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in-a-mountain-pool · 1 year ago

Text

The Boy Who Swallowed a Dragon's Fire

Aemond Targaryen x Original Character (Reader)

pronouns: She/her (afab)

rating: T

warnings: So fluffy it made me feel sick~

word count: 4500+

summary: Interesting things did seem to happen, but always to somebody else. This is, until the night of the hunt to celebrate your younger sister's marriage to her Lannister lion of a husband.

"You live inside my memories, you live forever into the melody of a brook, in the colour of this sky, in the fragrance of flowers."

The Promise of the World

authors note: I have returned from my holibobs! I've been listening to Joe Hisaishi for weeks as I've been lucky enough to get tickets to see him in London! I couldn't stop thinking about Aemond whenever I heard "A Walk in the Skies" from Howl's Moving Castle, and suddenly this little plot bunny formed. As always, likes, comments and reblogs are not a requirement, but lovely to return to. Huge thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs and @bottlesandbarricades for reading over this!

You had always hated the hunt.

Even more so the feasts afterwards and the raucous way the men would stomp around in all their armour and grandeur, proud to be covered in the blood of whatever poor animal they'd had the dumb luck to stumble upon in the woods.

The grounds of the Eyrie were covered in a rainbow patchwork of tents of all shapes and sizes. From the sky blue and silver colours of your own family to the deep black and red hues of the house of the dragon; anyone who was anyone was in attendance for this summer's eve. Smoke and the smells of spoils of barbecued boar and deer filled the air, spilt wine and blood-soaked deep into the ground beneath their feet.

And all of this, was to celebrate the wedding of your younger sister, the Lady Myranda Arryn, to her golden Lannister Lion of a husband.

You were the second daughter of the Lord of the Vale, and much to your parent’s despair, the only remaining daughter unmarried; the Lady Robyn Arryn. You had been overlooked almost all of your life, the short one with mousy brown hair and a face you had been told was 'fair but plain' on more than one occasion. When you had been lined up to greet the crowds of prospective Lord's your father had hoped to wed you to, yours was a face they often forgot.

Whilst your sisters had spent their opening seasons being dragged onto the dance floors of halls all over Westeros, you had often remained on the sidelines, slipping out as early as possible to peruse the vast libraries of the great houses you had been so lucky to visit. You still remembered the day you visited the libraries of the Red Keep after the wedding of King Viserys and Alicent Hightower. Even at the innocent age of five it had left a great impression on your mind and soul.

Ever since, your heart had ached to read every book you could get your hands on, to visit the great citadel at Hightower and to seek out the secrets of the magical world around you. The smell of an old library full of scrolls and parchment was your idea of home, of heaven… yet here you were sitting in a muggy tent at an ungodly hour, pretending to seem impressed when your new golden-haired brother-in-law brandishes the pike he'd used to gut the very boar you were eating.

You can hardly hide the distaste on your face as he shoves the pike into his squire’s hands and takes a long swig from an obnoxiously large tankard of ale, with a bejewelled lions head on the side, before pulling your sister onto his lap to stick his tongue down her throat.

With a snivelling sneer he proclaimed out loud, "I do not know what a finer conquest is, the boar I stuck this morn, or the falcon I'm going to stick tonight!"

The room explodes with the sounds of the laughter of drunken men, slamming their glasses on tables and cheering on the young lion who currently had his hand up your younger sister’s skirt.

You could hardly stand it, the disrespect, the brazen attitude of it all. Memories of your sister's childhood rush through your mind, her love of the great romantic knights, tales of gentle touches, roses and chivalry… none of which were present in this tent, at this lavish wedding party. Bile raised in your throat as a deep-seated anger filled your body, and you stand up suddenly to speak, the throw pillows underneath you falling to the ground.

Before you can spit out your vitriol, you feel a large hand on your shoulder. It was your father. He pulls you to the side pressing a goblet of wine into your hands, whispering harshly to you over bards playing the Rains of Castamere. You swore they'd already played it at least five times this eve.

"Robyn. You will do well to remember yourself. The Lannisters are family now. You should be proud of your young sister. Tis’ a good match."

You barely get to open your mouth in protest when you notice your father’s eyes flash to someone across the room, and before you know it, his hand is pressed to your back, guiding you towards a crooked old man who must have been at least twice your age.

"Lord Royce! Have you met my fair Daughter, Lady Robyn?"

Lord Royce looks you up and down with a disgusting glint in his eye, licking his lips to catch the wine he'd almost poured down his chin just a second before. You see he has a few teeth missing, and a slight shaking in the hand clutching at his wine.

"I do believe we have; I was present at her christening in the Sept of Baelor. My, how she has grown. A Lady now indeed." He drawls, slurring his words.

Your father gives him a tight smile and gestures between you both drunkenly, before shooting you a glare and all but shoving you towards the older man, "Well then, you will have much to talk about and catch up on! Mayhap a dance on this joyous of occasions?"

"Father, I-" There was no time to express your displeasure, for Lord Royce had already dragged you to the centre of the tent, his gnarled hand wrapped around yours in a vice grip and his ringed fingers digging into your skin painfully. He spun you around in time with the other dancers, his hand lingering on your waist for all too longer than necessary at every opportunity. The smell of his breath was pungent and rotten as he leaned forward to whisper into your ear.

"To think I have not laid eyes on you since you were a babe." Lord Royce's hand slips down your waist to your hip and further still to squeeze at the soft swell of your behind with a wicked chuckle. "You are a babe no longer it seems…"

A soft yelp escapes your throat, your eyes wide with shock and fear. No one had even noticed you shriek, the music too loud, the flow of wine too heady, the heat of the night all too great. You wretch your body away from him in distaste.

"My Lord, forgive me but you forget your manners! Touch me again and I will summon my sword."

A cruel grin spreads across his face, his missing teeth giving a lispy rasp to his voice as he suppresses his own laughter. "It makes no difference to me, I am afraid. Your sword is soon to be my sword, my dear. Tis' already decided. We had best practice our dances, for soon we will be dancing at our very own wedding feast."

A cold chill runs down your spine as the reality of the situation hits you like a bucket of ice-cold water. Father planned to marry you to Lord Royce. He needed to secure his Bannerman. You were the last unmarried daughter. It was two birds with one stone.

You stumble backwards, almost tripping on a discarded tankard on the floor of the tent, shaking your head over and over. It couldn't be true. Surely Father wouldn't be so heartless? Your vision tunnels as your feet carry you away hastily out of the tent and into the humid summer air, all to the sound of Lord Royce's cruel laughter.

Your slippered feet ache as you run away, disoriented and panting, tears streaming down your face. Shakily you grab a black discarded cape hung on the back of a chair, shrouding yourself and running as fast as you can through the hunt.

Colours of the great houses flash you by, the white falcon, the rich gold and reds of the lion, the silver wolf, all passing over you in a blur… and when you finally stop, you've ran so far you had hardly noticed the colours had turned black as night, with the blood red sigil of the three-headed dragon flying lazily upon banners in the dull summer's breeze.

You were no longer in the Lion's den; you'd wandered somewhere far more frightening… straight into the Dragon's hoard. Only your father, sister and her new husband had been allowed into the royal tents, to present themselves to the good King Viserys. If they caught you here alone and unchaperoned your reputation would be ruined.

With shaking hands, you wrap the dirty cloak around your shoulders tighter to hide the rich azure blue of your dress, as you creep away from the large tents and towards the woods at the outskirts of the camp. It was either you brave the dangers of the wood for the night, or return to the clutches of Lord Royce.

With a heavy heart you plunge deeper into the darkness of the woods. Settling upon a tree stump beside a small creek, your gaze falls upon your once silver slippers, now ruined and caked in mud. There was once a time when you would have cared about such a thing, but now all you could feel was numbness in your soul which made your whole body cold. Your hands were tied and there was nowhere to run. Life was not a beautiful song, or a romantic tale of heroes and great loves. You break into a sob, burying your face into your hands, heaving breaths leaving your chest.

You had done well to get away without an arranged marriage for this long. At the age of twenty-five you had come to be considered an old maid amongst the court. Now, gone was the age of innocence, and the dreams that you might one day experience true love.

*Crack*

The silence of the wood and the night air was broken by the snapping of twigs underfoot, as slowly from the distance two figures emerged from the brush. Your body freezes as you see the sigil on their breastplates. A shower of pebbles upon an orange square. It was two knights sworn to the House Royce. They saunter over to you smirking, as you scurry off the stump to lean against a great oak trunk protectively. The larger of the two men places his hand to lean just above your head, peering down at you with a smirk.

"Looks like a little falcon chick has lost her way."

You shake your head nervously, paling as you realise that you are so deep into the woods that no one would hear you scream. No matter how hard you try.

"No- No, I'm not lost. I-"

They share a look between them, reeking of ale and blood.

"I think this little falcon chick looks thirsty. I think we should take her for a cup of ale, don't you? Lord Royce wouldn't mind."

His eyes flicker to yours with a glassy look, he was drunk, they both were. And you'd heard stories of what drunk men like him did to women like you.

"No, no thank you. My sister will be expecting me."

They lean closer still, the smaller one getting so close you can feel the heat of his body towering over you.

"She's pretty cute for a little falcon chick. How old are you, anyway? You live up in the big castle, dontcha?" He tries to grab at your wrist, but you wrestle it away violently.

"Leave me alone!"

The taller man chuckled darkly, shooting a derisive look at the shorter knight, "You see? Your big old beard always scares off the pretty girls."

"So? I'd say she's even cuter when she's scared, don't you think?"

You decide your only chance is to run. You'd never outrun them, but you had to try. Blood starts pumping through your veins, the adrenaline hitting you as you get ready to sprint, but as soon as you try to retreat away your back hits something hard and warm… and a slender hand places itself gently on your shoulder.

A deep voice speaks down into your ear, tickling warmly at the soft skin of your neck.

"There you are sweetheart, sorry I'm late. I was looking everywhere for you."

The two men stand up straighter ready to fight with their hands upon the hilts of their broadswords.

"Hey- can you not see that we're busy here? Lord Royce wants her back in one piece."

The cloaked man behind you grips your shoulder tighter still, almost protectively. The only part of him visible to you is the curling of his lips, which seemed to twitch at the knight's words uneasily. The deep voice behind you lets out a dark chuckle before he brandishes a large sword with a black hilt, shining in the moonlight… Valyrian steel.

"Are you really? It looked to me that the two of you were just leaving."

At the sight of Valyrian steel the two men cower and shift themselves quickly, bowing at the mystery man and sprinting off into the dark of the wood. Slowly the tall man takes down his hood, and the first thing that strikes you is the glinting of long silver hair in the moonlight… and a single lilac eye searching yours.

It was him, Prince Aemond Targaryen. Aemond One-Eye.

He reaches up ever so gently to take down the hood of your dirtied cloak, his finger brushing your cheek tentatively as he does so before he takes your hand in his and bows down to kiss the back of it with the ghost of a touch of his lips.

"Lady Robyn Arryn. My apologies for not finding you sooner. Where to? I will be your escort this evening."

Words fail you as he continues to hold your hand in his like it was made of porcelain. He almost has to bend down to speak to you he was so tall and imposing, yet there's a deep kindness in his eye that has you transfixed. You'd never met him, but you'd heard the stories. He was quiet and cruel. Studious. A loner through and through. And a demon with a sword.

"Prince Aemond- I-" you try to courtesy, but he continues to hold your hand firmly, shaking his head and chuckling.

"That won't be necessary. Now tell me, where do you wish to go? You must be desperate to brave the woods all on your own." He almost whispers as he speaks, his words delicate and falling off his tongue like the sweetest honey.

You decide to tell the truth, you had no choice, he was the prince, and… he was startlingly handsome in a way that made your chest ache and your fingers itch.

"Please, my Prince, if you would escort me home? I- I cannot go back to the camp. I must not. My father- the Lord of the Vale, he wishes to marry me to Lord Royce the Elder and-"

Suddenly he lifts his hand to quiet you and surveys your surroundings, his sharp jawline prominent and strong against the night. He drops your hand in favour of wrapping his arm protectively around your shoulders, cradling you to his side and walking you both swiftly forward, as his silver hair tickles you at the collar of your low-cut dress.

"Don't be alarmed, but we’re being followed by more of his men. Just act normal."

Aemond is so close you can smell him. He was still wearing his riding leathers from the hunt, smelling like sweat, ash and the damp night air in a way that was all too intoxicating. There's something else there too, something smoky that you can't quite put your finger on. Aemond's touch was different from any other man that had placed their hands on you. He felt safe, warm, inviting and oh so protective of you.

You steal a look at his face in the moonlight as you walk and find he's far more beautiful than the stories give him credit for. It was true what they said that Targaryen's were closer to gods than men, for the beautiful creature next to you could hardly even be human. His profile was enough to make you ache with desire in a way no man had ever produced in you.

*Snap*

Another twig cracked underfoot. Aemond's face dipped down once again close to yours to whisper into your ear, watching your face carefully.

"More of Royce's men. It would appear I am to become involved in a scandal." Aemond sighs and growls slightly in annoyance. His hand releases your shoulder and slides down, enveloping your own in a strong grip. "Now, when I say run, run, ok?"

Further twigs start to snap underfoot behind you, the sound of chainmail in the distance now impossible to ignore.

"This way. Run!" He whispers, pulling you along with him.

His long legs pelt into the ground, his cloak billowing behind him, and his silver hair shining like starlight under the full moon. It's a challenge keeping up with him, his legs are so much longer than yours, but he never let's go for even a moment. All of a sudden you're pulled into a large opening in the woods and a strange burning smell fills your nose… as you’re brought face to face with the largest dragon in the world. Vhagar.

“Wha- Prince Aemond!? What are you suggesting? You can’t be serious!” Your feet dig into the ground as you pull against him, but this only makes him grin wider and chuckle darkly. The rational part of your brain tells you he’s insane, that the stories were indeed true and that you should scream… but then a flicker of wonder appeared in your mind, the very same flicker you felt when you stood in the library in the Red Keep all those years ago.

There in front of you in the flesh was a real dragon, over 150 years old. And beside her, a silver-haired, Targaryen prince. This is it; you think to yourself. All those books you had read, all those stories of old, stories of good triumphing over evil… here was your chance to live it.

“Oh, I’m deadly serious. You do want to go home, do you not? The Eyrie is situated on the top of a mountain, as I recall. Vhagar and I can have you home and in bed safe and sound in mere moments...” He teases excitedly, before his voice and face drops to a more serious and soft tone, his long index finger coming up to raise your chin to look him directly into his eye.

“… Can you trust me?”

The sounds of shouting and swords leaving their hilts echo behind you. Your eyes shift from his striking face down to his hand as he reaches it out to you invitingly. Inhaling a deep breath and closing your eyes for a moment, you utter out an answer grasping his hand in yours.

“Yes. I trust you.”

A small smile you almost miss etches itself onto his face before he leads you swiftly over to the old dragon, pulling on a large black leather coat and passing you his dark hooded cloak.

“You will need the extra layer, my Lady. Now... May I lift you? You will need to climb up to the saddle, and I fear we do not have much time.”

A deep pink blush covers your cheeks at the thought of his strong arms carrying you. There is barely any time to squeak out a small ‘yes’ before Aemond is grasping you at the waist and thrusting you up onto the ropes leading up to Vhagar’s saddle. His hands are so large on your body that they almost encompass your middle section completely. Aemond follows closely behind, catching you a few times to steady you as your foot misses the gaps in the ropes clumsily.

You pull yourself up with a strength you never knew you had, settling into the saddle nervously. You could feel Vhagar breathing underneath you, feel her stretching out at the command of Aemond who was shouting out words in a tongue you’d never heard before. Of course… he was speaking High Valyrian.

“Rȳbagon naejot nyke, Vhagar. Heed ñuha udra.” Ready yourself, Vhagar. Heed my words.

Aemond all but jumps up to the saddle, and with a heavy thud he settles himself behind you. When he scoots forwards to grab at the chains hanging at your side, an even deeper blush covers your face and neck, heat pooling in your stomach. The hard plane of his chest presses against your back, the top of his thighs nudging the underside of your own, now bare as you straddle the seat.

“My apologies, Lady Robyn, but I must strap us to the saddle, and you to me lest we fall.” He laughs softly as he feels you tense against him in fear. “But we won’t, I promise you. I’d never let any harm come to you.”

With deft hands he ties the chains across your lap and his, wrapping a rope around your waist to secure you to him. All at once it hits you just how crazy the situation had become.

“Prince Aemond… I’m frightened! Please, let me off! I can’t do this!”

Aemond leans forward to grab for the reins, his arms tight either side of you, and his chin just above your ear. With hushed tones, he stops you, whispering into your ear.

“Yes. Yes, you can. You are of the Vale. You are of the sky. You and I are made of the same… We own the skies, little Falcon.”

Determination fills you, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You had to do whatever it takes. You would make your own destiny. You would make it out of here. You place your hands on the reigns next to his, so small and delicate next to his large strong fists.

“That’s my girl…” He murmurs, and you swear you can feel the crinkle of his smile against your hair before he shouts out to Vhagar.

“Vhagar, ñuha jorrāelagon, urnēptre īlva se nūmāzma hen speed!” Vhagar, my love, show us the meaning of speed!

Aemond places his hand over yours suddenly on the rope, making your heart surge.

“Hold on!”

With a deep rumble, the ground shakes, it feels like the Earth is turning when Vhagar moves to stand on her haunches. Already you are above the trees, and she had not even taken off yet. Vhagar lets out a deep roar stretching her neck into the sky, the screams of Lord Royce’s men in the woods beneath echoing around her as they scramble to run away. She stretches out her wings beating them and like a hurricane they ascend into the night sky.

The forests fade beneath you, deep greens become soft pillowy whites as you soar into the clouds together. After a short while Vhagar’s wings extend, bringing you to a slow glide just above the clouds.

“Now, straighten your posture against me… and see, you’re flying!”

A rich and infectious laugh leaves his throat as the wind surrounds you. The careful pins and ties in your hair are long forgotten, your hair now cascading behind you, flying free.

You can’t help it, you’re not sure if it’s the euphoria of the dragon flight, the drama of the night, or the way Aemond had wrapped himself around you so, but soon you’re laughing with him, exclaiming out loud in a way that was hardly lady-like.

“See? My dear, you are a natural!”

“Prince Aemond, this is incredible! Vhagar, she is magnificent!”

“Se dōna riña thinks iksā gevie, Vhagar!” The sweet girl thinks you are beautiful, Vhagar! Aemond releases a deep belly laugh, slapping the side of Vhagar’s neck fondly.

With a shaking roar, a shooting of flames and sparks spit from Vhagar’s mouth.

He cranes his neck to look at you closely, a warm smile gracing his cat-like lips. “I think she likes you, Lady Robyn! Why don’t you tell her yourself!”

“I am thoroughly impressed, Vhagar! You are a first-class dragon; I adore your spark!” You shout to the ancient dragon as loud as you can against the rushing winds, almost as if you were praising a rather large scaly cat. The rumble that leaves her jaws sounds like a purr, almost the same way her master was chuckling behind you.

Beneath you the clouds become a mismatch of greens and multicoloured tents as you approach the grounds of the Eyrie. From up here you could see the ancient castle in all its beauty. Situated in the Mountains of the Moon and surrounded by cotton clouds, at this height it almost seemed small, like a child’s playset. The waterfall, Alyssa’s tears cascaded down the side of the Giant’s Lance, reflecting off the marble walls of High Hall.

“It’s beautiful… It’s gorgeous, Aemond! It’s like a dream…” For the first time in years, you feel truly alive, and it’s all because of him.

With a whoosh of her wings, Vhagar descends towards the castle and the Maiden’s Tower and it hits you that Aemond really meant what he’d said about having you home and in bed before you knew it.

“Prince Aemond… You’re not- You don’t expect me to climb through the window?!”

A snickering laugh escapes him as he presses his head against yours. You swear for a moment you can feel him smelling your hair, the thought making your thighs clench.

“Of course not. I intend to carry you through the window.”

“What?!” You utter before he shouts over your protests to his Dragon.

“Konīr Vhagar, tegun īlva!” There Vhagar! Land us.

Vhagar’s wings billow out behind her, as she hovers down, clutching to the mountainside and the tower, bringing you level with the balcony of your chambers.

Quietly and ever so gently, he undoes the chains around you both, and the soft rope securing you to his front. Aemond swings his legs to the side, and clambers down the ropes at Vhagar’s large neck. There’s a confident look in his eyes and a glint of warmth as he reaches his arms out towards you, one leg propped up onto the edge of the balcony.

“Come down with me… I promise I’ll catch you. Vhagar already loves you, she’ll be still.”

You take a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling before you climb down slowly and turn to face the Prince. His words from earlier echo in your mind… Trust me.

And you did. Without any hesitation you jump from the ropes and into the warm, strong arms of Aemond Targaryen. He cradles you to him in a bridal carry, strong legs pushing you forward through the balcony doors to place you down softly on the chaise lounge next to your fireplace.

A thousand thoughts run through your head as he lingers closely to you, laying you down gently. Aemond’s lilac eye searches yours intensely, his hand still resting beneath your neck, caressing the soft hairs at the nape.

“My lady… Robyn… you were spectacular tonight,” He swallows softly as his gaze slides down to your slim neck and collarbones, whispering your house words to himself as much as you in wonder, “As High as Honor.”

Slowly, he leans forward, staring at your bottom lip passionately. Your eyes flutter shut, your eyelashes batting against your cheek. With a gentle caress of your hair, he presses the tenderest of kisses, the only kiss you’d ever had, to your lips.

It lasted but a moment, but you knew it would stay with you forever.

Aemond pulls away gingerly, his silver hair tickling your chest. Like a knight from a storybook, he stands up tall and bows, taking your hand in his to kiss at the back of it with unearthly grace.

“… My lady, do not leave your room, keep the door locked… I will return to you soon.”

He moves to leave quickly, the sound of Vhagar rumbling outside the balcony doors. Before he can clamber over the side of the fencing you find the courage to stop him, calling from your room.

“Aemond! Aemond wait… Where are you going?”

With a flick of his silver hair, he throws a radiant smile to you over his shoulder, his lilac eye shining in the moonlight.

“To see my father. You will not be wed to Lord Royce… And I plan to fly with you till the end of my days.”

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #howl's moving castle #hotd fanfiction #aemond one eye #fics by me

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