You made sure of that last night.” You stood closer to him, still as the others danced around you, your gaze peering up into his as your chest heaved, “But what if I want him to? What if I willingly invite him to take me? I’m sure you do not mind sharing after all, he is your brother.”

Aemond’s eye flashed with anger, before his head slowly ducked beside your ear, “If you think I am fool enough to stoop to your provocations then you must forget that we grew up together, side by side. I know your tricks.” The hand on your arm released its strong grip, coming to brush against the back of your neck, “I know that you despise him just as much as I. I know that you used to cry at the Godswood when he called you bastard.”

You bristled, purposely stepping back as you stared at him angrily. You hated that word. You hated what it meant for you and your siblings. You hated that he and his brother and his mother and the court whispered about all of your parentage. You hated that once, when you had been young, despite all of this, you had been friends.

Rage bubbled up inside of you, and before you could stop yourself you leant forward, hand coming to touch the side of Aemond’s face with his one seeing eye, the other covered by his leather patch.

You rubbed your thumb atop his cheek, “Imply that I am bastard once more, and I shall blind you with the purpose that Lucerys lacked.”

Aemond’s chest rose and fell jaggedly, inhaling breaths faster than yours, anger coursing through his veins. His sharp lips twitched as he watched you, “I wouldn’t dare. I know just how Strong you are, Princess.”

Your thumb moved fast, but Aemond was faster, anticipating your movements. His hand caught yours against his cheek, trapping your fingers between his hand so that they may not move further to pluck his remaining eye from its socket like intended. 

“People are watching, ābrazȳrys.” Wife, He purred, though there was a lick of danger behind it. 

A warning.

“Ivestragī zirȳ urnēbagon.” Let them watch, You sneered, “Nyke kessa laesdaor ao hae iā dīnilūks irudy.” I shall blind you as a wedding gift.

Aemond’s silver brow lifted, “Skoros iā sȳz irudy.” What a good gift, His eye turned dangerous, “Eman iā irudy syt ao, mēre nyke gōntan daor jaelagon naejot tepagon.” I have a gift for you, one I did not wish to give.

“Is it your death?” You countered cheerily, not wanting to show him that the way he spoke to you set your hair on end.

“No. I think it will be much better than that. We will both come to enjoy it.” The danger in his eye still flickered like a flame, “I was considering not giving it to you, but since you are behaving so wonderfully, I simply must insist.”

You turned away from him, moving to go back to your seat, “I want nothing from you.”

“And yet, you'll have everything.”

-

As the night grew long, your fears grew larger. And though he had taken you the night before in an alley, his subtle threat of what may come tonight lingered in the back of your mind. Each cup of wine was drained eagerly by your lips, hoping and wishing that you could somehow make yourself sick enough to not have the bedding ceremony. 

But it came all the same, just as the wedding had.

Aegon was the one who initiated the beginning of the end.

A large clap came from in front of you, the short haired Prince leaning towards you on the tables with his hands clasped together, silver and gold rings adorning them. A sinister smile pulled at his lips as he beamed at you and his brother. 

“The night is late!” He proclaimed loudly to the chambers, many Lords and Ladies turning their heads to watch, “I think we have held these two young lovers hostage for far too long!” Aegon smiled out to the room and then stood, lifting his goblet. 

His shirt was untucked, his gait unsteady and he swayed on his feet as he continued, “My brother is too polite to remove himself from festivities such as these! But brother,” He thrusted his cup towards you, “I can see that you wish to take your new wife to bed! The love these two share is a tale for story books, though they are too polite to say a thing.” He chuckled, and laughter followed from the Lords behind you, “Worry not! We will continue the festivities without you!”

Cheers were heard from about the room, though none came from your own table. Aegon sipped his wine greedily, eyes watching you from above the rim of his cup. The Prince took the goblet from his lips and clicked his fingers impatiently beside him, pointing at an uncomfortable Criston Cole who came to his side like a well trained mutt.

“Ser Criston, take these newly weds to my brothers chambers. It seems it is time for the bedding ceremony.”

Ceremony. 

Your blood ran cold. 

Aemond stood abruptly beside you, head on with his brother. 

“No need, Ser Cole.” His smooth voice icy, “I shall escort the Princess there myself.”

Aemond pushed his chair backwards as you continued to stare at Aegon, not quite ready to be alone with the Prince. 

Your husband.

You blinked, turning your head towards your family, who all gave you pained smiles. But it was your duty. And you had given your mother your word. Slowly you stood, letting your eyes scan the table, softly landing on your grandsire before meeting with a pair of large brown eyes. Alicent Hightower watched on with a nervous energy, her hands shifting on her lap as you assumed she picked at the skin around her fingers. The look in her eyes almost held empathy. 

Almost. 

You bowed your head to the King and Queen, ignoring Aegon’s shit eating grin. 

“Your Grace.”

Pushing your chair back you ignored the outstretched arm of Aemond and made your way down the stairs, Lords and Ladies watching as you made your slow exit from the room, taking false prideful steps through the court to delay the inevitable, giving all who watched smiles and nods of your head. 

The shifting of armour moved loudly behind you, before soon enough, Ser Criston Cole was overtaking your step to lead you out of the chambers and soon to Aemond’s. The white cape attached to his shoulders billowed behind him as he speedily kept on.

The skin on your elbow burned, a hand gripping it tightly as you were momentarily slowed as Aemond came to your side. You refused to meet his eye, feeling his gaze upon the side of your face as you exited the chambers, the sounds of cheering and laughter loud behind you. The chamber doors shut with a thump, the sound dampened and muffled, footsteps echoing down the darkened corridors of the Red Keep.

“Does Ser Criston not wish to watch you bed me?” You sneered, eyes flickering to the lit lamps on the walls as Aemond led you down a wing of the Keep you had scarcely been down. 

“I have instructed him to prepare my chambers for your arrival.” Aemond replied, his strides long and rigid as he almost hauled you with him. 

“Do not pull me.” You yanked your arm back, halting your steps, “I am not your dog.”

Aemond stilled, looking down his nose at you as he towered above, “Dogs are better behaved.”

The Prince’s head snapped to the side, pain spreading through your palm as you sneered at him. The side of his cheek bloomed an angry red, yet Aemond did not react to your slap, nor did he hit you back, instead, a slow smirk pulled at his lips. 

“I shall allow that, but only because I know you will regret it.”

Rising to your tiptoes you tried to make yourself come to eye level, “I regret nothing.”

“Mm.” He looked at you blankly, “I shall give you a choice.” Anger rose within your chest, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks, “Come with me to the Godswood.” Your brows furrowed, “Pray to the Gods for forgivingness for striking your husband, kneel and apologise. Swear obeisance to me-”

“-If you think-“

“-And I shall let you go to your own chambers alone. No need for a bedding ceremony after last night.”

You flushed, swallowing thickly, “I would never lower myself to apologising to a second son. And especially not to a Prince who is owed no inkling of respect.”

Aemond watched you for a beat, eye scanning your face as his held flat, “Then we continue to my chambers.” The hand that pulled you began again, and your feet struggled to keep up with his, bruises no doubt to be on the tender flesh of your arm in the morning. 

Your heart raced in your chest as you felt yourself get closer to his chambers, his strides not once slowing down, though you tried to dig your heels into the flagstones to slow him. 

“You care not to have a woman enthusiastic in your bed?” You tugged fruitlessly at your arm, “You wish to drag me to a night of suffering, like a savage. Like your brother, Aegon.” You sneered, fruitlessly tugging your arm to escape his grip.

“A savage would have had you atop the table before all to see when you first defied me. I gave you a chance to apologise, remember that you scorned it.”

“A chance? What chance was I given? A loveless marriage with a man who is not my equal? A burden I am forced to bear as I am forced to lay beneath him!”

Aemond’s steps halted once more, almost causing you to crash into him, his fingers tightening against your arm as he yanked you against his chest angrily, “You needlessly make this more difficult. I extended an offering to you of peace, and you burnt it.”

“Peace?” You screeched incredulously, “You have done naught but provoke me! Naught but push and prod and goad me into reaction so that you may justify your sick desires.”

“Provoke you? I seem to recall you sneaking into Flea Bottom to try and lay with a Lord to spite me.”

“I was trying to save us from a loveless and cruel union.”

“Us? Or yourself?”

You paused, mouth feeling dry. Anger and fear swirled within your gut viscously as you stared at him. The both of you panting heavily at one another. Aemond shifted, moving away from the wall beside you, revealing two large wooden doors. 

You were there.

And you had not even realised.

“Wife.” Aemond purred sarcastically before pushing open the door, the smell of his room engulfing you. 

It smelt of him, but far more intensely. Of leather and smoke, and spices which he dabbed his skin with, and still, behind all of this, the natural scent of him. The smell that was only his and his alone. A scent that had wrapped around you in that alleyway the night before. 

The fireplace raged wildly, the room filled with dark mahogany furniture. There was a chaise, arm chairs, a table seated for six, a large bed on the other end, a reading desk with piles of books and scrolls, and candles sitting on every surface, lighting the room. 

The second thing you observed as your eyes roamed the space was that you were not alone. 

Your heart skipped in your chest. 

There by the bed, was a man sat in a chair. Arms tied down to it as his feet were tightly bound to the legs. His long dark hair was knotted atop his head as he stared at you in shock, and beside him, Ser Criston Cole.

“Cregan?” You breathed in shock, running towards the Northerner as you dropped to your knees, hand reaching out to cup his face as he only looked at you with sorrow, “Are you hurt?”

“I did warn you,” Aemond growled from behind, “That you would regret it. I had a plan, you see. A moment of mercy to let you apologise at the Godswood, for you to go-“

“-Let him go!”

“-To your chambers untouched and unscathed. I had given you a choice, and this is the one you have chosen.”

You turned your head sharply to face Aemond, “What have you done?”

“This man was caught conspiring against the crown. He planned to take the Princess’ honour and humiliate her betrothed. A Prince.” His lilac eye held Cregan’s icy blue ones, “I have done my duty by capturing this traitor to the realm.”

Fear began to bubble inside of you, eyes looking back to Cregan. The left side of his face was bruised, small cuts littered across his cheek and brow. His soft lips were swollen and split, and dried blood had gathered in one corner.

“He is innocent.” Your knees ached as they dug into the stones below, your upper body turning to face Aemond again, “He knew naught of what I was doing. Punish me. Let him go.”

Aemond hummed and walked towards you, “Brave. Admirable if it wasn’t for nothing. No. I gave you a choice before, and you have made your choice. I gave you the option to apologise, to bend to me as your husband, to go to your chambers alone, but this is what you have chosen. This was your choice.”

“You gave me no choice!” You sneered, moving to stand, shielding Cregan’s body with your own, “All this talk of choices when all you have gave was an unknown ultimatum.”

“A choice nonetheless. Godswood or chambers. And so here we are. The consequences of your actions.” The Prince came closer, shadows cast across his face, “I told you that you would regret it.”

“You’re a savage! A foul beast.”

A smile pulled at Aemond’s lips, “Choose your words carefully, wife. I have no qualm with slitting his throat where he sits should you continue to defy me.”

Cregan pulled against his restraints, angrily sneering at Aemond, who simply hummed once more as he came to stand before you, looking down at you with false pity, “But, it is the night of our union, and the betrayal is still fresh and something I am willing to move past. I shall give you another choice. One that I feel may be far too lenient.”

Tears began to well in your eyes.

This was all your fault.

“The Lord of Winterfell shall sit where he is, and watch as I fuck you in ways that he never shall-“

“-You disgust me!”

“-Or he shall be tried and hung for treason.” Aemond came closer, his chest almost brushing against yours as he stared at you, “The choice is yours.”

You sneered upwards at your uncle, tears gathering in your eyes, “I would rather die than let you touch me again.”

“I recall you seeming to enjoy it, wetting my cock in that filthy alley as you begged for it.” He purred, hand lifting to brush hair from your face as he sighed, “I don’t mind what you choose, I could simply slit his throat myself right now? If you'd prefer it?”

A lone tear fell down your cheek as you turned and held Cregan’s gaze, his brows furrowing as he saw you come to your decision. 

“Y/n, don’t-“ Cregan’s head was jerked back roughly, Ser Coles hand in his hair as he stuck a blade beneath his chin. The edge of the blade nicked the skin lightly, a small bead of blood travelling down his neck. 

He would die.

He would die and it would be all your fault.

“Please, Aemond.” You begged, “Please do not do this. Let him go. Let him go and I swear to you I will obey your commands. Let him free and I am yours.”

The silver haired mans head tilted as he cooed you, “I am sorry, my love. But it is too late to beg for my mercy as I offered it to you before. What kind of man would I be if I excused such treason?”

You stepped forward swiftly, “A strong one. A merciful one. A man who can see the error of my way. That I am repentant.” You tried to cajole him, “I promise you I will be good. I will perform my duty and do what is expected of me.”

“You are sweet when you beg, but it is too late.”

“Uncle, please! I will do anything! Anything you ask of me. I swear to the Seven.”

Aemond smiled at you, “I know you will. And that is why you will do this.” Aemond swallowed, eye roaming down your wedding gown hungrily, defiantly. 

Angrily. 

“Strip.”

“Aemond-“

“-Strip, or he dies.”

Tears rolled down your cheek, your stomach rolling in disgust and fear. 

“Please do not make me do this.” You sobbed, arms limp by your side as you looked down at the flagstones, feeling defeated.

Your husband tutted you, long slender finger brushing the tears that fell from your eyes away, “Do not waste your tears on him, my love. I can be gentle, and soon you will come to love my touch. This, I promise you.”

Pain bloomed in your jaw as you ground your teeth together, wary to not trigger Criston’s excitable hand. Short breaths puffed from your nose as fury and sorrow rose within you like a tide, little by little building in a wave. In your periphery, Aemond stepped back, a pale hand presented in front of you, palm outstretched for you to take.

Slowly, you let your gaze meet his, heated glare ignoring his offering as you refused to move. One last act of defiance. And one Aemond did not take lightly. Pain bloomed in your shoulder as you were roughly yanked forwards, and thrown backwards against the bed. Cregan shouted from behind you, the chair creaking beneath him. 

“I said, strip.” Aemond growled.

Your eyes flicked to Cregan, and then up towards Ser Cole who watched with conflicted eyes.

“Please,” You begged softly again, keeping your eyes on Ser Criston, “Not him too. Not Ser Cole.”

A shifting of armour moved from behind Aemond, and a small ‘Your Grace’ fell from the knights lips. 

Aemond spun, momentarily ignoring you as he turned to the knight standing awkwardly beside Cregan Stark, “You may leave, Ser Cole.” Aemond sniffed, “I am certain our guest will behave accordingly.”

Ser Criston’s eyes flickered to yours and then to the Prince as you tried to plead to him with yours for help. 

To help the daughter of the woman he was once sworn to. 

But no help came. 

The Dornish knight bowed his head and left without another word. 

“Let her go-“

“-Ah.” Aemond turned slowly towards Cregan, slow steps coming forward until he stood towering over the northerner, “Speak again and I’ll cut out your tongue.”

“Kepus,” You stood from the bed, grasping Aemond’s elbow tightly, hoping, praying that if you asked once more that he could see reason, “Please, let him go. I am yours. I will always be yours.”

Aemond stared at you, his pupil dilated as he stared at you intently.

“Strip.”

You fought the sob that threaten to rise up your throat and slowly lifted your chin. 

You would not show weakness. 

You would be strong. 

With shaking hands, you let your fingers find the strings at the back of your dress, and slowly but surely you pulled the laces, keeping your eyes on your husband who watched with intent. 

The gown sagged against your frame, the soft material falling down your chest slowly as you held it for one last moment, hoping that it was all a test, that he would change his mind and stop this madness. 

But he didn’t. 

Breath held in your chest, you let the gown fall to the floor below you, leaving you in your thin shift before the two men. Cregan looked away, his eyes focusing on the stones of the wall in shame, his hands tucked into tight fists against the arm of the arm of the chair, knuckles turning white.

A shiver ran down your back as the cool of the chambers stiffened your nipples into peaks, brushing against the white of your chemise. Aemond took a slow step towards you and then another, hand lifting to brush under your chin, an attempt to direct your gaze to him. You turned your head defiantly; looking to the wall where Cregan’s gaze laid. 

“Y/n.” Aemond warned softly, thumb and forefinger pinching your chin as he turned your face towards him, “Look at me.” 

Reluctantly you let yourself, and all you saw was the black of his pupil as he devoured you with his darkened gaze, “You’re so beautiful.” He cooed, “My wife.”

You swallowed thickly, his hand slowly skimming down your neck raising goosebumps along your skin as his fingers came to rest against the edge of your chemise. The tips of his nails scraped softly against your skin as it slipped beneath, and with an even slower movement, he tugged the chemise down off of your shoulders, the thin material floating down to the floor below leaving you completely exposed to the two men in his chambers. 

“I will not harm you, though you would deserve it.” Aemond purred, his eye roaming your exposed body, your stomach and core clenching in anticipation, “I plan to make you beg for it.”

You opened your mouth to snap at him, but in the moment his long fingers came to brush under your breast, fingers teasing your nipple softly, your mouth clamped shut. You shyly glanced at Cregan, who’s eyes were scrunched tight. Aemond followed your line of sight, sighing.

“If you do not watch,” Aemond fully turned to Cregan, “I will take out your eyes.” 

Even at the One-Eyed Princes threat, Cregan did not lift his gaze from the wall. The Lord of Winterfell willing to risk his sight so that you may keep your dignity.

“Fine.” Aemond grunted, pulling the blade from his belt, “Then I shall take hers.”

Fear shot through you as you stared at Aemond tearfully, watching in your periphery as Cregan’s head turned towards you and yelled. 

“No!”

“Then,” Aemond sneered, “Watch.” 

With eyes filled with shame, Cregan looked up at you. You didn’t know what to do, what could make it better. What could make any of this not what it was, and so you tried to offer him a reassuring nod. A small promise that it was okay to look when all you knew was how very much it wasn’t.

“Good.” The Prince hummed. 

Aemond resumed his touch against you, hand coming to cup your breast fully as he rolled your nipple between his fingers. His touch sent sparks across your chest, shame washing over you in a wave. 

Aemond ducked his head towards your face, beckoning you to kiss him. Would he be gentle as he was when you were married? Would it soften his actions? Or would it only make him worse?

Deciding that you didn’t want to push what little patience he had, your eyes slid shut, breath stuck deep in your chest as you felt the heat of his body come closer, the hand on your breast skating around your ribs to pull you closer to him. 

When his lips pressed against yours it was light, gentle, almost cautious, your hands staying stiff by your sides. But that softness was short lived, and soon Aemond deepened the kiss, his teeth clashing against yours roughly. 

You gasped softly as his other hand wound into your hair, tugging you closer as he nipped your bottom lip roughly. Your hands instinctually came up to his chest, gripping onto his jacket tightly to steady yourself. Anger poured into the kiss, and from behind you could feel the reluctant glare of Cregan. 

Aemond pulled away, your eyes fluttering open to look at him. His lips were swollen, having turned a rosy pink as a blush settled across his cheeks. His chest heaved against yours, the stitching on his coat brushing roughly against your stiffened peaks. 

“Have you ever bed a woman, Stark?” Aemond asked smugly, brushing the back of your neck as you turned you to face the Northerner again, your back to Aemond’s chest.

Even as exposed as you were, Cregan’s eyes did not shift to look at your body, keeping his simmering glare on Aemond.

Clicking his tongue, Aemond continued, “I’m sure you’ve fucked wildlings and mudmen alike, being a man of the North.” An arm wrapped around the front of your chest, breasts squeezed beneath the toned arm of your uncle behind you, “Tell me, are Winterfells brothels full of sheep like the Vale? Or maybe they’re full of pigs since you’re both fond of the mud.”

The chair beneath Cregan creaked, his jaw tensing in anger as Aemond taunted him. His pale eyes narrowed, lips tensed together in a sneer as his nostrils flared, breathing heavily whilst his hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

“No? Hm.” Aemond’s other hand slid across the skin of your back, travelling around to the front of your stomach slowly, brushing his fingertips along your hip bone as he continued, “You see, Stark, mudmen of the North have no place with the blood of Valyria. The Blood of the Dragon would never sully itself by laying with a Northerner. Nor would a Princess.” His hand continued to dip down, fingers brushing into the hair atop your mound. 

Your back arched in instinct, trying to escape his hand, but it only pushed your backside into his clearly hardened member, “Targaryens don’t fuck like animals,” His voice dipped lower, “We bring pleasure to our lovers.”

Aemond’s hand continued down, parting your folds with a finger, seeking out the heat and slick that had gathered at your entrance. Once found, Aemond’s chest vibrated from behind with an appreciative hum, dragging a long slender finger from your entrance, back up to your pearl. You jerked in his hold as he pushed lightly against it, slowly and torturously swirling the digit against your bud, your arousal aiding his movements. 

You watched Cregan curiously, the urge to hide yourself strong. His eyes never once left Aemond as he continued to bring you soft pleasure. The Stark’s chest rose and fell shallowly as he glared at the man behind you, who watched back with impatience. 

“I won’t tell you again.” Aemond purred, fingers dipping down to your entrance as he suddenly shoved one long finger inside of you, causing you to gasp at the small sting, “Watch her, or I blind her.”

Cregan’s eyes shut as he took a shaky breath, Aemond’s finger crooking inside of you, pressing against your front wall roughly. A whine fell from your lips causing the icy blue eyes to catch yours finally. Cregan swallowed thickly as you stared at one another, your hands gripping the sleeve of Aemond’s arm across your chest, twisting the material between your fingers as you shifted your hips back, pressing against him as he sped up his fingers movement. 

Cregan’s stare was hard, his eyes apologetic, watching you shift against your husband behind you as he began to fuck his finger inside of you, the sound of your slick filling the room. Your face flushed with embarrassment. 

“She’s quite reactive,” Aemond purred, slipping his finger from within you to rub at your bud again, causing you to jerk in his hold, his arm tightening further around your chest, “Her body knows what it wants, even when she tries to fight it. Do you hear how she needs me?” 

Aemond’s finger moved back to your entrance, but instead of one, he forced in a second, the ache from the night before settling within you again.

“Gods.” You whispered softly, pain and pleasure mixing into a confusing blend. Your head fell back against Aemond’s shoulder as he sped up his hand, fucking his fingers inside of you roughly. All you could do was lean your weight back against him, his arm the only thing that held you upright as his arousal pressed into the small of your back.

A familiar warmth began to build within you quickly, a coil rapidly tightening within your gut as Aemond switched from fucking you with his hand, to rubbing slick circles against your pearl. You scrunched your eyes shut, mouth going slack as your breath hitched. You were so close, so close, to reaching your peak, but each time you would almost get there, Aemond would slow his hand down. 

You whined in his arms, shifting as you just wished it would end, wishing he would let you peak. It was torture. And with each time he did it, the frustration and desperation built, a light sheen of sweat covering your skin.

“What is the matter?” Aemond cooed into your ear, his fingers slowing to almost a halt, “Did you need something?”

You huffed a breath through your nose, eyes scrunching shut as you tried to thrust your hips into his hand, anything to alleviate the pressure that was strung to snap at any moment. You didn’t care anymore, you just needed it to end. Aemond’s fingers stopped, hovering over your pearl.

You didn’t even want to think of what you must have looked like, bare, hair likely a mess, and body aching for release.

All while Cregan Stark watched.

“If you want something,” Aemond’s lips came to the side of your ear, pressing a ghostly kiss to them, “You need only ask.”

You bit on your bottom lip, willing yourself to not give in, to not give him what he wanted, but all you could think about was reaching your peak. Logically, you told yourself it was for Cregan’s sake so that it could all end quickly, but in reality, it was so that the throbbing in your core would cease, and the sweet feeling of relief could wash over you like it had the night before. 

“Come now, you’re not one to hold your tongue. Ask.”

You wet your lips timidly, keeping your eyes shut in shame, not wanting to see Cregan’s face as you begged for the man behind you to touch you again as he watched. 

A sharp sting shot through your centre, your eyes springing open as you gasped, you gaze immediately meeting the cold icy glare of Cregan, who’s fists tightened around the arms of the chair.

“Speak.” Aemond commanded, voice sharper in your ear as he watched Cregan tensing to the chair he was tied to.

Your mouth felt dry, and you licked at your lips once more before you softly whispered, “Please.”

“Please what?”

Cregan’s gaze looked back to yours, his eyes softened.

“Please,” You begged softly, “Touch me.”

You heard Aemond hummed from behind you, his finger slowly pressing into your cunt as he gathered slick from your entrance to drag back up to your bud.

“Like this?” He purred, slowly making circles against you, the coil within tightening again.

All you could do was nod, but that was not the answer that Aemond demanded. His fingers left your pearl as he waited, and you huffed in frustration.

“Touch me. Please, Aemond.” You weakly begged, eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment, not wanting to see Cregan’s face. 

His touched resumed once more, but the arm wrapped around your chest shifted, his hand coming to grasp your chin as he lifted your head to look squarely at Cregan, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks.

“All you needed to do was ask, sweet wife.” Aemond purred, the movement speeding up, bringing you closer and closer to your peak, “I want you to wet my hand, and watch him whilst you do it. If you do not,” His voice dipped low, fingers pressing almost painfully against you, “I will know.”

You swallowed dryly and nodded your head in his grasp, feeling your peak begin to barrel towards you. Cregan watched your face, his own a soft pink and ice blue eyes half lidded. 

“Does this feel good? Am I making you nice and wet?” Aemond cooed, hand plucking pleasure from you in ways you didn’t know was possible.

You nodded weakly, “Yes.”

“You can do better than that. Tell him what it feels like.”

Your eyes widened, embarrassment flaring inside of you.

“Tell him or I’ll stop.”

“It-“ You paused, swallowing the last of your pride, “It feels good.”

“What feels good?”

“When you touch me.”

“How so?”

You exhaled shakily, shifting in his arm as his fingers softened their movements, “It feels good when you touch my cunt.”

“Sȳz riña.” Good girl, Aemond praised you, causing arousal to spark inside, “That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Does it feel good when I fuck you with my hand?”

“Yes, uncle.” You whined weakly.

“Tell Cregan that it feels good when I fuck you with my hand.”

Blinking at the man tied in the chair, you grit your teeth, “It feels good when he fucks me with his hand.”

Cregans nostrils flared as he shifted in his seat, and your head fell back against Aemond once more, “I’m close.” You panted.

You were so close, so, so close to just tipping over the edge, the smell of Aemond behind you suffocating you as heat began to rise through your body. The gaze of the man before you wavered, his eyes momentarily dipping to where Aemond’s hand was rubbing swift and slick circles. That was all it took for you to feel yourself fall undone.

You writhed against Aemond as your peak washed over you, the Northerner watching on as Aemond’s fingers became wet with your release, his gaze darting up to watch your face, jaw slack as he breathed shallowly.

“Shh, shh, shh. Good girl.” Aemond praised you, his hand finally stopping as he smoothed up and down your sides. 

A warm glow settled over your body and your eyes slid shut, head lolling to Aemond’s chest behind you as you breathed deeply, the pulsing of your cunt halting any and all thoughts that you had. 

But as quick as the calm had come, the quicker it left, your world tilting as you were spun and pushed back onto the bed. Your eyes shot open as you watched Aemond step towards you, Cregan observing with slight concern before you were yanked back down the bed towards the Prince by your ankles, legs splayed open. 

On instinct they tried to close, too exposed to the room, but your husband wouldn’t allow it, standing between them as he held them open with his hand, his lone eye commanding you to stay still from above. 

Would it be painful like the night before? Would he bring you pleasure as well? Or would it be something entirely different now that you lay down on a bed, the way that your Septa’s had told you it would happen, and certainly not inside a dirty alley in Flea Bottom?

But what your Septa’s had not informed you of was that your husband, who seemed to be more concerned with punishing you than bringing you any reward, began to kneel before the bed, his back to his prisoner.

“I need to taste how sweet you are, and then I shall fuck you.” 

With a broad swipe of his tongue, Aemond parted your folds from your entrance to your bud, collecting your release on it as he went. His eye closed as he hummed, coming to lap at your folds once more, pleasure sparking up through you. 

You gasped softly, the feeling foreign but not unwelcome. It was more intense than you had thought it could be, but perhaps you were over sensitive from the release you just had. You watched Aemond, his lilac eye opening to look up at you with a smirk.

He pulled away from your centre, lips wet with your slick, “You are as sweet as I thought you would be.”

Aemond stood, towering over you as he began to pull at his belt and breeches, wherein he began untying them, lace after lace ripped from its eyelet until they sagged. His shirt was pulled away, revealing the pale skin of his lower stomach, and the dusting of hair that trailed down from navel to pubis.

The Prince’s length strained against his breeches, the base of it just showing, a purple vein standing out against his starkly pale skin. You hadn’t gotten to see it properly the night before, and the sight of it made your core clench around nothing. 

Before he pulled himself from the confines of his pants, Aemond grabbed you once more and shifted you to lay sideways atop his bed, the plush green sheets soft beneath your skin. Your eyes rose to the ceiling, looking at the soft canopy that lay atop before the screeching of a chair on stone caught your attention.

You snapped your head to the side, watching as Aemond effortlessly dragged Cregan by the chair closer to the bed, only an arms length away. He towered over the man from Winterfell who looked up at him with nothing but contempt.

“You’ll watch me fuck her,” Aemond began smugly, “And know that it could never be you. Know that it will never be you.” Cregan attempted to sit up higher in the seat, chest pulling at the ropes that held him back, “You’ll watch me bring peak after peak from her as she wets my cock and likes it, and you’ll remember that it was me doing it.”

“Aemond.” You tried to distract him, try to take the attention away from Cregan, who watched with burning eyes, “Please.”

The silver haired Prince turned his head towards you and smirked before looking back at Cregan, “You see? She already begs for more.” Aemond walked back towards you, only two short steps from the bed as his eye roamed your naked body, gaze settling into the crux of your thighs, “She only had me last night, and already she begs so nicely.”

With jerky movements, Aemond pulled his length from his breeches, the length and girth large and intimidating. The tip was a rosy pink, and long veins travelled up its length. A bead of arousal had begun to form on top, slowly leaking down the base as he knelt on the bed, pulling you down to meet his hips, and had you not already experienced it, you would have been filled with fear. 

Aemond thrust into you quickly and sharply, pain filling you before a feeling of fullness, his tip pressing at the end of your walls. You hissed softly, hands having raised to grasp his arms, nails biting into his skin beneath his shirts.

Your husband leant down, lips brushing against your cheek as it moved to your ear, “Do you like when I spear you on my cock?” He purred, his breath tickling your neck. 

With clenched teeth you nodded, willing your body to adjust to his size quickly.

“Use your words, you’re not a mute.”

“Yes.” You grit out, turning your head away from him as he loomed above you, arms on either side of your head as he lay between your parted thighs.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Aemond.”

“Close.

You swallowed, “Yes, Husband.”

“Good.” Aemond pulled out of you swiftly before he thrust back in, “Girl.”

You exhaled sharply, the angle so far different from the night before. He felt deeper, more intense, everywhere all at once. 

It was overwhelming. 

You scrunched your eyes shut as Aemond began to rut into you, your hands not once leaving his arms as you clutched onto him, shifting your hips to alleviate the way his tip pressed harshly against your cervix with each thrust. 

His hips clapped against yours brutally, speeding up, the movement shifting you up the bed as you squeaked with each impact, a warmth beginning to pool in your gut once more. The hair at the base of his cock brushed against your pearl roughly as his pelvis slid against yours, the stimulation winding that all too familiar coil again.

A moan broke free from your lips as Aemond shook a hand free, hoisting up one of your legs atop his hip, shifting the angle entirely so that his cock brushed against the small spongey patch within you deliciously, pleasure sending sparks through your limbs. Your eyes were shut so tightly, you could see stars behind them, your bottom lip gnawed between teeth. 

“Open your eyes.” Aemond breathed from above, his pace not once faltering. 

Your head tipped to the side, away from where Cregan sat, eyes still scrunched shut as you whined beneath him. 

“I said,” Aemond grunted, hand roughly coming to grasp your chin as he turned your head back towards Cregan, “Open.”His fingers squeezed painfully against your jaw, bruises likely to show in the morning, your eyes finally opening to find Cregan watching you already.

“Lord Stark knows how to follow orders. He’s not once taken his eyes off you.” Aemond purred, thrusting particularly sharply into you causing you to wince, “Do you think he wishes he were I?”

Your mouth felt dry again, and all you could do was watch as the blush on Cregan’s cheeks depend and his eyes momentarily flashed away form you before returning, remembering Aemond’s threat. 

“I think he does, sweet wife. I think he wishes that he was in your tight, wet, cunt as I am now. Don’t you agree?” 

Your breasts moved with each thrust, the sound of your slick sliding against his length loud as it was before as you huffed beneath your husband.

Aemond’s fingers tightened against your jaw, “I asked you a question.”

“Yes.”

Another squeeze.

“I do.” You breathed, your face suddenly feeling flushed. 

The man on top of you pulled out suddenly, hands moving under your sides to flip you over onto your stomach.

“Do not-“ You began angrily.

“-Quiet.” Aemond snapped, grabbing your hips as he pulled you up onto your knees, your hands fisting the sheets as you looked ahead, uncertainty filling your features before you felt the head of Aemond cock slide through your folds, and push straight back inside. 

“Fuck you.” You hissed as he began to fuck into you, “Gods.” The angle made you feel even fuller than before, but shallower too, his length constantly batting against your walls as his hips clapped against your ass.

You struggled to stay upright as he continued, his grip on your hips painful as he pulled you back onto him, the air being punched from your lungs each time, making you gasp out small little high pitched huffs. A hand in your hair wrenched your head back and then to the side, directing your face to meet the Stark’s who’s eyes were not on your own, but instead upon your body.

The heat of his gaze caused you to clamp down on Aemond’s length, the Lord’s roaming eyes watching as the Princes cock buried itself over and over inside of you, before slowly roaming back up your body, catching sight of your breasts below you as they moved, and then finally to your face. 

Seeing that he was caught, Cregan flushed, eyes casting down briefly before looking back up at you. He shifted against the chair, hands still tightly clenched against the arm, chest heaving, his thick muscled thighs clenching against the seat, and to-

Oh.

Cregan shifted again, knowing where your gaze had fallen, his hips trying to shift back against the wooden chair, but there was nothing to hide the hardening length within his dark leathered breeches, which pressed painfully to the front of his pants.

Your core clenched again, and from behind you heard Aemond grunt. 

You should have been upset, you should have been horrified, but all it did was set the heat that was already simmering in your gut ablaze, your nipples stiffening to peaks. Instinctually you arched your back, hoping to better the view, which got another grunt of appreciation from your husband, who’s pace was yet to falter, his stamina owed to years of hard work in the training yard with Ser Criston Cole. 

Cregan’s lips parted as he watched you, the pink of his tongue coming out to wet his lips, and that was all it took for you to come undone. You cried out loudly, keeping your eyes on Cregan as Aemond fucked you through your release, triggering his own. He came with a growl, his hips slowing to a halt as you felt his seed pulse inside of you. 

You collapsed against the bed, eyes half lidded as you watched Cregan shift again against his chair as Aemond slowly pulled out of you with a hiss. Warmth dripped from your folds and down your thighs as you felt the soft press of kiss against your shoulder blades. 

Your uncle manoeuvred you on the bed again, your body pliant in his hands as he pulled you to the edge of the bed, legs spread wide for Cregan to see. The man’s pale eyes drifted down to between your thighs, watching hungrily as Aemond’s spend dripped out from within you. 

“Tell me Cregan,” Aemond stood by the bed panting, tucking his length back into his breeches whilst he brushed a loose hair over your shoulder, “Did you enjoy watching me fuck my wife?”

The taunt earnt him a sneer. 

“An honest question deserving of an honest answer. I thought Stark’s were known for the honesty and oaths?” Aemond pressed.

You breathed heavily as you watched Cregan’s gaze fell to you and only you in that moment as his answer was given. 

“Yes.”

There was no denying the edge of arousal that roughened the edge of his answer. 

“Hm.” A beat, “Would you like a taste?”

You brows furrowed as you looked up to your husband, who kept his eye on Cregan, his hand atop your shoulder brushing gently in thought. 

A taste?

Did he mean to-

Your heart leapt into your throat, watching as Aemond took his blade from his side and moved towards the Stark man. 

“Stop!” You yelled, watching as Cregan did not flinch when Aemond approached him. 

“Worry not, I mean no harm. I am feeling generous.” Aemond purred, lifting the blade towards Cregan, “He watched dutifully as I put my seed inside of you.” His lilac eye dropped to Cregan’s hardened member, “And it seems that he has enjoyed it.” The Prince turned to face you, “I only wish to give him a parting gift. Something to remember… to agonise over for years to come.”

With a swift hand, Aemond sliced the ropes that bound Cregan's chest to the back of the chair, the Northerner staying still in his seat. The tall Targaryen bent down and cut the ropes on the mans legs loose, one by one.

“Now,” Aemond stood to his full height again, pointing his blade towards Cregan’s wrists, still tied to the chair, “Know that I have your men in a holding cell, and should you try anything, I shall have them all cut into seven pieces and strung about the gates.” Aemond paused, his gaze hardening, “And then I will stay true to my word.”

Cregan’s chest heaved with anger as he watched the prince, still not speaking a word.

“Do we understand each other?” Aemond questioned him, one silver brow lifted in challenge. 

Cregan’s jaw clenched, a click audible to the chambers, “Yes.” He growled.

Aemond hummed in acknowledgement and released his hands, taking a step back as Cregan stood slowly, rubbing at his raw wrists as he looked at you on the bed. His head turned back towards your husband, uncertain of what he meant. 

Impatiently Aemond thrust his arm towards you, blade still in hand, “Go to her. Taste how sweet she is, and know that you will never taste her again.”

Cregan shifted on his feet uncomfortably, looking to you for permission, for denial. 

You didn’t know what to do, or what to say, so instead, you widened your legs in invitation, feeling desire begin to stir in you once more. 

It was wrong. 

But Gods did you need it. 

“Clean her up.” Aemond commanded, and with slow and cautious steps, Cregan walked towards you.

The scent of Aemond was overpowered by that of Cregan’s. He smelt of cedar wood and fur, and the soft smell of musk beneath it all that just felt right for a Northerner. 

It felt as if each stepped dragged on for days. You shifted against the bed nervously, casting your eyes to Aemond, who watched with a desire of his own.

Cregan dropped to his knees, his hands twitching by the side of your hips on the bed, cautious to even touch you, a stark difference to the way Aemond simply took. The dark haired man looked up at you breathlessly as you gave him a nod, shifting your hips towards him again, likings the way his eyes dropped down to your centre and then back up. 

His large calloused hands grasped the soft meat of your hips, his eyes keeping on yours as he leant froward slowly, the heat of his breath fanning across your sensitive folds. Your mouth parted as you panted above him, watching as he wet his lips before finally pressing a chaste kiss to your core. 

A soft moan escaped your mouth, head dropping back momentarily, giving him a strike of confidence before burying his tongue between your folds. You dropped back onto the bed, hands coming to grasp his hair as he licked and suckled at your folds, lapping at both your and Aemond’s release which only served to spark your desire further, that same familiar coil winding rapidly.

You tilted your head to watch him, his eyes still on you as you began to come undone on his tongue. Your name pulled you away from his stare, and you turned your head to face Aemond who watched hungrily from beside, his jaw tensed. 

Already sensitive from such an intense night already, you writhed against Cregan’s mouth with a moan, his ministrations bringing you to your peak swiftly, your slick gushing into his mouth. You kept your eyes on Aemond this time, watching as he breathed deeply, his cock already beginning to swell in his breeches.

You panted and whined as the pleasure became too much, and only then did Cregan remove his face from between your thighs, roughly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The chambers became still as you all breathed deeply, warmth spreading through your limbs as you couldn’t decide who to look at for longest. 

Your husband.

Or the Northerner.

All you could think about was what you had done. 

What had just transpired.

Your husband had trapped a Lord of the North in his chambers and forced him to watch you be fucked by him, and not only that, commanded that he cleaned you after. But what was the most confusing part of all, was that all in the chambers seemed to have liked it.

“Cole.” Aemond’s voice broke the stillness of the room, the door to the chambers opening swiftly. 

Cregan stepped in front of you to shield your body from Ser Cole at the same time Aemond did, his back turning to his knight as he grabbed the sheet of the bed to drape over your exposed body.

The knight entered, flagged by two guards.

Confusion flashed across Cregan’s face as he stiffened, body gearing itself up for a fight.

“Relax, Stark.” Aemond mused, not even bothering to look at the man as he observed the guards, eye landing on Ser Cole again, “Take Cregan and his men to the travel roads. Ensure they have food for travel and water for the ride. They are to leave Kings Landing immediately to return back to Winterfell.” 

Ser Cole nodded, as did the guards who swiftly approached Cregan, grabbing each arm as they began to remove him from Aemond’s chambers. The dark haired man looked back at you in confusion as you clutched the sheet your chest, unsure of what to do.

“Stark.” Aemond called out before the dark haired mans foot could cross the threshold. The Northerner stilled, eyes suspicious, “Expect a raven.”

Without another word, the guards pulled Cregan out of the room, Criston shutting the door behind them. The silence in the chambers was nerve-racking, and you turned to look at your uncle, who was already making his way to fill two goblets of wine. 

Your mouth opened, a myriad of questions ready to pour out your mouth, but as usual, Aemond seemed to be one step ahead.

“You’re my wife.” He began, the sound of wine filling goblets. He turned with them in hand, coming to stand beside the bed as he handed you one. 

You kept one hand with the sheets against your breast, the other shakily grasping the goblet, fatigue weighing your body down. Aemond spun to sit in the very chair that Cregan had been tied to, the ropes still on the floor in a heap.

“Our marriage is one of a prospect of peace, not love.” His words stung you in a way you didn’t realise they could, “Though, I do hope to change that one day. I wish to make you happy,” He paused, taking a sip from his goblet as he thought carefully, “And it would be remiss of me to say that what just happened didn’t spark something within me.”

You frowned, “I do not understand.”

“You looked like a Queen having him kneel before you.”

A beat.

“My Queen."

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[myfandomprompts]

You Belong To Me Now

Summary: Aemond has become Prince Regent, and there is now nothing holding him from claiming you.

A/N: Quick smutty darkish!Aemond x Reader I wrote, nothing fancy

Words: 2.8k Masterlist [Spanish version - Wattpad by daisy_dont]

Warnings: praise kink, biting, vaginal, bruises, choking, obsession, dom, blowjob

Aemond had been Regent for a few months now, and although the Valyrian steel of the Conqueror’s crown didn’t rest upon his head yet, it was now an undeniable fact to every member of the realm that he had been born for this. All could finally witness his real worth, his superiority and how good he was at being a commander, a King.

No, he excelled at it. The Blacks haven’t even dared to approach King’s Landing even once in the last few months, and under his command all fear him, all obey him. He was far better at this than his father ever was, than his sister ever will be, and certainly than his broken brother is, tucked in his bed.

His new duties obliged him to be away often, to ride Vhagar and lead his armies on the usurpers who wanted to decimate them and take his city, but when he was back in the Red Keep, all he sees is you.

In fact, he wonders why he had never noticed you before as he crosses paths with you in the corridors, watches you in the throne room during audiences, laughing and hugging your lady friends. Maybe you are part of a House who came to the capital in order to help grow his army, that you are the daughter of an ally he had never bothered to be properly introduced to, because this was all they were to him: his subjects.

Nevertheless you are there, bright as the sun when he spots you when he least expects it and, despite his limited vision, he doesn’t seem to miss your presence, ever. He doesn’t miss the way you play with your hair when you're deep in thought, how your hips sway when you walk, how your fingers surround the glass you take to drink and how the skin of your throat glows as you swallow the liquid.

That he became obsessed was an understatement. There was no rest for his mind, and even amidst the excitement of the battle he thought about your appreciative look when he would return, triumphant. He had talked to you once, the sound of your voice making the hair on his skin raise in delight as he was introduced to you. He knew your name now, and he wouldn't stop there, you occupied every corner of his mind and inhabited his skin.

However and to his greatest dismay, the crown keeps him occupied, reducing the occurrences he can observe you, enjoying how you don't cower under his gaze; you staring back at him like it's a game, one that he never intends to lose.

He doesn’t miss the glances you draw from other lords either, eliciting an icy violence deep within his body and it makes his desire for you grow ever greater. He wants you to be his, completely.

This is why he sends for you one night, confident that you cannot refuse after spending the day looking at you like a starved dog, the lust between his legs becoming harder and harder to control. But he was Aemond Targaryen, and what he wanted, he would have. 

When you enter his chambers and he dismisses his servant; you look at a loss, but intrigued, like a deer caught between hounds but you are still composed, the very image of a Lady from a House he had only bothered to learn its name today. All he knows, deep in his gut, is that you are right where you are supposed to be.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

He takes in your looks, the way your eyes glints with curiosity, the heaving of your chest constricted in this infernal gown he only wishes to rip off, and how sweet you look as you blush out of uneasiness.

When you shake your head so softly, he grins before coming to stand before you. “You’re here to help me with a matter that needs tending to. But first, I need assistance removing my clothes.”

The widening of your eyes makes the colour of it stand out better, and he waits for you to process his order and obey, admiring your beautiful features and the way your lips part in shock. “Go on."

He knows you cannot refuse, seeing the slight confusion in your eyes as your hands reach the buckles of his collar, undoing it one by one with your pretty, trembling little fingers. It takes all of his patience to not move his hands over your form and revel in the sight, smiling to himself.

When his green doublet is removed, his linen shirt remains and he doesn’t let you take a breath when you pull away. “It’s not over, is it? Continue.”

You cast an almost fearful glare at him before resuming your task, helping him out of his shirt gently with concentrated eyes and when your skin touches his in the process, he has to stop a shaky exhale from escaping his mouth.

He sees how you look at his toned chest, pale defined arms, and then glance at his trousers with tight lips. He retains a sneer as he turns away from you and towards his bed, surprising you with his sudden departure.

“Do you know how the other lords look at you, sweet thing? How they look and look, like they had a chance with you? Do you know how much they wish they could bury their cocks into you and take you as they pleased?”

You turn a lovely shade of red, spreading from your face to your neck and below your cleavage, his lewd words disconcerting you and your perfect little honour. How he likes it on you, that innocence.

“Of course you don’t,” he continues, taking a seat at the edge of his bed and not missing a piece of your deliciously growing, panicking state. “You don’t care about them, do you? You just care about serving your Kingdom at most of your capacities.”

You swallow, your body noticeably relaxing lightly at his words but the movement draws his eye to your neck and he instantly wishes he could mark you there, right at the junction of it, where a mole he had not noticed before lays.

“My Prince, I-”

“Come here,” he beckons, patting on his lap after your croaked out attempt of a response. He will spare you the need to explain that yes, you do want to serve your realm loyally, and thus serve him as well. 

You hesitate, eyes darting between his legs and his face, and the lust grows at the thought that he might have to make you obey by other means. But at the sight of his hard expression, you have the good sense to approach, slowly, coming to stand between his legs and he grabs your hips at once, lowering you down onto his lap abruptly.

You let out a yelp at that, your legs forced to straddle him and you have to cling on his shoulders for support, face flushed and thinking fast. Aemond, on the other hand, feels every cell of his body come alive, a wicked smile appearing on his face.

“You know, I haven’t been with many women, but you… you’re something else, aren’t you? You make me understand why men look at women the way they do, what they find so irresistible about them....” he murmurs, putting one strand of your hair aside while his eye trails the pumping of the veins in your delicate neck. “Why all of those lords look at you… But they can’t have you.”

His tone is firmer now, unforgiving. “I have a claim on you they don’t have, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence you came here. That you are in this castle, under my protection.”

You seem unable to speak and the little noises he hears as you try to take a more comfortable position on his lap are like music to him, making him harder under his pants. He takes your hips a little too roughly than he intended in order to pull you to him.

“I’ve been thinking about you for days now, and I ran out of patience, so here is what is going to happen, sweetling. You’re going to take my cock, fully, like the sweet and obedient lady you are so I can feel every damn corner of your cunt, deep enough for me to fill you up.”

With his last sentence he pulls you closer onto him so you can finally feel his hardened state and you whimper in shock, the sound resonating into the room like a pathetic echo as he takes in the sweet scent of your skin, his nose trailing your neck hungrily.

“Hmm, my little pet, so flustered…” he praises as you tense on top of him, your pelvis hitting his member delectably. “You didn’t think I rode the largest dragon in the world and had nothing to show for it, did you?” 

He takes a few more moments to enjoy the friction of your layers against his groin, feeling your body turn soft before gently pushing you away from him to let you unlace the ties of your gown with a commanding look. When you are bare before him, he licks his lips, the sight of your pretty little pussy making his now free cock throb in anticipation.

“You are gonna take me so well, you want to please your Prince, don’t you?”

The way you quickly nod in submission destabilises him so much that he has to take a moment before finding his composure again, his desire slowly growing out of control as he stares at you. But he must be patient, enjoy this, because he is no low man, nothing like the rest of them. So he sits back on the bed and invites you to him, noticing your already blown pupils staring at him.

He doesn’t care that you aren’t prepared, that it might be difficult for you to take him this early because the urge to sheath himself deep inside of you is too strong. But when you hover over him and your folds meet his tip you are so fucking wet that all his fears are swept away, replaced by the indescribable lust that takes hold of him, eager to have you, exactly like you want him.

The sensation makes him unable to concentrate before he puts his hands on your thigh to help you down, and it’s absolutely amazing. You’re warm, tight, right for him; the sweet moan that escapes your lips making him twitch as he looks at your knitted brows that tells him you are feeling him, truly feeling him. You go achingly slow and he can’t help but hiss in frustration, but at this point you deserve to have your own pace; he will be able to take his due later, when you’re accustomed to him.

He can tell from your expression that it hurts, and it makes his loins surge with fire at the thought, the wickedness of it so darkly satisfying. 

“That’s it, all of it. You’re doing so well.”

He finally feels resistance nudging at his tip and he knows you are completely his now, looking at his cock buried deep inside your cunt and you let out a high pitch moan when you still, flesh against flesh in the most deliciously painful kind of way.

It feels right, he can almost feel your heartbeat upon his length and when he slightly withdraws in order to surge his hips forward, instantly hitting your depth hard, you wail loudly.

Aemond laughs as he squeezes your hips harder. “My sweet pet, so beautiful for me. How is it to feel it so deep? Do you want to move for me?”

He grunts when you start to move; he doesn’t have to do anything, your warmth and slickness making him absolutely wanton, and he doesn’t think he had ever felt this complete in his life. It allows him to look at you, take in your bouncing breasts, magnificently round, and he can’t help but reach for them, propping himself up on a sitting position before biting one of your nipples hard, and the sound you let out makes him want to do it again.

But for now he wants to mark you everywhere, your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, your delicate shoulders. He wants to cover you with his tongue and bruise you while you ride him so exquisitely, his mind foggy and half conscious. He feels your nails digging into his back when he sucks at the base of your neck, leaving a trail of drool that covers your skin. He bullies your breasts for his own pleasure and his cock feels every one of your jolts, squeezing him.

He makes you swivel, his length briefly sliding out of you before he lays you down on your belly and enters you again, lacing one arm behind your back to help him pound into you mercilessly, taking full control for the first time and it feels so good that a shameless growl resonates deep within his throat.

“You’re married, aren’t you?” he asks with a grin, admiring your back and the curve of your ass.

“Promised…” you pant through your moans. “To Lord Blount…”

“I see… Then Lord Blount will have an assignment in a land far away very soon,” he purrs with arrogance as he quickens his pace.

The new angle makes you moan loudly, your position seemingly uncomfortable enough to make each rocking of his hips like it’s the last you’ll be able to take. Soon you’re clenching around him, screaming out loud while your shattering orgasm turns you into a puddle in his arms when he lifts you against his chest, whispering in your ear.

“Fucking hell, you like that, don’t you? You couldn’t help but come all over my cock like the good lady you are.”

He keeps jerking his hips until you grow completely silent, feeling his legs momentarily weak when your walls give him a particularly strong squeeze and he withdraws.

You’re unable to move so he lets you lay back on the bed as he examines your folds, red and swollen from his brutal pace and he passes one finger between them to gather your slick. You moan at the sensation as he tastes you, licking his fingers hungrily.

“Bloody Seven, you taste delicious,” he praises as you try to find your breathing. “You’re mine from now on, understood?"

He barely acknowledges the curt nod you make before he laces his fingers around your neck, drawn to its softness and the bruises that begin to form there. He strokes the column of it softly, thoroughly, before grasping the base of your throat so he can hold on to it, hovering over you as he slides gently into you again, your folds spasming briefly from your aftershock. He sees you close your eyes, hiding your beautiful irises from him and he wishes you would look at him, something you do when you feel his hand around your neck constricting.

“Aem-” you let out.

“What is it?” he asks, watching your lips make the most amazing sounds he had ever heard while he rocks into you, his weight on your neck. “Is it my name you want to say? You can scream it if you want.”

But you don’t, to his greatest displeasure, apparently unable to do so as your features stiffen, so he snakes a hand to your dripping cunt, zoning on your swollen clit and you tremble beneath him. When he works your bud, fingers circling it at an unrelenting pace, your lips form an “o” and he decides here and there that he will cum in your mouth. For now, he concentrates on the roll of his hips and the movements of his fingers, one over your neck and the other making you grind onto it in yearning.

You are at his mercy.

“Will you scream my name now, pretty little thing? I can feel you close…”

It takes a tremendous effort from his part to not come undone himself when you finally do, trapped at his own game as you pulse around him, your back arching, and the way you finally cry out his name doesn’t help the little restraint he has left. He growls when you go limp under him, unwilling to let go of your neck and overstimulated bud as he works you through your climax.

“On all fours,” he commands when he finds enough composure to speak, propping himself up on his knees on the mattress and daring to pump himself a few times while you do as told.

He instantly comes to grab your hair, your expression completely in disarray from his brutal ministration on you and, when your mouth meets his weeping head, he can’t process anything, the contrast between the intensity of your folds and the soft warmth and slowness of your tongue killing him. He has the greatest desire to buck his hips into your mouth, to take it all, but your tongue traces along his throbbing vein right before you suck at his most sensitive part and he finishes right there with a croaked moan, painting your mouth with his seed.

You are both panting hard, and when he looks at you behind his hooded eyes, admiring his work, he brings your chin between his fingers and wipes your lips, glossy from his release. “You’ll be there each time I come back, won’t you, pet?”

You nod frantically, exhausted before falling on the bed next to him.

A/N: Thank you @babyblue711 & @arcielee for the beta reading, so much <3

[nebulablakemurphy]

The Queen’s Hand

(Part VII: Birthright)

Summary: Y/N Targaryen is Princess of the seven realms. First born daughter of, Viserys I and Aemma Targaryen. Heir to the iron throne, forced to make impossible decisions to ensure peace amongst the land and the safety of those she holds most dear.

Warning: this chapter includes the birth of Rhaenyra’s daughter who unfortunately does not survive.

Prologue | I | II | III | IV | V | VI

“This is treason and you know it.” Aemmia snaps, her cheeks flush from tears. Her eyes burning with the fire of the dragon.

“I understand that you are upset.” Aemond attempts to gentle his wife, “but you must compose yourself. This is not good for the babe.”

“It is too soon to know if I’m with child!”

“Helaena told me so.”

Aemmia sighs, looking away. Some consider Helaena mad, but Aemmia knows better. Viserys knew things he could not, same as her mother.

“Rhaenyra is the rightful heir. I intend to uphold her claim.” She says, with fierce determination.

“Aemmia, please.” Aemond catches her face in his hand. “I will no longer argue the legitimacy of Rhaenyra’s claim. But the fact remains, my mother and grandsire have set this chain of succession in motion. I cannot stop it. I cannot make Rhaenyra Queen anymore than I can raise my father from the dead. If we do not accept the crown it will pass to Aegon.”

“Aegon cannot be found.” Aemmia steps away from his hold.

“They’ve not been looking very hard.”

“Why not?”

“Because they do not wish to find him.” Aemond confesses. “This is best for everyone. You and I on the throne, the coronation will be peaceful.”

“Aemond, I will not betray my family. If we send for Rhaenyra-”

“If Rhaenyra becomes queen, she will kill my family.”

“Why do you believe this?” Aemmia wonders, have Otto’s lies poisoned him so? “My aunt is not vindictive or cruel. Now she may forbade you from speaking ill against her children, but she would not harm you.”

“Her children have done it before,” Aemond reminds her, “and even you spoke against me.”

“You called them bastards.”

“Are they not?” He challenges.

“They are Targaryens,” Aemmia corrects him, “same as you and I.”

“Hmm.”

“It was you who attacked them.”

“Attacked them? Four against one.” Aemond huffs. “Yet none of them maimed.”

“You tried to kill Jace.”

“I was trying to defend myself.”

“As Lucerys was defending his brother.” She dares him to argue.

“Say what you will, dear wife. But if it were me who harmed one of her children this way, my father would have removed my eye himself and presented it to Rhaenyra on a platter.”

Aemmia reels back at this, “I cannot say if that is true. You knew a much different man than I.”

“Because he loved you.” Aemond says simply. “A privilege I was not afforded.”

“I-”

“When all is said and done it matters not. With us on the throne, we can ensure the safety of your family and mine. You will have the power to unfuck this as you see fit. I cannot give all you ask of me, but I can make you Queen.” Aemond pauses, “Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.”

“Why would you do that for me?” Her brow furrows.

“I despised you for years. Feeding into jealousy, unable to understand my father’s devotion to your mother and Rhaenyra’s children over me, his own son. But as I’ve come to know you, I see it a bit differently. We are not so different, two sides of the same coin. I…feel for you.”

“And I for you,” Aemmia breathes.

“I do not know if it is love, but I have never felt it for anyone else. I do not wish your family dead, I do not wish you to suffer. Allow me to do this for you.”

-———————————🌱———————————

“Y/N!”

The sound of her sister’s distressed cry sends the Princess scurrying to Rhaenyra’s rooms.

“Rhaenyra,” Y/N murmurs. She is in a state of undress, suited only for the birthing bed. Bent forward at the waist, gripping the door frame which overlooks the balcony. It is far too soon for her labors. “You must sit.”

“We are past that now.” Rhaenyra tells her. “This is happening.”

Y/N looks to the maester. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“I am afraid not, Princess.”

Rhaenyra reaches for her, “I need you.” Her voice is choked with pain.

Y/N crosses the room. Taking her sister’s hand and fussing about her endlessly. “I’m so sorry, Rhaenyra. I failed you.”

“Often times I felt the world has failed me, but never you, sister. Never have you failed me.” Rhaenyra gasps, clutching her belly.

“Let me help.” Y/N says, moving to knead the small of Rhaenyra’s back.

Rhaenyra shakes her head. “Daemon wishes to move immediately for the throne. He’s gone to madness.”

It’s been all of half an hour since the news arrived by raven. Alicent and Otto plan to use their absence to usurp Rhaenyra, forcing her own niece to take the crown.

“I know Aemmia and I love her like my own. She would not supplant me of her own free will. Whatever game Alicent is playing, I do not wish her to be caught in the cross fire. If Daemon moves it will be a blood bath, you know it as well as I.” Rhaenyra forces the words out between contractions.

“Rhaenyra, what would you have me do?” There’s blood, too much blood.

“You are the one meant to advise me.” Rhaenyra attempts a jest. “I have sent Jacaerys, whatever claim remains to me it is now his. I don’t not want any decision made while I’m abed.”

“I will send Harwin to back him,” Y/N suggests, “be sure Daemon is respectful of your wishes.”

“Harwin is an asset, but he holds little authority in court. Daemon trusts you, he may listen if you speak.”

“I do not wish to leave you this way.” Y/N confesses.

Rhaenyra reaches back, catching her sister’s hand. “It’s as mother always said, this is our battle field. We must learn to face it with a stiff upper lip. I will be alright until you return.”

Y/N nods, perhaps it is silly to worry. Rhaenyra has five children, but this is different. Still the Princess raises her chin, facing the council room with grace.

Harwin looks…perturbed to say the least. Daemon must be eating Jace alive.

“Might I ask exactly what is still up for discussion when your Queen has willed you wait for her? I assume my nephew, Jacaerys, was very clear.”

The room is silent for a long moment.

“Princess,” Lord Corlys, barely recovered from his injury in battle for the Step Stones, nods down to her hands.

Y/N follows his gaze, her mind spiraling with a grief so intense she has not yet felt it. She swallows, composing herself. Wiping her hands down the front of her dress to clean them; staining the material in her sister’s blood. “We are not to make any decisions in the absence of Rhaenyra.”

“We must make preparations, Y/N. War does not stop for a laboring Queen, I’m afraid. You will be most useful at my wife’s side.” Daemon tries to reason. However harsh his words, he does love Rhaenyra and wants her cared for in his absence.

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra cries. The awful sound of it echoing off the walls.

“Clearly you are the one she wants.” Y/N insists. “I will take over as head of this proceeding.”

“You would stand against your own daughter?”

“Wouldn’t it be best to first rally our allies?” Y/N ignores his question. “Assuming we know who still stands with us.”

Daemon looks down at Y/N’s hands again. “What of Aemmia?”

“Whatever my daughter hath done is in the name of this family, and our rightful queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. Aemmia is strong. She would not be so easily won over by the Hightowers. She would however be smart enough to play their game,” Y/N looks him dead in the eye, “and win.”

Daemon’s jaw ticks, “come Jacaerys, I will teach you the true meaning of loyalty.”

———————————-🌱———————————-

“Let the seven bear witness! It was King Viserys’ dying wish, that his first born child, Y/N Targaryen’s daughter, Aemmia Targaryen-”

Aemond feels his wife’s fingers tighten around his, as if the name startled her. Aemmia Strong is no more, he squeezes back. You’re alright.

“And his true born son, Aemond Targaryen, should succeed him. It is your great fortune and honor to witness this today. A new King and Queen to guide our city.”

Aemmia is grateful when she is asked to kneel to the High Septon, for fear she may faint. Her knees hit the top stair harder than strictly necessary. She can’t go through with this.

‘But, there is new hope. With Aemmia and Aemond’s union, our houses might stand together once more.’

Her grandsire’s words ring in her ears. This will not unite them. It will break any bonds that hold them. I cannot do it.

“May the warrior give them courage.”

I miss you, grandsire.

“May the smith lend strength to their sword and shield.”

I’m sorry, Rhaenyra.

“May the father defend them in their need.”

I need you, father.

“May the crone lift her shining lamp and guide their way to wisdom.”

Forgive me, mother.

With that the High Septon is finished.

“Crown of Viserys, the peaceful. Passed down to the next generation.”

Aemmia’s head is light, the metal of her grandsire’s crown too cool against her skin. Even it knows, it does not belong.

‘Tonight I want you to see me as I am.’

If only he were here. Her grandsire did not wish this. He would never let it happen.

“The crown of the conqueror, passed down through generations.” Criston Cole crowns Aemond next. A clear sense of accomplishment about him.

As if this has not been cruel enough, they are now expected to stand. Aemmia hopes no one will notice the wobble in her stance. Turning out to face the masses.

Aemond presses a kiss to her temple. Tis done. Drawing his sword, he kneels, presenting the blade for her to wield. He looks up at her, “my Queen.”

Aemmia takes the hilt carefully. Lifting it from his outstretched hand to the sky.

“All hail, her grace.” The Septon announces, though confused by the lack of ceremony. “Aemmia Targaryen, first of her name. Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the seven kingdoms, and protector of the realm. Aemmia the Queen!”

The applause starts slow, but is ever building. Aemond stands beside her proudly now, she has done her part. Her hand gone limp in his, eyes glossed over, she has checked out. Though no one but he is the wiser.

Only the explosion from the entrance and rubble flying in all directions pulls her from it. There is a dragon, she can make out the shape of someone on it’s saddle, but she cannot say who.

As the dust settles, Aemmia spots Rhaenys; Rhaenys sees her. Their eyes locked as Meleys rears back. Aemmia’s fingers curl around Aemond’s outstretched forearm. Though his body would do little to shield her, it is the only protection he has to offer.

The roar that sounds will live forever in her mind, no fire joins it. This is not and execution, it’s a warning.

———————————-🌱———————————-

“Ahhh!” Rhaenyra’s head falls forward in defeat.

“Good,” Y/N says, “very good. You’re nearly there.”

“Princess,” one of Rhaenyra’s maids calls, “you should not do this alone. Let us help you.”

Rhaenyra says nothing, bearing down against the pressure in her abdomen.

“Once more,” Y/N encourages, prepared to catch the babe.

Syrax cries out in distress as Rhaenyra brings her sixth child into the world.

The infant, a girl, perfect and beautiful. Completely still. She is small, but appears healthy though she does not cry. Y/N turns the baby over, rubbing at her back. “Come on, little one.”

Rhaenyra looks to her sister.

“We must have the maester!”

“Yes, Princess.”

“Y/N,” Rhaenyra shakes her head. “Give her here.”

“She will be alright.”

Rhaenyra leans her forehead to her sister’s. “Thank you for staying with me.”

Y/N slides the baby into Rhaenyra’s arms.

“I should like to be alone now.”

“I cannot leave you.” Not like this, she shouldn’t be alone.

“Even you cannot shield me from this. I have lost a child, I must grieve.”

It isn’t fair. Y/N forces herself to her feet. Covered in blood and the aftermath of a newborn babe. Holding her composure out the door, down the hall. But the tears come, hot and unbidden. Scorching her cheeks.

She tears at the strings of her gown as she walks, letting it pool at her feet then stepping over it. Shedding it the way a snake might shed it’s skin. She is different now, forever changed.

“My darling.” Harwin greets her just beyond the door of their guest chambers.

“I-” Y/N puts a hand up between them. “I cannot be comforted.”

Harwin holds his stance, not moving toward her. “You must have a bath.”

Y/N shakes her head. “There is a war to be fought.”

“In your dressing gown?”

“I do not have armor.”

“We will get you some, when the time comes.”

“Do not coddle me.”

“I apologize, that was not my intent. I only want to be sure you’ve thought this out.”

“Thought it out?” Y/N forms her mouth slowly around each word. “The Hightowers have held our daughter against her will and forced her to commit high treason. The repercussions of which sent Rhaenyra into such a state of distress that she has lost her child.”

“Viserys would have wanted-”

“My father is not here! He’s gone. Dead.” The word burns it’s way from her throat. “He left me and he’s never coming back.”

“Y/N,” Harwin runs a hand over his face.

“If my father were alive, he would open the floodgates and rain hellfire upon them.”

“Look at me.” Harwin crosses the room, taking her face in hand.

“She’s all I have left of my mother.” Y/N shoves him away. “All I have left of him. I cannot lose Rhaenyra. I will protect her at any cost and no one will take her from me!”

“My love, you are not yourself.”

“No, you’re wrong.” Y/N insists. “This is who I am, Harwin. This is who I’ve always been.”

“I have known you some thirty eight years, married to you for over twenty of them. I know who you are, Y/N Targaryen. I know you and I love you. Therefore I will be the first to tell you when you are making a mistake.”

“That is the problem, Harwin.” Her chest heaves with the weight of it. “I’ve changed, I am different.”

“Push me away and reel me in as you wish, but I will not abandon you. When you die it will be with my slain body at your feet, my sword and shield in your hand. If this is the war we are fighting I will stand at your side. I am not your enemy. I’m only asking to weigh our options.”

Her defenses dissipate. “Your patience and understanding touches me deeply. I do apologize for taking my frustrations out on you, it will not happen again.”

Harwin softens at this, “you need not apologize for being human.”

“I do not see a way back from this.” Y/N admits. “They have gone too far.” She puts a hand to her aching heart.

———————————-🌱———————————-

It has been three days. Three days since the coronation. Aemmia has just changed into her nightgown when she hears rustling from the adjoining room of her apartment.

Aemond.

“Come to celebrate?” Aemmia shakes her head. “I am exhausted from the day’s affairs. I wish to sleep.”

Silence.

“Aemond?” Aemmia turns to farther investigate. There is someone there, a man. His hood draw up, covering the top portion of his face. “Show yourself.”

The cloak is pulled back, Aemmia squints into the dimly lit corner. He reminds her of someone…someone she used to know. But it couldn’t possibly be, “Laenor?” Now she is seeing ghosts.

The man takes a step toward her. “Ser Lynis will do.”

“It was you? All these years, the one my mother was writing from the Step Stones.”

He nods.

“Does she know you’re here?”

“Your mother wanted to come herself, badly.” Laenor explains, “but I had a better chance of getting through the passage ways into the castle than she did.”

“Are you…staying?” Say yes. “Or perhaps I could come with you?” Please.

“Not just yet. But we do not want you to think yourself forgotten. Your family will not abandon you here, Aemmia.”

“In all these years I have not forgotten you. It is so good to see you again, Uncle.”

Laenor opens his arms to her, “come.”

Aemmia runs, all but jumping into the familiar hold of the man who would put her up on his shoulders as a child. “Will you tell her- tell my mother I did not want this.”

“She knows.” Laenor assures her.

“And the crown,” Aemmia makes a run for it, “my grandsire would want Rhaenyra to have it. Our true Queen.”

Laenor wraps his hand around it, tucking it safely into his satchel. “Well done, sweetheart. You’ve made us all proud.”

“Will I see you again?” Aemmia asks.

“When the time is right.”

Part VIII

Taglist @evyiione @giulia2372 @bubblebuttwade @hotd-fanfic @leoramage @hyperfiaxed-freak @chonisbestmistake @poemfreak306

[creganstahk]

always a fuss and a fight (13,034, E)

jacaerys velaryon x cregan stark

summary:

“You do not like me, do you, Lord Stark,” Jacaerys said then.

Cregan halted a half breath before keeping their pace.

“What makes you say that, your grace?”

Jacaerys scoffed, “Well, that you didn’t deny it, is kind of an indication.”

or: Jacaerys is in Winterfell hoping to secure an alliance. Cregan isn't thrilled, but finds a way to cope. A character study

[esta-elavaris]

Obscure, Plain, and Little ch. 6

Jane Eyre inspired Aemond/OC fic ✨

[dragonnwriter]

Inviolable Bindings

Aemondxfem!OC and Aegonxfem!OC

All Chapters Here!

***NSFW Chapter!!!*** 18+ No Minors!

Chapter 29

The early morning came quickly and Viserra had been awakened by her chambermaids and a warm plate of food. She was grateful that Aegon had left earlier in the night because she truly did feel rested, her mind clear and focused for the day ahead. 

While forcing herself to eat through the butterflies in her stomach, she let the girls braid her hair neatly in hopes she would not have to bother with it over the next few days.

In the final moments of finishing her braids, there was a knock to her chamber door before it swung open and a set of footsteps came into the room. Turning to see who the intruder was, Viserra was pleased to see Aemond. Cassella quickly tied off the last of her hair with a ribbon and they moved out of the way as he approached.

Like always, he was neatly dressed, his features and hair standing out against his black clothing. In his hands, he carried a long and slender package, something wrapped in a leather cloth and handled with care. As soon as they made eye contact, he greeted her with a warm smile and she saw that his violet eye was shining unusually bright.

“I have something for you,” he announced, walking to her before taking himself down to one knee. Carefully unwrapping the item, he revealed a sword held in a decorated scabbard.

Her eyes widened at the display and she reached up slowly to receive it in her hands. Though she had a hunch at what had just been presented to her, she was hesitant to unveil it. For a brief moment, she continued to study it before slowly unsheathing the blade. Her breath caught in her throat. The dark metal and the waving pattern gave way to what she held in her hands.

The magnificent piece had been forged with both metal and sorcery like all other blades made of Valyrian steel. The hilt was decorated with the black heads of two dragons and a blood red gem set beautifully on the pommel.

Viserra knew this blade well, she had wished it to be hers since she was a small child. Her grandmother, Saera, had come into possession of it during her life in Volantis, and as it tied them to their only blood across the narrow sea, she had kept and cherished it until her passing. For the last decade, Viserra believed that the blade had been lost. Her father had denied knowing of its whereabouts and had discouraged her curiosity in finding its location.

“Aemond,” she breathed, looking up to him with her eyes still wide. She had always dreamed of wielding a sword made of Valyrian steel, this sword, and somehow he had made it a reality.

“Though I would like to take responsibility for acquiring it, your father is the one who deserves your gratitude.” He stood and offered his hand to Viserra to join him.

“My father?” She gasped. “You have heard from him?”

Aemond nodded and watched as she tested the weight of the sword in her hand. “It came with the last ship of sellswords that arrived yesterday.” He pulled out a small piece of parchment and before he could present it to her she snatched it from his hand.

Quickly scanning over the letter, she noted that the content was mostly about the sellswords that her father gifted to aid them in their war. At the bottom, Viserra found the words that were intended for her.

My daughter will soon fly to war carrying your King’s banners. Within the crate of Volantene wine lies yet another sealed box. It is a gift from her late grandmother who entrusted me to determine the right moment to bestow it upon her.

Viserra felt her heart skip a beat as she read and reread her father’s writing. Looking up to Aemond, she took in a shaky breath and handed the letter back to him. “You cannot begin to comprehend what this means to me.”

He tucked his hands behind his back and smiled at her unusual display of emotion. “I can see that it means a great deal,” he observed, “I understand your grandmother was a force to be reckoned with and I can only imagine that she saw the strength of her blood that courses through your veins.”

Moved by his words, she reached forward and pulled him into an embrace. She knew her grandmother saw her for the Targaryen she was. It was like she knew Viserra would be the one to return to the family that she had once held so dear.

Aemond wrapped his arms around her and held her until she was ready to let go. When she finally pulled back, he noticed that the overwhelm of emotion had now changed into fiery determination.

“Are you ready?”

She smiled, giving him a quick nod. “Would you help me dress?”

It did not take long for the armor to be secured to Viserra’s body. She placed the new blade on her hip and let Aemond walk her down to the front of the Red Keep. Waiting there with a dozen knights, was the King and his Hand on horseback. Aegon was also dressed in dark armor, the black and rubied crown glinting in the morning sun that had just begun to rise on the horizon.

Looking to the sky, she saw two dragons circling around the castle. The beautiful gold and salmon coloring of Sunfyre was quite the opposite of Rhyn’s black and red. Her sense of purpose and determination was only heightened when she took in the sight all together. But suddenly, she felt nervous.

As if he could feel it radiating off of her, Aemond placed a hand on her shoulder to ground her. “The next time you are riding out into battle, I will make sure it is by my side.” His voice was low yet determined. “Duskendale should fall easily. Consider this practice.”

His words brought a small smile to her face, and the realization hit her that there was no time for dwelling. With a nod, she left him behind and swiftly mounted her horse. Glancing one last time in search of Aemond, she noticed he had already begun retreating into the castle. Her attention was brought back to the departing party, finding that Aegon was watching her, a gleam of wild determination in his eye.

"Ready?" he asked.

“More than ever,” she affirmed, taking the reins and directing the beast to follow the others.

The ride to Robsy took a day and a half, their pace quicker than planned as everyones’ spirits were still high and they had yet to be drawn into battle. Aegon and Viserra took turns every few hours mounting their dragon and circling the skies to look for unexpected visitors.

As predicted, Lord Rosby did not hesitate to bend the knee again under the threat of bloodshed. The turncloak reaffirmed his loyalty to Aegon, offering him more soldiers for his army and inviting the King and his party in for supper and a place to sleep for the night.

They moved on to Stokeworth the next day and were pleased to find that the house bent the knee just as easily as Lord Rosby. With even more soldiers added to their forces, their numbers now reached almost three-thousand.

By this point, the men had again marched on from sun up to sun down before settling into camp. It had been agreed upon that the wisest plan would be to fall upon Duskendale with well fed and well rested soldiers. As the sun set on the Crownlands and the royal tents were being perched, both dragon riders took to the skies.

Viserra much preferred riding atop her dragon, finding horseback to be uncomfortable and lacking. As she soared through the open skies, she reveled in the sensation of the freedom and power that the ground could not give her.

Riding with an equal amount of satisfaction and fulfillment, Aegon flew Sunfyre up and around them both. She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the fading light as the evening sun bathed them in its warm glow. The dragons’ scales reflected the rays with contrasting beauty, a seeming parallel to the daylight that was quickly turning into night.

The skies had been cleared by the dragons and their riders. As the last of the sun set behind the horizon they descended back down towards the camp. Each time the dragons touched down on the earth, the men seemed to scatter. There was something about watching them scramble from her dragon that brought a swell of pride within her chest.

Viserra climbed down the ropes from her saddle and dismounted her dragon into a large cloud of dust. She watched as Aegon climbed down himself and made his way over to her side. The dragons took off nipping at each other, but it was only their riders who could make out that their exchange was playful.

Slowly, they made their way back to the royal tents. The day had been long and the upcoming siege weighed on their minds. When they reached camp, Viserra was not surprised to find that her designated tent had been placed next to Aegon’s. The guards were already set up outside the entrances and she was welcomed in with a nod.

The moment that she stepped inside, she found herself surprised at the accommodations. The interior was decorated with ornate tapestries, soft cushions, and a makeshift bed that was still nicer than any common folk would ever sleep on in their own homes.

She had traveled all across Essos in the days of her training, sleeping on the ground in small tents. Her expectations from traveling had been far exceeded. Though giving it some thought, she knew Aegon had a love for luxury and extravagant embellishments and it should not have taken her by such surprise.

An older woman stood waiting inside, her hands clasped in front of her and her expression respectful and welcoming. Viserra recognized her from the Keep, but she had not personally had much interaction with her before today.

“M’lady, my name is Ayla. I have been assigned to your care while traveling,” she spoke with a warm smile.

Viserra furrowed her brows for a moment before reluctantly accepting the woman’s presence. “If I were in need of a lady’s maid, why would I not bring my own?”

“With all due respect, they are rather young to be…exposed to all of this,” Ayla suggested.

“Indeed,” Viserra hummed as she realized that the woman had a valid point. There were many reasons that the girls would be unsafe there in camp and she did not want to dwell on those thoughts.

Without any delay, the woman approached her and carefully began to help her doff the armor. She found herself lost in her thoughts as the pieces were removed from her body. With the weight of it being taken away came the uncomfortable sense of vulnerability. Once the simpler padded garments were all that remained, Viserra held on to them, rejecting Ayla’s attempt at completely undressing her.

“I can manage the rest myself,” she spoke, reaching out to take the clothing from the lady maid’s arm.

“Are you certain?” Ayla asked, her voice and eyebrows raised in surprise as she held fast to the clothing in her hands.

“Most certain,” Viserra snapped as she pulled hard on the fabric and finally came to victory in their tug of war. Turning away from her, she finished doffing her battlewear and dressed in the simple tunic and pants.

She welcomed the silence that hung around the room for the next little while. Laying on the bedding she mindlessly studied the tapestries that hung on the walls. She thought about how she was exactly where she had always hoped to be, but she had never considered being in this position with not just one, but two others that had a hold on her heart. Even more, the worry she carried for Helaena at home was a notable weakness when it came to others that could influence her decisions here in the midst of war. It had already been a personal blow when Aegon’s heir became a target, there was no telling who or what the next strike would be.

Just as her thoughts were beginning to spiral, the tent door flapped open and a guard cautiously entered inside. Ayla stood to attention but Viserra only turned her head and seemed less than pleased to entertain yet another guest.

“My lady,” he spoke with a respectful bow, “His Grace, the King requests your presence to share a meal this evening.”

A sense of relief washed over her that she would not need to spend the evening ignoring the tension between her and her new lady’s maid. His invitation was a reminder that no matter her newly realized concerns, there was no denying that this was now their reality.

Swinging her legs around she quickly jumped to her feet. Before Ayla could follow, she motioned to her to remain there. She did not want to carry the weight of that tension into the next tent, knowing the last thing she wanted to have to do was watch her tongue.

Following behind the other man, she observed the liveliness of the campsite that was now starting to bloom. The fires were bright and in turn the men were pleased with their wine and meal. But as Aegon’s tent was only a few paces away and it did not give her much time to watch.

The two guards at the tent entrance nodded their heads as Viserra approached them, opening the makeshift door and letting them in. A smile found its way to her face as she laid her eyes upon the King.

Aegon was lounging in a chair, casually selecting fruits from a platter presented by an unfamiliar woman. It did not surprise her that he maintained a luxurious setup, even housed within a tent. Apparently, his need for indulgence persisted, perhaps forgetting they were currently in the midst of a war. The moment he realized Viserra had made her way into his presence, his eyes lit up and he pushed the woman and tray aside.

“Leave us,” he commanded, motioning for everyone else to depart.

In the brief moment before they found themselves alone, Aegon rose from his seat and approached her. He held his usual cup of wine, and she momentarily glanced at it before meeting his gaze once again.

“And what if we all indulge ourselves in many cups just to find that the enemy is waiting for the moment we settle in camp?” She asked, reaching out and taking the cup from his hand.

She raised the stolen vessel and took a drink of the sweet liquid. A smirk playing at her lips as soon as she had finished. Aegon’s eyes glimmered as he picked up on the game she was starting to play.

“Then I suppose we are fucked,” he replied, closing the distance between them and trying to take the cup back from her hands.

Viserra quickly moved the wine from his reach, turning herself around to take it further from him. A familiar warmth suddenly became flush with her back as two arms wrapped snugly around her waist. As soon as she felt the hot breath on her neck, she closed her eyes and let herself sink into his hold.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Aegon grabbed the cup from Viserra’s outstretched hand, quickly downing the last little bit of the wine before tossing the cup aside. He felt a childish sense of victory in his accomplishment, wrapping his arms back around her waist and bringing his lips down to her neck. After running his hands down over the curves of her hips, he brought them up underneath the hem of her shirt.

Viserra’s breath caught as soon as his fingers began to make their way up her bare skin, Both of them reveled in forgetting about where they were and their purpose there, the electricity between them distracted them from reality.

The shirt was quickly pulled off of her body and discarded on the floor somewhere near the empty wine cup. Aegon’s warm hands returned where they left off, roaming over her body.

As his hands moved upwards, his fingertips grazed over the sensitive skin of her waist and traveled upwards to cup her breasts. He gently rolled each of her pert nipples between his fingers, eliciting a throaty breath in response.

Viserra could feel the hardness of his body against her, a delicious friction that made her need for more. Surrendering to her desires, she turned to face him while remaining encircled in his arms. As soon as their eyes met, the fire that connected them surged with a sudden intensity.

Aegon’s lips captured hers before either of them could form a coherent thought. He held her firmly as if worried there was a chance she would pull away from him. However, the fear was unfounded as Viserra happily let herself melt into the moment.

Their kisses grew more urgent, as if they were both starved of attention. His hands slid down to her hips, firmly gripping her as he hoisted her up onto the nearby table. The sound of objects rattling and falling to the ground went unnoticed as their focus remained solely on each other.

Viserra raked her fingers through his silver waves, tugging at them gently. Aegon groaned against her lips, his desire for her more evident with every minute that passed. Pulling away for a moment, he looked deep into her eyes as he tried to steady his ragged breathing.

“Nuha Dāria,” he whispered, bringing his forehead down to rest on hers. My Queen.

The words caused Viserra’s breath to hitch in her chest again as she seemed to regain just the slightest bit of clarity. The deep seeded worry that these feelings could be used against them bubbled up out of nowhere. She furrowed her brows and closed her eyes, trying to push the unpleasantries away.

Feeling the energy shift just slightly between them, Aegon again pulled away with a hint of confusion. When she looked back to him, he saw the worry in her eyes.

“What is it?” He asked, starting to feel a bit of uneasiness himself.

Pursing her lips for a moment, she seemed reluctant to answer.

“Aegon,” she breathed, bringing her hands up to hold his face. “Does it not bring you worry knowing there is the chance I might be killed out there?”

He studied her face intently, unsure of what had brought this thought into her mind.

“Of course that is something I fear,” he replied. “I already voiced these worries shortly before our departure. Why are you asking me this now?”

“Does it not concern you that your feelings for me might wrongly influence the decisions you make?” Viserra’s voice was soft and strained.

“Of course they do,” he spoke, his words laced with confusion. “Why else would I have accepted my duty as King if not for those that I care for?” He was being honest and it was evident by his face that he still did not understand her question.

Viserra took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words to express her concerns.

“I worry that if something were to happen to me, it would cloud your judgment. These feelings are a dangerous thing, especially right now,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness.

Aegon furrowed his own brow and leaned in to press a soft kiss on her forehead.

“If those I love meant nothing to me, I could not have found the will to sit the throne,” he confessed. “And it is because of you that I continue to be motivated to make wise decisions.”

Bringing his hand up, he softly caressed her cheek with his thumb. His words did little to reassure her concerns, but it was enough to bottle it back up for now. He focused his attention back to her half naked body, his hands again finding her breasts in an attempt to bring back the fire between them.

“You will not find me content until my sister’s head is on a spike and you sit next to me on the throne.” His words were filled with determination while his fingers expertly played with her flesh.

Though he had spoken many times of this desire, it was only that Viserra realized just how serious he had been. The truth of his words rang through her head. She did believe that he would not have had the motivation to sit the Iron Throne without both the death and love of those he cared for. She toyed with the idea that he might truly need her by his side to remain strong in his reign.

Viserra’s thoughts became cloudy as her body began to respond to his hands. Her previous worries twisted and she was suddenly not sure of where she stood with it all. To secure her complete distraction, Aegon pressed his lips to her neck, sucking at the flesh as he made his way down to the dip on her shoulder.

Without another thought, Viserra let her hands roam over his body, tugging at his shirt and desperate to feel his bare skin against hers. He eagerly obliged, taking a moment to pull it up and over his head, tossing it carelessly to the ground. As he brought his lips back to hers with a greater intensity of hunger, he clumsily began to work her pants off of her seated rump.

It took only a brief moment before they were both fully disrobed with their bodies pressed together with a sloppy desperation. Viserra’s legs wrapped around his waist as they continued to enjoy each other's kisses, his now exposed cock resting uncomfortably against her abdomen.

Breaking their lips apart, Aegon looked down to adjust his position at her lower lips. In a few careful motions, he made his way completely inside her. A quiet gasp left her mouth at the sudden fullness and she slowly brought herself back to lean on the table.

They remained still for a moment, savoring the satisfaction of finally joining in union. Aegon’s gaze slowly trailed up her body. He admired the way she looked laying there bare and sheathed upon his most treasured part. Placing his hands to her hips, he pulled her more firmly towards him and watched as she grimaced slightly in response.

Without any more delay, Aegon started to move within her. His thrusts were measured and deliberate, slowly picking up his pace as he fell into a rhythm. Viserra leaned her head back, focusing on trying to receive her pleasure without making too much noise. She reminded herself that the walls of the tent were much worse than those of the castle when it came to stifling the sounds that came from within.

Each thrust pounded into her upper walls, gradually tightening and building her peak from within. Viserra arched her back and in response Aegon tightened the grip on her hips making sure she remained anchored there.

The air quickly grew heavy with their heated breaths and the sound of their bodies colliding. It was Aegon’s sudden reach for her breast that seemed to bring her back from the dazed trance. She looked to her chest and then met his eyes with the hint of a smile, watching as he seemed to also gain a bit more consciousness.

“I can’t help it,” he breathed out a laugh, bringing his thrusting down to a slower pace. “Your tits bouncing in front of me like that are absolutely irresistible.”

“I did not say a word,” she smiled, bringing herself back up into a seated position.

Viserra let her hands roam over his pale chest, nails grazing over his skin as she leaned in to meet his lips in yet another passionate kiss. As she pulled herself back, she unwrapped her legs from his waist and gently pushed his hips away from her. As he came free from her body, she felt an unsatisfying emptiness left behind.

Aegon’s previously joyful smile had now settled into one of confusion. She slid herself off the table and grabbed his hand to lead him back to the small bed where she intended to finish what they had started.

She turned him around as one would turn their partner in a dance, guiding him to sit. As she climbed onto his lap, each knee found its place on either side of his own. Gently pushing on his chest, she waited patiently until he slowly reclined himself back onto the bed.

Without another moment of delay, she took his cock into her hand and gently guided it back to her entrance, bringing herself down to take him within her.

“Gods, Viserra,” he moaned, overwhelmed to feel himself within her once more. He did not finish his thought before she began slowly rocking and riding her body in a methodical manner. He gradually started to meet her movements with his own, their bodies soon synced up in perfect harmony.

Aegon brought his thumb to her sensitive bud, eager to help her obtain the most out of their union in that moment. He enjoyed the sight of her working the length of him at her own pace and angles, having no shame of taking her pleasure by her own means.

Each of their climaxes approached, though Aegon was desperately trying to hold back until Viserra had been satisfied. As the intensity grew, her movements became more urgent and desperate and in turn he attempted to maintain a steady rhythm with his thumb.

Finally, Viserra let out the start of a moan, though catching herself halfway and biting down on her lip instead. As her inner walls began to pulsate around him, he was quickly driven over the edge himself.

Aegon did not hold back his own grunt of pleasure as he felt himself release himself deep inside her. She finished riding him until her body trembled with the aftershock and she brought herself down to meet her sweaty body with his own.

They laid there in a tangled heap of limps for a few moments before either had the energy to move. Viserra slowly brought herself off of him, settling contently down to his side. Breathing heavily, Aegon turned to her and captured her chin with his hand. He pressed kisses along her jawline and carefully down the side of her neck.

"That...was..." Aegon panted between kisses. "Incredible."

Viserra met his gaze and gave a small grin. It was absolutely futile at this point to try and deny that at least a small part of her could see her staying there by his side. Though the rational part of her screamed that she was making foolish mistakes, her heart seemed to only be truly satisfied when she let their fires ignite and burn together.

Aegon brushed her hair from the sticky skin on her shoulder, leaving another gentle kiss in its place. He then turned to lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of the tent and not saying another word. Feeling just slightly conflicted within herself, she leaned her head into his shoulder and watched the rising and falling of his chest.

The reality of their circumstances seemed to have come crashing back. The weight of their responsibilities, the challenges they would face, and the danger that loomed over them all seemed to settle back into her mind like a heavy fog.

Having sensed the shift in her mood, Aegon wrapped his arm around her and pressed another soft kiss to her forehead.

"I will do everything in my power to have you by my side, nuha Dāria," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of concern and determination. My Queen.

Viserra did not respond, only letting out a long breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Aegon had meant those words and it was obvious that at this point, she was now truly caught in a web that was much more complicated than she had initially intended. But for now, in those quiet moments after satisfying each other's needs, Viserra closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the warmth and security of his arms.

Author's Notes:  

It has been a while since an update! My apologies. Life is busy and having two jobs is kicking my ass. I am hoping to continue to get an update out every 3ish weeks at this point! But I promise I still have so much for this story. I go to sleep thinking about it at night. :)

[destiniesfic]

the prince's squire ◆ chapter one, e, 5k

Unable to bear King’s Landing any longer—and dreading her inevitable betrothal—Rhaenyra cuts off her hair, dresses up as a boy, and runs away to join the War for the Stepstones.

That the war is Daemon’s has nothing to do with anything.

chapter one

Thanks to @princessrhaenyratargaryen for the gorgeous moodboard and to @elizabethtudors and @amandlas for betaing!

[mononijikayu]

a dust of memories

‘i just knew’

title: a dust of memories

series: adust

chapter number: one

pairing: daemon targaryen x targaryen! oc

rating: m

‘i wish to ask you, muña’ mellara felt her eyes soften at the sight of the young woman. she could not help but feel like wrapping her arms around baela, to protect her from the world. ‘you….you and my father were together far before he married my mother.’

mellara allowed her hand to hold the young woman in a loose embrace. ‘yes… we were younger then.’

‘how did he truly know?’ baela whispered to her quizzically, their lilac eyes meeting. baela pursed her lips. ‘no… how did you know?’

‘know what, my ovoño?’ she whispers back, gazing at the beautiful jasmine flower in front of her with tenderness.

‘love.’ the jasmine flower retorted questioningly. the older woman straightened her position.

the young girl was afraid she realized, no. no. she was puzzled, the young flower she was. baela lowered her head as both hands fumbled over each other’s palms. mellara remembered the girl she once was too. she could not blame baela. she had always had a fondness for jace. their eyes were too easy to read. mellara fought hard not to snicker, recalling how obvious it was to everyone else then, that she was so deeply fond of her cousin daemon.

'how did you know you loved my father? how did you know you loved him?’

for a moment, mellara returned to that moment all those years ago. when she had been young and unknowing of the world. the lady nightingale they used to call her, a young woman who lived in a land of isolation. secluded by her protective mother and father, the one who sang in the tower in solitary. but then father passed and she was trying to find the pieces of the puzzle. the puzzling world left behind by her father, in his city. the city he detested, she returned for him. to yearn him, to mourn him. to meet him beyond the mask he wore, as her father.

mellara had lost herself, the nightingale who did not have an identity. a personhood, no words could express the statelessness that existed in a girl who knew nothing of the world. and found herself meeting him. his deep purple eyes filled with mischief, of excitement. adventures beyond her imagining. life in him burning like wildfire, life waiting to burn her too. he wanted to show her the world, from his lenses. tinted with the colors people shun, she recalled too well.

she had always heard much about cousin daemon. how he was a brutish young man who had killed tarnished men so brutally and had been honored with a knighthood for it. about how he curses under his breath at a wife he does not love and has abandoned. about how his claiming of caraxes had been a battle hard won by his strength. but when she had met him once before, all that stuck to her was the way his dark purple shone against her lilac. full of mischief, of unknown flames of intrigue. 

when she encountered daemon once again, he still had those mischievous eyes. the swagger of the short silver hair shone like a halo upon his handsome face, curious purple eyes that had been so bemused at her innocence, during their first meeting. observing her every move against the world that had been new to the young woman she once had been. mellara had often wondered if he had meant to corrupt her. to do the same as the world had done to him. but he did not. instead, he captivated her. struck her with those eyes of his.

daemon targaryen mesmerized her then and he does so now. he surprised her then and he surprised her till now. In their youth, he held her in his arms with those wild eyes filled with a puzzling emotion, the blood and guts of a dead creature filled her. yet he held her, he just held her as she wept. the only one who understood what it was like was him, him who had lost his father as she had. there was no need for words or pretenses. she just needed him. 

his warmth and his rare calm. in the harsh bristle of summer rain, he placed his cloak wordlessly upon her as she continued to weep and brought her back to that place she wanted to escape from. she felt afraid to return, to come back to the world that did not want to understand her. but he held her. and in that moment, she thought that his comfort was enough. 

in that rare quiet, she saw him, the truth of him. and she loved him the most at that moment. loved him too deeply. too deeply to turn around and act as though such blossoming did not exist in her heart. it would not be easy, she had always known that. but she still chose him. this enigma of a man, the cruelty and the sweetness. mellara knew then that she yearned for him. yet she did not know it then but he had yearned for her too.

mellara tightened her embrace of the young flower and saw her raise her chin.

she could not help but smile, her aged fingers exploring youth in her cheeks.

‘there was nothing elaborate.’ she whispers to the young girl, smiling wider. ‘i looked at him. and knew, as he did. we just knew that we were meant to burn together, the dragons we are. i just knew.’

the elder places a kiss upon baela’s cheeks, tenderly caressing her once more.

‘you’ll know.’ mellara promises to her. ‘soon enough, my ovoño’

She yearned to be free from this prison. Anyone would be, considering how baffling the disenchantment of the wheelhouse to the princess is. Mellara purses her lips, gazing at her mother and her ladies silently waiting. The ladies had not stopped humming for hours now. A repetitive hymn was sung through with needle and threat dancing together. The minstrels were doing a good job, Mellara notes. Yet it had been the music they played, full of only sorrowful tunes. A will of a widowed woman, she knows. Her mother still mourns her father. Still, she had wished her mother had allowed her to go on a horse, perhaps even on her dragon's back. She had claimed her father's mount moons ago, after all. The trip would be faster, too; there would be no need to be subjected to this cage.

That had been Mellara's deepest wish since she returned from Blackhall. To ride her dragon Blacknight, her father's once proud mount. Mellara often heard him sing to her as though calling out to her in melodies she only knew. They sang together at times. Elaena Velaryon could not but be horrified at her daughter taking to the capital alone. Even more so, tricking her guards away from her side. And most of all disrespects her cousin Viserys through her behavior. But her mother had forbidden it, a price for her conduct in the capital. And still, it was only reasonable now. For her safety, they all reassured her, and Mellara believed them. 

Blacknight and her were still getting used to one another's companionship. He did not know her as much as he did her beloved father, so it was unwise now. The dragon keepers said the year of being riderless had left him a wild one. His isolation and grief had made him volatile, eager to breathe fire at anyone who disturbed him. It was wise for now to slowly build toward their bond. Her father may have taken her upon Blacknight as a guest, but guests are not their bonded. Mellara knew she would have to work hard to gain Blacknight's trust. To have a strong bond as the beast had once cherished with her father. But as the dragon keepers have said, it would have to wait. They would have to wait. Especially now that her mother had forbidden it just as much.

Elaena Velaryon agreed just as much, fearing for her daughter. She had forbidden her from riding, having guards posted at the edge of her door. Ever since her father had passed, her mother had latched onto her even more, fearing to lose her too. The way her father had passed had been sudden, as sudden as falling asleep. As overbearing as this seems, Mellara understood. She was her mother's only child, her beloved daughter. All that will remain of her beloved Aelor. She would do anything to keep her safe. Yet that exasperated Mellara to bits. She understood; indeed, she does. But Mellara was a lady flowered; she was of age. A princess of her own land in her own right. She felt trapped here, coddled and controlled. 

As much as she loved her mother, she knew this was not living. Such a life like this was a ghost's life. Her father had taken her with him everywhere he could. This was not how her father would have wished for her to live. No, her father would be the first to insist on saddling a horse and riding as fast as she could into the unfamiliar woods. He would be laughing too. For a moment, that hurt came with a vengeance once again, as though the most unwelcome visitor to have. He was too young, much yearned for by this world that craved him. 

Her lilac eyes glistened against the stained glass colors, fading as she traced her fingers against the cold stein fogged by cold summer winds. The soft bristle of movement her eyes made as it followed her touch, eager to understand what she was doing. For a moment, she drifted back to her father's jovial gaze. His tender smile as he traced his own mark upon the same surface, the sun echoing the light like the halo of morning light upon his sitting figure. 

The princess of Blackhall could remember how he would point to each figure on the glass, to point out the flowers against the shining sun. Mellara could not help but wish to have been a child again, to seek out her father again. A year had passed, yet she still yearned to be his daughter. Not to be fatherless, abandoned to the fate of the world unknown.

"Do you see their carriages, tala?" Her father would lean close, whispering to her ear like a mischievous cat. " How dull their figures are? How lifeless they are! Ours is entertainment in great pigment! Bright and beautiful, just like the flowers that form you, tala."

For a moment, she could hear her father's laughter blend with hers in her head, brightening the heavy glaze of the glass imagery as though sunlight in a clear sky. The way his lilac eyes shone when the smile reached his lips, the beauty of life echoing within him both broke her heart. Yearning for something that you can no longer have always hurt. None had told her the truth the way her father had; she just knew. When she had visited her grandfather's court, they whispered to her. Their condolences, their memories of her father. The princess tenderly bit her lip, recalling how their eyes gave away their lies. Her mother cannot tell her the truth without adding honey to the crumbs. A draw of soundless breath left her lungs again, feeling her eyes suddenly well up with a round blob of tears. 

"Just a little more, Mellara." She promised herself, ignoring that wilful whisper at the back of her head. "We will be home after this, and we will be singing together again. Blacknight and me."

"It is a stunning sight to see you silent, daughter." Elaena Velaryon eyed her daughter as her finger jumped across the stained glass window. Elaena sighed. "Do be careful. You could break the glass. Again. I will not have it so."

"We make the glass, mother." Mellara dulled nonchalantly in her native tongue, continuing to play on the bright window shine. "I doubt I'd charge myself for such services."

"Mind your sharp tongue, daughter. It is unbecoming of a woman in your rank."

Mellara scoffed at her mother. "I am not a lady, mother. I am a princess of dragon blood."

"And you princess is still my daughter. You will halt the activity, or I will hurl you out to walk the rest of the way." Elaena retorted, continuing her needlework. Mellara purses her lips and rolls her eyes.

"Such a willful girl you are these days, daughter."

"Mother, I feel so helplessly bored here. Like a damsel in distress." Mellara groans as she frowns, straining a dent in her delicate features. Her mother does not look toward her. "I can ride a horse better than any Royce. I wield a bow and sword as well as some knight. I would be able to protect myself out there. Father taught me how. You have seen me beat down Jeyne Arryn's heir."

"Royces can fall off horses, knights can be pierced by sharp things. The Arryn heir is a green boy, as you are a green girl." Her mother reiterates, piercing the needle hard upon the fabric. Mellara frowns deeper. "And a dragon can be killed. Foolishness and pride can do so."

Her brows raised, taken aback. "Are you calling father a fool for dying over things he cannot control, such as a cold?"

"Do not bring your father into this." Her mother harshly placed her needlework down, the atmosphere of the wheelhouse down. Her eyes gleamed at her darkly. The minstrels stopped playing, and the ladies in waiting flocked to their needlework even more. 

"You promised me that you would accept your duty. You swore to be on your best behavior."

"And I am."

Her mother whispered, pain in her eyes reminiscing a ghost. "You now must sit here until we arrive, daughter. And we will arrive soon enough. Please, daughter. Just…”

Mellara Targaryen pursed her lips into a tight pocket, her lilac eyes gleaming against her mother's darker shade. She could see the bags of her mother's eyes water brightly in shine, glistening as though crystallized. Her mother had not been stable of heart and mind either. How could she be, the daughter thought, when her husband of many years had died on her so suddenly? And now to stare at her daughter, his daughter, who shared his eyes. The same sign of lilac shine. They will always be haunted by the ghost of Aelor Targaryen. 

But she pursued her lips heavily into a flat line. Her mother is cursed twice by the gods of Valyria. Mellara thinks she was cruel enough for it to be the ghost of her mother's beloved husband – still alive and in the flesh. Mellara turned away from her mother swiftly, not wanting to see the tears pour down her face. Shame pierced through her at that moment. Mellara had not meant to be wilful, to push her mother into this state. 

Mellara had taken it too far, especially at the mention of her father. The young princess prayed that her father would forgive her at that moment for disturbing his peace for her childishness. For her grief. For her longing for the freedom that she tasted, the freedom that she yearned for. Causing more pain to the mother that desires only the best for her. Mellara slightly tilts her head to gaze at her mother, but she stops herself. She tries to open her mouth, to speak through her parted lips. But she does not do so. Not that she could, not at this moment. 

The rest of the trip remained silent.

Tears poured over her mother's eyes.

And soon enough, it poured through the skies.

Mellara Targaryen wondered if her father wept.

Daybreak was coming through them. The rain had just stopped pouring. The day remained placid with gray and mud, but that did not stop the princely court from moving onwards to the royal hunting grounds in the Kingswood. When they had last arrived, Mellara had been startled awake by the sound of the harsh, thick mud bumping against the carriage's wheels. When she sat up slightly, she groaned at the sudden chill and wrapped her body further in the fox fur. Princess Mellara had found herself groggy as she gazed at her mother, and her ladies were fussing about their appearances. 

They had not stopped for any rest in the last leg of the trip; her mother had insisted on it as she feared her travel calculations were not pleasing. Hence, the dowager princess commanded the horses to be exchanged at their last stop with Dornish-bred horses and no more stopping. The princess wanted to argue with her mother, but her mother's eyes warned her against it. Mellara wishes she had fought harder with her mother, now feeling the fatigue of long moons of travel across the kingdoms. The thought was not lost upon her that she possessed her own sails to travel, but the recent storms prevented such an option. Her mother had said it was better to endure the body's stress than the loss of life. Mellara could not agree with such sentiment, thinking she would have taken the option anyway. Mellara believes that it is because she had more sense of youth and recklessness.

Rubbing her eyes awake, she could not hold back this second yawn and tried to shake her head off the sleepiness. She was not fully awake to comprehend it all but moved when her mother's lady sat beside her to fix the loose strands of her elaborate braids. Soon enough, she could hear the bustling of pots and pans. She could hear loud shouts across the passing field, the churning of wood and butter. The sound of servants rushing back and forth from brightly raised tents with metal platters upon their hands. Falcons were flying amongst hawks, the master of the rookery batting orders at the royal hawkers at the side in their leathers.

The sound of armor being thrown against swords, maces, and spears caused a momentary ringing in her ears. After a moment, though, Mellara sprung awake at the sound of loud horses beckoning her call, many of them alive with the fervor of the morning gaze. Her smile softly gathered upon her lips as she looked at the window with fascination, the banners of different houses swirling against the winds. Passing the hot roasting spit where the pigs and chickens were piled in a metal rod against the charcoal, Mellara could feel its warmth welcome her. Her mother's lady pulled at her hair, which caused her to softly shriek as the older woman tied it against the ribbon. Mellara hissed, turning her lilac eyes at the older woman as though a dragon was being disturbed. The lady did not falter, finishing the braiding upon her hair with the last knot. She sent the woman another glare, ordering her away in a whisper. 

And then the carriage halted.

Mellara was startled, thrown softly against the glass.

Her mother sighed, knocking upon her own glass.

Elaena Velaryon had gotten out of the carriage first and was followed by her ladies. The thought made sense; her mother was still someone of higher rank than her as a dowager princess. She fixed her fur cloak against her body when she got out. Soon enough, she felt the gust of wind against her body and turned her head to the furs. Yet she did not allow the cold to defeat her, facing it head-on and facing the crowd that now surrounded her. The young princess was aware of what they whispered about. She knew that it was all about her, the nightingale of Blackhall. The mysterious daughter, the fictitious child. The beautiful princess hid away in the towers of her father's keep. She knew she would hear much more of this throughout; she knew that all too well. These people have none better to do but gossip and grow intrigued. 

But she paid no mind as she walked towards her mother's side, quietly thanking the people for their late condolences. She allowed herself to smile as she saw the lean figure of a man with clean-cut silver curls hidden away in a golden crown. When she had stopped at her mother's back, she knew he had seen her with the way his purple eyes shone like they were seeing wonder for the first time. Her red velvets shone against the silver and black; the old man laughed joyfully as her mother parted from the king's vision, and Mellara grinned at her grandfather, moving into his open arms. The old king Jaehaerys giggled as he pressed a kiss upon the halo of her head, which caused his granddaughter the same.

Elaena's eyes softened at sight, feeling her own grief replaced by relief. There were many rules upon which those of royal blood and those of noble heritage may approach one another. But to the old king, something other than this was suitable for him. This was his family. This is what remains of it. The old king is tired, making mistakes, and living in isolation. This is what he should be doing. He should be embracing what remains of his Alysanne, of his children. The rules were to be thrown away at the sight of his young granddaughter, his Aelor's child. When they parted, the old king inspected the growth he had not seen for the past six moons. He smiled in delight, but Mellara saw a tingling sorrow in the corner of his eyes. She knew he could not help it, seeing his own ghosts of his third son and his beloved wife in his granddaughter. 

Mellara bowed to her grandsire. "It's my delight to see you again, your grace."

"Oh dear child, there is no need for such a thing here." The king smiled as he aided her up. "At this moment, I am just your grandsire."

Mellara offered the old king a smile. "If that pleases you, grandsire, then I shall do as you bid."

The old king boomed in laughter. "A beautiful and obedient child you are, dear girl! Your father would be most proud."

"Such praises you lavish upon me, grandsire."

"'Tis not lies, to tell the truth, my dear girl." The king says to her, taking her hand and leading the way toward the royal tents. "I should hope that the trip was not too wearisome."

"Oh, not at all." Mellara sweetly lies, offering a small smile at her grandsire. "Though, it would have been a delight to fly here on Blacknight. However, the poor thing is still adjusting to me."

"I have heard you, and he has made progress upon bonding, yes?"

"I suppose so, grandsire. Blacknight heeds my desire for spinning rolls." Mellara giggles. "However, he is still stubborn as a rock! He would not fly lest I bribe him with meat!"

The old king laughed. "Your father had the same complaints as a child; he did. He even had a hard time with the beast."

"Oh, my father would agree with you if he had been here, grandsire!"

Their laughter lingered for a moment before it halted. If the princess and her mother have had difficulty speaking of her father, she is sure her grandsire has had even more complicated grief to bury. In a brief short period, his queenly wife had died, and so followed was a brood of his own children to burn and bury. Aelor was perhaps the most brutal blow to her grandsire. Her father had rows with his father, but he never stuck around enough for them to talk it over. He had no desire to do so, living as a nomad who shunned the city that was once his own and a family that longed for him. The king mourned for his son and what could have been. Mellara knew her grandsire was not out of the pits of sorrow. However, she knew that her presence brought him comfort. Something to look forward to. The thought of it warmed her heart. 

'Mayhaps returning home will have to wait for some time.' Mellara thinks as she feels her grandfather squeeze her hand. 'My grandsire needs me at this moment. As I do.'

"You have arrived just in time." King Jaehaerys exclaimed, smiling down at her. "We were just about to break our fast."

"That is good to hear, grandsire." Mellara declared, laughing as she held her stomach. "I am quite famished!"

The king laughed. "Then do eat as much as you can! As you see, we have plenty!"

"Grandsire." 

"Oh, dear Viserys!" The king greeted jovially, his seasoned eyes gazing at the silver-haired men before him." He turned to the other young man, who stared at Mellara intently. "And our young Daemon returned from the Vale."

The heat fell through Mellara's cheeks as the memories flooded her, her lilac eyes blinking away with uneasiness as Daemon Targaryen's lips turned into a small smile at the sight of her. The princeling was handsome in his black and red garb, embroidered gold across the three-headed dragon's shield. He stood tall with his hair firmly cut, shining light upon his sharp, strong jaw. His purple eyes gazed at her mischievously, eyes which she could not read at all. But Mellara knew that he was triumphant at the sight of her squirming into herself with embarrassment. 

When she realized who they had been those moons ago, Mellara thought she would instead jump off the Traitor's Walk than face them again. She had run away until she could no longer see the Blackwater and attempted to return home to Blackhall. Merllara found that she would have an earful from her governess when she returned. And even more so, the king's welcoming entourage had arrived to claim her and bring her to him. She could not refuse. But Mellara had managed to keep them away from her presence. 

Throughout that visit, she refused to see her cousins and feigned illnesses. Refused to stay too long in court functions or even find them in her immediate presence. Instead, she spent much of her time with the court ladies in the palace. She had enjoyed strolling the gardens with her niece Rhaenyra whom she played across the archery pond with. At times she would take to talking and playing cards with her aunt Jocelyn and even exploring the vast library independently. Dear cousin Aemma had been just as complicit with that, hiding her in her birthing chambers, and there Mellara played music for her cousin. 

She was relieved that before she left, her cousins would depart. Viserys to Dragonstone to seek his duties and Daemon to forcefully return to his wife's side in the Vale. Mellara enjoyed the rest of her visit with them gone, not having to worry about this encounter. The old king Jaehaerys was happy to see much of the court light up as it had done all those years before. Princess Mellara had gone dancing till dawn and singing along to the bards who wrote her songs that regale in her wondrous beauty, affection, and grace. But now she can no longer avoid it. Her hand eagerly turned into a fist, her fingers digging through her silk skin.

At that moment, Mellara had wished her father's blood had not been more potent than her mother's – for all the complexion of snow shattered any motion to hide the redness of her body. She had not thought of this moment, of what she was to say when she met them again. After all, she had caused a commotion at meeting her cousins for the first time. She had fished Viserys from the sea and had fought Daemon like a child who had not gotten what she had wanted. They were of the same age, Mellara recalls. But she felt so small at the sight of her cousin at that moment. He was already a worldly young man, just like his brother. Mellara could not help thinking so painfully at her first impression of her cousins with scorn. She was just a child to them, a child in a woman's body – who knew nothing of the world.  

"You may not remember them, granddaughter." The old king exclaimed, a solemn beam at her. 

"I know of them, grandsire," Mellara whispered to him, earning a snort from cousin Daemon. Mellara tried hard not to snarl back at him. "Father has told me of them."

"I see, my dear. Then you will know your dear cousins better now that we are together." The king shifted the two of them closer to the princes. He pointed at them. "This is your cousin Viserys, the prince of Dragonstone."

Mellara bows respectfully at him. "Crown prince."

"It is an honor to see you, cousin." Viserys smiles at her kindly. "The princess consort, my wife Aemma, has told me much about you."

"I am honored to be in your good graces, my prince."

The elder prince smiled. "I should hope to be in your good graces too, cousin."

Mellara pursed her lips, swallowing her pride as she bowed before Daemon. "My prince."

"You would think being family, we would be less formal with one another. Princess."

The princess gasped, and redness struck her face more profoundly. "There is still the rank, my prince–"

Daemon sighed as though a mummer on stage. Viserys shrugged him off. "Grandsire, it would seem my esteemed cousin does not value familiarity between us."

"Grandsire—"

"Your cousin is right, dear girl." The king nodded, agreeing with the smug prince. "Such formality between dragons should be naught. We are family, after all, child."

Daemon smiled at her, pleased. "Then, dearest cousin. You have heard the verdict."

A soft scowl passed her lips as she bowed once more, surrendering to the decree. "Cousin."

"Dearest cousin," The prince greeted jovially. "I hope you are well now. I heard about how ill you had been since you made your debut at court."

She had the might to strangle him.

Mellara Targaryen was not new to throttling boys.

"I am well now, cousin." She responded with a tint of calm, trying to retain her sanity. "The air of the royal gardens was a fine tonic to the ailment."

His mischievous eyes shone. "Hm, I heard well enough from Rhaenyra. You run well, cousin."

Mellara felt like she would choke. "I see."

"Ah, family at last." The king cheered happily as he gazed at his grandchildren. "Now that we have reveled in the company of one another let us all be merry in sustenance."

Old king Jaehaerys led his granddaughter, and the rest of the royal family followed.

Throughout the meal, Mellara Targaryen could feel his darker shade of purple on her.

'I am not here for his annoyance.' She whispered to herself. 'I am here for my grandsire.'

The young princess of Blackhall looked back and met his smile upon her presence.

She lowered her head and firmly held her cutlery, cutting through the venison swiftly.

The hunting season would be long for her, she thinks. And now, even more so with the rogue prince.

Mellara had found herself in trouble, the pelting rain drenching her silver locks. Hissing with anguish as she inspected the muddy ground, she knew she was indeed doomed. Animal marks are now traced by puddles and earth blending together in a mounting mud that blisters through the path. There was no trace of the animal's feces disappearing along the watery scenes. That would have told her to judge any danger to her at the very least. And even that, she could not do. 

The weather was fine in the first light of dawn; the basking sun was eager to let her and her hunting retinue through the fine pine forests in intense sunlight. The princess had been delighted at the sight of her men singing bonnie songs, her hawker playing a tune with the singer's lute. The spat had made her laugh numerous times, exchanging one profanity to another as she had led the charge forward. The experienced guide had been letting her know much about the vast forests that were owned by her grandsire. The princess had been interested, hearing much of her father's ties to the land as a young man who followed his elder brothers' lead in the marshes they all grew around. 

Though she smiled at each fascinating and ridiculous story, Mellara yearned for her father. In the burn of her chest, the princess also felt envy spread as she laughed at another good story. Her princely father had been the one to lead this company of men, eagerly indulging in the love they had for the land that feeds them. Most of these men know of her father, who had followed him from boyhood to the man he had become. In these forests, they shared many memories with him and enjoyed the reaps of the land endowed with fine animals and sights. Even if a year had passed, she could not help it. Mellara had spent all her time with the people trusted by her father and loved him. Yet she could not help but think that she had loved him the most, idolized him, and thought of him as the world's wonder. Because the prince had loved his only child just with all he had. 

Every thought of her father was enough to drive her into an embrace of somber madness. Mellara had never known life without her father. Despite the duties of his life as a nomad – he had never found himself removed from her life. The young princess had lived a life of happiness in the bubble her father had created. And now all that is left is a world where she has to stand alone, without her father's guidance. He left her without warmth or reassurance to guide the youth in her. Without anything, she knows as her own. For a moment, she lets the anguish enflame her like she enables the rain to enrapture every part of her. She is angry with this world, with its gods. With the lack of warmth in the condolences she receives from her father's friends, she does not know. With her father for his death. With her mother, who coddles her like the extension of her father's soul. Mellara Targaryen knew that she was alone. She knew it too well, and now she was truly alone, surviving in this vast forest without to guide her. 

As she raises her body from kneeling, Mellara silently curses at the blasted maester Mellos, wishing she could strangle him. The grand maester had been considered a master of reading the sums of the stars to predict the weather. And today, the old fool reported that the sun would be shining through the sky, as though the gods would hold the sun together, he said proudly. Clenching her gloved hand, she feels her body shaking in anger even further. These emotions confuse her, she concludes, and all at once, they terrify her. Mellara had never wanted to feel these things bottling within her, and she could not express them truly. Let them be as it is, as naturally as the river flows. 

The sudden downpour had not prepared them, and it did not help that the men had come across poachers who outnumbered them in both weapons and men. Her father's retinue had kept had been those who valued efficiency to that of wielding many weapons and supplies. The men had urged her to return to camp and seek the refuge of safety. One of them had tied her to her horse as swiftly as he could, and soon enough, even the horse died from arrows levied on its body with one of the poachers following her. One of her men had managed to kill the man, but he died soon after. Mellara had survived, yet crushed by the weight of the horse's corpse — she tried to crawl.

Her most prized hunting horse had died on her, and her men rushed off to fight the poachers as she left helplessly into the wilderness and the unknown, all welcoming the unknown of death's claws without a second thought. These men had accepted death once more and received the thrust of a blade to join her in escaping. Once more, the view of the count of those who died as she watched mounted. Once more, she knew — more of her father's memory had gone with them to the death. And there will be more until nothing remains for her to have. Until nothing is there to contain her as the chain starts to break from her chest. 

"What do you want from me?" Mellara cried out in her native tongue, uncertain if the waters that poured through her were from her eyes or the gray clouds. "I cannot do this anymore! Do you hear me? You have won! End it here. End my misery. I beg you, please!"

She let herself fall onto the muddy puddle for a moment and wept loudly as though she was a babe who could not walk. Mellara Targaryen embraced herself, yearning for release as the cold seeped through her bones in the wind's response. Everything was all too much for her, for this girl she was. The princess shook her head, unable to embrace a yearning to fight any longer. As she cried, the young girl felt herself losing air. Losing herself to the grief that came through her. 

She did not notice the rustling sound across the bushes, attracted to the sound of her grief piercing through the vast open mud marshes. Mellara looked out, her teary eyes blinding her as the massive black boar rushed through her with sharp horns. The princess cried out loudly as she pulled all her strength together and pushed against the weight, her hand covering the edge of the sharp tusk aiming at her. Mellara screamed and screamed, cursing and grunting. Sweet red resonance poured through her hand like liquid venom, and each push of the heavy boar tore through the flesh. 

The young princess released her hold on the tusk and pushed the boar away. Quickly, she scrambled for her sword and unsheathed it from the leather scabbard. As the boar repositioned itself to attack again, Mellara ran to it and cried out as she met the beast. The boar once more jumped at her, but with all her strength, the princess grunted as she pushed the sword forward upon the boar's skull and mercilessly pushed it until she could no longer do so as the bone conflicted through. Mellara heard the beast squirm in pain as she tried to find her footing out of its heavy body. 

With a draw of heavy breath, the princess unsheathes the sword and watches the blood seep through the watery marsh. She did not know what she had done, what her body had been doing, and what it yearned to do next. Atop the squealing boar, Mellara raised the sword again and thrust the blade into the grunting boar with madness. The blood and the guts coated her skin, the silver train of her elaborate braid painted with death. She was unsure when the creature had died, but she merely kept going, and her tears flowed just as much, uncontrollably blending against the thick dew of animal blood. Mellara Targaryen had found the boar's body unrecognizable when the frenzy of her body had stopped, leaving only empty grief and exhaustion in its wake. 

"Mellara?" Her cousin's dark purple haze was a welcomed sight, a relief. Someone stood there. Someone was there. He was not leaving. "Mellara!"

Daemon Targaryen rushed to her side, eyes filled with concern as he took her into his arms, her body collapsing on his own. The rain was heavy on his body, and the scent of the wilderness claimed him just as much. He did not look terrified of her, what she had done, or the quell of her body in boar guts. Instead, he embraced her and swept his arm to shield her from the ground. Mellara felt her lips quiver as she tried to speak, her experiences slowly dwelling on her body. She tried to put her words into the air, but he shook his head, holding her wounded hands into his own as he took his kerchief from his pocket and tied it against her deep bleeding cut. Mellara let her free hand reach for his face, feeling the warmth of his features against her own cold, swept hand. Daemon's eyes widened at her touch.

Her tear-filled eyes watched him as he took his cloak off the cover of his own body and wrapped it as fast as he could with one hand. She was already cold, but she would freeze against the hit of pouring rain. When the tears poured in silence as he lifted her into his arms, she could not help but lean to him in the safety of his arms in a close embrace. Her cousin Daemon did not say a word to her; instead, he gave her a small warm smile warmly at her. A tint of sadness pressed as though his familiarity with this place left sorrow in his heart. They were almost the same; she could see it in his eyes. Of course, she thinks. This is the same imagery he sat upon when his dear father had found himself dying so young. Mellara thinks they lived in the same deep sadness, yearning for fathers who had not walked among them. 

The young prince pressed a small kiss upon the edge of her forehead to tell her this was real. Mellara finally felt that she was safe. That he was not leaving her. That she could put his trust in her wholeheartedly. Mellara sniffed through the cold as she felt Daemon aid her into his horse's saddle and quickly follow behind. Mellara Targaryen leaned back against his chest to feel her cousin's heat, embracing what he had gifted her. His arm embraced her, and the other focused upon the reins. When the darkness took her, she could not help but feel relief. For the first time in a long time, Mellara Targaryen felt like she knew what it was like to not be alone. She did not know it then, but she wished he felt the same. That at that moment, both of them were a little less alone.

[justasmallbean]

Made me think of Sunfyre the golden 💛

[crescentmooninjuly]

i’m a nepotism, baby, you can trust me (chapter 1)

Summary: When the success of his film is threatened by a personal scandal, famous actor Aemond Targaryen has to fake-date his costar/nemesis.

Notes: Aemond & the original character from my other fic! (linked here)

Daemon is not related to Viserys in this fic to avoid incest between Daemon/Rhaenyra & Aemond/OC

TW: references to Sam Taylor-Johnson💀

Word Count: 3,118 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So is his dick really as big as they say it is?”

  Lyra coughed on the piece of kale she’d just forked into her mouth. “What?” 

 Baela raised her eyebrows suggestively. “How long is it?” 

 Lyra rolled her eyes. “You know we didn’t actually have sex, right?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Rhaena grinned. “That sex scene was realistic as fuck.”  

 “But you at least saw him naked, right?” Baela asked eagerly. 

 “No!” Lyra laughed. She threw a fry at her sister across the table and it clung to her silver-blonde curls. Baela flicked some of her lemon water (room temperature, obviously) at Lyra in retaliation. 

 “Would you call it a porn addiction, hypothetically, if you just want to watch the same, tasteful, “how-can-it-be-considered-an-R-rated-movie-if-there’s-hardly any-nudity” sex scene over and over again?” Rhaena asked genuinely, chin contemplatively in the palm of her hand.

 “Gross,” Lyra smirked good-naturedly, popping a fry into her mouth. “You guys are a bunch of perverts.” 

 “How can you blame us?” Rhaena giggled. “He’s so  hot."

 Lyra rolled her eyes in response.

 Their current topic of conversation (as most of them had been recently), revolved around Lyra’s costar/nemesis, Aemond Targaryen. 

 Lyra and Aemond had spent most of last year filming an epic, World War I era, tragic romance, called The Great War. The movie was scheduled to be released in two months, and Lyra had just returned to LA after seeing the premiere at the Cannes Film Festival. The lead actors were praised for their performances, earning award-season buzz for their incredible on-screen chemistry. But what the press had yet to find out, (and the production company certainly wasn’t keen on leaking the information) was that the two stars had been at each other’s throats for most of the shoot. They had constantly bickered on-set, disagreeing about almost everything. The studio had been forced to bring a moderator in during filming. But their off-screen hatred hadn’t ruined their characters’ relationship. If anything, it had elevated the passion between them. As soon as filming wrapped, Lyra and Aemond gratefully went their separate ways. And besides the film festival, where he spent most of the night ignoring her, they hadn’t seen each other since. 

  “Oh, did you see that Rolling Stone article? They placed you second on their list of favorite current nepotism babies.” Baela said. She was Lyra’s media and marketing manager. One summer, when Lyra was off filming an Indie movie in a remote part of Europe, Baela had been entrusted to update her Instagram account every few days. Lyra had gained five million followers in less than a week, and Baela had been in charge of her social media presence ever since. 

 “Who was number one?” Lyra asked, although she had a feeling she already knew the answer. 

 Baela smirked. “Aemond Targaryen, of course.” 

 Lyra furrowed her brows. “That seems sexist.” 

 “At least when people bring up the nepotism conversation, his name will always come up first,” Rhaena said. 

 Lyra’s mother was Evera Lys, an actress from the 90’s. Evera and her co-star, Daemon Prince, from the popular teen drama  Westeros High, had begun dating right after the show finished airing. Their whirlwind relationship had been plastered on every magazine cover and tabloid at the time, and they got married after only six months of dating. But tragedy struck a few years later, when Evera died from complications in the hospital after giving birth to Lyra. 

 Despite never getting to meet her mother, Lyra had had a mostly happy childhood. She had grown up in Malibu with Daemon, his second wife, screenwriter  Laena Velaryon, and their twins, Baela and Rhaena. And they had all become very close.  

 Daemon rose to even greater fame after starring in the period piece, The Iron Throne, with Oscar-winning actor, Viserys Targaryen. Aemond’s father. Hence the nepotism. Daemon and Viserys had played brothers, and became best friends during filming. After his amicable divorce from Laena, Daemon married Viserys’ oldest child, Rhaenyra, his daughter from his first marriage. Viserys had been initially hesitant about his daughter dating someone who’d been like an uncle-figure to her, but had grown to accept and respect the relationship after seeing the love they had for each other firsthand. Viserys’ second marriage to supermodel Alicent Hightower (Rhaenyra’s former best friend) had apparently caused quite the scandal back in the day. And it was rumored that Rhaenyra was his favorite child over the four he’d had with Alicent.  

  Since Lyra’s father was best friends with Aemond’s father, and Lyra’s stepmom was Aemond’s oldest sister, Lyra and Aemond had known each other long before they had been casted in The Great War. They had gone to the same private schools, and had seen each other often through the years at family gatherings and holidays. Even though Aemond was two years older than her, they had competed in the same acting classes and extracurriculars throughout their childhood. When Lyra got the part of Sandy in their school’s production of Grease, Aemond was casted as none other than Danny Zuko. And the same week Lyra had finally gotten a call-back audition for an actual speaking role in a network show, Aemond had booked his first movie. Granted, his character ended up having only two lines, but still. The small role landed him a SAG card and an IMDb page.

 Lyra couldn’t remember a time they hadn’t been competing against each other.

 “Speak of the devil,” Lyra muttered as her phone buzzed with Aemond’s contact name, sliding the screen to answer his call. “What do you want?”

 “Nice to hear from you too,” he said. She could tell from his tone that he was smirking. Asshole. “You busy?”

 “I’m having lunch with Baela and Rhaena.”

 “Hi, Aemond,” Baela cooed into the phone’s microphone. 

 Lyra rolled her eyes at her sister’s enthusiastic greeting. As if his ego needs more boosting. “So, what’s up?”

 She could practically hear the leather of his jacket crinkling in the background. Aemond had claimed it was fake, but the $800 receipt Lyra had found in his trailer begged to differ. 

 “Have you checked Twitter recently?” he asked warily. 

 “Only every hour of every day,” she said, mocking the insult he’d thrown her way months earlier.  “It’s called interacting with your loyal fanbase,”  Lyra had said defensively, when he’d scoffed that she was on her phone too much.  “You should try it sometime!”

 “So you haven’t seen it then,” Aemond deadpanned. 

 “Seen what?”

 He sighed into the speaker. “I think you should probably just look it up.” 

 That was never a good sign when you worked in the entertainment industry. “Shit,” Lyra said, putting him on speaker and opening up Twitter. She quickly went to the Trending section and her stomach plummeted. #AemondandLyra was number one. 

 She clicked on the top article, headlined  Aemond Targaryen Cheated on Ex with Co-Star Lyra Lys.

  New York Socialite Alys Rivers, 40, claims that her relationship with actor Aemond Targaryen, 25, recently ended because he was having an affair with his co-star, Lyra Lys, during the shoot of their upcoming movie,  The Great War.  It’s no secret that the two actors had amazing chemistry, with one source even stating, “They spent so much time together, even when the cameras weren’t rolling. They’ve been close for a really long time and the long distance took a toll on his relationship with Alys.” The two stars have yet to confirm the dating rumors, but were seen “hanging out” at the Cannes Film Festival last week…

  “What the fuck?” Lyra frowned, completely forgetting that Aemond was still on the line. 

 “I know,” Aemond sighed. “It’s not great…”

 “Not great?” Lyra nearly shrieked. She took the phone off speaker as some of the surrounding restaurant patrons started to glance in her direction. “Alys just told the entire internet that you cheated on her…with me.”

 Baela and Rhaena widened their eyes from across the table and immediately pulled out their phones.

 “Okay, but have you read what people are saying?” Aemond asked. “Did you see what’s also trending?”

 Lyra looked under #AemondandLyra. The second most trending topic was #HesFree. Curious, she clicked on the hashtag and pulled up the top tweets.

 Justaholeforaemondtarg: lmaoooo Aemond finally dumped granny💀 #hesfree

  Sleeplysinseattle: Aemond Targaryen is the only person i will forgive for cheating. Thank you @lyralys, our lord and savior🙏 #hesfree

 wolfdaddy12: okay but is anyone talking about lyra’s dating history?? She literally bagged Cregan mf Stark and now Aemond Targaryen, she’s really God’s favorite huh😭😭 #hesfree

 Aemondtstan4life: is meemaw really trying to make us hate Aemond for finally getting out of their toxic relationship? She literally groomed him lol, as far as i’m concerned Lyra saved his goddamn life #hesfree

  “Holy shit,” Lyra said as she scrolled through the tweets. Based on the twins’ frequent gasps and laughter, they were reading them as well. 

 “I know,” Aemond said.

 “Wait, so let me get this straight,” Lyra began, getting up from the table so Baela and Rhaena wouldn’t overhear. “Alys told the press that you guys broke up because you cheated on her…but the internet is…happy about it?” 

 “Mostly,” he answered. “Listen, my publicist wants to get ahead of this. Can I meet you at your place in an hour?”

 Lyra glanced back at the table, the twins furiously typing on their phones. She let out a long sigh. “Sure, let me text you my address.” 

 “No need,” Aemond said. “I know where you live.”

 “Funny, I don’t remember telling you…” Lyra trailed off. She supposed Helaena must have told him. As much as Aemond seemed to exist only to drive her crazy, Lyra had always gotten along very well with his siblings.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Lyra drove through the Hollywood Hills in a daze. She hadn’t seen Cregan Stark, her boyfriend of almost three years, since their breakup a few months ago. It had happened shortly after she’d returned from filming The Great War in the UK. He was a rising Indie musician, and his album from earlier that year, Dragonfire (his old nickname for her based on her signature red hair), had been a huge success. He’d had a steady following before its release, but his fanbase had tripled in the months since. Most of the songs had been about her, of course. Love songs about their relationship. But the long months apart on separate continents had been difficult, and they would have only had a few weeks together before he was set to embark on his year-long tour. So they’d decided to take a break. 

  When she pulled into her private drive, after the security guard at the gate buzzed her through, she immediately noticed a familiar car parked in front of her expansive garden. 

 “Jace!” Lyra exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck when he opened the car door for her. “What are you doing here?” 

 “Just wanted to take advantage of your giant house and hot tub, obviously,” he grinned. But his face fell as he noticed something behind her. 

 She quickly turned and spotted Aemond’s black Lamborghini pulling into her driveway. Because of course he had one. 

  “That’s actually why I’m here,” Jace frowned, watching Aemond intently as he casually slid from the driver’s seat and made his way toward them. He threw his leather jacket over his shoulder and pulled off his Ray-Ban sunglasses. 

 Lyra internally fumed at how attractive he was. It was much harder to hate him. 

 “Like what you see?” Aemond smirked at her expression. And before Lyra could come up with a snarky comeback, he wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, dangerously close to her mouth. 

 “What the hell, Aemond?” Lyra breathed, pulling away. They’d kissed lots of times while filming the movie, of course, but this was different. She suddenly felt dizzy…and infuriatingly not in a bad way. 

 Jace stared at the two of them in shock, mouth agape. 

 Aemond shrugged. “Our little secret’s out, Lyr. We don’t have to hide anymore.”

 “So it’s true?” Jace shrieked. “You guys are…together?” 

 “Jace—” Lyra began in a panic. 

 “I came over here to make sure,” he sighed dejectedly. “How could you do this to Cregan? Did you cheat on him?”

 “No! I would  never —”

 “You know how close I am with him,” Jace said, running a hand through his shaggy, dark hair. 

 Lyra felt her throat start to tighten up. “Yeah…”

 Cregan was Jace’s best friend. That was how Lyra had originally met him. And up until now, Jace had done a pretty good job of not bringing him up around her. 

 “So how is he?” Lyra couldn’t help but ask. Aemond snorted from beside her. 

 “He’s not seeing anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

 “That’s not what I was asking…” she mumbled unconvincingly. 

 “Well, he’s not,” Jace said. “But he thinks you’re dating Aemond now. And I guess he’s right.” 

 Lyra wanted to bury herself under her covers and never come back out. “Listen, I never would have done that to him. Okay? Aemond and I aren’t—”

 “—Aren’t ready to talk about our relationship,” Aemond interrupted hurriedly. 

 Lyra glanced at him in confusion. What was he playing at?

 “But neither of us cheated, I swear,” he said seriously. “Alys just made that shit up to get back at me for dumping her.” 

 Jace looked between the two of them skeptically for a few moments before nodding in resignation. “Alright, I believe you.”

 “Great,” Aemond said, slapping a hand on Jace’s shoulder and steering him back toward his car. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we just want to finally be alone.”

 Jace huffed in annoyance, but obeyed, sending Lyra one last, small smile and a promise to call later. 

 As soon as his car disappeared from the end of her driveway, Lyra stormed inside her house without looking back. She slammed the front door shut, but Aemond managed to stop it before it closed completely and made his way in behind her without an invitation. 

 “What the fuck was that?” Lyra yelled, turning to face him. 

 And to her fury, the prick had the audacity to smirk. “Just wanted to spend some quality time with my girlfriend.”

 He lazily slumped onto her living room couch and wasted no time in making himself comfortable. 

  She crossed her arms. “What are you talking about? This isn’t funny—”

 He sighed and leaned forward in the chair. “Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. But I have an idea to fix this situation. Before it gets worse.”

 Morbidly curious, Lyra took the seat across from him and waited for him to continue. 

 “If we say nothing,” he said, “If we ignore the rumors or even try to deny them, the majority of people will assume we’re lying to cover up an affair. A spur-of-the-moment, reckless decision that resulted in not one, but  two breakups.”

 “Cregan had nothing to do with this,” Lyra frowned. “We broke up before you dumped Alys. ”

  “But no one will see it that way,” Aemond sighed. “We shot a movie together for several months. In a different  country.  As soon as filming wrapped, both of us just happened to break up our respective relationships? It’s unfortunately very coincidental.”

 Lyra just scoffed, too hurt to reply. 

 “I know, this sucks,” he said gently, his tone suddenly more sympathetic. “But we could spin this story to make it seem…romantic. Understandable.” 

 Her eyes widened, slowly starting to put the pieces together. “You want us to fake a relationship?” 

 He nodded.

 “But how would that fix things?” Lyra asked. “Wouldn’t that just confirm the cheating rumors?” 

 Aemond rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, his smug and arrogant tone from before completely gone. “You know how the media works. Once something’s out there, people accept it as fact. But if we revealed that we fell in love while filming the movie…”

 “...they wouldn’t necessarily blame us?” Lyra finished.

  “Exactly,” he grinned. 

 “But I thought the internet was already on your side.”

 He shrugged. “Some, maybe. But it’s never the man’s fault, is it?” 

 She quickly pulled out her phone and opened Twitter again. In her shock earlier, she had failed to notice some of the more negative comments. About her. Hundreds of people calling her a homewrecker. A cheater. A slut.

 Because everyone assumed Aemond had cheated on Alys, they were now questioning the true reason for Lyra’s breakup with Cregan.

 Aemond noticed her sad expression, and his tone turned uncharacteristically sad. “I know, I’m sorry. But we can fix this.”

 “You really think this would work, though?” she asked quietly. “I mean, we could barely shoot a movie without almost killing each other.”

 The corner of his mouth twitched upward. An almost smile. “If we managed to convince the casting directors that we have good chemistry, we can convince anyone.”

 She let out a long sigh, still unconvinced. “You do realize that we’d have to lie to everyone we know.”

 “I know,” he said, running a hand through his long hair. “We couldn’t afford another scandal if the truth was leaked. But we worked too damn hard on the movie for it to be ruined by this. I need your help. Please?”

 “Okay,” she finally answered. “But I think we need to establish some ground rules.”

 “Like what?” he snorted. 

 “No kissing,” she said, crossing her arms.

 He scoffed. “You didn’t seem to mind when we were filming. This would be no different, we’d be acting.” 

 Lyra rolled her eyes. “I was being paid to do it before. It would be…weird now.”

 “Fine, whatever,” he muttered. “Anything else?” 

 She thought for a moment. “We can’t see other people, even secretly. It’d be too suspicious.”

 Aemond nodded in agreement. “Deal. Should be easy enough for you,” he smirked. 

 “Shut up,” she glared, throwing one of her couch pillows at him. “I’ve been asked on tons of dates since Cregan and I broke up,”

 “Mmm hmm,” he hummed sarcastically. 

  He stood up and stretched, revealing a thin strip of his defined lower abdomen as his shirt rode up. Lyra quickly looked away before he could notice her staring and her face beginning to flush. It was bad enough she’d had to endure seeing him shirtless while having to make out with him during the film shoot. It’s just pretend, it’s just pretend, she repeated over and over in her head as she followed him outside back to his car. 

 Aemond was already busy typing in his phone, making plans with his publicist for their official relationship reveal. “I’ll keep you updated,” he promised. “See you later, baby.” 

 And with one final smirk, he revved his engine obnoxiously loud and squealed out of her driveway. 

[asumofwords]

So this is a rquest. Aemond and his niece got bethroted but shes not happy about it. So, to tease him in hopes of him putting an end to their bethrotal, she starts flirting with every lord, guard or men that she finds attractive on the Red Keep. But, one night, she takes things to another level and sneaks out to a party at Flea Bottom and hes the one who finds her dancing on top of a table and, even if its a sight to be seen(thats what the men watching her with hungry eyes think too), he finally snaps and drags her out of there into a private place where some dubcon smutty action happens ;). With him telling her "if you want to act like a whore, ill treat you like a whore".

A/N: Oooooh, juicy. Thanks for the request!!! I honestly love the idea of giving Aemond a run for his money haha. I love seeing a man become feral. I hope you enjoy hehe.

Unsought Betrothal

TW: Dark!Aemond, 18+, Noncon, Dubcon, Aemond being a cunt, forced marriage.

Words: 6k

Pairings: Aemond X Reader, Cregan Stark X Reader

Your betrothal to the One-Eyed Prince was a shock you. 

Alicent had insisted that you marry your uncle in order to strengthen the bonds of your divided house, and your mother Rhaenyra was all too eager to agree. Despite the relationship of the two women having soured over the years, and efforts to rekindle it beginning, you could not say the same for Aemond. 

As a child, Aemond had been quiet, dutiful and albeit awkward, kind. Not quite fitting in, and baring the brunt of your brothers and other uncles bullying. Yet, underneath his quiet demeanour, was a simmering rage and vicious jealousy.

Lords and Ladies from all over the realm had come to join you this evening in the Red Keep to celebrate the engagement of the Velaryon Princess to the Targaryen Prince. The Hall was lined with tables and chairs, food piled high on gold and silver plates and goblets of wine and mead held in every persons hands. Music played loudly, and the overall mood of the room was happiness.

Except for you.

You sat at the table, watching the Court converse with each other, laughing loudly, and others dancing in the middle of the room as music played from the corner. All wore their finest gowns and silks, necks and fingers dripping with gold and jewels.

Aemond sat beside you stiffly, having not tried to converse with you as he simply observed the room of guests, goblet in his hand with a spiced wine from Dorne within. 

You sipped heavily from your goblet as you watched the celebrations, wishing for them to end so that you may disappear into your chambers, and enjoy the last few moments of solitude that you may have before you are wed to the Prince. 

How terribly dull. 

You had begged your mother to not allow this to go forward, to not accept the betrothal, but she refused. It was a way to prevent a war, she had told you, and that she had not been allowed to marry who she had wanted to either. 

And so you bit your tongue, and did what your mother bid you to do.

Sighing loudly, you pulled the goblet up to your lips, drinking the rest of the spiced wine quickly, feeling it leave a warm path down your throat as you swallowed. It settled in your stomach, and the buzz from drinking that evening began to rise. 

You turned your head to look at your uncle, “Are you going to ask me to dance?” 

Only the slightest, most imperceptible movement of his head, allowed you to know that he had heard you. You stared at the profile of his face, his sharp nose and face accentuated by the candle lit room. 

“Hm.”

The least he could do was dance with you, to pretend that he wanted you. To pretend that he cared for your happiness. You both had gotten along when you were younger, but when Lucerys took his eye, he had become most bitter and spiteful, always looking at ways to take it out on you.

Aemond would openly call you a bastard, trip you over and sneer at you. He would make comments about your hair, and dresses, your brothers and your father.

He made your life hell.

Standing abruptly you slammed the cup onto the table and shoved your chair backwards, before walking down into the space where everyone was dancing, leaving your betrothed to sit at the table with your family in silence.

Bodies weaved around each other and smiles lit up the room. The Lords and Ladies parted like the sea, to allow you to dance with them all, their hands coming up to their partners before spinning back around. 

As they made room for you, you were stood in front of Lord Cregan Stark.

Cregan was who you had hoped to be wed to, in fact who you had begged your mother to wed you to. You had heard nothing but praise about the man; of his bravery, of his loyalty, and of course his handsome looks. He had dark brown hair, almost black atop his head, it was lightly curled and sat just below his ears. 

He wore all black that evening, and the way his clothes fit his body made you want him all the more. As you looked at him he smiled, teeth showing as he bowed before offering you a hand. 

“Congratulations on your betrothal, Princess.” He spoke to you above the sounds of the music and people around you, as you held onto his hand and danced.

“Thank you, My Lord. You are too kind.” You blushed, as his hand came to hold at your shoulder. So respectfully.

“You have travelled far for such an occasion.” You noted.

“Of course, Princess. Who wouldn’t want to see such an event. And meet the famed Rose of the Red Keep.” You felt his hand come to the middle of your back, as you moved. 

The wine coursed through your veins as you spun again, feeling a burning sensation on your skin. As you looked up, you saw Aemond watching you and Cregan dancing, one eye narrowed and his lips pursed into a hard line. 

Perhaps you didn’t have to go through this marriage after all…

“I had hoped this would have been for us.” You purred, voice low so that only he could hear.

Cregan almost paused as he looked at you, dark brown eyes searching your face.

“You mock me, Princess.”

“I assure you, I don’t. I had asked my mother to betroth me to you. Though, she thought my uncle would be more advantageous. It is… tradition.”

The Stark did not answer you, instead his hand moved further down your black dress, settling on your lower back as you moved. You pulled apart from him, glancing up to see if Aemond was still watching.

He was.

“Would you mind accompanying me to get a drink, My Lord? I find that my feet are beginning to become tired, and I am thirsty for more wine.”

Lord Cregan bowed his head in acknowledgement, and led you through the crowd to the tables on the side. Picking up a goblet, you poured yourself a full cup, turning to face the dark haired man before thrusting the cup out to him to sip from first. 

His large hand brushed over yours and you felt heat pull through you. He pulled the cup to his lips and sipped, before talking.

“If I had known about your intentions for me, I would have rode here sooner.”

His voice was as smooth as butter, and you felt yourself drawn to him.

You felt that watchful eye on you still, burning into the side of your face.

“Or maybe I will have to ride back to Winterfell with you.” You stepped away from the table and closer to Cregan, pulling the cup form his hand, sipping the wine heavily as you slipped up to whisper in his ear.

“I heard that Starks never break an oath.” You let your lips graze his ear, and you felt the man pull in a breath, deep into his chest.

“We don’t.”

“That is… impressive.” You purr leaning back to look at him again, “So if we were to marry, and to speak our vows, you would honour them?”

“Would you?”

“One flesh,” You placed a hand on his chest above his heart, “One heart, one soul, now and forever.” You smiled at him. 

As you moved to lean closer to him, to invite him to follow you, to ensure people would witness you leave with him, to embarrass Aemond so that Alicent would annul the betrothal, you heard your name.

Both you and Cregan turned your head to see Aemond himself, standing beside you, eye glaring at your hand upon the Stark mans chest. Cregan took a step back, nodding his head at your betrothed.

“My Prince.” 

Aemond did not even spare the Lord a glance, nor even an amused, aggravated or bored hum like he usually did. He simply stared at you, and where your hand now hung limply by your side. 

“Come.” Aemond challenged you.

“Why?” You snipped back, turning to look at Cregan who stood where he was, looking all the more uncomfortable.

“You wished to dance.”

“Not anymore. I am tired.”

“Then I will accompany you to your chambers.”

“No thank you. I can walk myself.”

Aemond then turned his attention to the man who still stood beside you both, watching the stiff interaction.

“Do you have intentions to bed my betrothed?” Aemond questioned, as though he was asking about the weather. Tone all too uninterested, but lone eye bright with that quiet simmering rage.

“No, My Lord. We were merely talking.”

“Hm. Excuse us, we have much to talk about.” 

Aemond wasn’t asking.

Cregan nodded at your uncle before back at you, “Of course.” Before he turned back away and into the sea of people celebrating behind you. You watched, eyes wide and rage building inside, as your uncle stood in front of you were Cregan had.

“I see what you’re doing.”

“I don’t have the slightest clue what you’re talking about, Aemond.”

“Hm.”

“Excuse me, I have to finish my conversation.” You pushed to try and walk past him, back into the crowd.

Aemond’s hand grabbed your arm as you moved to follow Cregan back into the crowd, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of your arm.

“Let go of me.” You grunted, as you tried to yank your arm from his grip.

Aemond turned his head away from you, looking to the far wall where Ser Criston Cole stood. The man caught the Princes eyesight before coming towards you.

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” You growled, hand roughly pulling the One-Eyed Princes fingers backwards and off of you.

Ser Cole stood beside you, ever the dog of the Hightower’s.

“Please escort the Princess back to her chambers. She has had enough wine for the evening.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Ser Criston bowed, his brown eyes looking at your face expectantly. 

“No. I’m not going. These are my celebrations. And I am celebrating.” You snapped. Trying once more to weave your way into the crowd, finding Cregan’s gaze on yours as he watched the scene play out. 

“Don’t think you can whore yourself out to these Lords without me knowing.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hm.”

You snatched your arm away from his, before walking away from him back to the large table where you all sat. Alicent watched you anxiously as you sat back down, anger rolling off of you in waves, whilst your mother watched on in exacerbation. 

You spent the rest of the evening sitting at the table, not speaking to anyone else, watching Cregan from across the room, and feeling the gaze of your uncle as he observed you from your side.

You grew tired and restless from the celebrations and eventually excused yourself, bidding the table a curt good night before leaving the Hall and making for your chambers. The further you got from the Hall, the quieter the hallways became, until all that you could hear was the distant laughter and chatter of the court, celebrating an already doomed marriage. 

As you reached the end of another corridor that led to your chambers, you heard quickened steps on the stone floors behind you. Clasping your hands at your front you turned, expecting to see an angry Aemond, hot on your tails to berate you for the evenings events. 

What you did not expect was Cregan Stark, rapidly approaching you, hair wild and smile wide. His cheeks were a soft pink from the alcohol and likely the brisk pace he made to catch up with you.

“My Lord?”

“Please, call me Cregan.”

“Cregan.” You smiled, “Are you alright?”

The tall man stepped forward in a rush, his large palms coming to grab each side of your face before pulling you hurriedly into a chaste kiss, his lips pressing roughly against yours. He pulled away just as soon as they touched.

You smiled at him, stomach doing flips, heat crawling up your neck.

“Some Lords and my men will be going down to Flea Bottom on the morrows eve. Join us.” He asked, voice rushed.

Your smile only widened.

“Where?” You asked, looking behind him to make sure that no one else was listening.

“At the White Stag. Say you will come.”

“I will.”

Cregan’s smile made your heart warm. 

“Until the morrow. Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight.”

The next day went by slowly, as you anxiously waited on night to fall, and for you to leave the Keep to sneak down to Flea Bottom to the White Stag, where you would meet with Lord Cregan Stark. 

You had avoided Aemond like you usually did, opting to stay hidden in the gardens or your own chambers away from him, planning what to wear in your head mentally all day. 

Soon the moon rose high in the sky, and you had your maids prepare you for bed, bringing a bath to your chambers, letting you soak in the hot water, scented with fragrant oils.  

They could not leave your chambers sooner, and after you had finished your meal alone and had your hair brushed, you slipped into your bed and closed your eyes, pretending to be tired so that the maids would leave sooner.

As you heard the chamber doors close, you shot up out of bed, discarded the chemise over your head before throwing one of your black gowns on. Although you struggled to lace it yourself, you still succeeded. You pulled a large black cloak from your closet and pulled the hood over your head before placing a hand on the face of a painting. With strength you pushed the painting backwards, revealing a hidden pathway behind, one that you and your siblings and uncles had used as children, and one in which, you knew your mother had used in the past too. 

Shutting the path door behind you, you slunk down the passageway, winding your way through the Keep, and then finally descending down large steps to Flea Bottom below.  

As you reached the small city, the streets were lined with people and noise, drinks were being drunk, songs being sung and even performances in squares were watchers looked on at puppet shows and plays. 

You wound your way through the streets, not entirely sure of where you were going. That was when you felt anxiety. You did not even know where you were, or how to get there. Or what even the White Stag looked like. You looked behind you and noticed that you couldn’t even remember what way you came. 

Before you could let the anxiety overwhelm you, you felt a warm hand placed on your shoulder.

“Princess.” Came the smooth timber of Cregan Stark. 

You smiled at the man who stood before you. Dressed in dark brown leathers with his hair brushed backwards out of his face, bar one lone curl that hung down from his forehead.

“You look lost.” He joked.

You huffed a relived laugh, “Would you believe me if I told you I wasn’t?”

“Not one bit.”

“Well, you'd best lead the way.”

The White Stag was a large inn, with stone flooring and walls, exposed wood detailing and low light coming from candles and a large fireplace. The windows were adorned with rich red curtains, and tables and chairs sat strewn amongst the space. As soon as you stepped inside, the air changed. It was hot, bodies were everywhere as they laughed and sang and even danced. Women sat atop mens laps or sang loudly as they stood nearby. 

Cregan sat you down at a table that was full of men, you assumed also from the North, with three to four women standing beside, or leaning against them. Most ignored you as you sat, a large pint of mead being placed in your hand, as Cregan sat beside you. Turning his chair to face you fully, as you looked at each other. 

“So, I have been thinking about what you said last night.” He spoke loudly over the sound of the inn. 

“What did I say?” You teased.

“About oaths.”

“Oh, I think remember.”

“I thought of something else.”

“And that is?”

“Oi Cregan, who’s the girl?” Came a booming voice of a man across the table. His skin was pale and dotted in freckles, almost like constellations. He had short dark hair and piercing green eyes. Before Cregan could answer for you, you replied.

“Y/n.”

The man tilted his head. “Has the Princess lost her way?” He teased, smirk rising on his face. 

“Leave her be, Dustin.” Cregan lightly warned the man, which only seemed to spark his interest more.

“So you are the Princess then. Where’s your husband?” Dustin asked, thick accent curling his r’s, as he looked behind you.

“I’m not married.”

“Ah, but you are betrothed.”

You sipped heavily form your drink. 

“Not for a lack of trying. I had hoped to have that betrothal annulled. Do you have a spare horse?”

Dustin’s brow furrowed as he looked at you, then to Cregan beside you who laughed.

“You lost your dragon?”

“No, but I think the North would be far too cold for him. Plus, easily spotted.” You smirked, sipping again before turning your attention back to Cregan.

“So, what else had you thought of?” You inquired.

Stark smiled down at you as he shifted his chair closer, the sound of the wood scuffing on the stone below catching in your ears.

“Thought about oaths that I would make to you.”

“And what would those be?” You leant in closer, hand coming to touch his thigh.

“I would swear to honour you.”

“Go on.” You urged him.

“I would swear to give myself to you fully.”

“And?”

“I would swear to ensure that you never hunger or thirst for naught.”

“For naught?” You ask, heat building inside of you as you drank. 

Cregan smirked in response.

“And what if I told you that I was starved?” You asked.

“Are you?”

“Of a sort.” You let your hand crawl higher up his leather clad thigh, the muscles rippling under your touch. 

“Then I would have to work to fix that.” He smirked.

As the night continued, you and Cregan sat closer and closer to one another until your knees were brushing against each other. Dustin watched on shamelessly as a woman sat upon his lap, long slender fingers brushing against his neck as she spoke quietly into his ear. 

The night was filled with the laughter and joy you had hoped for last evening. Ale was spilt upon wooden table tops and floors, as men and women began to sing louder and dance upon tables and chairs. Before long, the woman who had seated herself upon Dustin pulled you up with her, onto the table to dance. 

You let her grasp your hand, as you laughed, looking back at an amused Cregan and and even more amused Dustin, as you pulled up your skirts to jump atop a large table, where four others had begun to stamp their feet and sing loudly to a song you had never heard. A sea shanty tale. 

You let the ale guide your body as you twisted and danced, laughing loudly with the woman, who you learnt was named Sara. Her long auburn hair glowed in the light as you leant on each other to dance, one hand still tightly grasped in your skirts to keep them from ripping beneath your feet. 

Cregan’s icy eyes watched your movements as you let a hand trail up the bodice of your dress, watching him with intent as you swayed. Stark leant back in his chair, legs widening, with one arm leaning upon the table as Sara placed a soft kiss to your cheek in excitement. You felt a blush crawl over your cheeks. 

All eyes were on you, as the men watched you sway your hips, hands smoothing up your body in a slight tease. The ale making your movements bolder as you stared at Cregan, challenging him to take you somewhere more private, or if he so desired, there on that very seat.

Never before had you felt so desired.

As you bent forward to give the men a show of your cleavage, you felt the world tip suddenly, as a calloused hand ripped you from the table. Your ankle rolled sharply as you stumbled back onto the stone floor, iron grip bruising the soft flesh of your wrist. Your sight caught those of the table who watched you, no longer in a trance, stiffly. 

You turned your head to you assailant, finding one piercing purple eye and another sapphire watching you in distaste. Aemond’s lips were pulled down into a sneer and he held onto you tightly, three men from the Kings Guard behind him, as well as Ser Criston Cole. 

Cregan watched as Aemond towered over the both of you, looking down his nose as he watched in disgust, anger pouring from him in waves. And although he looked somewhat calm on the outside, you knew that this quietness was telling of Aemond’s simmering rage.  

“Do continue.” Aemond purred, pushing you roughly towards Cregan, your feet stumbling beneath themselves. 

“Don't-” You began before he interrupted you.

“-I think he was talking about fixing your hunger. Were you not, Lord Stark?” His one purple eye, boring a hole into Cregan's head.

Cregan did not answer, instead his jaw clenched. 

“No?” The One-Eyed Prince mused.

“Aemond, stop.” You hissed, ankle sore from the way you landed on it.

“But you seemed so content, dancing for these Northerners, niece. Continue.” 

“Fuck you. Craven.” You hissed, watching Aemond’s lip twitch upwards, before he looked back at Ser Cole.

“Ser Criston, have these men escorted to the edge of the city. I fear there has been treason this evening.”

Ser Cole and his men stepped forward, surrounding the table, as Cregan and his men looked up in shock. You looked at Cregan, wide eyed before turning back to Aemond.

“What? They did nothing wrong!” You began to panic.

“I fear there was a plot to tarnish your good name, Princess.” Aemond purred, snatching your arm painfully before beginning to pull you through the White Stag, and back out into the streets of Flea Bottom.

You dug your feet into the ground, trying to pull away from him, ignoring the slight pain of your ankle, but he was too strong for you, his bruising grip getting tighter the further he dragged you away.

“Stop! Let me go! They did nothing wrong!” You dug your fingers into his, trying to pry them away, but it was no use. He dragged you through Flea Bottom as onlookers watched.

You pulled a hand back, making a fist before you slammed it down onto his shoulder, “Get off!” You yelled.

Aemond stopped in his tracks, and you breathed heavily, still trying to pull away from your uncle. His head turned to gaze at you, his face completely devoid of any emotion, except the small twitch of his lip. His eye roamed you before looking behind you. 

Then suddenly he was moving again. 

Aemond pulled you into a small dark alley, bruising grip painfully throbbing up your arm. You looked frantically around you, but all had gone back to their business, and ignored the two Valyrians. He threw you forward into the space as your chest heaved, looking about to escape, but there was none. 

“If you want to act like a whore, I’ll treat you like a whore.” He purred before he descended on you. His hands pushed you roughly against the wall of the alley, brick digging painfully into your back. You squirmed, desperate to get away from his grip, hands coming up to his chest to push your uncle away from you.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” He growled, hands roughly coming up to palm at your breasts and you fought to push him off, fear crawling its way up your throat.

“Did you truly think I wouldn’t know what you were doing?” He sneered, one hand pushing against your throat roughly, cutting off your air. Your hands flew up to try and pull his away as he kept you locked against the wall in the dark depths of Flea Bottom.

“You thought you could parade yourself like a whore,” His hand ripped the front of your bodice down, your breasts spilling forth from their confines as his violet eye watched greedily, fingers coming to pinch painfully against your nipple, “To try and have this betrothal annulled.”

The cool air kissed at your breasts, causing your nipples to harden. You pushed at him with all your strength, trying to run away from the sharp pinching of his fingers, and the lack of air he denied you. Each pinch made your body stiffen. 

You whimpered.

“But you misunderstand me, niece.” His hand left their cruel assault upon your breasts to roughly begin hiking your dress up your body, you felt panic and fear begin to settle in your stomach as you dug your fingers into his chest sharply with your nails , trying to get him to let you go, shaking your head.

“Do you think I would let some filthy Northerners touch you?” His hand slipped under your skirts, brutally digging into the soft skin of your sex, “It will be my seed that will grow inside of you.”

Aemond’s fingers rubbed up and down your cunt roughly, gathering what little wetness was there, before he thrusted two fingers inside of you. Your eyes widened in shock as you felt the sharp sting of his intrusion. His fingers moved in and out quickly and painfully, pushing roughly into your warm heat as he watched your face.

“This is what you wanted, yes? To be treated like a dirty whore?” He purred, as breathless whimpers left your lips, your hands weakly pushing against his chest as you felt your vision begin to blur from lack of oxygen.

Your uncle’s hand left your throat and you sucked in a greedy gulp of air, a sob escaping your lips as you clawed at his arm, trying to stop his movements, whilst the hand that left your throat came down to roughly grasp at your exposed breasts.

“What would Lord Stark say to see you like this, hm? To see the Princess exposed in the filthy streets with her uncle inside of her cunt. Would he still want you?” He growled, hand quickening its pace as you felt a warmth begin to settle in your lower stomach, the pain fading away to be replaced with the soft trickles of pleasure. 

“Stop, Aemond. Please.” You begged him, voice hoarse as a tear slid from your cheek. He had you pressed so tightly against the wall that you could not move your hips back to escape him, so that all you could do was let him use you.

“Please?” He mocked, face coming close to yours before he kissed the tear away from your cheek. He hummed.

Your betrothed thumb came to press sharply at your slit, as his fingers rubbed the soft spongey flesh inside of you, pulling pleasure from your forcefully. 

A ragged moan left your lips as you jolted from the sudden pressure. 

“Mmm.” Aemond hummed close to your ear, moving his hand faster and more brutally. You felt tears begin to prick at your eyes, as you felt yourself being forced closer to your peak.

“Are you going to cum, zaldrītsos?” (Little dragon) He purred in your ear, as his thumb swirled roughly against the small bundle of nerves, the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten.

“Are you going to cum on my hand like a filthy whore? Out in the open for anyone to see? Perhaps I should have had Cregan and his men watch how disgusting you are.” He mused, and you felt yourself clench.

“Go on, be a good whore and cum for me.” He growled, and you felt the coil snap, as his thumb and fingers sent you over the edge, crashing down into a powerful orgasm.

His hands did not stop their assault, as you tried to push him away from you, tears sliding down your cheeks as your body twitched in the aftershocks of your orgasm. His fingers only became rougher as they pulled at you, before suddenly they were ripped away, a gasp leaving your lips as Aemond roughly spun you against the wall, your cheek digging into the rough brick of the alley.

His hands pulled your skirts over the rump of your ass, before pulling you backwards towards him. Your hands caught the brick as you tried to pull yourself straight and away from him, as Aemond clicked his tongue behind you.

“Be a good whore, and take it.” He hissed before you felt the soft hard head of his cock brush against the lips of your cunt. 

You moved to pull away but you were trapped.

“Uncle, please. No.” You cried, as you felt him push sharply inside of you, pain blooming within as he broke through your walls.

Aemond grunted from behind you before he started a brutal pace, his hips slamming against yours roughly, as you felt the painful sharp intrusion of his cock inside of you. The head of it, roughly hitting your cervix causing shooting agony to ripple up your body.

“So fucking tight.” He growled as he continued his assault, broken whimpers escaping your mouth as you used your hands to hold you up against the wall in purchase, trying to crawl away from him. 

Your uncle leant forward, crushing you with his body as he rutted up inside of you, changing the angle suddenly, brushing over the soft spongey flesh inside of you, causing you to mewl.

“Does that feel good?” He mocked as he continued to rub himself against the spot, the pain of him taking your maidenhead replaced with the warm sparks of pleasure, building faster than before. You shook your head, trying to move away from him.

“No?” He asked, “Let me help you.” 

Two of Aemond’s fingers shoved roughly into your open mouth before it snaked down the front of your dress, pressing against your clit, swirling softer circles around the nub.

Your cunt clenched against his cock as he continued to rut against you, his soft grunts in your ear as you felt yourself begin to wet around him, his cock sliding in and out of you smoother, aided by your arousal.

“I think it does feel good. I can feel your slick.” He mused as he continued to rub on you.

You felt yourself rapidly descending towards your second release, your fingers digging into the bricks as you began to chase after the peak, hips subtly pushing back against him. His fingers began to rub faster against you, as he thrusted harder into you, cock grazing that special spot as the coil wound itself tight, ready to break again before suddenly he stopped.

Aemond pushed himself fully into you, the head of his cock pushing snugly against your cevix as his fingers lifted away from your clit, preventing you from reaching your climax. A soft sob fell from your lips as your hips pushed back into him, chasing what was denied.

“Uh uh.” Your uncle tutted, “Beg.”

A whimper left your lips.

You refused to beg. 

Instead, pushing yourself up and down his shaft shakily, trying to catch your release, though your movements were jagged and shallow, prevented by him pushing you up against the wall. 

“Aemond.” You whispered his name, feeling the pleasure begin to simmer away from you, dwindling rapidly. 

“Beg.” He purred, softly pulling out and then slowly pushing back in, his shaft rubbing through you, causing pleasure to spark.

“Uncle.” You whimpered again, grabbing his arm trying to pull him closer, but he did not budge.

“Be a good little whore, and beg for it.”

“Aemond, please.” You begged, as you pushed your ass back into him, using your hands to attempt to rind against him.

“Please what, sweet niece?” He purred in your ear, hand grasping your hip tightly to stop your movements.

You shut your eyes tightly before sucking in a shark breath, head turning against the bricks so that you could peer at him from your periphery.

“Please fuck me.” You whispered.

“I can’t hear you.” Aemond mocked, as ground his hips into you, causing a wave of pleasure to curl its way around your stomach.

“Please fuck me, Aemond.” You begged louder. Feeling shame and arousal crawling through you as you hid your face back into the brick of the wall, pushing your ass back into his crotch, feeling his cock gently slide through your folds.

“Good girl.” He praised, before thrusting roughly into you, setting a sharp pace, hips clapping into the flesh of your ass, echoing in the empty alleyway.

A hand wound its way up your throat to hold you still as he pulled you backwards, arching your back against him as he thrusted wildly into you, before the other hand snaked down to begin rubbing at your clit again, fingers slipping around it smoothly with your slick.

“Please, please, please.” You whimpered, hips pushing back against him as his lips kissed against your neck, your second release rapidly arriving with every thrust of his hips. 

Aemond grunted against you as he felt you clenching around him, each push and pull of his hips dragging the head of his cock against your sweet spot, before it sent you tumbling over the edge.

The coil snapped and you found yourself moaning loudly into the alley, his hips continuing their brutal pace as he pushed you through your climax, his fingers continuing to rub circles against you, prolonging your release. You felt your slick drip down your thighs, and moaned.

“Yes.” He purred into your neck, before his teeth dug sharply in to your shoulder, his hips stuttering against you, as you felt his warm seed spurting inside.

You sagged against him, letting him hold you up as he continued to thrust into you slower, letting each spurt of cum settle deep inside of you, as some began to leak out of you and down your legs.

“Fuck.” He sighed dreamily, as he pushed himself to his limit inside of you, feeling your cunt twitch around him. 

A dull ache began to settle in your core as you felt Aemond slowly slide himself out of you, feeling his seed and your release drip onto the dirty ground below.

You breathed heavily as you caught your breath, leaning your head against his shoulder as his hands gripped your hips, bruising your tender flesh, before he spun you around to face him.

His hair was messed, and a light layer of sweat had settle upon his forehead. The pupil of his lavender eye was blown out so that you could scarcely see the iris behind it. His gaze trailed down your body to your exposed breasts which heaved with every ragged and exhausted breath you took. A hand came to stroke the underside of one softly, causing goosebumps to erupt across your body.

“My sweet niece,” He cooed, “Such a good whore for me.” You almost keened at his praise as his eye landed upon your lips. 

Your uncle leant forward to press a rough and punishing kiss to your lips, hand curling in your hair at the back of your head, denying you to pull away. You kissed him back lazily as you felt him smirk.

The One-Eyed Prince pulled back watching you intently before he smiled.

“We will be wed on the morrow, and you will carry my seed, and grow heavy with my child.” He looked down, brushing a hand against your stomach.

You blinked as you looked at him.

“If you thought you could escape me, you were sorely mistaken.” He leant in close, lips brushing your ears, “Iksā ñuhon.” He purred.

You are mine.

I hope you enjoyed that lil request! Thanks so much for sending it through, it was fun to write. :)

[shinynewboots]

ivy / aemond x oc (Chapter 2)

Summary: “Do be careful walking the halls at night Lady Serena of House Tarbeck, there are many untrustworthy men lurking in the shadows.”

“Even you,” She asked, unable to stop herself.

A wide smirk found itself on the prince’s features. “Especially me.”

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, infidelity, angst, mourning, dubious consent, grief, alcohol

Word Count: 3.3k

Previous Chapter

AO3

Serena decided to return to her rooms after her mortifying encounter with Prince Aemond. She found Evyn sound asleep in bed, his expression soft and stupid. He was not a particularly unattractive man, with sandy hair and brown eyes. Of all the men she could have found herself married to, at least he might give her somewhat attractive children.

If he would actually perform his duty, Serena thought bitterly. 

Unable to even stomach the idea of sleeping beside such a man, Serena grabbed the pillow from her side of the bed and a blanket from the armoire and chose to make a cot in the bathtub. 

The tub was very uncomfortable, and she was unable to extend to full length so she curled into a ball. She would not give Evyn the satisfaction of discovering that she had returned to their bed. She could hear his deafening snores from the adjacent room. 

Asher jumped up on the rim of the tub and stared down at her.

“Do not. Say. One. Word.” Serena grumbled out, shifting in an attempt to get comfortable. Asher flicked his tail in response. 

Sleep eventually came for Serena though she knew she would wake up stiff in the morning to come. Asher made himself comfortable by curling himself into a ball at her side.

“My lady!?” A frantic voice seemed to almost yell into her ear. Serena jumped as she came face to face with her lady’s maid, Eliza. 

“Eliza!” Serena almost seemed to yell, shock evident in her voice. The maid in response only looked at her with wide eyes, taking in Serena’s state. Her hair was tangled and dark circles had made themselves at home under her green eyes. 

Eliza shook her head at her mistress, wishing to ask but thinking better of it. She held out her hand and grabbed Serena’s arm to help her step out of the tub. Serena’s face burned at getting caught, but she was grateful for Eliza’s discretion. She knew better than to ask, though Serena knew that Eliza must have some idea of the marital problems between herself and Evyn. All of the servants had to know. 

Serena scanned the room, thankful to not find the sleeping form of her husband in the bed. She breathed out a sigh of relief. 

“Lord Tarbeck also left word that he left for a hunting trip early this morning and did not know when he would return,” Eliza said, guiding Serena towards the bedroom to dress for the day. 

Serena could only barely manage to suppress a smile. Thank the Seven. It seemed her stupid husband could manage to read a room occasionally. 

The thought of having to continue their conversation from the night before left her feeling unsettled. Truly, she was unsure how to even navigate her marriage. Evyn was unreasonable, dull, and simple. Evyn was still enamored with her sister, who lay rotting beneath the ground in Sarsfield. 

In truth, Serena did not even believe Evyn would truly love Dyanna the way he claimed. Dyanna would forever be a perfect encapsulation of his desire for a wife. Frozen and perfect in his memory. While Serena did find Dyanna to be a more perfect daughter, she had known her to be far from the perfect woman. However, Evyn would never know this and so Serena would spend every day trying to live up to the unattainable character of a dead woman. No one was more perfect than a dead girl. 

“Princess Helaena has also sent word that she has requested you for tea this afternoon.” Eliza continued. 

In her excitement of the night before, she had forgotten about her walk with Princess Helaena. Excitement and nervousness welled up in her stomach at the thought of joining the princess for tea. Princess Helaena was kind, though a bit of an odd bird. Truly, Serena was most excited at the prospect of possibly finding a friend in the Red Keep. She had been lonely in the many months she had lived at the castle, and judging from her conversation with Princess Helaena, the feeling was mutual.

The thought of spending time with a member of the royal family brought back the memory of her time in the corridors last night that made her cheeks burn red. She had utterly humiliated herself in front of Prince Aemond.

He likely saw her as nothing more than a salacious, loose woman intent on cornering an unsuspecting lord in the hallway. While she was sure that Prince Aemond likely did not participate in castle gossip, what if he did? What if the next time she walked the hallways, the ladies glared at her in disdain? What if the men cornered her, thinking her to be nothing more than a common whore and she found herself in a very precarious situation. 

While she found no comfort in Evyn, at least she could use him as protection from vile rumors (though were they really rumors if there was merit to them?) at least for a time. Yet, her husband was off hunting. Only moments ago, that thought brought her great relief and now it brought her a sense of uneasiness. 

She sat at her vanity in quiet contemplation while Eliza tended to her hair. 

Selfishly, she wished Dyanna was alive if only to be the perfect wife at court. Serena wished to be home in Sarsfield. The rolling hills and green forests of the Westerlands called to her. Even after her months of residence in King’s Landing, she still was not used to the putrid stench of the city. There were no rolling plains as far as the eye could see. The nearest forests were miles away. Every connection Serena felt to her house felt severed the longer she remained in the city and married to Evyn.

She wished to be with her father. To awaken in the early hours of the morning and dress in a pair of breeches and tunic and grab her bow to join her father on a hunt. She could scarcely remember the last time she had done such a thing. It had been since before Dyanna had died, she was sure of it. 

Her mother put a stop to her hunting when lords began writing letters, asking for the hands of one of the Sarsfield sisters. 

“No one will ever wish to marry a beastly girl with hands like a common thief,” Her mother all but yelled at her father. Her father could do nothing but silently agree as no argument could convince the fierce Lady Sarsfield otherwise. Besides, her mother had been right. She had the hands of a servant or a soldier, calloused and worn. Yet, they were hands that had held a bow and pulled back upon its strings. They were hands that had helped her father skin rabbits and deer. They were also hands that were clumsy when attempting embroidery or playing the harp. They were not the hands of a lady. 

Serena pulled herself from her thoughts as Eliza finished braiding her hair. Her hair was pulled back by four braids, two on each side in such a way that it left a cascade of the rest of her light brown hair down her back. 

She dressed in a light blue and gold dress for the day, one of her nicer casual dresses in anticipation of tea with the princess. She glanced at herself in the mirror and gave a slight smile at her reflection.

“Beautiful, my Lady,” Eliza exclaimed, beaming. Asher meowed in agreement. 

The day passed slowly, as Serena determined her best course of action to avoid any more awkward interactions was to stay in her rooms. 

The time came to join Princess Helaena for tea and that was where Serena found herself, staring at the princess who held a centipede in her hands and gazing excitedly at the crawl of its many legs. 

“They’re all predators, you know,” Helaena chattered, bringing the centipede closer to Serena. “They use venom to hunt their prey.”

“I was unaware, my princess.” The centipede was no longer than finger-length, with an innumerable amount of legs. Serena had heard whispers from other ladies at the court about the princess’ fascination with insects. Poor Queen Alicent, they would whisper in mock pity, having to put up with the disturbing fascinations of her only daughter. 

While insects were not necessarily her cup of tea, she had been fond of the outdoors in her youth and found no issue with insects. They even served as a source of mischief for her. There were many times Dyanna would awaken screaming in the night due to an intentionally placed beetle in her sheets. 

“Helaena,” The white-haired girl insisted, her eyes glowing in excitement. “I would prefer Helaena.”

Serena grinned. “Then please, call me Serena.”

The corners of Helaena’s mouth twitched into a small smile as she placed the centipede back in its cage. Her smile turned into a small grimace as she turned, placing a hand upon her swollen stomach. 

“The maester’s are estimating I still have two moons until I deliver,” She explained, her eyes losing their glow and becoming cloudy once more. Serena felt sorry for the girl, who was closer in age to Dyanna than herself. A girl bearing children, as was the duty of all good wives. “They think there is only one baby this time, though sometimes it feels as though there are three.”

Serena nodded, taking a sip of her tea. “I shall pray to the Seven for a safe and fast delivery.”

Helaena nodded, as though she didn’t truly hear Serena’s niceties (for that was what they were).

Serena had a strained relationship with the Seven and truly was unsure where she stood upon her belief. However, offering thoughts and prayers was what was expected of a lady, even if they were for naught. The Seven had truly never done anything for her, though perhaps they might work more of their miracles upon a Princess than a lady of a lesser house.

“Tell me more about the Westerlands. I fear I shall never leave the Crownlands again,” Helaena stated, a faraway look in her eyes. She rubbed a hand along her belly. 

“It is green, very green. The plains roll for miles like an ocean of grass. Everything is so open and clear. There are forests too, so lush and full of all sorts of creatures.” 

“Do you miss your home?” 

“Every day,” Serena said, a barely concealed sigh evident in her voice. “It is very different from King’s Landing.”

Helaena nodded.

“Though King’s Landing has its beauty as well,” Serena stated, backtracking so as not to offend Helanea’s home. 

Helaena nodded once more and took a sip of her tea. 

A knock at the door stirred the women from their thoughts. 

“Enter,” Helaena called. 

Serena’s back was towards the door, so she was unable to see the newest visitor. Whoever it was caused Helaena to grin excitedly in a manner Serena imagined was reserved for very few people. 

“Helaena, have you seen Aegon?” Serena’s eyes widened at the voice of the unknown visitor. She had heard that voice just last night. 

“Even you,” She asked, unable to stop herself. Serena, you are an idiot. 

A wide smirk found itself on the prince’s features. “Especially me.”

Serena turned and jumped up from her seated position, almost spilling her tea in the process. The liquid swished back and forth in the cup though Serena had been swift enough that none managed to spill. 

“Wonderful save,” Helaena remarked, her eyes bright with wonder as she watched the scene take place. 

Prince Aemond had a curious expression on his face, though it was subtle. He wore a black doublet which appeared to be made of some sort of leather. His long, white hair had been pulled back (though there were a few flyaway pieces around his head) and there was a thin sheen of sweat upon his brow. If she had to guess, he had likely been out in the training yard (a place it was rumored he frequented). 

She could only imagine what he was thinking. “A common whore is having tea with my sister.” Okay maybe that wasn’t exactly what he was thinking, but he had to be less than thrilled at the sight, especially after the state he saw me in in the corridor last night. 

“Aemond, I would introduce you to Lady Serena but I believe you have already met,” Helaena continued, her eyes still as bright but a mischievous grin taking place upon her features. 

Both unable to help themselves Serena and Aemond shot Helaena an almost exasperated look. She only beamed in response. How did she know that?

Aemond recovered quickly and nodded his head in Serena’s direction for politeness' sake. “Yes, we met at the ball last evening. How are you, Lady Serena?”

Oh. OH. Serena could have kissed the man. While it did not quell all of her anxieties, the thought of Prince Aemond spreading salacious rumors about her around the castle seemed to be much farther than reality especially if he was willing to tell a small lie to his own sister. 

Serena nodded in response. “Quite well, my prince. It was a very social evening for me. I also met the princess at the ball as well.” 

Helaena placed her tea on the table in front of her and stood from the settee. She crossed the room and stood beside Selena, grabbing one of her arms. “Yes, we somehow managed to make our acquaintance just as our husbands found themselves in the middle of a drinking match.”

Serena only smiled politely, though she did pale a bit at Helaena’s candidness. 

“Ah,” Aemond only said in response, though he noticed how awkward Selena’s aura became at Helaena’s revelation. How she stiffened and paled and her eyes tried to look anywhere else but at him. 

“As for Aegon, he is not here. Truthfully, I have not seen you since I left the festivities last evening.” Helaena said, sighing as she placed a hand upon her swollen belly. She used her other hand to grab Serena’s. “I am terribly sorry to cut our tea time short, however, I’ve suddenly grown very tired.”

Serena nodded and put her tea down on the table. “Of course. I had a wonderful time.”

Helaena sent her a soft smile. “I would absolutely love for you to join me tomorrow as well if you would like.”

“Of course,” Serena replied, internally beaming at Helaena’s invitation. It had truly been a long time since she found a familiar soul. 

“Aemond, would you mind terribly walking Lady Serena back to her rooms or wherever she was headed next?”

“Oh no, that is quite alri—”

“Of course,” Aemond interrupted, holding his arm out for Serena. She stared at it dumbly. 

She didn’t know if she was imagining things or not but she felt a slight shove from Helaena as she was pushed/walked toward Aemond.

The girl in question suddenly looked less tired than she had previously made out to be. 

Serena took Aemond’s arm and they left the room, Helaena waving enthusiastically behind them. As soon as they were out of Helaena’s sight, Serena attempted to pull her hand away from his arm. Calloused, slender fingers stopped her. 

“I did promise my sister I would escort you back to her rooms. You wouldn’t want to be rude Lady Tarbeck.” Aemond tutted, gazing down at her with his dark lavender eye. He was tall; she came up only to just below his shoulder. Serena shot him a pointed look. 

“I am perfectly capable of escorting myself.” 

“Mm.” He replied, pulling her closer to his person making it harder to pull away. 

We’re back to “Mm” again, are we?

Serena gave one last valiant effort to pull away, though it was in vain. She sighed as she resigned herself to her fate. She swore she could see a small smirk find its way onto his features, though it could have just been a catch of the light. 

“I want to apologize for the” Serena paused, looking for the right word. “State in which you found me in the corridor last night.”

Aemond looked down at her, an amused look on his face. “I would not necessarily say found, as you were the one who ran into me.”

Serena scrunched her eyebrows, her face growing red. She bit her lip in an attempt from saying words she had learned from her father on their various hunting escapades. Words her mother would scold her for. 

“Though I won’t complain about the so-called state I “found” you in, I am curious as to what led to such a display in the first place,” Aemond asked. Serena found her flush of embarrassment making its way down her body. 

“Perhaps I just wanted a nice walk in the corridor at night,” Serena replied unconvincingly. 

A strange look that Serena could not name found its way onto Aemond’s face. It was then she realized they had stopped walking. Serena looked at him, her lips parted in a look of curiosity. 

Suddenly, she was pushed against the cool stone of the wall. Her heart pounded so hard it made its way to her ears and she could not hear anything except her blood vessels and the calm, steady breathing of Aemond, who now held both of her arms against her body. Escaping his grasp was not an option. She frantically looked around, hoping no one caught her in such an entanglement with the Targaryen prince of all people (who indecently was not her husband). 

She found that they were alone in the hallway. She wasn’t sure if she was exhilarated or terrified. Or both. 

“There's no need to lie to me, Lady Tarbeck. I do not like to be lied to.” His face darkened and his body had gotten closer to her so that now she could feel his heat. Unable to resist, she breathed in his scent and found him to smell ash and burning wood mixed with the enticing scent of sweat likely from his training earlier in the day. 

“I, I” Serena started, searching for a lie. For something to get her out of this mess, she now found herself in.

“An evening tryst with a lover, perhaps?” Aemond taunted, moving his right hand from her arm to behind her chin, pulling it out from her neck. Serena swallowed hard, unable to stop the wetness of desire that seeped out from between her thighs. 

“I was leaving my chambers,” She started, gaining courage in her voice though it was still meek. “My husband came home drunk from the ball and it angered me We had an argument and I needed to clear my head. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” Aemond repeated. 

Serena could only nod in response. 

“Mm,” Aemond seemed satisfied with her answer as his thumb rubbed against her chin in an almost loving motion. He pulled back his hand and pulled her away from the wall, though his left hand never left her arm. 

They continued to walk as if nothing ever happened. 

Serena could not look upon the prince, as shame and excitement had flooded her body. Aemond seemed unbothered as if he had not just accosted her in a public corridor demanding information about her state of indecency the night before.

After what felt like hours, though was truly only minutes, they arrived at her rooms. Aemond finally released her arm and gave her a smirk, his one violet glimmering. 

“I have a habit of wandering the corridors at night. I wonder if that shall also become a habit of yours as well.”

With that, Aemond turned on his heels and walked away, his white, silky hair flowing behind him. 

Serena quickly hurried inside her apartment. She pulled up her skirt and stuck her hand between the folds of her legs. She was met with wetness that she was unfamiliar with as it was different from her moonblood. She looked at her hand to see a clear substance coating her fingers. 

Fucking Aemond Targaryen.

[creganstahk]

my asoiaf fic

ALYS RIVERS X AEMOND TARGARYEN

touch you, that is all, lightly (one shot, G)

what a sweet anchor your eyes made (one shot, E)

we, half dust, half deity (one shot, T)

JON SNOW x THEON GREYJOY

where is your love? (it must be somewhere) (in progress, T)

JACAERYS VELARYON X CREGAN STARK

always a fuss and a fight (one shot, E)

AEGON II TARGARYEN & AEMOND TARGARYEN

malignant (one shot, G)

[esta-elavaris]

Part One [1,592 words]

Prologue is here, I'll make a proper navigation post for it soon!

Jane Eyre inspired Aemond Targaryen fic (except there's no wife in the attic - only Vizzy T and his miniatures) -- I've been meaning to write this for ages and now with the new season around the corner my brain said it is time.

It's not on AO3 for now but I do have a whole load of other fics over there! I'll tag folk in the replies -- hmu if you want to be added to the list!

Dividers by cafekitsune.

A fingertip was tracing the birthmark in the crook of her arm. As the name implied, she’d had it since birth – no bigger than the nail of her little finger, a few shades darker than her skin…and in the distinct shape of the Seven-Pointed Star. Jeyne had never paid it much mind growing up. The novelty of it wore off around the same time that her school-and-orphanage managed to rid her of any silly fantasies that it meant the gods had something fantastic in store for her. In fact, she never thought about it at all until Aemond.

As the bond between them deepened, he’d taken to tracing his fingertips across it just like this – a habit so engrained and unfailing that it almost had the feel of a ritual. A tender ritual, if there ever was such a thing, and one so intimate that she’d almost fancied it felt like a kiss. Up until the first time he did actually kiss her, anyway, and then she realised how silly that thought had been.

But how was she to know? Before him, she’d never been touched in a manner that wasn’t corrective in nature. Not as far as she could recall, at least.

“We’re not at war. We’ve a strong position. Marriage for the sake of an alliance doesn’t seem pressing,” he murmured, his voice so low it was practically a purr as he stroked her arm.

“Princess Rhaenyra is married to your uncle,” Jeyne pointed out in return. “And Prince Aegon to Princess Helena. You’re all they have to offer, should an alliance be needed with a House beyond the Targaryens…or the Velaryons. Your family won’t allow that to be cast aside. Not for me.”

“The King would not,” he agreed readily enough. “But my mother…she might be swayed. She might be sympathetic. She’s fond of you, you know.”

What would fondness help, when the Queen’s word could not override the King’s wishes? If it did, Aegon would have been made heir apparent long ago. Jeyne voiced none of this, though, not wanting to spoil this little haven of peace they carved out for themselves here, together.

“The King’s health has been declining since before I was even born,” Aemond pointed out, his voice lower than a whisper. “But now it’s less of a decline and more of a…freefall.”

Jeyne was dangerously still, where she lounged at his side. What he was saying was barely sidestepping treason, to discuss the death of the King thus. Perhaps it was fine for him to do so, he was the King’s son, but if she joined in? A servant? It wouldn’t be right. Worse than that, it would be stupid.

But, going against their usual way, Aemond was not content to allow her silence. His silken silver hair slipped across his shoulder as he turned his head to regard her with his good eye.

“You’re not a simpleton, Jeyne. You know what I’m saying.”

“Of course I do,” she murmured.

“But you find it distasteful.”

“No! It just…it hardly seems real. Nor likely enough to hope for.”

“You doubt my resolve?” there was a teasing to his tone now that rejection had been ruled out.

“I’d never be so foolish as to do that,” she snorted.

“My affections, then?” the teasing tone remained, but she knew fine well that if she answered poorly the results could be disastrous.

So it was a good thing she tended towards honesty, as a rule.

“No,” she replied. “But I do doubt everybody not in this room – and how enthusiastic they would be to give you what it is you intend to ask for.”

Growing tired of having to keep his head turned if he wanted to see her, Aemond rolled atop her in a flash, his legs tangled amongst her skirts. They did like to kid themselves that so long as they both stayed mostly dressed, they weren’t toying with danger here. How neatly his hips slotted between her thighs said otherwise.

“I don’t intend to ask for anything,” he replied, his nose nudging hers. “I’ll demand it. And I’ll keep demanding it, until I’m granted it.”

“Aemond…think of everything you could lose…”

Her doubt might’ve held more weight if not for how her hands slid up his sides, then around to his back, feeling the wealth of lean muscle beneath the dark undershirt he wore.

“I prefer to think of all I could gain,” he smirked down at her.

“Oh yes, a more advantageous match there never was.”

There was a time when she’d never dare tease him thus – but now it had a fondness gleaming in his eye, maybe because he knew he was one of the very few she’d ever joke with at all, and he kissed her slowly.

“I don’t give a shit about advantages,” he replied simply when he drew back. “Names…gold…alliances…What could any other House bring that House Targaryen doesn’t already have? That we couldn’t just take from them, if we really needed to? With our dragons? But a wife like you, Jeyne?”

He paused then, planting a forearm into the bed beside her to hold his weight, so that he could use his other hand to trace the back of one finger slowly down the side of her face as he continued.

“That can’t be bartered for in the Small Council.”

“Your duty…” she murmured softly.

“My duty is to marry the woman who could best support me as I carry out my role. None could do that more than you.”

Lying there, with his weight pressing down, solid and comforting atop her, she tried to picture all that he promised. Herself, standing by his side in the Great Hall as court was held. Sitting by his side at banquets. Having the dragon-emblazoned cloak of House Targaryen draped across her shoulders in the Sept of Baelor.

Her imagination was seldom disappointing – it was her main source of solace throughout her childhood. But while she could picture all of those things, they felt like they were just that. Daydreams. Incredibly fanciful ones, no less.

And though Aemond only had one eye, it missed nothing, and he caught the doubt on her face easily enough.

“Five years ago, if you were told that you’d find employment in the Red Keep, would you have believed it?”

“Not at all.”

“And on your first day here, did you suspect you’d find yourself here?”

“Of course not. If I could scheme that well, I’d rule the Seven Kingdoms by now.”

“Mm. Maybe one day.”

“I’ve already come so far – risen far higher than my birth should have allowed. How realistic is it to expect more?”

“Realistic,” he echoed with a teasing sort of exasperation on his face. “The last time I set my mind to something this thoroughly, it got me Vhagar. If you can put your faith in nothing else, put it in this. In me.”

The touch at her arm, combined with the warmth in her limbs and the softness of the sheets beneath her, were all more than enough to have reality slipping from Jeyne’s mind. Her lips even parted, ready to murmur to him about the terrible nightmare she’d suffered, when another voice spoke instead.

“I think she’s waking up.”

The voice – that of a woman – opened the gates for reality to sweep in.

Jeyne’s eyes opened, already half-sitting up, but a hand pressed against her shoulder, urging her back down.

“Rest. You’re safe here.”

She was in a large square room, bundled in furs on the floor by the hearth. Before her knelt an older woman with kind grey eyes and dark curly hair, streaked with grey. Her skin was tanned and weatherbeaten – a farmer? If she was, she was well off. The floor beneath her was wooden, rather than dirt, and the walls were made of stone instead of wood.

A fierce gale blew outside, rattling the shutters on their hinges.

“Listen to that,” the woman murmured. “If she’d have been out in that tonight, she’d have died.”

It took Jeyne a moment to realise who she was talking to – another woman, of a similar age, with red hair bound tightly in a bun at the nape of her neck. She sat at the large wooden table at the other end of the room, mending by candlelight.

“I’m sure we’d all survive with one less beggar out there,” she responded without looking up.

“Ignore her,” the brunette said.

Obeying was easy enough, mostly because she was too concerned with looking about for her satchel. She spotted it, discarded by the door, still buckled shut, and the relief left her weak. Or maybe it just left her able to feel the weakness that had always been there.

“If you could just give me some water, please, I can be on my way in a moment,” she rasped.

“You’ll be going nowhere. Not until you recover your strength,” the woman argued firmly. “We’ve space and food aplenty, do not worry. What’s your name?”

“I…” she almost lied – up until she realised doing so might send them through her bag for cues when she next lost consciousness.

Judging by the black spots floating across her vision, that would be soon.

“Jeyne,” she breathed.

“Rest, Jeyne,” the woman urged. “You’re safe with my sister and I.”

She fell back against the furs, the strength sapping out of her limbs, her eyelids fluttering.

“What did you expect?” Aemond had sneered at her, in the end.

The answer was simple: nothing he hadn’t promised her.

[dragonnwriter]

Inviolable Bindings

Aemondxfem!OC and Aegonxfem!OC

All Chapters Here!

***NSFW Chapter!!!*** 18+ No Minors!

Chapter 32

As Cole had predicted, the weather and winds were in their favor and they made it to King’s Landing by midday. Viserra took in the sight of the city below her while guiding Rhyn in a large circle over the castle. With precision, she landed the dragon in front of the imposing gates.

Just like their first arrival to the Red Keep, the landing of the dragon caused the people below to scatter. Most likely already anticipating them, the gates opened swiftly, and she was welcomed by several guards.

Rhyn wasted no time taking to the skies once her feet touched the ground, disappearing quickly into the clouds.  She followed the guards through the open gates, making her way into the castle's inner walls. Once she had climbed up the first bout of stairs and entered into the initial courtyard, she laid eyes upon two familiar faces that caused her to stop in her tracks.

Aemond stood tall with a neutral expression, while his mother burst into a mixture of worry and excitement, eagerly anticipating the report of where they stood in battle. When Viserra looked back at Aemond to find his eye locked to hers, she felt as if the breath had been stolen from her lungs.

In the days spent traveling with Aegon, his brother had remained easily in the back of her mind. However, now standing before him, she realized she had been suppressing the overwhelming feelings she had toward him as well.

Alicent quickly approached her and reached out to hold on to her hands. “What of Aegon? Has everything gone to plan?”

Viserra forced herself to tuck away the tumult of emotions and focus on the woman in front of her. Smiling, she proceeded to tell her of all of their successful endeavors. Aemond listened carefully, refraining from asking any questions at that moment and letting his mother be comforted by all of the good news.

The visible relief on Alicent's face did little to conceal the weariness of the dark circles under her eyes. Viserra couldn't help but notice the familial resemblance again between mother and eldest son. "You must be starved and in need of a bath. I will see that we have both prepared for you immediately."

Her maternal concerns of addressing Viserra's needs put a soft smile to her face. It was endearing, an almost silent acceptance of her presence there as if she was one of her own children.

With Alicent momentarily occupied, Aemond seized the opportunity to break his silence. Greeting her with a smile that attempted to harbor the intensity in his eye, he finally spoke.”It is good to see you.”

“It is good to see you as well,” she replied, feeling the color rush to her cheeks. “Will you be leaving immediately?”

Aemond shook his head. “I will leave this evening.”

They stood in silence in each other's presence for a moment. Viserra did not know why this interaction suddenly seemed so pressured.

“You must be tired,” he assumed. His understanding words showed that he stayed in tune with her. With a nod, she let him take the lead out of the room, following behind him without any hesitation. In the silence of their journey, the weight of their unspoken thoughts lingered in the air between them.

Upon reaching Viserra's rooms, the chambermaids were already at work rushing to fill the tub.

“Do you intend to keep my company?” She asked, sure that she already knew the answer.

“Only if you wish it.” Aemond answered, remaining respectful and considerate. “If you would like the assistance of doffing your armor, I would be happy to do so.”

Grateful for the offer, Viserra nodded, granting him permission to assist her in the process. The room was again filled with silence as she stood there being slowly undressed. In the end, the padded fabric was the only barrier to remain between herself and the room’s cool air.

Sensing the tension, Aemond extended a cup of wine to her, a gesture she had offered to him many times when she had felt his own uneasiness. "To ease your troubles, perhaps?"

She took the wine and thanked him before sitting down on the familiar settee. Settling into the cushions and taking in the familiar sounds and smells of her room was surprisingly relaxing.

“Was it difficult for you to leave him?”

The question seemed to come out of nowhere and she darted her eyes to find his gaze staring intensely at her. It was much more than leaving Aegon that caused her solemn mood, but it would be a lie if she denied it did not play a part in it.

“I worry he will not make the best decisions in my absence,” she replied, knowing her concerns were not unfounded.

“He depends on you quite a lot, don’t you think?” Aemond wasted no time in probing into the very things she did not want to have to discuss.

“Aegon has grown significantly over the last two moons,” she defended. “He will be able to stand on his own eventually, it will just take time.”

Aemond hummed and broke their gaze, watching the chambermaids hurry by while they pretended to not listen in on their conversation. Once the tub was filled, both girls came to stand in attendance to wait for their next task. Viserra stood, looked to the prince, then let the girls lead her to the water. The topic of Aegon's dependence was dropped and a palpable silence settled in the room once more. 

She watched as Aemond excused himself, leaving her in the care of the girls. A faint, unexpected pang of disappointment hit her having hoped that he might find some excuse to stay. The realization struck that she had missed his presence more than she knew.

Elia and Cassella continued to hold the silence, carefully helping Viserra out of her filthy clothing. As soon as she stepped into the hot water, they continued treating her with a gentleness that eased the stress of the day. The fragrant oils let her escape from the matters that she would rush back to as soon as she was done.

Cassella delicately combed through her wet locks as Elia gently washed her body. Viserra closed her eyes, momentarily surrendering to the familiar hands that tended to her. Lost in the warmth, Viserra allowed herself a moment to truly let everything go and forget about the woes of politicking and warfare.

As soon as the water began to chill, Viserra left the bath and brought herself to her wardrobe. Her fingers brushed against an elegant black piece with silver details that adorned the low cut neckline and long, open sleeves. It was a beautiful dress, chosen not just for the comfort of the evening but to possibly catch the gaze of a familiar prince.

Without any delay, the chambermaids helped her slip into the gown, tying it carefully to ensure it lay perfectly against her figure. Their attention then turned to her hair, weaving it into a low bun that added a certain elegance to the overall ensemble.

As she stood before the mirror, she realized how different she looked from just an hour before. The gown draped elegantly off of her body, the silver details shimmering in the soft light of the room. Viserra's eyes met her own in the reflection and the subtle curve of a confident smile played on her lips with satisfaction in her image.

The castle had been quiet that afternoon and she took advantage of the fact that she did not have any duties currently awaiting her. She had spent a long while in the library, something she had not given much time to lately. For just the afternoon, it felt as if the weight of the conflict had momentarily taken a pause.

Viserra had been deeply engaged in the pages of her book when the sudden presence of another snapped her attention upwards. The dowager queen stood before her, fingers quietly fiddling together. The surprise must have been evident in her expression as Alicent flashed her a friendly smile and continued to approach her.

“We have received the ravens, but I did want to hear it from you yourself,” she started. “I have been worried for Aegon since your departure. I presume he has fared well outside of these walls?”

Viserra returned her smile, finding Alicent’s concern for her son somewhat endearing. “He has done well. Ser Criston has ensured his safety and guides him in his decisions there on the battlefield.”

Alicent's expression softened, but a shadow of concern still lingered in her eyes. "That is good to hear. Aemond says he is to leave tonight to join him there. Is there concern of Rhaenyra sending her dragons?" She asked, her voice carrying a mother's apprehension.

Viserra understood the worry, she did not like the thought of them both out in battle without her there. "Aemond is a capable warrior. He will return safely. I can think of no one better to protect the King and ensure they take that castle with minimal bloodshed," she reassured, attempting to ease her concerns.

Alicent nodded as she seemed to force herself into reassurance. "I worry about them both, but I have confidence in Aemond and Ser Criston to keep him safe.”

For a moment, a bout of silence hung in the air.

“I came to extend an offer for you to join us in the dining hall for supper,” Alicent spoke, changing the subject. “If you are tired from your travels and wish to decline, I understand.”

The gesture seemed genuine and was much appreciated. Viserra closed the book with a thud, and brought herself to her feet. “That would be lovely,” she said with a smile.

As they walked through the halls in silence, it seemed as if there had been something left unsaid. Her suspicion came true when only a few paces from the dining hall, Alicent suddenly halted and turned to Viserra with concern once more haunting her eyes.

“I am not entirely sure of the nature of your relationship with Aegon,” she began. “But you seem to draw an eagerness and determination out in him that I have tried and failed to do so for years.”

Viserra opened her mouth to speak, but found it difficult to form the words.

“I do not and will not condone any sins in the eyes of the Seven, but I am...grateful for your influence on him,” she finished, flashing a quick smile before continuing on into the hall.

It took a moment to find her breath and let the meaning of Alicent’s words sink in. She hurried herself in after the dowager queen, entering the room and being greeted by the smell of food and drink. Each step toward the table felt heavy, echoing the gravity of Alicent's confrontation. 

Viserra quickly found herself seated next to Aemond, who had been observing her every move since her entrance. Glancing around, she noted the absence of the Queen, only Helaena's children were present with their nursemaid. It was the most empty she had seen the dining hall since her first arrival.

Aemond caught her gaze for a brief moment, a certain darkness in his eye stirring the heat in her veins. She was quick to keep it hidden, the subtleness of their interaction remaining solely between them. If the dowager queen only had suspicions of Aegon, she would simply come undone with the actual complexities of their entire intertwined relationship.

Dinner was eaten in silence, both women at the table eagerly drinking the wine in front of them. When Viserra had finished, excused herself from her chair and found her way to Jaehaera and Maelor. She had missed the mornings with the children and their mother. Crouching down to their level, she realized there was a sadness in their eyes that should not have been present in children so young. This angered her, driving the desire to protect them from any more harm.

“Can you stay with us tonight?” Jaehera asked, her voice quiet as usual.

“I could take you to the gardens before the sun has completely left the skies,” Viserra replied as she smoothed down the girl’s silver hair. “If that would be alright with your grandmother.”

Jaehaera looked to her Alicent with hopeful excitement. “Can we?”

Her lips pursed in a line as she observed the interaction with a watchful eye. “Bedtime is approaching, Jaehaera. Perhaps tomorrow.”

The subtle wariness towards Viserra interacting with the children bothered her, she had done nothing but prove her loyalty and dedication thus far. “I am sorry, byka mēre. Tomorrow I will take you wherever you’d like after we break our fast.” Little one.

Rising to her feet, Viserra smoothed out her skirts while Jaehaera began to protest Alicent's decision. Seeing his sister's distress, Maelor also joined in with tears. Viserra sympathized with them, sensing their desperation for her attention. Both the protective grandmother and nursemaid quickly tended to them, guiding them away before their upset was too great. Nothing else was addressed as they left the room and Viserra began to wonder exactly how poorly Helaena was doing.

As she turned back towards Aemond, she realized that he was standing only a few paces away. Though he did not divert his eye from hers, he maintained the same intensity he had when she first entered the room.

“I will join you in the gardens,” he spoke, breaking the silence.

It was an offer she would happily agree to. He had meant to leave for Rook’s Rest soon and she wished to enjoy his company until that time came. With a soft smile, she extended her arm towards him and he approached without hesitation, intertwining his arm with hers.

Together, they made their way to the gardens where the setting sun was casting shadows on the shrubbery and winding paths. The evening air there was much more pleasant than in the rest of the Red Keep, the floral scents masking the musk of the crowded city. It wasn’t until she returned that she realized just how much it seemed to stink there.

A gentle breeze blew through the foliage and the slightest goosebumps ran across Viserra’s skin. With each step she couldn’t help but appreciate another moment of peace amid the chaos. Not another person was in sight and they both enjoyed the privacy. As they reached the shaded area of a tree’s overhang, Viserra turned to Aemond and placed a hand on his arm.

“Promise me you will not let Aegon do anything rash once you join him.” She broke the comfortable silence with her words.

Aemond turned and let his hands rest gently on her upper arms. His voice was soft and confident. “You need not worry.”

“And you as well,” she added.

“This will not be the most difficult of battles,” he chuckled. “We will be alright.”

Viserra let the air out of her chest and her features softened. His confidence was not entirely a bad thing, but she did not want them to be blindsided by another attack. No more words were spoken about her concerns as they continued to linger there in the gardens.

The sun had almost dipped behind the horizon as they found their way back into the castle walls. With the exception of a few servants running around, there was an uncomfortable emptiness about the Keep. As they slowly made their way back up the Serpentine Steps, Viserra had half expected to run into at least Alicent, but no one but the guards had been spotted.

The echo of their footsteps followed them through the corridors until they reached the doors of her chambers. The usual guard was not standing post and as they entered, they realized that her chambermaids were also conspicuously absent. The warm glow of candlelight welcomed them in but the room still felt oddly deserted.

Just as Viserra was about to inquire about his intent in leaving, she turned to find Aemond closing the doors behind them. Her lips curled into a faint smile, a wordless invitation that he perceived immediately. As he returned to her, his eye trailed the details of her face.

“When will you leave?” She asked, trying to keep her voice even.

“Soon.” His answer was short but it was all she needed.

Not letting another moment go to waste, Aemond closed the distance between them and encircled her in his arms. She could feel her heart rate begin to beat just a little faster as her body responded to his touch. When she brought her eyes back up to meet his one, she recognized the subtle darkness that seemed to glaze over.

Aemond's touch held a distinct firmness, a stark difference from the affection she had received the past two weeks on the road. Even his hands gripped with a certain possessive that had her melting into him without a second thought. As he pulled her flush against him, he moved his fingers up through the silver strands of her hair. He watched with satisfaction as she seemed to be caught up in the moment, her mind filled with nothing but the current sensations he was eliciting from her. 

Without warning, he tightened his hand in her hair and pulled her head back with gentle tension. With her neck exposed and her mouth left just slightly agape, she welcomed the warm lips that came down to find their place on her pale skin. The way he handled her was intoxicating and it left her unable to do anything but surrender to the need.

Aemond’s mouth moved to her ear with a trail of soft kisses. “I did not enjoy the days here without your presence.” The sultry voice sent a shiver down her spine and he let his free hand venture down the curves of her waist until it met the roundness of her bottom. He gave a firm squeeze, causing a small gasp to leave her lips.

The grip on Viserra’s hair loosened and she felt two careful hands begin to work at the laces on the back of her dress. As soon as she felt the fabric loosen she pushed his hands away from her body, asmirk playing on her lips as she watched for his reaction.

Aemond paused for a moment, deciphering her behavior and the playful expression on her face. She began to back away from him, fingers hooking on the neckline of the dress and tugging it down over her shoulders. As more and more of her pale skin was exposed she watched as his eye seemed to hungrily anticipate the next moment.

The sight of her slowly undressing and furthering herself away from him was more than enough to ignite the fire in his blood. He focused on his breathing while following her as she continued to distance herself from him. Aemond had also missed her more than he thought, the realization happening as he drank in her exposed skin with his gaze.

Watching as she finally slipped her arms from the dress, the fabric briefly caught on her hips before falling to her feet on the floor. He took a moment to appreciate the woman standing before him. The fact that she bore soft and delicious curves yet was still so agile and strong when wielding the sword completely fascinated him.

Viserra did not attempt to back away from him as he came to her once more. Once she was within arms reach, he brought his hand to trace a line down her arm, the swell of her breast, and then down the curve of her waist. His touch ignited her skin, the heat welcoming on her body. Slowly, his other hand moved to her face, thumb brushing against her bottom lip. The gesture was surprisingly tender and gentle, something that did not match the fire that was burning in his eye.

Curling her fingers around his wrist, Viserra guided his hand down from her face to her breast. She watched as his eye darkened and he now brought his focus down to her chest. He felt her hardened nipple beneath his palm, the sensation causing the breath to hitch in his chest. He let his fingers come around and find their place to play there.

It was now Aemond who began to guide her backwards once more. A small gasp left her lips as she felt her back touch the cool stone of the wall. “Is this a game to you?” He asked, his pupil dilated and fixed on her own eyes.

He quickly had her pressed firmly against the cold wall, his tall, lean body caging her in. Aemond did not break their gaze as his hands found hers and he pinned them above her head. As his hard body pressed against hers, Viserra could feel herself unraveling.

“Not at all,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

His grip on her hands tightened as he finally claimed her mouth with his. The motion was intense and desperate, leaving her breathless. His tongue explored her mouth, drawing soft moans as he continued to deepen the kiss with each second. Viserra knew he was scraping for control, and although he didn’t seem to realize it, she did not have any reservations in giving it to him.

Pulling his lips from hers, Aemond continued on leaving sharp kisses down the side of her neck. He released her hands, bringing his attention down the rest of her body. Impatiently, Viserra responded by attempting to remove each piece of clothing that was blocking her from feeling his skin against hers. Once she was finally successful, he continued his attention on her.

Aemond’s hands and lips worked their way down her torso, eventually moving himself down to kneel before her. The sight of him in such a position made her heart skip a beat. He brought his hands to her thighs, fingers gripping firmly on the soft flesh. Carefully, he moved her legs just slightly apart, leaning in to press a soft kiss on the inside of her thigh.

The sensation made it hard to catch her breath. The kisses continued closer and closer until Aemond’s mouth was only a breath away from her core. He looked up to her, his eye still dark and filled with desire. Her delicate fingers made their way to the only thing hiding the rest of him from her and she removed the eyepatch swiftly yet carefully.

The reminder that she appreciated him despite his flaws eliminated any chance of him remaining in control. Aemond’s fingers made their way to part her folds and he brought his mouth down to her cunt. The action ripped a moan from her lips and she pushed her hips towards him instinctively.

The sounds that came from her only fueled him further. Aemond continued his tongue with quick, teasing pressure. As he felt her legs begin to tremble, he inserted his fingers into her, working her both inside and out. Viserra brought one of her hands to his hair, tangling her fingers in the strands and she guided him to where she needed him most. Her moans grew louder, music to his ears, and he found himself needing more.

Aemond paid close attention to how her body responded. As her muscles tightened around his fingers, he knew that she was where he wanted her to be. He continued his pace, his tongue hitting just the right spots, her pleasure driving him to work her harder. Finally, the coil in her belly seemed like it could not wind any further. Her grip on his hair tightened as she arched her body off the wall. In that moment, her climax washed over her and she suddenly felt his weight supporting her.

Once he was sure she was finished, Aemond pulled his mouth from her and brought himself to his feet. He took a moment to admire her nakedness, her chest heaving with each breath and he found he was aching to completely take her.

Taking care to guide her in her daze, he brought Viserra to the bed. As he gently laid her on her back, he climbed up and over to hover just above her body. His lips met hers once more and the sensation pulled her back to reality. She consciously wrapped her arms around him, running her hands down his back while feeling the muscles rippling beneath her touch.

Aemond deepened the kiss and she suddenly felt his hardness pressing against her. Digging her nails into his skin, she felt him nudge her thigh aside and suddenly push himself into her. Viserra let out something between a gasp and a moan as she felt him stretch her in the sudden motion.

Only giving her a moment to adjust, his thrusts began slow and deep. He felt her tighten around him in response each time he buried himself within her. The sounds coming from her mouth were enough to push him faster and harder but he also realized he needed to focus on not letting himself go too soon.

Aemond’s elbows settled on either side of her head as he let them take the majority of his weight. The sight, feel, and sound of her, was almost too much. He silenced her moans as his mouth came down to meet hers almost instinctively. It took everything in him to remain in control as he felt her nails dig into his back at the same time she eagerly reciprocated the kiss.

As soon as her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in deeper, he realized he could not hold on much longer. To his relief, the change in angle and depth sent her rolling into another climax. His own movements became slightly more erratic and he tumbled into his release, body shaking as he emptied himself within her.

Flushed and sweaty, Aemond let his body fall limp on top of hers. The heavy panting of their breath being the only sound heard in the room. Eventually, he pulled off and out of her, finding his place sitting on the side of the bed. Viserra moved herself to join him, resting her head on his shoulder with no intention of breaking their silence.

After a few moments, Aemond turned to her and placed a kiss to the top of her head. She closed her eyes and sat there, simmering in his body heat and the lingering euphoria from their coupling.

“When will you go?” She asked, knowing his departure would be sooner than she hoped.

“After I take my leave here,” he replied, his voice not revealing any resignation. He looked down, his gaze softening as he took in her disheveled appearance. Reaching out, he gently brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen across her face. As she leaned into the gesture, Aemond ran his finger over her cheek, his touch gentle yet somehow still possessive.

He could tell there were many unspoken words being held back at that moment, but he did not push for her to divulge them. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent and enjoying the intimacy of their interaction.

“I will send a raven if there is any need for you,” he continued. “You will do the same if anything amiss presents itself. It is imperative that you stay alert and focused here in the Keep. We do not know the Black’s next move.”

Viserra sighed and leaned her temple against his. “Of course.”

For just a minute longer, neither of them moved, not wanting to pull away from the other. But it was Aemond who broke the silence this time. “I must go.”

She nodded, her head still resting against his. He lingered for a moment before standing from the bed, redressing in silence as she watched his every move.

As he made his way to the door, he turned to her once more, his gaze lingering on her still naked form. “We will return soon, with good news of Rook’s Rest within our grasp.”

She only nodded, a small smile playing on her lips to hide the worry. And with that, he was gone.

Author's Note: Merry Christmas! Here is a present for you all. A little Aemond goodness and an outfit inspo that I have ben wanting to use since I pinned it to my Pinterest board!

[bitchfromtheseventhhell]

“My dear, it has been far too long.”

Mysaria’s eyes narrowed when she saw him.  He supposed he couldn’t blame her for that.  He usually deserved it when people narrowed their eyes, and Mysaria wasn’t most people.  He wasn’t entirely sure that she had forgiven him for lying about marrying and impregnating her, but that hadn’t stopped her from housing him or helping him in times of need.

More reliable than Viserys ever was.  When he turned to Mysaria, no matter what her personal opinions of him, Daemon could be confident she would have his back.  Things with Viserys had never been that way.  

He could still hear it, his brother’s last breath in his ears.

Read more of THE PRINCE AND THE QUEEN on AO3

In the hour of the wolf, King Viserys I Targaryen breathed his last breath with only one person there to hear it: his estranged brother, there to give him comfort in his final hours. From there, Prince Daemon sprang into action to preserve the peace his brother so desired upon his death and protect the throne that rightfully belonged to his wife.

Prologue |Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | …