#aegon targaryen needs a hug

[thesimcalledclem]

FIRE AND BLOOD (CHAPTER TWO)

Warnings: Eventual Smut. Targcest. S!sterw!fe. Dubious consent (You know all the drills atp if you've gotten this far into the tag.) OC FIC, if that isn't what you are into, then kindly don't read.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO UPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO ANY OTHER SITES.

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The days following my confrontation with Mother blurred into a numbing routine of endless preparations. Seamstresses descended upon my chambers, their arms laden with bolts of fabric and intricate embroidery. They measured and pinned, their fingers deftly transforming me into a porcelain doll adorned in silks and jewels. 

Lessons with Septa Nysterica intensified, her lectures on courtly etiquette and wifely duties droning on like a persistent hum. I sat through them with a vacant expression, my mind elsewhere. I had no interest in learning how to manage a household or appease a husband. All I craved was the freedom to fly, to feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my face. 

The news of Rhaenyra's impending arrival only added to the chaos. The castle buzzed with activity, servants scurrying to and fro, preparing for the arrival of the heir and her family. There were whispers of alliances and betrayals, of hidden agendas and simmering resentments. 

I took no joy in any of it. I sat through the lavish dinners, pushing food around my plate, my stomach churning with anxiety. I forced myself to engage in polite conversation, my smiles masking the bitterness that gnawed at my soul. 

Each night, I lay awake in my bed, staring up at the canopy overhead. I thought of Solayre, her scales gleaming in the moonlight, her roar echoing through the skies. I longed to be with him, to feel the rush of flight, to escape the suffocating confines of the Red Keep. 

Weeks turned into a month, and still, the preparations continued. The announcement of my betrothal to Aegon was met with a mix of shock and intrigue. The court buzzed with gossip, the whispers growing louder with each passing day. 

The celebratory feast was a lavish affair, the Great Hall overflowing with guests. I sat beside Aegon on the dais, our thrones elevated above the crowd. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and sweet pastries, but the smell of food only made me nauseous. 

I had barely eaten in weeks, my appetite waning with each passing day. The thought of being forced into a loveless marriage with Aegon had robbed me of my joy, my will to live. 

Aegon leaned towards me, his voice a low murmur in my ear. "Mother is considering force-feeding you," he said, his breath reeking of wine. "I suggest you stuff some bread down before she intervenes." 

I angled my body away from him, his drunken scent repulsive. "I am not hungry," I said, my voice barely audible. 

I forced a smile as another lord approached the dais, bearing a lavish gift for our betrothal. I accepted it with a gracious nod, my heart heavy with despair. 

"Doesn't matter," Aegon said, pushing a plate of food towards me. "Eat." 

I looked up at him, my eyes locking with his. "I am not hungry," I repeated, my voice firmer this time. 

He raised an eyebrow, a mocking glint in his eyes. He lifted his goblet to his lips, taking a long swig of wine. "So, you've chosen starvation as your weapon of defiance," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's a ghastly way to go. I'd rather be burnt alive." 

I seethed, his words cutting deeper than he could possibly know. He had guessed my thoughts, my darkest fears. 

"You have to eat," he continued, his tone softening slightly. "She will force you, and that will not be pretty for you. Because she will make me do it." 

He shrugged, as if the thought of force-feeding me was a mere inconvenience. I glared at him, my anger rising. I wanted to scream, to throw the plate of food in his face, to unleash the fury that raged within me. 

But I held my tongue, my jaw clenched tight. I knew I couldn't win this battle. Mother would get her way, one way or another. 

I picked up a piece of bread, my hand trembling slightly. I brought it to my lips, the dry texture scratching my throat as I forced it down. 

Aegon watched me with a satisfied smirk. "That’s a girl," he said, patting my hand. 

I recoiled from his touch, my stomach churning. I would eat, but I would never give them the satisfaction of seeing me break. I would endure this ordeal, this sham of a marriage, for as long as I had to, and the worst part was, I knew that no matter how hard I fought, I couldn't change my fate. I was bound to Aegon, bound by blood and a twisted sense of duty.  

The feast continued, a blur of faces and voices. I smiled and nodded, pretending to be happy, pretending to be in love. But inside, I was dying, my spirit slowly withering away. 

Aegon, to his credit, didn't gloat or revel in my misery. Instead, he subtly pushed food my way, urging me with silent gestures and the occasional pointed look. He otherwise ignored me, his attention focused on the endless stream of well-wishers and sycophants who flocked to our table, eager to offer their congratulations and bask in the reflected glory of our impending union. 

I ate, not out of hunger, but out of a desperate desire to avoid another confrontation with Mother. I forced down bites of roasted meats and sweetmeats, the flavors blending together in a sickeningly sweet concoction. I sipped wine, the alcohol doing little to numb the pain in my heart. 

I could feel Aegon's eyes on me, watching my every move. I knew he was assessing my compliance, gauging my willingness to play along with this charade. I wanted to defy him, to throw the food in his face and scream my denial. But I knew it would only lead to more punishment, more humiliation. 

So, I ate, my stomach churning with each bite. I smiled and nodded, my lips forming empty platitudes. I played the role of the happy bride-to-be, even as my soul withered inside. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mother descended upon us like a bird of prey. Her long hair, adorned with pearls and amethysts, brushed against my shoulder as she leaned in close to Aegon. 

"Has she—" she began, her voice low and urgent. 

But Aegon cut her off, his voice weary but firm. "Yes, Mother," he said, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. "She ate." 

He drained his goblet, the wine sloshing over the rim. Mother nodded curtly, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed me. I could feel her gaze piercing through me, searching for any sign of weakness, any hint of rebellion. 

I met her stare with a blank expression, my face a mask of indifference. I had learned long ago that the best way to survive Mother's scrutiny was to reveal nothing, to give her no ammunition to use against me. 

She turned away, satisfied for the moment, and rejoined Otto at the head of the table. Aegon leaned back in his chair, his shoulders slumping. 

"You're welcome," he muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on the goblet in his hand. 

I didn't respond, my gaze drifting towards the open window. The moon hung high in the sky, its silvery light casting long shadows across the courtyard. I longed to be outside, to feel the cool night air against my skin, to escape the stifling atmosphere of the feast. 

But I was trapped, a prisoner of my own circumstances. I was a Targaryen princess, bound by duty and tradition. I had no choice but to play the role that had been assigned to me, to marry the man I despised, to become the queen I never wanted to be. 

The feast dragged on, an endless parade of courses and toasts. I smiled and nodded, feigning interest in the inane chatter of the courtiers. I sipped my wine, the taste bitter on my tongue. 

As the night wore on, the revelers grew more boisterous, their laughter echoing through the hall. Aegon, fueled by alcohol and a perverse sense of amusement, became increasingly animated, his jokes growing bawdier, his laughter louder. 

I watched him with a mixture of disgust and pity. He was a lost soul, drowning his sorrows in wine and women. He was a puppet, dancing to Mother's tune, his every move dictated by her ambition. 

I wanted to shake him, to scream at him to wake up, to see the truth of his situation. But I knew it was futile. He was too far gone, too consumed by his own demons. 

As the feast finally drew to a close, I excused myself, pleading exhaustion. I retreated to my chambers, my heart heavy with despair. I shed my elaborate gown, the heavy silk a suffocating reminder of my gilded cage. 

I crawled into bed, my body aching with fatigue. But sleep eluded me. My mind raced, replaying the events of the day, the weeks, the months leading up to this moment. 

I had been betrayed by my own mother, forced into a union with a man I loathed. I had been stripped of my identity, my dreams, my future. 

The day of Rhaenyra's arrival dawned bright and clear, the sky a brilliant expanse of blue. A sense of anticipation hung in the air, a palpable tension that permeated the castle walls. Servants scurried about, their faces etched with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. 

I had risen early, determined to steal a few precious moments of freedom before the day's events unfolded. I had made my way to the dragon pit, my heart pounding with anticipation. Solayre greeted me with a rumbling purr, his golden eyes gleaming with affection. 

We took to the skies, soaring above the city, the wind whipping through my hair. The world below seemed to shrink, its problems and anxieties fading away. For a moment, I was free, unburdened by the weight of my impending marriage and the political turmoil that swirled around me. 

But as we circled back towards the dragon pit, a dark speck on the horizon caught my eye. It grew larger with each passing moment, resolving into the unmistakable silhouette of a ship. Then another, and another. 

Rhaenyra had arrived. 

My heart sank as I guided Solayre back to the pit. I knew I had to hurry back to the castle, to shed my riding clothes and the lingering scent of dragon. I couldn't let Mother catch me in such a state, not on this of all days. 

I dismounted Solayre, my legs trembling with a mixture of exertion and anxiety. I gave her a quick pat on the snout, promising to return soon, then hurried towards the castle. 

As I rounded a corner, I nearly collided with Aegon. He stood in my path, his arms crossed, his expression a mask of annoyance. 

I groaned inwardly, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "Aegon, let me pass," I said, my voice tight with impatience. 

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes raking over my disheveled appearance. "Mother has been searching for you," he said, his voice dripping with disapproval. "I knew you'd be here." 

I sighed, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. "Headed to a pleasure house?" I retorted; my voice laced with sarcasm. "Don't let me stop you." 

He ignored my jibe, his gaze hardening. "Our half-sister is en route," he said, his voice clipped. "We've had a raven. I've been sent to fetch you." 

"I can make my way back alone, thank you," I snapped, trying to sidestep him. 

"Ah, I'm sure you can," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "But I don't want to hear Mother's complaints, so you'll come with me." 

I glared at him, my anger rising. I hated being treated like a child, especially by Aegon. But I knew he was right. Mother would be furious if she found out I had been riding Solayre, especially on the day of Rhaenyra's arrival. 

I reluctantly fell into step beside him, my gaze fixed on the ground. We walked in silence for a while, the tension between us palpable. 

"You know," Aegon said, breaking the silence, "you're not making this any easier on yourself." 

I groaned inwardly, but glanced over at him as we walked in step. "And how would you have me make this easier?" I retorted, my voice laced with bitterness. 

He let out a sigh, as if dealing with my defiance was an endless chore. "Stop being so obstinate," he said, his tone laced with annoyance. "Stop fighting us all at every turn." 

"How are you so resigned to this?" I questioned, my voice lowering to a hushed tone as we turned a corner. "I know you don't want to marry me or become king. I know it's all mother and her plotting." 

We traversed the east wing of the castle, the echoing footsteps and the flickering torchlight amplifying the tension between us. Aegon laughed, a bitter sound that held no humor. 

His eyes slid over to me, a mixture of pity and amusement in their depths. "I am more accustomed to not getting what I want than you are, sister," he said, his voice low and raspy. "I have known this would be the outcome as soon as Heleana was married off. If it wasn't going to be her, then it would be you." 

I stopped walking abruptly, a scoff escaping my lips. He slowly turned to face me, his expression unreadable. 

"She will be displeased—" he started, his voice drained and weary. 

"What of your wants?" I cut him off, my voice rising in frustration. "Beyond whoring and getting drunk, don't you have any?" 

He stared at me for a moment, a flicker of something unidentifiable in his eyes. Then, with a sigh, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me along the corridor. "I do not want another dramatic lecture from her," he said, his voice tight. "Let's go." 

I reluctantly allowed him to lead me, my mind racing. I couldn't fathom how he could be so accepting of this fate, so willing to sacrifice his own desires for Mother's ambition. Did he truly have no dreams of his own? 

As we continued down the corridor, I stole glances at Aegon, trying to decipher the emotions hidden behind his carefully constructed facade. He was a master of disguise, his true feelings buried beneath layers of arrogance and indifference. 

But I knew him better than anyone. I had seen the glimpses of vulnerability, the flashes of anger and resentment that he so carefully concealed. He was not as apathetic as he pretended to be. 

We reached the Red Keep's grand entrance hall, where a flurry of activity greeted us. Servants rushed past, carrying trays laden with food and drink. The air buzzed with anticipation, the whispers and murmurs growing louder with each passing moment. 

"She's here," Aegon said, a hint of grim satisfaction in his voice. 

I nodded, my heart pounding with a mixture of dread and curiosity. I hadn't seen Rhaenyra in years. I wondered how she had changed, how the years of exile had hardened her. 

We made our way to the throne room, where the court had gathered to welcome the returning princess. As we entered, all eyes turned to us, the whispers and murmurs reaching a crescendo. 

I could feel the weight of their stares, their judgments. I straightened my back, lifting my chin in defiance. I would not let them see my fear, my uncertainty. 

The two of us walked side by side toward the Throne where our mother Alicent and Heleana, Aemond and Otto all stood, waiting for Rhaenyra to enter the throne room. 

Alicent's sharp eyes passed over me, noticing my tousled hair and no doubt able to smell the sulfur on me. She opened her mouth to scold me, but Aegon spoke first. 

"She was only visiting Solayre," he said, his voice drawn and precise. My head swiveled to him, but I schooled my expression into one of indifference. He caught my gaze, a silent message passing between us. "She did not take flight," he added, a subtle emphasis on the last word. 

Alicent's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. She knew better than to challenge Aegon in public, especially not with Rhaenyra's arrival imminent. The tension in the room thickened, a palpable energy that crackled in the air. 

I could feel Rhaenyra's presence before I saw her. It was like a shift in the atmosphere, a sudden chill that swept through the throne room. All eyes turned towards the entrance, where the doors swung open to reveal the returning princess. 

She stood tall and proud, her silver-gold hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight. Her eyes, the same violet hue as my other siblings, were filled with a fire that had only intensified over the years. She was flanked by her three sons, each one a mirror image of their father, Harwin Strong, though none of us would ever admit that out loud. Those boys were bastards. 

A hush fell over the court as Rhaenyra and her sons made their way towards the throne. The air crackled with unspoken tension, the weight of history hanging heavy in the room. 

I watched Rhaenyra with a mixture of awe and apprehension. She was everything I wasn't: confident, assertive, unafraid to challenge the status quo. I couldn't help but wonder what she thought of me, of my impending marriage to Aegon. 

As she approached the dais, her eyes met mine. For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of recognition, a spark of kinship. But it was quickly replaced by a mask of cool indifference. 

She curtsied before Mother, an act of pure political respect, devoid of the warmth and camaraderie they had once shared. It was a stark reminder of the chasm that had grown between them, a chasm filled with bitterness and betrayal. 

"You are welcome here, stepdaughter," Mother said, her voice smooth as silk, yet laced with an undercurrent of malice. She used the term "stepdaughter" deliberately, a calculated jab meant to undermine Rhaenyra's legitimacy and remind her of her precarious position. 

Rhaenyra took it in stride, her expression remaining impassive. She showed no sign of annoyance, no flash of anger in her violet eyes. She was made of ice, it seemed, her emotions carefully concealed beneath a glacial facade. 

She tilted her head slightly as she rose to her feet, her gaze sweeping over the assembled courtiers. Then, she spoke, her voice clear and resonant, echoing through the silent hall. 

"Skorkydoso iksos issa kepa?" she asked, her words spoken in High Valyrian, the ancient language of her ancestors. “How does my father fare?” 

 It was a language she knew Mother did not understand, a subtle power play meant to assert her superiority and remind everyone of her rightful claim to the Iron Throne. 

The room fell into an awkward silence, the courtiers exchanging uneasy glances. Mother's face tightened, her jaw clenching in frustration. She had been outmaneuvered, her authority challenged in her own court. 

After a few moments of tense silence, I spoke, my voice strong and unwavering. "Īlva kepa iksos se ēdrugī, ziry iksos ēdrure," I answered Rhaenyra in fluent High Valyrian. “Our father is tired and rarely wakes.” 

Aegon's hand shot out, his fingers digging into my wrist in a painful warning. I ignored him, my gaze locked with Rhaenyra's. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, followed by a hint of approval. 

"Ziry vestragon issa mandia iksos sȳrī versed isse īlva ānogar," Rhaenyra said, her voice melodic and resonant. "Your command of our mother tongue is impressive, sister." 

A small smile tugged at my lips. "Nyke excel isse issa studies, aōha dārōñe," I replied, my voice clear and confident. "I excel in my studies, thank you, Princess." 

I tried to ignore the daggers my mother glared at me, as well as Aegon's painful hold on my arm. I could already feel bruises forming, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. 

Rhaenyra's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Nyke kostagon ūndegon bona," she said with a light laugh, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I can see that.” 

Then, she turned her attention to my mother, who had schooled her expression expertly before Rhaenyra could see the flash of anger that had crossed her face. 

"I would like to see my father," Rhaenyra said, her eyes fixed on Mother. "My sister tells me he rarely wakes." 

Alicent nodded, her face a mask of grief and regret. "The king rests," she said mournfully, her voice thick with feigned sorrow. "His illness causes him great pain." 

I heard Aegon scoff under his breath, a sound of cynical amusement. He knew as well as I did that Mother's concern for Father's well-being was a carefully crafted facade, a performance designed to elicit sympathy and deflect attention from her own machinations. 

Rhaenyra's gaze remained steady, her eyes piercing through Mother's charade. "I understand," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "But I would still like to pay my respects." 

Mother hesitated for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. "Very well," she said. "I will have someone escort you to his chambers." 

A flicker of a grim smile crossed Rhaenyra's face, revealing a hint of teeth. "I can make the journey myself. This is my home." 

The unspoken challenge hung in the air, the first volley in a power play that had been years in the making. Rhaenyra gathered her skirts and turned, motioning for her boys to follow her. They all did, but the eldest, Jacaerys, met my eyes for a moment before turning to follow his mother. The look was calculating and discerning, a silent claim staked. I felt Aegon stiffen beside me, his grip on my arm tightening. He had noticed it as well. 

Rhaenyra's departure signaled our own dismissal. Aegon, his grip on my arm now a vice-like hold, dragged me from the throne room. The courtiers parted before us, their whispers trailing in our wake. 

Once we were in the relative privacy of the hall, Aegon and our grandfather exchanged a knowing glance. Before I could pull away and make my escape, Aegon pulled me into a darkened alcove, the heavy tapestry curtain muffling the sounds of the bustling castle. 

"What was that stunt you pulled?" he hissed, his fingers digging into my arm again. I winced in pain and wrenched my arm free, his touch leaving a burning sensation on my skin. He towered over me, his imposing figure casting a shadow over my own. 

"Stunt?" I retorted, my voice laced with indignation. "She spoke a language our mother cannot understand. If anything, I helped her." 

He shook his head, nostrils flared, his face contorted in disdain. "You made her look like a pretender," he hissed, pulling the tapestry curtain further down to shield us from the prying eyes of servants and nobles passing in the hall. "And what was that look from the bastard?" 

"You mean your nephew?" I admonished, my voice sharp. 

He scoffed, his hand shooting out to grab my face, his thumb pressing painfully against my cheekbone. His actions were a wretched mirror of our mother's, a chilling reminder of the cruelty that ran in our blood. 

"You had better wake up and realize there are sides to be chosen," he whispered, his voice low and menacing. "And yours is tied to mine, little sister." 

"Let go of me," I demanded, my voice shaking with a mixture of fear and anger. 

He tilted his head, his lilac eyes boring into mine. I saw the malice and disdain there, a reflection of the darkness that lurked within him. He held me there for a moment, his grip tightening, a silent demonstration of the power he held over me. 

"I will do with you what I want," he whispered, his voice a chilling caress against my skin. 

Then, as quickly as he had seized me, he released me, his hand dropping away from my face. He turned and strode out of the alcove, the tapestry swinging closed behind him, leaving me alone in the shadows. 

I leaned against the cool stone wall, my chest heaving with unshed tears. The encounter had left me shaken, a stark reminder of my vulnerability in this world of power and ambition. I was a pawn, a prize to be bartered and traded, my own desires and dreams irrelevant. 

I touched my cheek, the skin still stinging from Aegon's grip. I had always known he was capable of cruelty, but this was a new level of malice, a darkness that I had never seen before. 

I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. I had to compose myself, to present a strong facade to the world. I couldn't let them see my weakness, my fear. 

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the challenges ahead. I would not be broken. I would not be cowed. I would find a way to survive this, to carve out a life for myself, even in the shadow of Aegon's looming presence. 

The soft chatter of children playing and the rhythmic click of needles filled the air in Heleana's solar, creating a soothing counterpoint to the turmoil that raged within me. My elder sister and I sat side-by-side, embroidering tunics – one for Aegon, the other for Aemond. It was Heleana's idea, a gesture of sisterly solidarity in the face of my impending, unwanted marriage. We were stitching miniature versions of their dragons, Sunfyre and Vhagar, onto the sleeves, each stitch a testament to the complex tapestry of our family ties. 

Heleana, as usual, was silent company. It was a quality I cherished in her, a quiet understanding that transcended words. We could exist in comfortable silence, the unspoken bond between us a balm for my troubled heart. 

But after a few long moments, she broke the tranquility. "It is not so bad being married," she said, her eyes lifting to meet mine over the fabric she held close to her face. 

I let out a deep sigh, the knot of tension in my chest tightening. "You got the easier of the three," I replied with a grimace, pulling the needle and thread through the thick fabric of Aegon's sleeve. "Aemond and you have been a calm match. I'd have preferred Daeron at this point." 

A soft smile touched Heleana's lips. "He will most likely ignore you," she said, her voice gentle. "Be thankful he is preoccupied with whores and wine." 

I swallowed down the bile that rose in my throat at the thought of the man I was soon to marry. He was a fool, a drunken, lecherous fool. "Is it wrong of me to have wanted more?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Happiness? Peace? Freedom?" 

Heleana set the stitching down on her lap, her gaze filled with a sadness that mirrored my own. "We are women, Clem," she said, her voice heavy with resignation. "We do not get to choose, dear sister." 

Her words echoed the sentiment Mother had expressed just days before. It was a bitter truth, a stark reminder of the limitations placed upon us by birth and tradition. We were pawns in a game played by men, our destinies dictated by the whims of kings and the machinations of power-hungry advisors. 

A wave of despair washed over me, threatening to drown me in its depths. I felt trapped, suffocated by the expectations and obligations that surrounded me. I longed for the freedom I had once felt on the back of Solayre, soaring through the skies, unburdened by the weight of the world. 

Just as the darkness threatened to consume me, a small, chubby hand reached out and wrapped around my neck. I looked down to see Maelor, Heleana's youngest son, gazing up at me with wide, innocent eyes. The same eyes they all shared, that strange violet hue that I had longed for my whole life. 

"Play with me!" he exclaimed; his voice filled with childish delight. I couldn't help but smile, the warmth of his embrace melting away some of the ice that had encased my heart. I scooped him up onto my lap, his giggles filling the room with a much-needed lightness. 

"Of course, my darling," I said, nuzzling his soft cheek. "What shall we play?" 

He pointed to a pile of wooden blocks on the floor. "Build a castle!" he declared, his eyes shining with excitement. 

I set him down and we began to construct a magnificent fortress, our laughter echoing through the solar. For a brief moment, I forgot my troubles, lost in the simple joy of playing with my nephew. 

As the afternoon wore on, we continued to embroider, our conversation drifting from idle chatter to more serious topics. We spoke of our hopes and fears, our dreams and disappointments. We shared stories of our childhood, of the days before the weight of the crown had settled upon our shoulders. 

For the first time in a long time, I felt truly seen, truly understood. Heleana listened without judgment, her empathy a balm for my wounded spirit. She didn't offer solutions or platitudes, but simply held space for my pain. 

As the sun began to shift to early afternoon, casting long shadows across the solar, Maelor grew tired and curled up on my lap, his tiny hand clutching my finger. I stroked his soft hair, a sense of peace settling over me. 

The serenity of the afternoon was shattered by the sudden flurry of activity as Heleana's ladies maids entered the solar, my own trailing behind them, their arms laden with gowns that Mother had undoubtedly chosen for us. The sight of the elaborate dresses was a stark reminder of the impending call to the throne room, a summons that filled me with a sense of dread. 

"Why must we go to this hearing?" I complained, my voice echoing in the now quiet room as Maelor and Jaehaerys were whisked away by their wet nurses. My question was directed at Heleana, but it was Roslin, my own lady-in-waiting, who answered. 

"You are in the line of succession, Princess," she said, her voice gentle but firm. She began to untie the laces of my gown, her fingers deft and practiced. 

I sighed, the weight of my unwanted position pressing down on me. "But why now?" I pressed, my frustration mounting. "Rhaenyra has just arrived. Surely, this can wait." 

"This entire hearing is for Rhaenyra's son, Princess," Roslin said softly as she peeled the previous dress off of me and opted instead for one of deep green velvet. I was tiring of these green gowns I had been forced to wear my whole life. Heleana ignored the talk between Roslin and I as they dressed her in a soft gown of gold silk that flattered her beautiful silver hair. 

I inhaled sharply as I was laced into the too-tight, too-stifling gown, but I didn't let the matter drop. "What about the boy?" I demanded, even though he wasn't a boy any longer, only a few years younger than I was. 

"They call into account the Prince's claim for his inheritance," Roslin mumbled while she adjusted the tightness of the corset before she turned to braiding the crown of my hair. “For Driftmark, Princess.” 

"Those bloody liars," I exclaimed loudly and angrily at being deceived about the true purpose of Rhaenyra's sudden appearance back at the Red Keep. "I swear no one tells me anything." 

This caught Heleana's attention. She tutted and walked over to me, taking over for Roslin and beginning to finish braiding the crown of my hair, leaving the rest loose. 

"Such foul language, sister," she admonished with a small smile. I rolled my eyes at her, the gesture a familiar dance between us. 

"It's frustrating," I retorted, my voice tight. "I'm treated like a child, kept in the dark about matters that directly affect me." 

Heleana's smile faded, replaced by a look of understanding. "I know," she said softly. "But it is the way of things here. We are women in a man's world. We must learn to navigate the shadows, to glean information where we can." 

Her words were a bitter echo of my own thoughts. I had always chafed against the constraints placed upon me, the expectations that I should be docile and obedient. But I was a Targaryen, with fire in my blood and a dragon's spirit in my heart. I yearned for more than a life of embroidery and courtly gossip. 

I sighed, resigning myself to my fate. "I suppose you're right," I said, my voice heavy with resignation. "But it doesn't make it any easier." 

Heleana finished braiding my hair, her touch gentle and soothing. "No," she agreed, her voice barely a whisper. "It doesn't." 

We stood there for a moment, two sisters bound by blood and a shared sense of frustration. We were both trapped in a gilded cage, our wings clipped, our voices silenced. 

"Will you go find Mother and ask her where Dyana has gotten off to? She was supposed to get the children ready for bed before the hearing." Heleana's request broke the momentary peace in the solar, and I nodded, turning to Roslin. 

"Where is my mother?" I asked, knowing she had spoken to her before bringing us these horrendous dresses. She sighed, gathering up Heleana's and my discarded gowns. "She is in your brother's chambers." 

"Aemond?" I asked hopefully, but she shook her head. 

"Aegon's then?" I clarified, and she nodded. I rolled my eyes and left out of the door, traversing the east wing to where my brother's chambers were. A wave of frustration washed over me. I didn't want to deal with either of them, but duty called for me as it always did. I quickened my pace, my footsteps echoing through the silent corridors. 

Reaching Aegon's chambers, I opened the door without knocking, my irritation overriding any sense of propriety. I strode past his large solar and into his bedchamber, only to freeze at the sight that greeted me. 

Aegon stood by his bed, his usually impeccable appearance disheveled. He was clad only in a sheet, held loosely around his waist, his bare chest exposed. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, were red-rimmed and filled with a raw vulnerability I had never seen before. It was clear he had been crying. 

Our eyes met, and I was momentarily paralyzed by the intensity of his gaze. It was a look I had never seen from him before, a mixture of pain, longing, and something else I couldn't quite decipher. 

Mother, who had been standing a few steps away from Aegon, turned at the sound of my entrance. Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in disapproval. 

I stumbled over my words, my voice barely a whisper. "Heleana sent me to find Dyana," I managed to say, finally tearing my gaze away from Aegon. "She was supposed to dress the boys before the hearing." I saw Aegon wince slightly as I spoke the servant girl's name. A chill ran down my spine. What had I interrupted? 

Mother remained uncharacteristically silent, her eyes darting between Aegon and me. Then, in a move that shocked me to my core, she stepped towards me and pulled me into her arms, embracing me tightly. 

I froze, my body rigid with surprise. Her touch felt foreign, almost repulsive. My arms remained stiff at my sides, my eyes wide with confusion. I glanced at Aegon, seeking an explanation, but he only looked away, his jaw clenched. 

Mother's embrace lingered, her grip tightening as if she were trying to hold on to something slipping away. A wave of nausea washed over me. I had never seen Mother like this before. She was always so composed, so in control. To see her unraveling like this, her carefully constructed facade crumbling, was both unsettling and deeply disturbing. 

Finally, she released me, her eyes red and swollen. "Go," she said, her voice hoarse. “And tell Heleana that we will be there shortly." 

I nodded, my mind reeling. I fled the room, my footsteps echoing in the silent corridor. I didn't look back, afraid of what I might see. 

The questions swirled in my mind, unanswered and unsettling. I felt like I was caught in a web of secrets and lies, a tangled mess of emotions and hidden agendas. 

The throne room, once a place of joyous celebrations and grand pronouncements, now bore a heavy, somber atmosphere. The air crackled with unspoken tension, each breath a whispered echo of the court's collective anxiety. I stood between Heleana and Aegon, a prisoner flanked by reluctant guards. He had avoided me since our earlier encounter, his usual arrogance replaced by a haunted look that clung to the corners of his eyes. I couldn't shake the image of his raw vulnerability, the tears he had tried so desperately to conceal. 

Otto Hightower, our grandfather, the Hand of the King, stood before the assembled nobles, his voice commanding attention. "Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds," he began, his tone grave, "we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark." He settled onto the Iron Throne, a stark reminder of the power he wielded in my father's absence. His cloak, a rich tapestry of woven deep almost black green, pooled around him, its weight a symbol of the burden he carried. 

"As Hand, I speak with the King's voice on this and all other matters," he continued, his words echoing through the chamber. "The Crown will now hear the petitions." A pause, heavy with anticipation. "Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon." 

Otto's voice, though aged, carried the authority of a man accustomed to command. The room held its breath, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of silk and the clinking of armor. My mother, Alicent, stood beside Heleana, her face a stoic mask, her posture rigid. The weight of the moment pressed down on us all, a suffocating blanket of unease. 

I longed to escape, to flee from the suffocating formality and the undercurrents of political intrigue. But I was trapped, a gilded bird in a cage of my own making. I could only watch as the drama unfolded, a spectator in a play where my own fate hung in the balance. 

Ser Vaemond stepped forward, his bearing proud and defiant. His aging silver hair was pulled back from his face, revealing the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the deep lines etched by years of duty and hardship. His dark skin and piercing dark eyes spoke of his Velaryon blood, a lineage as ancient and proud as our own. He was every bit the lord he claimed to be, his presence demanding respect. 

"My queen," he began, his voice resonant and clear, "My lord Hand. The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas."    

His words painted a picture of intertwined destinies, a reminder of the ancient bond between our two houses. It was a powerful opening, an appeal to tradition and blood ties that resonated with the gathered nobles. 

"When the Doom fell on Valyria," he continued, his voice tinged with a hint of sorrow, "our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name."    

His words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the fragility of power, the ever-present threat of oblivion. The room seemed to darken, the shadows lengthening as the weight of history pressed down upon us. 

"I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother's seat," Vaemond declared, his voice rising with passion. "I am Lord Corlys's closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins." 

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembled courtiers, daring them to challenge his claim. A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mix of agreement and unease. 

Beside me, Aegon shifted restlessly, a sound of boredom escaping his lips. I turned to him, my eyes narrowing. His jaw was clenched, his hands trembling slightly. They had kept him sober for this event, and it was clear he was struggling to maintain his composure. 

Our eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, I saw a reflection of my own misery in his gaze. We were both trapped, both pawns in a game we didn't want to play. 

But as quickly as the connection had formed, it was broken. Aegon turned away, his attention drifting back to the proceedings. I was left alone with my thoughts, the weight of the moment pressing down on me with renewed force. 

A wave of anticipation swept through the throne room as Rhaenyra's voice rang out, cutting through the tense silence like a Valyrian steel blade. "As it does in my sons," she declared, her tone regal and unwavering, "the offspring of Laenor Velaryon." 

Her words hung in the air, a challenge to Ser Vaemond's claim, a bold assertion of her own sons' legitimacy. The court held its breath, sensing the shift in power dynamics, the clash of wills between two formidable figures. 

"If you cared so much about your house's blood, Ser Vaemond," Rhaenyra continued, her voice laced with a subtle accusation, "you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir." Her gaze remained fixed on him, her eyes burning with a righteous fire. "No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition." 

A slight huff escaped Mother's lips, a barely audible expression of her disapproval. I kept my eyes downcast, the tension in the room palpable, my own pulse echoing the quickened heartbeat of the realm. 

"You will have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra," Mother interjected, her voice sharp and controlled. "Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard." She stood tall; her arms crossed protectively over her chest. 

Vaemond turned to face Rhaenyra, his posture radiating smug arrogance. "What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess?" he sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. "I could cut my veins and show it to you, and you still wouldn't recognize it." 

His words hung heavy in the air; a venomous barb aimed at Rhaenyra's heart. The room seemed to shrink, the suffocating silence amplifying the animosity between them. 

"This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours," Vaemond continued, his voice rising with each word. "My queen, my lord Hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembled nobles, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. 

"I place the continuation and survival of my house and my line above all," he declared, his voice echoing through the chamber. "I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor... the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides." 

A tense silence followed his proclamation. The weight of his words, the gravity of his request, hung heavy in the air. The fate of Driftmark, a crucial stronghold for the realm, rested on the decision that would be made today. 

Otto nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Thank you, Ser Vaemond," he said, his voice measured. "Your petition has been heard." 

All eyes turned to Rhaenyra, the room buzzing with anticipation. The game was afoot, the lines drawn. The future of House Velaryon, and perhaps even the realm itself, hung in the balance. 

My grandfather spoke once again from his stolen throne, his voice echoing in the tense silence. It was in those rare moments, where the fate of our house hung in the balance, that I longed for my father's presence. I wished he could be here, strong and resolute, to stop this farce, to quell the rising tide of ambition and greed. I yearned for him to sweep me away from this world of politics and scheming, to allow me to live my life beyond the shadow of the Iron Throne. But it was a futile wish, a fleeting dream. My father was a ghost, a mere whisper of his former self, his life ebbing away with each passing day. 

"Thank you, Ser Vaemond," Otto declared, his voice cutting through the silence. "Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon." 

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her expression a mask of controlled anger. Vaemond's audacious claim to her son's inheritance had clearly struck a nerve. 

"If I am to grace this farce with some answer," she began, her voice dripping with disdain, "I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago, in this very..." 

Her words were abruptly cut off by the creak of the massive double doors swinging open. A shaft of sunlight pierced the gloom of the throne room, illuminating the figures that stood in the doorway. A collective gasp swept through the court, a ripple of shock and disbelief. 

At the head of the procession stood the Kingsguard, their armor gleaming in the light. But it was the figure behind them that captured everyone's attention. My father, King Viserys, once a towering presence, now a frail and broken man, shuffled into the room. 

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm," the herald announced, his voice echoing through the hushed chamber.    

My father hobbled forward, his back stooped, his steps unsteady. His once-handsome face was ravaged by illness, his skin stretched taut over his bones. A mask covered half of his face, concealing the ravages of his disease. He leaned heavily on a cane, each step a testament to his diminished strength. 

I could feel the shock emanating from my siblings beside me. Mother's mouth hung slightly open, her carefully constructed composure momentarily shattered. But it was Rhaenyra's face that held my attention. Her eyes, usually so cold and calculating, were now filled with a raw, unadulterated love. He had come for her, for his beloved daughter, the one he had always favored. 

A pang of bitterness pierced my heart. He had never looked at me with such tenderness, such warmth. I was just another daughter, a spare, an afterthought. 

Otto slowly rose from the throne, his face a mask of shock and disbelief. I tried but couldn't ignore the small grunts of pain that escaped my father's lips as he made his way towards the throne. Each step seemed to take an agonizing effort; his body wracked with pain. 

The room was silent, the only sound the soft shuffle of his feet and the ragged rhythm of his breathing. The weight of the moment pressed down on us, a suffocating reminder of the fragility of life, the inevitability of death. 

His gaze swept past us, his children, a fleeting glance that held no recognition, no warmth. It was a dismissal, a silent confirmation of our insignificance in this moment. My eyes flicked to Mother, expecting to see her usual stoic mask, but instead, I was met with a look of profound empathy. Her face, usually so composed, was etched with lines of pain and sorrow. Tears welled up in her dark hazel eyes, a testament to the depth of her commitment for the man who was slowly fading before us. 

I wanted to dismiss it as a farce, a performance for the benefit of the court. But I couldn't ignore the raw emotion in her eyes, the genuine anguish that twisted her features. For the first time, I saw Mother not as a calculating strategist, but as a woman grappling with the impending loss of her husband and the only power or control, she had ever had for herself. 

But any flicker of sympathy I felt for her was quickly extinguished by the sight of the love and adoration that shone in his eyes as he gazed upon our half-sister. It was a look I had never received, a look that spoke of a deep and abiding bond. The realization that I was, and always had been, a spare, a mere footnote in my father's life, pierced my heart with a jealous bitterness. 

I schooled my expression, forcing my features into a mask of neutrality. I would not let anyone see my inner turmoil, the maelstrom of emotions that threatened to consume me. 

With a final, agonizing effort, my father reached the foot of the dais. His back was hunched, his limbs trembling with the strain. I could see the dread in his eyes, the knowledge that this climb, this simple act of ascending the steps to his own throne, might be beyond his weakened body. 

He paused, his gaze fixed on the ground, as if gathering his strength. "I shall sit the throne today," he declared, his voice a raspy whisper that echoed through the silent hall. 

Otto, realizing the futility of protest, nodded in deference. "Your Grace," he said, his voice heavy with resignation. He stepped down from the throne, his cloak swirling around him like a shroud. He crossed the dais to Mother's side, his presence a silent offer of support. 

My father turned his gaze towards the steps, his face a mask of grim determination. He took a hesitant step, his body swaying precariously. A collective gasp rose from the court, a shared intake of breath as we all witnessed his struggle. 

Ser Erryk Cargyll, a member of the Kingsguard, stepped forward, his hand outstretched to assist the king. But Viserys waved him away, his voice a stubborn rasp. "I will be fine," he insisted, his pride refusing to yield to his weakened state. "I will be fine." 

He took another step, his body straining with the effort. He glanced down, his eyes focusing on his feet, on the treacherous climb ahead. And then, with a sickening lurch, the crown tumbled from his head, rolling across the marble floor with a hollow clatter. 

I closed my eyes, a wave of anguish washing over me. The sight of my father, once so powerful and majestic, reduced to this pathetic state, was almost too much to bear. 

From the corner of my eye, I saw Daemon Targaryen, my uncle, step forward from his place among the courtiers. He moved with a grace that belied his reputation as a rogue prince, his silver-gold hair gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the high windows. 

He knelt beside the fallen crown, his long fingers closing around it with a hesitant touch. He lifted it, his gaze fixed on his brother, a complex mix of emotions swirling in his violet eyes. 

"I said I am fine," Viserys rasped, his voice weak but defiant. 

He looked up, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw Daemon standing before him, the crown held aloft. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the two brothers locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes. 

Finally, Daemon spoke, his voice soft but firm. "Come on," he said, extending his hand. 

Viserys hesitated, his pride warring with his exhaustion. But then, with a sigh of surrender, he reached out and took Daemon's hand. 

I watched with a throat thick with emotion as Daemon helped his brother up the steps, his every movement a testament to their shared history, their complex bond of love and rivalry. 

When they reached the throne, Daemon gently placed the crown back on Viserys's head. Then, with a final, meaningful look, he stepped back and returned to his place beside Rhaenyra. 

The weight of the moment pressed down on me, a crushing burden of sorrow and regret. I had wasted so much time resenting my father, envying Rhaenyra's place in his heart. 

"I must... admit... my confusion," my father's voice, though raspy and weak, echoed with a surprising strength, cutting through the tense atmosphere. "I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession." He paused, his breath hitching in his chest, but his eyes remained resolute. 

"The only one present... who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is the Princess Rhaenys." 

All eyes turned to Princess Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was. Despite the passage of time, she retained an aura of regal beauty. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back in an elegant chignon, her once vibrant violet eyes now tinged with a hint of melancholy. The lines on her face spoke of a life lived amidst hardship and loss, yet her posture remained proud, her spirit unbroken.    

She stepped forward, her gaze unwavering. "Indeed, Your Grace," she affirmed, her voice carrying the weight of her lineage. "It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son... Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him."    

A wave of murmurs rippled through the court, a mixture of surprise and anticipation. Rhaenys had spoken, and her words carried immense weight. 

"As a matter of fact," she continued, a sly smile gracing her lips, "the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys's granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree."    

Her declaration was met with a hushed silence. The implications of this union were clear: a further consolidation of power within Rhaenyra's line, a strengthening of her claim to the Iron Throne. 

A soft noise from my left drew my attention. Aegon, his lips curled into a smug smile, was barely containing his laughter. I was taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. He had been so sullen and withdrawn just moments before. Now, his eyes sparkled with a cruel amusement, as if he relished the chaos that was unfolding. 

My attention snapped back to my father as he spoke once more. "Well... the matter is settled. Again," he wheezed, his voice strained but resolute. "I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides."    

The room erupted in whispers, a cacophony of reactions. Some nodded in approval, others shifted uneasily in their seats. But it was Vaemond's reaction that cut through the noise like a thunderclap. 

"You break law... and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir," he spat, his voice venomous. "Yet you dare tell me... who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it." 

The temperature in the room plummeted. Vaemond's defiance hung in the air, a challenge to the King's authority, a spark that threatened to ignite a conflagration. 

"Allow it?" my father wheezed, his anger fueling a surge of strength. "Do not forget yourself, Vaemond." 

Vaemond trembled with barely contained rage. "That is no true Velaryon," he snarled, his eyes burning with hatred, "and certainly no nephew of mine." 

The words, spoken with such venom, pierced the heart of the matter. The age-old accusation, the whispered rumors that had plagued Rhaenyra's sons for years, were now laid bare before the court. They were bastards, born of adultery, their claim to the Velaryon name a lie. 

The tension in the room was suffocating, a palpable darkness that seemed to seep into every corner. I felt Aegon stiffen beside me, his hand clenching into a fist. The fragile peace that had held the court together was crumbling, and the consequences were impossible to foresee. 

 Rhaenyra's protective instincts flared, her maternal fury a tangible force as she shielded Lucerys from the storm brewing before them. The boy, sensing the danger, retreated behind his mother, his young eyes wide with fear.  

"Go to your chambers, you have said enough." My sister tried to reaffirm her standing, to recover some form of control.  

"Lucerys is my true-born grandson." He took a steadying breath. "And you... are no more than the second son of Driftmark." 

Viserys's voice, though weakened by illness, still commanded authority. His words, a mix of exhaustion and unwavering determination, sliced through the chaos, reminding everyone present of the true lineage at stake. The room hung on his every breath, the weight of his declaration settling heavily upon Vaemond's shoulders. 

"You... may run your house as you see fit... but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned... I will not see it ended on the account of this..." 

At Vaemond’s words all went still, I could see then anger the venom behind this man. It made me want to cower. 

Daemon, ever the lurking shadow, watched the proceedings with a cold, calculating gaze. His silence was more menacing than any outburst, his predatory stillness a stark contrast to the turmoil unfolding around him. His dark violet eyes flicked from Vaemond to Rhaenyra's children, the threat hanging in the air. “Say it.”  

Vaemond, cornered and desperate, made a fateful decision. His gaze darted between Daemon and Rhaenyra, his defiance battling with a flicker of fear. In a final act of desperation, he unleashed his venomous words, spitting them at Rhaenyra with a hatred that chilled the room. 

"Her children are BASTARDS!" He screamed the word so close to Rhaenyra, and so full of hatred. The were hushed whispers and I heard Aemond let out a whoosh of air behind me. "And she... is... a whοre." Vaemond finished. 

The silence that followed was deafening, shattered only by the gasps of shock and disgust. Aemond's sharp intake of breath echoed through the stillness, a testament to the audacity of Vaemond's accusation. Helaena, beside me, shifted uncomfortably, her sensitivity attuned to the discordant energy that now permeated the room. 

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding before me. Viserys rose to his feet, his fury evident, but my attention was drawn to Daemon. He moved with a chilling grace, closing the distance between himself and Vaemond with a predator's stealth. 

"I will have your tongue for that." I heard my father command, his voice strained from the effort it took to stay standing. Viserys's command to remove Vaemond's tongue was lost in the horrifying spectacle that followed. Daemon's sword flashed, a swift and brutal arc that separated the top half of Vaemond’s head from his jaw. The sickening thud of his body hitting the floor, the spray of blood that painted the room in crimson, it all seemed to happen in slow motion. 

I let out a choked cry of horror, burying my face in Aegon's shoulder. The world around me dissolved into a blur of screams to disarm Daemon and chaos, but I clung to my brother, seeking refuge from the gruesome reality. To my surprise, he didn't push me away. Instead, his hand found my forearm, his grip firm and reassuring. 

Daemon's voice, laced with a chilling satisfaction, sliced through the lingering shock. "He can keep his tongue," he declared, a cruel smirk playing on his lips as he leaned casually on the blood-soaked blade. The gruesome evidence of his deed dripped onto the pristine marble floor, a stark reminder of the violence that had just unfolded. 

My grandfather's voice, though weakened, boomed with a righteous anger. "Disarm him!" he commanded, his words echoing through the stunned silence. Yet, even in his fury, there was an undercurrent of despair, a weariness that seemed to seep from his very core. 

I remained huddled against Aegon, my face buried in the crook of his shoulder. I inhaled deeply, trying to steady my racing heart. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the familiar scent of my brother, a strange and unsettling combination. I felt his hand gently squeeze my arm, a silent reassurance amidst the chaos. 

Daemon's response was swift and dismissive. "No need," he said, sheathing his sword with a practiced ease. The sound of metal sliding against leather was oddly final, punctuating the end of the gruesome spectacle. 

Aegon's touch drew me from my refuge. His hand tapped my arm, not gentle any longer but firm and demanding of my attention. I reluctantly lifted my head, my gaze following his towards our father. Viserys, his face pale and drawn, swayed on his feet. A soft groan escaped his lips as he collapsed back onto the Iron Throne, his frail body succumbing to the weight of the crown and the burden of his grief. 

"Call the maesters!" my mother's voice rang out, sharp and urgent. She rushed to his side, her skirts swirling around her ankles. I watched as she knelt beside him, her cool composure momentarily shattered. Her words, laced with desperation, pleaded with him to stay. It was a raw and intimate display of vulnerability, a glimpse into the depths of their complex relationship. 

My grip on Aegon's arm loosened as I witnessed the scene unfold. My father, once a towering figure, now seemed small and fragile, leaning heavily on my mother for support. It was a poignant tableau, a stark reminder of the relentless passage of time and the inevitability of mortality. 

Sir Erryk stepped forward, his strong arms offering a steady support as my father was helped from the throne. The descent was slow and labored, each step a testament to his failing strength. A wave of sadness washed over me, a profound sense of loss that seemed to echo the waning light in my father's eyes. 

The aftermath was a blur. My mother, her composure regained, swept Helaena and me from the blood-soaked throne room. The air crackled with unspoken horrors, and my grandfather's hand trembled on my shoulder as he ushered us towards the Sept. 

Inside the hallowed chamber, bathed in the cool light filtering through stained glass, we were expected to pray away the visions of Vaemond's brutal demise. To beseech the Mother for peace. But I had no faith in these painted deities, these silent idols who had witnessed countless atrocities and offered nothing but hollow comfort. 

"We are above these mortal gods," I muttered under my breath to Helaena, my voice laced with bitterness. Her eyes snapped open, her fervent prayer interrupted. A flicker of unease crossed her features. 

"Not in here," she pleaded, her voice a hushed whisper. "Do not do this in here." 

I sighed, rolling my eyes in defiance, but lowered my head in a pretense of reverence. The Seven had never answered my prayers. I'd spent a lifetime kneeling before their altars, pleading for respite from the pain, the loneliness, the gnawing sense of wrongness that haunted my every waking moment. Yet, nothing had changed. 

Helaena's voice broke the silence, her tone shifting to that ethereal cadence she adopted when the Sight took hold. It sent a shiver down my spine. I'd learned to heed her prophecies, their accuracy unnerving. 

"This is only the start," she murmured, her eyes clouded and distant. "It will begin with a dance. It will end with one as well." 

Her gaze met mine, her pupils dilated, her expression vacant. A chill swept over me. I reached out, touching her cheek, my voice thick with concern. "Sister, should I get the maester?" 

She blinked, startled, and recoiled from my touch. Her aversion to physical contact was a constant source of sadness, a reminder of her isolation. 

"Whatever for?" she asked, her voice flat, the Sight's grip receding. 

I hesitated, searching her face for any lingering trace of the prophecy. But Helaena had already withdrawn, her gaze fixed on the altar, her lips moving in silent prayer. I lowered my hand, a knot of dread tightening in my chest. The dance had begun, and I feared the steps we were all destined to take. 

As if the forced prayer hadn't been enough of an ordeal, my ailing father, miraculously resurrected to a state of command, decreed a family dinner. And so, Helaena and I were once again subjected to the rituals of courtly presentation. We were adorned in matching gowns of shimmering gold silk, the fabric clinging to our forms with an almost indecent intimacy. Our hair, styled identically, was braided simply across our crowns, the rest cascading down our backs in a show of contrived sisterly unity. 

The gathering took place in the smaller, more intimate dining hall, a relic of a bygone era when we all resided under one roof. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a palpable reminder of the recent violence and simmering resentments. Helaena and I sat side-by-side, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, my fingers picked at my nail beds until blood welled beneath the skin. 

My sister and grandfather exchanged pleasantries, their smiles strained, their laughter hollow. At the opposite end of the table, Aegon and Aemond engaged in a stilted conversation, their words carefully chosen, their eyes darting nervously towards the other occupants of the room. 

Rhaenyra and her sons sat with their intended brides, a tableau of forced alliances and uneasy truces. Baela and Rhaena, perched beside Luke and Jace respectively, seemed remarkably at ease, their interactions with their betrothed filled with genuine warmth and laughter. I envied their effortless camaraderie, their apparent comfort in the roles they were expected to play. 

My own betrothed, meanwhile, materialized behind me, pulling out my chair with a flourish. He swatted my hand away from my bleeding cuticles, his reprimand silent but unmistakable. 

I opened my mouth to protest, but the doors swung open, silencing the room. We all rose as my father, a frail specter of his former self, was carried in on his chair. His eyes, sunken and weary, scanned the assembled faces, a flicker of something akin to hope crossing his features. The tension in the room intensified, each of us bracing for the storm we knew was coming. 

As we settled into our assigned places, a palpable tension hung in the air like a suffocating shroud. I bit the inside of my cheek, the discomfort manifesting physically as a nervous tic. My father, a fragile figure propped between my mother and Rhaenyra, surveyed the room with weary eyes. Rhaenyra had subtly shifted closer to Daemon, creating a space for our father, a tableau of forced unity that did little to ease the underlying discord. My gaze flickered between them, a cynical observer of this carefully choreographed facade. 

"How good it is... to see all of you tonight..." My father's voice, raspy and strained, echoed through the silence. He paused, gathering his strength, before finishing, "Together." His eyes met my mother's briefly, then shifted to Rhaenyra and Daemon. 

I lowered my gaze, my fingers resuming their relentless assault on the tender flesh around my cuticles. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, until my mother's voice broke through, gentle but insistent. "Prayer before we begin?" 

My father nodded, a pained sigh escaping his lips. "Yes." 

I kept my head bowed, but my eyes remained open, fixated on the tiny beads of blood that bloomed beneath my nails. My mother's voice filled the room, her words a hollow recitation of empty platitudes. 

"May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the Gods give him rest."    

Her voice faded, but I remained unmoved, my heart hardened against the hypocrisy of it all. I longed to escape, to flee from this suffocating display of forced harmony. 

My father's voice, heavy with the unspoken weight of his illness, cut through my thoughts. "This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses."    

He paused, his breath hitching in his chest. "A toast to the Princes and their betrothed." 

"Hear, hear!" Daemon's voice boomed, a jarring counterpoint to the somber atmosphere. We all raised our glasses, the clinking crystal a discordant symphony. 

My mother's voice, cool and composed, pierced the momentary cheer. "A toast as well to our own Prince and Princess who will be married before the season has ended." 

My gaze snapped up to meet my father's. A flicker of recognition passed between us, and he nodded, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. "To our own Prince as well." 

But I was not acknowledged, my existence overlooked once again. An afterthought, as always. A wave of bitterness washed over me, threatening to drown me in its icy depths. I wanted to scream, to shatter the illusion of unity, to demand the recognition that had always been denied. But I remained silent, my anger simmering beneath the surface, a volatile force waiting to be unleashed. 

I took a long, deep swig of my goblet, letting the rich arbor red wine cascade down my throat, its fiery sweetness a momentary distraction from the simmering tension in the room. I felt the warmth spread through my veins, a welcome counterpoint to the icy dread that had settled in my gut. 

"Well done, Jace," Aegon's voice, laced with a hint of mockery, broke through my reverie. "You'll finally get to lie with a woman." I sighed, slumping further into my chair, wondering how much longer we'd be subjected to this charade. 

"Let us toast as well," I interjected, raising my glass towards Lucerys. "To Prince Lucerys, the future Lord of the Tides." The young boy's face lit up with a grateful smile, and I felt a genuine warmth towards him, a flicker of empathy amidst the suffocating atmosphere. 

"You do know how the act is done, I assume?" Aegon's relentless teasing continued, his voice low and suggestive. "At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that." 

I cringed, regretting my momentary engagement with the conversation. I took another sip of wine, the thought of such intimacies sending a shiver down my spine. I turned to Helaena, hoping to find solace in her conversation with our grandfather. 

But Aegon, Baela, and Jace were locked in a hushed, heated exchange, their whispers laced with barely concealed animosity. I tried to tune them out, focusing instead on the intricate patterns woven into the tablecloth. 

Suddenly, a clatter of cutlery startled me. I looked up to see my father struggling to his feet, his face contorted in pain. 

"It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table," he began, his voice raspy and weak. "The faces most dear to me in all the world... yet grown so distant from each other in the years past." 

He paused, taking a labored breath, before continuing. "My own face... is no longer a handsome one," he chuckled, the sound hollow and tinged with sadness. "If indeed it ever was. But tonight... I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king... but your father." 

His gaze lingered on Rhaenyra, a complex mix of emotions swirling in his eyes. Then he turned to us, the 'cast offs', the 'spares', his expression softening with a melancholic tenderness. "Your brother," he said, nodding towards Daemon. 

He looked at my mother, and I followed his gaze, my heart aching at the raw pain etched on her face. "Your husband," he continued. 

Finally, his eyes rested on Jace and Luke, a flicker of pride shining through his weariness. "And your grandsire," he finished, his voice thick with emotion. "Who may not, it seems... walk for much longer among you." 

He sighed, tossing his heavy golden mask onto the table with a resounding thud. "Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon is divided. Set aside your grievances," he pleaded, slamming his staff against the ground for emphasis. "If not for the sake of the crown... then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly."    

His voice trembled, and I felt a lump form in my throat. He struggled back into his chair, aided by my mother, who gently replaced his mask. 

Rhaenyra rose, her cup raised in a gesture of reconciliation. Her voice, clear and steady, cut through the heavy silence. "I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father. But I admit that no one has stood... more loyally by his side than his good wife." 

Her words hung in the air, a challenge and an olive branch. The room held its breath, waiting to see if this fragile peace would hold or shatter into a thousand pieces. 

My mother's gaze locked with Rhaenyra's, a complex tapestry of emotions flitting across her face. Regret, love, and a lingering trace of resentment warred within her, each sentiment as palpable as the next. "She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor," she admitted, her voice thick with conflicting emotions. "And for that, she has my gratitude and my apology." 

I stared at my mother in disbelief, my head tilted in bewilderment. Her words, laced with a genuine remorse, resonated through the tense silence. It seemed that even she, the architect of so much discord, was capable of acknowledging the truth. 

My mother visibly wrestled with her emotions, her face a canvas of inner turmoil. Finally, she rose, her gaze unwavering. "Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess," she said, her voice steady. "We are both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow." 

My jaw slackened. Was this a turning point, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness? 

"I raise my cup to you and to your house," my mother continued, her eyes meeting Rhaenyra's. A pregnant pause hung in the air before she delivered the final blow. "You will make a fine queen." 

The tension in the room dissipated slightly, replaced by a cautious optimism. Even Rhaenyra, ever guarded, allowed a flicker of a smile to grace her lips. We all raised our goblets, the rich red wine flowing freely, its warmth a temporary balm for our weary souls. 

Aegon, beside me, drained his glass and rose, weaving his way between Baela and Jace to reach for the carafe. I watched with disinterest as he refilled his goblet, exchanging words with Baela. 

Suddenly, Jace slammed his fist on the table, the sharp sound jolting me from my reverie. Aegon returned to his seat, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. All eyes were on Jacerys, as he stood there with hardened eyes and a set jaw. Aemond rose from the table, his one eye set on Jace. I looked over at Aegon for an explanation and he shrugged unhelpfully. Jace stood there for a moment, his smile strained and forced, then he playfully punched Aegon's shoulder. 

"To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond," he announced, his discomfort evident. "We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your families' good health, dear uncles."    

He raised his glass, his gaze fixed on Aegon. My brother, his plans seemingly thwarted, offered a stiff smile in return. "To you as well," he replied, his voice carefully neutral. 

Aemond, clearly disappointed by the lack of confrontation, slumped back in his chair, a petulant scowl marring his features. 

"Beware the beast beneath the boards," Helaena murmured beside me, her voice laced with a cryptic warning. I glanced at her, her eyes distant and unfocused. A shiver ran down my spine. 

Then, to my horror, she stood, her goblet raised. "I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena," she announced, her voice echoing through the hall. "As well as my younger sister, Clemyncia. They'll all be married soon." 

Her eyes flicked to mine, her words carrying a weight that seemed intended only for me. "It isn't so bad," she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Mostly he'll ignore you. Except sometimes when he's drunk." 

I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment as Aegon groaned, burying his face in his hands. The room erupted in laughter, the tension momentarily broken. Helaena, seemingly oblivious to the awkwardness she'd caused, swayed slightly, her eyes glazed with a drunken haze. I gently guided her back into her seat, avoiding Aegon's furious glare. 

"Let us have some music," my father's voice, weak but insistent, cut through the merriment. A ballad filled the room, its melancholic melody a stark contrast to the forced gaiety of the evening. I closed my eyes, the music washing over me, a bittersweet reminder of the fragility of this newfound peace. 

I twirled the empty goblet in my hands, my gaze drawn to the dried blood encrusted beneath my nails. The forced merriment around me felt like a cruel mockery, a suffocating performance I longed to escape. A surge of rebellion coursed through my veins, a primal urge to shatter the facade, to unleash the chaos that simmered beneath my carefully constructed composure. 

A gentle tap on my shoulder startled me from my dark reverie. I turned to find Jacaerys standing beside me, his hand outstretched, a hopeful smile gracing his lips. I hesitated, my eyes flicking between his hand and his face, before reluctantly rising from my seat. Aegon's gaze burned into my back as I followed Jacaerys to the cleared space behind the table, a mixture of anger and possessiveness swirling in his eyes. 

"Do you know a pavane?" Jacaerys's voice was hushed, barely audible above the din of the hall. 

I shook my head, my lips forming a silent 'no'. 

"Just follow my lead then," he whispered, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

And then we danced. We danced as we had as children, our movements carefree and uninhibited, our laughter echoing through the hall. For a stolen moment, I allowed myself to shed the weight of my royal burdens, to revel in the simple joy of the dance. I felt Aegon's eyes on us, his anger a palpable force, but I refused to let it dampen my spirits. 

As the dance slowed, our hands intertwined, our bodies moving in graceful synchronicity. I caught Aegon's eye, his expression a mask of barely contained fury. I quickly averted my gaze, focusing on Jacaerys as he raised our joined hands above our heads, our bodies close, our breaths mingling. 

The spell was broken as my father, his pain evident, was carried out of the hall by his guards. Jacaerys and I disentangled, our moment of carefree abandon abruptly ending. He lingered by my side, his gaze following my father's retreating figure with a mixture of concern and pity. 

The aroma of roasted meat drew my attention back to the table. A servant, bearing a platter laden with a suckling pig, made his way around the room. To my horror, he placed it directly in front of Aemond. My mind flashed back to the cruel prank our nephews had played on him years ago, presenting him with a piglet instead of a dragon. A nervous laugh escaped my lips. 

Lucerys, seated beside Aemond, noticed my reaction. A smirk played on his lips as Aemond, predictably enraged, slammed his fist on the table, silencing the musicians. 

"A final tribute," he declared, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "To the health of my nephews." 

He raised his glass, his eyes cold and calculating. "Jace... Luke... and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise, hm..." He paused, drawing out the suspense. "Strong." 

"Aemond," my mother hissed, her disapproval evident. But he continued, his words a thinly veiled insult to the legitimacy of Rhaenyra's sons. I felt Jacaerys tense beside me, his anger palpable. 

"Come, let us drain our cups to these three... strong boys." 

Aegon, ever the instigator, raised his glass, his eyes locked with Jacaerys in a silent challenge. 

"I dare you to say that again," Jacaerys growled, his voice low and menacing. 

Aemond feigned innocence. "Why? 'Twas only a compliment." 

He sauntered towards Jacaerys, his smirk widening. "Do you not think yourself strong?" 

The room exploded into chaos. Jacaerys lunged at Aemond, his fist connecting with his jaw. Luke, quick to defend his brother, charged forward, but Aegon intercepted him, pinning him to the table with a vice-like grip. 

"Jace! Luke!" Rhaenyra's voice cut through the pandemonium, her fury barely contained. 

"That is enough!" my mother shrieked, her words a desperate plea for order. Helaena, sensing my distress, reached for my arm, her touch surprisingly comforting. 

Aemond, unfazed by the punch, shoved Jacaerys to the floor. He landed near our feet, his eyes blazing with rage. Guards intervened, restraining him before he could retaliate. Luke, struggling in Aegon's grasp, hissed and spat, his young face contorted in a mask of fury. 

My mother berated Aemond, but he merely shrugged, a smug smile playing on his lips. "I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother," he retorted, his gaze returning to his nephews. "Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs." 

The situation threatened to escalate further as Jacaerys broke free from the guards. But before he could reach Aemond, Daemon stepped between them, his hand raised in a gesture of restraint. 

"Wait, wait!" he commanded, his voice firm. 

"Go to your quarters," Rhaenyra ordered, her voice laced with authority. "All of you, now." 

Daemon turned to Aemond, his eyes cold and menacing. Aemond, sensing the danger, reluctantly obeyed, his smirk fading as he retreated from the hall. My mother rushed to Rhaenyra's side, offering words of comfort. 

Helaena, with a dismissive wave, sent me on my way, her attention clearly elsewhere. I turned, my path diverging from hers as she headed towards the chambers she shared with Aemond. 

Alone, I trudged back to my own rooms, the weight of the evening pressing down on me like a physical burden. My fingers absently tugged at the braids that adorned my hair, a nervous tic born of frustration and anxiety. A sharp pain shot through my scalp as I pulled too hard, and I hissed in annoyance. 

I pushed open the heavy doors to my chambers, my foot instinctively kicking them closed behind me. The familiar scent of beeswax and lavender, a comforting constant in my life, did little to soothe the turmoil within me. I closed my eyes, my fingers working to unravel the intricate braids. 

But another scent, subtle yet unmistakable, cut through the calming aromas. It took a moment for my senses to identify it, and when they did, a chill ran down my spine. 

Arbor red.  

Wine. 

My eyes snapped open, and there he was, sprawled across my bed, a goblet of the crimson liquid in his hand. Aegon's lips curled into a cruel smirk as he caught my gaze, his eyes glinting with a predatory amusement. 

"Hello, sister," he purred, his voice a silken threat. 

My hands stilled, the braid half-undone. "You can't be in here, Aegon," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the fear that clawed at my throat. 

He tilted his head, a mocking laugh escaping his lips. "Can't I?" 

He rose from the bed, his movements languid yet purposeful. I instinctively took a step back, but he continued his advance, closing the distance between us with an unsettling grace. He reached for my hair, his fingers gently taking over the task of unbraiding it. His breath tickled my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. 

"We are to be married within the week," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper. "It is not as if your virtue is in question." 

His touch was surprisingly gentle, but it carried an undercurrent of danger, like a serpent coiling around its prey. I stood frozen, trapped between fear and a morbid curiosity. 

"It is improper, brother," I said, my voice tight, wincing as he tugged a bit too forcefully at a stubborn knot in my hair. The pungent aroma of wine clung to him, a testament to his inebriated state. He chuckled, his breath hot against my neck as he finished unbraiding my hair, his fingertips trailing down the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. I stepped forward, putting some distance between us, and turned to face him. 

"Not a soul will question what I do with you," he declared with a drunken wave of his hand, his arrogance as palpable as his intoxication. I crossed my arms defensively, my eyes widening in alarm. Why was he here? Did he intend to...? The thought sent a shiver of fear down my spine. He seemed to sense my apprehension, and his laughter boomed through the room, a harsh, discordant sound. 

"Calm yourself, I'm not here to force you," he said, as if the whole situation were a hilarious jest. I shook my head, my anger rising. 

"Then why are you here, brother?" I demanded, my voice laced with a newfound defiance. "Have the brothels barred your entry? Or has mother forbidden you?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them, fueled by a reckless impulse to provoke him, to shatter his smug facade. 

But his reaction was swift and brutal. In an instant, he was upon me, his long fingers encircling my throat, his grip tightening with each passing second. 

"Watch your tongue, girl," he growled, his voice low and menacing. His fingers flexed against the delicate skin of my neck, cutting off my air supply. I froze, my eyes wide with terror, my hands instinctively reaching for his wrists. 

He tilted his head, his face inches from mine. "What did the bastard say to you?" he hissed, his breath reeking of wine. "What is he plotting?" 

Confusion warred with fear. "Who?" I managed to rasp, my voice barely a whisper. 

"The one you were dancing with like a lovesick fool," he snarled, his grip tightening further. "What does he want with you?" 

I blinked, my mind racing. "Nothing," I stammered, struggling to breathe. "He asked me about dances, so I wouldn't be embarrassed. He spoke of nothing else, Aegon." 

His eyes narrowed, a possessive fury burning within them. His fingers flexed again, a silent threat that sent a wave of panic through me. I felt lightheaded, my vision blurring at the edges. 

And then his grip loosened, but the terror didn't abate. He drew my face impossibly close, our breaths mingling, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the icy dread that gripped my heart. I could see every detail of his face – the flecks of gold in his lilac eyes, mirroring the ones in my own, the individual lashes framing his gaze. His thumb rested on the pulse point at my throat, a subtle reminder of his power, of my vulnerability. I inhaled sharply, the air rushing into my lungs, and he smirked, a cruel, triumphant expression that twisted his handsome features. 

"He cannot have you," he slurred, his words heavy with a possessive fury. I nodded frantically, desperate to appease him, to escape this terrifying intimacy. 

"Aegon—" I began, but he cut me off, leaning even closer, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke. 

"I despise you, you know that?" His voice was a venomous whisper, each word a poisoned dart. "I have always hated you." 

I tried to pull away, but his grip on my throat, though no longer choking, held me captive. His proximity was suffocating, his presence a toxic cloud that threatened to consume me. 

"You are venom, just like our mother," he hissed, his nose brushing against mine. 

"Please, Aegon—" I pleaded, my voice a strangled whisper. 

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, savoring my fear. "It is fitting that you are her mirror image," he murmured, his voice laced with a perverse satisfaction. "A pretty little viper." 

His words stung, a cruel echo of the insults I'd endured my entire life. I was trapped, not just physically, but emotionally, ensnared in a web of familial dysfunction and resentment. The darkness that had always lurked beneath the surface of our gilded world threatened to engulf me, and I was powerless to resist. 

"I am not our mother," I managed to choke out, my voice a desperate plea for recognition, for separation from the toxic legacy he sought to impose on me. 

But my words only fueled his twisted amusement. He chuckled, a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down my spine. His eyes, devoid of their usual charm, held a glint of cruel satisfaction. 

"No," he agreed, his lips brushing against mine once more, a tantalizing torture. "You are so much sweeter." His voice dripped with a mocking sweetness that turned my stomach. "Which is almost worse." 

I struggled against him, my desperation growing with each passing moment. "Aegon, please, let me go," I begged, my voice barely a whisper. 

He held my gaze, his eyes boring into mine, a silent battle of wills playing out in the suffocating intimacy of our proximity. His lips remained pressed against mine, a mockery of affection, a cruel reminder of my powerlessness. 

Then, with a sigh that seemed to release a lifetime of pent-up resentment, he pushed me away. My body stumbled backward, my hands grasping for purchase on the edge of my writing desk. I stood there, panting, my heart thundering in my chest. 

"For now, sweet sister," he said, his voice a chilling caress. "For now." 

With a final, cruel smirk, he turned and swept out of the room, leaving me alone in the aftermath of his disturbing intrusion. The half-empty goblet of wine, abandoned on my table, served as a bitter reminder of his presence, its lingering scent a mockery of the sanctuary I once found within my chambers. 

I sank to the floor, my legs trembling beneath me. The darkness that had always danced at the edges of my life now threatened to consume me entirely. I was trapped, not just by Aegon's twisted desires, but by the suffocating expectations of my birthright, by the relentless machinations of a court steeped in blood and betrayal. 

[jacksonseymour13]

Aegon always liked giving Lucerys hugs when he was younger by placing his chin above his head and wrapping his arms around him protectively.

He didn't know why he had this urge to always yell or beat the shit out of anyone that looked at his little luce the wrong way. If he was drunk and depressed he sure was going to make an effort.

Of course he would never do it in front of him, openly express the adoration he has- well had for his little nephew. Throughout the years with all the family bullshit, useless politics and pointless conflicts. They sadly have estranged away from each other. His affection not as vibrant or tame.

He always flaunts it with insults and that hair. That hair did some strange things to Aegon for sure. He masks it with animosity but deep down he still cares and loves his lil nephew. He was jealous of how...together he was.

Envious of having a healthy relationship with his mother and siblings. Vengeful of having that decent male figure to guide him in the right path. Who did he have for that? Viserys? Nah. Criston? Laughable.

Those two only have 1 thing in common and that's getting in my mom's pants for their own self-gratification. He hated how perfect he was!

But...Aegon gets sad thinking about he won't be able to hold or hug Lucerys again or at the very least the same way. That's what he really hates. He really hates Aemond's obsession. Like ew(he's mine not yours).

Aegon is almost beaming everytime Lucerys enters the same room as him but he plays it off with a smart ass comment. He would start perking up whenever Lucerys would actually acknowledge his existence.

He's seemed to stop doing that these years and it has wounded him. Like a dragon missing 1 of it's wing. In his case he was missing his other half, his other being that made him whole and it was Lucerys.

He's missed him and just wishes he would talk to him instead he picks his nails, mocks him every chance and purposely bumps his shoulder into him as they pass to get anything even if it's a negative glare. At least he notices because Aegon is content with anything related to Lucerys that makes his miserable life just mean something.

He fools himself believing it will change, things can get better and both sides will be able to mend again and they can be one big dumb happy family but at least they would be together again.

Who he's kidding that could never realistically happen and they would stuck being on different sides forever.

[givemeasword-callmequeen]

I feel some sympathy for Aegon. Doesn't mean I support him.... But I feel sorry for him.

I feel sorry for the boy that run away when he learned that his father died.

I feel sorry for the boy that never wanted to be king & would have left the continent & everything behind.

I feel sorry for the boy who never feeled like he is enough.

I feel sorry for the boy who knew his own father never wanted him to be king.

I feel sorry for the boy who feels like nothing could please his mohher.

I feel sorry for the boy who lost his son in an terrible way.

I feel sorry for the boy who feels useless.

I feel sorry for the boy got burned by his own brother.

I feel sorry for the boy that lost his dragon.

I feel sorry for him.

[nonbinarylesbianherb]

I've seen many people say Alicent walking away from Aegon, as well as other scenes of her failing to comfort her kids is her "lacking empathy" or something along those lines

I've seen a lot of people say that empathy is a basic human trait, and that "anyone" would've gone to him and provided some form of comfort (e.g hugging, apologising, etc.)

NEED people to recognise that not everyone shows empathy the same way. That not everyone recieves empathy in the same way. There are many reasons to as why Alicent walked away, 1. Maybe she was worried she would only make things worse. 2. maybe she thought he preferred to be left alone.

We can see very clearly the emotions of pain on her face. She wants to help but doesn't know how, she's not really close with her children. So she doesn't know if her providing him comfort by hugging/her presence in the room with him would make things better or worse. E.g, myself- I love my friends and family dearly but sometimes when I'm grieving I need to be left alone and someone coming to talk/hug/be with me, regardless if their intention is to help, will honestly make things worse than better.

There is no one way to show empathy nor one way to receive empathy. I don't think it's fair for people to say this about Alicent when we don't know at all if it would've helped. In my opinion it's a very black and white view of something that is an extremely complex thing.

Grief isn't the same for everyone. Comfort from others isn't always the answer to grief. Grief can be shown in many forms.

It reminds me of how Helaena got a lot of hate after the b&c scene, and people saying she had no empathy/care for her children due to her reaction. Not everyone reacts the same to these things. If you would kick and scream that's valid, but people, like Helaena who would dissociate from shock and trauma are valid as well.

We're all completely different individuals, billions of us. We all experience things and show things different. Just because we may experience things differently, doesn't mean we are lacking of empathy.

In my opinion, the only people who fail to have empathy are the ones who cannot comprehend this.

[bbygirl-aemond]

I feel like it would be jarring at first for Aemond to see a healthy (?) marriage considering he only grew up aside Alicent and Viserys. How would he react to a moment of vulnerability between the two of them? Perhaps daemon seeking comfort from Rhaenyra?

aemond, the first time daemyra have an argument in front of him and he sees healthy conflict resolution for the first time in his entire fucking life:

in all honesty, he'd probably do whatever he did when viserys and alicent fought and try to leave or hide until he thought they weren't angry anymore, out of fear that he'd get dragged into things. but he'd be very confused when they'd appear to be fully made up that same day because when anyone in his family argued they were always at odds for at least a week, often longer.

[very-straight-blog]

Yes, Aegon, me too...

[dirtytransmasc]

Step dad Criston Cole HC:

his kids never got too big. never too big for him to (at the very least try to) hold close, to carry around, to rock them to sleep, to let them sit in his lap or be buried in his side. they're never too big to run to him for comfort. they're never to big to need their tears wiped away. his kids are never to big for him, they never 'age out' of his love and care, he will always be their dad in every way until he draws his last breath.

[across-the-pond]

OK but has/is Helaena going to go visit Aegon after he got barbecued and fell from the heavens oooooooor…?

[stygianthrax]

CHAPTER 5 IS UP AND IM SO GLAD I FINALLY GOT IT ALL OUT !!! BY FAR MY FAVORITE AND ILL FIGHT ALL THE DEMONS IN ME THAT DOUBT ITS GREAT

[entitled-fangirl]

Tradition.

Cregan Stark x Pregnant!reader

Summary: the reader and Cregan go to King's Landing to support her nephew, Luke's, Velaryon claim. She goes into early labor away from the North.

Warnings: Aegon is his own warning, body shaming, talks of brothels and stuff, labor, blood, death, fighting, all that stuff.

A/n: Based on an ask! I'll proofread later 😭

Masterlist

.......................................................

Cregan held out his hand to help his very pregnant wife out of the carriage. 

He absolutely hated riding by carriage. It seemed pointless when you could ride a horse instead. But when summoned to King's Landing by King Viserys with his Targaryen wife to join the rest of her family, he had to guarantee her safety on the travel by any means necessary.

Alicent's face lit up at the sight of her daughter, practically running over Cregan to get to her. She embraced the pregnant woman tightly, "Oh, my love! How you've changed!" 

Y/n hugged her mother back just as firmly with a smile, "I've missed you, mother."

Alicent pulled away and admired her grown girl, "King's Landing is better with you here." Only then did Alicent notice Cregan, "Oh. Lord Stark."

Cregan bowed his head politely, "My queen."

"Cregan has been eager to see King's Landing again," Y/n chirped in, "He has only been a few times."

Alicent's brows lifted, "Really? I wouldn't have thought that."

He nodded, "I could've been patient enough to wait until after the birth, but alas, when the King calls, you answer."

Alicent gave a forced smile, "Right. Of course. The birth." She looked to her daughter, "How far along are you, my dear?"

"Nearing eight moons now," she said nervously with a hand on her swollen stomach.

Alicent didn't miss the equally nervous and protective look in Cregan's eyes.

…

Dinner that night was beyond tense. 

What was joy for Viserys was misery for everyone else.

Watching the king decay at the table and the rest of them squabble over trivial matters that seemed of great importance.

"A toast to the young princes and their betrothed."

Aegon leaned over to his nephew Jace, "Well done, Jace. You'll finally get to lie with a woman."

A glare was sent his way by Jace and Baela.

Y/n caught on and quickly looked to Aemond, who sipped his wine with no reaction.

"You do know how the act is done, I assume?" Aegon continued. "At least, in principle. Where to put your cock and all that?"

Jace's jaw clenched, "You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed."

"Aegon." Y/n hissed through her teeth across the table.

His head immediately snapped to his sister in annoyance, "What?"

"Let it alone."

He scoffed lightly, "What do you mean? I'm only asking." He gained a grin, "It's not like I have to ask Lord Stark that. Look at the state of you!" He gestured to her swollen belly.

Cregan's grip on his fork tightened, turning his knuckles white. 

She placed a hand over her stomach and grimaced, "At least I was able to find a husband that wanted me. Mother had to force you to marry the only girl around, and that was Helaena."

Aegon gave an incredible glare, one that his sibling shot back.

Aemond became amused.

"Let us not fight at the table," Alicent reprimanded lightly.

Y/n looked to Jace, who gave a small nod of gratitude.

Silence filled the room until the King's long monologue of the need for peace in the house. 

Rhaenyra and Alicent gave small and seemingly back-handed toasts but Y/n was too set on the continuous mischievous look in her brother's eye.

And she called it right when he stood and moved to whisper in Baela's ear.

It was clear that it was muttered with the intention of riling up Jace, which it did quite well.

He stood up in anger, slamming his fist on the table.

Cregan, who had remained entirely silent thus far, instinctually moved a hand across his wife as if shielding her and the child.

The tense toasts only got worse from there.

Luckily, the music seemed to drown out the intensity, as well as Jace's good gesture of faith in dancing with Helaena. 

Y/n leaned over to Aemond, "Brother."

His brow raised as his eye traveled to look at her.

"It has been… long since I've seen you. I see you've faired quite well."

He hummed lightly, "I see you've… managed."

She could feel Cregan's intense gaze from behind her, "Wh…what do you mean?"

Aemond smirked and leaned in to where only the two Starks could hear him, "Inpregnanted by a brute-"

Cregan's jaw clenched so hard he feared for his teeth. His voice was a hushed whisper, but still held furiously to it, "Watch your words."

Y/n held Cregan's shoulder, "Let us not do this here."

Aemond smirked with Cregan sighed and leaned back in his chair.

When Viserys was escorted from the room due to his pain, Y/n decided to leave as well, and Cregan behind her.

They claimed a pregnancy illness and Rhaenyra smirked, knowing she'd used the same card many times.

…

Cregan helped her into bed, "I don't understand their need to crawl under everyone's skin like beetles."

She sighed, "They've never known life outside of a castle, Cregan. They've never been told no, and they never will. It's best to let it go."

"They mock us both. My name has been through dirt, blood, and tears, and I do not care, but yours?" He scoffed, "I will not stand by the next time you are mocked."

"It is only for a little while longer," she rebutted.

"Know that I do this for you, and only you, my love."

She smiled, "That's all I ask."

…

"The north has done a number on you, really," Aegon said as he appeared at her side.

She tilted her head, "I don't know what you mean."

He shrugged, "You're…" he then gestured his arms widely. "I dunno… well indulged?"

She pushed down the tears that welled up in her eyes, "Why do you care?"

He scoffed and leaned in towards her, "You know how many friends of mine asked for whores that looked like you? Many."

"And?"

"And?" He asked mockingly. "And? Who wants to fuck a whore that looks like you now?"

Her jaw went slack for a moment, completely shocked by his words. 

Finally, with now watery eyes, she spoke. "You're the worst kind of man, Aegon."

"Oh? And what kind is that?"

A sudden punch came from nowhere, landing on Aegon's jaw and sending him to the ground. 

Cregan stood over the man's body, a predatory look in his eyes and a murderous tone in his voice, "One that can't defend his fucking words."

Y/n pulled Cregan back, "Stop!"

He wanted to fight against her, but he knew better. His shoulders rolled back and he stood tall. 

She cursed under her breath as she took in exactly what had unfolded, "They could have your head for this, Cregan."

"Only if your brother wishes to defend his words against me again," Cregan scoffs as he looks down at the man.

Aegon sits up and huffs, wiping his nose that begins to leak blood. "Northern brute-"

"-Aegon!" She reprimands. 

Cregan glared at Aegon for a while, then scoffed and walked off a few steps to calm himself.

Aegon stands on shaky legs as he glares at his sister, "I liked you better when you lacked a guard dog."

Cregan immediately turned back to the man with a look that said he was ready to murder him. As he stepped forward, Aegon stepped back as he began to regret his words.

"Take me to our chambers, Cregan," she lightly pleaded. 

The wolf of the north only stared for a while before nodding, "Lead the way."

She sighed as she gave a final look to her brother. "Clean yourself up. You look like shit."

…

Standing behind Rhaenyra, Y/n and Cregan whispered idly to Daemon when someone would comment something out of hand. 

Luke's legitimacy was coming into question, and though the Starks knew the truth, they would not dare pry the inheritance from the boy's hands. That was not their place. So next to Daemon they stood as petitions were made to and against him.

Daemon leaned in to speak to Y/n, "how far along did you say you were?"

"Eight moons now," she whispered back.

Daemon let out a surprised grunt. "You're to have the child here then? That seems unlike you."

"Uncle, my father insisted I come, and I have. Whether the child is born in the North or the South, it is a Targaryen and Stark all the same."

He smiled lightly, "I suppose you're right. If you wish for someone to accompany Lord Stark to the dragon pit to choose a proper egg for the child, only say the word."

Cregan, who had been listening quietly, now leaned in, "I am to choose an egg?"

"It is tradition," she explained. "It can be before, during, or after the birth, but the father chooses the egg. If… If you would wish to continue that tradition."

He grinned, "I'd be delighted to try."

When Vaemond Valaryon stepped up forward to speak his mind, the Starks quieted. 

He spoke in anger, trying to take Luke's right. 

Y/n looked past him to her mother and siblings. 

Aegon looked like he'd rather be doing anything else. He didn't care the outcome of this ordeal. Aemond watched intensely with his one eye, taking in every detail. And Helaena… sweet Helaena. 

She needed to visit her and the children soon.

"And her children are…" Vaemond paused.

The room stilled.

"Say it," Daemon whispered under his breath.

"Her children are BASTARDS!" He screamed.

Y/n jumped back in surprise as Cregan's steady hands caught her waist.

"And she. Is. a. Whore." Vaemond finished.

The air in the room stilled and became stuffy as the tension reached an all time high.

Viserys stood on unstable legs as he unsheathed his dagger, "I will have… your tongue for this."

A sudden slice moved through the air, and half of Vaemond's head was gone.

Blood splattered across the ones' nearest, meaning the Starks. Cregan let out an annoyed grunt.

"He can keep his tongue," Daemon said proudly as he lowered his sword.

Y/n rested a hand over her swollen stomach with a shaky hand, trying to ignore the blood that began to seep into her clothes. 

Cregan leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Are you alright?"

"I… I want to go," she shuddered back.

He nodded, looking around as the crowd began to whisper amongst themselves. He held a hand firmly against her back as she became to let out an uncomfortable whine.

"Cregan, please," she whispered.

"Alright. Alright, let's go, my love," he said as he tried to move her through the crowd.

But her legs faltered as she let out a pained noise.

He caught her in panic, "Are you in pain?"

"The babe…"

No longer caring for proper manners, Cregan stood tall and looked over the crowd. "MOVE!" He yelled out.

The people quieted and moved as Cregan helped his wife through the room and out of the doors.

Alicent only saw a brief glimpse of her daughter's silver hair go through the doors, and she was on edge. She ran through the crowd to follow behind them.

He held onto his wife's arm with one hand and held her waist with the other, trying to support her as they moved to their chambers.

Y/n let out a gasp, and her water broke.

Alicent caught up to them and grabbed her daughter's other arm. "It's alright. You're alright." She turned to a servant and ordered him to get the maester. 

Sweat began to break out of the poor woman's forehead as the weight of what is happening began to settle. 

Once on her bed, Cregan refused to move from her side, Alicent as well. Alicent rubbed soothingly across her daughter's forehead as Cregan paced at the foot of the bed.

The maester and midwives came quickly, immediately moving to the woman in labor.

"My lord, it is best if you remain outside," one of them said.

Cregan's brows furrowed in confusion. "Out… Outside?"

Alicent chipped in, "It is tradition. The husband waits outside of the doors."

He stared at Y/n in thought. Tradition. How that word weighed on them like boulders. 

"Alright."

…

He tried to ignore the sounds of her cries as he stood in the corridor. 

Nothing could ease his worries. 

In the North, it was not uncommon to be by their wife's side. 

This was unusual to him.

"My lord," a midwife questioned as she poked her head from the room.

His eyes widened, "Is she alright?"

"The child is… having trouble, my lord."

That was Cregan's greatest fear. The maester in Winterfell had spent endless hours with Cregan to determine a plan for if such a thing were to occur. Now he was without a plan entirely.

"Alright?" He finally breathed.

"What do you wish for us to do?"

"What options do I have?" He spoke barely above a whisper.

The midwife gave him an empathetic look. "We can cut the child out-"

"-No." He was quick with his answer, the very thought of taking a blade to her seeming the greatest sin he could commit.

"Um… it will be painful, but we can help her force the child out."

"Is that safe for her?"

The midwife shrugged lightly, "More than any other option I can give you."

He nodded.

She gave a weak smile and moved back into the room, but Cregan caught the door before it closed and forced his way in.

At the sight of his wife, he felt as if a blade went into his own stomach.

She was crying in pain, the midwives forcing her hips down as she tried to move away from the pain, as if that was possible.

At the sight of him, her entire face relaxed, "Cregan…"

He moved to her side, "I'm here. How can I help?"

Alicent glared slightly at him. 

"They won't… I can't…" Y/n whimpered out.

"They won't what?" He looked up to Alicent, "What are they doing?"

"She wishes to get up. We cannot have her standing," she explained.

Cregan was thrown off by that. "She cannot? W… Why ever not?" When in labor with him, Cregan's mother was said to have walked the length of Winterfell 3x over. 

"It hurts… please, Cregan…" 

He nodded as his expression hardened. "Let her stand."

The maester shook his head, "She is nearing the labor. She should not-"

"-She wishes to stand. She will stand."

Alicent spoke up. "Lord Stark-"

"-This is my wife and child. If she wishes to walk, then she will," he barked. 

A fire lit behind the queen's eyes. "She will not."

The midwives watched the tension grow.

Finally, Cregan calmly reached down and began to help his wife sit up.

Alicent cursed under her breath and grabbed Cregan's wrist in an effort to stop him.

Cregan's eyes slowly moved up to Alicent's face as anger began to overcome him. 

But she was first to speak. "You are no longer in the North. You abide by our traditions when you are here."

He'd heard enough of that word for a lifetime. 

His words came out sharper than he intended, but he cared little to soften them. "Your family is made of vipers and cutthroats. When I take my wife and child back to Winterfell, it will truly be a miracle if you ever see them again, for I will not let her sit and be neglected and tormented. I am a brute, but I am not without heart. Now, Let. Go."

Alicent reluctantly let go.

Cregan helped Y/n sit, and she immediately felt relief. "I want to walk," she panted.

He nodded, practically holding her up as she stood. "We will walk the corridor and return." His voice had no room for argument.

Once they paced the corridor a few times, she was returned to the bed, only to find that Alicent had left. Cregan only cared about it when he noticed the tinge of sadness that moved over his laboring wife.

But he was quick to fill the gap. As she moved back to the bed, Cregan sat behind her and held her against his chest, messaging anywhere that began to ache.

The labor came soon after that. Cregan held her close as she screamed in pain and gripped his wrists. She surely left bruises.

"The babe is crowning, princess," the midwife exclaimed. "Keep pushing."

The pain came in waves that made her see white. 

Cregan began to panic when the midwives gave one another a look. "What?"

"She is not pushing hard enough."

Y/n began to cry in frustration.

"She is pushing," Cregan sighed. "What else is there to do?"

One of them reached up and began to push on her stomach, prompting the princess to cry harder as the pain multiplied. 

"Allow me," Cregan shifted her in his hold and carefully placed his hands where the midwife had, slowly applying pressure to the same place.

As Y/n screamed and cried, Cregan placed assuring kisses against her neck and cheek and whispered calming words to her. "You're doing well."

If the pain had not been so bad, she may have blushed.

…

Cregan held the baby close to his chest as his wife slept.

"My lord," a servant finally entered and interrupted the silence. "The queen has requested to see the child."

An annoyed feeling washed over the man. Of course, she wished to. 

The servant took note of his changed demeanor, "I can take-"

"-No," he countered. "I will go myself. Should my wife awaken in my absence, give her anything she desires."

His heavy feet stormed from the room and he walked to the queen's chambers.

Alicent turned and shock overcame her. "Lord Stark. I did not expect you to-"

"-Neither did I."

The two stared at one another for a moment before Alicent's eyes wandered to the bundle in the large lord's arms. "Healthy?"

"The very picture."

She nodded, unsure of what to say next.

"A boy," Cregan stated.

"A boy?" Alicent whispered. Any thoughts of annoyance were past to her, and she walked to the lord and eagerly looked at the child.

The baby was indeed the picture of health. Bright purple eyes looked up at the two. Dark hair sat atop his head.

"He's quite northern," she stated.

"Indeed." Cregan was sure she meant it as an insult, but he could care less. The thought of such a gift as a northern boy filled him with pride. 

"Congratulations, Lord Stark."

He nodded. "Your daughter is fine as well."

Alicent moved away from Cregan and sat down. "That is a blessing. To all of us. She will be a perfect mother."

"Aye, she will."

The tension between the two was evident, but they wouldn't let it dull the excitement of the newest addition to the line.

"I should return to my wife."

"Please, do."

Cregan moved to the door.

"Lord Stark?" She asked.

"Yes?"

Alicent stared at him and then the babe. "Thank you. For caring for her. And now him. You are a better man than most."

Cregan sighed. It wasn't a compliment, but it was something. "Thank you, my queen. She will want for nothing until my dying breath."

"This is all I wished for her."

......................................................

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver

[sonolynn]

Forbidden Fruit

summary | Jace didn't want her, but Aemond did.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

tags | 18+ MDNI, Jealously, Aemond yearning, explicit sexual content, mentions of bastards, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, size kink (?), oral f!receiving, Angst if you squint. "Technical" infidelity but is it really if Jace started it? (yes). ooc!Aemond (probably). NOT PROOF READ (its one am, leave me alone).

w.c | 3.8k

note(s) | My first smut fic!! Ah I'm scared...I also think I have a problem with making Aemond want fem!reader when he rightfully can't have her. Also I swear I'm not a Jace hater!! I love Jace, but in this fic specifically I made him long and wish for Baela.

____________________________________________

“Why don’t you marry her then?” 

Aegon’s voice was taunting, as if pushing Aemond to say something. Aemond stared down at the cup in front of him; even with a stoic expression, his mannerisms betrayed him. He tapped his finger against the edge of the cup, he picked at the skin around his nails on the opposite hand-all the tell tale signs of thinking, a mind that cannot be stopped. 

“Because she is betrothed to Rhaenyra’s bastard.” His voice dripped with malice as he spoke. Aemond hated that Jacerys would inherit the throne enough; What his bastard nephew didn’t need was the girl Aemond had wished for his entire life. Ever since the two of them were children Aemond had a…weird infatuation with her. When he was a boy, he would pick flowers from the garden and he would purposely do good deeds for her, just to have her hug him or smile graciously at him. 

But now, everything was different. She was a woman grown, and him a man grown. She was to be engaged to his bastard nephew, and he would have to sit and watch as they shared a kiss, held hands, smiled and danced as newlyweds. He’d have to hold a straight face as the two of them left to Jacerys’ bed chamber, only knowing the connotations that came with what would happen on their wedding night. 

Ignoring his brother's tedious rants about hells knows what, Aemond stood from his chair, opting for a walk in the gardens.

____________________________________________

Aemond walked, hands clasped behind his back, and his gaze drifted into nothingness as he walked with just his thoughts, and the cool breeze that accompanied the summer evenings. He tried to distract himself from the thoughts of her, for they were all almost too painful to ever truly think about. 

But he couldn’t help himself. He thought of her as a sickness, one that lingered and grew stronger by the day until it fully consumed your every waking moment. He thought of her laugh just as contagious as the plague, her eyes as intoxicating as the finest of wines. He thought her to be a type of sickness, and he so desperately wanted to be affected. 

Aemond was never one to smile-one to truly-smile, his half smirks or half smiles were only ever in a sarcastic sense, but for some reason his smiles were real with her. With her he laughed a little more, with her he walked a little faster. He knew it was stupid, perhaps perpetually idiotic-to ever think, let alone long for such a pure and innocent creature. 

As Aemond walked, he noticed her sitting by one of the fountains in the garden. She looked breathtaking, he thought to himself. Her hair was down and cascaded down her shoulders, her face was just the perfect amount of shaded with the moon's light. And above all, she held that intoxicating smile that she always held. He never knew why she was always smiling, nor did he wish to find out. 

She turned her head, her smile widening at the sight of Aemond. 

“Aemond!” Her voice was cheerful, slowly standing as he walked towards her. 

“Princess,” Aemond smiled-a half smile-at her as he looked around, then slowly back at her. “It’s quite late. Should you not be in your chambers?” 

She always thought the way he cared for her, even if he didn’t show it outright, was extremely enticing. She knew how he was with others, but she knew the differences he had with almost everyone in court-so what made her so different? Why her, the object of the second son's affection. 

“Perhaps I do not wish to sleep. Perhaps…I quite like the quietness of the garden.” She smiled innocently, looking back towards the fountain as she started to walk. Aemond knew her well enough to see that this was a quiet plea for him to join her; Because no matter how much she enjoyed the quietness of the garden, she enjoyed it much more when he was with her. 

Aemond stared at her, as he often did, but this time, it was different. The stare he held was nothing short of primal. He watched the light in her eyes as she smiled up at him and for some reason, now, he wished to watch as the innocent light in her eyes slowly dwindled as he claimed her. 

“Aemond? Is something wrong?” Her voice snapped his thoughts back, if only for a moment. She stopped walking to look up at him and she crossed her arms underneath her chest. His eye trailed down slowly, fixating on the way that her cleavage just slightly out of her dress. He was like a man starved; Clinging to the littlest of details that would make his imagination run wild. 

She seemed to notice the way that his eye raked over her chest like a starving man, and her face flushed with embarrassment. She-though subconsciously-reached up to place her arm over her chest, but to her surprise, Aemond gently took her hand, and when she looked up, his one sapphire eye was locked with hers. 

“You needn’t cover up. Not around me.” He spoke calmly, though his heart was racing and his head spinning. He let out a shaky breath as he lowered her hand and looked into her eyes. 

She watched him carefully, searching his gaze for anything that would betray him. In truth she didn’t know what she was searching for, but she felt as if she should be searching for something. 

Aemond lifted a hand, placing the back of his knuckles against her hot cheek. The gesture was gentle, and slow, something he was not known for. His eye slowly trailed down her face, and his eye caught on her lips, his breath heavy as he reached his hand up and gently placed his thumb over her plush bottom lip. 

Her eyes followed his, big, and full of longing. She stared at him as his thumb pushed against her lip. She didn’t know exactly what to do; She knew that this moment was intimate, far too intimate to be happening between a betrothed woman and a bachelor. But, the way he gazed at her made her feel hot, and the way he trailed his hand over her face and body made her want to see where this could lead. 

His free hand shakily went up to her waist, cupping it firmly as he brought her closer. He leaned forward, just slightly, till his nose was pressed against hers. Her breath hitched, and her eyes instinctively closed. She waited for him to press his lips against hers, to feel his mouth on hers like she had (shamefully) always wished for. But, it never came. 

When she opened her eyes again, she saw Aemond breathing heavily, desperately trying to restrain himself. He pulled away slightly, and he shook his head,

“I shouldn’t take advantage of you…not like this.” Though his words held conviction, it seemed his body betrayed him. His hand stayed on her waist, slowly trailing up and cupping her breast in his hand. She gasped softly at the feeling, and his thumb went to her lip again before he connected his lips to hers. She responded immediately, putting her hands on his arms. 

He kissed her like he was dying, his body subconsciously reacting more to the kiss then he’d wish it to. He pulled her flush against him, his strong hands coming to cup her face, his shoulders shrugging in a futile attempt to have her closer. He opened his mouth, causing her to gasp at the feeling of his tongue against hers. Her mouth moved with his as if it was known to her; As if this was a dance she had practiced for years to perfect, as if the dance of her lips was a song that Aemond had mastered just for her. 

She practically melted in his arms. She had been kissed before; Jace was a good kisser but he was soft, and the kisses were never not chaste. But, kissing Aemond was like walking through fire. Her entire body reacted to the way he clung to her body, how he pulled her impossibly closer. It was like a fire had escaped through his lips and was now coursing through her veins and settling in her abdomen. 

Even though she didn’t know exactly what to do, it seemed her body did. Her hands slid down his arms and slowly made their way to his chest as she moaned softly. 

The moan grounded him, like he had been falling from the heavens and down to earth. He suddenly pulled away, breathless as he stared down at her. Her eyes opened steadily, and she looked up at him with confusion while a frown graced her kiss swollen lips. 

“We shouldn’t have done that.” He spoke breathlessly, his hand still gently stroking her side. 

“Maybe not..but it felt good.” Gods, the way she spoke held him in a chokehold. He wished desperately to dive back into her; To drown in her lips and never come up for air, but.. 

“Not again. You are to be married.” He suddenly pulled away and at the feeling of his hands leaving her body, she frowned deeper. 

“Aemond-” “Goodnight, Princess.” 

And with that, the prince turned and rushed back into the keep. 

____________________________________________

Aemond couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in bed, picking at his nails, biting his lip-genuinely anything to help stop the incessant thoughts of her lips. 

The thoughts started off sweet and innocent. The way she looked up at him as he trailed his thumb over her lip, the way her lips pursed just slightly when he leaned forward. 

But then the thoughts got venereal fast. He thought about how he felt to finally kiss her. The way his lips practically burned when they pulled away. He knew that as he gazed at her kiss swollen lips his night would be harbored with thoughts of what they’d look like doing gods knows what else. 

His hand slid down underneath the sheets, firmly grasping at his length as he let out a shuddering breath. He hated doing this; Feeling so pent up and so desperate that he had to resort to using himself. But as of right now he couldn’t care less. 

He imagined her lips around his cock, her innocent eyes gazing up into his. He’d imagine the way she’d gag around him, how her lips would look kissing the head of his cock. 

He groaned at the thought, his head tipping back as he closed his eye and let his thoughts wander more. He’d think about how she’d look with his seed covering her lips and her chin, how she’d moan his name as he devoured her between her legs-

He peaked with a gasp, and a low moan of her name. The minute his orgasm washed over him, and he started to slowly come down, he felt an intense feeling of guilt, shame, but most of all pain. 

Guilt and shame because he hated himself for touching himself to someone who couldn’t be his. 

Pain because she’d never be his. Pain because he knew that no matter what he did, she’d still be betrothed to Jacerys. 

____________________________________________

The next morning, she sat alone at breakfast, supposedly liking it more that way. With her fiance practically ignoring her, and her father too entranced with kissing the king's ass, she learned to enjoy the solitude of just…nothing. 

Plus, she always had her thoughts. Even if they were only occupied with Aemond. 

She played around with the food on her plate as her mind trailed. She remembered the way he kissed her, how he held her. She felt happy, something she so rarely felt with Jacerys. 

She knew how he felt, how he longed for and wished for Baela. She did not blame him, she was beautiful, but she also didn’t feel sad, which, at a point did bother her but, not so much. 

At least, not after last night. 

She smiled to herself as she thought about the kiss, wishing that he would do it again, longing for the way the heat escalated through her body. 

She didn’t register the voice next to her until it spoke her name. 

She looked up, surprised. But, when her eyes met with Aemond’s, her heartbeat quickened, and she smiled. 

“Aemond.”

“You’re not hungry?”

“What?” “You’re not eating.” “Oh,” Her cheeks flushed red for a reason unbeknownst to her, and with a soft huff, she pushed the plate away, “It seems as though I have lost my appetite.” 

Aemond looked concerned at that, and he looked down at her. Despite himself, he found himself worrying yet again for her comfort, her needs. 

“Is something the matter?” She shakes her head, but for some reason, Aemond was persistent. “If this is about what happened last night, then I should apologize-” 

“Apologize?” She interrupted, sitting up straighter at the mention of the word. “Why?” 

“Yes…apologize. Because we should not have done that-”

“But I wanted it to happen.” 

Aemomd stopped and he slowly looked towards her. His eye pierced into hers as if to read every thought and emotion that crossed her brain. He just simply couldn’t believe her. 

“You shouldn’t say things you do not mean, Princess.”

“You don’t know that I don’t mean it.”

“Princess-”

“Aemond.” She said his name as if to challenge him, and he knew that he truly could never challenge her. He saw it in her eyes, he saw by the way she looked at him and smiled that she wished for him just as he wished for her. But these feelings-these blockages-would only cause unnecessary trouble. 

“Please, do not give me a hope that cannot be upheld.” Her heart broke a little at that, and, as he stood to leave, she instinctively stood with him, taking his wrist in her hand as she pulled on his arm. As if the small gesture would stop him from walking, (it did). 

“Aemond please..You do not know what I wish for.” 

His lip curled down into a small frown as he looked at her. He knew what she felt-at least he thought he did-but even if his suspicions were right, even if she did wish for him like how he longed for her, he couldn’t. He may dislike, perhaps even hate his nephew, but he was better than stealing his fiance. 

Right?

“We cannot. To be with you would disgrace your family and the alliance-” 

“Fuck the alliance!” She swore, her eyes boring into his as she studied his face. “Fuck the alliances Aemond, I wish for you. Desperately, I wish for you. Jace does not see me like how you do. Jace does not make me feel the way that you do-”

“It does not matter if Jace makes you happy or if he makes you feel desired-” “He does not wish for me as you do!”

“Princess-” “You do not understand! We are speaking of breaking it off. Neither of us wish for this.” Aemond went quiet at this and he sighed heavily, turning his full body towards her. He pried his arm away from her, staring at her incredulously, his body language giving no open window to how he was truly feeling. With no words coming from him, she continued. 

“I love you.” At those words Aemond showed his shock. He took a step back from her and he raised an eyebrow. 

“You do not mean-”

“Oh for the love of-Yes! I mean it! I love you, Aemond! I love you as if it is breathing! Instinctively, not thinking about it….I love you.” 

Aemond couldn’t hold it anymore, he walked to her and gripped her face tightly, her cheeks squishing slightly in his grasp as he smashed his lips against hers. She initially was shocked at the sudden kiss, but she kissed him back fiercely, holding his wrists as she leaned up to kiss him deeper. 

He led her back until he pressed her back against the table, holding her thighs as he pushed her onto the table. His body fit perfectly in between her thighs, just like he imagined it would. His hands gripped her thighs, one of his hands traveling up, feeling and savoring the soft skin as he groaned. 

She pulled away from the kiss to leave small kisses along his jaw. He bit his lip at the feeling, the action presumably so innocent and so sweet it almost made him chuckle. 

He pulled back slightly, his gaze intense and lust filled as his hand trailed underneath her breasts. 

“Tell me to stop.” He demanded. His head was spinning with the lust that clouded it. He waited for her to push him away, or to whimper a soft “I do not think myself ready”- But she shook her head, bringing his head back to hers swiftly to connect their lips in another passionate kiss. 

He pulled away from the kiss, groaning to himself as he left hot, open mouthed kisses against her jaw and neck. He looked down, his breath heavy as he stared down into her cleavage. He wished for nothing more than to rip her dress open and kiss every inch of her body, but being in the dining room came with its disadvantages. So, he settled for kissing her cleavage, before trailing his lips down the fabric of her dress till he came to her thighs.

Aemond pushed her dress up as far as he could, staring at her the whole time. He slowly pushed her thighs about, giving her time to stop him but she never did. Gently kissing the inner side of her thigh, he tried to reassure her. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes; The way she looked at him with both anxiety and lust. He stared up at her searching for any sign or signal that would make him stop. 

“Is this okay?” Once he saw the light nod of her head, he disappeared underneath her dress. 

She had never been intimate with a man-courtesy of her father, enforcing the “Women should be pure” melodramatic speech into her head ever since she could stand. She always thought it to be a chore, only having heard stories from unhappy married women who hated their husbands, and much less disliked their children a little less, but this? This was exciting, this felt good. 

She placed a hand on his head, moaning his name under her breath as he ate her like a beast. His hands gripped her thighs as if to ground himself-He had tasted women before but for some reason she was so much sweeter, so much more divine. His eyes practically rolled back just from pushing his tongue into her heat, sucking gently on her flit before he pulled away slightly, focusing his attention on her clit as he dipped a finger inside of her. 

The sudden stretch made her jump, and gasp loudly. She may have pleasured herself before but it really never felt like what Aemond was doing to her. He eased his finger in slowly, dragging it back out, and then slowly pushing it back in. Hearing the moans that graced her lips, he continued the slow thrust of his finger for a moment before he added another one. 

She let out a loud moan, a hand on the back of his head as she pushed his head closer to her heat. She felt him chuckle against her, the vibrations only adding to the pleasure. She moaned loudly, perhaps too loudly for comfort, but Aemond only seemed to want more of those noises to come from her. 

He slowly curled his fingers, his mouth praising her clit. The added pressure with the curl of his fingers, and the sucking of her clit made her eyes squeeze shut. 

“Oh gods Aemond, I’m going to-” Just as her orgasm was going to consume her, it stopped. With her heavy breathing, and slightly shaky legs, she slowly sat up. Aemond smirked up at her, holding her gaze as he nipped at her inner thighs. “You stopped..” 

“Yes. Because if you are going to peak it should be on my cock.” 

Her face flushed at the words, and she stared at him with wide eyes as he pulled his trousers down slightly to free his throbbing cock. As their eyes met, he seemed to notice the slight anxiety in her eyes, because he pressed his forehead against hers and lined himself up with her entrance. 

“Tell me to stop if it hurts too much.” She nodded in response, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders as he pushed into her. She let out a gasp; The feeling was new, discomfiting but..new. Her face scrunched up at the stretch, and Aemond shushed her quietly as he started to move. After a few thrusts, her body relaxed, and she started to moan his name. 

Hearing his name fall from her lips was like a prayer answered, like a lifelong dream he had been waiting for. He grunted as he started to rock his hips back and forth into her slowly. It took everything inside of him to not pound into her, to fuck her like he had fantized about. He wished that her father could see her now, her maidenhood gone and her body fully submitting to the pleasure he so gracefully gave her. 

“Aemond..Aemond oh gods-” Her voice broke as he went faster, her moans only getting louder. She tried to wrap her mind around the pleasure he was giving her, the way his hips moved slowly yet deeply, the way the tip of his thick cock rubbed against the spot so deliciously. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she held him close to her. 

One of his hands was on her thigh, the other on the table as he thrusted into her, as if holding the edge of the table would stop the creaking sounds, or the way she moaned his name, or how his groans got louder as his climax approached. 

White splattered her vision as her orgasm washed over. She cried out his name in pleasure, holding him close as his legs trapped him inside of her. The feeling of her core pulsating and tightening made Aemond’s head spin, and he grunted out a moan of her name as he came himself, spilling his seed inside of her. 

As the two sat there, basking in the afterglow of being intimate, neither of them would move for what felt like hours. Even though the position that they were in was compromising, they smiled, and laughed softly at the situation itself. 

Once they both got cleaned up-the best they could get cleaned up for just having sex on the dining room table-Aemond took her hand. She smiled softly at Aemond, her heart racing in a new, and exciting way. The two stared at each other for a while, trying to wrap their minds around the fact that now, they could truly be together, or at least, now, they had a hope that they could be together.

____________________________________________

[thesimcalledclem]

FIRE AND BLOOD Chapter Four ────── ☾ ──────

Warnings: Eventual Smut. Targcest. S!sterw!fe. Dubious consent (You know all the drills atp if you've gotten this far into the tag.) OC FIC, if that isn't what you are into, then kindly don't read. 18+ MDNI

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO UPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO ANY OTHER SITES.

────── ☾ ──────

In the aftermath of the chaotic coronation, my world shifted irrevocably. My childhood chambers, once a sanctuary of familiarity and comfort, were exchanged for the opulent yet alien Queen's apartments, adjoined to Aegon's by a narrow passageway. The grandeur of the new rooms, with their soaring ceilings and ornate tapestries, felt suffocating, a gilded cage that mocked my newfound status. I longed for the simplicity of my old rooms, for the worn books that lined my shelves, their pages filled with tales of adventure and escape. 

My brief forays into the sky atop Solayre, once a source of exhilaration and freedom, were now met with more disapproval and admonishment. Aegon and Alicent, ever mindful of the precarious political climate, deemed it too dangerous for the Queen to be seen on dragonback while tensions with our half-sister rose. My wings were clipped, my spirit confined to the stifling confines of the Red Keep. 

Nightly, Aegon would visit my chambers, his presence a grim reminder of my duty. Spurred on by my mother's relentless whispers of the need for an heir, our encounters were devoid of any warmth or intimacy. He would arrive late, his movements efficient and detached, his touch cold and impersonal. I would lie beneath him, my body a vessel for his seed, my mind a million miles away. 

Afterwards, he would disappear without a word, leaving me alone in the vastness of the Queen's bed. The next morning, his haggard appearance and bloodshot eyes told a familiar story. He sought solace in the bottom of a bottle, drowning his guilt and self-loathing in a sea of Arbor Red. 

The days blurred into an endless cycle of monotony and despair. I spent my mornings embroidering with Helaena, our conversations stilted and filled with unspoken anxieties. Meals were a tense affair, the forced smiles and polite chatter a thin veneer over the simmering resentments that threatened to boil over. And then, each night, the dreaded ritual would repeat itself, Aegon's presence a dark cloud that cast a pall over my every waking moment. 

Months passed in this agonizing limbo, each day a carbon copy of the last. I felt like a ghost, drifting through the halls of the Red Keep, my spirit tethered to a man I despised, my body a vessel for a future I didn't choose. The weight of the crown, a heavy burden on my brow, was a constant reminder of the sacrifices I had made, the freedoms I had lost. And as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, a deep bitterness took root in my heart, its tendrils slowly poisoning my soul.  ────── ☾ ──────

One night that seemed like all the others, a monotonous repetition in the grim symphony of my new life. The aftermath of his climax hung heavy in the air, a palpable tension that permeated the room. He didn't rise from the bed immediately, as was his custom. Instead, he lay beside me, an arm thrown over his face, his breath ragged and uneven. I was accustomed to his swift departures, his cold and aloof manner a familiar sting. This unexpected lingering left me disoriented, a knot of unease tightening in my chest. 

"Aegon?" I ventured, my voice a tentative whisper, afraid to shatter the fragile silence. 

He lowered his arm, revealing eyes clouded with exhaustion. He didn't answer, merely raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry. 

"I—uh," I stammered, my words stumbling over themselves. Did I even want to say anything? I cleared my throat, pulling the linen sheet higher, seeking a semblance of protection. "Are you well?" 

A humorless laugh escaped his lips, a bitter sound that echoed the hollowness in my own heart. "Am I well?" he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Such piety, wife." His gaze returned to the ceiling, his disinterest palpable. 

I felt a familiar sting of chastisement, my eyes dropping to my chest. Silence descended once more, broken only by the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. I inhaled deeply and immediately regretted it, the cloying scent of the fermented grapes inside his goblet filled the air, a nauseating reminder of the forced intimacy we'd just shared. 

Minutes or perhaps hours passed, time losing its meaning in the oppressive stillness. Finally, Aegon spoke, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the mattress. "I grow tired of my rest being interrupted," he said, his tone laced with bitterness. "Mother or Otto come barging in whenever they please." 

His words hung in the air, a flimsy excuse for his prolonged presence in my chambers. I turned my head to look at him, my brow furrowed in confusion. "You are the King," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "Deny them entry." 

His gaze snapped to mine, his lilac eyes piercing through the dim light. "You are Queen," he countered, his voice sharp. "How does barring their entry work for you?" 

I swallowed the retort that threatened to spill from my lips. He was right, of course. My title held no real power, no authority to shield us from the relentless machinations of my mother and her allies. "You make a fine point," I conceded, a bitter taste coating my tongue. 

He reached for the wine goblet, the pungent aroma of the alcohol making my empty stomach churn. I turned away, unable to bear the sight. 

I saw the narrowing of his eyes in my peripheral vision, but he said nothing. Instead, he set the goblet back down with a soft clink. 

"I will leave in the morning," he announced, his voice flat and final. He turned his back to me, the linen sheet a stark barrier between us. 

I stared at his broad back, a mixture of shock and disdain warring within me. Even my own chambers were no longer a sanctuary from him, from the suffocating reality of our union. A wave of despair washed over me, leaving me feeling cold and empty. The night stretched before me, an endless expanse of loneliness and fear. 

Dawn painted the sky with streaks of pale gold and crimson, casting a somber glow over the opulent chamber. Contrary to his promise, Aegon remained in my bed, his slumber deep and undisturbed. His leg, thrown carelessly over mine during the night, pinned me to the mattress, his body radiating a heat that was both discomforting and unsettling. The mingled scent of his sweat and the lingering aroma of wine clung to him, a potent cocktail that churned my stomach. I fought back a wave of nausea, my hand instinctively covering my mouth. 

With a surge of defiance, I nudged his shin with my foot, the pressure insistent but not unkind. He stirred, a low groan escaping his lips. A hand reached up to rub his face, his fingers tracing the light stubble that had grown overnight. His lilac eyes fluttered open, blinking blearily at me. 

For a moment, we simply stared at each other, the silence heavy with unspoken truths. The remnants of the previous night's forced intimacy lingered in the air, a palpable tension that crackled between us. 

"Release me," I whispered, my voice hoarse from disuse. I squirmed beneath his leg, my discomfort growing with each passing second. 

He didn't respond immediately, his mind still clouded by sleep. Then, with a grunt of annoyance, he rolled off me, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated. 

I wasted no time in escaping the confines of the bed, rushing to the adjoining chamber to relieve myself. The pressure in my bladder, a result of hours spent trapped beneath his slumbering form, was almost unbearable. I emerged moments later, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. 

Aegon, now fully awake, watched me from the bed, his eyes narrowed in silent scrutiny. I stood by the dressing screen, my gaze fixed on him as he gathered his discarded clothing with one extended hand and began to dress. The air crackled with an unspoken tension, his silence more unnerving than any accusation. 

He said nothing, merely stared at me with those hazy, bloodshot eyes. I felt exposed under his gaze, my body aching with the memory of his touch. A wave of shame washed over me, a bitter reminder of my powerlessness. 

Finally, he turned away, his movements slow and deliberate as he finished dressing and rose from the bed. Without a word, he strode towards the door, leaving me alone in the silent aftermath. 

I watched him go, my heart heavy with a mixture of relief and despair. He had violated my body, my sanctuary, and then simply walked away, as if it were nothing more than a routine chore. The weight of my new reality pressed down on me, a crushing burden that threatened to suffocate my spirit. 

────── ☾ ──────

For days following that strange morning, Aegon avoided me entirely. It was a welcome reprieve, a respite from the forced intimacy and simmering resentment that had become the hallmark of our marriage. Yet, a strange unease settled over me, a disquiet I couldn't quite place. The rising tensions with Rhaenyra, who, after her departure from the keep and the death of our father, had crowned herself Queen, cast a long shadow over King's Landing. My own place as Queen felt like an empty placeholder, a hollow title devoid of any real power. Nobles were choosing sides, the familiar few declaring for Aegon while others clung to Rhaenyra, their loyalty unwavering. I couldn't blame them. I didn't want this title, this gilded cage of responsibility. In fact, it exhausted me. 

A pervasive fatigue clung to me like a shroud, draining my energy and leaving me perpetually exhausted. The simplest tasks felt like monumental efforts, and I found myself retreating to the solitude of my chambers more often than not. I spent countless hours lost in the rhythmic motions of embroidery, the intricate patterns a welcome distraction from the turmoil within. Helaena's children, with their innocent laughter and boundless energy, offered a brief escape from the oppressive atmosphere of the Red Keep. I would lose myself in their games, their carefree joy a stark contrast to the darkness that clouded my own existence. 

I was forbidden to ride Solayre, the disquiet in the realm deemed too dangerous for the Queen to be seen on dragonback, or so my mother claimed. But I didn't argue. The truth was, the smell of the dragonpit, the sulfur that clung to my clothes, had been unsettling me lately. It turned my stomach, settled deep in my head, and sparked headaches that lasted for hours, even after a brief visit to the great maroon beast. 

This morning was like all the others, awoken with stomach pains and a pounding headache. I needed to eat, I assured myself, or maybe a bit of fresh air.  

The morning light, filtered through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep, cast long, ethereal shadows across the stone floors. I had been dressed in another stifling gown, this one a deep emerald green that mirrored the resentment simmering within me. My hair, braided tightly off my neck in a futile attempt to combat the oppressive heat, felt like a crown of thorns. As was my custom, I made my way to break my fast with Helaena in her chambers, a sanctuary of normalcy in the chaotic world we inhabited. 

A pang of envy always struck me as I traversed the west wing towards her rooms. Helaena and Aemond, despite their eccentricities, shared a bond of effortless affection, a stark contrast to the cold and sterile union I endured with Aegon. Theirs was a love story whispered in secret smiles and shared glances, a refuge from the harsh realities of courtly life. 

My head throbbed with a familiar ache as I reached her door. The Kingsguard stationed outside opened it with a silent nod, and I stepped inside, my gaze downcast as I passed through the empty antechamber and into the solar beyond. The sounds of children's laughter, a symphony of innocent joy, filled the air, momentarily lifting my spirits. 

But the smile that touched my lips faltered as I entered the solar. Aemond and Aegon stood near the large windows, their voices low and conspiratorial. The sight of them, their presence an unwelcome intrusion into my peaceful routine, sparked a flicker of annoyance. 

The children, oblivious to the undercurrents of tension, rushed towards me with excited squeals. Maelor, the youngest, reached me first, his chubby arms outstretched, his small voice demanding to be lifted. 

"Alright, alright, my darling," I cooed, scooping him into my arms. I forced a smile, trying to mask my irritation at the disruption. Aegon and Aemond fell silent, their gazes fixed on me, but I ignored them, my attention focused on the children. 

"Mother says that Dreamfyre lay three new eggs, just yesterday!" Jaehaera exclaimed, her violet eyes wide with excitement, her white-gold curls bouncing with each word. 

"A hatchling for each of you then, my girl," I replied, gently stroking her hair. Maelor, sensing a rival for my attention, tugged at my sleeve, his babbling demands bringing a genuine smile to my lips. 

Helaena appeared then, her presence calming the children's excitement. She ushered the twins towards their governess, but I held onto Maelor, his small form a comforting weight in my arms. 

With Helaena's arrival, the pretense of ignoring my brothers was no longer possible. I turned towards them, a sigh escaping my lips. "Hello, brother," I said to Aemond, garnering his attention for a fleeting moment before his gaze returned to Helaena, his eyes filled with warmth. I shifted my focus to Aegon, who was already staring at me, his face an impassive mask, his eyes fixated on the babe in my arms. "Husband," I acknowledged, my voice flat and emotionless. 

He met my gaze with a curt nod, but remained silent. I turned back to Maelor, his presence a welcome distraction from the tension that crackled in the room. He babbled on, his small hands reaching for my face, his dark amethyst eyes sparkling with innocent curiosity. Servants entered and exited, bearing trays laden with food. The rich aromas, once tempting, now churned my stomach, sending a wave of nausea through me. I swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to gag. 

I ignored the laden table, content with my time with the small child. I bounced him on my hip, humming a soft lullaby until he wiggled out of my arms and followed his siblings' departure with his wet nurse. With a sigh, I turned towards the table of food, my stomach churning at the sight of the rich and varied dishes. I forced myself to pick at a few grapes and nibble on some bread, hoping to quell the nausea that threatened to overwhelm me. 

"So, this is where you slink off to every morning," Aegon's voice sounded far too close to my ear, his sudden presence startling me. I glanced over my shoulder, and there he was, his conversation with Aemond abandoned, his gaze fixed on me. I clenched my jaw, my eyes falling to the platters of food, a desperate attempt to avoid his scrutiny. 

"If I'm lucky enough to be unnoticed," I murmured bitterly, still annoyed by his intrusion. He huffed, a small exhale through his nose that sent a stray strand of hair dancing across my neck. 

"Have I interrupted?" he asked smugly, his tone laced with a hint of mockery. He reached around me, his chest brushing against my back for a fleeting moment as he plucked an orange from the table. The warmth of his body, the subtle scent of his cologne, sent a shiver down my spine. 

The strong citrus smell of the orange filled the air, triggering a wave of nausea. I dry heaved, stumbling away from him, my gaze fixed on the offending fruit. 

He snorted, a cruel amusement in his eyes. "Do you suddenly hate oranges?" 

"They smell rotten," I complained, my hand flying to my mouth. 

He brought the fruit to his nose, inhaling deeply. "They smell fine," he declared with a shrug, popping a slice into his mouth. He leaned in, the juice glistening on his lips, the scent invading my senses. "Want a taste?" 

I recoiled, pushing against his chest, my hand landing on the firm muscles beneath his doublet. "Don't torment me," I hissed, my voice laced with both disgust and a strange, unwelcome flicker of desire. 

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down my spine. He straightened, a smug grin playing on his lips, and returned to Aemond. They departed shortly after, leaving me alone with the remnants of my uneaten breakfast and the lingering scent of oranges, a cruel reminder of my husband's mocking presence. 

The nausea subsided, but a sense of unease lingered. Aegon's unexpected appearance, his playful torment, and the unsettling sensations within my own body left me feeling off-kilter, adrift in a sea of uncertainty. I pushed the food away, my appetite completely vanished, and retreated to the solitude of my chambers, seeking refuge from the oppressive atmosphere of the Red Keep and the unwelcome attention of my husband. 

My refuge of solace didn’t last long however, the oppressive heat of the room seemed to intensify with every passing moment, the heavy fabric of my gown clinging to my skin like a second, suffocating layer. "Roslin, help me please," I called out, my voice thick with discomfort. My lady's maid rose from her seat by the window, where she had been meticulously sewing lace fringe onto a forgotten kerchief. With practiced ease, she unlaced the back of my gown, each tug of her fingers allowing a welcome breath of cool air to reach my sweat-dampened skin. I sighed in relief, but even with the constricting garment removed, the heat remained oppressive. Sweat beaded on my forehead, the back of my neck, and between my breasts. I panted, my hands gripping the bedpost, knuckles white with exertion. 

"Perhaps, my lady should rest," Roslin offered softly. 

With a begrudging nod, I allowed her to guide me to the bed. The cool sheets offered little respite from the sweltering heat that seemed to emanate from within my own body. Roslin settled on the floor beside the bed, ready to attend to my needs, but I shook my head. 

"You may go, Roslin." 

She looked as if she might argue, but with a small curtsy, she obeyed, the soft click of the closing door marking her departure. 

I lay in the bed, the oppressive heat clinging to me like a second skin. Sleep, when it finally came, was fitful and fragmented, plagued by strange dreams and unsettling sensations. I woke with a jolt, my stomach churning with a violent urgency. I scrambled from the sweat-soaked sheets, my legs unsteady, my head swimming. I lurched towards the chamber pot, but it was too late. 

I doubled over, my hands gripping the bedpost for support, my hair plastered to my forehead with sweat. A wave of nausea overwhelmed me, and I retched, the contents of my stomach spilling onto the cold stone floor. The acrid smell filled the air, mingling with the cloying scent of my own perspiration. 

I heard the door creak open, and assuming it was Roslin returning, I groaned, waving a weak hand in her direction. A hesitant hand touched my back, a gesture of comfort that did little to ease my distress. 

"It must've been the wine," I rasped, my voice hoarse and shaky as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. 

"Where is your lady's maid?" a deep, annoyed voice boomed from behind me. It was not Roslin. 

I froze, slowly raising my head to meet Aegon's gaze. He stood above me, his expression a mixture of reluctant concern and barely concealed disgust. I blinked; my mind still clouded by nausea. 

"I dismissed her. I was resting," I managed to explain. 

He scoffed, moving towards me with a purpose that startled me. His hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me towards the bed. He forced me to sit, his touch firm but not unkind. His proximity, however, brought a fresh wave of nausea. The cloying scent of oranges, still clinging to him from his morning meal, assaulted my senses. "You reek," I complained, leaning away from him. 

He made a noise of annoyance, but released me, tossing a linen sheet over the mess I had made on the floor. He was uncharacteristically silent, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed. 

"Perhaps we should call the Maesters," I groaned, rubbing my face with the back of my hand. 

He scoffed, looking down at me with an expression that bordered on disbelief. "There's no need," he said, his tone dismissive. 

I glared at him; my eyes narrowed to slits. "I'm obviously ill, Aegon." 

He rolled his eyes, his stance mocking. "You can't be that dense, Clemynsia" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You are not ill." 

"I am—" 

"Maybe you are this dense," he interrupted, his voice a low growl. "When did you last bleed?" 

His question, so unexpected, so blunt, caught me off guard. "What?" I stammered, my cheeks flushing with a heat that had nothing to do with the oppressive temperature of the room. 

"For fuck's sake," he sighed, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Your last moon’s blood, when was it?" 

His words pierced through the fog of my nausea, silencing all other thoughts. My mind went blank, the world around me fading into a hazy blur. I felt a strange detachment from my own body, as if I were an observer, watching the scene unfold from a distance. 

Aegon leaned closer, his hand gently brushing the damp hair from my forehead. The touch, surprisingly tender, sent a shiver down my spine. "You are not ill," he said, his voice softer now, but still laced with a hint of mockery. He stood, running a hand over his face in exasperation. "You are with child." 

[scarlet-star-witch]

The moon and his sun (Part III)

Aemond Targaryen x female reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 10.1 K

Warnings: Whole lotta smut in the beginning, secret relationship, Aegon being an ass

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

~~

The two of them quickly became insatiable. 

Aemond soon forgot what his life was like before he had tasted her, before he had heard the sweet sounds of her pleasure, before he had felt the velvet perfection of her walls hugging his cock. 

He had thought he had bewitched him as children, but now, he knew he was truly under her spell. 

He spent every waking moment finding excuses to find her in any dark corner he could, spending every spare moment reveling in the bliss her open arms provided. 

Their afternoons together in the library were now spent with her bent over the table, his punishing hips leaving him to cover her mouth with his hand, his head buried in her shoulder to smother his own noises of ecstasy as they succumbed to their pleasure. 

Every feast was cut short as they slithered away from the prying eyes of the crowd, ending up in the secret halls to find solitude, her legs wrapped around his lithe waist as he pressed her against the hard stone wall behind her, her moans flowing freely as he fucked her hard. 

He was completely uninhibited, his own groans of pleasure filling the space, her name tumbling from his lips, his head spinning as he thrust inside her with an urgency unknown to him. He never thought he’d be this unhinged, this crazed, but it was what she did to him. 

He watched eagerly, as her eyes rolled back, her lips parted with each of her beautiful noises of bliss. He couldn’t believe that he was the one to do this to her. He watched, his eye wide with wonder as he brought her to a leg-shaking peak, his name yelled out into the empty halls, like she couldn't get enough.

He couldn't believe he was lucky enough to be with her like this, to hold her and touch her until she cried in the most beautiful way possible. 

He never wanted to stop, he never wanted his time with her to end. 

He was eager to take whatever time with her he could. 

His hours of training were cut short when he spotted her on the balcony, the sight of her playful smirk all he needed to be swayed, practically tossing his sword down as he gave Ser Criston a flimsy excuse before leaving abruptly. 

She’d be waiting for him in his chambers, the laces of her corset already undone. It would take little effort to rip the rest away. 

He learned to savor her, despite the fire that raged through him every time he touched her soft skin, he learned he loved taking his time with her. He loved to bury his face between her thighs, tasting her sweet nectar, feeling her writhe under him, her lovely cries echoing through his room as he brought her to climax over and over again. 

He loved the way her fingers tangled and pulled at his hair, he loved watching her back arch off his sheets, how her breasts heaved with each of her panting breaths and whining cries. 

But most of all, he loved when she moaned his name. 

Whether it was with his fingers, his tongue, or his hard cock that pounded into her relentlessly, he would do whatever it took to make her scream his name. 

But his love was an explorer, it was in her nature. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised when she flipped the script on him. 

He had just brought her to a third, leg-quivering peak with his tongue, when her moans turned to laughs, the mischief twinkling in her eyes, stirring his desire even further, his cock so hard he was practically throbbing under her gaze. 

She flipped him to his back as if he weighed nothing. He had watched, entranced by the goddess in his bed as she climbed atop him. He let out a loud, keening cry as she sank down on him. 

She wasted no time, not one to deny her darling Aemond his pleasure, as she grinded against him rhythmically, her head falling back to her shoulders, her panting breaths growing louder as she rode him with fervor.

Though it was no match for the noises coming from her lover below her. 

She had never taken control like this and it was driving him insane. His hands clutched to her hips desperately, his eye glassy as he watched her divine body atop him, her hips moving with a fierceness that left him breathless.

Each slam of her hips against his choked a cry out of him, sounding more desperate with each brutal thrust of her punishing yet perfect hips. 

He had never experienced anything like it before. 

It was easy to lose control with her. Only a few moments later, his body stiffened, his head thrown back onto the pillow below him, a loud cry of ecstasy escaping him as his back arched, his body writhing beneath her. 

She laughed in delight, pride coursing through her at the pleasure she was able to pull from a dragon, a god amongst men. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- fuck.” He panted, throwing his arm over his eyes as he fought to catch his breath, his pulse pounding in his ears, stars bursting behind his closed eye. 

She giggled and leaned down, beginning to plant kisses across his heaving chest. 

“We’re doing that again.” She crooned, making him groan, both in delight and agony.

“I’ll need a minute before I can feel my legs.” He laughed. 

Neither one of them could fathom the bliss they found together. 

They couldn’t get enough.

A loud rumble of thunder woke her one morning, a soft moan sounding as she stretched, a smile coming to her lips as she felt a blissful ache between her legs. Her face twisted with sleepy confusion as her foot nudged against something solid under her sheets and she soon became aware of the arm that lay over her waist. 

She looked over her shoulder, both delight and fear coming to her in an instant.

While she was beyond happy to wake up beside her love, to have been wrapped in his arms the entire night, they were playing a dangerous game and they couldn’t give the maids any reason to spread gossip.

“Aemond.” She groaned tiredly, pushing at his shoulder to wake him. 

He let out a low noise of discontent as he was woken from his sleep. His arm tightened around her and he nuzzled in closer to her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, placing sweet kisses that made her insides flutter.

“You weren’t supposed to stay the night.” 

He would hold her as she fell into her slumber, but was always cautious enough to leave while it was still dark, ending up in his own bed before the sun rose and the members of the Keep woke. 

“I couldn’t help it.” He spoke, his voice raspy with sleep, stirring desire within her. “You looked so beautiful while you slept, I couldn’t bear to leave your side.”

She rolled her eyes as a soft laugh escaped her. 

“You’re still such a charmer.” 

“Only for you, my love.” He crooned and titled her chin towards him so he could kiss her properly. 

They both quickly lost themselves to their desires. No care was given to the fact that others would be awakening, that an entire world existed outside the bed, an outside world that could destroy them.

None of it seemed to matter to them.

Aemond had kissed her until they were breathless then turned her onto her stomach and hauled her to her hands and knees. Their shared moans as he sank into her were loud, much louder than he would’ve been comfortable with this time of day if had any sense left to give.

His hips moved with precision, thrusting his cock inside her with growing need, as if it wasn’t enough, as if he needed to be closer to her still. Even inside her, it wasn’t enough. 

He gripped her hips tightly, his eyes shut tightly as the pleasure overtook him. His panting breaths grew louder, his desire growing with each passing second, every one of her whining moans and pleas lighting his body with a fire that was becoming all too familiar with her. 

He growled as she bounced her hips back onto him, his blunt nails scratching at her skin, his jaw falling slack with a loud moan, their morning love making quickly turning into something much more animalistic and desperate than either had intended. 

It was so unlike what their usual early morning rendezvous were. There were no quiet, shared kisses or gentle wandering hands that carressed and worshiped every inch of each other. 

“Aemond!” She cried out, her head dropping between her arms, her voice growing raspy as her cries became louder, only encouraging his flaming lust. 

He grunted and quickened his pace, the headboard beginning to slam against the wall behind the bed, his moans becoming louder, suddenly thankful for the raging storm outside that provided cover for their noise. 

“That’s it, love, just like that.” He growled, his resolve slipping from him faster than he could recognize. 

Her moans became louder, sending goosebumps across his skin.

“Come for me, my love.” 

His growled words were all she needed to bring her close to her end. With only a few swipes of his fingers against his clit, his expert hands knowing exactly how to play her, like a musician with their treasured instrument, she was helpless against his touch.

She shuddered under him, a cry of his name ripped from her throat as he brought her to her peak. Her sweet sounding whines echoed throughout the room. 

Aemond grit his teeth, the tightening around his cock forcing him to lose all sense of control. He pounded into her relentlessly, cursing and grunting as he fucked her like an animal, as if she wasn’t the most precious thing to him. 

A string of Valyrian left him, cursing the power her body held over his own and praying to never lose her devotion all at once. A loud shout left him as he came, his body tingling with ecstasy as he practically collapsed against her, his limbs left feeling weak, his entire body spent, his mind spinning. 

“Fuck.” He whispered breathlessly, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “You are perfection, issa prūmia.”

They were both trembling and aching, reeling with bliss, pleasure ringing in their ears.

“You should go before my maids come.” She said, her voice still breathless and raspy from the cries he had pulled from her.

“One more minute.” He mumbled, moving with a groan to lay beside her and quickly gathering her into his arms. 

He kissed the top of her head, letting his eye fall closed, taking in the peaceful final moments he would get with her until the cover of night. 

They both found it difficult to hide what was between them. The smiles they shared as they passed each other would be subject to scrutiny now that they were no longer children. The time they spent together, while not unusual, was looked at with a cautious lens, the Lords and Ladies of the court whispering about their closeness.

It was hell to pretend they were still nothing more than childhood friends. 

The days spent in the garden, surrounded by curious eyes looking for gossip were torture for them both. Aemond longed to reach out to her, to brush the hair from her face the wind would carry. He longed to take her hand in his, he longed to sit closer, to feel her body against his. He longed to kiss her after each sweet nothing she cheekily dared to whisper in the broad daylight. 

But they would never risk what they had. 

Though there was nothing they could do about the rumors that spread about the way they looked at each other.

There was nothing they could do about the love that lingered in their gazes towards each other. 

Whispers of an impending betrothal were all the court could talk about. Even with the fierce scowls Aemond sent to the groups of whispering Ladies, it did little to stop the incessant gossiping.

It soon reached the ears of the Master of Coin. The Lord of Ixtal hadn’t exactly been shocked when he heard the rumors, he was only confused as to why his own daughter hadn’t disclosed anything to him. 

He knew about her friendship with Aemond, but she had never told him of any deeper feelings. He sought her out one night after dinner with the King. 

He was making his way to his daughter’s chambers when he caught sight of her roaming the halls just a few turns from her room. 

“Darling?” He called out to her, causing her to stop in her tracks, a brief look of horrified shock crossing her features before she quickly schooled her expression. “Where are you headed to at this hour?”

She panicked internally for a brief moment, as if her father could know with one mere look at her that she was headed to find her secret lover to do things their Septa’s from years past would have lashed them for. 

“I was going to say goodnight to Helaena’s twins. I promised I would read them a bedtime story.” The lie fell from her tongue too easily, her stomach twisting with nerves as her father eyed her carefully, as if catching onto her lie. 

He nodded slowly and she had to force herself not to breathe out dramatically in relief that her cover story had been solid enough.

“Why don’t we break our fast together tomorrow? I feel as though I’ve scarcely seen you as of late.” 

She nodded eagerly, desperate to be out from under his gaze, no matter how innocent it was. The guilt she felt along with the enormous secret she harbored was enough to drive her to insanity. 

“I’ll see tomorrow, Darling.”

“Goodnight.” She spoke swiftly, pressing a quick kiss to her father’s cheek and sidestepping him, continuing on her path down the hall, taking a sharp left towards Helaena’s chambers instead of the right turn that would’ve taken her to the library where Aemond was waiting for her. 

She entered the Princess’ chambers, giving her friend a warm smile.

“Hello.” Helaena greeted her happily. “I wasn’t expecting you here tonight.”

She shrugged, attempting to not let her anxieties show. 

“I haven’t seen you much today. I thought I should stop in to say goodnight.” She took a seat next to her friend, smiling softly at the children at her feet playing with their toys. 

“Was Aemond not available?”

She blanched, Helaena’s blunt words striking fear within her like an arrow. Her wide eyed stare met her friend’s unwaveringly calm smile. 

“We- Aemond and I-”

“You make him happy.” Helaena spoke warmly, her attention moving back to the embroidery in her hands, as if she hadn’t just shaken her friend to her core. “I’m glad he found you before it was too late.”

She gaped at the Princess. It wasn’t unusual for Helaena to speak things that made little sense to others or things so mysterious it left a chill down your spine, but this was something else entirely. 

She cleared her throat and turned her attention to the twins, asking if they would like to hear a bedtime story. She could at least follow through with her lie to her father. She spent the next twenty minutes corralling the quiet children to their beds, her heart bursting with love as they watched her eagerly, hanging onto her every word as she told them tales of her home, of the beautiful animals that lived in the jungles of Ixtal. 

She pictured herself, sometime in the future, telling tales to her own children who had heads of silver hair just as their father did. The thought made her heart leap excitedly. 

Once the children were tucked into bed, fully satisfied with her many stories, she felt Helaena’s hand on her shoulder, a touched twinkle in her eyes. 

“He’ll be waiting for you.” 

The Princess’ whispered words said much more than anyone else could comprehend. Her insinuated approval, that she knew just how much her brother meant to her, had a weight leaving her shoulders she didn’t even know had been holding her down. 

No matter what Helaena knew of what she had with Aemond, she approved and that was all that mattered. 

With a parting kiss to Helaena’s cheek, she left her chambers, heading back to her own, wondering what she’d tell Aemond of his sister’s strange words. 

She stepped into her chambers, her heart jumping at the sight of a figure by her window. She placed a hand over her chest, whispering a quiet curse as she quickly recognized the silver hair that gleamed in the moonlight.

“Gods, don’t do that. You scared me.” She spoke quietly, looking behind her to ensure the door was closed behind her. 

Aemond was stepping towards her in an instant, his face hardened slightly.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

She let out a long breath, holding onto his arms that wound around her waist. 

“I’m fine.”

“You didn’t show, I thought…” He trailed off, his eye alight with uncertainty that made her chest ache. 

She reached out, her hand resting at his cheek, the affectionate gesture making his tense body relax. She didn’t understand how after so many years of friendship and weeks of making love he still could have doubts for what her heart longed for. 

“I ran into my father.” She explained to him. “I thought he might be suspicious, so I went to Helaena’s room. I didn’t want him to follow me straight to you. God’s if he had caught us-” She stopped abruptly, shivering at the thought. 

Aemond blew out a breath, a guise of laughter. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting or to make you worry.” 

He just shook his head, looking back at her with reverence, as if he could finally be at ease now he was gazing upon her. 

His arms tightened around her, his closeness making her smile, though it was strained. She thought of her father, the awkwardness their interaction held, something that had never existed with him. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Aemond asked, sensing the turmoil within her, looking at her with concern.

“I hate lying to him.” 

Aemond sighed, he didn’t exactly have the same reservations about lying to his family like she had, he certainly didn’t have the love and affection for his father that she had with her own, but he saw how it ate away at her. 

“I know, my love.” 

They both knew they couldn’t risk what they had getting ripped away from them. On a good day, the only thing the King seemed to remember was his first daughter. They couldn’t take a request to him, not while Otto pulled the strings. 

Aemond gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly as they both longed for a day where they didn’t have to hide.

~~

In an effort to keep up appearances, they decided to put some distance between them, at least while in public. At the feast for the Queen’s nameday, she didn’t sit next to him or his family, she didn’t dance with him, though that was not a common event now that they were no longer children. 

Aemond sat at the head table, a permanent scowl etched on his face. 

He watched with barely contained resentment the crowd that had gathered around her and her father. The Lord of Ixtal was too charismatic for his own good. Any Lord and their son that greeted the revered Master of coin soon turned their attention to his beloved daughter, offering well wishes and not so subtle inquiries into her eligibility for marriage.

Aemond couldn’t stand it. 

He was powerless to do anything but watch. He noticed the way she would shift uncomfortably in her seat under the compliments bestowed upon her. He wanted nothing more than to march straight to her, take her hand and whisk her away from it all. 

Proprietary be damned, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

His leg bounced beneath the table, every inch of him portraying how much he hated every part of the celebration. He took a long swig of his wine, wincing slightly at the taste. He thanked the Gods every day that he never achieved his brother’s proclivities for the drink, but he didn’t think he could endure the rest of the night without something to dull his senses. 

His eyes fell to her table once more and suddenly sat up straighter when his gaze locked onto hers. The small smile she sent him, the noticeable annoyance on her face that conveyed she hated this just as much as he did, made his lips twitch upwards. 

His entire demeanor changed. With just one look at her, the scowl on his face eased, no longer the look of pure dread and contempt. 

Though it did not last long. 

He surveyed the crowd of dancing couples, an inkling of shame creeping upon him as he thought of how long it had been since he had danced with his love. It had been years, surely. He had outgrown the childish act, but he couldn’t help but long for those nights of innocent twirling, remembering how he had never laughed as hard as when they were hand in hand, spinning around the room like the two care-free children they had been.

The good feeling in his heart crumbled instantly as he noticed her familiar head of hair among the crowd. A strange, clenching feeling unfurled in his stomach as he leaned forward, internally cursing the other couples that were in his line of sight.

As the couples twirled in their practiced steps, she was revealed, hand in hand with Jasper Wylde’s son, locked in an embrace as they danced. 

Something within Aemond sparked, a certain kind of rage he hadn’t felt in a long time. His fists clenched, his jaw tightening as his teeth grinded, growing angrier with each second he watched her dance with that fool. 

It didn’t matter that she had no beaming smile to give, that there was no affection within her eyes, that she moved stiffly and mechanically. Aemond didn’t seem to notice any of it, all he could comprehend was that his love was in another man’s arms, dancing with him the way he refused to, the way he couldn’t under the prying eyes of the court. 

It was the moment the Wylde son leaned in, whispering something in her ear, his lips so close to hers, that he knew he had reached his limit. He had to leave before he made an enemy of the Master of Law by murdering his son.

He stood from his chair and made his way out of the room with a determination that left many to give the feared Prince a wide berth. It wasn’t uncommon to see the one-eyed Prince stomp away in a fury, but it still struck fear into the hearts of those who were in his path. 

He made his way into his chambers, his body thrumming with an energy so volatile, so uncomfortable, he contemplated dragging Ser Criston out to the training yard so he could take a few whacks at him to unleash his anger.

He breathed deeply, his hands clenching onto the back of a chair, his head hanging as the blood in his veins sung with the desire to enact violence, to prove to everyone that they couldn’t take what was his, that they shouldn’t dare to try to take his love away from him. 

The sound of his door opening had him flinching, quickly turning on his heel, ready to strike at anyone who would be daft enough to disturb him. His shoulders slumped at the sight of her, the knowing look on her face forcing him to release a long breath, his fury brimming to a petty anger he wouldn’t be quick to part ways with.

“What are you doing here?”

She wanted to roll her eyes at his tone. “I saw you storm out.”

“I’m surprised you noticed. You looked rather busy with that Lord leeching off you.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised her night would turn to this. She knew what she was in for the second the man asked her for a dance. 

“He asked me to dance in front of his father and mine. I couldn’t very well say no.”

“No?”

“Aemond.” She admonished impatiently. “The entire reason we stayed apart tonight was to quiet the rumors. You know what would happen if I refused to dance with him, what everyone would say.”

“I think you’re giving the court too much credit.”

The words, one she had said to him all those weeks ago, when he was the one worried about appearances, now thrown back at her made her want to grab his arms and shake him until that complicated brain of his rattled around enough to find some sense. 

She breathed deeply, forcing herself to stay calm because it was clear the man before her would not be exercising the same caution. 

Stepping towards him, she took her hands in his, speaking his name softly when he refused to look at her. 

“After all this time, do you truly still not see it?” 

His eyes drifted to hers slowly, the gesture almost meek, so unlike the fierce dragon rider she knew him to be. She reached out, taking his face in her hands and leaned forward, placing a kiss to the patch that covered his sapphire eye. 

The gesture disarmed him completely, the anger pulled out of him as swiftly as a sword exits the body in a fateful final move. 

He let out a shuddering breath, his hands finding their home on her waist. He looked at her, his gaze now sheepish, embarrassed that he had directed his anger towards her, the only one who never deserved it. 

“You are the only man I want.” She assured him. “No matter who I dance with, no matter who engages me with petty conversations, they will never be the one who has my heart. I only think of you.”

“There are others you’ve danced with?”

The smirk on his face, the assurance the comment was made without anger and purely to poke at her in a way only he could, made her laugh, the sound making him smile. She pushed at his chest.

“You are insufferable.”

He wrapped his arms around her tighter, keeping her pressed against him as she weakly struggled against his embrace, her laughter constant. Her giggles soon turned to shrieks of delight as he began to press playful kisses down the length of her neck. 

He felt healed by the sound, with the feel of her in his arms, right where she should be. She was the only one he could be this way with, she was the only who accepted him as he was. 

He leaned into her, ceasing his teasing kisses, the look in his eye more serious as he gazed at her lovingly.

“I don’t think there are enough words in any language to tell you how much I love you.” He told her. 

“I know the feeling.” 

The admiration, the pure love in her eyes melted him from the inside out. He couldn’t waste another second and crashed his lips to hers, content to never leave the haven that was her kiss for the rest of the night.

He was still amazed by her ability to calm him, to soothe every negative feeling within him, even after all these years. 

His time spent with her was his only reprieve from the things in his life he despised. 

He had come to her chambers one afternoon, particularly eager, his emotions running high after a gathering with his family. She wasn’t sure if it had been his mother’s incessant ramblings of Rhaenyra’s negligence, his grandsire’s continued lectures about his duty and his need to marry soon, his father’s dismissiveness, or if it were Aegon’s general presence that put him in such a mood, she didn’t have time to ask before he was ravishing her thoroughly. 

It was only until their sweat-slicked bodies cooled, their limbs tangled together beneath her disarrayed sheets, her head rested on his chest as his hand ran gently through her hair, did she finally see him relaxed once more. 

“Do you ever think about leaving?” She asked suddenly, prompting Aemond to chuckle. 

“Was my performance not satisfactory, love? You wish to exile me?”

She laughed and looked up at him pointedly. 

“I think it was quite obvious what I thought of your performance.” 

The scratches down his back would certainly be proof of her enjoyment. 

“I meant leaving King’s Landing, exploring a new part of the world.”

Aemond remained quiet for a moment, contemplating her words. He didn’t know how to respond so he settled for a half-hearted shrug.

“Why do you ask?”

“You seem restrained here.” She answered quietly, worrying she was tiptoeing into dangerous territory. She didn’t want to push him but it killed her to see his light dim in the presence of his family.

Whenever they would pass each other in the halls of the Keep they had loving smiles to share, delighted by the secret they kept from the rest of the them, but whenever she crossed his path while he was with him mother or his grandsire, he didn’t spare her a look, his face drawn tightly with a coldness that, while characteristic around others, was so unfamiliar to her. 

Aemond didn’t like to talk about his family, he seemed to always steer the conversation in a different direction whenever she probed and tensed whenever they were brought up, changing the easy nature between them into something more complicated. 

He stayed quiet, taking in her words contemplatively, his mind swirling with waves of thoughts he couldn’t quite make sense of.

His feelings for his family were complicated. He was devoted to them, he would protect them when it came down to it, but he couldn’t exactly say he was happy with them or felt very loved by them.

“We should live in Ixtal.” 

She looked up at him curiously, not having expected those words. He looked down at her, a small smile growing, his arm around her tightening. 

“Once we’re married, we’ll abandon the delirious politics here and we’ll move to Ixtal where we’ll grow old and raise our children.”

She smiled, the fantasy he had created sounding more like a dream than any sort of reality they could manage for themselves. 

She couldn’t think that far ahead, not when they couldn’t even hold hands in front of others. 

“That sounds lovely.” She mused quietly, holding tightly to his words, praying they would one day come true. 

~~

“Do not be mad.” 

Her first words in greeting immediately had him on edge, the soft expression that had appeared at the sight of her twisting into one of derision in a swift moment. The moment she stepped into the library, a place that had now become an excuse for him to take her between the shelves, he perked up, but the hesitancy on her face had him pausing, suddenly fearing the worst. 

“Why would I be mad?” 

“I have something to tell you and you have to promise me you will not resort to bloodshed.” 

His look of confusion only grew, his nerves rising as he stood from his seat, walking towards her cautiously.

“Bloodshed?” He questioned, his voice becoming darker at the mere notion of a threat against her. “Has someone done something to you?”

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at his blatant protectiveness and reached out, taking his hand in hers in an effort to calm him.

“You have a tendency to rage before an explanation can be given so you must promise me you won’t draw your sword before I’ve finished my story.”

“My love, you know I can make no promises.”

With a heavy sigh, her hand remaining in his, her fingers gently tracing over his knuckles, as if her soothing touch could sate him while she gave him the news that would undoubtedly spring him into a furious temper. 

“Elric Wylde has requested my presence in the gardens. My father told me he wishes to start a courtship.” 

The scoff that left his lips made her wince. She had never before heard such derision from a simple sound.

“You are jesting, aren’t you?” 

“Aemond-”

“I know there is no possible way you would agree to court someone else.” He continued, his voice laced with jealous disdain. 

“Aemond-” She tried again but he continued to rant, pulling his hand from hers, his face now dark with dangerous intent.

“Where is the Wylde Lord? I’ll be sure to set him straight and tear his limbs from his body before he has the chance to put his hands on you again.”

“Stop.” She spoke sternly, grabbing onto his arm before he could leave her side and murder the poor boy who naively thinks he has a chance with her. “I am not going to let him court me.”

“No, you’ll just string him along so he thinks he had a chance.”

“I will meet with him once and then tell my father I don’t wish to continue, putting the matter to rest for good.”

“Tell your father now that you don’t wish to court him.”

“He’ll get suspicious if I keep refusing to meet with eligible Lords. He’ll begin to think I want to become a Septa if I continue to avoid any notion of marriage.”

Aemond’s grave expression didn’t waver. His eyes moved back to the door, as if conjuring ways he could butcher the clueless Wylde son. 

“Aemond…” She warned, the look on his face igniting her worry. She knew he would be thinking of anything but helpful suggestions.

“I’ll tell the prick myself. He’ll be sure to understand then.”

She gripped onto his arm tighter, stopping him from taking another step. 

“Don’t be daft.” She scolded. “You know the gossip that would ensue if you got involved.”

“You are not meeting with him.” Aemond said sternly to which she just rolled her eyes. 

“It will only be for a few minutes. I’ll immediately go to my father to refuse any further advances and we’ll be done with it.”

“Until the next one comes along to vie for your hand.”

“We’ll deal with it when it comes to that, if you haven’t already murdered the entire pool of eligible bachelors.”

Aemond’s brow perked up at the notion. It wasn’t a bad suggestion. She playfully smacked his chest.

“Stop that.”

His jaw clenched, his anger simmering within him. The thought of her arm in arm with another man, the poor fool that would be drooling over her, thinking he had a chance, made him furious. 

“When are you meeting with this imbecile?”

She gave him a pointed look at his insult. “In twenty minutes.”

Aemond smirked, the look in his eye darkening, though in a much different way than it had before. The lust that overtook his gaze made her shiver.

“He can wait.” 

With that, he crashed his lips to hers and dragged her to the back of the library, their hidden alcove they had desecrated many a time before. 

No less than forty minutes later, after Aemond had thoroughly fucked her like an animal and her desperate attempts to straighten her appearance, did she finally meet Lord Elric Wylde in the gardens. 

She hoped she wasn’t walking funny as a result of Aemond’s brutal thrusts that had rendered her a moaning, mindless fool.

“My Lady.” He greeted her politely, offering his arm to her, which she accepted, no matter how wrong it felt. 

As they began to walk, she steadily ignored the feeling of her lover’s seed that dripped down her thigh. 

She forced her mind to move on from the memory of his debauched touches and greedy lips that traveled across every inch of her body and looked to the man beside her, suddenly realizing he was looking at her questioningly.

Her eyes widened as she realized she hadn’t been listening to a word he had said.

“What?”

He laughed slightly. “I asked how your day was.”

“Oh.” She giggled, hoping he couldn’t tell how embarrassed she was. “It’s been fine.”

“I admit, my day is much brighter now that I am in your company.” 

She smiled stiffly. She couldn’t find it in herself to force anything more genuine. 

They continued to walk throughout the gardens and she was thankfully able to remain half-listening as the eager Lord mostly spoke about himself and didn’t bother to ask her any further questions. 

She settled for mindless hums in agreement to whatever he had been spouting on about. 

As they turned the corner, she suddenly stopped in her tracks as she met Aemond’s cool eye from across the path. 

He smirked at her, the sight causing a blooming heat to burn inside her. She was suddenly more aware of the seed that dripped down her leg. 

By the look in his eye and the devilish smirk across his lips it was obvious he was thinking about the same thing. 

“Is everything ok?”

She cleared her throat and forced herself to keep walking. 

“Yes, everything's fine.” She spoke slightly tersely, completely thrown off by Aemond’s presence. They continued on their way and she silently prayed her lover’s fierce jealousy wouldn’t rear its ugly head.

“My Lord.” 

She winced, silently cursing the man she loved and his petty nature. 

“Prince Aemond.” Elric greeted, his tone sounding slightly cautious as he came face to face with the feared Prince.

“I am terribly sorry to interrupt, but I heard your father had something urgent to discuss with you.” 

“My father?” Elric questioned.

“Yes, he needs to see you in the council room.”

The young Lord looked confused, only inciting Aemond’s frustration further.

“Quickly, my Lord. You mustn't keep your father waiting.” He added forcefully. 

The Lord swallowed, his face blanching at the abrupt tone and looked to the Lady beside him, too flustered to notice the scowl she was sending the Prince. 

“Of course.” He bowed to both of them respectfully and grabbed her hand, thankfully not noticing how Aemond twitched, having to stop himself from lunging forward and ripping his hand from her.

“I will find you again, my Lady, so we can continue.” 

“Of course.” She said stiffly, her smile terse. 

As the Lord scurried away, she moved her gaze to Aemond, the smug smirk on his face made her want to rage yet laugh all at once. 

“You have some nerve.” She muttered and turned on her heel, though Aemond was quick to follow, falling into step beside her. “You said you would leave it be.”

“I agreed to let you meet with him, I made no such promise about what I would do after.”

“Aemond, people will talk about us and your attempts at derailing a courtship.”

“Let them talk. I’ll gladly have them answer to Vhagar.” 

She rolled her eyes and subtly elbowed him in his side, delighting in the breathless wheeze that left his lips. 

He reached out, linking his arm through hers before she could leave his side. 

“I had to rescue you from such boredom, my love.” He spoke softly. 

She looked over at him plainly, knowing he would have found any excuse to ruin her time with any man that dared to think they had a chance with her. 

“And what will you do when the poor boy realizes his father did not summon him?”

“If he dares to call me a liar I’ll meet him with my sword.”

She shook her head, though she shouldn’t have been in much disbelief. This was Aemond, he was nothing if not possessive of what he cherished. 

Aemond smirked and leaned in closer so his lips brushed against her ear.

“Do you really think I would let another man touch what is mine?” He practically growled. “Tell me, do you think he could tell from your raspy voice that I just had you screaming for my cock?”

She felt a shiver race down her spine, her thighs clenching together at the memory of his devastating touch on her. She pulled her arm from his and turned to face him, delighting in the way his eye darkened with anticipation.

She smirked and took a step backwards, her gaze remaining on him as if keeping him locked into her trance as she walked away.

“Where are you going?” He asked breathlessly.

“To tell my father I don’t wish to court Elric Wylde.”

Aemond grinned triumphantly, his blood thrumming in his veins with blinding desire. 

“And then?”

“I think I’ll head back to the library. There’s a particular book I'd like to read again.” She crooned, the sultry smile on her lips stirring his lust, quickly feeling himself hardening at the insinuation of another round with her before the day was done. 

“I will see you there.” Aemond called back and tried with all his might not to sprint to the library to wait for her. 

~~

Aegon tripped over his own right foot, forcing himself to lean on the stone wall beside him as he drunkenly made his way through the hidden tunnels, hoping he was on the right path to Aemond’s room. 

He was in the mood for depravity and he wanted to drag his brother down with him. He just hoped he wasn’t with that Island bitch who was always attached at his hip. She ruined their last visit to the Silk Street. 

He smirked to himself triumphantly as he reached the hidden door to Aemond’s chambers. He dropped his wineskin to the ground and pushed it open slowly to avoid making much noise to alert his brother. 

He wanted to scare the little twat. 

He stepped inside, but froze instantly at the sound of a breathless moan. 

Confusion was the first thing he became aware of, but it soon turned to sheer delight as he recognized the sounds of panting and moaning. The sounds were unmistakable. 

“Fuck, don’t stop.” 

Aegon’s eyes widened at the sound of the breathless voice. He didn’t think his brother had it in him. 

He slinked into the room with slow, quiet steps. His eyes widened when he peered around the corner, his jaw falling slack. 

He knew that figure anywhere. 

He knew his brother was in love with the Ixtal girl, he just didn’t think he’d have the balls to do anything about it. But he was dead wrong. He bit his lip as he watched the beauty atop his brother, mesmerized by the movement of her hips. 

He watched, enthralled, feeling his cock twitch to life, as her head fell back, the pleasure on her face stirring something inside him. His eyes fell to her perky breasts that bounced tantalizingly with every one of her movements, forcing himself to bite his lip to stifle his own groan of pleasure. 

“Aemond.” She moaned, making Aegon cringe at the reminder of the beauty in front of him was currently fucking his brother and not him. 

He watched with jealousy as his brother’s hands roamed that perfect body, from her thighs up to her breasts. The sounds of his brother’s groans and pants of pleasure brought anger to bubble to the surface. Aegon’s eyes fell to his brother and he was startled to see the sparkling sapphire gem in place of his eye. 

He had never seen his brother without his eye patch on. 

The interest in his brother’s eye left swiftly as Aemond tightened his grip on the woman’s hips and thrust upwards, the loud moan she let out bringing him back to the present enticing sight. 

Gods, she sounded like a whore from the Silk Street. He wished he could grab her and take her for his own. His brother didn’t deserve that beauty. 

He watched the woman plant her hands on Aemond’s chest, her hips bouncing quicker, making him let out a loud, blissful moan. Her nails dug into his skin and it was the moment Aemond placed his hand atop hers, intertwining their fingers and leaning up to kiss her passionately that took Aegon out of the moment, the romantic gesture turning his delight into disgust.

He audibly scoffed, the noise reaching the couple. The woman looked over her shoulder, her eyes widening in horror as she yelped in fright. The second Aemond noticed his brother he swiftly turned them over, quickly covering her bare body with the sheets of his bed. He quickly stood from the bed, pulling his breeches up hastily, his deadly scowl locked onto his drunken wastrel of a brother.

“I had my suspicions brother, but now I know, you are truly pathetic.” Aegon slurred. 

“What are you doing here?” Aemond seethed, his voice low with deadly intention. 

“Enjoying the show.” He smiled viciously. His eyes moved past Aemond to the girl on the bed, but Aemond moved, blocking his line of sight from her. 

“Don’t look at her.”

Aegon scoffed. “It’s too late. I already saw every inch of that whor-” 

Aegon’s sentence abruptly ended as a gasping breath escaped him as his back hit the wall behind him, Aemond’s arm against his throat. 

“Aemond!” She called out worriedly, wrapping the sheet around her trembling body as she stood from the bed. 

He looked over his shoulder at her, the fury in his eye dimming as he noticed how scared she looked. 

He turned back to his brother, his face growing redder the longer he pressed against his throat. 

“You will never enter my chambers again. You will never speak of this and you will never look at her that way again.” He warned, his voice low, his intention clear. 

He lifted his arm, leaving Aegon to stumble to the ground, gasping coughs escaping him as he took in grateful gulps of air. His heaving breaths soon turned to laughs, the drunken idiot finding the situation hilarious. 

He unsteadily got to his feet, his eyes moving past his brother to land on the girl again, causing Aemond’s eye to darken, rage bubbling within him. 

“You want my silence? You think it comes for free?”

“What do you want?” Aemond seethed through gritted teeth. 

Aegon smirked, the sight making Aemond’s blood boil. He dreaded where this was going. His hand twitched, itching to wipe the smug look off his brother’s face. 

“I won’t tell our precious mother what you’ve been doing, I won’t tell the court how you’ve sullied this poor girl and ruin her reputation… if I can have a turn with her.”

Her face fell, the hungry look Aegon sent her making her want to crawl out of her skin. 

Aemond acted quickly, delivering a swift punch to his brother’s face. Aegon cursed and groaned, losing his footing, but Aemond was quick and wasn’t about to let him off the hook just yet. He grabbed a fistful of Aegon’s greasy hair and yanked him upwards, throwing him against the wall yet again. 

“Love, grab my dagger.” 

Aemond looked over his shoulder at the girl who was practically trembling in place, her hands clutched onto the sheet, her eyes watering. She gulped and reached for the dagger at his bedside, stepping forward on shaking legs to hand it over.

Aemond smirked darkly, feeling powerful as Aegon’s eyes widened in fear as he pressed the blade against his cheek. 

“If you ever look at her in a way that is anything but polite, if you speak any vile comments in her direction, I’ll know and I won’t be giving you a second chance.”

“Brother-” Aegon choked out, a strangled gasp escaping as Aemond pressed harder against his throat, his dagger making a small cut on his cheek. 

“You speak one word about her and I will take your tongue. I will cut off each of your limbs and feed them to Vhagar. You will be nothing but ash by the time I’m done with you.” Aemond spoke darkly, his voice steady and calm, fully honest in his threats. 

After a few long, tense seconds, Aegon subtly nodded and Aemond lifted his hand, taking the dagger away from his face, leaving a small, almost imperceptible cut on his cheek, leaving nothing but a drop of blood that beaded to the surface. 

“Get out.”

Aegon said nothing as he made his leave, not even sparing a glance back at her. 

She let out a heavy exhale, her shaking legs almost giving out beneath her as she slowly sat at the edge of the bed, her hands still clutching fistfulls of the sheet wrapped around her. 

“Are you alright?” Aemond asked, startling her slightly when she realized he was kneeled in front of her, his hands cradling her face gently, looking at her worriedly. 

“He’s going to tell.” She spoke monotonously, her anxious mind conjuring a thousand scenarios of how the next morning will turn out, all ending with her humiliated, flooded with insults and forced to leave the Capitol as nothing more than a ruined whore. 

“He won’t.”

“But if he-”

“He won’t do anything.” Aemond assured her, though he couldn’t deny how his own heart raced with equal parts adrenaline and fear of what Aegon could possibly do to ruin his life. 

He eyed her carefully, moving to sit next to her on the bed, wrapping his arms around her as he hauled her into his lap. He kissed the delicate slope of her neck softly, moving upwards until he captured her lips with his in a kiss so sweet she would have continued where they had left off if she wasn’t so shaken. 

“I will make it right.”

“How?”

He smiled slightly, the light in his eye so different to the fury she had seen just a minute ago. 

“By doing what I should have done a long time ago.” He answered softly, his eye searing into hers with nothing but devotion.

Her heart that had finally slowed began to race yet again, this time for a much different reason. The resolution on Aemond’s face brought tears to her eyes. His love for her had always been clear, but now, as she spiraled and he remained calm, her everlasting rock, her guidance back to herself, solidified everything she already knew. 

“I cannot go another day with you as my secret.” 

“Aemond-”

“You will be my wife.” He spoke seriously. “Even if my grandfather disagrees, we will be married. We’ll leave for Ixtal tomorrow if we have to. I care little for what it would take. All I know is that I will take no wife that is not you.”

Her lips curled upwards, her insides twisting delightfully. She leaned into him, letting her forehead rest against his.

“I love you.” She said, her voice no more than a whisper. 

Aemond’s hands tightened around her waist, wishing nothing existed outside of his room, outside of this moment. 

“I love you.” He whispered, his lips brushing against hers softly. “Issa prūmia.”

My heart. 

His name for her that was only whispered in the safety of his chambers, away from listening ears, could soon be said for all to hear. 

“I won’t ever let him hurt you.” He promised her, the dark edge of his voice returning at the mention of his debauched brother. 

She wound her arms around him and kissed him firmly, her trust completely his. She worried what Aegon could do to them, to her, having some leverage over them. She worried what Aemond’s mother and grandsire would think of their betrothal, if they would allow it. 

She worried about what their future would look like in a mere matter of hours. But she could do nothing about it, so she remained in his arms, letting him hold her as he continuously assured her, promised her nothing but a life of happiness between his sweet kisses. 

By the next morning, neither one of them having slept a wink, Aemond dressed and before he left he cradled her face in his hands, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

“I’ll take care of this, I promise you.”

“What if-”

“Nothing is going to take you away from me. I swear it, my love.” He interrupted her tearful fears. He kissed her once more before leaving his chambers. 

The gentle and caring expression on his face fell the moment the door closed behind him. His body became rigid, his face dark with determination as he walked purposefully to his mother’s chambers. 

He recited the speech in his head yet again, he’d done nothing else all night, trying to find a way to convince his mother of a betrothal. 

Suddenly, as he came to his mother’s door, all words were gone from his head, leaving him standing tensely, his face pale and fear seeping through his veins. 

He prayed he had gotten to her before Aegon.

With a deep breath, he slammed the door open and stomped inside the room as if it were his own, startling his mother who placed a hand over her racing heart at the sudden intrusion. 

“I’d like to propose a marriage.” He spoke frantically and Alicent’s eyes widened in shock. 

“Aemond, now isn’t-”

He interrupted quickly, breathing out the name of the love of his life, effectively shutting up his mother. 

“I wish to marry her. I know it’s sudden and to be truthful, I don’t care if you do not agree, I’d take her across the sea to marry her if I had to. We are a fruitful match and I do not see any good reason to disagree.”

His mother was left to stare in disbelief. 

A chuckle across the room made Aemond stiffen and he looked over to the other person in the room he had failed to notice. He swallowed, his face growing even paler at the sight of the Lord of Ixtal moving to take a seat in the chair across from his mother. 

Embarrassment washed over him as he realized he had interrupted a meeting between his mother and the father of the woman he had just confessed his love for. 

“Well, I couldn’t agree more.”

Aemond’s eye widened and he stared at the man incredulously, as if he were merely jesting at his expense. 

“I think you two are a fine match.” The man continued. “You clearly hold much affection for my daughter, I could not think of a better person to be at her side.”

Alicent floundered, watching the events unfold before her with wide, horrified eyes. This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

“Aemond, we have invited Floris Baratheon to the Capitol. You two are supposed to begin a courtship.” She stuttered out, grasping at straws to stop this in its tracks. 

“There are plenty of suitors to take my place.” Aemond countered quickly. Nothing would derail him, nothing would take him away from his love. 

“He has practically been courting my daughter for years.” The Lord of Ixtal chimed in with a chuckle. He stood and reached his hand out for Aemond to shake. “You’re a fine man, Aemond. I would be happy for you to take my daughter’s hand.”

The praise, which was so seldom among his own family, made his throat tighten in a way he hadn’t expected and he swallowed thickly, clearing his throat as he shook the hand of the man who had just given him everything he could have ever wanted. 

“But-“

“I think we should take this to the King. He’ll be delighted.” The Lord interrupted Alicent before she could voice her displeasure, as if knowing what she was trying to do, prompting a look of resentment from the Queen.

Aemond smiled, overcome with happiness and relief. It clouded his mind enough to not notice how deeply shaken his mother looked. 

He was delirious, this was far from how he expected this morning to go. He always held a soft spot for the Lord of Ixtal, not only for creating the person he loved more than life itself, but for the kindness he always showed him, even as a young, ambitious child. 

He often found himself wishing his own father was more like the father of his love. 

His mind was spinning, barely able to keep track as his father’s dear friend, his soon to be father by law, spoke to his own delirious and decaying father, proposing a unity between their two houses. 

It was the first time in years he saw his father smile. 

Viserys reached a decrepit hand towards him, his smile revealing his missing and rotten teeth as he spoke his praises, most likely for the first time in his short life. Aemond didn’t care, the slight he thought would’ve plagued him was far from his brain. 

All he cared about, all his mind could comprehend, was the fact that his father agreed, that he would soon marry the woman he loved with all his heart. 

Once they left the King’s room, the Lord of Ixtal placed his strong hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m not naive enough to believe the future will be easy, but I expect you to remain at her side.” He spoke lowly, Aemond quickly understanding what he was subtly referring to. The state of his family was murky on a good day, he knew as his father decayed further, the state of their family would become more tenuous. “I trust you to protect her, no matter what happens.”

Aemond nodded, his determination hardening his features.

“You have my word.” He promised swiftly, determination in his voice. “I will protect her with my life.”

The man smiled and cupped Aemond’s face affectionately, the gesture that of a father, causing a lump to well in Aemond’s throat, wondering if his father had ever done the same. 

“You’re a good man, Aemond. You’re everything I could have hoped for my girl.”

Aemond cleared his throat, determined to not let himself become emotional at the affection he had seldom felt in his life, save for the one girl who remained steadily at his side. 

With the heavy lump remaining in his throat, his numb body moved him from his father’s chambers, making his way to Helaena’s room, knowing that was where his love usually spent her mornings. 

He let out a deep breath, his stomach swirling with nerves as if he was nothing more than that lovesick boy again as he thought of what he had just done, what he just accomplished. 

He got to marry the love of his life. They didn’t need to sneak around any longer, they didn’t have to hide just how much they meant to each other. 

He made it to Helaena’s chambers, his eyes immediately falling on her, taking a moment to watch her bright smile, her glorious laugh ringing out in the room, soothing every worry he had felt the night before. 

He stepped into the room, catching Helaena’s attention who perked up and smiled at him warmly.

“Good morning, brother.” 

The woman at her side tensed slightly and turned her head, her wide, inquisitive eyes locking onto him, the question in her gaze clear, her worry seeping out from every inch of her. 

The slight upturn of his lips was all she needed to answer her silent question and no more than a second later did her entire body sag in relief, a breathless exhale leaving her as she grinned, allowing every ounce of worry and doubt to roll off her, leaving nothing but pure delight. 

Helaena watched the two, not needing much context to understand what they shared, their happiness enough of an explanation for what she knew was soon to come. 

She stayed seated as she watched her dear friend stand and wrap her brother in a tight hug. She noticed how tightly Aemond held her, how his lone eye closed in content as he held the girl, his usually tense body sagging against her, as if he no longer had any reservations while he was in her arms. 

She smiled in relief, feeling nothing but happiness that two people she held so dear would soon start their lives together. 

“It is done?” She whispered as she held tightly to the man of her affection.

“It is done. My father agreed to a betrothal.” 

A breathless laugh escaped her, her grip tightening on Aemond, though she no longer had any reason to fear he would be taken from her. 

Behind them, Helaena’s smile slowly fell, her bright eyes becoming glassy as she stared off into space, the embroidery in her hands falling to her lap as her grip became slack. 

“The light of the sun dims under clouds of green and black.” 

The lovers were too caught up in their embrace, they did not hear her mumbled warning.

~~

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[ladymercysletters]

Aegon the Soft

Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Word Count : 1474

Warnings: fluff

A/N: I haven't written in years so please bear with this. I just have some very soft feelings for the Targ siblings. All they need is a hug I SWEAR! anyways, hope you like it

When Aegon first married, he tried to be around you as little as possible. It was best that way, everyone else who should technically love him in his life never has; why would you be any different. The bedding ceremony had been performed; he had done his duty. He must only put a few heirs in you and that would be that. He finished that thought with the downing of his drink. Slamming the cup down on the table his men cheered around him, filling his cup as the merriment continued.

The hour was late, or early – who knew, when Aegon and his men finally dragged themselves back to the Red Keep. Sober knights greeted them and took the prince back to his rooms, depositing him on his bed.

“My Wife! Bring my wife to me!” he shouted, lolling about on his sheets and he struggled to stand.

“My prince, the hour is late an…”

“I know the hour. I said now!”

__________________________________________________________

Was he on a ship. He must be on a ship. His stomach rolled and churned so much it must be the waves on the ocean. Blinking blearily into the sunlight he vaguely felt fingers running through his hair. Aegon finally managed to focus his eyes on his bedside table, and the jug of water placed on it. The soft touch continued to caress his forehead and brush through the silver strands falling in front of his eyes.

“Good morning husband. How are you feeling this morning?” Aegon blinked and his mind cleared slightly. His wife was in his bed. You were stroking his hair from his face and asking if he was well? Thoughts flew through his head and as he jolted from the knowledge you were right behind him, his stomach reminded him of his current state and he rolled ungracefully from the bed. He landed sprawled on the floor causing a sharp gasp to leave your mouth as you watched your severely hungover husband groan and roll around tangled in sheets before moving like a slug to the open doors of his balcony and slamming them close behind him.

You couldn’t see him like this. He hadn’t even managed to face you, but he knew he must look terrible and there was something in him, ridiculous as it may be, that wanted to keep you under the illusion that he wasn’t a complete failure. Once he’d finished evacuating the contents of his stomach off his balcony, and damningly close to his brother who was just making his way onto the training grounds for his morning spar with Cole, he inhaled deeply before steeling himself to walk back inside.

Opening the doors to his rooms, he saw you sitting prettily on the end of his bed. Hair fallen perfectly to frame your face, wearing only in a linen shift you had presumably slept in by his side all night – surely his wife had been carved by angels. Bustling in the room brought him back and he drew the sheets tighter around his waist. Maids flitted in and out, making up the bath and serving breakfast on a table set up at the end of the bed.

“Better?” you said shyly smiling at him. “I thought you might need something to line your stomach – and possibly a bath.” You trailed off. You’re right. He smelled revolting.

He doesn’t quite understand how or why you could be so nice to him, he thinks as he sinks into the steaming perfumed water. Especially as a vague memory of the previous night comes back to him, he’d stumbled back into the keep, pissed as a newt, and demanded you come to him to fulfil your wifely duties. Closing his eyes, Aegon felt his muscles relax in the warmth. Even his head lessened from the soothing lavender scent.

This time he felt your presence behind him before your touch. Softly, again, you carded your fingers through his hair, moving him gently forward so you could wash him. Your gentle touch was so foreign to him. Even when he was washed by the servants, they were never this gentle with him. The warm water cascaded down his back, your fingers working a floral scented soap into his hair and pressing firmly against his scalp. The sensation was heavenly. The warmth of your body surrounded him as you leant him back again to rinse the soap from his hair.

Once he was cleaned you set a small pillow at the back of the tub for him to rest his head on. Though he was a prince he was sure he had never been as pampered as this. He stared up into your face as he leant his head back, taking in the soft fluttering of your eyelashes and the curve of your cheeks and lips.

Though you had been married for over two moons now Aegon didn’t think he had ever really looked at you before now. Surely he would have lingered around you more if he had seen what a beauty he had married. Your mere presence brought him peace, and whilst he could not understand why you were being so kind to him, his heart overstepped his mind and let him live in this fantasy for just a moment longer; practically jumping from his chest when he felt you lay soft kisses along his hairline. Your warm smell invaded his nostrils and his eyes fluttered open to discover your neck and cleavage so close to his face. Your skin looked so smooth, and his lips ached for him to lean closer and place a reverent kiss to your collar.

You took a towel and held it out for him, helping him dry as he stepped out of the tub. His eyes rolled over your body as he dressed, tucking his loose shirt into linen britches as he watched you arrange the chairs around the breakfast table.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” his voice wavered ever so slightly at the question falling from his mouth.

“Aegon?” you replied. Softly breathing his name as you turned to face him. He was sure the sweet sound of your voice confirmed you had been sent from the gods. “I am here to care for you. I am your wife…” His face fell slightly at that, which you saw. Of course you were there for your duty. The thought brought back his words from the previous evening. Wifely duties. You were fulfilling your side of the bargain. “… and I like you.” You finished.

You studied his face as he looked at you. His delicate features held together by perfect milky skin. The rounded cupids bow of his lips forming a soft pout that was hard to resist. Though you’d seen his anger and drunkenness many times since your wedding and heard worse from the ladies of court before your arrival, you’d also seen the small sad look on his face whenever he’d leave a council meeting, or even just at dinner with his family. Although his mother had been nothing but kind and gentle with you, you could see this favour wasn’t extended to her own son, and his grandfather was even worse – openly mocking him with his father, the king when surely, they should have been teaching him.

Thoughts brought you back to reality as you stepped closer to him. Looking into his eyes, the pale violet seeming deeper towards his iris and wider as they searched yours for an answer. You softly took his wrist into your hands, sliding your fingers down to intertwine with his own you placed a small kiss between the crease in his brow.

“I am your wife. I know you did not choose me for love, or choose me at all, but I hope that you will know how much I care for you, and one day maybe you may care for me.” Aegon’s throat almost closed up, and his eyes betrayed him as they began to water. His thumbs barely moved to brush the backs of your hand bringing them up to place a kiss on your knuckles – gently leading you to sit next to him at the end of his bed.

The words struggled to form in his throat; a combination of a hangover and sudden emotion rendering him surprisingly catatonic. Your hand moved to stroke to side of his face, bringing his eyes back to your own.

“I will do my best” he whispered, leaning into the warmth of your palm. “I will do my best for you, and for our line.”

“I know you will. You will prove anyone who doubts you wrong.” You spoke, touching your forehead to his own. His eyes slipped closed once more, happy to bask in the bliss of your presence for as long as the gods would allow him.

[gtgbabie0]

Helloo can I request a sweet smut with aegon x reader where they've been apart for some time due to work and when they come together they just want to be intimate with one another

-Aegon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

{Aegon’s patience has been wearing thin, he soon reaches a breaking point}

!!-18//MDNI-!! Sorry this took so long I simply cannot catch a break, enjoy my lovelies!! 💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺

Since the moment Aegon sat down on his council chair he wanted to leave, to abandon the whole damned meeting and let the fools figure it out for themselves. What was the point of even being there if they overlooked everything he said?— if they did not take him seriously?

It angered him beyond belief, the way they looked at him, the snide remarks that left a stupid pain in his chest no matter how much he tried to ignore it. He sits there bored and pissed off, spinning the marble against the wooden table as their words blend into one another making one big dull noise.

He feels silly, ignored, and he doesn’t enjoy it— so he leaves, slamming his fist onto the table so hard that it causes each of the council members to jump in their seats. The marble rolls off of the table, smashing onto the stone floor as the door shuts behind him with a loud thud.

Aegon bites the inside of his cheek, trying to cool his temper down before entering your bedchambers- the last thing he wanted to do was sour your day with his mood, but it doesn’t work he can’t seem to quell the frustration that coils around his already tense body.

It's your laugh. The sound of your laughter, light and merry calms him. It clashes so greatly with the heavy weight of his heart, with the turbulence in his mind. He stands there for a moment, just outside your shared bedchambers, his anger evaporating as he listens to the heavenly sound.

With a deep breath, he opens the door entering with a relieved sigh. His lilac eyes meet your own with a tender expression that softens his features, watching your dressers ready you for bed, taking your necklace and earrings off with great care.

“You’re dismissed… leave us.” Aegon commands, waving a dismissive hand to the two ladies. They both bow courtly before leaving the room with knowing smirks gracing their lips.

You stand there however with furrowed brows, tilting your head in confusion as he draws closer to you. “I’m still in my day clothes?” You state only receiving a chuckle in return.

“I’m aware.” He smirks, admiring the way the silk of your dress hugs your curves. It drives him to madness and he can’t help but grasp at your hips as he continues to drink in the sight of you. "You don't need your dressers to get you ready for bed... I can take care of that for you."

The realisation hits all so suddenly, taking your breath away and the only response you can give him is a small ‘Oh’ which only makes him chuckle once more against the soft skin of your shoulder.

It had been far too long since he had taken you, all the interrupted moments and the long busy days had caused a searing ache between your thighs that you had tried to sate with your fingers, but nothing could compare to Aegon— he knew you like the back of his hand, he filled the spaces you couldn’t.

“What has spurred this one?” You ask, tone hushed and breathless as he leaves a trail of warm kisses along your neck and the dip of your shoulder. It wasn’t a complaint, far from it, you just wanted to know whether or not he burned for you the way you did for him.

And gods did he. Aegon's fingers work at the laces of your dress with practised ease, his touch feather-light and yet exhilarating. He watches you through the reflection of the mirror, the way the silk of your dress ripples down your body like a waterfall until it pools around your feet leaving you vulnerable to him.

“Do I need an excuse to want to touch you like this?” He whispers, lips grazing against the curve of your jaw. It’s all so dizzying in such an embarrassing way.

You lean back against him, enjoying the way his fingers trace along your waist causing your skin to break out in gooseflesh. He mumbles something about how ‘sensitive you are’ into the crook of your neck and you can feel the smirk that teeters on his lips when a breathless moan escapes you.

“No of course not— I’ve missed you.” You sigh, leaning your head to expose more of your neck to him as your fingers find his hair.

He nuzzles his nose against the underside of your jaw, humming in contentment as your sweet flowery scent surrounds him. “I’ve missed you— so much.” He breathes.

Aegon cups your jaw, tilting your head slightly to the side so he can kiss you. So slow and yet full of passion that has only been building up for the past few weeks. He groans into your eager mouth the taste of your tongue against his own going straight to his cock.

His arms wrap around your midsection, pulling you closer to him. He press his growing erection against the curve of your ass and he can’t help but rut against you slightly. He was more pent up than he realised.

He breaks the messy kiss momentarily, his breath warm against your skin. "You taste... incredible..." he whispers, his voice a low rumble, before kissing you once again.

“The wine perhaps.” The words are hushed through a small giggle. Once again his lips find yours, not breaking as you turn around in his embrace, one of his hands reaching up to caress your warm cheek.

"No," he murmurs, pulling back to admire you with a hungry look and a lazy grin. "It's not the wine." He leans back in. "It's... you," the kiss is much greedier, and his hands trace a path down your spine, resting against the small of your back, drawing you closer to his body.

You gasp, hands flying to grab his forearms as he suddenly begins to guide you backwards over to your shared bed. The backs of your knees hit the mattress as you collide with the softness of the bedsheets, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Where did your manners go?” You tease him lightly, propping yourself up on your elbows, watching him with desire in your eyes as he lifts his tunic over his head, discarding it on the floor somewhere.

He smirks, leaning over you, trailing his lips along your collarbones— a clash of teeth and tongue. His hips lay flush over your own as he slowly grinds himself down onto you, relishing in the sweet sounds that you make.

"My manners?" he murmurs against your chest, his eyes meeting your own with a glint of playfulness flashes through them. "They flew out the window the moment I took that dress off of you."

His gaze roams over your body, drinking in the sight of you laid out beneath him bare— hips writhing desperately. You gasp against the pillows as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the hardened peak whilst his other hand cups your unattended breast, thumbing over the nub.

“Aegon— please.” The words are a struggle to get out as he’s rendered you completely breathless, but the way your hips lift up to try and press against his, desperate for attention, tells him everything he needs to know.

He hums in understanding, leaving a trail of kisses along your breasts. “I’ll get there, my love… I’ll get there.” He coos softly, his hand falling to your restless hips as his thumb rubs over the curve and dips whilst his mouth ravishes your chest in wet kisses and small licks.

Aegon slips his hand in between your thighs, watching your face intently as his fingers part your slick folds, running along the sensitive flesh before catching your clit, rubbing slow circles over the bud. He’s completely taken with the way you arch up into his touch, how your lips part, the sounds you make. All of it— all of you—causes his cock to throb.

You mewl, hips bucking against his hand as he pushes two fingers inside you, curling them. “Mhm… you’re so beautiful with my fingers buried in your cunt,” He smirks, enjoying the fact he isn’t the only one who has been pent up. “So wet…” the words are muffled against your lips, your slickness coating his digits.

You brush your fingers through his hair, pulling him into a kiss as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Your free hand works deftly to unlace his breeches, the fabric falls mid-thigh letting his cock spring free, begging for attention.

Aegon hisses sharply into your ear, burying his face against your shoulder as your hand wraps around his length. “I want your cock inside me, please…” you beg him, voice strained with pleasure. The deep desire to feel him as close to you as humanly possible completely drowns out everything else in your mind, your thoughts now are only of him.

He nods his head in compliance, not having the strength the refrain himself any longer than he already has. Sliding his fingers out of your cunt, he coats your slickness around the tip of his thick shaft, the feeling sends a tingle down his spine, his skin hot to the touch.

Aegon swats your hand away gently as he guides the head of his cock between your folds, nudging the tip against your clit over and over again basking in the way his name sounds coming from you all whiny, laced with such wanton passion.

He groans as he lines himself up to your entrance before sinking into you slowly, whispering soft lovely words of encouragement against your jaw. The way you take him with ease, how your slick walls clamp around him it’s all so maddening— so mind-numbing and all he can do is huff and moan against your skin.

The stretch of him is so achingly good, the drag of his cock along your walls as he thrusts his hips against your own sends a searing heat through your abdomen. Aegon mutters on about how ‘good you feel’ and how ‘well you take him’ like some sort of crazed man, completely drunk off of your body.

His movements soon become sloppy, trying so hard to keep himself from spilling too early but the sounds of wet flesh and your moans coupled with the way your cunt squeezes around him makes it nearly impossible as he teeters closer to the edge.

“Fuck— I can’t— it’s been too long I— I won’t last.” He whimpers, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. His hands pin your hips down to the bedsheets as he continues to fuck himself into you, moaning hotly against your flushed skin as you wrap your thighs around his waist to hold him closer.

“I- I’m close… don’t worry.” You reassure him, your hand grasping at his white hair. The tightness deep inside him eventually snaps, spilling his warm seed inside you with a broken cry of pleasure, panting and whining into the crook of your neck as apologies fly from his lips. You grab his face, kissing him greedily as you come around cock, milking him practically dry.

The pair of you go boneless against the comfort of the pillows, catching your breaths with dazed expressions. Aegon’s fingers trace a soothing line along your spine as you instinctively seek out the warmth of his arms.

“Sorry-” He rasps with a lazy grin, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then another to your cheek. "It's been too long"

“Mm… don't apologise, we'll never go that long apart again.” You reply earning a weak nod and a hum of agreement from him. You rest your cheek against his chest, allowing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calm your own erratic one.

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[oneeyedlove]

King of the ashes.

summary | Moons had passed since your last quarrel with your estranged husband, the events of Rook’s Rest bringing you together one more time.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x oc!reader, Jacaerys Velaryon x oc!reader (platonic).

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! Unprotected sex, PinV, arguing, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of death, Targ!cest, ANGST/little comfort, ooc Aemond (probably). SPOILERS

wordcount | 8.5K - i am so sorry

note | All the valyrian i use comes from a very shady translator so there probably are a lot of mistakes, if you have any input or helpful information pls tell me. I got really excited writing this but I feel the last part is a bit rushed, sorry about that! Any comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated! <3

Find part 1 here

[ gif by @gameofthronesdaily ]

124 AC

The afternoon sun spilled its light upon the tearful eyes of prince Aemond Targaryen, almost if mocking his heartache through its refulgent heat. The young boy sheltered himself in a seemingly abandoned corridor of the Red Keep, seeking solace from the cruel hoax imposed on him during his lessons. He could still hear them, their words — “The Pink Dread”. Such title roared in his ears, humiliation engulfing the silver prince as he forced his cries back into his throat. His mother had failed in her feeble attempts to comfort him, her attention focused solely on punishing his nephews for their so called savagery — even if it was clear this had Aegon’s name written all over it.

The worst part was that she had witnessed it. She hadn’t laughed or joined them in their persecution, but he could not bear the thought of his weakness being exposed before her. Hers was the judgment he feared most after all, she was the only one he could truly call friend.

Aemond hadn’t taken notice of a blue covered figure that watched him until she sat at his side, her weight shifting the cushions of the settee beneath them. His eyes refused to meet hers, hoping to conceal his shame as he hugged his knees against his chest. The girl stared at him in silence, her back resting on the wall whilst her feet dangled over the edge of her seat.

“Aem…” Aelora finally spoke, the softness in her tone melodic as a ballad.

“What do you want?” He asked, his voice lacking its usual warmth.

She had been made aware of Aemond’s displeasure concerning the dearth of a dragon to call his own through countless protests, his state being one of constant anger towards what he deemed his fault. It was also known by her that he would grow to be the most estimable dragonrider of them all, for none were devoted to learning and practicing as he was — it was only a matter of patience. Thus, when Aelora’s eyes caught sight of the swine inside the dragonpit, her brothers knew their mother’s chastening would be nothing compared to hers.

“My brothers are fools, I wish to apologize on their behalf.” She brought her hand to hold his, a gesture of innocent assurance.

“You did not deserve it.”

The boy slowly drifted his eyes from the window to lay his gaze upon her, his heartbeat quavering at her touch. Nevertheless, her kind words couldn’t erase his shortcomings — he couldn’t accept charity for his ridicule, he wouldn’t.

“I… I have no need for your pity.” As much as he tried, he failed to stop woe from consuming his voice, as well as his demeanor.

“I don’t pity you.” Grasping his hand tighter, she looked at him through furrowed brows.

“You shall have a dragon. One even bigger than Sunfyre, I know it! In the meantime you can help me with Lyrrax, even fly with me once she’s big enough!”

It was evident her enthusiasm was a childish one, an effort to install hope over the sorrow that buried his thoughts — but she had no care for it. She noticed as a smile pulled at the corners of his lips, even as he tried to suppress it. She wasn’t the one who owed him an apology, and yet there she was, offering her own dragon for an olive branch. His gaze flickered down at their hands, her smaller one over his, and he intertwined their fingers. The tension in his shoulders visibly eased, for Aelora’s presence was reassuring and tender.

“You truly believe I'll claim one?” He asked, unable to hide the fleeting shadow of optimism that burned in his eyes.

“I am certain of it. We are Targaryens, the blood of the dragon. You just haven’t found the right one for you.” A smile crept its way onto her face, her cheeks rosy and plump with eagerness.

Aemond scanned the girl before him, his expression almost vulnerable. The feeling of indignity was one familiar to the young boy and he had enough of it. He contemplated her words for a moment, and for once allowed himself to consider she might be right.

“Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I lack patience.” He let out a deep breath, as if letting go of the bitterness that had taken hold of him.

“You would do well to remember I’m always right.” The smug grin on her face earned herself only a rolling of eyes in response.

“Come on. I know something that will lift your spirits.”

Her words had barely escaped her lips before she burst through the corridor, tugging the prince’s hand as they ran. Hurried footsteps clashed against cold stone as Aelora strided through the maze of indistinguishable aisles, her gaze occasionally flickering towards the boy behind her. The smile that stubbornly weld itself onto Aemond’s face had transformed into a beaming grin, the sound of her angelic giggles clipping away the sullenness from his features.

A deafening thump alerted the prince of their whereabouts, the wide entry of her bedchamber welcoming him inside. He stepped in and curiously observed as she struggled to close the wooden doors, trapping the pair of them in concealment. The calling gesture of the princess hand woke him from his trance as he marched towards the illustrated wall beside her bed.

“Wait, what are you doing?” His head tilted in confusion whilst he fixated his lilac eyes on her hands. Her palm grazed the intricate designs on the stone, finally encountering the familiar crease on the surface — she pushed it, a dimly lit passageway staring back at him.

“Its Maegor’s secret tunnels!”

Aemond's bewilderment had quickly given way to wonder and awe. The maesters had taught him legends of Maegor's construction schemes, rumored to be an intricate labyrinth hidden beneath the Red Keep, but he never dreamed he would get to see them for himself.

“What?! How in the Seven Hells did you find them?”He asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“A fortunate accident.” She shrugged.

“I was hoping to find the way to your apartments and surprise you but I reckon it cannot be done anymore.”

“You’re mad!” His gaze quickly flickered back to Aelora.

His eyes, violet in the soft daylight that cascaded through the nearby window, studied her almost warily, as if to gauge a reaction from her. He received no such thing. The princess brought her hand to his once again, carefully establishing themselves inside the narrow corridor as the heavy stone shut behind the two. Aemond allowed himself to be pulled along, not even protesting in favour of the tunnel. He observed the strange architecture through their route, the dim light that filtered through small gaps, and the strange cobwebs that had taken form. The limb that remained in hers seemed to squeeze it almost possessively — out of fear, or out of eagerness, Aelora could likely tell.

The hairs atop the young royals’ heads twirled at the light breeze that embraced them, the scent of saltwater filling their nostrils. A moss covered archway revealed a small, damp cavern. As they entered, rugged walls formed by weathered rock surrounded them and an opening that lead directly onto the beach offered a panoramic view of the shoreline and the rolling waves beyond. Beams of sunlight streamed in through gaps, illuminating the cave's interior with a soft, ambient glow. Their feet grazed the sandy floor underneath them, scattered with small shells and pebbles, remnants of the sea's presence. Inside the serene and veiled space, a true connection between land and ocean can be felt — a fitting discovery for a princess of House Velaryon.

Aelora’s brown orbs searched for the boy’s lilac ones, a wide grin spread on her face as she squeezed his hand tenderly.

“So… What do you make of it?”

Aemond was quietly impressed, his head tilting back to look up at the ceiling of the cave, eyes roaming across the stalactites that hanged over them, a small gasp escaping his pink lips. He slowly peeled his hand from the princess, walking over to the opening to look out at the sea.

“How — how did you find this place?” The young prince questioned softly, his head turning back to look at her with an almost admiring gaze.

“It is unimportant. We can confine ourselves here whenever we like! The others do not know about it — I’m halfway certain no one does.”

A small, pleased smile tugged on his features just at the thought of using the cave as a hideaway; a private place, just for himself and Aelora. He hums quietly under his breath, in slight agreement.

“Our secret?” He extend his pinky towards her, indicating for her to do the same.

“Ours.” She smiled as she locked their fingers together in a silent promise.

A silent minute exchanged itself between the pair, the linger of a childish oath tickling their skin. The future memory would cling to their hearts for years to come, a longing fondness drowning them each and every time — except they had no knowledge of it as of the moment, being too focused on the possible amusement that would certainly come from the cavern’s discovery.

“I can best you to the shore!” Aemond wasted no time as he sprinted to approach the broken waves at the end of the beach.

“Wait!” She shouted, avidly picking up her pace to match the boy’s, his long limbs giving him a considerable advantage over the girl behind him.

It had been an entire afternoon of nothing but running, chasing, and exploring together. The young prince had forgotten his troubles and worries completely, instead focusing on the thrill of catching a slippery, wiggling sand crab. The cold feeling of the seawater against his skin didn’t bother him either, nor did the wind whipping at his silver hair as they sat building sandcastles. By the time dusk began to settle, the two children had become completely filthy with sand, mud, and water. Their garments were most likely ruined from the seaweed’s smell, fact that would assuredly earn them serious reprimands from their mothers. Yet, he could not remember a time when he felt so alive.

As they returned to the cave, the sunset’s glow reflected in the wet stones inside, a sense of comfort enveloping the rock-strewn cavity. Aelora’s gaze fell upon the young prince before her, his valyrian grace never yielding to his disheveled appearance. She observed as he bent down, a sharp ore emerging in his hand.

“What are you doing?” She questioned through a mess of rumpled braids.

Aemond glanced up to look at her, smiling softly. With careful movements, the boy carved into the rock, his free hand resting against the stone wall for balance. After a moment, the four letters of their initials were carved into the stone. The scribbles “A.T.” and “A.V.” were jagged and a bit uneven, but still clearly visible.

”Leaving a marking… to remember.”

---

129 AC

Bleeding. Bruised. Brokenhearted. Those were the exact words to describe the state in which princess Aelora Velaryon arrived at Dragonstone. The crimson liquid that gushed out of her right side was courtesy of a Kingsguard during his desperate attempts to put a stop to her fleeing — the remnants of his white cloak hanging from Lyrrax’s teeth were evidence of the retribution he earned. The loyal she-dragon landed crudely, sharp claws sinking in the placid sand as her screeches blended with her rider’s whimpers. The princess could sense the pain inside the beast’s mind, their unbreakable connection making their emotions into one.

Pellets of rain grazed her face as she crawled up the endless stairs towards the peak of the islet, the translucent droplets mixing with tears of her own. The young woman’s sobs were filled with tales of disloyalty. She had betrayed her family, her duty, and worst of all, she had been betrayed by him. The one who stood before the gods of Old Vayria and pledged his unyielding love for her. The one who she had deemed worthy of the deserting of her kin. The one who promised her a future beyond the carnage of war. And yet he was the first to commence bloodshed. Her devotion had not been enough to subdue Aemond’s thirst for revenge — but how she wished that it had.

The mud on the soles of her shoes stuck to the stone floor, leaving behind a trail of shame as she entered the intimidating fortress. Her name and titles thundered inside her ears as the voice of a guard announced her arrival, though she hadn’t actually heard him. Her tormented psyche fevered with dread, fearful of the reactions she would receive due the forsaking of her own blood. All the eyes of her mother’s Small Counsel widened at the sight of the princess, distress and grief scattered across their faces. Her gaze flickered to the silvery locks on Raenyra’s head, the woman’s back turned to the room.

Aelora’s steps were slow and somber, as if her soul had faded and the lifeless carcass of who she was moved against her wishes. She skipped past Daemon at her mother’s side, lacking the nerve to meet his stare. Finally, she reached the bereaved woman before her, brown meeting lilac in a lachrymose gaze. Their pale hands intertwined in haste, and the once composed tears transformed into loud sobs as the young princess collapsed to her knees, begging for Rhaenyra’s forgiveness. Blood and teardrops met in the Black Queen’s dress, staining it as she knelt in front of her daughter. She brought up her palm to caress the side of the young woman’s face, the maternal touch conveying a juvenile yearning in Aelora’s heart.

“Oh my sweet girl.” Her mother whispered as anguish imbued her words.

---

The moons that followed Luke’s death were arduous for the princess, constantly having to prove herself before the family that once accepted her. Rhaena and Rhaenyra had silently recognized Aelora’s circumstances, acknowledging she grieved for a husband as well as a brother. Baela had hesitated in the endorsing of her cousin but surrendered to her pleads nonetheless. Daemon barely addressed his wife’s daughter, his hatred for his nephew fused inside the resentful stares he gave her. Despite her best efforts to cope with her standing, it was Jacaerys’ unyielding disregard for his sister that slayed the woman’s hope of mending their bond. The storm behind the prince’s eyes was well hidden inside his stoic expressions, seemingly unaffected by Aelora’s prayers for his recognition. It was only in the afternoon before their grandmother’s departure for Rook’s Rest that the siblings found each other.

The soft rustle of parchment echoed through the otherwise silent library, a salty breeze infiltrating itself through the window. The princess sat by the unlit fireplace as her gaze swept across the leather-bound books scattered inside the numerous shelves, each and all replete with the history of House Targaryen. The smell of dusty, old tomes was a bitter comfort in the midst of her morose silence. She had accustomed herself to this moments of solitude, seeking solace inside her soul. At heart, her deepest fantasies scampered free, picturing a simpler life as a commoner — untethered by the Targaryen name and relieved from the torment of the constant shadow of war.

Aelora was chased back into reality as Jacaerys’ presence made itself known. The young man invaded the room like a blizzard, his cold glare locking upon her figure as she rested over the armrest of the settee. Her eyes glistened with heartache once she felt how profoundly hostile her brother had become, turning on his heel to abandon her presence. The woman’s voice trembled as she spoke, her words pleading and vulnerable.

"Jacaerys, wait...please."

He halted, his shoulders tense as he looked back at her. The expression on his face was hard to read, a mixture of ire and pain etched into his features.

"What do you want, Aelora?" His voice was cold, the distance between them palpable.

"Have I stooped so low in your graces that my presence offends you? We are family, Jacaerys. Can we not even speak?" Her voice was laced with a hint of desperation as she asked.

"You ask for words as if they could undo what has already been done." His expression hardened, his jaw tightening at her words.

Aelora got to her feet, her legs trembling under her weight. He spoke as if it had been her to murder Luke, not Aemond. Her eyes met his as she stood, her voice wavering with a mix of sorrow and anger.

“Do you truly believe I have not been made aware of that?!”

“Every day of my miserable existence is plagued by guilt. I close my eyes at night yet sleep eludes me, for the ghost of Luke haunts my every thought!” She grew restless at every word, tears forming in her brown orbs as she gestured frantically through phrases.

“I know I failed him, as I failed you and our family… But don't forget I too lost a brother that day.”

Jacaerys stood frozen in place, his grief still bubbling within him and yet his heart ached at the sight of his sister's tears. Her words cut through him like a dagger, his own teardrops threatening to fall.

"Luke is gone, Aelora, and your presence here only serves as a reminder of that fact." He took a step backwards, his jaw clenching as he struggled to control his emotions.

“You cannot blame me for what was not my doing. I was Aemond’s wife, not his conscience — albeit my best efforts.”

"But you married our enemies, sister! Do you truly believe your actions have no consequences?"

"You stood by while they plotted against us and our family. How can I not blame you, when you chose to bind your fate to theirs?" A hint of anger flashed in Jacaerys' mournful eyes as he continued.

“i admit i have made my bed and I must lie in it, but you speak of matters you do not understand.” She crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could shield herself from his hatred.

“He swore to me…“ Her voice cracked, heartbreak swallowing her words.

“He swore to avoid this — to stop this insane feud. He is an oathbreaker as well as a kinslayer and he made me a fool!”

The room was still tense but as Aelora's sobbing grew heavier, something shifted within Jacaerys. He stepped closer to his sister, and without a word, pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. His body was warm against her chilly frame as he held her close, almost protectively. Their grievances seemed to dissolve in that moment, replaced only by a shared sorrow as her tears dampened his shoulder.

“Do you hold love for him, still?” He whispered.

“Only for the memory of who he used to be.”

The prince held Aelora a little tighter at her admission, his chin resting on the top of her head as they remained locked in their embrace. He could feel the weight of her broken heart and the ache it left her with. His wrath had dimmed, replaced by a sense of care and familial loyalty.

"Memories are not enough… Promise to break him should you get the chance"

“I will.”

Neither of them knew, but she lied.

Rhaenys, The Queen Who Never Was, met her fate by the hands of the newly appointed Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen.

Meleys, The Red Queen, had her head paraded through the streets of King’s Landing.

And Aelora, Aemond’s beloved nightmare, sent him a raven.

“We must speak. Find me at ghost’s hour where salt meets memory.

A.V.”

---

The stars twinkled outside the formidable walls of Dragonstone, nightfall enveloping the island in its deep shadows. The approach of ghost’s hour disrupted the princess’ heartbeat inside her chest, her previous conviction giving way to fright as she slithered into the network of caves where the dragons nested. Aelora called out to Lyrrax, her voice wavering with a mixture of stress and uncertainty. As the great beast appeared before her, its wings unfurling, she couldn't help but wonder why she had sent the meeting request at all.

The dragon’s own tension could be felt through her scales as the princess climbed onto its back, the weight of her decision settling on them like a heavy cloak. As they soared through the night sky, Aelora's thoughts were consumed by memories of Aemond and his treachery. The image of him flying over her grandmother’s corpse haunted her mind — the cold, merciless expression he conveyed twisting her guts. She questioned her own judgement in seeking him out, even as her heart yearned for the man who once pledged his undying love and protection. She looked back at Dragonstone, its familiar walls and towers illuminated by the silvery moonlight; she was abandoning her blood for him once again. The princess could only surmise she was either possessed by madness or a true lovelorn fool.

The frigid roar of wind traveled across her face as Lyrrax’s wings scraped over the tide’s surface, saltwater droplets cutting into her skin as well as her pride. She knew her grandmother would never forgive her for this, it was likely none would; she was an idiotic excuse for a Targaryen if she thought seeking the slayer of so many of her kin was justifiable. The burden of loss hung heavily on Aelora's soul as she took in the landscape before her. The faces of Rhaenys and Luke, forever etched in her mind, fueled a mix of anger and trepidation inside the young woman. Her thoughts swirled with a maelstrom of emotions as she soared towards him, recollections of the past playing out like a tragic play as her brown orbs focused upon the once affectionate site of King’s landing.

With practiced grace, Aelora guided the dragon into a smooth descent, its blue wings beating against the air as its claws set down on the shore of Blackwater Bay. The sound of their landing was muffled by the night, its velvety darkness swallowing the pair by the quiet that enveloped the world like a thick, black blanket. The crash of the waves greeted the princess’ ears as she dismounted, struggling to catch her breath and steady her emotions. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the young woman caught sight of the familiar cave that laid ahead, its entrance like a dark maw in the cliffside. The jagged edges were illuminated by the silvery glow of the moon, sending shadows dancing across the rocky surface.

Bittersweetness engulfed Aelora’s frame as the memories memories of her secret rendezvouses with Aemond brimmed in her mind. Every step she took towards the cave was like a blow to her legs, feeling shaky and unsteady. Doubt gnawed at her spirit as if a persistent rat, her stomach flipping with every crunch of the sand beneath her feet. Yet, she pushed forward, determination fueling the princess even as her disheveled heartbeat hammered against her ribcage.

The sight of Aemond standing amongst the shadows caught Aelora off guard, the dim light emanating through the cave's entrance barely illuminating his form — she had thought to be the first to arrive. Before she could stop it, a slight gasp escaped her lips and her eyes widened in disbelief. He looked different, somehow. He seemed further villainous and wearied, the once familiar spark in his eye now replaced by a bold robustness. His sharp and handsome features were now harder, almost rugged, as if her absence had left its mark on him. Swallowing hard, she acknowledged the stark contrast between the nostalgic sentiment that nearly overcame her a moment ago and the tense silence that now enveloped them. They stood opposite each other mutely, both frozen and locked in each other’s gaze.

“Wife.” He greeted, his voice grazing her earlobes like the finest of silks.

“That title does not fit me any longer.” She replied coldly.

His lilac eye examined Aelora’s frame from head to toe, her cloak hiding black leather garments — most likely dragonriding attire. She looked skinnier than he recalled, the shadows only enhancing the redness of her eyes. Aemond could not help but wonder whether she had been weeping during her journey there, grief tackling her psyche as well as her build. The princess demeanor turned stiff, arms crossing as she stood clearly on edge.

“You remain mine, before gods and men.” His gaze flickered with something akin to resentment.

“Kinslaying is a rather suitable ground for an annulment, i should think.” She said, removing the cloak from her head, allowing her braid to cascade over her shoulder.

He froze, the muscles on his neck and jaw tensed. His first reaction is one of anger, clenching his fist as he prepared hateful words inside his throat. But as he looked her in the eye, his wrath melted away into something much more dangerous and devastating — something fragile. All he could see was the girl he grew up with, the girl who stood by him at his boyhood. The woman who whispered sweet nothings amongst the vows of their wedding. The woman who played silly songs on the harp and sang with the loveliest voice he'd ever heard. The wife who's hands he dreamed of at night.

“So eager to rid yourself of the shame affixed to my reputation… And yet, you request my presence with equal vigor.” He stood with his hands behind his back, swallowing any desires that threatened to get the better of him.

“It is my understanding you have become Prince Regent.” She tried to ignore his jabs, the truthfulness they held hitting a sore point inside Aelora.

“The betrayal of your brother becomes you. Yet another broken oath in your conquest for the throne.” She returned his insults, the knowledge of his ambition stirring something within the prince.

“You speak of broken oaths. And what ought I call the oaths you have broken? The promises we made when we married in front of Heleana and the Gods?” His one eye darkened, taking a step forward as he kept his tone controlled.

“Your hypocrisy is staggering.” He shook his head, jaw clenched as he spoke.

“My hypocrisy?!” She could feel the anger boiling her blood, as if fire consuming wood.

“Your sanctimonious preaches fail to erase your true nature, Aemond. Naming yourself Targaryen whilst the sigil of our house is paraded through the streets as if some vainglorious prize of war!” Her voice turned to screeches as it echoed through the stone walls of the cave.

“You may call me a bastard if you wish to, but my blood honors Old Valyria far more than yours.”

Aemond’s hand shot to her wrist, gripping it tight enough to leave marks on the skin underneath. His single eye was wild and livid, the scar around it turning his gaze even more menacing. He moved a step closer, the scent of him overwhelming her — mint and leather mixed with a hint of smoke, the familiar essence blurred her senses in a wave of longing. The princess hid her weakening behind a wrath curtain, the disdain she held for the twisted version of him that now stood before her casting their love aside.

“Watch your tongue, Aelora.”

“Or else? Will your murder me as you did my brother? My grandmother? I can see the conqueror’s dagger in it’s seath, evidence of yet another attempt at fratricide!” She accused him further.

“Have you not done enough? Must you ravage our family and yourself in your thirst for power?”

The hand that gripped her wrist traveled up to the back of her head, grabbing the braided hair. Yanking it softly, he pulled Aelora even closer, his lilac orb flickering over her expression.

“I am Prince Regent as the Gods intended.” He hissed into her ear, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“My reign, unlike that of Aegon, will be glorious — my rule absolute. And you, wife, will be by my side when I sit on the Iron Throne.”

Aelora’s eyes betrayed her as water began to brim in their edges, a horrified gleam passing through her forming tears. A hand cupped his left cheek as she scanned him, a desperate search for the man he once was. The man she longed for each night. The man who was the source of greater heartache than she had ever felt in her life. The man who was also the root of her most joyous moments.

“Your ambition shall be your demise, husband. I was yours before all of this, before your perverseness overcame your affection for me.”

“The crown may sit upon your brow, but i have sufficiently torn my heart to shreads in my attempts to remove you — even if you are my weakness, I will never belong by your side once more.”

”No wrath or cruelty is capable of subduing my craving of you, issa vēzos (my sun).” He leaned into her touch, letting his eye flutter at the feeling of the soft skin of her palm against his cold cheek.

In that moment of contact, he seemed so vulnerable, and much younger than his years. He was weak. A pathetic, love-sick man, and he could not bring himself to care. Aemond leaned his head against hers, their foreheads connecting as his gaze softened.

“I am plagued by thoughts of you and I, each reminiscence a torment to my soul.”

“Come back to me, be my Queen and rule by my side. Our love will be known forever through the Seven Kingdoms, your belly swollen with our child ensuring our line shall never be forgotten.”

There was a moment of silence as Aelora absorbed his words. He was offering her a chance at a life she had dreamed of, one full of passion and legacy as their offspring lived on after them. But it would be an existence consumed by greed, she knew it. There could be no going back after what he had done; Lucerys would never be uncle to her progeny and Rhaenys wouldn’t be there to counsel her through hardships. Their family was torn from the beginning, the tapestry of their lives further lacerated by his actions. And she couldn’t betray her blood again.

“I would do anything for you.” He begged.

“Would your bend the knee to my mother?” Her voice was shaky as the lachrymose gaze she held shattered, its translucent shards falling through her cheeks.

"I will give you anything. Anything within my power to give." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"But not my crown."

“Then there shall be naught left to ask, issa hūra (my moon).” She sent him a smile, albeit a woeful one.

Aemond opened his mouth to protest, but knew it would be in vain. He was so close to her that he could feel her breath on his lips, the feeling slowly driving him mad. He had imagined Aelora’s face, her curves and her voice each night he had been forced to spend alone — and here she was, right before him, but he couldn’t have her. The thought of how this could be the last time he held her without being shoved away made him pull her to him, his arms wrapping around her like vines.

The princess found herself unable to resist as she pressed her head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting presence in the silent cavern. She clung to him tightly, her fingers gripping his clothing like a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea. For a moment, they stood there, holding each other without a word. The moons of distance melted away, replaced by a shared sense of desperate longing to be close again. Despite the comfort and familiarity of his embrace, she knew deep down that he would never surrender — his path set on the course of war and the bloodshed it entailed. The pain and loss they had faced would forever stand between them, but it did not matter tonight. Concealed by shadows inside the stone walls surrounding them, their grievances and broken oaths would dim at the radiance of their burning passion. For a brief moment, the pair would be one once more.

Aelora’s head parted from the warmth of his frame as her gaze followed the line of Aemond's jaw, her brown orbs traveling upward until they reached his mouth. A sharp breath hitched within her throat as she remembered the soft touch of his lips against hers, butterflies rattling in her stomach. In that moment, she was transported back to the blissful months of their marriage, when their intimacies were full of love and promise. The need to feel the familiar touch of his skin against hers consuming every inch of her being.

The prince’s mind and body were on fire. He could feel her gaze raking over him, like a caress to his spirit. The mere sight of his estranged wife in his arms making his heart pound wildly in his chest. His good eye watched her mouth as she swallowed, his one trackmindedness fixated on everything about her. He could see the memories, the same ones he saw every night, flashing through her gaze. His fingers reached up to brush a strand of her brown hair aside, her once perfect braid now half done as the long locks threaten to escape. His hand trembled with how badly he wanted to feel her body, to trace his hands over her curves and kiss her neck, as he had done countless times before.

Aelora's restraint snapped with a sharp tug as she pulled him down towards her, their lips finally meeting in a desperate, ardent kiss. A muffled gasp left her lips at the familiar touch, her body responding instinctively as she pressed herself against him, hungrily devouring his taste. The prince’s sense of control collapsed like a house of cards, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he held her close. He was a man starved, his palms roaming over her frame, as if trying to commit every curve to memory.

Aemond's hands began to roam under her cloak, his fingers tracing over the round hips hidden underneath. He could feel the heat of her desire through the thick fabric, his own body aching to devour her whole. The fingers on his left hand fiddled over the clasp of her mantle, yearning overcoming his senses as he tossed the fabric onto the delicate sand.

Before he was able to protest, Aelora broke their kiss. Her eyes glistened with arousal as she watched his lips, reddened and bruised from the hastiness of their embrace. Her nimble hands found the buckle of her leather doublet, shivering as the absence of the rougher material revealed her chemise underneath. The sheer linen did little to protect the princess’ frame from the cold breeze that made its way through the cave’s entrance, her nipples stiffening at the feeling. The young woman felt no grief for her modesty as Aemond’s eye watched her carefully, a glimpse of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. She continued to undress, slender fingers slowly untying the laces on her breeches. Her boots met the rest of her dragonriding garments on the jagged rocks by the cavern’s wall, leaving the princess in only her smallclothes.

The silver prince was left breathless by her actions, completely entranced by the sight of her exposed chest, every contour of her body on display through the translucent fabric. His eye drank in the sight and he could feel his blood rushing to a southernmost point. He wanted to worship her, to kiss and nibble her skin — to make her cry out his name until the only thing she could remember was the feel of him against herself. At this moment, he was no longer Aemond Targaryen, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm; he was a dog at her heel, eager for her calling. His gaze never left hers, staring at her vulnerable state as he mirrored her actions. First he removed his baldric, steel clinking as his dagger and sword fell to the ground. Then, he slowly undid the various buckles on his black jerkin, his breeches following suit. He did not waver as her brown eyes found his stiffened manhood; for he hadn’t cared to remain in concealment as she did.

Aelora’s gaze followed her husband as he approached her again, his hands reaching out and his fingers gently sliding up her bare thigh. She felt him press further into her, his cock pushing itself snugly against her core. He leaned in until his mouth was just beside her ear, his breath warm against her neck as he bit the skin softly. There was no denying she was his, her soul forever branded by his sinful devotion; the princess would never trust a kinslayer twice over, but she couldn’t help but love him.

“Vestragon ao’re ñuhon. (Say you’re mine.)” His voice was barely a whisper but it was as much a command as a plead.

“Vestragon ao’re nykeēdrosa ñuhon, gīda sepār syt kiza bantis. (Say you’re still mine, even just for tonight)”.

“Nyke aōhon. Ēva tubis ōños. (I am yours. Until daylight)”. She answered, lips trembling as the words escaped her.

A primal possessiveness engulfed the one eyed prince, the part that had always longed for her roaring in victory. At that very moment, he felt that there was nothing in this world that he would not do for her. He took her mouth in another kiss, their tongues clashing in a more feral and desperate manner. Aemond lifted her, his calloused hands digging into her plump arse as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her fingers gripped at his silver locks, his sudden responde sending waves of languor across her limbs. He moved her onto the cloak that was on the ground, the velvety sand welcoming her weight over the fabric as he covered her body with his.

Aemond continued his path of kisses down her body, his hands wandering over her breasts and waist and his mouth leaving more marks in its path. He could feel Aelora shudder in anticipation, her hips arching against his as he moved closer to her core, the air heavy with the scent of her nectar. He halted, taking in the sight of her before him. It had been so long — too long — since he had laid eyes upon her like this, and he relished in the way she already looked completely wrecked by his touch alone. The prince finally reached his ultimate goal, his lips finding her mound as he licked a stripe across the sensitive flesh. He let out a low moan at the taste of her sweet ambrosia on his tongue, a loud whimper emanating from her lungs in response.

The young woman’s hair laid carelessly on the ground, grains of sand intertwining into the brown mess as she arched her back in pleasure. She cried out as he grabbed her thighs, spreading her further apart and burying his face between her legs, his tongue exploring her in ways she had missed for many moons. He could not get enough of her, his lips and tongue trailing silent prayers over her most sensitive spot as his name left her lips. She felt her walls clench as he barged inside her cunt with a long finger, adjusting to the once familiar feeling. Shivers ran down her spine in satisfaction as Aemond synchronized his movements, the overwhelming pleasure bringing stars to her eyes.

A lilac eye never left her face, watching every expression that played across her features. Her mouth parted in pleasure, each gasp and moan fueling the fire of the prince’s own arousal. He had longed to see her like this, writhing underneath him, his name on her lips and his touch on her skin. The memories of her had haunted him in his nights alone, but now, in this moment, he was finally able to worship her like the god given treasure that she was.

Aelora's cries grew more intense, her hips bucking against Aemond's skilled mouth as pleasure mounted within her. Her thighs trembled slightly, its muscles tensing in anticipation of the release that was quickly approaching. Each touch and movement only served to bring her closer to the precipice of pleasure.

A loud cry echoed through the cavern as she climaxed, her body shuddering and her fingers digging into the ground in a desperate attempt to anchor herself. As the waves of ecstasy washed over her, she felt as though she had been transported to another realm. The connection between them was somehow stronger than it had ever been before, their souls dancing to a passionate melody.

When Aelora finally gasped for air, the prince slowly moved up from her core, his body hovering over hers. He watched as she recovered from the rapture he had given her with a dark and vainglorious smirk. With his elbow holding himself over her, he pulled her leg to rest on his hip as his eye scanned her features. Her hand moved to cup his cheek, the tip of her finger caressing his reddened scar as she furrowed her brows.

“Nyke gaomagon regret ziry. Skoros nyke vestretan se mōrī jēda. (I do regret it. What I said the last time.)” She apologized, regret brimming in her brown orbs.

Aemond leaned into her touch, his good eye closing at the gentle touch of her hand against his skin, it felt nearly as soothing as a balm to his weary heart. The mention of the title she had bestowed upon him sent a chill through his spine, his monstrous behavior had earned the words even if they had maimed him. His face turned to press a soft kiss into her palm, before opening his eye to look at her again.

“It is of no importance.” His voice was rough and low as he spoke.

Aelora softly tugged at the straps of his eyepatch, earning a trembling exhale from him in response. The touch of her delicate fingers on his malady sent a wave of fear through his spirit. She removed piece of leather, revealing the puckered, scarred skin where his eye had once been. He found himself unable to look at her for a moment, the feeling of vulnerability consuming him in the dim light of the cave. The princess looked deeply into the sapphire gem in his socket, tenderness engulfing the kiss she placed upon it.

Aemond's touch was gentle as he took her lips in his, not waiting for her response as he gripped her hip and turned her on her stomach. His eye roamed over the expanse of her back, tracing his fingers over the smooth surface of her skin, leaving a trail of gentle caresses in its path. It was a stark contrast to the frenzied way he had touched her previously, this touch was far more tender, almost reverent in nature. His body pressed against hers as the length of his manhood rested on the small of her back, buring into her skin. He leaned down, his mouth finding her ear as he moved closer.

“Azantys ñuha sindigho, issa vēzos. (I have missed you desperately, my sun)”. His breath was warm against her skin as he whispered.

Aelora arched her back as she felt the tip of his cock breeching her dampened slit, her knees propping her hip upwards in search of contact. His arm reached under her, squeezing one of her peaks as he fully entered her. The pair let out breathless moans as Aemond moved against her, leaving no time for her adjustment. The sting of pain she felt had been nothing compared to the ecstasy of his length inside her, finding herself unable to focus on anything but the feeling of being around him.

The prince’s thrusts grew harder, his body moving against hers in a rhythm that was both frenzied and yet somehow controlled. Her moans and sighs filled the air, his own breaths coming quick and sharply as he took her with a wild abandon. He buried his face in her neck, biting down on the soft flesh as his hands buried into her hips.

“Avy jorrāelan. (I love you)” Aelora murmured between ragged moans, her hand reaching to grasp his hair.

His eye widened slightly at her words, a thrill rushing through him at having heard them coming from her lips once again. His lips found the base of her jawline, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin. His cock kept reaching further into her cunt as their flesh moved together with a rhythmic thrust, like the rise and fall of waves on the shore.

“Avy jorrāelan. Avy jorrāelan. Avy jorrāelan.” Aemond mumbled repeatedly in between thrusts, his words a fierce declaration of their love. He continued moving inside her, his heart racing in his ribcage as his pleasure overcame physical bounds.

Every thing about this moment was singled out from any other they had shared. The grief, pain and betrayal that coursed through their marriage dissipated amongst the dragon fire that burned within the pair. It all faded away, and all that was left was this, the feel of her skin against his, the sound of his muffled whimpers in her ear, the desperate way he repeated her name over and over. This moment felt like the calm in the middle of a storm, a rustle of the ashes of their love.

Aemond could feel his peak building, his movements becoming more urgent and frantic as he chased the pleasure he sought. His breaths came out in ragged pants, mingling with the sounds of her gasps in the air as his length clashed inside her. Aelora sensed the twitching of his manhood, threatening to spill his release inside her walls. The mere thought tightened the knot that had formed in her belly, reaching the edge of her desire.

Aemond sent a few more thrusts into the brown haired woman underneath him before both found their release simultaneously, their movements slowing as they both rode out of the ecstatic trance that washed over them. The prince’s face was buried in Aelora’s neck, a guttural moan escaping him at the force of his own pleasure. Her body shivered at the feeling of his seed drowning her cunt, pearly tears streaming down her leg as she whimpered.

The lovers stayed silent in an adoring embrace after he disconnected their bodies, a wave of comfort washing over them. For a while they simply laid there, basking in the afterglow of their passion, their frames entwined in a tangle of limbs. It was a strange sort of peace, one that they both knew wouldn't last once the sun rose — but for the moment, they were content. The night stretched on, each hour passing in a blur of whispered words and slow hands. Aemond and Aelora clang to one another, as if they could melt into one if they only held tightly enough. The threat of daylight and the inevitable parting loomed over them like a dark cloud on the horizon, anguish settling inside their hearts.

As the hour of the nightingale approached over their secret sanctuary, the prince and princess began to break away from the blissful haven that enveloped them. There were no words to be spoken as they both dressed silently, the sound of rustling fabric and soft breaths filling the air between them. The weight of war and the knowledge that this moment was fleeting hung heavily in the air. Aemond felt a pang in his chest as he looked towards her, a mute wish in his heart that they could stay like this. To be locked in this moment forever, away from the world that demanded so much from them. But he knew that was not possible. Soon, they would have to return to their duties and obligations — this feeling would become nothing more than a memory.

As they stood before each other fully clothed, their eyes met in a bereaved gaze — sorrow for the love they shared engulfing them. Aelora stepped closer to him, holding his hand softly, almost in a cowardly manner. She had no words for the man who was her everything, the man who had her in every way possible, and she was ashamed of it. His free hand moved hesitantly to hold her cheek, his eye flickering over her face, taking in every feature. He wanted to burn the image of her into his mind, to remember every detail about her, down to the smallest freckle on her nose. His thumb traced her soft skin as he leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, as if to say “I will be with you forever”. Tears began to form at the corners of her brown orbs as she abandoned his touch. The sound of the rustling sand underneath her feet echoed through the cave as she reached its entrance, her form never escaping his stare.

She halted at the stone archway, her silhouette framed by the soft silver light of the moon. The night air was cool on her skin as she turned to look back at Aemond, the feel of their passion still lingering in the air. For a moment, they simply stood there, eyes meeting in the darkness. She ached to say something, to find the words to convey the maelstrom of emotions that raged within her. In the end, she simply smiled, bittersweet and knowing.

“Should we meet on the battlefield, I can’t hesitate.” Her voice came out a whisper.

“I won’t hesitate to kill you.” She repeated, to herself or to him — Aemond didn’t know.

The prince’s breath had grown a little shallow at her words, a frown forming on his face. The idea of their next encounter being on the battlefield, facing off against each other like enemies was a thought that pained him, even though he knew it was a possibility. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t hesitate either, that he would fight her with everything he had if they ever met in battle, but the words stuck in his throat. He simply nodded in acknowledgement.

Once again, she left him. Aemond would be a King without a Queen, half of his soul forsaken in his search for power. It had to be worth it.

Bur they wouldn’t meet again, not in the context of war or any other.

She would meet her demise alongside her brother in the Battle of The Gullet. Fighting hard like a Strong, dying besides her dragon like a Targaryen and laying to rest at sea like a Velaryon.

He would grow mad at her perishing, ire overcoming his every sense. And he would eventually be slayed by her stepfather at The Battle Above God’s Eye.

Their love was epic, a fierce tale of forbidden passion that would never be written about inside history books. The only legacy they would leave behind had been scribbled onto a stone wall years before.

A.T. & A.V.

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