#aegon enabler
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She crazy
She like me fr smh đ
"She needs more wine, if anything." Aegon tipped the pitcher, refilling your cup to the brim. You beamed at him.
This enabler really pushing the alcoholism gene
"She really is a woman after my own heart." Aegon watched you fondly. "Too bad she's wed to the dullest of us."
đ¤¨đ¤¨đ¤¨đ¤¨đ¤¨đ¤¨đ¤¨ if she literally wed you ur kids would be lightweight alcoholics aegon go to bed
Aemond shifted beside you as though he meant to rise but you beat him to it. You pressed your palms against the table, rising unsteadily from your seat, pointing an accusing finger at where you thought Aegon's face was. "Aemond is the best of you. Especially you." Your words were biting, though a bit slurred. "Especially you, Aegnut." You hiccupped squeakily.
THATS RIGHT AEGNUT ONLY SHE AND I CAN BULLY OUR JOINT ENTITY HUSBAND
"She really can't hold her liquor, can she?" Otto intoned. Alicent shushed him quietly.
????? Are you annoying stupid and blind sir
You had leaned forward, pressing a sloppy kiss to Aemond's mouth. Your husband supported you by the waist before you fell fully into his chest. He kissed you back but pulled away a moment later, grimacing. "You really are a lightweight." There was a look of amusement on his angular face. "I thought Helaena was bad."
im luv u but dont you ever think of ever saying any semblance of slander to helaena you RAT
"From tonight you are." Aemond nuzzled his nose against your hair, his lips tickling your ear. "We will just have to double down on making that a reality." He guided the water glass to your parted lips. "For now, focus on drinking more water. A lot more water."
Y/n: i'm glad that the strong boys are dining with us tonight
Literally every single soul at the dinner table: đłđđ đđ
Aemond, panics: i have an announcement- we're pregnant
Y/n: we are?
I found the perfect prompt for another drunk drabble haha
Aemond x tipsy!wife | just go with it Y/N
"Y/N, slow down on the wine." Aemond placed a hand atop yours as you reached for you goblet.
"Aemond..." You whined, drawing the looks of Otto and Helaena who sat nearest you. Otto raised a bushy eyebrow.
"She needs more wine, if anything." Aegon tipped the pitcher, refilling your cup to the brim. You beamed at him.
Shooing away Aemond's hand you brought the full goblet to your lips, observing the rest of the gathering over the brim. Rhaenyra and her family sat at the far end of the table with Alicent and her family at the other.
You couldn't make out who was who amongst Aemond's nephews, their dark hair and pale faces were sort of blurred, even when you squinted at them.
You took another sip of wine.
"She really is a woman after my own heart." Aegon watched you fondly. "Too bad she's wed to the dullest of us."
Aemond shifted beside you as though he meant to rise but you beat him to it. You pressed your palms against the table, rising unsteadily from your seat, pointing an accusing finger at where you thought Aegon's face was. "Aemond is the best of you. Especially you." Your words were biting, though a bit slurred. "Especially you, Aegnut." You hiccupped squeakily.
Alicent motioned to Aemond to help you resume your seat and you felt a gentle pressure on your shoulders as Aemond coaxed you back down. Your finger remained pointing at Aegon as you sank into your chair, Helaena helpfully took your hand and interlaced her fingers with your own atop the dining table.
"She really can't hold her liquor, can she?" Otto intoned. Alicent shushed him quietly.
Aemond's long fingers tapped the wood on which they lay, his attention evidently elsewhere. You snuck a glance, the room spinning unpleasantly as you turned your head to him. His lilac eye was fixated toward the other end of the long table. His lush lips were pursed with displeasure. His lovely, curved lips. The very ones you craved at all times be upon your person.
You had leaned forward, pressing a sloppy kiss to Aemond's mouth. Your husband supported you by the waist before you fell fully into his chest. He kissed you back but pulled away a moment later, grimacing. "You really are a lightweight." There was a look of amusement on his angular face. "I thought Helaena was bad."
"Alcohol doesn't like me very much, nor I it." Helaena agreed from her seat beside you. You made the mistake of looking at her, turning too quickly and almost toppling off your seat. Again, Aemond's grip on your waist saved you.
"Fetch some water." Alicent clapped, the sound oddly loud in your ears, and a servant delivered you a fresh glass of cool water. "Aemond, look after your wife, not your nephews." She whispered sharply to her son. Aemond's hand on you tightened momentarily.
"I am very glad everyone was able to make it today!" You said cheerily, restraining Aemond's wrist as he tried to lift the cup of water to your lips. "Maybe the Strong boys will compete in the tournament on the morrow too?" You giggled, unaware of the sudden shift in atmosphere. "Since you are too proud to compete Aemond, and Aegon far too unskilled, someone has to."
Silence fell. No one laughed or engaged in the conversation you'd just broached which was rather rude, you deemed. You pouted, trying unsuccessfully to see the faces staring at you from the far end of the room.
Even King Viserys seemed suddenly upset. He moved as though to stand.
"I would like to make a toast!" Aemond stood fluidly, his arm outstretched with goblet in-hand. "An announcement, as it were. Y/N is with child!"
"I am?"
His foot connected with your shin under the table.
"Ouch!"
"Here, here!" Aegon jumped in, raising his own cup. "To furthering the Targaryen line!" He banged his hand on the table causing both you and Helaena to wince.
Otto and Alicent were quick to pick up on Aemond's cue, rising from their own chairs and toasting. Rhaenyra was next and suddenly the tension in the dining hall evaporated as quickly as it had come. Viserys, though still distant, nodded and drank to you and your child's health.
Throughout all of this merriment you sat stupefied in your seat, trying to remember exactly when you had discovered your pregnancy. Your brow was furrowed in contemplation, you didn't notice when Aemond resumed his place and pulled your chair closer with a mild noise of wood scraping stone. His large hand found the curve of your waist again and you felt his warm body pressing against your side.
He kissed the side of your head, whispering into your ear. "Do not speak of the Velaryon boys as Strongs in the presence of Viserys. I don't care how drunk you are, you put yourself in unnecessary danger."
"But that's what you call them." You had the good sense to whisper back. "That's what they are, Aemond." Your brain cogs turned for a long moment. "Also, I'm pretty sure I am not with child."
"From tonight you are." Aemond nuzzled his nose against your hair, his lips tickling your ear. "We will just have to double down on making that a reality." He guided the water glass to your parted lips. "For now, focus on drinking more water. A lot more water."
"But I'm not-"
Your next words were completely forgotten as Aemond nipped at your ear, kissing the sensitive skin behind it. Still confused, but content and warm, you obediently drank the water he proffered.
Only later when you had sobered, around the aching headache, did you realize the peril you had been in and how Aemond's quick intervention had saved you from the King's wrath.
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Otto: Yesterday, I overheard Aegon saying âare you sure this is a good idea?â and Sir Criston replying âtrust me,â and I have never moved from one room to another so quickly in my life
#incorrect quotes#like aegon and cole are literally the embodiment of dumb and dumber#they enable eachother#otto realising he should be rooting for Rhae Rhae#incorrect hotd quotes#hotd s2#hotd#house of the dragon s 2#house of the dragon season 2#house of the dragon#otto hightower#criston cole#aegon ii targaryen#got
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leave a ⥠to be considered a main && possibly recieve a message to plot / discuss a bond. mutuals only. multis please specify which muse of yours it is from.
#please note that this does not mean exclusives#i don't care if you write w other aegons this will only enable me to bug you more often than regular mutuals#i intend to have only 1 main for each chara but we'll see#ăâ§crown offă: ooc
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Alicent: Aegon still needs me in private
Alicent three episodes later: *eyeroll* what the fuck does this little bitch want now?
#they literally just want everyone to hate her donât they? despite the fact that she is shown to still love her kids and will protect them#but she canât fucking win if she is there for aegon then she is a rapist enabler but if she shows distain towards him sheâs a bad mother#and the show wants her to be both when it comes to aegon: a supportive mother to her rapist son or a mean mother to her struggling son#alicent hightower#hotd critical
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"But for that to happen, I need to know who I am protecting you from."
#hotd#house of the dragon#rhaenyra targaryen#aegon targaryen#you know who this is#your the one enabling me
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The Throne Was Meant For Us, My Dear
Aemond x Targaryen!Reader, mostly canon compliant (yes, people are still dying/getting maimed), heavy on the smut, incest (they are targaryens, obv), a little angst
9.5k words (buckle up)
You were born at the end of a long summerâs day, just as the last sliver of sun was sinking below the waves of the bay. Your sister was born on the same day, just after the sun had completely disappeared below the horizon. Twin Targaryen girls, Helaena and Jaenara, the second and third of Alicent Hightowerâs children.Â
The summer has always held a special place in your heart - not only because of your nameday, but because of the way the heat of the day lingers in the air long after the sun has set. The sound of a warm breeze as it rustles through the courtyard flowers, spreading the lovely floral scent. The feeling of the sun on your skin - the taste of fresh fruit grown outside the city. Youâve always loved the summer. You love it especially now, the only thing making this godforsaken funeral bearable.Â
Next to you, Aegon snags two more glasses of wine from a passing serving girl, handing one to you with a limp wrist and a sigh. He downs half his glass in one long draught. âI donât understand why Helaena.â He grumbles, gesturing to where she sits on the ground with his glass, the wine sloshing inside. âIf I must marry at all, why not you?â
You take a long sip from your own glass, leaning back against the store railing overlooking the sea. Driftmark, while much more drab than the Red Keep, has one thing going for it - the pleasant smell of salt in the air, and the sound of the waves against the shore. âOur mother thinks that if we were to be wed, I would enable you.â You say.Â
Aegon snorts, finishing off his drink. âAs if Helaena will do anything to stop me from my hedonistic desires.â He jokes, quoting Alicent. âIf itâs not to do with grasshoppers, itâs not to do with her.â
You neglect to snicker along with him, simply pressing your lips to the rim of your glass as you watch your dear sister pass a spider back and forth between her hands, muttering under her breath. Sheâs always been something of a dreamer, your Helaena, something the rest of your family doesnât seem to notice. But you, always in tune to your sister from the moment you were born, know. Threads of omniscience run through her mutterings, though deciphering them sometimes is beyond you.Â
âSome could say the same about you, with wine and whores.â You say, glancing knowingly at Aegon. âWe all have our compulsions - some worse than others.â
âI only jest.â Aegon says, defensive. You can tell heâs getting drunker, his movements becoming more loose, his words louder.Â
âHm.â You finish your glass, setting the empty cup on the railing beside you. âIs it truly in jest if you are the only one laughing?â
âPerhaps it is better that I marry Helaena instead of you.â Aegon says, leaning close enough that you can smell the wine on his breath. âYou do have a way of inciting my annoyance, Jaenara. No, I do not think you would make a good wife.â
You lean even closer, all too ready to play Aegonâs game. Your teeth scrape over his ear as you retort, âNo, youâve always liked the ones who wonât fight back, havenât you?â
The tension breaks as Aegon laughs, tossing his head back as he steps away, putting a respectable amount of distance between you again. You chuckle as well, until another voice - softer, younger - cuts through your chortling. Aemond.
âWhatâs funny?â
Aegon, not subtle at all, rolls his eyes. âNothing.â
âWe were just discussing Aegonâs betrothal.â You say, shifting so that Aemond can lean against the railing beside you. Youâve never understood Aegonâs disdain for your baby brother - something your nephews seem to share. âOr rather,â You cast a joking look to Aegon. âAegon was complaining about it.â
ââTis your duty.â Aemond says, ever so serious.Â
Aegon rolls his eyes again, gesturing widely at Helaena. âLook at her.â
âAegon-â You start.
âI would do my duty, if only mother had betrothed us.â Aemond retorts.Â
Aegon flaps a hand. âThe both of you.â He dismisses, eyes scanning through the thin crowd. âIâm going to get more wine.â And with that, heâs gone, sliding between chatting relatives in the wake of a serving girl, chasing after the wine she carries.Â
You place a hand atop Aemondâs head with a sigh, gently carding it through the silky silver hair there. âHe can be such an ass, our brother.â
Aemond looks up at you with a thin smile. âMm.â
The blood on your hands is not yours, but your brothers, smeared across your forearms from when youâd clutched his face in your hands, holding closed the gash across his eye with your thumbs as the maester stitched the wound back together. Now, he smears tears and snot across the bodice of your gown, the good side of his face pressed against the thin fabric of your nightclothes as he clutches you with shaking hands.Â
Your mother is screaming. Aegon is huddled against the wall of the room, no doubt already suffering a hangover from how much he drank. Helaena stands to your left, her eyes fixed on the wall behind the scene before her, gaze absent. You watch in horror as your mother wields a knife against Rhaenyra, spitting insults like venom. Ser Cole is pressed almost chest to chest with Daemon. Your little nephew, Lucerysâ face is bloodied.Â
You have no idea what happened. But Aemond is missing an eye. And Vhagar is now his dragon, instead of Laenaâs daughters. You knew - known, now - that his lack of a dragon had always been a sore spot for Aemond, but you never would have guessed that he would go to such drastic measures to claim a beast of his own. And Vhagar, no less.Â
You expect him to cry, to whimper in pain, to react, but he just holds onto the gauzy fabric of your nightdress and keeps the unmarred side of his face pressed close to your chest. Hiding, almost.Â
You soothe a hand down his back, pressing him closer. âItâll be alright.â You say, your voice lost amongst the carrying on. It wonât be. Heâll be scarred forever, heâll have to re-learn how to walk, how to write, how to do anything that requires vision. Itâll take him years to recover fully.Â
âI know.â He says, voice soft. Level. Even.Â
And itâs his calm reassurance that makes you believe your own words. It will be alright, one way or another.Â
Hand in hand, you walk your brother through the halls of the Red Keep, towards the training yards, for his swordsmanship lessons. Servants and nobles alike avert their eyes as you pass, some out of respect, some out of disgust. Itâs true - the scar across Aemondâs face is nothing delightful to look at, a motley of yellow and purple swollen skin, the scabs leaking pus. But you do not look away. He is your brother, and he receives enough torment from Aegon already.Â
He clutches your hand tightly, holding it like a bannister as he puts one foot in front of the other, his good eye steadfastly looking ahead. Sometimes his balance sways (especially around turns or on the steps) but heâs getting better. âYouâll be able to come and go as you please again soon.â You say, not bothering to hide the pride in your tone.Â
He scoffs. âI canât stay a cripple forever.â
Aemond was never sweet. But the loss of his eye has only soured him more. You roll your eyes, teasing, âYouâd do well to save your bitterness for someone whoâs not capable of causing you to fall down the stairs at a moment's notice.â
Itâs supposed to be a joke, but he doesnât laugh. âApologies, sister.â He mumbles.
You sigh. âI only joke, Aemond.â Aegon has ruined him, picking at all of his insecurities without remorse until he bristles at the slightest hint of humor, thinking an insult is coming.Â
His good eye shifts away from the hall in front of him for a moment to cast you a sidelong glance.Â
âNot all of us are Aegon.â You insist, rounding the corner with him to step outside into the afternoon sunlight. Ser Cole is already waiting, whirling his sword from hand to hand idly as Aegon straps himself into his practice armor. Aemond lets go of your hand as soon as he sees Aegon, taking shaky steps onto the field proper, alone.Â
Aegon pays him no mind, his gaze falling on you. âJaenara. Come help me.â
âYour lack of manners is appalling.â You say, walking over to him anyway, taking the leather straps of his breastplate from him and tightening them over his shoulders. âWhat would mother say?â
Aegon just grins. âMeet me tonight.â He says, his voice dropping into a more conspiratorial register. He doesnât have to say where - youâve snuck out with him before. You know the route. âA traveling troupe has arrived in Flea Bottom, supposedly.â
âSunset?â You ask, dropping your hands from the straps on his shoulders to the ones near his waist.Â
âMm.â He watches you work, still grinning.Â
âAlright.â You say, stepping back.Â
His grin widens into a smile as he twirls his sword. âWhat fun weâll have.â
The sun has begun to light the sky when you stumble back into the Red Keep with Aegon, giggling under your hoods as you sneak past the white cloaks back to your chambers. Really, it can barely be called sneaking anymore - you know they see you return, you know they saw you leave. The only reason they donât trail you through the streets of the city is because Alicent doesnât know, and hasnât ordered them to, so why do the extra work?Â
You sway into Aegonâs shoulder as you walk, all the wine that you drank making your head spin. Taking you by the arm, he only makes it worse as he begins to waltz you down the hall, jauntily humming the same tune youâd been dancing to in a tavern earlier. Laughing like a fool, you tip your head back and let him dance you about, until he deposits you against the wall by your bedroom door, caging you in against the stone.Â
You know heâs going to kiss you - he always does, at the end of the night. Gently, he presses his lips to yours, and you smile into it. He doesnât kiss you like he kisses his whores - nor do you kiss him as you do yours. Itâs a chaste thing, only a moment before youâre both pulling back to look at each other.Â
âAs sweet as wine.â He whispers.
âMm.â You bite your lip in a grin. âGoodnight, Aegon.â
âGood morning.â He giggles, pushing away from the wall to stumble back to his own bed.Â
You slip into your own room, dropping your cloak and dress from your shoulders, one after the other, as soon as you are inside. Just in your shift, you turn to flop into the soft comfort of your bed, only to see a lump under the covers that wasnât there when you left. Slowly, you peel back the sheets to reveal Aemond, face pressed into your pillow, soundly asleep.Â
You canât help the smile that spreads across your lips as you climb into bed beside him, doing your best not to disturb his slumber. He stirs anyway though, good eye cracking open with a jolt, softening when he realizes itâs you. Extending an arm, you make space for him to curl up against your chest, and he does, tucking his face under your chin.
âYou were with Aegon.â Itâs mildly accusatory, but mostly sleepy.
âMm.â You donât deny it, stroking a hand through Aemondâs hair. âAnd you were here. In my bed.â You press your nose to the top of his head. âWhat troubles you, Aemond?â
âMy eye.â He says. âThe pain. Itâs more than just the skin, it⌠it stabs me through the skull, sometimes. Makes it hard to fall asleep.â
âWe will see the maesters in the morning.â You say, still gently stroking. âPerhaps they will be able to come up with some tincture to soothe you.â
He lets out a sleepy little hum, and settles more against you. Your own eyes flutter shut, and your stroking hand moves to wrap around his shoulders instead. Itâs quiet, for a while, and for a moment you think heâs drifted off, but then,
âWill you take me with you, once?â
âTo Flea Bottom?â
âMm.â
You pause for a moment. âIf you wish. Perhaps when youâre a bit older.â
âHow old?â
âAt least as old as I was when Aegon first took me with him.â
âAnd how old was that?â
You smile into his hair. âGive it a year.â
âMm. Alright.â
The quality of Aemondâs eye improves drastically over the course of a year, so that by the time he dons his own cloak and takes to the streets of Kingâs Landing with you and Aegon, it almost blends into his face. The scar is a long pale thing that trails down his cheek, and the only part of the injury that escapes the eyepatch. Under the shadow of his hood, itâs barely noticeable.Â
He trails a half-step after you and Aegon, clearly unsure. You donât blame him, itâs quite a change from within the walls of the Red Keep, but an exhilarating one at that. Arm in arm, you and Aegon lead the way, moving smoothly through the crowds to one of your favorite haunts, a little brothel tucked away near the edge of the city.Â
You can hear the sounds of pleasure emanating from within before you even step foot in the building, and the area around the door is crowded with hangers-on, men who canât pay their whores dues. Aegon pushes through them all easily, and you glance back to make sure Aemond isnât lost before following him inside.Â
The place reeks of incense, barely covering the smells of sweat and sex, but itâs familiar to you. On instinct, your eyes scan the crowd of the main chamber, searching for your favorite whore, a beauty named Falyse with long lashes and plump lips. You can feel Aemond pull closer to you in the presence of such debauchery, and you glance down at him again, to find him already looking at you.Â
âThis is a brothel.â He says.
âAye.â You grin, glancing at Aegon.Â
Aegon smiles wide, clapping Aemond on the shoulder. âTonight is the night that you become a man, brother! Your first taste of the best pleasure the world can offer.â
Catching sight of a familiar shock of black hair, you turn, meeting Falyseâs eyes through the throngs of men. âI must take my leave.â You say, petting Aemondâs head. âBut you are in good hands with Aegon. And I won't be far.â
âAlright.â Aemond says. Heâs still unsure, clearly, but thereâs no time for hesitation once Aegonâs swept Aemond up in his frenzy. You slip away, weaving through the writhing bodies until you reach the other side of the room, where Falyse is pouring a glass of wine for another patron. Sheâs barely clothed, so you can feel the goosebumps that rise when you snake an arm around her middle and rest your chin on her shoulder.Â
âPrincess.â She greets you with a sultry purr.Â
âMy lady.â You return, laying your lips in the junction of her neck. âIâve missed you so.âÂ
Sheâs quick to pull you away from the main room, behind a thick curtain to an empty bed. Itâs a familiar dance that you do - she makes a show of ridding you of your clothes, running her soft hands up and down your body until youâre dripping. Then she lays her mouth on you - her wonderful mouth that could pull honey from even the most stalwart of noble women. She never lets you rest with only one peak, no she delights in working as many from you as she can, until youâre pushing her away. Then itâs your turn to return the favor, licking at her until her sweet moans fill the air and you can feel her clenching around your tongue. Youâve earned her devotion in that way - on more than one occasion, sheâs confessed that no man has ever thought of her pleasure, on their own.Â
âWell, I am no man.â Youâd responded.Â
Itâs an exhausting affair, this dance, so it often ends with you curled around her on the bed, listening to her share the latest gossip of the smallfolk whilst you twist her hair into intricate braids, the kind only Targaryens wear, a sign sheâs been with royalty. Youâve just finished your handiwork, laughing along to a story about the smallest cock sheâs ever seen, when the curtains part, and Aemond slips into the room, clearly close to tears.Â
Immediately you sit up, paying no mind to the fact that youâre completely bare. âWhatâs wrong?â
Holding back tears, he hesitates for a moment before climbing into your lap, pressing his face between your breasts with a shaky sigh. You clutch him to you, guilt and regret sinking into your heart. Too young. Heâs always been more sensitive than you, or Aegon, you should have waited to include him in your revelry. Too young, too young.Â
Falyse sits up as well, raising a questioning brow. You shake your head, and run your fingers down your brotherâs back. For a while, the room is silent as Aemondâs breathing calms, and then he pulls his face away, sliding out of your lap to sit next to you instead. Looking down, he hides behind long curtains of hair, but not before you catch a glimpse of his expression. Shame.
Gently, you break the silence. âAemond, this is my friend, Falyse. Falyse, my dear brother.â
Falyse smiles warmly, peering underneath Aemondâs hair. âA pleasure to meet you, my prince.â
âYou must tell him what you were telling me.â You say. âOh, itâs hilarious, Aemond, you must listen.â
He perks up slightly, as Falyse starts her story again - and she does get him to laugh, but the hurt doesnât leave his eyes, and the guilt begins to pool in your stomach.Â
The sapphire is weighty in the pocket of your gown, and bounces heavy against your leg as you rise from the dinner table, dipping your head towards your father before you take your leave, following your siblings out of the hall. Aemondâs nameday feast was a small affair, per request of the prince, and he only received books from both of your parents - leatherbound histories of Valyria that look entirely too large in his little arms as he carries them back to his bedroom.Â
âAemond.â
He turns at the sound of your voice, and you pluck one of the books from his hold, tucking it under your arm. With your other hand, you pull the sapphire from your pocket, and hold your closed fist out to him. âHere.â
Looking at you curiously, he holds out a hand, and you drop the sapphire into it. âA sapphire.â He says.Â
âFor your eye.â You explain. âI had the masons fashion it so that you can slide it into the socket. I thought it might suit you.â Jokingly, you add, âAnd perhaps improve your standing with the court ladies.â
He huffs out a little laugh, examining the gemstone with a careful eye. âThank you Jaenara.â
You smile, reveling in the first laugh youâve won from him in a very long time.
Ser Cole and Aemond behind you, you lead them through the streets of Flea Bottom in the early morning light. It feels like a bit of a betrayal, showing them all of Aegonâs usual haunts, but the situation is dire, and your brother needs to be found. Your father is dead, and it was his dying wish, your mother said, for Aegon to be king.Â
The brothel looks different in the daylight, drab and empty. Gathering your skirts in one hand, you bound up the steps to the door and bang the heavy knocker twice on the wood. With any luck, you can get a hold of Falyse - if Aegon was here last night, she will let you know, free of charge.Â
It is not Falyse that answers the door, but the brothel Madame, Sylvi. A familiar face to you, albeit one that you have not had the pleasure of knowing under more intimate circumstances. Her eyes scan over your face, and then Aemond and Cole behind you. Stooping into a short curtsy, she asks. âAnd what can I do for you, my lady?â
âI am looking for my brother.â You say.Â
âHe seems to be behind you-â
âMy other brother. Aegon.â You clarify. âWas he here last night?â
âIâm afraid not.â She says.Â
You turn back to face your companions. Cole sighs, glancing around the streets like he might spot Aegon passed out in the mud. Aemondâs eye is on the Madame, a mixture of contempt and something else stirring in his gaze.Â
âWhere else, then?â Cole asks.Â
âI donât know.â You wrack your mind, tracing through all of the taverns and brothels you frequent with your brother, all places that youâve stopped before arriving here, all with the same result. âThis was the last place I could think of.â
Cole swears under his breath.Â
Aemond breezes back down the steps, his mouth set in a determined line. âHe must be somewhere. Come, we will try the fighting pits next.â
You murmur your thanks to the Madame before following after Aemond and Cole, worry sinking into your gut. Leave it to Aegon to get swallowed up by the city when the realm needs him most.Â
Meleysâ breath washes over you as you stare down the dragonâs maw, expecting to see the glow of fire any moment, signaling your end. There is no time for action - in the few seconds you would have before flame reached you, there is no way you could reach your own dragon, Vermithor, to have any hope of combatting Rhaenys. Instead, you grasp Helaenaâs arm and try to ignore how your hands shake.Â
Aemond steps in front of the both of you, obscuring your view of Rhaenys atop her dragon with one hand on his sword. As if something as feeble as that will do anything against a dragon.Â
You wait, feeling your sister with whom you shared your motherâs womb tremble underneath your grasp.Â
You wait, watching Aemondâs shoulders rise and fall with each breath in front of you.
You wait, watching as your mother steps in front of Aegon, one hand wrapped around his wrist like a vice.Â
A tidal wave of relief floods through you as Rhaenys pulls at the reins, and Meleys backs off, slipping through the doors of the dragonpit just before they swing closed, casting the room into semi-darkness. Alive. Youâre alive - as is Helaena, and Aemond and Aegon. All of you, alive. You watch your mother almost fall to her knees as the relief washes through her, and then you are wrapped up in Helaenaâs arms as she crushes herself to your chest. You return the hug with vigor, your eyes finding Aemondâs over her shoulder.Â
Alive. Alive. Alive.
Something is happening. Theyâve been locked in the small council chamber even since Aemond returned from Stormâs End. Itâs been hours since your brother dismounted Vhagar, soaked to the bone and looking more shaken than youâve ever seen him. You have no idea what happened, or whatâs being discussed. Now, more than ever, you curse not being born a man.Â
Still, there is nothing to do but wait.Â
So you do, steeping in the burning hot waters of Aemondâs bathtub, idly flipping with damp fingers through a series of poems youâd found in your great-grandfather Jaehaerysâs saddlebag when youâd claimed his dragon. Some of them you recognize as things heâd copied from other poets, some are his own musings about his wife, Alysanne. He wasnât half bad, in your opinion.Â
You snap the booklet closed as the door to the bathroom opens, and Aemond slips inside, still dressed in his soaked riding leathers. He stills when he lays eyes on you, obviously not expecting anyone to have been waiting for him. But you just smile, and set your book aside.Â
âI had them draw a bath.â You say. âI figured you would want a soak, after flying in the rain. Scalding, of course.â
He smiles, and starts on the buttons of his overcoats, the fabric falling to the floor with a wet slap. His trousers are next, and then his eyepatch, set on top of your book before he slides into the bath behind you with a sigh, his head falling back against the edge of the tub.Â
âVery thoughtful of you, sister.â He says, eye fluttering shut.Â
âMm.â You turn around in the tub, collecting a rag that youâd draped over the side and dipping it into the hot water, beginning to run it over his skin that isnât submerged. For a moment, the only sounds are the echoes of droplets falling back into the tub as you wash him, until you speak again. âWhat business kept you in council so long?â
A tension settles in his jaw. âLucerys Velaryon was also at Stormâs End.â
âYou failed to win their allegiance?â You ask, surprised.Â
âNo. Lord Borros was easily won when I promised myself to one of his daughters.â You brother opens his eye. âBut Lucerys is dead, at my hand.â
You set the rag aside, your mind spinning. Lucerys, dead. As if things werenât already pointing towards all out war after your father changed his mind about the succession. âHow?â
Something in his expression shifts and for a moment, he looks like heâs about to burst into tears. âVhagar.â He says, his voice cracking slightly. âI only meant to scare him, but she knows my anger⌠I cannot pretend that I did not fantasize about killing him. I did not think that she wouldâŚâ He swallows, collecting himself. âOur mother is less than pleased with me.â
âOur mother could never understand the bond between dragon and rider.â You say, consoling. You lay a hand gently on his face, over his scar, and run your thumb under the sapphire that sits in his eye. âYou cannot be blamed for your anger at the boy who maimed you. Vhagar cannot be blamed for sharing that sentiment.â You pause. âIt is a regrettable accident. And I am sorry for Rhaenyra and her children.â
He takes a shaky breath before wrapping his arms around your middle, and pressing his face into your shoulder, holding you to him as tightly as possible. Already wet from the bath, the few tears he sheds onto your skin make no difference. You say nothing, but pick up a comb from the short table beside the tub and begin to work it through his hair.Â
You wake up to a sharp pain in the side of your neck, like the skin has been sliced open. One hand flies to the wound, and the other slips under your mattress, pulling the long dagger you keep there free of its sheath in a smooth motion. You sit up, the knife brandished before you, only to find your bedroom empty, the only motion being that of the curtains fluttering from the breeze of your open window.Â
You pull your other hand away from your neck, expecting to see blood. Your palm is blank, the skin unmarred. In the reflection of your blade, you inspect your neck, only to find nothing. A phantom wound, perhaps from a dream. Anyone else would have simply gone back to sleep. But this is not the first time you and your sister have shared each otherâs injuries.Â
You rise quickly, knife still in hand as you dart from your chambers, heading down the hall at a quick clip. Itâs eerily empty - not a white cloak in sight. Something is wrong, youâre sure of it, the echo of your footsteps on the stone only serving to further put you on edge as you approach the nursery. The door stands ajar, flickering candlelight seeping out into the hall from within.Â
Slowly, carefully, you peer around the door. The room is empty - silent. The door creaks as you edge your way inside, turning to glance at the childrenâs beds. It is then that you see it - the headless body of your nephew, blood still seeping out of the stump of his neck into his bedsheets. Your blood runs ice cold, and then burning hot as rage fills you. Your gaze drops to the blood spatters on the floor, little droplets lead out into the hall.Â
Readjusting your grip on your dagger, you break into a sprint, following the trail.Â
Your bare feet slap in harsh rhythm against the stone, your eyes flicking back and forth from the floor to the hall in front of you as you follow the blood splatters. It is too late now. Jaehaerys is dead already, but you have to do something, you must. You can see candles being lit as you whip past door after door, the Keep slowly waking as the horror sets in, but you do not stop.Â
You do not stop even when you turn an ankle as you round a corner, because there he is, a tall man in a hooded cloak, a burlap sack tightly clutched in his hand, blood dripping through the fibers. Stumbling, you push yourself back up with your hands, and with a mighty scream, leap at the mans back, knocking him forward.Â
The bag tumbles to the ground, and Jaehaerysâ head rolls out, jaw slack and eyes wide.Â
âThe fuck-â The man growls, knocking you from his back. You fall to the ground, but force yourself to your feet again, diving forward, your dagger poised to strike. Bigger and stronger than you, he grabs your wrist, bending the bone until it snaps. Tears flood your vision as the pain washes over you, but you do not stop. Gritting your teeth, you drive your dagger into the soft skin of his side, between where his ribs end and his hips begin.Â
He groans, releasing your wrist, and you leap at him again, clawing at his face as you sink your teeth into the side of his neck, biting as hard as you can. You can feel the blows heâs raining on you, but you hold on, savoring the taste of his blood as it floods your mouth, coppery and strong. His hands wrap around your broken wrist, and you wail again, your voice muffled by his skin in your mouth.Â
But then there are hands around your waist, and the clank of armor fills your ears. Two white cloaks tackle the man to the ground as Aemond pulls you from his grasp, pressing your back to his chest.Â
âKill him!â You shout, eyes locked on the man as the guards beat him into submission before hauling him up to his feet. âKill him!â
âJaenara.â Aemondâs voice is low in your ear. âThe maestersâŚâ
You try to shake him off, but your brother doesnât relent, gently steering you away from the guards and little Jaehaerysâ head on the floor, back into the relative calm of the halls. As the adrenaline fades, pain begins to wrack your body in waves, and you find yourself leaning against Aemond as tears fill your vision.Â
âHelaena,â You gasp, chest heaving as sobs build up in your throat.
âWith Cole, and our mother. Jaehaera, as well.â Aemond assures you.Â
âThey,â You say, working around the lump in your throat. âPut a knife. To her throat.â You bring your fingers up to the side of your neck, where the pain had awoken you. âHere.â
âIâm sure sheâs being tended to.â He says. Gently, he pulls your arm up, inspecting your wrist, bent at an odd angle and already starting to swell. âWe must tend to you too.â
Too exhausted to insist that there are more important things to be dealt with, you let him steer you along.Â
You watch little Jaehaerysâ body bounce with the movement of the carriage in front of you, slightly obscured by the mourning veil you wear. Helaena sits beside you, pressed between you and your mother, eyes firmly pointed up at the sky. Sheâs empty, you can feel the echo of it in your own body, as youâre sure she can feel a hint of the festering anger you yourself are harboring.Â
It will only be a matter of time now, before you don your armor and mount Vermithor for battle. You pity the fool who will fly to meet you.Â
The wails of the smallfolk fill the city streets as you pass, petals filling the air as they toss handfuls at the carriages, shouting their grief in harmony. The news of Jaehaerys death had swept through the city like fire, just as your grandsire had suggested it would. Now, more than ever, the smallfolk hated Rhaenyra - there would be no public protest of the war that was brewing.Â
But you cannot help but feel angered by the whole thing as your little nephewâs body shakes with the movement of the carriage in front of you. To be reduced to a martyr, at such a young age. And knowingly, by his own kin. It is an ugly, ugly thing.Â
Helaenaâs eyes finally drop from the sky, and your mother shifts, extending a hand to touch her arm. Helaena shrinks away instinctually, leaning further into you, and you shift, allowing her to press herself against your side, her head falling into the crook of your neck.
You do not need to speak to know what she is thinking. You rest a hand on the back of her head, and let her curl into you, feeling her heartbeat against your own.Â
âCole and I will cut them off entirely.â Aemond says, laying another marker on the map, over Rookâs Rest. âAnd with Rhaenyra confined to Dragonstone, it should be simple enough to take Harrenhal without interruption.â
You let your gaze sweep over the map, stopping at each marker Aemond had put down. âA clever plan.â You agree. âAnd Aegon also approves?â
Aemond scoffs at that, leaning back in his chair, the light from the fireplace dancing over his face. âWhat does it matter?â
âHe is the king.â You say simply, lifting your gaze to look at your brother. âIt is his war that we fight.â
âHe is a figurehead.â Aemond says, rising from his seat to circle around the table, coming to stand behind you. âAt the hands of our mother and grandsire. His only purpose is to lend them free reign.â
âHe is our brother, and liege lord.â You say, standing from your own seat and turning to face him. âYou speak treason, Aemond.â
âMm.â Aemond hums, eye drifting over your face. âI forget, sometimes, that you are partial to him.â
âHe is my brother.â You repeat. âAnd my Helaena is his wife.â
Silence permeates the room, and for a moment, the only sound is that of the crackling fire. But Aemondâs soft voice breaks through again. âDid you ever let him fuck you?â
The question takes you aback, and you laugh. âWhat?â
âIn all your whoring together, did you ever let him fuck you?â He asks again, unwavering.Â
âNo.â You say. âI have no taste for his particular flavor of depravity.â Not that Aegon ever tried, either. That wasnât - isnât - the nature of your friendship.Â
âHm.â Aemond hums, turning back to the map sprawled across the table. âVermithor will be needed to secure the Riverlands.â He continues, like the discussion never strayed from battle in the first place. He leans over the map, tracing a long finger over the stretch of the reach.Â
âOf course.â You agree, confused.Â
Itâs been too long since you last did this.Â
Wine flowing through your veins, you walk arm in arm with Aegon, leading the way to the old brothel, his friends and squire - the reason for the night - behind you. The crowd parts as you step through the brothel doors, a hush falling over the gathered patrons. The quiet only lasts for a moment before whispers take its place, hushed words about the king himself being a patron tonight.Â
Aegon, of course, pays these whispers no mind, dropping your arm in favor of grasping his squire by the shoulders, speaking grandly about the pleasures of manhood. It makes you think of a similar night many years ago, when youâd brought Aemond to this very brothel. Guilt floods you for a moment, but is quickly quelled when soft hands wind over your shoulders, and a sultry voice whispers in your ears.Â
âPrincess.â
You turn, delighted to see Falyse - delighted enough, that with the wine already in you, you plant a wet kiss to her lips before resting your forehead against hers. âMy sweet lady, my own heart.â You croon. âIt has been far too long.â
She laughs, raspy and seductive, her eyes crinkling at the edges with her smile. âI did not know that all three of you would be joining us tonight.â She says, winding her arms about your shoulders. âJust like when you were younger.â
âMm.â You find yourself agreeing before her words really register. âWait, three? Is Aemond-?â
But itâs too late, you know it is as soon as Aegonâs raucous laughter booms through the room. You turn away from Falyse, finding your brother amidst the crowd, having abandoned his squire in favor of sinking next to Aemond on a bed, a wide grin crawling over his face.Â
You canât make out what heâs saying, but you can see Aemond shrinking in on himself, curling away from the Madame, who heâd been laying with. Winding Falyseâs hands away from your shoulders, you bring her knuckles to your lips, pressing a kiss there. âAnother time, my lady.â
âOf course.â She says, understanding flashing across her gaze.Â
You push through the gathered patrons towards your brothers, but Aemond meets you halfway, stalking through the crowd naked as the day he was born, clearly fuming. He pauses when his eye falls on you, clearly not having expected you to be here as well, and you watch his lip tremble ever so slightly. But he does not cry.Â
âAemond.â You say, unsure how to broach the subject.Â
âJaenara.â He returns, icy.
A pause stretches between you, and Aemond turns to leave, but you grab his arm, stopping him. âCome back home with me.â You say.Â
You think heâll spurn you, hiss some insult thatâs more for Aegon than for you, but he sighs, âFine.â
He does not speak to you until you stand at his bedroom door. You feel as though you should say something, apologize on Aegonâs behalf in some way, but you donât get the chance before Aemond is beckoning you into his chambers with a quiet, âCome.â
You do, not realizing what he wants until the door is shut behind you and youâre pressed against it, your brother's lips pressing insistently into yours. You only hesitate for a moment before kissing him back, giving him what he wants. He melts into it, softening as he realizes that you wonât reject him, cradling you into his arms.Â
When he pulls back, his voice is breathy. âIâm going to kill him.â
It sends a spike of fear through you, thinking of one brother killing the other, but the look in Aemondâs eye leaves no room for doubt. âIâm sure you will.â
Apparently the correct answer, Aemond resumes kissing you with a fervor, steering you away from the door and towards his bed. âIâll kill him,â He says, rushed between kisses. âAnd without an heir, Iâll take his place.â His hair tickles the side of your face as he presses his nose into your neck. âMake you my queen, as he had Helaena.â He nips at the thin skin, making you hiss in pain, pulling at his hair.Â
He lifts his head as he pushes you down onto his bed, crawling over you. âYouâre betrothed to another.â You say as he begins to pull at the laces of your dress.Â
âAs are you.â He responds. You bat his hands away from the laces as soon as you hear fabric rip, and begin undoing them yourself. âBoth empty promises made by our grandsire for armies.â
You shimmy out of your overdress, and kick it off the edge of the bed, left in your shift. Aemond strips himself of his shirt before tugging at the hem of your slip, urging you to take it off as well. Before long, youâre both naked, and heâs hovering over you again, trailing his nose along the swell of your breast. You take the opportunity to free him of his eyepatch, enjoying the glitter of the sapphire you gave him.Â
His eye finds yours as he quietly asks, âWill you let me?â
As if you really even have a choice in the matter. âYes.â
Thatâs all the permission he needs to lift your hips with one hand and slide his cock into you with the other. You wrinkle your nose as the sting of the stretch as he works himself into you, his eye fluttering shut. With a deep groan, he begins rocking himself in and out, grinding into you slowly. Itâs not the most pleasure youâve ever felt (no, he would be hard-pressed to compete with Falyse), but it isnât unpleasant.Â
You relax into the bed as he begins to fuck into you in earnest, whimpering to himself as he takes a breast in his mouth, lost in your body. You suppose you should have expected something like this, eventually. It was odd, that heâd asked if Aegon had ever fucked you, but you hadnât thought that he himself wanted to. Now, his intentions in asking seem obvious.
He releases your breast with a pop before tucking his face against your neck, words trickling directly from his lips to your ear. âMy JaenaraâŚâ He moans. âAlways so good to me. So kind, so sweet, so fierce. Hm.â He pants heavy, his hips knocking against yours frantically. âSeeing you covered in that mans blood, the chunk you ripped out of his neck with your teeth⌠my dragon.â He croons.Â
You wind a hand into his hair, wincing as your wrist twinges in pain. Itâs gotten better under the maesterâs care, but it still complains when you move it in certain ways. The pain vanishes quickly though, and you begin to stroke Aemondâs hair just how he likes, pressing your lips to his temple.Â
He whimpers again, almost like heâs in pain. âI will put us on the Iron Throne.â He swears, voice breathy. âOur dragons will burn Rhaenyra and her armies alive, and it will be our line that continues the tradition of our ancestors.â He all but growls it, snapping his hips with such force that you have to stop yourself from slamming into the headboard. âI swear it to you.â
âAemond.â You gasp, overwhelmed with the vigor of his thrusts. The last thing you would have expected was for Aemond to get you to peak, but you can feel yourself getting closer, the combination of his rough fucking and devoted words stirring your insides.Â
âTell me that you are mine.â He says, demanding and begging at the same time. You can feel him losing his rhythm, pleasure no doubt creeping up on him the same as it is for you.Â
âIâm yours.â You swear. âIâm yours, Aemond.â
He whimpers, and itâs the whining sound that sends you over the edge, your body tensing in his hold as you clench around him. With a loud gasp, you come, and Aemondâs thrusts reach breakneck speed.Â
âYouâre mine.â He whispers in your ear. âMine, mine-â He comes with a rough groan, pressing his hips to yours and holding them there. He sinks into you immediately, collapsing onto your chest, his breath coming in pants against your skin.Â
You bask in the quiet of his room as his cock softens within you, mind spinning as you take in what just happened. âDid you mean it? All that you said?â You ask softly, stroking his hair again.Â
âMm.â He affirms, sleep heavy in his voice.Â
You say no more as he drifts off to sleep on your chest, cock still inside you. He intends to make you his queen. To kill Aegon and take his place.Â
You love Aegon, you do. He is your brother, and one of your closest friends. But you would be lying if you said he was a good king. Perhaps it would not be so bad, if Aemond were to take his place, especially with you at his side.Â
But does Aegon really deserve to die?
Aemond is insatiable now that he knows you wonât spurn his advances. You canât say that you mind too much.Â
Your elbows resting on the table before you, he takes you from behind as you both pore over a map of Westeros, markers indicating where your forces lay. A letter from Ser Cole sits open on the table beside you, informing Aemond of his most recent conquest as he nears Rookâs Rest. You run your fingers against the wood of the table, moving pieces along the map like chess, the sounds of Aemondâs breathy groans and the rustle of your skirts shifting as he takes you the only sounds in the room.Â
âYou will have to - ah - take flight on Vhagar soon then, if you are to meet Cole at Rookâs Rest.â You say.Â
âHm.â Aemondâs hips smack into yours as he leans over your back, moving the piece that symbolizes Vhagar to the edge of the crownlands. âThe conquest should not take more than a day. Any longer and I would send Aegon in my stead - I would be loathe to leave you.â He jokes, pressing his nose against your neck.Â
âMm.â You hum, letting him stretch you further across the table and angle your hips to better receive his thrusts. Planting his hands on your hips, he pulls you back to meet each snap of his hips, the map forgotten as he pleasures himself with your body. Thereâs something intoxicating about his unwavering devotion, something rewarding. It feels like all the time you spent comforting him as a child is paying off; after all, he intends to put you on the throne. You wind a hand behind you to caress his cheek.Â
He melts into the touch, extending his body over your back, pressing himself to you completely. Itâs intoxicating, the power you have over him. The simplest of touches, the softest of words, and the most fearsome dragon rider in the world bends completely to your will.Â
âYou must tell Aegon of your plans.â You say, laying your head down on the table to peer at the man behind you.Â
âHe will no doubt find out on his own.â Aemond says. âEither way, they donât involve him. Rookâs Rest is nothing Cole and I cannot take on our own.â
âAnd if someone were to show you the same insolence if you were the king?â You retort, biting back a gasp as his thrusts increase pace.Â
âWhen.â He corrects, almost growling. âWhen I am the king. And I would exile them for such an insult.â
âYet- mm, Aemond, ah - you do not fear such retribution from Aegon.â You say. You know heâs getting close, his soft pants turning into longer whines, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. You clench as tightly as you can, reveling in the breathy moan you pull from him as he stills, hips still pressed against yours, spent.Â
You feel him make himself comfortable against your back, not bothering to pull away just yet. âOur brother is a fool, not fit for the duties of the crown. How can one be expected to respect such an undeserving monarch? No,â He says, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto any patch of your skin he can reach. âWe will be much greater.â
Itâs treason, even just entertaining thoughts of taking the throne from the rightful king, but the more Aemond speaks of it, the more you find yourself indulging in the fantasy. Never before did you truly consider what it would be to be queen, but after truly thinking about it, you find yourself enchanted with the idea. With anyone else, you have no doubt that you would have been subjected to the life your mother lived, but as Aemondâs queen, you would have more power than any woman before you.Â
âYou sound so sure already.â You tease, pushing yourself up on your elbows as he slips away, tucking himself back into his trousers and pulls your skirts back down over your legs.Â
âThat is because I am.â
Aegon presses his face into his hands, groaning. While heâs not looking, you slide the wine decanter away from him. Full when you sat down, itâs almost empty now, most of the contents having been poured down the kings throat. Heâs been drinking more, in the aftermath of little Jaehaerysâ death. You canât blame him, of course, but that doesnât mean it isnât concerning.Â
âThey plot behind my back.â He says, his face still hidden in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. âAemond. My own hand - and our mother, sheâŚâ He trails off. âThey mock me. Think me an idiot. I cannotâŚâ He reaches for the decanter, only to find it missing, and lifts his head out of his hands. âMy wine.â
âPerhaps youâve had enough.â You say, doing your best to be firm.Â
He looks at you blankly before gesturing for the decanter again. With a sigh, you fold, sliding the container across the table to him. Let him drink himself to death if he wishes - it would be a better end than whatever Aemond is planning.Â
Itâs hard to look at Aegon, knowing that your other brother is plotting his demise. He doesnât deserve to die, not after all heâs been through. Sometimes, you think you know Aegon better than yourself. Youâve seen him at his drunkest, in the streets of Flea Bottom, at his most desperate before his coronation, at his lowest, after the death of his son. He never asked for any of this. He never asked to be king. He doesnât deserve to die because of a crown he never desired.Â
But one cannot simply resign from the throne.Â
You watch as Aegon empties the rest of the decanter into his glass, and then misses the table as he sets the pitcher down, shards shattering across the tiled floor. He stares down at the floor, eyes blank. âAh.â
âAegon.â You groan.Â
He flaps his hand. âSomeone will clean it up. Someone always does.â
âPerhaps it is behavior such as this that deters Cole and Aemond from sharing their plans with you.â You say, utterly annoyed at your brotherâs actions.Â
Aegon scoffs. âAs if you werenât also kept in the dark.â His eyes lazily slide to yours, and you donât look away quickly enough, it seems, because he catches it in your gaze. âThey told you? And not me, their king?â
âI cannot help that our brother seeks my opinion on such matters.â You say.Â
âThen why didnât you tell me?â Aegon demands, angrily rising from his seat to level an accusatory finger at you. âYou are supposed to be my closest confidant, I expect you to be on my side-!â He cuts himself off. âBut no. Of course not. As soon as Aemond gets his claws into you youâre just like the rest of them.â
âAegon,â You try, placating. âI meant no offense. In fact, I urged Aemond to tell you himself-â
âNo, no, you cannot fool me again! I am not as stupid as you think me to be, I am not.â He shouts, harshly backing away from the table as you rise from your seat. Thereâs an anger in his eyes that youâve never seen directed at you before, and it gives you pause, guilt and shame sinking into the pit of your stomach. What were you thinking, going behind his back like this? He is your brother, one of your closest friends, your king. Curse Aemond and all his sickly sweet words.Â
âAegon-â
A loose hand thrown up in the air, he silences you with a harsh glance before stalking out of the room, leaving you alone with the shattered pieces of the decanter for company.Â
Aegon returns to you on a litter, melted into his armor by dragonfire, barely conscious. The smell of charred flesh and dragon blood fills the hall as the kingsguard rush him to the maesters, and you press yourself as far into the wall as you can to let them pass. There is no rage in you, only shock and despair. You had not thought it would be so soon, that Aemond had his revenge.Â
âJaenara.â
You turn at the sound of his voice, and he stops in front of you, pulling off his riding gloves and tucking them into the pocket of his leathers. Thereâs an energy about him that you havenât seen before. Leftover adrenaline crackles over his skin, the pupil of his good eye blown wide, almost lustful.Â
âWhat have you done?â You demand, cringing at the frightened quality of your voice.Â
âWhat I planned to do.â He says, taking you by the arm. âAre you not delighted? Aegon is indisposed, he will be crippled for the rest of his life - however many short years he has left, in this state. None will stand in our way.â
âIâŚâ You arenât sure how you feel. Aegon isnât dead, but he will be in incredible pain for the rest of his life. Likely, he wonât be able to walk on his own, or ever ride his dragon again. It is an awful fate for someone you love. But you cannot pretend a part of you - the same part seduced by Aemondâs ambition - isnât elated at the downfall of the king.Â
âCome.â Aemond says, tugging you away from your palace pressed against the rough hewn stone of the Keep walls. You fall into pace beside him, stumbling over your own feet as you process how reality is shifting around you at this very moment. Aemond and the council will have to speak on Aegonâs behalf, puppeteering him even more so than before. You are one step closer to ascending the throne. Your brother is half-alive, melted into the armor of his namesake.Â
You donât realize where you are until Aemond is pushing you down onto his bed with one hand and rucking your skirts up around your waist with the other. He does not wait for you to react before he scoops your hips up to insert himself into you, groaning in relief as he slides home. âMy queen.â He gasps throatily, pillowing his face in the crook of your neck. âHave I pleased you?â
âMm.â You hum, unable to say the words âyes, of courseâ. It proves to be enough though, for Aemond sighs again, slowly beginning to grind his hips against yours. Itâs more fervent than his usual fucking, spurred on by the bloody battle heâs just come from. You can smell the smoke in his hair from where it lays across your face.Â
âIt will not be long now,â He says, breathy and rough. âSoon, you and I will sit the throne. Have our own heirs - will you give me an heir?â He asks. âWill you give me more than one?â
âAs many as youâd like.â You choke out. There isnât another option for you now, not with Aemond so intent on having you by his side when he takes his place as king. As youâre sure he will.Â
âWe will put Jaehaerys and Alysanne to shame.â He declares, placing his hands under the small of your back, causing you to arch against him. Holding the tops of your hips, he fucks you against him feverishly. It does not take long for him to finish, already keyed up on the high of his plans coming to fruition.Â
He collapses against your chest with a heavy sigh, and instinctually, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, carding your fingers through his hair.Â
âI love you.â He whispers against your skin.Â
Itâs the first time heâs said the words aloud, though youâve known it for a very long time. Of course Aemond loves you.Â
âAs I, you.â You return.Â
What you canât decide, is if you feel the same.
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Devil's Snare
Aemond Targaryen x Reader
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Description: Y/N is apprehensive when she is assigned the post of Aemond Targaryen's handmaiden. She expects him to be cold and cruel, and is surprised when he is actually kindle and gentle to her. All the while Aemond finds himself falling for his shy and skittish handmaiden.
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10
Disclaimer: this is incredibly self-indulgent. I love Aemond and wanted to focus in on the softer sides of his character. I've planned 3 parts to this series but who knows.
Warnings: swearing, mentions of canon typical misogyny, female reader (sorry! This just makes it easier for the plot), handmaiden reader, slow-burn, lengthy?, potentially ooc Aemond but Ewan Mitchell did say Aemond just needed someone to love him.
Y/N was filled with trepidation as she approached the royal quarters, her movements slow as she fruitlessly tried to delay the inevitable. She supposed she should be grateful for her new appointment as Prince Aemond's handmaiden. But she found she'd much rather have continued on in the lower chambers of the keep. Alas, the matron had chosen her for the position, recently opened when the prince's previous handmaiden was mysteriously dismissed. Prince Aemond was known by many denominations, whispered rumours spreading like wildfire throughout the Red Keep. The One-eyed Prince. The fierce dragon rider who'd claimed the largest dragon in existence. The cold second son with a particular proclivity for swordsmanship. None of these served to assuage Y/N's fears for her new role. She was grateful, at least, that it was not Prince Aegon. She'd heard terrible rumours of his behaviour towards female servants. She'd heard nothing of the like about his brother.
The matron had told Y/N not to worry, that Prince Aemond barely acknowledged servants at all. And surely she was the perfect choice, with her excellent skills in needlepoint and, more significantly, her quiet and timid disposition which enabled her to move like a shadow. Y/N tried to even out her breathing and calm her wildly beating heart as she reached the door of Prince Aemond's chambers. Upon knocking and hearing no reply she entered anyway to find the Prince was not within, to her great relief. If she was particularly fortunate she might complete all of her tasks before he returned and avoid an interaction altogether. Quickly setting to work, she began to tidy and clean. Though Prince Aemond's quarters were already unexpectedly neat. Y/N considered this was perhaps a reflection of the controlled demeanour he always seemed to carry whenever she had spotted him in the Keep.
Turning her attentions towards making the bed she noticed a thin strap of leather strewn across it. Picking it up, upon closer inspection she recognised it to be Prince Aemond's eyepatch. Y/N frowned as she realised the strap was broken. She knew Aemond always wore it to cover the gaping wound that still remained from when he'd lost his eye in a brawl with his nephew. Y/N had once passed a group of handmaidens whispering by a stairwell about how the Prince purposefully wore the eye patch so as not to upset the ladies of the court, and hearing them erupt into giggles. She had found herself frowning at their laughter, thinking to herself that it was thoughtful of the Prince, chivalrous even.
The smooth feel of the leather in her hand brought Y/N back to the present, she was prone to losing herself in thought, and she came to the decision that she would mend it for him. Y/N knew the importance the eye patch held for him, indeed she was surprised he had left his chambers without it. Pocketing it, she quickly rearranged the Prince's bed sheets and, thinking the room sufficiently tidy, she exited the Prince's chambers to find her sewing kit.
Y/N had dedicated more time to mending Prince Aemond's eyepatch than was truly necessary, determined to make the stitches as neat as possible. It would be worn by a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms after all. Returning to the Prince's chambers that evening to stoke the fire and light candles, she began to fear her actions had been rash and presumptuous. Perhaps Prince Aemond would be angry with her for taking something so important from his room without his permission. Perhaps he did not feel a need for it any longer and she would simply be cementing the idea that he did if she presented the eye patch to him. By the time she reached his chambers she was wracked with nerves from reviewing in her mind every possible reaction the Prince might have to her actions, and a sickening feeling of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. She was once again relieved to find the Prince was not in his chambers. Though her relief was short lived, for no sooner had she lit the candles and begun lighting a fire than the the very object of her thoughts strode into the room. He halted briefly upon seeing her, but quickly moved to sit in a nearby armchair, seemingly ignoring her presence. The matron may have been right then, Y/N had worried for nothing.
But her heart dropped as she realised he was, in fact, wearing an eye patch. She had been stupid to think he should only have the one and now cursed herself for being so foolish. Y/N gnawed on her bottom lip with worry. Perhaps the Prince would be angered with her taking his belongings from his room without his permission. Or maybe he had meant to throw it away and would think her silly for presuming otherwise. Nonetheless, she determined that she would return what belonged to him. Finishing stoking the fire she rose from her knees and dusted off her skirts, before slowly inching her way over to the Prince. It was only when she stood directly in front of him that he raised his one good eye to meet hers, an eyebrow quirked in curiosity. Y/N wrung her hands nervously, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. She hardly knew what to say, and could not help stuttering as she spoke. "My Prince, I must apologise to you." Aemond seemed momentarily surprised by this, before his features settled back into a mask of indifference, though he leant forward at her words, his elbows resting on his knees and his chin on his knuckles. "Must you now?"
Y/N swallowed down thickly, before nodding. "I couldn't help but notice the broken eye patch upon the bed as I attended my duties this morning, and I took it to mend it. I realise now this was presumptions of me, but I had only thought to be helpful as I know you always wear it." Y/N's eyes widened as she realised her words might suggest she believed he should cover his wound. Holding her hands palm up in a supplicatory manor, her words spilled out quicker and even less elegant than before. "Not that I believe you need to wear the patch. I just thought it must be important to you. Oh I am making a mess of my words. Here, My Prince." She bowed her head and tentatively held the mended eye patch out to him, not daring to look in his direction. After a moment a hand came into her line of vision as Prince Aemond slowly took the patch from her, his much larger hand closing over hers briefly.
Y/n could barely stand the Prince's silence. If the rumours were to be believed, his silent composure concealed its own danger. And, being too fearful to look up at his face, she had no idea of his reaction to her offering. "What is your name?" Y/N's eyes snapped up to meet Aemond's good eye. She had not expected his question, spoken in such a measured tone, having anticipated his ire instead. "Y/N my Prince." Prince Aemond only hummed in response before getting to his feet, prompting Y/N to take several small steps backwards in order to maintain a respectable distance. Y/N averted her eyes to the floor, but nevertheless still felt his gaze upon her, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. "I thank you for your thoughtful actions Y/N. That will be all." She didn't have to be told twice, quickly curtsying to him and rushing hurriedly from the room.
Aemond frowned as the handmaiden fled from him, as if he had struck her rather than offered her his thanks. But she did seem a rather skittish little thing. He had never seen this particular handmaiden before, his mother having dismissed the previous one for reasons he did not care to know. As he'd entered his chambers he'd startled for a moment, taking in her features which he found decidedly pretty. He quickly dispelled himself of that thought and opted to ignore her presence, having come to understand it made the servants less nervous in his presence and more efficient. Taking a seat close to the fire the girl was stoking, he could not help keeping his eye trained upon her in interest as he observed a range of emotions crossing her face. He had not expected her to approach him then, almost admiring her boldness before she quickly turned into a stuttering mess, and it was only with a concerted effort that he understood her at all. Yet he found himself moved as he disentangled the reason for her apology from her frantic speech.
Looking down at his now mended eyepatch he could not help but admire her handiwork, the stitches were so neat and close together that you could hardly tell it had ever required mending. Aemond had carelessly strewn the broken eye patch on his bed that morning, he had many others in case of such incidents and had not thought of it since. But at the sight of it in her proferred hand, Aemond became aware of a strange feeling in his chest. He had hardened himself following the events at Driftmark that had lost him his eye, an act of violence against him which had never been avenged. He still felt the slight keenly for his nephew had never been punished for it. Aemond had not since felt such genuine kindness directed towards him, such care for this most essential part of him, even by his own family, with the exception of his gentle sister Helaena. His lost eye had ever been a painful subject to avoid. It was only a small matter really, the mending of an eye patch, but it carried a far greater significance for Aemond, who found himself charmed by this particular handmaiden's thoughtfulness towards him.
Y/N burned with embarrassment as she fled from the Prince's chambers. His reaction was admittedly better than she could have hoped for, but she'd still managed to make a complete fool of herself in this, their first meeting. She felt she could not have given a worse impression of her capability as his handmaiden and overstepped boundaries. Over the next few days she endeavoured to move quickly as she completed her tasks in the hopes that she would avoid the Prince entirely. She successfully managed to do so for two consecutive days by following the same schedule, only entering his room at hours she knew he would be otherwise preoccupied.
On the third day Y/N entered Prince Aemond's chambers, she was startled to see the Prince himself sitting in his armchair. The morning sunlight pouring through the windows cast his face in a soft glow that accentuated his features, which were admittedly beautiful. He was lazily playing with a coin, weaving it between his fingers. When she realised she'd been staring at his hands for an extended period of time she briefly raised her eyes to his face to see his mouth upturned in a slight smirk, and she quickly shifted her focus to completing her tasks. She moved quietly and efficiently throughout the room, trying with great difficulty to avoid looking in the Prince's direction, to pretend he was not there at all.
It would not do for her to turn back into a jittery, stumbling mess and prove what he must already have thought, that she was completely incompetent and unsuited to her position. Removing a tray of used cups and goblets from a side table, Y/N turned to take them back to the kitchens. Walking past Prince Aemond, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he was wearing the eye patch she had mended for him and halted her moments to confirm she was correct. The Prince was looking at her almost expectantly, as if he'd been waiting for her to notice. With a barely perceptible nod of her head, she hastily left the room.
Aemond had hoped that exclusively wearing the eye patch his handmaiden had mended would assure her he was not angry with her for her actions. And yet he did not see her for the two days following their meeting, and Aemond realised she must have taken account of his movements to avoid being in his chambers at the same time, the clever minx. So on the third day he resolved to put an end to this ridiculous game of cat and mouse. Though it was his habit to rise early and leave for the training yard, he settled himself in his favoured arm chair to await the maiden's arrival. A satisfied smirk ghosted onto his face as she entered, clearly startled to find him still within his chambers and Aemond noted how she'd stared at his hands for several moments before turning to attend to her duties.
His brows furrowed in frustration as he watched her mill about the room, steadfastly ignoring him and avoiding looking in his direction entirely. He did not wish for her to be afraid of him. It was only when she was exiting his chambers that she glanced at him again and, finally, seemed to notice the eye patch he was wearing as she stared at it, rooted to the spot. A light dusting of pink rose to her cheeks before she nodded and swiftly departed, and Aemond assumed she had now realised he was not displeased with her. The moment she disappeared from his view, Aemond found himself wanting to see her blush again.
Y/N was still wary in Aemond's presence, a consequence of her own shy disposition and acute sense of awareness in the difference in their stations. However, she was no longer afraid of him, so to speak, and stopped trying to avoid being in the same room with him, simply finding a rhythm of getting on with her tasks whether he was there or not. He did not address her often, but thanked her each time she completed her survey of his room and turned to leave. His voice was smooth and quiet and Y/N noted that he was much more soft-spoken than his loud and overbearing brother. Prince Aemond clearly did not feel the need to shout to make his presence felt. Y/N had passed two weeks in her new post before there was any shift in the dynamic the Prince and his handmaiden had developed.
Y/N had finished lighting all of the candles in the Prince's chamber and had started collecting empty cups strewn about the various surfaces in the room when she spotted the eight legged monstrosity, prompting her to let out a high pitched shriek and drop the tray she'd been holding, sending goblets crashing to the stone floor. She had always been terrified of spiders, begging the other handmaidens to deal with them when she had worked in the lower chambers of the Keep. But it was just her now, and her heart beat wildly as she realised she would have no choice but to remove it from the Prince's room. She kept her eyes on the creature with a sickening sense of dread as it crawled along the length of the side table she'd been cleaning. But she heard Prince Aemond speak behind her, his tone somewhat demanding "What is the matter?"
Y/N tried to keep her tone even as she answered, but even she could hear the slight hysteria tinging her voice and knew he would not be fooled. "Simply a spider, My Prince. I have never been fond of them. I apologise for disturbing you with my outburst and I will deal with the creature and the mess forthwith." Taking a deep breath to steel herself for what she was about to do, she took a tentative step towards where the spider was still crawling, before letting out a small squeek of surprise as warm hands enveloped her waist and gently moved her to the side. She had not heard the Prince's footsteps, he moved so quietly. Wordlessly he scooped the spider into a goblet she'd dropped and walked to his balcony, opening up the doors to set it loose. By the time he'd returned, shutting the doors to block out the crisp night air, Y/N had come to her senses and cleared up the mess she'd made, tray back in hand. She felt immensely grateful to the Prince for stepping in as he had, clearly having sensed her distress, but she could not help feeling somewhat ashamed of her silliness.
Looking up from the tray she'd been holding as his boots came into her line of sight, she attempted to channel her sincere gratitude into her voice "Thank you, My Prince. I am most grateful for your kindness in stepping in, and I assure you it will not happen again." She watched as a strange look passed over Prince Aemond's features, before he leant his head down towards hers, his long platinum hair brushing against her shoulder with their proximity. "Spiders only look frightening little one, they will not harm you." There was a glint in his eye that hinted at a hidden meaning to his words, though Y/N could not understand what it was. Straightening up, Aemond lightly waved a hand in dismissal. "That will be all for this evening Y/N." Still slightly dazed from their former proximity, where she'd been close enough to smell his scent of leather, musk and pine, Y/N simply nodded before turning from him and speeding back to the servant's quarters. She felt the Prince's stare on her back until the door concealed her from his view.
Aemond had reread the same page at least thrice. He kept having to pull his eyes from his handmaiden's form as he watched her move about his chambers. She'd sparked his interest from their first meeting and though they interacted little, he consistently found himself watching her movements, though he could not tell why. Resuming his focus on his book, a shrill shriek had his eyes snapping back up to his handmaiden. Concerned she had hurt herself, perhaps cut her hand on one of the cups that had tumbled to the floor, his voice came out sharper than he'd intended in his urgency. "What is the matter?" He felt relief wash over him to learn of the reason for her outburst, and a small degree of amusement at the cause being but a little spider. This quickly diminished when he observed her genuine fear as she cowered away from the creature. She looked as if she were headed for battle rather than contending with a spider.
Rising from his seated position he quietly moved over to her, taking hold of her waist to move her aside and remove the spider himself. Returning to her side, he'd not expected the earnestness in her gaze as she thanked him. You'd have thought he saved her from Vhagar instead of a mere spider. But it was her reference to his 'kindness' that had sent his mind spinning. Kind was not a word oft associated with Aemond Targaryen, he was well aware of his reputation within the Red Keep. He felt that same strange sensation in his chest he'd noticed once before, when she'd handed him his mended eye patch. As warmth spread throughout his chest he realised he was endeared to have someone feel so positively towards him, to look to him for protection, to think him kind when this seemed laughable in conjunction with his somewhat fearsome appearance.
With a somewhat cocky smile, Aemond moved closer to the handmaiden, leaning his face close to hers. "Spiders only look frightening little one, they will not harm you." He'd hoped to subtly convey to her that he too held no danger for her, that she had no need of being so skittish around him. But he could see from the look of confusion that crossed her dainty features she had not understood his meaning fully. He did not wish to increase her level of discomfort around him so quickly straightened and offered her his dismissal. He tried not to address the sting of hurt he felt as she once again rushed away from him.
After Prince Aemond had gallantly saved her from the spider, Y/N had begun to feel more and more comfortable with him. He had not mocked her or made her feel silly for her actions, indeed he had not mentioned the incident at all. She realised that he had done nothing but try to make her feel comfortable around him and she had responded by treating him almost as if he were a snake about to strike at any moment. So she resolved to make a greater effort not to appear so frightened in his presence, her shyness be damned. She started out small at first, actually greeting him as she entered his chambers, though he seemed surprised she had even addressed him at all. Eventually she even began to ask after his day as she stoked the fire in his chambers and bid him goodnight for the evening. The Prince seemed to welcome her small attempts at conversation and readily responded, sometimes with quite extensive accounts of the events of the day.
Several days followed where their schedules did not align and Prince Aemond was absent every time Y/N entered his chambers. She tried to suppress a bizarre spark of dissapointment at this, not knowing when she had started to actually look forward to their short interactions. Dusting his bookshelf, she ran her hands over the ornate spines of the books. Laying down her duster as she carefully pulled one out to gaze at it, grazing her hand softly over the cover. "You take an interest in the Targaryen histories?" She was startled out of her reveries by Prince Aemond's question, not having heard his voice in a few days. Quickly replacing the book where it belonged she curtsied to him "I apologise My Prince, I should not have..."
The Prince walked over to her, his hair lightly swaying in tandem with his shoulders, until he was close enough to brush his arm against hers when he took the book back down from the shelf. "You are welcome to borrow a few volumes should they interest you." It was such a generous offer that Y/N was saddened to have to reject it. "Thank you My Prince, but I cannot read." Aemond seemed surprised for a moment before he cleared his throat and pulled his hands behind his back, removing the book from her line of vision. The Prince's voice was soft when he next spoke "Is it something you would like to learn?" Y/N's eyes snapped up to meet Aemond's, though she had to crane her neck to do so with him standing so close. Excitement had shot through her at a possibility she'd often longed for, she'd never had the opportunity to learn before. It was not considered necessary for her line of work.
But doubt began to fill her mind. Did the Prince mean to teach her himself? They'd come a long way from their first meetings, but she was still shy around him and could not but think such a situation would inevitably lead to embarrassment. Besides, he was a Prince and that would be beneath him. Prince Aemond did not break his focus from her but spoke before she could voice any of her concerns. "I will have my sister Helaena see to it." With that he turned from her and left his chambers entirely, leaving Y/N to stare after him, mouth hanging open at the suddenness of his departure.
Aemond had been pleased to find Y/N in his chambers, a welcome sight after many days and he quietly took in her presence as she ran her hands across his books. He watched her take a particular interest in a book detailing the histories of his House and felt a spark of something, perhaps excitement, at her sharing this interest with him. He himself was a dedicated scholar and was well versed in the histories of the House of the Dragon, such was his prerogative as a Targaryen Prince. Hoping not to startle her too much, he had asked her if this was in fact the case.
Frowning as she hastily replaced the book from whence she'd taken it, he quickly strode towards the shelf to take it back out and offer it to her. He'd thought it could be an opening for a potential friendship between them. He had noticed she'd begun to interact more with him of her own volition, taking this as a sign of her feeling increasingly comfortable in his presence.
His hopes came crashing down at his handmaiden's next admission "I cannot read." Of course, he'd been foolish not to think of it and cursed himself for potentially fracturing what little progress they'd made by potentially causing her embarrassment now. Nevertheless, he could not help himself from offering her the chance to learn, having seen her gaze so longingly at the books just moments prior. Aemond had in fact intended to teach her himself, and the initial excitement that lit her eyes at his suggestion had him believing for a moment that she would be amenable to the idea. That was before he watched her face fall, and various emotions flit across her eyes.
Perhaps he had been too hasty in his belief that she was now comfortable with him and this was the cause of her conflict. It pained him somewhat to think the idea might be so displeasing to her but he tried not to let it cloud his judgement as he tried to think of a solution that would be more acceptable to Y/N. It came to him to ask Helaena of her assistance. She had a gentle and calming disposition, at least to him, and perhaps Y/N would feel more comfortable with his sister than him. He left Y/N without waiting for her response, not wishing her to see his barely repressed dissapointment, and went to seek out his sister.
Helaena had willingly agreed to teach Y/N how to read, and Aemond had gratefully kissed his beloved sister on the crown of her head before returning to his chambers, hoping that his handmaiden would be pleased.
Y/N began to spend much of her time when she was not working occupied in the Princess Helaena's chambers. The Princess was a patient teacher and a kind soul, though she often spoke words that seemed oddly prophetic and disturbed Y/N, who could not decipher their meaning. She was grateful to the Princess for her help, and more still to Prince Aemond for securing this chance for her. More surprising was his unexpected willingness to answer any questions she had of the material she read with Helaena. The Prince seemed pleased at her questioning, always gazing at her attentively as he answered. She could not help thinking they'd managed to form a strange sort of friendship, despite her shyness and the stark difference in their positions, and she increasingly looked forward to each interaction.
Aemond was not surprised to see Y/N in his sister's chambers when he had come to visit that day. She was often there now, either leaning over a new text as his sister pointed different things out to her, or playing with his little niece and nephew. He was sure her presence was a great comfort to Helaena as well, and was glad of having introduced them. He was surprised, however, to see the look of horror on his handmaiden's face as Helaena placed a furry spider upon her outstretched arm. Her eyes widened so far it might have been comical, if he had not already been aware of her deep seated fear of the creature. All the same, he felt his heart stutter slightly at the sight, in the knowledge that his handmaiden would allow such a thing in order to please his sweet sister who was giggling slightly and cooing at her pet.
And in that moment Aemond realised what he should have done weeks ago, when he had first noted that feeling of warmth spread throughout his chest at Y/N's actions. He was falling in love with his handmaiden, or indeed already had. He was certain his mother would not be best pleased. He was a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and was surely set for a match that would be politically beneficial to his House. In truth, he found it difficult to care. He had lost so much at such a young age, and though he now rode the largest dragon in existence, he still often felt like that scared, insecure little boy who'd been mocked by his brother and nephews. He had dedicated so much of himself to embodying the role of a true Targaryen Prince, and yet his own father essentially ignored him, favouring his bastard nephews over him.
Taking all of this into consideration, was it truly wrong for him to look for a love match with someone he truly cared for? He came to his decision there and then. Aemond wanted Y/N and he would have her whether it pleased his family or otherwise. The greater problem lay in Y/N's meek disposition and wariness around him now, which had admittedly diminished but was ever present. She could hardly stand to meet his gaze for more than a few moments at a time. The Prince resolved that he would find a way to warm her heart to him, and took a step forward to rescue the object of his affections from her current predicament.
#house of the dragon#house of the dragon x reader#hotd#hotd oneshot#hotd imagine#aemond targaryen oneshot#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen fanfiction#asoiaf#fire and blood#aemond targaryen fluff#aemond targaryen x handmaiden!reader#aemond targaryen oneshote#ewan mitchell#ewan nation#aemond x y/n#aemond fluff
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Sorry for english mistakes, it is not my first language. Can we have more of what âFamilial Issues Anonâ was talking about? Requesting for more Brother Aegon but it is not tied to the previous fic? Like Aegon and Little Sister Reader growing up with one another and the ideas of the Anon that requested it? Sorry it is my first tine asking for a fic request!
THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x READER ) [ PREQUEL? ]
AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: Young! Aegon Targaryen x Little Sis! Reader prompt: Aegon finds himself enable to grasp the thought of losing you forever. word count: 1, 000+ words
You were a pest. No, you were a clingy pest. Like a leech. Aegon's personal leech. You just stuck to him. No matter how many times he tried to get rid of you, you came waddling back to him like a little duckling. You'd stare up at him, big puppy dog eyes and a giddy smile. So pure, so untouched. He wanted to ruin you. To ruin that good you had in you, in hopes it would make you stop clinging onto him. But, it never worked.
He could spout out the cruelest of insults to you, and you'd just stare at him. So innocent that the words did not click in his head. He could push you, and you'd just stand back up unflinching. Still seeing the best in him. He hated it. It was odd. Why could you not see the bad in him? The bad that everyone else saw in him? Why did you have to be so good? So sweet? So loving?
He hated it. Yet, he craved your presence. There was something nice about having you by his side. You weren't like Jace, trying to impress him. Or as much of a follower as Luke, wanting to fit in. You just adored him and everything he did. Like a stupid puppy. It was a battle within him.
"She's a pest." Yes, but she's your little sister.
"She sees too much good in me." Yes, but wasn't that better than hate?
"She was too young." Yes, only eleven and still too naive to understand just how horrid and rotten he was. But, she made him smile with her child-like wonder of the world.
"She loves you." Yes, she was the only one that did. Or at least, the only one that did love him for him. No matter how rotten he was.Â
"She's too clingy." Yes, but one day she will grow out of it and suddenly the loneliness will come creeping back in. She wonât be there trailing after him, or hug him, or smile at him.Â
"One day she will marry and leave you all alone." Yes, but for now you were his little sister. You were his little duckling. His little shadow. His little pest and he wanted to cling onto that a little longer.Â
Watching you trailing after Aemond like a puppy, he scowls deeply, hatred and jealousy bubbling inside of him. You were supposed to be his little shadow. Not Aemond's. Keeping his distance for now, he watches as you give Aemond a big hug and smile, nodding your little head enthusiastically at whatever he says. The scowl on his face grows more and more deep. What could Aemond say that made you so happy? Watching you hand Aemond a linen cloth, he grows even more angry. No, no, no, that was his thing. You were supposed to give him gifts! Not Aemond.
Not being able to hold back any longer, he stalks towards the two of you, a dark glare on his face pointed towards Aemond. There was no way in the Seven hells was he going to allow Aemond to steal you from him. You were his pest. You were his. Not Aemond. Aemond could have Helaena or Jace and Luke for all he cared. You were his. You were meant to cling onto him. Watching you ramble away to Aemond, he straightens out, puffing up his chest to look more bigger.Â
"Oh, Y/n.." He calls out, a hint of sing-song tone in his voice.
"Egg!" You cheerfully call out, your words lisping together.
"Aegon. We've been over this. It's Aegon, not Egg." He huffs, rolling his eyes.
âWhat are you doing here, Egg?â You ask, not catching his annoyance.Â
Watching you completely forget about Aemond, he swiftly picks you up, carrying you on his back in a piggy back ride. You were a little heavy and too big to be carried in such a manner, but he didnât care. If it meant keeping you close to him, he would grit his teeth and do it. Hearing you giggle loudly, he walks away from Aemond, shooting a deadly glare over his shoulder. As if he was a dog pissing on the ground to mark his territory. He wanted to be clear to everyone, you were his.
âDoes not matter.â He brushes off, âWe are going to the kitchenâs, I heard they are making lemon cakes.â
âLemon cakes?â
âYes, I think we can steal a few of them.â He nods, âWhat do you say, hm? An adventure with your big brother?â
âI would like that.â You smile, making him perk up.
"Good, good, because I wan't going to put you down anyways."
Watching as you dissect the lemon cake, you push the bitter lemon frosting away with your fork, piling it up on the side of the plate. Smiling softly as you turn your plate so he could eat the frosting, his gaze softens ever so slightly, shoulderâs relaxing. You were too kind. Even when eating your food, you still wanted to share with him, knowing that the frosting was always his favorite part. Pushing his uneaten slice closer to you, he had no desire to eat the lemon cake anymore, just wanting to see you smile some more.Â
âAegon?â You mumble, playing with your food with your fork.Â
âYes?âÂ
âI have a question.â You stare at the plate, âAbout marriage.â
âMarriage? What in the Sevenâs name is making you think of marriage? Youâre too young for that.âÂ
âGrandsire said I will one day make a good wife and mother. That I must follow my studies closely.â You mumble, âDo you think that I will be a good wife and mother one day?â
Furrowing his brows in confusion, he didnât know why you were asking such a question, you were a long way away before marriage would become a concern. You barely turned ten and one, weeks ago. You should be focused on other matterâs, like embroidery or whatever stupid Court gossip spread around.
Wrinkling his nose up the more he thinks of you getting married, the more he dislikes the thought. You were too young, and too important for him to let you succumb to such a boring fate. If he was King, you would never have to marry. You two would just fly on dragon back and have fun all day.Â
âI do. But, thatâs like a billion years from now.â He rolls his eyes, exaggerating with his words.
âDo you think so? I know of many other girlâs who are already betrothed.â You mumble, playing with the frosting.Â
âYes, well, those other girls arenât you. You're a Princess, a Targaryen one. Youâre important and different from them. They're dull.â He shakes his head, refusing to compare you to the other girl in Court.
âYou think so?â You ask, eyes full of so much hope.
âI know so. Weâre Targaryenâs! Everyone wants to be us because we are special and they are dull and common.â He smiles, âThereâs a thousand of them, and only one of you. Youâre special.â
Watching as a big goofy smile spreads on your face, he perks up at the sight, happy to cause such joy within you. Picking apart the lemon cake with his fork, he watches as your eyes lower down to your plate, shoulderâs slouching for a moment. The smile on your face falters for a moment, almost as if some thought popped in your head and ruined the moment. Furrowing his brows at how quick the joy is gone, he wanted to punch whoever or whatever had popped into your head.Â
âWhat is it?â He asks, slightly concerned by your shift in mood.Â
âBut, Grandsire saidâŻâ
âYou are barely reaching your ten and two name day. You are too young to be considered a wife or Mother.â He shakes his head dismissively, âGrandsire is a fool. Do not let such things upset you. I wonât let them marry you off. Youâll stay here in the Red Keep with me, for like, forever.âÂ
Little did either of you know, that just on the other end of the Red Keep.Your marriage had already been arranged, and soon youâd be shipped off.
---
#house of the dragon#house of dragons#house of dragons x reader#house of the dragon x reader#hotd imagine#hotd imagines#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon ii targaryen#hotd x reader#aegon ii#aegon x reader#aegon the elder#king aegon#aegon the second#aegon ii targaryen x reader#hotd aegon
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Fires That Never Freeze
- Summary: You receive the news about Rhaenys' death at Rook's Rest, before Jace arrives as he secures the Twins.
- Paring: targ!reader/Cregan Stark
- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is bonded to a dragon. These events happen after The Heir of Ice and Ash. To read all parts in chronological order, or more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.
- Rating: Explicit 18+
- Word count: 5 524
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess
You cradle your son, Killian, against your chest, his soft breath a soothing rhythm amidst the storm brewing in your heart. His dark hair is thick for one so young, a stark contrast to your own silver strands that cascade down like a river of moonlight, braided intricately yet now trembling at the edges as you shudder with grief. His violet eyesâyour eyesâpeek up at you in curiosity, innocent to the world that has been drenched in blood and betrayal. You wish you could preserve this innocence forever, shield him from the horrors beyond these stone walls, but you know all too well that the winds of war spare no one.
The letter lies crumpled beside you, the wax seal of the Three-Headed Dragon snapped in two. The words are still fresh, cutting through you like Valyrian steel, sharper than any sword you could ever wield. Your grandmotherâbrave, indomitable Rhaenysâis gone. The Queen Who Never Was met her end at Rookâs Rest, where she and Meleys faced the combined fury of Vhagar and Sunfyre. The account is almost too monstrous to believe: how Meleysâ head was severed and paraded as a trophy, how Aegon the Usurper was carried away like a broken thing, sealed in a crate to hide his mangled form. They say he is scarcely more than a corpse now, held together only by pride and the twisted whims of fate.
Your tears fall silently, trailing over Killianâs soft cheeks as he looks up at you, gurgling without a care in the world. He knows nothing of what has been lost, what will never be.
Suddenly, you feel Creganâs presence behind youâwarm and steady like the roots of an ancient tree. He kneels by your side, his grey eyes searching yours with concern. His large, calloused hand rests gently on your back, grounding you in the present. âY/N,â he murmurs, voice soft as the snow falling outside. âI heard. The raven...â
You canât find the strength to speak, so you only nod. He understands without needing further words; he always has. The Lord of Winterfell was never meant for courtly games or gilded halls, but here in the cold North, his honesty and strength have become your rock amidst all the chaos. Yet even his unwavering strength canât shield you from this hurt.
âI thought dragons were⌠unkillable,â Cregan says after a pause, his voice rough with both sorrow and disbelief. âThe stuff of legends, creatures older than men, forged in fire. I thought they were eternal.â
You blink away the tears that threaten to blind you and force yourself to meet his gaze. There is no room for illusions, not in this world where even gods bleed. âAnything can be killed, Cregan,â you whisper, voice trembling yet laced with a fierce conviction. âEven the gods. Even kings and Kingmakers alike.â The venom laced in the last words is unmistakable. Ser Criston Cole, the leech in royal armor, the wretched man who enabled this war to take root with his false oaths and blackened soulâhow you despise him. The thought of him twisting the fate of nations with his cruelty makes bile rise in your throat
Creganâs brow furrows as he takes in your words. He knows of your distaste for Cole, for all those who put ambition over loyalty, who would see the world burn if only to rule over the ashes. He moves closer, wrapping a protective arm around you and Killian. âYouâre right,â he says quietly, his voice a deep rumble, âbut weâre still here, and weâll fight back for those weâve lost. For those who remain.â
Killian shifts in your arms, cooing softly, as if sensing the turmoil in your heart. You lean into Creganâs warmth, letting yourself take solace in the strength he offers. âRhaenys was always so brave,â you murmur, your voice breaking slightly. âShe defied them all her life, never once bending to their will. They feared her because she was a woman who would not be cowed, and now⌠they parade her death like some kind of victory.â
âThey can parade all they like,â Cregan says, his voice turning steely, âbut a victory built on treachery and murder will crumble. Aegonâs body may still cling to life, but his cause is already rotting from within. The realm will see it.â
His words, though meant to comfort, bring little ease. The war rages on, and with it, the losses mount like a tolling bell. Your heart aches, both for those who have fallen and for those who must still face what lies ahead. Yet, as you look down at Killian, you feel a flicker of hope amidst the darkness. He is a symbol of all you fight forâa future not bound by the horrors of the past, but shaped by those who endure.
âThraxata will know,â you murmur, more to yourself than to Cregan, your thoughts turning to your own dragon, the Midnight Fury. âShe will mourn with me.â
Cregan tightens his grip around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. âAnd when the time comes, sheâll fight with you too, alongside us all. This isnât over, Y/N. We have something theyâll never understandâa love forged in fire and ice, bound by loyalty.â
You close your eyes and let yourself be held, the flicker of strength in your chest rekindling. The tears still fall, but now, with every drop, there is something else tooâa growing resolve. Rhaenysâ death will not be in vain. The world will hear the roar of her legacy through you, through your son, and through every soul that refuses to bow to the false kings who sit on thrones built on blood.
For now, you hold your family close, taking what comfort you can in the warmth of Creganâs embrace, in the small heartbeat thrumming steadily against your chest. The autumn winds howl outside, but here, amidst stone and fur, there is still love, still life. The storm may rage, but you will not break.
Not yet.
The weirwood stands tall and ancient, its pale bark almost glowing in the dim twilight. The blood-red leaves flutter softly in the breeze, a stark contrast against the gray skies overhead. You feel small before it, like a child gazing up at something vast and unfathomable. The face carved into the heart treeâs trunk stares down at you with those deep, knowing eyes, as if it sees not just you, but every thought, every secret tucked away in the recesses of your soul.
Youâve been standing here longer than you intended, lost in the quiet of this sacred place. Yet, beneath the peace, thereâs an unease gnawing at you. The chill of autumn clings to your skin, sharper now, more present. It crawls into your bones, but you canât bring yourself to move. Youâre here, but not trulyâyour thoughts scattered like leaves on the wind.
For a moment, everything sharpens. You feel the press of the cold more keenly now, and your breath curls in the air like faint wisps of smoke. Then, the world begins to shift. The rustle of the leaves grows distant, muffled, until itâs almost drowned out by something elseâa whisper thatâs barely more than a breath, carried on the wind. You stiffen, your heart quickening. Itâs a voice, faint yet clear as the first crack of ice on a frozen lake.
Y/N.
It speaks your name, though you cannot tell whether itâs a manâs voice or a womanâs. It sounds old, ageless even, and it seems to echo within your mind as much as in the air around you. A rush of images floods your visionâflashes of faces, places, events yet to come or perhaps already past. You see fire and blood, wings spreading wide against a burning sky. Thereâs the glint of steel, a flash of a crownâsomeone crying out, their voice lost in a roar of flames.Â
Then, as suddenly as it came, the frenzy halts. You stagger back a step, your surroundings snapping back into focus, the world real again. But the cold clings to you, more than it did before. The weirwood watches you, its eyes holding secrets it will never share. You swallow, trying to steady your breath, your heart pounding loud enough to drown out all else.
âY/N!â A familiar voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, pulling you back fully to the present.
You turn, dazed, and see Cregan striding toward you, his expression tense with concern. Behind him is Maester Kennet, his gray robes fluttering as he hurries to keep pace. Creganâs eyes are locked on you, his brows drawn together, the worry evident in his every movement. âWhatâs wrong? Youâve been out here too longâitâs freezing.â His tone is gentle, but thereâs an edge to it, the underlying fear for your well-being.
You blink, still feeling the lingering echoes of the vision, the remnants of those hurried images flickering in your mindâs eye. âI⌠Iâm fine,â you say, but your voice is shakier than you intend, betraying the truth of your unease.
Cregan stops in front of you, reaching out to cup your cheek with one roughened hand, his thumb brushing against your cold skin. âYou donât look fine, love,â he murmurs, eyes searching yours as if trying to find the cause of whatever has you so shaken. âWhat happened?â
âIâm not sure,â you admit, closing your eyes briefly as you lean into his touch. âThe weirwood⌠I thought I heard something. Saw something.â
Maester Kennet approaches cautiously, his gaze darting between you and the heart tree. âThe Old Gods have their ways of sending messages, Lady Y/N,â he says softly. âThe weirwoods are their eyes, their ears. It is not unheard of for them to reach out to those who carry their favor.âÂ
Cregan frowns at that, his grip on you tightening protectively. âSheâs been out here too long, alone,â he says, not taking his eyes off you. âWhatever she saw or heard can wait until sheâs had some rest.â
But Maester Kennet shakes his head, his face grim as he pulls a folded letter from his robes. âI wouldnât have interrupted if it werenât important. A raven came not long agoâfrom the Twins. Your brother, Jacaerys, has secured passage for his forces. Heâs on his way to meet you, Lady Y/N.â
The words bring a sudden, fierce surge of emotionârelief mixed with dread. Jacaerys is alive, fighting as he always promised he would. Yet with every victory comes new dangers, new battles. And the visions, whatever they meant, linger in your mind like a shadow cast over the joy of the news.
Cregan, ever perceptive, sees the conflict in your eyes and places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. âWeâll face whatever comes,â he promises, his voice a low rumble, the kind that always makes you feel like youâre standing on solid ground, even when the world tilts.
You manage a small smile, nodding. âYesâŚâ
But as you glance back at the weirwood, its face still and expressionless, you canât shake the feeling that the Old Gods are watching more keenly than ever. The autumn winds whisper secrets youâre not sure you want to hear, and deep in your heart, you sense that whatever lies ahead, the choices you make will ripple far beyond the snow-covered hills of the North.
With a deep breath, you turn away from the tree, allowing Creganâs steady presence to guide you back toward Winterfell, leaving the whispers of the gods behindâfor now.
The winds bite sharper today, swirling through the bare branches of the godswood and over the snow-covered battlements of Winterfell. You stand beside Cregan at the edge of the courtyard, your cloak pulled tight against the chill. Thraxata looms behind you, her obsidian scales gleaming in the pale winter light. The Midnight Furyâs violet eyes are fixed on the skies above, where your brother is soon to arrive. The air hums with anticipation, the kind that makes your heart race and your fingers twitch. Beside you, Cregan rests a hand on the pommel of his sword, his gaze as steady as the stone walls that surround you.
âAre you ready?â Creganâs voice is low, warm like a hearth fire, grounding you in the present moment.
You nod, though the tension in your chest remains. âI havenât seen Jacaerys in so long. I only hope heâs as safe as his letter claimed.â
Cregan squeezes your hand, a brief but reassuring gesture. âIf heâs anything like you, heâll be stronger than ever.â
You smile at his words, but the edge of worry still lingers. War changes people, molds them into something elseâsometimes into something harder, colder. Youâve seen it already in the eyes of the soldiers who have passed through Winterfell, men whose laughter now rings hollow, whose smiles are mere shadows. What has the war made of your brother?
Before your thoughts can spiral further, the distant roar of a dragon echoes through the sky, accompanied by the deep flap of massive wings. All eyes turn upward, and thereâemerging from the rolling cloudsâis Vermax. His green and bronze scales shimmer with an ethereal glow against the muted grays of the northern sky, his wings outstretched as he circles lower. Your heart lifts at the sight, despite everything.
Thraxata rumbles low in her throat, a sound thatâs half-greeting, half-challenge. She shifts, restless, her powerful tail sweeping across the ground and leaving deep grooves in the snow. You place a calming hand on her side, feeling the heat radiating from her scales, even in the biting cold. âEasy, girl,â you murmur, though a part of you understands her unease. The bond between dragon and rider is one forged in fire and instinctâThraxata senses your tension as clearly as you do.
Vermax lands with a powerful thud in the courtyard, snow scattering like dust beneath his claws. Jacaerys dismounts swiftly, his dark curls wild from the wind, his face shadowed with exhaustion and resolve. His eyesâdark brownâsearch the crowd until they find you. Despite the grimness that hangs about him, a grin breaks across his face.
âY/N!â His voice is hoarse, but filled with unmistakable affection.
You rush forward, closing the distance between you, and throw your arms around him. For a moment, youâre children again, finding comfort in each other amidst the storms that have always threatened to tear your family apart. But the moment is brief, tinged with the weight of all that has passed. When you pull back, you can see the subtle changes in himâthe deeper lines etched into his face, the hardened edge in his gaze.
âBrother,â you breathe, cupping his face, your thumb brushing against the scar just above his browâa mark of a recent battle, no doubt. âYouâve grown into a man of war.â
Jacaerys huffs a quiet laugh, though it lacks the lightness it once held. âIt seems the war gives us little choice in what we become.â His gaze flickers over your shoulder, landing on Cregan. âLord Stark,â he greets formally, though the respect in his tone is genuine. âYour hospitality has been unmatched. Itâs a comfort to know my sister has found such a strong allyâand husband.â
Cregan inclines his head, his usual sternness softened slightly by a hint of warmth. âYour family is ours now, Jacaerys. Winterfell stands with you, as do the men of the North. We fight together.â
The words, though simple, carry a promise, one that Jacaerys seems to take solace in. He nods, a flicker of relief crossing his features before his expression grows serious once more. âThe Twins have bent the knee. Their armies are ready to march when we give the word. The Riverlands will rally to our cause, though theyâve suffered much at the hands of the greens.â
You clench your fists at your sides, feeling the familiar fire of rage ignite in your belly at the thought of those who serve the usurper, those whoâve turned against your mother, against your family. âWeâll make them pay for every drop of blood spilled,â you vow, your voice cold with determination. âTheyâll learn the price of treachery when fire and blood rain upon them.â
Jacaerysâ gaze meets yours, a shared understanding passing between you. âWe will, sister,â he says quietly. âBut we must be wise in how we strike. Our enemies are many, and some hide in shadows even we havenât uncovered.â
As he speaks, the men of Winterfell gather closer, eager to hear news from the South. Thraxata moves to stand beside Vermax, her violet eyes fixed on him, a low rumble vibrating through her chest. Vermax, ever the more temperate of the two, remains still, watching her with a calm curiosity. The two dragons are like night and day, one fierce and unpredictable, the other steady and patientâa reflection of the bond shared between their riders.
Maester Kennet steps forward from the crowd, ever the dutiful servant, and bows his head. âMy lord, my lady,â he addresses you both, âthe men are ready to host your brother and his retinue. Supplies are being gathered for the march south, but it would do you both good to rest and break bread together before the night grows colder.â
Cregan nods, though his gaze remains fixed on Jacaerys. âYouâve traveled far, and winterâs grip grows tighter by the day. Weâll speak of war and plans soon enough. Tonight, we celebrate family.â
Jacaerys glances at you, his eyes softening briefly before he returns his attention to Cregan. âIâd welcome that. Itâs been too long since Iâve felt the warmth of kin.â He turns to you once more, taking your hand and squeezing it. âMother would want us to stand strong, Y/N. For her, for all of us.â
You swallow back the knot in your throat, nodding. âWe will, Jace. We will.â
As you walk back toward the Great Hall, arm in arm with your brother and Cregan beside you, the dragons shift close behind ready to take flight, their steps heavy on the snow-covered earth. Above, the first stars begin to pierce the twilight sky, cold and distant. You can still feel the echoes of the weirwoodâs whispers, the glimpses of futures yet unwritten. But here, with your family by your side, you draw strength from the bonds that even war cannot break.
The Great Hall of Winterfell is alive with the low murmur of voices and the crackle of hearth fires. The long table is crowded with Stark bannermen, their weathered faces drawn with the seriousness of the discussion. The banners of the North hang proudly on the wallsâgray direwolves on fields of white and gray. The smell of pinewood smoke and spiced wine fills the air, mingling with the scent of roasted meats brought out for the evening. It is a scene both warm and solemn, a brief moment of respite before the weight of strategy drags everyone back into the cold reality of war.
You sit beside Cregan at the head of the table, your hand resting on his arm as Jacaerys stands before the gathered lords. He wears his determination like armor, though there is a heaviness in his eyes that no amount of resolve can mask. His voice, strong despite the weariness clinging to him, rings out over the hall.
âOur enemies have grown bolder since my brotherâs and grandmother's murders. Aemond has broken the oldest of lawsâheâs a kinslayer, and for that, heâs forfeited not only his honor but any right to mercy. The greens think the deaths of Luke and Rhaenys will weaken us, make us retreat into mourning. Theyâre wrong.â His words are met with murmurs of agreement, grim nods from the assembled bannermen.
Lord Cregan speaks next, his voice deep and measured. âJustice for Prince Lucerys and Princess Rhaenys will be served, Jacaerys, but the North is not free of its own burdens. The men and Houses we pledged to your cause will march with you as promisedâgreybeards and veterans who have survived more winters than most. But the majority of our forces must remain here, at least until the winds shift and winterâs bite eases.â
A rumble of assent follows Creganâs words. The greybeards, some of whom are gathered here tonight, nod their heads, weathered faces set in stony determination. These are men whoâve lived through harsh winters, wars, and endless trials. They know the cost of every step taken southward, but they also understand the weight of their oaths.
You lean forward, feeling the cold steel of duty and sorrow twisting within you. âThe Wall grows restless,â you add, your voice quieter but cutting through the room. âReports from our scouts say the wildlings stir, and there are whispers of darker things in the woods. The North cannot abandon its duties here, not entirely, not with winter closing in. We fight on two frontsâone for vengeance, and one to hold back the darkness that always comes with the cold.â
Jacaerysâ jaw tightens, though thereâs no anger in his gaze, only acceptance. âI know what I ask of you, of the North. I wouldnât pull you from your duties lightly. But weâre in desperate need of men whoâve seen true battleâmen who wonât falter when the greens come for us again.â He looks around the table, locking eyes with each of the bannermen. âAemondâs murders of Luke and Rhaenys aren't just an insult to my family, itâs a warning of whatâs to come. Theyâll strike at us all, one by one, until thereâs nothing left to fight for.â
Maester Kennet, seated near the fire, clears his throat, his thin fingers wrapped around a goblet. âA measured approach is wise. The North is vast, and winter makes even the shortest march an ordeal. Splitting our forces to both hold the Wall and reinforce the Riverlands is a sound strategy. But we cannot be reckless. The cold is our greatest enemyâaside from the greens themselves.â
A grizzled voice interrupts, belonging to Lord Harwood Flint. âWeâve sworn our oaths to your mother, Prince Jacaerys, and those oaths stand. The greybeards and I will march south, aye, but only as far as the weather allows. If winter deepens, weâll be forced to retreatâlest we lose more men to frost than to battle.â
Lord Cregan nods solemnly. âThe North keeps its promises, Jace, but our duty here is unbreakable. If winter passes, weâll ride in full force, dragons and all. Until then, youâll have what men we can spare, the strongest and the most experienced. The rest must remain to guard our lands and prepare for whatever winter may bring.â
You watch Jacaerys as he absorbs their words, weighing them against the urgency of his mission. Itâs a hard truth, but one heâs known in his heart. âI understand,â he finally says, though the strain in his voice is evident. âThe North has always held its ground when others falter. Your menâs presence in the Riverlands will tip the scales more than you know. Weâll make every sacrifice count, for all of our sakes.â
A silence falls over the hall, filled only by the crackling of the fires and the occasional clink of cups against wood. Itâs a heavy silence, the kind that carries the weight of lives yet to be lost, battles yet to be fought. You feel the tension in your own shoulders, the mix of sorrow and determination that has become all too familiar.
Creganâs voice breaks the silence, firm and resolute. âThen itâs settled. The North will march with you, Jacaerys, and weâll hold the line here until the time is right to unleash the full might of Winterfell. The Wall must remain guarded, our lands defended. But rest assuredâthe North remembers, and we will have vengeance for both Lucerys and Rhaenys.â
Jacaerys meets his gaze with a nod of gratitude, his eyes glistening with something more than just determinationâhope, perhaps, or at least the stubborn refusal to let despair take root. âThank you, Cregan. Thank you all. My mother will hear of your loyalty, and when the time comes, Iâll see that those whoâve wronged us pay with fire and blood.â
You reach out, placing a hand on Jacaerysâ arm, drawing his attention back to you. âWeâll see this through together, Jace,â you say softly, yet with unshakable conviction. âFor Luke. For our family.â
His lips press into a tight line, but he nods, and in that moment, you see the boy you once knew, the one who would always protect his siblings, no matter the cost. War has hardened him, yes, but it hasnât broken his spirit. And for that, youâre grateful.
The meeting ends with agreements made, plans solidified. As the lords begin to rise and drift away, you, Cregan, and Jacaerys remain, sharing a moment of quiet amidst the chaos. Thraxata and Vermax can be heard outside, their low growls a reminder that no matter how heavy the burden, you are not alone in this fight.
You glance at Cregan, who offers you a small, reassuring smile, and then at Jacaerys, whose eyes hold the same fire that burns within you. The North may be bound by its duties to the Wall, but when the time comes, it will roar in unison, and the South will tremble beneath the weight of vengeance and justice.
Until then, you steel yourself for the battles to come, knowing that winter is both your enemy and your greatest ally. The North will remember, and so will the world.
The chambers are dimly lit, the glow of the hearth casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The scent of pine and smoke lingers in the air, mingling with the faint hint of sage and lavender from the herbs hung above the door. Outside, the cold wind howls, but in here, the warmth is groundingâa cocoon that holds only the two of you.
You stand before the fire, watching the flames dance, lost in the flicker of embers. Thoughts of the dayâs discussions linger in your mind, heavy like the weight of armor. Youâre still processing the event, the decisions, and the weight of whatâs to come. But for now, those thoughts seem distant as you feel Creganâs presence behind you. His steps are soft as he approaches, yet you can sense the strength in each movement. When he wraps his arms around you from behind, drawing you into his chest, you let out a breath you didnât realize you were holding.
âY/N,â he murmurs into your hair, his voice a deep rumble. Thereâs a tenderness there that youâve come to cherishâan intimacy that only grows with each passing day. You lean back into him, feeling his warmth seep into your skin, grounding you in this moment, away from the burden of duty and war.
His hands slide over your waist, tracing the curves of your body with a reverence that never fades, no matter how many times heâs touched you this way. âYouâre troubled,â he says softly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. Itâs not a question; he knows you too well.
You close your eyes, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace. âIâve been thinking⌠about everything. About Jace, the war, what lies ahead. But mostly⌠about what I felt in the godswood.â
Creganâs hands still for a moment, his grip tightening just slightly. He turns you gently to face him, his eyes searching yours, concern and affection mingling in his gaze. âYou saw something, didnât you?â he asks quietly.
You nod, reaching up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, roughened by stubble. âI did, but I donât want to think about it right now,â you whisper, letting your thumb brush over his lips. âRight now, I just want to feel alive. I want to feel us.â
Something shifts in his gaze, the concern giving way to something deeper, more primal. His hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, drawing you closer, and when his lips finally meet yours, itâs with a passion that sends a surge of heat through you. The kiss is slow at first, a tender exploration, but it quickly deepens, becoming something more urgent, more consuming.
You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly as you press closer, your bodies molding together as if trying to erase any distance between you. His hands roam over you, rough and strong, yet every touch is filled with affection. Itâs a contrast that youâve always found intoxicatingâthe fierce warrior and the gentle lover, both sides of him intertwined in every caress.
Creganâs mouth trails down your neck, leaving a line of burning kisses along your skin. âY/N,â he growls against your throat, his voice thick with desire. âYouâre mine.â
You shiver at the possessiveness in his tone, the words igniting something deep within you. âYours,â you breathe, tugging at his tunic, eager to feel the heat of his skin against yours.
Clothes fall away with hurried hands, the cold air biting at your exposed skin for only a moment before the warmth of Creganâs body presses against you. You pull him with you, leading him to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he lays you down then, his weight a comforting pressure above you.
The passion between you ignites like wildfire. His hands grip your hips as he enters you, and you gasp, arching into him as he moves with a rhythm that feels like a dance, one youâve perfected together over countless nights. Every thrust is filled with a mixture of desire and love, each one drawing you closer to the edge, making the world beyond these walls fade away until thereâs only himâonly you.
Your hands roam over his back, nails digging in as the pleasure builds, each moan, each whispered word of affection driving you both higher. Thereâs a desperation in the way you cling to each other, as if the passion is the only thing anchoring you both in a world that threatens to tear everything apart.
âCregan,â you gasp, his name a prayer on your lips as you reach that peak together, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. He groans your name, his voice rough and breathless as he collapses against you, burying his face in your neck, holding you as if heâll never let go.
For a long while, neither of you speaks, content to simply breathe together, hearts pounding in unison. The room is warm, the glow of the fire casting soft light over your tangled limbs. Creganâs hand strokes your hair absently, his fingers combing through the silver strands as you lay nestled against him.
But eventually, the silence gives way to the thoughts that have been haunting you. You shift slightly, turning to look up at him. His eyes are closed, a peaceful expression on his face, but you know heâs awake, lost in his own thoughts.
âCregan,â you say softly, drawing his attention. His eyes open, meeting yours, and the concern returns as he sees the seriousness in your expression.
âWhat did you see, love?â he asks, his voice gentle, though the tension in his jaw betrays his worry.
You take a breath, recalling the frenzied images that had flashed before you in the godswood, the voice that had called your name. âIt was like a storm in my mind,â you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. âI heard my nameâfelt something pulling at me. And then⌠I saw flashes of fire, blood, wings beating against a sky that burned. There was steel, a crown, and screams lost in the roar of flames. It was so vivid, so real, but I couldnât make sense of it. And then it was gone, as quickly as it came.â
Cregan listens, his brow furrowed as he considers your words. âThe Old Gods speak in riddles and symbols,â he says quietly. âIâve heard tales of their whispers, of visions granted to those who stand before the weirwoods. But theyâve never been clearâthey show what might be, not what is certain.â
You nod, but the unease still lingers. âIt felt like a warning, Cregan. Like something terrible is coming, something weâre not prepared for.â
He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. âWhatever it is, weâll face it together. Youâre not alone in this. The North is with you, Iâm with you, and weâll do everything in our power to protect what we hold dear.â
You close your eyes, letting his words soothe some of the anxiety that gnaws at you. âI know. But thereâs so much at stake⌠and so many unknowns. I canât shake the feeling that the gods are watching, waiting to see what choices weâll make.â
âThe gods may watch,â Cregan murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your skin, âbut itâs our choices that shape the future. Whatever comes, weâll face it, side by side.â
You find comfort in his certainty, the steady strength he always offers when you need it most. Nestled in his arms, you feel the tension slowly drain from your body, replaced by a sense of peace, however fleeting. For now, the future can wait.
#house of the dragon#hotd cregan#hotd#hotd x y/n#hotd x reader#hotd x you#cregan x you#cregan x y/n#cregan x reader#cregan stark#jacaerys velaryon
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Dark/Yan Aemond HCs
ŕłâ⡠TW/CW: DARK CONTENT, 18+ (MINORS/AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DONâT INTERACT), Bad English, Toxic Relationship, Implied AFAB Reader (talk about pregnancy and stuff in a part, but for the rest pretty GN), Jealousy, Manipulation, Breeding Kink a bit, OOC?, let me know if I need to add more TW/Tags ⥠My blog contains dark content, be careful when interacting/following! âł Characters: Aemond Targaryen
⤠I'd do anything for you, Mrs. Highness (Aemond) ⤠Masterlist (soon!) ⤠None â¤
hello hotd fandom... pls be nice to me since this is my first time posting smth about this fandom hndhhd and I'm also very insecure about my writing rn, anyway... i wrote this mostly for myself so I'm sorry LMAO
He's so possessive and protective of you. To the point where you can't go anywhere without guards who are loyal to him, due to his paranoia. Aemond would prefer to be your guard all the time, but alas he is unfortunately a very busy man so he has to trust the guards
When you are forced to do parties or appear in public Aemond is always around you or watching you, his eye never really leaves your figure. He always has his hands over you either on your lower back, guiding you where he wants, or on your waist. To remind you who you belong to.
Heleana and Alicent are the only one who he lets be around you when he is gone to keep you company, his brother Aegon? AH. No. Maybe Daeron, but Aegon absolutely not. Why would you want to spend time with a drunken fool?
In truth he is insanely jealous about everything and everyone, including his own family. He trusts his sister and mother to not pry too much into your relationship, and in fact his mother is more of an enabler for him. She is just so glad her son finally found someone he loves and cares about, so that he isn't alone anymore. How could she deny him such happiness?
Will try to get the two of you married instant. As soon as he saw you Aemond knew he had to marry you, it doesn't matter if you are highborn or not to him. Much to his mother and grandsire's displeasure of course
Once you are married of course he's gonna make you pregnant if possible. You wouldn't try to get away from him with a child on its way no? When he has endless ways of helping you with a babe, both during the pregnancy, the birth, and the years to come. Why have it the hard way when you can live a life of luxury?
Talking about a life of luxury, Aemond will give you anything you might need and more to keep you compliant. However, some things are not negotiable like for example what you wear: its either green or sapphire blue, no other clothes are tolerated for him. If you want to be more transgressive you can wear something outside of that, though the consequences...
He's so manipulative and wouldn't care to bring the situation in his favour, and would absolutely use your own emotion against you. "If you are hurt imagine how I feel" and stuff like that is often said when you two are fighting often over nothing, if not directly about Aemond's way of treating you.
You think it's unfair, Aemond thinks you don't understand how he feels. There is a war coming and he won't always be there protecting you since he will be on the battlefield. Its only fair that he fears for your safety, no? What kind of husband would he be otherwise?
This work belongs to @/sapphireis, do not repost, translate, copy, rewrite or share on tiktok without my permission. Reblogs are appreciated and encouragedâĄ
#hotd#aemond targaryen#yandere hotd#yandere aemond targaryen#yandere house of the dragon#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#dark aemond targaryen#hotd x reader#hotd x you#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon#house of the dragon x reader#yandere aemond x reader#dark aemond#dark aemond x reader#đş ââ my.writing#â dead dove do not eat
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Literally how did anyone see this scene and think that Alicent is a rape supporter or enabler?! She believes the victim and does all she can to help her get away from the perpetrator.
She loves her son but still admonishes him for what he did to Dyana and pays the girl to help her start a new life safe and far away from her abuser.
Alicent can never win. When she punished Aegon as a kid they screamed, she was an abuser. When she doesnât beat Aegon and simply tries to help the victim, sheâs an enabler who raised him to be a rapist. When she told Aegon he wasnât her son for what he did, she was once again an evil abusive mother.
She canât do anything right to these people. Sheâs either too abusive or not abusive enough. And letâs be realistic, what could Alicent really have done? Thereâs nothing she could have done to Aegon to fix what happened. She couldnât stop him. She canât kill him. She canât go to Viserys. She did all she could to minimize the damage and help the victim.
But you knowâŚobviously Alicent is at fault. Not Aegon who did it or Viserys who never raised or disciplined him because he doesnât even remember Aegon exists.
- You do?
- I do.Â
ALICENT HIGHTOWER & DYANA in HOUSE OF THE DRAGON
#so tired of the narrative that Alicent is a rape apologist or enabler#she literally did all she could to help Dyana and supported her and believed her#and when she did hurt Aegon with her words they cried she abused him#like�??#you want her to punish Aegon for being a rapist but also wanna call her an abuser for punishing him#sounds more like you hate women and wanna blame them for mens action#alicent hightower#pro alicent hightower#team alicent#alicent hightower defense squad#house of the dragon#game of thrones#anti aegon#anti aegon ii targaryen
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It always surprises me when Alicent is seen as a feminist icon
I'm sorry her? From all the female characters you chose the religion-obsessed character who shames other women for their promiscuity? The woman who instead of punishing her rapist son (I'm not saying she had to send him to the wall cause even I can tell that's ridiculous) enables his behaviour as long as he's discreet with it? The one who married Helaena off when she was a tween, freshly menstruated to Aegon knowing full well how awful he is to women?
Being conventionally attractive and looking at everyone with her sad teary eyes while asking "why's no one in my side?:(" doesn't make her a feminist icon
"uh rhaenyra isn't a feminist icon either cause she just cares about being queen and doesn't care for other women" what the fuck do you expect? For her to, as soon as she got named heir, say that women will be the first one's in line to inherit from now on? To illegalize arranged marriages? Her becoming queen is a big of a deal, her ruling successfully would've opened so many doors to other women, but Alicent decided her rapist of a son should be king and closed all doors and windows to other women
Most of this flavour of greenies tend to call themselves feminists for supporting Alicent but yell that Rhaenyra is a whore (she slept with 4 men, she was married to 2 of them, had a serious relationship with one of them and offered to maintain a relationship with the other who btw refused because she didn't want to give up a life of comfort and luxury after one quick fuck) and Baela is a spawn from hell because she's not afraid to throw punches when people offend her family
#house of the dragon#pro team black#hotd#anti team green#pro rhaenyra targaryen#anti alicent hightower#anti alicent stans#hotd baela#baela targaryen#anti greens stans#anti green stans#anti greens#anti
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Benevolent misogyny is claiming, "You can't blame Alicent for her primary role in starting a war, because she was commanded and manipulated by her father," while replying to people pointing out that she spent almost 20 years as adult â including 10 entirely without Otto â turning her sons against Rhaenyra, enabling Aegon, and letting Aemond think he was entirely the one done wrong by with, "It's sexist to blame Alicent for Aegon and Aemond's behaviour when they're adults who made their own choices."
Which one is it?
#asoiaf#hotd#fire and blood#hotd critical#team black#asoiaf fandom#anti team green#house of the dragon#hotd sexism
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aegon calls jaehaerys his sunlight
#boy has a thing for the sun#jokes aside it's just the fact his heir was the first thing he truly loved since sunfyre#and i'm not about to try to claim aegon is a good father just bc he loves his legitimate kids in his own eccentric way#he's chaotic and fucked up and is more like a fun (drunk) uncle moms don't want anywhere near their kids#but in his own sick little mind he thinks he's a good father just because he's doing things a part of him wished viserys did with him#flaunting him & spoiling him & enabling him when he himself was cast aside & ignored & abused#and his way of showing affection HAS to be loud and theatrical and .. toxic#as long as it's more than what he's been given.#ăâ§all that glitters is not goldă: headcanons#oh look the useless hcs are back !!
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People are very fond of saying that Alicent is the one who put her family's lives in danger because she made the decision to press Aegon's claim to the throne. According to them, Rhaenyra would never have done anything to her brothers if they simply never challenged her rule.
I just don't think that holds up for a number of reasons but one is in fact Ser Laenor.
Let's consider that from Alicent and the Greens perspective, this guy was enabling Rhaenyra's lies. It wasn't a matter of just being uncertain over whenever he fathered those children and just choosing to believe in the end that he did, it was a matter of being fully aware those boys weren't biologically his.
And I have played my part here, faithfully⌠for 10 years.
The part Laenor is talking about here is "faithfully" maintaining that he is the boys' biological father for a decade. That's a long time to lie for someone. But he does it.
And yet despite this, he ends up being "murdered". And who does Rhaenyra marry very soon after despite the suspicions about her being guilty that surround her for years after? Daemon.
As Alicent obviously isn't all knowing, with what she is given, Rhaenyra & Daemon chose to get rid of someone who never once put the claims of her children in danger.
How then do people expect Alicent to think "well, as long as I don't do anything we should be fine." As if Laenor wouldn't be an example to her of that obviously not being the case.
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itâs more complicated than âhe raped someone end of storyâ - Sarah Hess on Aegon raping a serving girl
The thing is Sarah, it isnât though is it? If someone (fictional or not) is revealed to be a rapist then that is how we are going to see them. Rape is something that is mostly a black and white issue and something most people will see as unforgiveable.
YOU made the choice to write this character as a rapist. YOU decided to include a scene of his survivor, who already oppressed because of her class status, hysterically crying and asking someone to please believe her. We arenât going to care if her rapist doesnât realise it was rape. Rape is still Rape and majority of the audience is going to see rapist as irredeemable,
If you wanted to make Aegon more likeable and more morally grey then thatâs fair but maybe donât make him a canon rapist? You donât want him to be seen as a sadistic evil villain like joffrey but you took us on a city tour showing us the depraved things heâs done like watching child fighting rings for entertainment, showing one of his bastards being trafficked into these rings and having Aemond tell us that Aegon had him raped in a brother when he turned 13 (another sexual assault).
If you wanted to address rape and rape culture in a medieval society and show the POV of the victims, the enablers and the perpetrators then it has to be handled sensitively and written in a way that allows nuance without dismissing the experience of rape survivors. You donât have the talent or intellect to handle something like that because you couldnât think far enough ahead to consider the implications of what you were writing and how it would impact the bigger story.
You canât retcon these decisions youâve made after youâve aired them. You canât ignore what youâve written because you regret the way you wrote a character into a joffrey shaped corner and now youâve realised that maybe you should have handled certain characters differently so now we have a new season of the show and multiple characters who seem like theyâve had a personality change within the space of a week
#the way this show / these producers purpetuate rape culture in general is crazyy#stay tuned for more hot takes on the faux feminism and rape culture / apologism in the dragon show#aegon ii targaryen#house of the dragon#anti hotd#anti sarah hess#rape tw
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