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lxdyred · 4 months ago

Text

By order of the King

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader, Helaena Targaryen x Niece!Reader (Possibly in the future), Aegon Targaryen x Niece!Reader (Possibly in the future)

WC: 2.4k

Summary: Amidst political turmoil and family feuds, the only and eldest Velaryon daughter, struggles through a tumultuous marriage arranged for strategic gain that quickly escalates into betrayal and tragedy. As she grapples with grief and tensions mount, she faces heartache and sorrow, she grapples with her future as a looming conflict threatens to engulf her in a web of deceit and fear.

Warnings: Mature themes, sexual content (mentioned and lightly described), power dynamics, toxic relationship, violence and death, incestuous overtones, emotional turmoil, psychological themes, character deaths, ambiguous morality.

If you wish to be tagged let me know :)

Not only was war about to break out, ready to blow everything up — including the Targaryen dynasty. Her damn marriage of convenience was also about to explode.

It was King Viserys, her grandfather, who proposed the marriage between his eldest granddaughter and his second son, Aemond Targaryen. The idea was not well-received by any of the black team's supporters, especially Rhaenyra Targaryen, but having to ensure that her son Luke was the heir to Driftmark, she had to give in and betroth her firstborn and only daughter, her dear baby girl.

Not everything was disadvantageous, since having her younger half-brother married to her daughter would bind and commit the greens to seeing her as the future queen.

Or so they all briefly thought, until the King's death.

"The rift in our family will heal, and we will be more united." This was what Viserys the Peaceful said, with difficulty, as he received Rhaenyra and Daemon, and all their progeny, at court for the first time in six years.

The wedding was held that same afternoon, privately. Only the closest to the king attended the ceremony. His children, his wife, his grandchildren, his nieces, the Hand, and Princess Rhaenys. Shortly after, he succumbed to pain, having to be taken to his quarters where he drank milk of the poppy to be able to sleep.

The Hightowers thought this would benefit their discussion about Driftmark's inheritance the next day. Without the king present, they could declare Vaemond Velaryon as heir to his brother, the Sea Snake, who was still hovering between life and death. And, in a way, they could more freely insinuate the illegitimacy of Rhaenyra's elder children. Killing two birds with one stone.

"Now you are a recognized Targaryen, despite your illegitimate descent, wife." These were the first venomous words Aemond addressed to his now wife for the first time in years. "I will make sure you do not follow your mother's path, that the children you carry in your womb are mine, and no one else's." He murmured, while caressing his wife's dark hair, a certain warmth and delicacy in the act.

"I would never think of it, my prince." She whispered, carefully watching his movements as he circled her.

As if she were his prey.

"Do you know what comes next? What is expected of you on our wedding night?" He asked, tilting his head, once he stood in front of her.

"To consummate our union, to give you an heir."

"Hm." He hummed. "I will not be harsh with you, I will be gentle. Until you ask me not to be."

There was no love between them, not even the slightest hint of the friendship that once existed in their childhood. She would be lying if she said he did not keep his word. He was not rough or harsh with her, but considerate and gentle. The union brought something she did not expect, pleasure.

She felt a lot of pleasure; he gave her pleasure. She supposed it was to keep her satisfied, so she wouldn't seek comfort in another man's arms, thus avoiding the possibility and shame of bastards.

Bastards of a bastard, it sounded ironic.

Once he finished inside her, after making her climax three times, he caressed her face, looking attentively at how her face reflected pleasure and satisfaction. Then he got off her, dressed, and left her alone in her room, without a word.

A few days later, her mother, her brothers, Daemon, and her stepsisters had to return to Dragonstone, leaving her in that place infested with snakes and traitors — without knowing what was to come.

Her grandfather died that very night, and the next day, not even a full day later, they crowned Aegon as king in the Dragonpit, in front of the entire people. Placing the conqueror's crown on his head, wielding his sword to the cheers of the people.

She could only bite her tongue and dig her nails into her skin until she bled, while averting her gaze. Not recognizing her uncle, the usurper, as king.

That night, when her husband visited her chambers to have sex with her again, as expected of him, as had been the case every night since they married, it was she who took control. It was she who set the pace and used him, leaving behind the gentleness he had previously offered her. It was she who began to be harsh.

Their encounters became rough and hard, with no room for frills or romance. After all, that was the only way she had to vent.

They did it, finished, and each went their separate ways.

In less than a month she was already pregnant.

"Blessed be the gods for this good news." Was what Alicent Hightower said upon receiving the news, while taking the hands of her young daughter-in-law. "Viserys would be delighted with this news. Finally, the Seven smile upon us."

"Do you think? I think they mock us." She whispered, tears in her eyes.

She wanted to go home, to find comfort in her mother's arms, who should be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms and sitting on the Iron Throne.

From the day they received the news, Aemond stopped visiting her at night, and she spent hours staring at her bed canopy, caressing her still nonexistent baby bump. The life growing inside her was the only thing she had in that cold place.

How she longed to talk to her mother freely, but of course, writing to her and sending a raven at that time, without supervision, without practically the entire king's small council approving it, could be considered treason. And to think of proposing to visit her, by the Seven Gods.

What a fucking mess.

Days went by, her loneliness grew, her breasts became more sensitive, her aversion to certain smells became more noticeable. Still, the only pleasant company she had and found some comfort in was Helaena and her children.

Beings of light, innocent and joyful.

"How are things with my brother?" Helaena asked while observing the cages in which she kept some insects.

"He usually asks about how I am feeling, how the pregnancy is going — but other than that, we do not... interact. We practically live separate lives."

"Does he not discuss his duties with you?"

"The bare minimum. I only know that today he is leaving for Storm's End, to speak with Borros Baratheon."

"Oh." Helaena said, looking at her with an expression she couldn't decipher.

"What is it?"

"It is just that I feel a storm is coming. I do not know, it is strange."

"But the skies are clear, Hel?"

And the storm came, just as Helaena had said.

The next morning she woke up later than usual, none of the maids who usually attended to her came to wake her, which made her wonder why no one had disturbed her until then. She tried to dismiss the thought, leaning towards the belief that they were simply letting her rest due to the lack of energy she felt because of the pregnancy.

When she left her room to meet Helaena and have breakfast with her, she encountered one of the Kingsguard, Ser Arryk Cargyll, who had been patiently waiting for her, for who knows how long.

"Did Helaena send you for me?" The young princess asked doubtfully, as it was usually not Ser Arryk who escorted her anywhere.

"No, princess." Replied the sworn knight softly. "The queen mother sends me; she is waiting for you to meet her and Prince Aemond in her apartments." He said, pointing out the path they were to take, a fleeting, small, empathetic smile adorning his face as if he were trying to hide something.

"Has something happened, Ser Arryk?" She asked as they walked towards Alicent Hightower's apartments. Uncertainty gripped her, for each time they encountered someone from the court, or a servant or guard, they averted their gaze from the young woman, as if not wanting to reveal something. "Have I been accused of treason or something?" The young woman murmured with a mix of doubt and jest, stopping and looking at the Cargyll twin.

"Not at all, princess." The man replied, shaking his head. "The reason for the audience will be revealed when we arrive, I promise."

"Has someone died, by any chance?" The young woman asked, the question hanging in the air.

Ser Arryk did not respond, simply escorting her to the queen mother's chambers. Where, indeed, she discovered that someone had died.

Her baby brother, Luke. At the hands of her own husband, ironically.

With one hand over her mouth and the other over her stomach, she shook her head, under the watchful eyes of Aemond, Alicent, Otto, Aegon, and Ser Criston. She leaned against the brick wall of the queen's chambers, her gaze passing over each of the people present, her tears welling up in her eyes, and the words unable to pass her throat, where she felt a tight knot.

Alicent tried to approach her, raising a hand to touch her shoulder in consolation. "Oh, sweet girl, this was—" she tried to speak, as she finished approaching her.

The young woman, with a slap, pushed her hand away and took a few steps back to distance herself. Now, with tears streaming down her cheeks, blurring her vision, she clumsily opened the door and briskly set off towards anywhere far from any of them.

Without a fixed direction, she turned every corner she encountered until an overwhelming urge to vomit flooded her, and she ended up clutching a large decorative urn, where she emptied her stomach. Amidst the vomiting and retching, she felt a hand rubbing her back in support.

“No, no—” she tried to speak as she pulled away from the person, slightly dragging herself on the ground, wiping her lips with the sleeve of her dress. “No, please,” she whispered through tears, her eyes closed.

“I do not like feeling sick either.”

“What— Jaehaerys…” she whispered the boy’s name, who brought his little hand to her face and wiped away a tear.

“Does your tummy hurt, Auntie?” asked the little boy, who was kneeling beside her, his head tilted and looking at her with concern. Innocence was all that reflected in the eyes of the usurper's progeny.

“A little, yes. Something did not sit well with me, little one.” The young woman sniffed and tried to smile at the boy as best she could.

“Jaehaerys.” Helaena called to her young son, and seeing how he tried to comfort the princess, she approached them, kneeling in front of the duo. “Why don’t you go play with your sister, hm? I shall stay and take care of her, yes?”

The silver-haired boy looked at his mother and then at his aunt, who was still giving him a small smile, even though her lower lip was trembling. He nodded and looked at the small wooden dragon he had in one of his hands before placing it in the young princess’s hand.

“You can keep it until you feel better.”

“Thank you, little prince.”

“Maybe playing with it will help you.” He murmured before standing up and running towards one of the servants who took care of Helaena’s children.

The usurper’s wife, whom she had adored since childhood, helped her up from the ground, and with an arm around her, while she cried silently, accompanied her to her room, where she broke into almost agonising, pain-filled sobs. Helaena sat at the foot of the young woman’s bed while she cried with her head in her lap, broken with grief.

For hours, the one considered the new queen, with a pure heart and only good intentions, stayed in the same position, doing everything in her power to calm and console her dear one, who was her sister-in-law, niece, and friend, all in one person. She stroked her long hair while trying to offer comforting words; the young Velaryon, slightly younger than her, could only cling to her waist with one arm, while in the other hand she held the wooden dragon that little Jaehaerys had given her. She kept her face hidden in Helaena’s lap, crying and crying, until finally, she fell asleep from crying and sobbing so much.

“Leave. Have you not made her suffer enough?” she thought she heard Helaena say sharply, something that very rarely happened, in the distance of her dream.

She knew that the one who was now definitely her only trusted person in the place had just thrown out her husband, the murderer of her younger brother.

Aemond did not manage to articulate a word to excuse himself when he showed up, merely mumbling under his breath, his gaze fixed on his beautiful wife, clinging to the body of his sister.

Helaena gave him a fierce, defiant look, insisting without repeating her words that he leave, which he eventually did. The slam of the door behind him woke the princess, who turned her head and stared at the door.

“Do not worry, he is gone now,” murmured Helaena, looking at her with sadness and empathy, still stroking her hair.

“I do not know what I am going to do,” whispered the young Velaryon, her voice hoarse from crying so much, as she lowered her hand to her belly, where her baby was growing.

That creature, who was also the progeny of a Kinslayer, the prince with one eye. The person she could most despise at that precise moment.

The mere thought of being responsible for giving him a child, something that was already happening, made her blood boil and filled her with deep disgust for the situation.

And indirectly, a certain rejection, towards her unborn child.

She was condemned to spend the rest of her days with him, bound to him, because of her condition. Because of the son or daughter who had not yet been born, but soon would be.

She was in that position by the decision of Viserys, her late and naïve grandfather. “By order of the king…” she murmured sarcastically, as she felt the tears well up in her eyes again.

By order of the late king, she was in that situation, but that would not stop her from making things difficult for Aemond.

A shadow began to loom over her, just as the war that was about to be declared.

Although, to be honest, they were all screwed.

So royally fucked.

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lovelykhaleesiii · 1 year ago

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hi there! would you be up to writing smut

Dark!Aemond? something for example with age difference, daddy kink, corruption kink, degradation and breeding? If you are comfortable then Reader could be a Targaryen what would be great but if you aren't comfortable then Stark is perfect too

Twisted, Beautiful Minds.

PAIRING: Dark!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Niece!Reader

WORDS: 2,677.

WARNINGS: mentions of warfare/murder, mentions of death-threats, swearing, degradation kink, choking, Daddy kink, corruption kink, breeding kink, manipulation, narcissistic tendencies, male oral receiving [cock sucking], mentions of p in v sexual intercourse.

A/N - you know I'm always down for some dark!Aemond... I want to also dedicate this piece, as a small bday gift to my wonderful friend Mar @aemondsmoon you have been an absolute light for me on this hellsite, and one of my dearest friends... thank you for always being there for me, and thank you for being you. you are an absolute gem, don't ever change. ilysm! 🤍

The turmoil and toils of war had finally come to an end, when Aegon the Elder, your Uncle, had commanded Sunfyre to set your beloved mother, Rhaenyra, and younger brother, Aegon III, to death by dragonfire. Your heart shattered, and mind numb, you were certain your own death was imminent in the moments after: at the very least, your Uncle would punish you with a dragonrider's death... Yet that would not be the case at all.

It seemed other plans had been set in stone. Chained and escorted by the Kingsguard to return to King's Landing once more, where you had only days previous, fled in fear, were you welcomed by the cold stares of the "Green" Council. Your chains removed, as neither the King nor his Mother, had seen you as a threat, you felt no purpose to resist nor to fight back... Your family dead, your will had died along with them.

"Fetch for Aemond. Tell my younger brother that his betrothed has returned."

His stern words felt incomprehensible in your thoughtless mind, lagging to understand the notion. You felt a cool, chill course through your weak body, rigid as though you had turned to stone, and yet, you were still breathing, still ever so present. No one had consulted you on such plans or schemes. And you were certain that Aemond himself would definitively refuse to marry the daughter of a traitor [as you presumed he would justify]. Your Uncle, Aemond, was a formidable man, fought against your late father, and had emerged the victor... And as the war, and the recent imprisoned days had taken its toll on you, your eyes darkened with the lack of sleep, unable to eat a crumb of bread, you did not look as you once had in your frivolous court, as he had once remembered you.

Although, as he sauntered into the room with such poise and stature, a certain charisma of that of a victor oozing about him, with not a single word exchanged, other than a devious smirk supplanted across his once serious face...It seemed there was more to the union than meets the eye.

Since your captive return to King's Landing, a place in which you had once considered your home, felt nothing more foreign. The stone sand walls that you had walked and run through as a child, now looked strange, the unfamiliar symbols of the Seven proudly hung around every available wall and space, gave an ominous feel. The halls seemed less brighter, even during the break of day, with the sunlight blatant in the sky, you instinctively felt as though a shadow lurked around every corner, attentive to your every move.

Dragonless, and defenceless, you were less of a threat than the younger Princess, Jahaera. The King and his Council had deemed you stable enough to roam the castle grounds freely, with a close knight in pursuit, only to ensure your own "protection" [as Aegon would admit that Aemond insisted], although you saw it more as means to deter you from being tempted to run away.

Regardless, Aemond had not spoken a word to you since hearing of the betrothal. He attended dinners with you in sight, although you rarely spoke yourself, mostly pleading and bickering with Alicent to remain in the desolate confines of your chambers. She was incessant about you joining the family, as the union was to be set in a moon's turn.

He dared not even to sit beside you: constantly at opposing ends. Although, there were rare occasions you had caught the younger Prince, brazenly staring at you with his one good eye. Unapologetically, his full attention spanned towards you, even if he had noticed you had become aware, he did not cease gawking.

Something about his looming gaze made you feel uneasy, very much on edge: a dark tinge to his violet eye, his pupils darkened as they seemed dilated. It inevitably made your stomach churn, only forcing you to resign in defeat, often excusing yourself to bed.

And often you were left undisturbed to recluse in your chambers... Although tonight, it seemed you were not alone in your ventures.

Retracing the exact steps you would take most nights, often on your lonesome return to your quarters: this time there was an accompanying sound in the distance, echoing down the hallway behind you. Heavy footsteps that caught your immediate attention. Slowly panning around, the shimmer of his lengthy, silver hair against the pale moonlight that peaked through the open crescents of the corridor, was alluring to your eye. Halting in your tracks, your breath hitched against your throat, all in trepidation, as Aemond effortlessly caught up with you in a few short strides. This was the closest he had ever truly come up to you, his towering height against you, made him even more daunting face to face.

"Running off to bed again, I see. And why is that?"

The sudden eruption of his deep, low voice breaking the stillness of the castle passage, startled you uneasily. You had exchanged many words and conversations with your elder Uncle before, during an ancient time long before the Dance had spurred. Although, the dynamics had inevitably changed, blood had been shed viciously and cruel words spat. Despite the same Valyrian blood coursing through your veins as of your betrothed, you felt solitary in their surrounding presence.

"I-I lost my appetite, U-Uncle. I wish to retire for the night," You aimlessly stutter, too weak to hold eye contact with Aemond, whose gaze remained fixated on you. His vibrant lilac orb luring over every inch of your timid body.

"Do you think it wise to roam the castle your lonesome self? Has the war not taught you otherwise? Is my niece still that same stupid, little whore I have known?"

His harsh remarks shadowed by that familiar, sly grin struck across his slim face, was plenty to furnace an incoming reaction from you, your blood boiling beneath your tender skin.

"Ah- tongue tied now, princess? Have I struck a chord with you, hmm? Mayhaps you are as weak as your father was... Now, how would he feel knowing you are to marry me? That I'll fuck his little girl, like the common whores he saw."

Your mind had no correlation to your hand, and yet the simmering rage that blistered through your body sent your mind to abyss. The small palm of your hand, strikingly latched across Aemond's face furiously. And yet, although a sharp stinging sensation poured across your hand, Aemond remained unfazed and sturdy. It seemed you had smacked the grin across his face, and in its stead, that familiar, unnerving dark tinge in his eyes scorned across at you.

Before you knew it, Aemond gripped your sides firmly, forcing your body forward, as he harshly shoved you against the cold, stone wall.

"You think that wise, whore? After the mercy I fucking showed you. I could have your fucking hand for that, or worse your head. My pretty wife's head on a spike, I'll have it right outside my window."

The cruelty that oozed from his precise lips was relentless. You wanted to burst into tears or more, burst into flames there and then...

"Do you know how long I have waited to have you under my very touch? All the sacrifices I made, the arguments I fought against my own Council to keep you alive? Ungrateful fucking bitch. Did your Daddy not teach you to be a good, obedient girl?"

One of Aemond's calloused, rough hands reached up hastily, his long fingers wrapping just so lightly around your throat, as his thumb gently stroked at your lips. His viable eye ogling tentatively over your mouth, smacking his lips innately.

"I'm your fucking Daddy now. Teach you how to be a proper lady, and a good fucking wife. I'm going to fuck that pretty pussy of yours, till you are dripping of me. I'll have you begging like a pathetic, stupid whore. I'll fuck you till I have heirs of my own, till I see fit that you have disgraced your extinct, traitorous bloodline."

"A-Aem, U-Uncle-" You breathlessly whimper in fear: freshly, swelled tears glaze your vision, as they begin to clear with each shedding streak.

"What did I just fucking say? I'm not your Uncle anymore, bitch. I'm your fucking Daddy. You would be helpless without me. Probably dead without my doing. You fucking owe me."

"Y-Yes-" Another breathless whimper, although Aemond's grip loosened, his other hand began to slowly move its way over towards your breast. His uninjured eye moving in motion with his hand, eagerly wandering over your bust. That same, very hand, began to keenly grope at your plush side, kneading at your breast tenderly, it felt foreign and sensitive under his strange touch.

"All fucking mine... Finally. Did you really think, I would let some insolent lord have you to himself? I'd start a war for you, I won the war for you. And now you're going to repay me, just so-"

A mindless moan flew out of your wet lips, catching you abruptly by surprise, and by the looks of it Aemond, as his blackened pupil dilated with a ravenous hunger, his ears pricking and leaning forward in delight.

"I'll have you moaning for more, precious. Now on your fucking knees-"

Even with the hatred that roared deep within your belly, you felt reluctant to retaliate, as you knew Aemond would effortlessly overpower you. As he had in your youth, when you were caught in a brawl with him, often ending with him wrestling you to the ground. And after his detailed spill of such vile threats, you dared not to risk the second chance of life, you had been granted.

Your knees hit the concrete floor with some brutality, although you regained from the ache. As you steadied your propped position, your hands gripping tightly at Aemond's slim waist, he began to undo his grey, washed out trousers.

The sheer sight of his cock, was intense enough to have you questioning whether you could even take him. Although slim in girth, his length was extraordinary. A reddened tip just oozing lusciously with a white, clear film glistening over the crown.

"Suck Daddy real good, bitch. Show me that, that mouth has other good uses than for talking back."

Your attention lurking from below, dropping from Aemond's face to his cock and back up once more to his face: the sudden change in his mood shifting was palpable. The momentary, light-hearted look of ecstasy dismantled as a cold, unsettling gaze resumed across his handsome face, lingering over your kneeled state.

"Make me fucking repeat myself one more time, whore and I'll treat you worse than a whore. I'll have you forget that you are a Targaryen princess."

Aemond's large hands found their way at the base of your skull, teasingly stroking your loose strands away from your face, within a few seconds the sudden shove towards him, left you physically speechless. Your mouth slightly agape, was enough for Aemond's stiffened, pulsating tip to propel its way into your tight mouth. The friction of his hard cock against your silky, warm flesh inside, was enough to set Aemond's breathing into a speedy pace. Lean chest heaving, the mindless groaning on his behalf was somewhat alluring. You had never seen nor heard such sounds or vulnerability in Aemond before.

"F-Fuck, that feels so fucking good- Just as I prayed to the Gods. I'm going to make your mouth so numb, so fucking filthy of me, you'll be tasting me still in the months to come."

No coherent words exchanged from below his waist, only muffled moans and breath hitches, as you sulked with crave. As much as it infuriated you, pained you to admit, the feeling of Aemond's rigid, throbbing cock in your mouth, was elevating. You had to admit, in your youth, previous to the blood that had been shed, you had a childhood feverish crush on your elder Uncle, although thought it unlikely that anything would flourish from it.

"Seven Hells. Such a pretty whore, with a pretty mouth. J-Just the p-prettiest whore in the Seven Kingdoms."

With each plunge, rhythmically bobbing backwards and forwards, the raw taste of Aemond's cum, tastefully filling your mouth to capacity, as a mixture of his reside and your own saliva oozed from your crevices. The dreading thought of being caught in such a contentiously vulnerable position, especially before being wedded, was disturbing enough, for you were not yet widely favoured by the Council...

"Ughh- Swallow and get up, whore."

Self-disgust stirred nauseatingly in the pit of your gut, as you reluctantly devoured small mouthfuls of Aemond's load, almost convincing yourself you would retch it all up in a matter of seconds. Much to your relief, you remained poised, meekly wiping away the mess across your lips, shying away from Aemond's unmoving regard. As you regained your normal pace of breathing, Aemond lent a hand over, grasping your undivided attention. With such ease, Aemond aided you, lifting you up to stand, before confining you closely between the wall and his heated body once more, closing whatever space was made between.

"Now let's see what that cunt has to offer."

His skilful hands hiking your layered gown up, making way for his arms to snake around your bare thighs, lifting you idly off the ground.

"Can't wait till the wedding to tarnish you, I've waited long enough."

A sudden bolt of lightening pain shot from within your inner thighs, as your tight walls stretched out ceaselessly to accommodate, as Aemond shoved his rigid cock inside. Your back flattened against the sandstone wall, its texture rough against the delicate silk of your gown. Burying his length deeper and deeper with each harsh thrust, his heavy balls collided with your silky folds as he vigorously pumped himself back and forth. His pace, although rough, remained steady. His raw, sensitive tip pummelling at your cervix, felt scorching inside your lower belly.

"And if I fuck you so good, that you begin to swell with my child... What would your dead family think of their precious daughter then, huh? These tits belong to me now, and the mother's milk that comes with it. Your entire being belongs to me now. That babe in your belly will be all because of me, and you'll fucking love every bit of it."

"I-I owe you my l-life, D-Daddy-"

The words mindlessly slipped from you lips, and yet it felt instinctual to say. As Aemond's mouth lapped at the sensitive crook of your neck, you felt the smirk of his grin against your skin, his sharp teeth faintly biting at your soft flesh.

"That's right, baby. That's so right my needy, little slut. You have a Daddy now that can really take care of you, protect you... Love you."

The epitome of his words, the calm depth in his voice, had reached its glorifying peak, as Aemond's hot load shot up directly into you, reverently coating your insides. Like some royal orchestra in unison to his final thrust, did a growling moan escape his lips, followed by an whisper of a swear. Leaning his exhausted, heavier mass over you, as he safely guided your legs back down to the surface, his breath densely hot against your ear, his outstretched palms cladded against the wall for support.

"Clean yourself up, Y/N... Wouldn't want anyone else to see you as the whore that you are, and get any ideas-"

His heavy breathing made his voice less formidable and more husky. Eyeing over your form, as you once more scoured and polished up the mess he made between your thighs, with the inner layer of your gown. You simply nodded in response to his demand, before hastily attempting to rush back to the confines of your quarters.

Yet, a firm pull tugged at your elbow, causing you to halt in your tracks, unavoidably.

"I will seek you out again tonight... Be ready for me."

general taglist - @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1 @aegonslawyer

Aemond taglist - @megatardisbaby @harrypotteranna23-blog

credit for divider - @/itbmojojoejo

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sachaa-ff · 18 days ago

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Daemon Targaryen x niece reader

During the weeding of your sister Rhaenyra and Leanor, Daemon decided it’s time to show everyone your his..

Request are open..

Under the Moonlit Sky

The halls of the Red Keep were alive with the sounds of celebration as Rhaenyra Targaryen wed Laenor Velaryon. Tapestries adorned the walls, and golden lights flickered like stars, but amidst the opulence, Daemon Targaryen felt a different kind of fire igniting within him—one fueled by his love for you, Rhaenyra’s younger sister.

You stood on the fringes of the festivities, your heart a mix of excitement and apprehension. Though you should have been celebrating your sister’s union, your thoughts were consumed by Daemon. His presence had always been magnetic, drawing you in with a charm that was impossible to resist. The night felt electric with unspoken emotions.

Across the grand hall, Daemon caught your eye. His gaze was intense, an unmistakable spark of desire lighting his features. With a swift, purposeful stride, he approached you, the chaos of the wedding fading into the background. “Come with me,” he said, his voice low and thrilling, sending shivers down your spine.

“Where are we going?” you asked, heart racing as anticipation coursed through you.

“I want everyone to see us.” He replied a wicked grin spreading across his face

Your pulse quickened at the thought of leaving the celebration, of stepping into the unknown with him. It was reckless, yet thrilling. “But Daemon, the wedding—”

“Let them have their wedding,” he interrupted, taking your hand and leading you through the dimly lit corridors. “Tonight is ours.”

As you slipped away from the crowded hall, you felt a rush of exhilaration.

The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and sweet pastries, the sounds of laughter and music ringing in your ears. Daemon’s grip on your hand was firm, leading you through the throngs of revelers. “This is where the real fun is,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.

The crowd parted before you, drawn to the sight of Daemon, the infamous rogue prince, with his niece, the princess at his side. You felt the weight of their stares, both curious and judgmental, but in that moment, all you could see was him.

“Dance with me,” he urged, pulling you into the center of a lively gathering. The music swelled around you, and without hesitation, you surrendered to the moment. Daemon’s presence was intoxicating, and as you twirled beneath the stars, you felt the exhilaration of freedom.

The crowd watched, whispers rippling through the air as you lost yourself in the dance. Daemon spun you around, laughter bubbling up between you as he captured your waist, pulling you close. “Let them see,” he said, his breath warm against your ear. “Let them talk.”

But amidst the joy, a flicker of apprehension coursed through you. You caught sight of King Viserys, your father across the way, his expression a mix of confusion and disapproval. The tension in your chest tightened as you realized the implications of Daemon’s boldness.

“Daemon, we can’t—” you began, but he silenced you with a kiss, his lips brushing against yours with a fervor that stole your breath. The world around you faded, leaving only the heat of his body and the urgency of his touch.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes sparkled with triumph. “If the realm must know of our love, then so be it. We will not hide.”

As the night wore on, you danced, laughed, and reveled in the electric connection between you. But the reality of your situation loomed in the back of your mind. You were Rhaenyra’s sister, bound by duty, yet Daemon’s presence ignited a wildness in you that longed to be unleashed.

With each twirl and every laugh, you felt the weight of your desires push against the constraints of propriety. Daemon was a tempest, and you found yourself swept away, caught in the storm of his passion.

As the revelry continued, Daemon suddenly stopped, pulling you aside into a quieter corner of the hall, illuminated only by flickering torches. “Do you trust me?” he asked, his tone serious yet tender.

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation, your heart racing at his intensity.

“Then let’s make a statement,” he said, determination glinting in his eyes. “We will not be ignored.”

Before you could fully grasp his intent, he pulled you closer, brushing his lips against your temple. “I want everyone to know that you are mine.”

With that, he stepped back into the fray, pulling you along with him as he raised your intertwined hands into the air. The crowd turned to watch, surprise etched on their faces. Daemon’s voice rang out above the music, filled with confidence. “Tonight, I declare my love for this woman! The sister of the future queen! And my dear and loving princess”

Gasps erupted, and your heart raced. The onlookers exchanged bewildered glances, whispers swirling like leaves caught in a windstorm. King Viserys’s face tightened, a mix of shock and anger flashing in his eyes.

“Daemon!” you hissed, panic bubbling up inside you. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure they understand,” he said, unabashed. “You deserve to be recognized.”

“Enough!” Viserys’s voice boomed, cutting through the chatter. He strode toward you, concern and frustration painted on his face. “What is the meaning of this?”

Daemon faced him, unwavering. “Your Grace, I love her. She deserves a place beside me, not hidden in the shadows.”

The tension between the three of you crackled in the air. You stood beside Daemon, caught between loyalty to your family and the wild love you felt for him. “This isn’t the time, Daemon,” you urged quietly, your heart pounding.

“I won’t let you cast her aside,” Daemon declared, his voice steady. “If you refuse to acknowledge our bond, then I will make it impossible for you to ignore.”

Viserys’s eyes narrowed, weighing the implications of Daemon’s words. “You cannot simply declare this,” he warned, the authority in his voice attempting to reassert control. “You risk everything—”

“Everything is already at stake,” Daemon interrupted, his gaze fierce. “I will fight for what is mine.”

With the crowd watching, a hush fell over the street, the tension palpable. You could see the realization dawning on Viserys’s face, the weight of the situation sinking in. This was not just a declaration; it was a challenge to the very order of their family.

“Are you willing to marry her, Daemon?” Viserys asked, his voice low and measured, as if he were trying to calculate the fallout.

“I am,” Daemon responded without hesitation. “If that is what it takes for her to be by my side, I will marry her before the sun rises.”

The crowd erupted in murmurs, shock and excitement mingling in the air. You felt your heart race at the implications of his words. This was a path laden with uncertainty, but the thought of being with Daemon ignited a fierce determination within you.

“Daemon, you can’t—” you began, but he turned to you, his eyes filled with a mix of affection and resolve.

“No more hiding, my love,” he said softly. “You are meant to be with me. We can face whatever comes together.”

The realization washed over you like a wave. This was not just about you and Daemon; it was about forging a new path, challenging the norms of your world, and embracing the love that had been kept hidden for far too long.

As the celebration continued around you, you felt a sense of exhilaration. You were part of something larger, a movement that could reshape the future of House Targaryen. The night felt charged with possibility, the air thick with unspoken dreams.

As the revelry persisted and the crowd began to dance once more, you leaned in closer to Daemon, your heart pounding. “Whatever happens, I am with you.”

“Always,” he promised, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “We will rewrite our story.”

With that vow echoing in your heart, you stepped back into the celebration, hand in hand with Daemon Targaryen, ready to face whatever challenges awaited you. Under the moonlit sky, surrounded by the energy of the city, you knew that together you would forge a new destiny—one filled with love, passion, and the courage to defy tradition.

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bl00dlight · 4 months ago

Text

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

Warnings - Family trouble, violence, father issues, general suffering, teenagers getting their ass beat by said individuals over 18, not proof read.

Author's note ● Essentially part two of the previous chapter, get ready for some major mischief next chapter.

Word Count ~ 5.4k+

Tags - @mamawiggers1980

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi ● vii● viii ● ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

ix - 'The Last Supper'

The supper had gone on in relative peace, a quiet contempt lingering in the background but mostly, it seemed the Blacks and Greens of House Targaryen stuck to their relative side when it came to conversation. A few passing crude comments from Aegon had won the glares of Visenya and her siblings, especially when they were targeted towards Jace and Baela’s betrothal, but a scattering of toasts, seemingly made in good will seemed to draw attention away from the brewing tension.

There were a few moments, Visenya might wonder if such contempt would erupt into something larger, however it seemed to be kept at bay by the King’s presence, most specifically after his speech which although seemed to harbour some kind of effect upon both the Queen and Rhaenyra – his words of familial love landed upon death ears of the younger members of House Targaryen. There was little love to rekindle, if there ever any to begin with – and the wounds that had been made had festered for so long that they had rotted into their very bones. There would be no reconciliation between the two Green Prince’s and the Black siblings. Of course, Princess Helaena being the odd one out in which no one seemed to have any bone to pick with her. It was that in which sparked Prince Jacaerys to offer the lonesome princess a dance. Most specifically after Helaena had made a toast, mentioning her brother-husband Aegon’s neglect.

Visenya had noticed the exchange between her two uncles as they watched their sister dance freely, with her brother. She’d never seen Heleana smile or laugh brightly; it was rather heartwarming in truth.

But such a scene had a dark shadow casted upon it, as Prince Aemond turned his body to face his sister, and Prince Jacaerys – his jaw hardened by the sight of one his half-sister's bastard spawn daring to make such a brazen gesture. However, Aemond’s glare would be brought to a halt, as in his illness, King Viserys grew weary, spawning all eyes to draw upon him as his wife, Alicent called for the old man to be taken back to bed to rest.

As Visenya gazed with a glimmer of sorrow within her eyes upon her withering Grandsire, she noticed the servants pass, holding what seemed to be but a rather large pig, stuffed with an apple in her mouth. The princess had always thought such a sight was particularly gruesome – even more gruesome than any bloodshed she had witnessed earlier that day.

It was a rather cruel gesture, to slaughter something then display it’s cooked corpse with little but an apple shoved into it's mouth. It hardly seemed appetising at all, it seemed brutal. She had supposed it was what she had liked so much about dragons, despite such chaos one could unleash, they were not brutal in the way men were. They do not require their meals be presented so prettily as to draw attention from the fact they had slayed a creature to feed. Death by dragonfire was quick, easy. No apple required.

Visenya’s thoughts were soon brought back to the supper as the small snicker of Lucerys was heard beside her. She followed his gaze as he looked upon the pig, then up to Aemond. One thought in her mind.

The Pink Dread.

The young prince Lucerys giggled again, and his eyes gleamed with mischief. He thought longingly to the prank he had pulled upon his uncle, it seemed after all these years he had forgotten the mischief that had been made in the name of poking fun at his uncle’s lack of a dragon in their youth.

Visenya’s face dropped for a moment, both in amusement and apprehension – as she noted the one eyed stare from across the table. Oh, he knew…

It was clear, Aemond was once again being mocked so subliminally – so underhandly that none else upon the table had noticed the smarmy flicker of Luke’s eyes, nor the raised brow of his harlot sister. The one-eyed Prince had grown rather adapt to people’s expressions, having become suspicious of them for most of his life from the troubles in his youth. The fact that the bastards before him have gotten away with so freely tormenting him, so openly maiming and disregarding him, made Aemond’s blood boil beyond the point of consolation. No, there would be no reassuring, he cannot just break bread and forgive the suffering he has endured. He would not stand for a bastard born of a whore Princess and her lesser House lover to continue to show him no respect. He would not dare to take the mocking of the boy who stole his eye, who was weak and craven. Born of lesser blood, lesser nobility – illegitimacy. Born of his mother’s constant whoring, and the lecherous men who indulged in it.

Nor would he tolerate the half-brained Targaryen bastard beside him snickering in Aemond’s wake either. Another product of the degeneracy of his Uncle Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra. Another abomination to the House Targaryen name. Regardless of how fare Visenya’s face or big her tits – it was all artifice to cover the rotting wench beneath. All sorcery to distract men from the fact she was conceived in a brothel by way of sin, then pawned off as another man’s child. Though, at least she was a bastard of royal blood. At least she had Prince Daemon as a father and not some brute of the Riverlands. That saved her in some regard from Aemond’s ire – but it was not necessarily for anything other than his own envy. Visenya, unlike her brothers was less craven, she had not bothered to pretend to settle any dust between them. Not played into any idea they were capable of making amends. And the only one who had ever bothered to show him some level of acknowledgement, once.

Though he had tried to keep it at bay, he did oft think of his niece in their youth, the time she had found him crying in the Dragonpits. How she did, to some degree attempt to console his humiliation. He had also remembered how she once defended him against Aegon’s torment, how he had not returned the favour – yet… she for some reason unbeknownst to him, went out of her way to punish Aegon.

As he glared across from Visenya, his gaze still hard and temper still soaring, Aemond found himself grow more angered by this. Angered because it had amounted to nothing, amounted to him being pushed back into the dirt by her. Betrayed.

He felt a swarming sense of disgust, he was but a boy and she tricked him. Made him feel the beginnings of kinship or trust. Bewitched him into believing she thought him anything more than pathetic and weak. It was all an elaborate jest, all another way to mock him.

But when it finally came down to it, when she could have proven herself not a traitorous slut, more devoted to her Strong bastard half-brothers, then a Prince born of her House… Visenya had turned away. She had looked away as her snickering little brother ripped Aemond’s very eye from its socket. Looked away when Aemond had coiled upon the ground in pain, blood pooling from his face and she protected the boy. She protected Luke knowing what he had done. Knowing that she could have stopped her foul siblings from beating and maiming Aemond. And for that reason, all traces of the seeds of kinship and affection were lost between them.

She could rise above her bastardy, become a great Targaryen as I, or as her father. But she indulges in her own depravity as they all do.

Aemond’s eye then narrowed upon Luke who still had a vile smile upon his young face, he noted how the boy had let out a harsh snicker as he noticed Aemond’s rising irritation. His mind went from wrathful to blackened.

The bastard mocks me, yet he thinks me the same boy who shall swallow his pride and conceal his temper. They all mock me, yet they think I shall turn the other cheek by virtue of breaking bread and kinship of blood… all know what they are, Strong bastards. They are not of my blood. They do not look like my blood nor behave like my blood. They are stains, lesser bred stains, who mock me to conceal the fact it is they who are outsiders, they who do not belong at a dragon’s table, nor their voices being heard by the realm. They are rats spoiling our line. They are the defect that spoils Targaryen blood. What irony they are 'Strong' when their legitimacy as royals is so weak.

Before Aemond could prevent himself, his temper had made his fist fly upon the table sending him to stand swiftly. He raised his goblet and then,

“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise...” His soft voice silencing all idle chatter, all music swiftly stopping and the dancing Helaena and Jacaerys, too, stopped in their tracks.

Aemond watched with satisfaction as the heads upon the table had turned, he relished in their wide eyes, their bated breath. “Hm..” His eye widened, like a shark upon smelling blood, his softened his voice further, “…Strong.”

Visenya took a breath out, at that word. He must think himself terribly clever. She was already exasperated by the scene before her, she couldn’t even be angry at this point for it was only a matter of time before the pretence would be done away with. She sat back, noting the way her little brother’s face had dropped. The princess let her hand fall to Luke’s wrist, as he placed his goblet down, preventing him from exacerbating the situation.

As a bitter silence fell over the table, Queen Alicent brought her hands to her face in concern, her tone low, warning, “Aemond.”

But all warnings were lost upon the prince, as he smiled with satisfaction, gazing at Jace before raising his goblet further, his tone mockingly jovial, “Come… let us drain our cups to these three…Strong boys.”

Below him, Prince Aegon joined his brother in the false toast, his goblet raised as he looked glibly upon Luke and Jace.

To which both dark haired prince’s found themselves beyond the point of anger, and Jace in his rashness found his fists clenched tightly, his voice a dignified bark, “I dare you to say that again.”

Aemond turned his head swiftly, “Why? ‘Twas only a compliment.” Slowly, he stalked towards his nephew, “Do you not think yourself Strong?”

Prince Jacaerys had found himself already moving towards his silver haired uncle, and before he could stop himself, the young prince had slammed his fist against Aemond’s face. Before Visenya had even noticed, Luke escaped her grip sauntering towards Prince Aegon who had gleefully joined the brawl.

Aegon grabbed Luke swiftly, forcing his head into the table, sending herself and her sisters to their feet. “Luke-” Visenya barked.

Her brow furrowed in anger as once again, as she went to charge at Aegon, but she was met with her father’s hand suddenly grabbing at her wrist.

She looked into Daemon's eyes, and the rage that brewed within her fell away as she eased. She could not indulge; she could not get involved once again in such disputes. Not after what had happened last time.

In the corner, Rhaena was forcing her sister Baela back, as the young Lady had watched as her betrothed, Jacaerys was forced to the ground by a snickering Aemond.

“That is enough!” Queen Alicent had shouted harshly at her son.

The one eyed Prince, whom had barely so much as winced after being punched, chuckled gleefully, as he turned away from his fallen nephew. He had pushed Jace with such ease, it was not worth much more of a fight to Aemond, for he would easily beat them, and he took little pleasure in an unworthy opponent. It was no challenge.

Before any could comprehend, the guards had seized the two dark haired princes, pulling them away as now, all members of the table had risen. Daemon had let go of Visenya as they flocked to the detained Lucerys and Jacaerys, who still in their anger struggled to accost their uncles once more.

As Visenya had finally reached her younger brothers, she suddenly gripped at the hand of one of the guards who being particularly rough with Jace, her tone fierce, “OFF!” The princess pulled his thick hand free from her brother, and she gripped his arm.

Jace’s brown eyes seemed red with a dire fury, she gripped his wrist harder her expression giving a fair warning to temper his nerve. Their mother was now at their side, holding her belly as she looked upon her children with a slight despair.

Visenya turned her head and noticed the auburn hair of Alicent whipping around the table as she swiftly pulled Prince Aemond close, reprimanding him slightly out of ear shot.

“Why would you say such a thing before these people?” Alicent’s eyes were wide and unsettled as she gazed upon the sharp, satisfied features of her son.

She had always known there was something particularly strange about Aemond, strange of how easily such impulse for inciting such disharmony came to him and how he seemed to be unable to resist all desire to act upon whatever rage dwelled within him.

The prince narrowed his eye upon his mother, her hand gripping at his wrist tightly. He crooned and spoke again, his tone incendiary, “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” Aemond tilted his head, ready to spark a greater fire, “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

With that he had ripped his hand straight from his mother’s grasp with ease, turning sharply as he approached his nephews and Visenya. His eye landing on Princess as she had gripped the arm of Luke too now, putting them both behind her.

Though it was little use, because Jace was far stronger than she and forced his way from her grasp, leading him to charge once more at Aemond as Lucerys had once again been held back.

The sudden sound of her father’s voice, made all come to a stop. “Wait! Wait…”

Daemon raised his finger, stepping in between Jace and Aemond. He gave Jace a look of warning as the dark haired boy slowly retreated and Princess Visenya now gripped Jace again forcing him further back.

“Go to your quarters. All of you go, now.” Rhaenyra spoke sternly, her eyes scanning the flock of young Targaryen’s before her. Visenya had felt Jacaerys force himself from her grip as her siblings moved away. Her eyes came to her mother and father who both gazed upon her and she felt a sudden disturbance fill her.

Visenya then shot a glare at Aemond, who stood with his shoulders peaked – his eye all but narrowing upon the Princess and she stepped forward. She couldn’t believe him, couldn’t believe the arrogance, the foolishness, she had almost wished she had let her brothers loose upon the cunt.

They both stood there for a moment, Prince Daemon separating the two as they glared with all the hatred in the world upon each other. The two knowing of what had transpired in the past, the truth of it, the failure of reconciliation and betrayal that went beyond just what their family’s knew of. The quiet moments between them in which were yes, strained but undoubtedly flickering sparks of trust or understanding. Visenya felt disgust coil upon her face as she looked into Aemond’s lonesome eye, thought it would be hard to say a sense of guilt didn’t follow such feelings.

A hard hand meeting her shoulder forced her from such thoughts, she looked up to meet Daemon’s eyes, her fathers’ eyes and her head bowed slightly as she backed away.

Aemond tilted his own as he watched the princess concede to her father, he almost wanted to laugh, to shout in righteousness. To see her narrowed eyes weaken before Daemon, stirred Prince Aemond in a manner which he didn’t quite understand. He had only ever seen such utter surrender of Visenya to her father, and that was what pleased him the most… she had to pretend such surrender was merely respect of her mother’s husband. She had to restrain the urge to behave as a daughter would to her father, to concede and resist revolting against him. His eye followed Visenya as she walked after her siblings.

The one eyed prince soon found his body stiffening as felt his uncle turning to face him, a small almost glib sigh leaving Daemon’s mouth. An odd tension brewed, a strange comradery he thought. Aemond felt himself buzz, itching to indulge in more of his anger, to show them exactly what he was capable of. What he was so eager to do so and when he looked into the eyes of his uncle, he could’ve sworn he saw the same in Daemon, a match, an equalised opponent. It took the Rogue Prince having to step in to stop me from beating those bastards to a pulp. It took Daemon himself to recognise that I was just a greater threat as any.

Visenya had paused for a moment as she walked, briefly glancing at the interaction of between her father and uncle. The odd tension that brewed thickly between them, her gaze lingered upon Daemon and as she turned away. She recognised the look her father had given Aemond. One of amusement, just as he had given her countless times. That gleam of condescension driven by superiority. As if he were watching a child attempt to yield of sword… a pitiful endearment.

●

The princess hadn’t bothered to wait for her mother or father, she simply returned to her chamber swiftly. Slamming the doors as she soon found herself laying upon her bed and shutting her eyes.

Less than an hour had gone by before the creek of her chamber door filled her room, she sighed, it was likely her mother ready and willing to wag her finger. Visenya muttered, “How come no matter what transpires I am always the one to be lectured, mother?”

“It’s me, sister.” A small voice mumbled.

Visenya sat up and turned her head, her gaze softening at the sight of familiar dark eyes and shaggy black hair.

Lucerys.

The princess tilted her head and waved him over, to which he slowly approached her, sitting upon her bed. As she laid back down, neither of the siblings said anything, she merely watched as Luke hung his head low and sulked.

Visenya sighed and then, tapped his back with her boot, forcing him to turn his head.

“Come.” She said expectantly, rolling her eyes. She sat up, gesturing for him to come lay beside her.

He let out a small breath and mumbled, “I am nearly a man grown. I ought not be coddled.” Luke pouted.

Visenya scoffed, and raised her brow, “So why have you come?”

Then, a small but obvious moment passed between the two siblings, Luke looked down and sighed. She was right, why else would he have come? He was weak, he was not like his elder brother who brimmed with such confidence and self-assurance. Try as Lucerys might, he couldn’t suppress his anguish, his anxiety. He knew he must now, he was to be married to Baela, would then be a father soon after and then named Lord of Driftmark. How could he dare assume such roles if he still needed to be assured his world was not crumbling before him? That he was deserving of his titles and of his position as a man? His mother and sister would not be there forever, and he knew no wife would surely tolerate a weak husband. Especially not a woman as fierce and formidable as Rhaena. She deserved a man who would be the one to soothe her woes, to ease her worries.

Though mayhap, tonight was not the night to try and call upon that man he wished be.

Visenya slowly made her way to the end of the bed, sitting beside him. She gazed upon her young brother, noting the flickering uncertainty within his eyes. She couldn’t help but feel her eyes soften upon him, suddenly struck with how young he was, how he still looked like a boy straining desperately to be a man. Her hand came to his head and gently, she brought him to her shoulder, noticing the bruise upon his forehead from where Aegon had attacked him. Her fingers gently grazing it making him wince.

"You must see a maester." Visenya said, her gaze flickering upon the discolored skin.

Lucerys shook his head, and a moment of silence settled between them before finally, he gained the courage to speak, “I keep making this worse for mother.” He whispered.

She sighed, bringing him closer as she rested her chin about his scalp, “It was no fault of yours, brother.” The princess spoke softly as her fingers grazed his hair.

“Yes it was. I laughed at him, didn’t I? I thought myself clever when I should have looked the other way. I caused trouble and now… now I whine like a babe about it.” Luke suddenly pulled his head from her shoulder, stifling down tears of both sorrow and wrath. “A man takes accountability. A boy cower in his sister’s arms.” His voice firm.

The princess gazed upon the side of Luke’s face, scanning his boyish features. She raised an eyebrow and suddenly a laugh escaped her.

The young prince turned his head in shock, his voice stuttering, “Do… do not laugh.”

Visenya continued regardless, she rolled her eyes and leaned back upon her elbow, forcing Luke to turn his head.

“Brother I laugh because you are boy. I laugh because I cannot tell you how many times I have watched our brother, or my father… or even our un-” She stopped herself, “Even other boys, do the same as you are now. Fighting themselves so foolishly over what is a condition of having a heart, not the weakness of a man.” Visenya rose to sit up once more, taking his hand.

“You took accountability just before, no?” She beckoned.

Luke nodded.

“Well then, you have done what a man would do... recognise you made an error at laughing at our uncle, who himself, made an even greater error by throwing a most bitter tantrum! Precisely after our Grandsire was not there to witness such a thing.” Her voice firm as she ranted.

Lucerys raised his brow as he took in her words, his mind churning, “Yet I doubt Aemond is scuttling off into the arms of his sister.”

“No, he likely to craven to even admit such weakness to his own kin, but one never knows what other methods of comfort he seeks. My point is that it is he who acts more boyishly then you. Aemond who relishes in such causing scenes! Yes you laughed, so bloody what? You are the one who is truly but a boy still. Aemond is but a man grown, he ought have a stronger spine.” The princess lowered her tone, shaking her head as she scoffed with contempt.

As Prince Lucerys looked upon his sister, he felt tears beckon in his eyes his heart aching as he realised how terribly he wished to be long gone from this place, how he wished things could be as they were in their youth at Dragonstone. Yet a sense of doom befell him, that things had changed now.

Slowly his head came back to her shoulder, and Visenya could do nothing but look upon her younger brother with an affection like no other. She brought her hand up to his hair, stroking it and she felt droplets of tears fall upon the fabric of her gown.

“I shall never be like you… or Jace… or even mother. I shall always be afraid.” He whispered.

“Sweet brother. We are all afraid. Fear does not make you weak...and it took me many years to see that neither does the revelation of vulnerability.” Visenya’s voice dropped to a soft, cooing tone. Her hand still gliding upon the mop of his black curls.

Luke shook his head, protesting her words. His voice strained, “You are not vulnerable as I am.”

“Yes… I am. I am, Lucerys... but I feel I must stay strong. I cannot falter as I once did, not when mother depends on me so. Not when you and Jace… and, and Joffrey are in such danger. I did not understand it when I was young, did not see how everything I did reinforced the slander against mother and therefore put you three in greater danger. You are not weak for leaning upon me, it was I who was weak because I resisted being leaned upon.” The princess looked out upon the soft glow of the candles which flickered. She felt her gaze and voice become low. A whirlwind of regret and emotions pooling through her.

“But I must be strong too.” He muttered.

“You are.” She whispered back, the moment paused, which led to the both of them realising what was said, and they let out small snickers. It was nice, to acknowledge the truth.

Luke raised his head, his face turned to his elder sister. In this moment he found his gaze weakening, he needed her strength, he needed her honesty, “Ser Leanor is not my father, is he?”

A soft breath left the princess, her mind was in no state of conflict as she spoke. Her eyes still looking out, “No brother. Nor is he mine.”

And there it was, the clear truth. She had had this moment with Jace once before, and now she would have it with Luke. Slowly, Visenya turned her head, gazing into his simpering eyes, her hand coming to his cheek, “Then at least… now I know that I can be brave. For Ser Harwin was. He cared for Jace and Joffrey… and me. Protected us, even though it put him in danger.” The young prince’s voice beaming with reverence.

Visenya pouted softly and nodded. She felt her eyes weaken and tears beckon as she slowly pulled his head to her heart. Luke’s arms wrapped around his elder sister, and in that moment he realised how much like their mother she truly was. How much he was willing to give to prove himself worthy of his name.

The princess gazed out longingly, tears falling but she did not acknowledge them. She felt a slight pang of jealously but also gratitude. For Ser Harwin despite the world being against him, did not abandon his boys, did everything he could to protect them and see to his mother. She even remembered how he would treat Visenya like his own and would call her fierce like Rhaenyra. She remembered the man who harboured dark curls like her brothers, his sweet kind words and fatherly affection.

As the princess spoke, she found her voice failing her, “You are lucky, brother. To have had such a father… and even luckier to inherit such a good heart. He was but a good man… and I have little doubt you shall be too.”

Luke looked up and furrowed his brow, “You have a good heart too sister.”

“If I have been gifted any goodness… it comes from mother. I feel, as I grow older… more estranged from Daemon. More attune to his ways.” Visenya crumbled, her heart sinking as her voice was no more than a whisper.

“His ways?” The prince asked.

Visenya's gaze drew distant as she muttered, “Coming and going…”

“He married mother. Does that not prove you and her are where his heart truly lies? If as you say… all of us have vulnerability, would you not be one of them?” Lucerys scrunched his nose, contemplating his own words. Even he were not too sure if they were accurate, for it was true Prince Daemon was indeed, an enigma.

“He is impossible to understand. He was not like Ser Harwin, he abandoned me...would barely acknowledge me in public. There was never a moment when he would dare guide or teach me before the eyes of others. Everything was done in the shadows; everything was done where none could see, and it was so rarely he might as well have been just an uncle. Most of the brief moments we shared were him reprimanding me for being a strain upon my mother, and then he would leave again, barely reaching out. Setting out to Pentos to spend the rest of his days when he had little reason not to come to Dragonstone. There were times when... when I could see it in his eyes, that I was something he regrets.” She found herself simpering, looking down. In that moment she felt like a girl again and all she could do was lean in to such heartache.

“Perhaps not. Perhaps he just… kept away because… because he could not risk what may happen to you if he didn’t. Though, I am grateful for Ser Harwin’s affection… it made things all the worse did it not? Many people still think you to be Ser Leanor’s.” Luke mumbled, a quiet wisdom falling unknowingly from him.

Visenya shook her head, bringing her hand to her face as she spoke, “Yes but that is because I-” Her eyes suddenly met Luke’s and they both knew what she was to say. She appears Valyrian.

Lucerys nodded and another quiet moment passed before he found his way into her arms. The two siblings finding a sense of understanding and comfort, just as she did with Jacaerys all those years ago. Mayhap one day even she will have to do the same with Joffrey.

There was then, a small exchange of fumbling and bickering that echoed outside her door, Luke pulled away and raised his brow,

“Just go inside!” One rang.

“What if she with a suitor? I heard another?” A softer responded.

The first scoffed, “Too bloody bad, Luke is missing, and we must leave.”

“Jace!” A third winced.

The sudden opening of her chamber door meant for Visenya to shake her head.

“Sister… I shall give you a moment to, ready yourself… and also any other who may be present.” The awkward voice of Jacaerys bellowed.

“You’ll have to give them all a moment brother.” The princess mocked, waiting for the foolishness to end.

His eyes widened suddenly, and face coiled in horror as he awaited what he thought would be a flock of men, “Them all? How.. how many- “

“Jacaerys just come in!” She snapped slightly, winning a snicker from Luke.

As Jace made his way in, he approached the corner where her bed was. Cautiously his eyes readying to shut before he found himself grimacing in embarrassment as he saw the likes of his two siblings. The prince scoffed and gestured to his younger brother, “Why would you not say you were with him?”

Visenya raised her brow, giving him a “Why would you not knock if you thought me apprehended?” A small laugh escaping her as she watched Jace’s face turn over itself, he raised his brow and nodded.

Soon, the shutting of her door warranted the arrival of Baela and Rhaena.

Baela having huffed and gently nudged at Jace, “Sorry, sister.” She said softly, tilting her head and giving a gentle look to her elder upon the bed. Visenya returned the gesture. “We were merely worried because, Luke had disappeared, and we weren’t so certain if he were with you or…” Baela trailed off.

“Why were you looking for me?” Lucerys turned his head.

Jace stepped forward, “Mother says we are to leave tonight.”

“Tonight…why? When?” Visenya raised her brow.

“After what happened at supper she thinks it best we return to Dragonstone. They are preparing a ship still; we have some time but.. you best be ready.”

The eldest Targaryen shook her head, her voice beaming with frustration “But I came on dragonback?”

“Oh… yes I think Rhaenyra mentioned something of the sorts of having Silverwing readied.” Baela assured.

Visenya rose to her feet, straightening her gown as she collected her trunk, “Hm. Very well, I shall… be ready then. How much time is left?”

“Mayhap… an hour or two?” Rhaena shrugged, “Rhaenyra had just said for us to be ready to leave as hastily as possible, so…” The youngest girl continued.

Visenya nodded, and began to collect her things upon the vanity, swiftly bringing them into her trunk. As she did so, Lucerys had joined his brother as they bid each other farewell.

However, there was but one thing on the mind of the Princess as she hastily shoved her things into her trunk: Blood of Old.

○x○

#hotd #aemond targaryen #targaryen #house of the dragon #got #aemond one eye #daemon targaryen #rhaneyra targaryen #daenerys targaryen #helaemond #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x niece #dark!aemond targaryen x oc #dark! aemond targaryen #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen

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its-actually-minicika · 2 years ago

Text

Dragon Sickness

Part 2;

Pairing: Bookcanon!Aemond x Strong!Niece!Reader;

Warnings: No usage of Y/N, bookcanon Greens, potential spoilers for Fire&Blood (but not really), dubious consent, allusions to sex, to male masturbation and oral from Aemond (female receiving - he just wants to tickle your pickle with his fingers and mouth but yk), slight angst, minor and major character death, vague descriptions of death by asphyxiation;

For the sake of keeping characters as close to canon as I can, the eye that Aemond lost was his right, not his left!

Word Count: 7k+;

Author's Note: Repost because yeah...

Reblogs would be really appreciated, since I believe I was shadowbanned :") ♡

Sorry for taking so long with getting this next part out ♡ I wanted to make sure it's perfect (or as close to perfect as I can get it), because the last thing I desire is to post something I'm not proud of/I wouldn't personally read :")

This gif was made by the love of my life and the moon to my sun - @aemondx here on Tumbr ♡ if you aren't already following her, definitely follow her right now now. I'll wait. The story will wait. She is absolutely amazing, and the sweetest person ever.

I also dedicate this chapter to my literal soulmate @diamantesprincess , who beta-read this whole shit-storm for me, and supported my insane antics ♡

Young girls dream about their wedding day. And women prepare themselves for the humiliation bestowed upon them by the raptures of the night.

Her cheeks flushed with the expectancy that was thrown before her – the avid sting that prickled her skin, flooded her veins and broke her soul. She could feel her smooth-green gown stick to her contorted form. The horrid fires of lashing out already licking at the corners of her downturned mouth.

The Velaryon thus swallowed thickly, whilst flickering her eyes by nigh to each corner of the squaring table. She needn’t glance into the silver plating to ensure what she had known, simply owed to the salacious heat that downed her heart in poisoned terror. How vexing it had been for her to hear the former Queen about – darting to her wedding night, hinting at her lack of purity. How terribly uncertain she’d felt, when Aemond all but abandoned her on that rueful and exerting night.

She’d searched feverishly for his company, trying to converse with him, to allude him to take interest, to inspire him to like her. But her attempts were answered with indifference, with clumsy lines of conversations, which never led her far in musings.

“– Even so, I trust that you understand your duty.”

She couldn’t have been quiet for long. For she felt how her mouth lulled opened, if only to blurt out a passive admission to Alicent’s extended words. Still she felt the decades pass, turning her old, and mean, and cold, as an ample flood of pain engulfed her sparring and incisive heart. The Queen Dowager sighed, either by lack of blitheness or by wry exhaustion, and merely shook her head at the sight of the conflicted bastard.

She supposed she should be grateful – for a private bedding brought across no prying eyes upon her form, upon her skin and womanhood; upon the shame she would soon feel, to spread her legs for the Qybor who slayed her kin. But a private bedding meant she'd have to be alone with him. A private bedding was unsafe, for it meant her maiden blood wouldn't have to be the one staining their rivetting sheets. And Aemond had killed men before, his flesh and blood, innocent spawn – so was there anything that would ensure he wouldn't cut her very throat?

A silent tear obscured her view, and one of Helaena’s beetles boldly flew nearby her plate.

Satin green and oryx white, silky blue and striking violet.

To be born a female was a wright cursed account.

Upon her birth, she belonged to her father. And when he died, she fitted Daemon. She suited to her brother, Jace, to the whims of the New Seven, and very soon to those of Aemond.

When she was young, her Septa was the one to tell her the story of her feeble birth – how she was good and quaint and quiet, how she had not ensued hard labour. How her mother cried when she saw her small and portly face. And how she sighed with half restraint at the notion of her naked sex.

To be born the cursed sex stripped one of their whole autonomy.

Benevolence was to be found within the weakness of a poor female.

‘The girls are easier than the boys,’ The woman nodded as she spoke, ‘They're less rowdy and quick to anger. Easier to marry, too.’

To be born a female meant a deconstructive marriage. Simply something that must happen, not a matter of debate.

To be born a female meant fantasizing about that marriage. Salaciously filling your head with hopeful dreams of charming knights, or handsome princes and comely lords.

To be born a female was underestimated work. Work put up by sons and fathers, whose sole purpose of providing to the girl they had to care for was to find her a good husband.

A future to be predecided, set in stone and judged throughout – all in valour of a missing cock, and a lack of tiny stones.

When Rhaenyra married Daemon, she was happy for her loving mother.

‘I want to be just as beautiful on my wedding day!’ Her voice chirped through the halls of Dragonstone, whilst rotating about the room, chased by an ongoing Jace, ‘We’ll have a pigeon cake the size of a young hatchling, and a venue bigger than that made of the smallfolk of King’s Landing!’

‘Maybe one that smells better, though,’ Jace snickered inside her ear, earning a brisk tickle from his younger sister, ‘But you’re right, my darling sister, it’s better to stay realistic!’

A loud fit of giggles erupted from the waiting children. Rhaenyra only glanced at Daemon, who in turn shook his head, bemused by her swallowing visions.

‘Whatever prompts you to even believe your mother and I will allow such a thing?’ The Rogue Prince graced her with a trumping smirk, as the girl’s face fell to a slouch.

‘I’ll have to get married one day!’ She rebutted her stepfather, ‘With a strong knight in shining armour, or a chivalrous Lord from an important House!’

‘I would be very careful with what I want,’ He mimicked a serious and grieving tone, ‘So far you could only marry Tyland Lannister or Kermit Tully!’

‘There will be yet some time before that happens, sweet girl.’ Rhaenyra grinned at her daughter’s eagerness, pushing down the rotten feeling that gnawed beneath her bludgeon gown. She placed her hand atop her cheek and gingerly grazed the youth’s plumpness with a soft, motherly touch. ‘A couple of years from now on, at best!’ She hummed into her tender caress and opened her mouth to speak again, 'till Jacaerys’ mellow voice cut the base of her new words.

Her eyes widened to the size of two round plates, and the young Velaryon merely scrunched her nose up in dissatisfaction. ‘Kermit wouldn’t be that bad…’ She tried to reason with herself, ‘And his sister, Celia, is very nice! We would get along quite well.’

‘Of course, of course –’ Jace nodded in understanding, before throwing Luke a mischievous look, ‘Or you could always marry Aemond – he’d be quite a match, you know!”

Silence ensued for a while, until all three children broke down in their hysteric fits of laughter.

‘Oh, Gods be good…!’ She murmured lowly, shock and aversion evident on her once impatient face.

She’d found herself someone who loved her, someone whom she could amply trust. A man that’d be reliant for her, in her times of greatest fraught.

When the War of Ravens first ensued, it was he and her small brothers who went to deliver envoys. When Luke died, it was he who mended and arranged the curdling scheme of Blood and Cheese. And when Aemond took a hold of Harrenhal, cruelly burning at their allies’ lands… it was he who gave his life in an attempt to free their folk.

“Gods be good…!” Her voice strained through the musings of her handmaiden, so preoccupied with lacing up her constricting and excessive corset. “Could you go in any tighter?” Her snapping question deterred the young girl to remove her calloused hands from the fine silks that engulfed her. All of the other women who tended to her hair and eyes took a backwards convoluted step and, as if whipped across the face and wholly burnt by dragon fire, they froze up in minute poses – all of them gripping their hands, and looking down in taught submission.

Breathless and submerged in bashness, her reddened lips pressed to a line, as her gaze followed their in suit, falling on the stone below her.

“I’m sorry,” She began with a taut pitch, while expelling one of her brisk and tantalising breaths, “I didn’t mean to shout at you. That was below any level of discretion.”

"W-Would you like us to continue, Your Grace?" One of the older-looking wenches dared to ask the fair Velaryon.

No, she ached to bring herself to say, I'd stay like this, still half-undressed. Unpresentable for him to take.

"Of course," Her meek voice echoed in reply, "You must make haste to get me ready. The wedding is in but an hour."

Tens of dozen of pairs of hands flooded her every sensation with their ceaseless and insistent prodding. The softest of the cluster played with the slicked ends of her charcoal hair, adorning it with a myriad of pins and jewels, grazing her scalp with heavy and relenting hairstyles. Now there was prudence in her tying corset – as if she were a rabid beast who’d sink her claws into their necks, if only she’d feel indisposed by their way of picked-up working.

For the first time since her ladies swarmed into her darkened chamber, the girl’s leer settled on the gown before her. She took in a quick breath through the margins of her teeth, whilst feeling her stomach wail and churn with an unkept overzeal.

Her dress was of a deep set black, which seemed more fitting for a funeral than for a joyous feast precarred soon after by a most imposing wedding. Yet upon a closer look, the brims which laced its puffy bottoms smiled to her in rueful red.

Surprise etched upon her face, and the coy women must have noticed, for they all stopped forthwith again. She brought a hand to the light fabric, and grazed it slowly with her fingers.

She almost hummed in chasmal worry, before fixating her eyes away.

“Apologies, but who told you to bring this dress?” Her voice reverberated with a faint but levelled question, and a retort came back her way.

“The Prince Aemond, Your Grace,” What she assumed was a slight seamstress replied for the whole gathering, “He requested that his vest should also bear your House’s symbols.”

Surprise merged with upheld amusement, until her judgement simmered down to a least lenient of views – since the Blacks were there no more, what point was there for an exorbant gown with any shades of ghastly Green?

No matter his good-hearted message, Aemond hadn’t done it for her. Just like Alicent hadn’t proposed a marriage with her son for her clemented and invested sake.

There was no more point for her to wear his sickly green. There was no reason for the usurpers to display their endless rows of utter power.

Her family was dead. All she knew had gone with them – swallowed wholly by the sea, or by Sunfyre, by Vhagar.

“I see,” Her vocal cords strained with her roughened and perturbed reply, “It’s very beautiful,” She whispered not a heartbeat later, as she turned to the appraised seamstress, “Thank you. You must have worked very hard.”

As everyone resumed their tasks, a trailing truth pierced through her heart – she now had no family left to lead her to the Greater Sept.

His collar fell too tight on him.

He noticed late, as she approached him.

He swallowed thickly once before her, as his burnt brother gripped her hand.

Her softened smile lit up her face, though the disgust within her eyes unveiled her sickly mild facade. A rattled thought surged through his chest, mending with akin distraught. He knew full well she didn’t love him, but at the least, he’d have to try. The subtlety of her rejection stabbed right through his nervous gut, but still the Prince looked down upon her, gracing her with a half-smile.

The ease with which she then returned it relieved the throbbing underneath his leather patch, and as she mouthed him her timid greeting, the man bowed deeply in reply.

“You may now cloak the bride, and bring her under your protection.” The Septon’s voice instructed deeply, snapping both out of their trance.

His calloused fingers unclasped the belts from his broad and heaving shoulders – the cape fell heavily into his hands, yet Aemond still approached his Lady, and placed the Targaryen embroidered mantle atop her tense and fragile shoulders.

Brown eyes clashed with an unnerving lilac – both bride and groom sucked in a breath, and yet refused to look away.

The silence of the Sept was deadly, and as Aemond closed his eye, allowing his relentless thoughts to slip into a hurried prayer, he swore that every witness to their union would hear the keen beats of his heart.

The High Septon clasped his wrinkled hands together, drawing a faint and muffled noise which reverberated through the clearing – signalling to the lost children to place their hands into the other’s.

His Lady was the first to reach him. Shyly she grazed his palm with the smooth padding of her index finger, flattering an anxious probe which distilled his wilted heart, and brought heat into his cheeks.

Her small diversion urged him to press back into her – with a doubting and reserved caress made with his thicker middle finger.

The man bit into his inner cheek, as he aligned his palm to hers, and waited patiently for the Septon to bind their hands with the white linen.

“In sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity.”

Her thumb gently caressed his own in an attempt to soothe his breaths. Though her smile had broadened yet, her eyebrows twisted to a brazen furrow. The old man hummed with unturned patience, and he nodded at their leisured and unhurried movements.

“Look upon each other and say the words.”

His chest tightened with unruly pride, as her cheeks flushed with a deep colour, which grew to match the lacings of her fitted cobbler – both took a moment to compose themselves, before Aemond’s voice filled the room with the silk-smooth baritone of his levelled and protruding tone.

“Father, Smith, Warrior,” His lone orb swirled with both uncertainty and desire, as her own voice ushered him suit, “Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.”

Her chest heaved with a weighty exhale, and her pushed bosom shifted in her dainty dress. Abashed by his sexual intrusion, Aemond focused his left eye on the shape of her inviting lips.

Though they said the words in unison, only her better half beset his ears, “I am his, and he is mine.”

“From this day, until the end of my days,” The Targaryen hushed in return.

Thousand of cheers erupted in the Great Sept, and Aegon even whistled lowly, but nought of the crowd’s boastful words engrained themselves into his mind.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love.”

His mouth pressed hungrily against her own, with a force and desperation that dispersed her every hope for a chaste, intimate peck. The shape of his lips moulded against her with an ease that left her wanting – wanting for it to end, for him to stop, for him to keep going.

His scent invaded her diluted senses, and flashes of her brothers’ faces danced across her hazy view. And just as Aemond was about to deepen and take his uncouth ministrations further, the greying Septon interjected with a subtle but alluding cough.

Despite the fact that he refused to speak to her since the incursive night of their engagement, the palpable need and excitement that seemingly had gathered in him burst for all high lords and petty maidens to see. Coveting whispers reached the girl’s reddened ears – each muttered truth more beguiling than the last.

‘A Kinslayer and a bastard… what an ill match for the grandeur of the Great Sept.’

With her mouth slightly agape and her breath still somewhat staggered, the former Velaryon avoided his stare, with an adamant and willful steer.

Her own eyes began to water. And the aching sadness that curled into her vrying soul muted out any reminder of the crowd’s elated boasts.

What had happened was now irreversible; and the Greens would host a banquet in honour of the newlyweds. Goblets would drown her violent sorrows, food would fill them like fattened-up pigs for cutting.

Aemond would breach her with his cock if he felt disposed to do it. Then he might smother her face, or cut her throat with the same dagger that he used on her late brother.

For why else would he deny a prim and proper bedding ceremony?

Though her eyes still looked at him, and a smile still spurred her lips, the girl swallowed down a prayer.

Perhaps he had grown to like her. She’d been good to him in those past weeks.

The High Septon yelled over the cheering crowd, cutting down each thought that breached through her weary and misguided mind.

“Let it be known that they are now one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder!”

Then cursed be she, in the light of the Seven.

The dizzying nature of the fifth waltz of the night left everyone in the Great Hall drained and panting – fully taken by the mistifying anticipation caused by the encapsulating ardour of Prince Aemond’s wedding reception. Roaring applauses erupted from the few women seated at the high tables – Aegon’s eyes followed the wanton skirts of the lowborn maidens, and even Helaena disregarded her fattened caterpillar to grace the crowd with her absent-minded stare.

At the centre of the King’s table stood the Court’s styled “star-crossed lovers”, each seemingly preoccupied with avoiding any further dancing at any and all occuring costs.

The girl’s fingers traced over the rim of the wine goblet, glancing from time to time at her newly acquired husband, who seemed hammered in his seat and not at all wanting for chatter. The dim lighting of the candled room sprawled its shadows all across his tired features, which loomed all the more sharp and perusing with each notion of a passing hour. His lack of joyful disposition was clear and evident for all to see – for even his contented mother had chastised him under her breath.

Alas, any notion of stability had at large been long repressed, and not even her able chirping managed to pry at her son’s attention.

As her eyes trailed lower yet, over the arch of his broad chest, and the poignant veins of his clenched fist, the Targaryen gasped at the obvious arousal restrained in his black leather pants. Her face turned promptly to the side, before anyone’s conviction should follow her indiscreet trail.

Another smile graced her red lips, as a very drunkened Lord tripped across her narrow view. He approached her with bemusing boldness, borne out of believed renown, and introduced himself as Quince Webber: a lower lord within the Reach, ‘right across the Arbour seat’. His puffy face was basked in red, an indication of his mind’s plied state – and as he blabbered on his woven lapses on what wedded life should be, the Lady bowed her head with grace, thus managing to stop his spiel.

He slurred over his predicted wordings in a heavy and relentless breath, but still managed to congratulate the twain for their well-thought-out alliance.

“Thank you, my Lord, I am indeed very lucky.” Her cheeks hurt from all the smiling, but still she forced herself to laugh, “Aemond has been very kind to me.” She turned to face his stare, abashed, and allowed her hand to touch him. The charcoal leather of his broidered vest burnt her at the faintest touch, and the girl had to stifle a gasp at the arid heat which charred her palm.

“He has, he has!” The lord of Coldmoat agreed well-pleased. A wolfish grin spread across his droopy face, pulling both his plump cheeks higher. An impish laugh beleft his lips, as he took a swing of liquor from a nearby empty glass.

The corner of her smiling eye darted back to that of Aemond, who merely glanced through the drunk lord with a horriedly vexated look.

“Although,” He teased them with a slurred hic, “I can’t say he’ll be nice to you when the bedding ceremony will ensue!”

Wholeheartedly amused at his inappropriate and shrivelled joke, the old man began to laugh, much to Aemond’s disarray.

His fists came into contact with the sprawled-out wooden table, shaking every cutlery which remained scattered across it. The lively whispering of the Great Hall ceased with his vicious display, and even his contented brother jerked his shoulders in dismay.

“Aemond,” Alicent spat out his name, as her face turned cold and wary. “Perhaps it’s time you two retire.”

A restless snarl etched from his throat, and he looked ready to pounce – were it not for the soft hand that touched him, and the sanity utter of her voice, which managed to somewhat reground him, and contort poor Webber’s choice.

But as cruel fate would weave and have it, another end would spend their night.

“Aemond,” His Lady tried to coax him in, “Let’s listen to your mother… please?” Her fevered eyes adamantly searched for his, until a strange yearning and passion registered on his reluctant face. His hand gripped hers in pure devotion, and his large thumb ran over her flaring knuckles, as she'd done so many times before for him.

The lord’s lost face painted over with uncouth excitement, and he turned his back around, almost hitting Daeron’s face.

“It’s time for the bedding ceremony!” He announced the crowd quite loudly, and tens of voices of plastered men rose with every passing second. Some of them swarmed close to the couple, some tried to pick the girl from her leering resting place. Most barely launched up their feet, struggling to uphold their balance.

“There will be no bedding ceremony tonight.” Aemond’s dark and frigid voice thundered through the cluttered hall. Women sighed in great relief, while the men and boys began to bicker.

“It’s tradition!”

“I’ve been told specifically that it would take place.”

“Such stupidity!”

“I bet Renly six gold dragons that –”

“The King long announced there would be none.” Otto’s otherwise calm voice resounded with a harshened tone.

“Has he now?” A slurring lord took three wide steps in the direction of the pressured lady. Her whole face morphed into preleened discomfort, as she placed both her hands upfront. “Oh, don’t you even think about it…!” She warned him with a throaty hiss, but before his hand could graze her, Aemond grabbed his arching fists.

When his nervous gaze settled on his face, he smiled.

The lord clawed at his darkened neck, for Aemond forced him in a kneeling stance, and wrapped his hands around his throat. The timber in his chilling voice rained affront with his obduring malice, sending a shiver down the bent spines of the mere on-watchers, “You wish to gaze upon my wife tonight, Lord Ashford?” The callous ends of his slim digits dug into his purple skin, “You want to see her naked form, and compare her dripping sex to your own wife’s loosened cunny?”

The older man opened his mouth – but the pressure on his wielded neck impedimented his speaking manner and, much like a fish that’d been hoisted out of water, he could barely form a word.

“N…No-n-no – I’m s-s-”

“You’re sorry?” His eyebrows rose in feigned surprise. His wails of anguish pierced his heart – and yet his grip didn't uncurl. “You’re sorry now, are you?”

“Aemond, that is enough!” Alicent’s chastising shouts failed to break his unsound trance. Among the mistifying flock of ladies, the Velaryon stood high, but frozen. Her parlous specks of deep brown eyes bore into the shocking scene, as her own transfigured hand prodded at her covered neck.

"You've heard, perhaps, what happened with little Luke Strong, the bastard.” Her own eyes widened at his cruel retorts, and her deft fist grabbed at her skirts. Despite it being aimed to scare the stupid and unbashful lord, Aemond’s dicey did nought else but expose her to the whole crowd whole.

The heated blade of loss and ire impaled her through her aching chest, cutting both her breath and temper and deterring her to simply shake.

“– I'll gouge your eyes out and present them as a wedding gift to my wife."

Little Luke. Jace. Rhaenyra. Daemon.

Joff. Rhaenys. Corlys. Allyn.

Baela. Rhaena. Viserys. Aegon.

“I-I’m b– begging you–”

Little Luke. Jace. Rhaenyra. Daemon –

“Then beg. Beg my wife for her forgiveness.”

Joff. Rhaenys. Corlys. Allyn –

“My L– My Lady, p-please…!”

Baela. Rhaena. Viserys. Aegon.

Mother, mother, mother, mother –

“Please, Aemond, stop! Just stop!” Her own voice screeched into the balling clearing, as the sound of breaking bones and the smell of copper blood menged right through her very veins. “Stop. It’s enough. It’s alright. I’m alright. Please–”

Her panicked breathing flooded her ears. Her lack of presence drowned her in.

Her husband threw her an affrighted look, as he instantly let go of the man’s entwisted neck.

He crawled closer to his own wife’s feet. His piqued-up breathing staggered for a brief momentum.

For two or three seconds they waited.

And then quietness enwrapped the Realm.

Her honeyed voice had reached his ears.

"We're man and wife now, you and I.” She began with a faint murmur, and a small smile on her lips, “We must start talking to each other. Eventually, I mean."

She spoke to him in utter earnest, despite her voice’s nervous edge.

Alas he must not have replied to her, for her body shifted in her narrow seat, ducking away from him in recluded and uptight tension. “I’d like there to be no secrets between us – I’d like for us to tell each other whatever happens to be on our mind.”

The alluring scent of her dark hair, the creamy skin of her bare shoulders…

His breathing turned close to erratic, as he morphed his hands to fists. But two waltzes he had danced with her, before he felt his breeches tighten, bringing forth his quaint undoing.

He would have stayed in bitter silence, focused on the passing hours – were it not for the unlucky words that the brittle lord had uttered.

Oh, and how she looked into his eye; full of shock and brittle terror.

She must have been scared of him. For she was shaking like a leaf.

The walk to their marital chamber loomed with ever-pressing silence.

If only he could read her thoughts – then he might just mend his error.

“I rather liked the pigeon pie.” Her voice came out as weak and gruff, “Though it was far too big for those at present.”

When his answer wouldn’t beckon, the Lady turned and closed her eyes. She snapped her head in his direction, faltering her present smile. “I think that what you did was very chivalrous and brave, my Prince.”

The corner of his left eye widened, as her words registered in. The margins of her flimsy skirts kissed the ground atop her form – the swish and flicker of the candles remained the only source of noise.

The corners of his mouth bent slightly, at her ludicrous but fair assertion. Whether he had meant to thank her, or kiss her on that very spot, the Prince failed to puzzle out. Though his step halted in place, and his face turned briskly to her.

“Aemond,” He sighed, reluctant, whilst awaiting for her change of heart, “You said it yourself, we’re man and wife. You should start calling me Aemond.”

Her daring eyes looked up right through him, dissolving to a kindred stare. “Then you should also use my name… Aemond.” She uttered with a playful tone, testing his name upon her lips. “Though I… much prefer it when you call me ‘wife’.”

His reply was fast, forthright, “I’ll call you whatever you wish.”

“Then…” She began with a weak mutter, allowing her hair to hide her face, “No, forgive me, never mind.”

“Tell me,” He commanded with grave urgency.

Tell me of anything and I will make it yours.

“Mayhaps,” His Lady paused a while again, “You’d agree to call me your ‘dear wife’?”

His cock twitched inside his pants. The blood that pigmented his face descended lower in its lax pursuit.

All that you need do is ask.

“Anything you want,” His voice rumbled in a breathless timber before he could stop himself, “Dear wife.”

She must have thanked him with a smile again. All she did those days was smile.

She smiled when that low lord approached her. She smiled at her engagement feast. She smiled when Aemond took her dancing.

“I trust,” Alicent had swallowed deeply, “That your mother already taught you what’ll occur after the wedding.”

Better said during the bedding. When she’d be forced to spread her legs for the one man who’d damned them all.

She smiled when Aegon named her bastard. She smiled at the mention of her sweet dead brother.

She hummed as she touched her fingers, rotating her golden rings.

“What of Aly Blackwood?” Her eyes pried at her heavy conscience, “You said that if I marry Aemond, you’d think of a way to release her and make peace with Benjicot’s House.”

–

Her trail of thought was pulled before her, like a feeble dream which she won't reach.

The handle of a leaden door was yanked, pulsing the quaint hall with clatter, and basking her with a warm light.

“We’re here.”

Though wailing dread flooded her senses, her voice came out in slight bemusement.

“It isn’t furnished.”

“I wanted you to have a say.” The depthness of his mellow tune carried out his crass remark, “I didn’t know how many dresses you’d have.”

The notion of her moving in, of sleeping side by side with him, of sharing a bed and a mattress and a bath with him – it hadn’t failed to make her snort.

Hidden from his plane of sight, she allowed a distant scowl to break in her pretty features.

She wanted to scream and shout. To lash out in grave disconcern the moment his revolting hands came in contact with her lower back, urging her to step inside. She wanted to laugh at him – at the sight of his scarred face, his forceful probe and lack of honour.

“You’re so thoughtful, Aemond. Thank you.”

A grave unease surged in her gut. Pure fright prickled at the apex of her thighs. Her once loose dress seemed to constrict her form from running – from hitting him over the head and at last make her escape.

A pained sigh escaped his lips – the One-Eyed Prince who killed her family.

The Kinslayer. The Trident’s Terror. The Prince Protector of the Realm.

Almost as if he could sense her worry, the lithe Targaryen beckoned her in.

There’d been a moment when he only looked at her, bearing holes into her face and the front lobe of her skull, as his thick brows twisted slightly, jarring in misguided silence. Her jaw clenched involuntarily, as his face hithered in closer. She closed her eyes for two, three seconds, before she opened them again.

The lack of ease with which he gawped at her would have dearly made her laugh. The great and feared Aemond Targaryen, so incursed, taken aback.

He exhaled deeply in connived frustration, and simply took a few steps back. A rumbled hum of welting havoc trailed behind his high-arched lips, and a simple look of ardour was engraved on his sharp face.

The hands which had been snaked around her let her go within an instant, and as a curse sprung from his throat, the man found refuge and retreat towards the blazing fireplace. The girl followed his lenient steps, which faltered near the goatskin armchair.

His hands moved in accord with stress. Stiffly he had poured himself a hefty glass of liquid courage – swallowing it down with haste, and indifference towards the spectacle that he made with his demeanour.

His hands were shaking. His gulps of dark and bitter wine accentuated with every guise of stolen looks he dared to throw and hatch her way. At one point through his fretful jitter, the Prince snapped with a scorned hiss.

"Do you reckon you need help with your black dress, my dearest wife?” The rattled edge within his voice echoed through the room's long walls – his tone was mystified by pain, by torturous need, and want, and lust.

"N-No, my love, that I do not." She tried with shear to reach her lacings, as her mouth quirked with a smile. The desolation in her orbs spun the man to heave a sigh – his wobbled hand to reach his collar, and pull at it with forced renown.

Multitudes of scattered feelings reveled on her softened face – pain and fear, disgust and anger, lack of confidence and broad distress.

Inch by inch she thus revealed patches of her creamy skin. Feeling all her fingers stiffen with perturbed stilling discomfort, shame and angst and staid mistrust.

Although her corset was now loosened, the source of air within her lungs remained scarce and all the same.

She maintained his carnal stare, watching how his one eye darkened, turning to an opaque black. His lips pressed into a line, his furrowed brows deepened his stare – he gulped another hoist of wine and swallowed thickly at her chaffing stare. His adam's apple bobbed up and down in repressed bewilderment and apt surrender. His weary mind surged with a vast contrast of thoughts, each one more torturous and sparse than the mentioned fleeting latter.

He felt utterly inadequate.

He'd touched and fucked women before – handmaidens that caught his eye, wenches that offered their heat, servant girls who lured him in.

But none had managed to prepare him for the unrelieved pressure of her. Of the one woman he loved, of the one he wanted most.

She'd been kind to him when they were children – and remained polite throughout when he dared to rain his anger on his ludicrous half-sister.

He regretted every hostile instance where he hurt her with his words. And every bite full of prone venom, that he threw her brothers' way.

He regretted how he acted, when he killed the raucous lord. How he taunted him with perverse pleasure, how he named Luke's shocking perish right across from his sweet wife – knowing somewhere all too well that she'd take offence to it.

His face felt numb, his limbs felt heavy. He wanted to denude her slowly, to prode at the extended nature of her smooth and nuanced skin. To devote himself to her fair pleasure, to worship the slickness of her womanhood with a reverence and love perturbed.

He longed to lay his masculinity at the altar of her maidenhood, get on his knees and devout his being to making her peak with him – on his tongue, on his slim fingers, on his chin, or on his face.

He’d read the ways to get a cunt wet – it would take no less good skill and incredible amounts of patience; but for her, he’d gladly wait, and gently stretch her virgin hole, with the aid of his firm touch and the pulsing of his deepened voice.

He closed his eye in a small prayer, as he begged his Gods for guidance – to be able to bring her to the heightened cliffs of sinful rapture, to be able to prove himself as a man fit for her needs.

To make her love him in return, perhaps, and make her see his side of things.

As he remained hammered in place, trying his hardest to regain control over his trembled conscious and his indulgent thoughts, the man failed to notice how his Lady made impressive progress into her methodical and empty musings.

Her head hung low as she undid the lacings of her fitted garment. Her eyes were cast in shadowed doubt and in utter lack of certainty – her breathing came as fast and laboured, and her hands with-held a tremor with every new poignant display of another patch of skin.

Unbeknownst even to her, hot tears of merciless aversion rolled off her rosy cheeks, landing on her petticoat and the cold stone ground below them.

The Prince sucked a jarring breath, as she turned to face the bed with a heartbreaking and crushed compliance. Her softened eyes peered at his form, and a forceful smile unfurled along the corners of her swollen lips.

His expression must have tightened, and his form recoil in slightly – for her hazy eyes enwrapped him, and her shapely brow rose up.

“Aemond…?” She tried to lace her voice with sweetness, “Do you–” The latter words died on her lips, and she remained with her mouth parted, until her thoughts surged loudly clear.

“Should I… d-do you want me to sit in any way?”

The hoarseness in her tender voice made the man pale in disgrace.

“You’re scared of me.” He long admitted, with a rough and neutral tone.

Aemond’s feet carried him slowly, towards the place in which she stood. When his hand came to rest over her wet cheek, she stiffened up and almost winced.

“Why are you so afraid of me?” The desperation in his utter broke the silence of their spacious room, “I would never hurt you. I would sooner die than see you in pain.”

Realisation settled in, and her lost face morphed with awareness. She brought her palm smooth on his own, and searched despairingly to entwine their hands together. When she opened her mouth to speak, she blinked away her forming tears.

“No, my P– Aemond. I could never be afraid of you.”

“Yet here you stand,” He murmured weakly, “Half-naked before me, and shaking.”

“The chamber just feels very cold.” His wife hung onto the excuse. “I’m sorry, I didn’t – I swear to you that I do want this –”

“I will not bed you.” He hummed as he wiped off her tears – a soft and feeble grazing led about by the callous ends of his smooth pads.

Her face breached forward with mistrust, as her weary mouth lulled open, “W-What? No, Aemond, believe me, I–”

“I will not bed you,” The Prince repeated to her gently, “Not until you ask me to.”

A disgruntled and affronted sigh left the high arch of his lips, yet an understanding look rained across his lustful stare. The one hand which hung loosely by his side trailed a slow path to her jolting shoulder. He swallowed thickly before speaking, pushing down his burning desire.

"Ziry iksos ao qilōni lurksas issa kesīr." The meek admission in High Valyrian made her relax into his touch, "Nyke jāhor daor gaomagon mirros bona mazverdagon ao zūgagon."

The Prince staggered with a shaky breath, whilst looking her into the eye. "Skoro syt kostagon ao ūndegon bona?"

Although she tried so hard to speak, not a word etched from her throat. She nodded in undisplayed wonder, and gripped her husband by the shirt.

He took her balling fists in his, and kissed atop the even skin.

Thoughts strengthened with affirmed abhorrence steered clear through her befuddled mind – there may be hope to fix the error that she so tactlessly set off that night.

And yet before she could place Aemond’s hands down the shape of her small back, the Prince grabbed his sharpened knife, and merely nicked his open palm.

Droplets of deep-crimson liquid seeped into the whitened sheets, and the girl remained upright and frozen, as she watched him clean his blade and rummage through his modest cupboard for a piece of airy cloth.

With one hand he gripped the footboard – and began to firmly shove it into the stone wall up ahead.

The avid creaking of the bed turned into a pleased refrain. One not too fast, but not too slow, which carried on for a few minutes.

Outside their petulant and guarded door, whistles of men and cheers from women crassly seeped into their ears. Though most were muffled down by the sensitive and leal guards, some managed to blurt out half-enthused encouragements upon their midnight escapades.

A flow of compliments descended upon Aemond’s lasting pace – and some of the more improper ladies even dared to coo at her.

“It’ll feel better once you give it time, sweetling!”

“You simply must confine in us what it was like to ride a dragon!”

How utterly humiliating.

Like all bad things within the world, their idle and unseemly chatter ceased after a little while. Aemond sighed and stopped his motions, while granting her a knowing look.

“I’ll remain here for mere more moments. Then I’ll leave you for the night.”

‘N-No!” Her eyes widened in mistrust, as she gnawed her bottom lip. Almost too soon for her own well liking, she’d begged incessantly for him to stay. “Please remain near me, sweet husband… I so long to sleep by you.”

When her words seemed to elude him, she reached for his wounded hand, giving it a slight caress. She pressed her lips atop his cut, and devotedly looked up at him.

“Ao vestretan bona nyke udrāzma ao kesīr. Nyke lurksas bona ao umbagon issa rūsīr."

Aemond drew in a sharp breath, and merely settled on the bed.

“As you wish, my darling wife.”

Translations:

"Qybor" = uncle - specifically, from the mother's side;

"Ziry iksos ao qilōni lurksas issa kesīr. Nyke jāhor daor gaomagon mirros bona mazverdagon ao zūgagon. Skoro syt kostagon ao ūndegon bona?" = 'Tis you who commands me here. I will not do anything that leaves you frightened. Why can’t you see that?

“Ao vestretan bona nyke udrāzma ao kesīr. Nyke lurksas bona ao umbagon issa rūsīr." = You said that I command you here. I order that you stay with me.

648 notes · View notes

damn-stark · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 6 City of stars

Chapter 6 of Moonlight

A/N- Cregan would've let her compete in the tourney

Warning- Swearing, ANGST, FLUFF, talks of blood, blades, suggested NSFW, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- Before 1x08

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*A FEW MONTHS BACK. WINTERFELL*

“…Have a marvelous name day my sweet, sweet girl. I can’t wait to see you again. I love you.

Your mother, Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

You smile after the initial sadness passes after rereading the letter your mother sent you without fault. She even managed to have it arrive in the morning along with a present, while Aemond can’t even do that—So much for a friend and betrothed. He sucks.

What if he’s seeing some other women?!

Well, two can play that game.

“Princess!” Cregan calls for your attention just as you start thinking about him, and when you look up from the letter and see him you can’t help but flash him a beaming grin.

“Lord Stark,” you greet giddly and bow your head, but as always he rolls his eyes at your formality since it’s just—well him and the singer to the side of the Heart tree you sit against.

“What are you doing out here all on your lonesome?” Cregan asks as he slowly approaches you.

You lift the letter and wave it in the air. “Reading what my mother sent me. Again,” you share. “And listening to this singer.” You tilt your head and playfully narrow your eyes on the Lord. “Care to join?” You ask sneakily so the singer won’t find this interaction suspicious and snitch to the Queen for some coin.

Cregan smiles softly and knows well how to play along. “Who am I to deny a Princess on her name day?”

You clasp your hands behind you and hold his gaze with an innocent glint in your eye as he closes the large gap left between you and throws his cloak back to sit beside you.

“What does your mother write?” He queries without being too invasive—But maybe that’s also due to the fact that your mother is writing to you, and not anyone he has to compete with.

“She just wished me a happy name day, and sent her love,” you share with a longing sigh. “And she sent me this pretty dress.” You add and put the letter down to stand up and show him the pretty soft purple silk dress that your mother sent.

Cregan doesn’t miss a single shift of your body, his eyes follow you up and only dare to trail down when you pick up the delicate violet fabric so he can see the cuts on the sides that exposes your ribs. And now that he indulges himself by having an excuse to admire you without precaution, he lets his eyes linger on your chest since the gown has a deep v neckline before that finally makes him smirk up at you, and causes you to immediately grow flustered as you note how dilated his pupils grow.

Yet as timid as you get you still spin around to show him how flowy the bottom of the dress is, and how the long sleeves that drape off your arms twirl with you.

“You are breathtakingly beautiful,” Cregan muses as you fall back at his side.

You beam at him and then whisper. “Thank you, my love.”

Cregan leans towards your ear and sneaks a comment that catches your breath. “I can’t wait to rip it off you later.”

You steal a glance at his lips and then meet his gaze to counter with another flirty comment. “And I cannot wait to feel you inside me.”

Cregan glances at your lips and draws in a deep and pained breath since he’s unable to kiss you here and now. “You drive me mad woman.” He sneers against your lips.

You shoot him a smirk and pull back smugly, but don’t leave him craving your touch, you slide your hand close to his and hook your pinky around his.

“I wish I could see her again,” you change the subject so the singer won’t grow suspicious. “I miss her.”

Cregan sighs and pulls his pinky away from yours to instead interlace his fingers with yours and provide you with the comfort he knows you crave on a day like today. “You will soon enough. I promise,” he tries to assure you. “But for now, darling princess, don’t grow glum. Celebrate that the gods have gifted you another year of life.”

You sniffle and turn to meet his grey eyes with a faint and appreciative smile, making Cregan discreetly caress your cheek before he pulls away from the comfort of his touch and stands up.

“Dance with me,” he suddenly asks and offers you his large hand. “You said you didn’t want a feast so you owe me this dance—Singer, sing a slower song to dance to.”

The corner of your lips tug to a grin whilst you don’t hesitate to grab his hand, letting him pull you up as the singer does as Cregan commands.

“They’ll see,” you warn him as you slide your other hand to his shoulder and he slides one hand to grab you by your waist.

“Let them,” Cregan brushes off your worry. “I’m merely dancing with my best friend on her name day. Is that so bad?”

You shrug as you let him move you to the melody of the sweet song. “I guess not, Lord Stark.”

Cregan snickers and rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he counters jokingly.

——

*NOW*

Why are you wearing his favorite dress if missing him aches you so?

Do you enjoy your pain? Do you enjoy feeling like you're stabbing Aemond in the back by having such lustful thoughts of another man?

If you keep feeding into your desire you won’t even be able to look Aemond in the eye. You need to stop, you need to distract yourself.

But! You can’t even write to your brothers because Cregan plagues your every thought!

Why must forgetting someone be so hard?

“Niece?”

Niece?

You turn toward the call and catch Heleana approaching you with surprise illustrated on her delicate features.

“You’re outside,” she points out with a gleam in her eye.

You sigh and nod. “I thought I’d enjoy the fresh air. I felt quite trapped.”

She laughs softly as she comes to a stop. “Well you keep yourself trapped inside, I hardly see you since you’ve returned.”

Well, she’s only somewhat right, but she’s far too sweet to correct.

“Where are the twins?” You smoothly change the subject to avoid boring her with the dread of feeling alone and in pain.

“I thought they’d grow quite bored with me exploring the garden,” she says with a faint amused smile. “Why are you alone?”

You shrug and point to your letter. “Well I was writing to my brothers, and besides that, I don’t have any friends here anymore, and Aemond is busy.”

Helaena blinks and her smile slowly fades but not completely, she still carries sweetness about her that reminds you of spring.

“Well,” she sighs and finally gets closer. “If it’s any consolation neither do I.”

You offer her a pitiful look and quickly try to comfort her. “Well, maybe we can be friends.”

Helaena laughs. “We can’t be friends, you’re my niece.”

You scoff and can’t help but chuckle. “That doesn’t mean anything. We can still be friends like we once were when we were young.”

Helaena stares at you hard but you can’t tell if it’s with disapproval and judgment or something kinder, she wears her emotions on her face without discretion, it seems that even if she stands properly and dresses as a princess of her rank should, keeping her emotions discreet is something she didn’t master.

“Well, all right then,” she quite bluntly interjects and holds her hands behind her back. “Do you wish to explore with me then?”

You part your lips to agree out of pure boredom, but you crave fun. You crave having a woman to talk to, you can only talk to Baela and Rhaena so often since you talk by letters, and Arra is gone now, so you’re left without a woman friendship and it honestly feels like you’re lacking something, you enjoy having lady friends.

The society you’re a part of often pins you against each other, but maybe it’s because you were close to your mother and your cousins, or just you in general, but you crave female friendships just as much as male friendships.

Thus you get a different brilliant idea that perhaps is too much of a risk to your sweet aunt Helaena, but if you’re stuck in these castle walls any longer you will overfill with too many thoughts and combust.

“Why don’t we do something else?” You suggest without shame, you’re bold even if you should be cautious with her. “Something fun like going on dragonback and going to explore something else besides these gardens.”

You jump and she looks back as if her mother would come out.

“Mother says I shouldn’t be so much on dragonback, nor can I explore so far without guards and a chaperone.”

Oh sweet, sweet Helaena. A pretty bird chained and locked in a cage. You can’t stand for something so pathetic.

Her soul is crying for help and you’re her only salvation.

“Chaperone? Sweetheart who will dare challenge us with our dragons?” You quickly argue and get closer to her. “Especially such a threatening dragon-like Dreamfyre?”

Helaena nervously swallows back and her uncertainty begins to fall apart as her curiosity takes over. “We aren’t really allowed to.”

You squint your eyes and quip. “We are royalty, we can do as we like. Trust me nothing bad will happen to us, I will protect us just like our dragons will.”

Helaena glances inside again for a second longer this time. Yet instead of refusing your proposal, she probes curiously. “Where would we go?”

You smile mischievously. “Somewhere fun,” you respond with suspense that she takes as bait and reluctantly follows you to fetch her dragon locked away while Astraea knew to meet you there.

And once again another one of Alicent’s offspring has bonded with another legendary and beautiful dragon, which is not fair!

You would compliment Vhagar, but as ancient as she is her size is something you actually don’t like. Perhaps when she was with Queen Visenya then you would have drooled over her, but now she’s far too large and too old to enamore you.

Dreamfyre though? She’s perfect, her scales are like the sky but shine much brighter and have hints of silver within them as well. It’s like she carries stars along with the sky. She’s dazzling, and mesmerizing indeed. It’s a shame she’s kept locked up for as long as she is, no one can admire her that way.

Your soulmate Astraea lucked out that way, the sun can kiss her as much as she wants while the envy and admiration can break limits because she’s too smart to be locked up.

“Where are we?” Helaena asks once she descends from her dragon and never once in that moment does she lose touch of Dreamfyre, she has her hand planted on her dragon as if ready to escape if need be.

You are the opposite, you don’t tense your shoulders are look for danger, you immediately slip off your gown, startling Helaena all in the meanwhile.

“What are you doing?” She clamors.

You pull your shoes off and spin around to face her. “Having fun,” you put it simply and beam at her. “Don’t worry no one’s nearby. We can be as free as we like!”

Helaena watches you twirl around with a beaming grin that doesn’t carry a single concern that you wore loud with a deep frown. You run into the water as if you were weightless, but don’t immediately dive in, you throw your arms out and let the sun embrace you as if it shone for you alone.

Is this why Aemond cared so much about you because you live the world at the beat of your own drum? Her mother always warned her about you, she said the way you acted wasn’t how a lady should act; she would whisper that you were too much like your mother, but now that she’s older she doesn’t see why it bothered her mother so much and why the way you act is so bad?

Does it make you brutish?

No, Helaena can't see that. You dive into the water and when you come out even the way you throw your head back is graceful

Beastly?

No, heavens no. You’re called the Realms Golden girl for a reason, and the water pampered over your face only adds to the divine beauty that you are; the water droplets literally glimmer on your face as the sun beams reflect off them, making you look like a radiant diamond.

That’s why she can’t find a fault in you. Maybe you aren’t as careful as you should be, but your dragon is fierce and protective, you’re right about that.

Even so, she can’t be as daring as you, her mother's caution clings onto her.

“Look!” You announce to the world and throw your hands out to show Helaena a coned shell, but as curious as she is, she only manages to let Dreamfyre go.

Thus you take the first step for her and run over to her to intrigue her with things she would like.

“Look,” you whisper now as you’re by her. “A crab.”

Helaena leans towards the cream-colored shell and before she knows it a small creature with pinchers and thin legs peeks out of its shell.

You squeal and drop the crab, but Helaena quickly catches it but ends up grabbing it by the shell instead of carrying it on her palm like you were.

“I didn’t actually think it was alive,” you whisper as you cling onto Helaena’s arm. “Be careful,” you whisper and hide behind her as if the crab is a huge threat.

Helaena gently taps the creature and it reels back in its shell.

“It won’t pinch me the way I’m holding it,” she speaks normally and watches the little creature with awe. “It would’ve pinched you the way you held it, and it would’ve hurt.”

You watch her handle the little crab with all the care that you hadn’t shown it, you just wanted to bait her. And it seemed to work.

“Are there more?” Helaena asks and finally shows curiosity about the waters ahead.

“Perhaps,” you tempt her as you let go of her and walk backward toward the water. “You have to come see for yourself.”

Helaena slowly trails after you and when you step in the water have it over your ankles she puts the crab down in the sand and watches you with hesitance.

“Nothing bad will happen,” you assure her. “I swear, we’re just finding joy in what we have. Just take your gown off so we have something to wear when we leave.”

Helaena lets out a deep breath and seems to have let some weight of her stress go because she slowly takes her gown off now, but stops when the water touches her feet.

You walk deeper into the water with a luring smile and she follows until finally, the water reaches her chest.

“Ready?” You ask with a growing smile.

Helaena draws out another deep breath and this time she’s left weightless and carefree. She smiles sweetly now and responds with a soft nod, letting you stop wasting time and dive into the deep waters that carry a completely different world, but one you both gawk over.

After some caution, Helaena begins to explore as freely as you do. Of course, you resurface but the moment you collect as much air as you can you travel back into the underworld and watch the school of fish study you. You point each other to specific rocks you find fascinating, or shells hidden in some crook.

You can’t say you find anything rare, or strange, it’s all just as fascinating as when you were young your joy doesn’t compare to that of Helaena’s. She finds beauty and awe in the smallest and simplest things and never hesitates to show you or go back for more. You didn’t think shed grow tired of diving in and resurfacing, but eventually, she stops that adventure and pulls you to have fun with her by splashing each other with water, grabbing onto each other, and spinning under the sun.

You’re simple woman having fun. That’s all you are, girls being girls without the weight of being a mother, wife to a man who could care less, a betrothed, or royalty,

It’s just Helaena, you, your dragons, the warm weather, and the sun.

You don’t wear down until the sun begins to hide away for the day, but even you’re floating in the water staring at the sweet-colored sky.

“Did you come up with finding fun in what you have?” Helaena queries.

You stay quiet for a moment out of hesitance to talk about Cregan, but you don’t need to unveil anything to answer what she asks. “No, Lord Stark did.”

“The old one?”

You blink and turn your head to judge her, but as she meets your gaze she giggles. “The new lord Stark, yes?” She says.

You smile softly at her joke and then nod. “Yes, him. Cregan. He…became my friend when I moved there.”

“When my mother made you live There,” Helaena whispers shamefully as if she was the one at fault.

“Well yes,” you sigh. “I hated living there for a long time until Lord Stark and I became best friends. I still missed my family and home, but I didn’t ache for it as much. He taught me a lot.”

“Do you miss him now?” She asks without a clue as to what you really mean when you respond. To her it’s an innocent question, to you, there’s a deeper meaning.

“Yes. I do.”

Helaena hums and drops her gaze to watch you admire the stars that start to show off their beauty in the sky.

“I won’t tell Aemond,” she whispers as if someone else could hear. “I know they keep stuff from me, so I can keep this a secret.”

You lock eyes and offer her a sweet smile. “Thank you. Now,” you clap your hands and throw yourself up to stand upright and walk back to shore. “Did you have fun or should question my life?”

Helaena is slower to get up, but she does and responds. “I had a lot of fun. This is the most fun I’ve had in years. Let’s do it again. Please.”

You peer at her over your shoulder and shoot her an assuring smile. “We will.”

Helaena claps lightly and then hurries up to catch up to you on the sand. And there after no matter how much you both try to drag on your escape you eventually return home, Dreamfyre returns to her chains, Astraea manages to remain free, and to no one’s surprise, Alicent is anxiously waiting for Helaena’s return in the courtyard inside the security of the Red Keeps walls.

“Where have you been?” Alicent panics and strides towards her daughter. “I was so worried, you were gone all day! Where did you take her?” She snaps at you.

You quickly parted your lips to defend yourself, but Helaena interjects for you and speaks up in your defense. “We were having fun on a piece of land not far from here, mother. Dreamfyre and Astraea were with us the entire time.”

Alicent draws in a breath to add to her worry, but Helaena doesn’t leave room for it. “We’re all right. We brought some stuff for Father. We want to go show him.” She quickly walks past her mother without a hint of concern or care towards her mother's worry. While her mother pierces a hardened glare your way.

“She had fun,” is all you care to share. What else was there to say? Her daughter is an adult, not a child, she can’t control her or you. You were having fun and that’s that.

Nevertheless, Aemond comes out of the shadows and you and Alicent expect him to be upset too—Alicent wants him to be upset, but he doesn’t lift a finger, or form a wrinkle.

“I wish you would tell me what you plan to do. I half expected you to be miles away by now.” Aemond says much to your surprise, making you smirk and hold his gaze with a deep need to kiss him, but as you stare into his eye you can’t bring yourself to give him a hello peck, so you just hook your arm around his and play off your inner battle.

“Aww, I’ll invite you next time,” you coo.

Aemond huffs softly and you smile proudly.

——

*NOW. KING’S LANDING*

It’s been a month since the last time you kissed Aemond. A month.

Not for lack of trying, he gives you kisses on the cheek, and on the forehand, and his favorite place is your knuckles. It’s just every time you think about kissing him, Cregan comes to mind and you feel like you’re betraying him, and it aches your heart.

But feeling that ache, that sense of betrayal also brings you guilt because of Aemond; he’s been so kind now that you’ve broken that tension, even if his mother keeps getting in the way for some reason. She’s almost like tree sap, no matter how much you try to get it off it continues to stick, and when you think you got rid of all of it, it’s still there being an inconvenience. It’s a miracle she isn’t here at the tourney between you and Aemond, holding his hand.

Regardless, feeling guilty about Cregan only adds more guilt about Aemond and it's all tearing your mind apart.

Maybe the solution is to stop writing to Cregan; you’ve thought of it. It would make your attempts to stop thinking about him a lot easier…but you can’t do that, he’s still your friend, and…you still…love him—But you want to be faithful to Aemond, you want to love him as much as you do Cregan. He deserves that, he deserves your loyalty, but how do you let go of one to embrace the other?

Death by Dragonfire would be a simple solution. Or a lance through the heart, maybe one of these fine knights competing can do it.

Too bad you can’t fucking compete. Thanks to Queen Alicent and Aemond.

“…Today we celebrate in honor of my brother Prince Aemond’s engagement!” Aegon announces and follows by shouting your name and title, and the crowd cheers, making a smile appear on your face out of surprise and excitement.

Does Aemond share the same pride over hearing the booming praise be about him?

Probably not but you still look over at him and check, noticing his lips not attempting to show any feigned gratitude. Albeit when he notices your gaze he looks over and a faint smile flashes on his lips, making you smile wider and wrap your hand around his. He then places his thumb over your hand and begins to caress your skin.

“Now, Princess, honor us by choosing the next challengers,” Aegon redirects the attention to you, pulling you out of the little bubble you were just in with Aemond.

“All right,” you roll out and share the excitement for both Aemond and you as you stand up and approach the balcony’s railing to get a closer look at all the competing Knights lined up against the wall.

It’s hard to know which one is the best, you don’t know any of these knights that you see before you. You recognize the house sigils some carry on their shield, but that’s about it, so you have to base your choice on the horse and your own curiosity.

“Him,” you point to the Knight at the right end of the line with no sigil on his shield.

“And him,” you point to a man in the middle with the house sigil of a small house from the Riverlands.

“Come forward and state your names,” the announcer instructs.

Both knights walk forward while the others disperse, and the knight from the Riverlands takes his helmet off and states his name while you share a playful smirk with Aegon, and then look back at Aemond with the same smirk.

You do wish Helaena was here too so you could gossip about the men, but well no matter how much you’ve spoiled her with fun, she still refused to come here where it’s overcrowded by people. She just wished you the best.

“And I am Ser Alyn of Hull,” the second Knight's name catches your immediate attention and makes you face him. That’s when you notice a striking resemblance to someone you can’t quite point your finger to, you just know that his features aren’t all that strange like his bastard name.

“You come from Driftmark?” You ask curiously as you lean closer.

Ser Alyn grins and his smile doesn’t fail to intrigue you, it’s quite nice. He’s actually quite good-looking too.

“Yes,” Ser Alyn responds. “I'm merely a bastard with no importance albeit.”

You hum and smile softly. “We’ll see about that won’t we, Ser Alyn of Hull? Best fortunate to you.”

The bastard Knight lets his eyes linger on you before he puts his helmet back on and has his horse stride away, letting you return to your seat.

“5 dragons on the Riverlands knight,” Aegon whispers to you as he sits back down beside you.

You glance over at him and pretend to scoff in horror. “I’m a Lady. I don’t bet.”

Aegon groans. “10 then.”

You bat your lashes as you look ahead to watch Ser Alyn. “10 on Ser Alyn.” You agree to his terms and twist your wrist to offer him your hand, and without looking Aegon smacks it lightly to commit to the bet.

“Who do you think will win?” You direct at Aemond as you lean back towards him whilst both Knights start, and find comfort in wrapping your hands around his bicep; which is much easier to grab than Cregan’s—Cregan has a lot of muscle…

“Hm,” Aemond hums and you feel his gaze fall on you while you focus on the jousting—“I don’t follow much jousting,” he says.

You roll your eyes over to him and press him sweetly. “Indulge me, Aemond, please.”

Aemond holds your gaze and exhales deeply before he drifts his attention to the match. “I suppose…Ser Alyn. He has the strength advantage.”

You hum and follow his line of gaze, catching Ser Alyn throw the other Knight off his horse with quick ease after breaking his shield in half.

The match just started and Ser Alyn already won by a landslide!

“Wow!” You cheer and clap as you jump to your feet so Ser Alyn can see you congratulate him. And thanks to your attempts the knight notices you and bows, making you grin brightly

“My win goes to the Siren of Driftmark, congratulations on your engagement,” he shouts over the clamoring crowd.

You offer him a thankful bow of your head and watch him bask in his success for a little while longer before others are brought forward to compete. And even if you couldn’t join; even if you aren’t actually good, you pay attention to all the matches and become 100 golden dragon coins richer because Aegon sucks at betting. All whilst Aemond’s hand basks you with warmth the entire time.

And even if he mainly sulks, you whisper to one another like a newlywed couple—well he just listened to you for the most part, but regardless, at that moment you showed affection to each other, it was a little considering where you were, but at that moment he was the only one that occupied your mind. There was no guilt of any kind

“Would you compete in my honor?” You whisper to Aemond as the last pair of jousters approach. “I would like you more if you did.”

Aemond blinks and meets your gaze, making your smirk deepen. He sighs since he's feeding into your absurdity, but he also can’t contain his faint.

“If you ask it of me I wouldn’t,” he reveals, making you laugh.

“What if it wasn’t against someone challenging you for my hand?” You rearrange your question and watch his mind work before he responds without a falter in his confidence.

“I wouldn’t need to joust to challenge someone for you, I would use my dragon,” he says, making your heart skip a beat. “But if a silly joust is what they’d pick I would make sure to win every single match. I’d kill if I had to.”

Oh, that’s a little intense but you do love it. It…causes you to grow flustered and a spark of warmth to spread throughout your body to the point all you can do to ease that heat is finally press a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Aemond draws in a deep breath and his smile reappears but a lot softer than before. He holds your gaze and leans in to press a kiss on your lips, but he stays still, letting your breaths unfurl over your lips and your hearts begin to pound with desire before he adds fuel to the fire by just pressing a kiss on your knuckles.

“<Jerk,>” you swear in High Valyrian.

Aemond snickers and before he can say something someone interjects from the field. “I would like to ask the favor of The Realm’s Golden Girl.”

You turn your attention to the match and notice that it’s the Knight who calls himself the Stranger because he has no house sigil on his shield either. And from what you’ve seen he’s not so terrible, he’s made it to the last round of competitors.

“Unmask yourself in the presence of the princess, Ser,” the announcer orders as you approach the railing with a flower crown in hand.

When the knight unmasks himself you freeze and gasp as you recognize Ser Rolf; your mutual friend with Cregan. But he didn't tell you he was coming like you asked him to.

“Ser Rolf,” you announce before he can. “What a pleasure.” You slowly grin at him.

“The pleasure is mine, Princess,” he says with formality you don’t recognize. He's usually so improper in front of friends.

“It’s nice to see you again. Good luck, my friend,” you end this short since there’s only so much you can say, but you let your gaze linger on his face after you throw the flower crown on his lance.

Rolf offers you a kind smile before he bows his head and walks off without another word.

However, in the surprise of seeing your friend, you didn't even notice he’s jousting against Ser Alyn until you spot him putting on his helmet. Albeit now that the knight from

Driftmark is competing against your friend you don’t care if he’s from Driftmark anymore, you want Ser Rolf to win.

“You know him?” Aemond asks the moment you take your seat.

Without looking at him you nod. “He’s a friend from Winterfell,” you put it simply, but you can feel Aemond’s gaze on you, it lingers, but you don’t bother paying it any attention, you just try to assure him by clutching onto his hand and watch as both Knights charge at each other.

Ser Alyn goes in for a jab at the shield, but Ser Rolf manages to swerve and instead hits the side of Ser Alyn’s shield so hard that it falls from his hands.

You smile softly with pride, but you’re too overwhelmed with worry that your smile quickly fades and your grip around Aemond’s arm tightens.

Is that who sent you that letter Aemond wonders, that funny-looking ginger commoner? You seem so worried that it has to be.

He’ll have to ask you later and hopefully get the truth, as of now he watches you sit up straighter and lean forward as the challengers go again.

You almost close your eyes as they approach each other again, but you manage to keep them open and watch as Ser Alyn aim for the shoulder. However, Ser Rolf ducks and hits the horse's legs, causing the horse to lose balance and knock Ser Alyn off and deciding the winner of the tournament at that moment; Ser Rolf!

Ser Rolf won! He stayed alive and won!

You squeal and quickly stand up from your seat to clap loudly to his success, not caring if you get weird stares from the rest of the audience in the box with you, and especially not caring about the pointed look Aemond shoots you. You get swept up by your friends' success, by the crowd roaring with excitement, and lastly, by Ser Rolf as he makes sure to turn and face you to shoot you a wink.

You beam at him and exclaim. “Whoa! Ser Rolf!”

The Northerner Knight is swept off his feet and given his winnings, he gets flowers thrown at him from the crowd, praise, and as all the winners do, he’s given the honor to name one lady the Queen of Love and Beauty; he’s given a flower crown to give to a Lady of his choosing, but he refuses and instead his helper for the day runs to him with a satchel.

The crowd goes quiet, and you slowly sit back down to watch with your neck stretched out and your lips slightly parted.

“I’ve brought a special one,” Ser Rolf says and proceeds to pull out a beautiful flower crown made of rare Blue Winter Roses that are only grown in the North. He then proceeds to approach the box and stops directly before you.

“I choose you, Princess,” he announces, causing the crowd to boom excitedly, and for you to approach the edge to take the beautiful flower crown from his hand.

“Thank you, my friend,” you tell him sweetly with a soft smile and a watery gaze since you know that they’re from Cregan. Rolf wouldn't go out of his way to bring a crown of his own if it wasn’t because of his friend Cregan. But why now?

It was a small moment, but you were doing good, you weren’t thinking about him, about his lips, about his love and kisses. Now he’s all you can think about once again. Him and your guilt.

Why did he have to send you this flower crown made from the flower that has a deep meaning in your relationship? Not only that but hidden around one of the stems is a note you can’t dare to read now. It’s like he wants you to go mad with confusion that shouldn't even exist because your fate is made.

“Are you all right?” The sound of Aemond’s voice right by your ear startles you.

You quickly place the flower crown on your head and turn to face him now standing behind you. “Yes, just touched. Blue winter roses are the most beautiful flowers in the seven kingdoms, so I’m flattered.”

Aemond tries to read you, but you smile at him and hook your arm around his. “Why don’t we head home now?” You suggest. “I know how much these social outings exhaust you.” You tease him.

Aemond scoffs lightheartedly, but he lets you lead him away. Albeit you’re quickly stopped by Aegon before you can step out of the box.

“Where are you two going? There’s a feast now! Let’s go!”

He’s incredibly drunk and uninteresting now.

“Well I'm quite exhausted,” you lie. “But you go.”

Aegon gasps and then turns to look at his brother by you. “Come on brother! Let me show you some fun before you’re married!”

You slide your eyes to Aemond, and he glances at you before addressing Aegon without as much as a fight. “I want to walk her home. You go.” He says.

“Boo!” Aegon exclaims and stumbles towards you and Aemond. “Come on! Just for a bit.”

You exhale and roll your eyes, but Aemond lets you go and steps towards his brother. “Ser Erryk, assure the princess arrives home safely, I’ll walk Aegon to the feast.”

You part your lips to argue over the fact that he’s not even looking at you, but he wouldn’t listen so it would be like arguing to a wall. “Fine,” you grumble. “Have fun.”

Before you can turn, Aemond adds one more thing. “Meet me at the gardens when you arrive. I’ll meet you there.”

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile and you nod in comprehension before you leave with Ser Erryk trailing after you like a shadow but brave protector.

“Well parting ways defeats the purpose of celebrating my engagement, don't you think Ser Erryk?” You kindly address the quiet knight.

“Quite does,” he agrees with you. “But it can’t be helped.”

You hum softly in agreement and when you arrive at the gardens he stands guard with you while you wait for someone who never comes.

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

“Congratulations my darling love. I know you’ll be a beautiful bride. - Cregan”

You weren’t going to read the hidden note, you decided it wasn’t the best option for your already battling mind, but Aemond left you stranded so you did it.

However, now that you’ve read it, maybe it was a mistake after all, because why would he say that?

Maybe you’re just overthinking it, it’s just a harmless comment, but to you it means everything, it brings him back to the front of your mind. Those simple words make you doubt your marriage to Aemond, especially because he failed to do as he said, and for what? Another woman? A feast he doesn't even like attending?

You want to be Cregan’s wife, you want to get married under the red leaves of the Weirwood tree, and before the old gods because at least with Cregan you know you won’t be miserable, he’ll only love you, but Aemond?

He said he loved you only after you asked him to say it, and stands you up without an explanation. With Aemond there’s no security, no way to know if you’ll avoid living in what you fear; misery.

Then again the not knowing excites you with Aemond, he excites you. Being loved in public without having to hide from the world fills you with joy. And yes it wasn’t Cregan's fault you had to hide, but you did and now having Aemond do the opposite excites you.

It's all so confusing!!

You groan and stride to the fire lit in your chambers with the thought of throwing the letter in the fire. You actually crouch and approach the letters close to moving flames, but instead of just tossing it in, you let the corner of the parchment catch fire and find yourself intrigued by watching the beautiful flames rush towards your fingers. It’s like the flames are luring you to let them touch you, but you quickly snap out of your trance and drop the letter to watch the fire eat away the beautiful words and the promise of something you yearn for with tears rolling down your cheeks.

When the note is nothing but ash you sigh deeply and stand to your given height before turning and shrugging your robe off your body to walk to the steaming bath.

“It’s too hot Princess,” Vanessa warns and rushes over to try and stop you, but you step in the heated water and don’t pay any mind to how hot it is. The heat has just never bothered you, no matter how hot it is.

“It’s okay,” you brush off her concern and sink your body into the water until the point the water floats around your neck. “Bring me some wine.”

Vanessa hesitates, but she ends up doing as she’s told, letting you add on playfully.

“And maybe just dunk my head in the water and don’t pull me out until I stop moving,” you deadpan and wipe away the stain of tears with the hot water.

Vanessa lets out a nervous laugh. “That’s very funny.”

Is it?

A knock raps on the door stealing Vanessa’s attention just before she can bring the wine. You try to peek at who it is when she opens the door, but you can’t see from the tub so you try to hear. But the visitor is too quiet, so you're forced to wait until Vanessa walks to you with a flagon and a cup of wine.

“Who is it?” You ask her right away.

The corner of her lips tug to a smirk and she whispers in your ear as she sets the things down on the table beside you. “Prince Aemond.”

Here comes the pity apology.

“Let him in,” you tell her without caring that he’ll see you nude in the tub. Hey, maybe he can join you!

Nevertheless, Vanessa walks off to let Aemond in while you grab your goblet and chug the damn thing, only knowing Aemond’s inside by the sound of his heels clicking on the floor. He also then lets out a soft groan and shifts, letting you know he’s nearby.

“You could’ve told me to return,” Aemond mutters.

You set the goblet down and glance over at him, seeing he has his back turned to avoid seeing you indecent before marriage. What a gentleman.

“You could have the decency to at least change after being with someone else,” you say bluntly as you serve yourself more wine. “Or you know at least come visit me the next day.”

Yes, you don’t have the right to be jealous, but he is your betrothed, he is your future husband, he’s yours, not theirs.

“I could say something similar about your friend from the tournament,” Aemond counters back quickly and sneaks a glance at you from the corner of his eye.

You snap your gaze over to him and slowly put the goblet down before you burst out laughing at his comment. “Rolf?” You say and shake your head. “No, he’s just a friend. When Lord Cregan tried to take his throne from his uncle, Ser Rolf became my protector.” You smile softly at the thought of your friend and then push yourself up to lean on the side of the tub and watch Aemond with a playful smile as the thought of him being jealous makes you cocky, but also makes your heart flutter.

“Look at me,” you demand softly.

Aemond just peers over his shoulder and you see how hard he avoids actually looking at the rest of you.

“Aemond,” you keep trying. “It’s okay, look at me.”

Aemond exhales deeply before he slowly turns and meets your gaze with the eyepatch still over his sapphire eye.

“Take it off,” you refer to the eyepatch.

His gaze lowers and he waits for Vanessa to leave before he drops his head and sighs with hesitation that lasts for a long moment before he slowly raises his hand to pull the leather eyepatch off and place it on the table with your wine.

He then hesitates more to pick up his head again, so you assure him softly. “It’s just you and me.”

Aemond slowly picks up his head after the comment, and at that exact moment, he meets your gaze the gem in his eye socket gleams with the firelight’s touch, making you smile in admiration. “Now come here,” you continue to order. “Please.”

Aemond hesitates, but this time because he wants to be respectful, but you’re tempting in that tub so he slowly approaches you and makes sure to avoid looking at your body and only hold your gaze. When he crouches beside you, you take his hand to play with his long and slender fingers.

“Ser Rolf is just a friend,” you assure him, knowing well he’s not the one he should worry about. “He’s married to some worker's daughter and is expecting a little babe.” You smile softly and rest your chin on his hand. “Or what? I can’t have friends?”

Aemond’s gaze falls on your legs crossed over one another, hiding the temptation you keep between them, and then his trail to your breasts consumed by the water and his pupil dilates, making smirk proudly. Before he meets your gaze again he clears his throat and shakes his head. “I’d rather you not.” He rebuttals.

You chuckle and roll your eyes as you push yourself away from him. “I’ll still have them.” You counter seriously.

Aemond sighs. “I know. You were always one to defy what was expected of you.”

You begin to twirl the water around with your finger and snicker. “It’s always been fun. It’s boring being so…uptight and such a stickler for rules,” you huff and tilt your head. “You've never liked that, so what?” You chuckle softly. “You don’t like me?” You pout and feign to be sad while you make sure to fiddle with the ring he gifted you.

Aemond swallows thickly and parts his lips, but doesn’t move at all to answer, so you continue to mess with him. “Or,” you whisper softly. “Does that excite you about me?” You smile sweetly and shift slightly, watching how his eye follows the way water droplets trail down the curve of your breast.

“What?” You tease him and twist around to give him a better view of your chest. “Do you want to join me?”

Aemond draws in a deep breath and gets ready to answer, but you cut him off sharply. “Tell me who you were with and I’ll consider it. She better be a beautiful creature.”

Now Aemond is the one that chuckles, making your heartthrob—you’ve always liked the sound of his laugh.

“I wasn’t with anyone,” he contradicts you. “Trust me…No one has ever compared to you,” he whispers. “No one in this world ever will.”

Your face burns, and you now long for him even more, you desire his lips on yours, and his fingers that you play with feeding the heat between your legs.

“I was taking care of Aegon,” Aemond continues to defend himself. “He was drunk already, I couldn’t let him go to the feast without knowing he was fine.”

You hum softly, and now you don’t even dare doubt him because you know he’s being honest. You’ve also known that he’s always been so worried about the others instead of just being worried about himself. He isn’t the youngest of his siblings, his brother Daeron holds that title, but Aemond isn’t the eldest, so he shouldn't be the one worried.

“Oh Aemond,” you whisper and push yourself toward him again to raise your hand and cup his cheek. “You’re always so worried about your family, but who worries about you?”

Aemond blinks in disbelief and parts his lips as a soft breath escapes his lips. You proceed to caress his face and offer him a soft smile and a loving look. “I can take care of you,” you whisper against his lips as you lean toward him.

Aemond’s eye softens, and you finally close the gap with a kiss on his lips that starts slow. He then cradles your face and begins to caress your cheeks as he doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back; he actually deepens the kiss, making sure not to let you pull away for too long, and leaning in closer as if you’re going to get away. He only pulls back to murmur.

“I love you. More than anything.”

You offer him a soft smile, but you can’t repeat those words to him. Not with your heart still attached to Cregan. “Me too,” you assure him softly. “More than anything.”

Aemond doesn’t ask for more, he smiles and begins kissing you again. And this time without having to be told he begins to undress himself, you get him and help desperately, but he soon manages to steal your breath away as you see him for the first time, so toned and beautiful. So long and perfect.

His muscles aren’t as large as Cregan’s, but Aemond still has so much detail in his muscles. His back is the most impressive, it looks so soft, so strong. The way his long silky silver hair drapes over it so elegantly makes him even more beautiful. He’s so beautiful. Every part about him.

It’s why you let him take you there in the bathtub without waiting until you were married. He’s so gentle and caring with each stroke, with each murmur and groan in your ear. Even if he became rough later on as he was close to his climax.

When you're finished and lying in bed he doesn’t turn cold, he doesn’t leave, he stays with you and lets you take care of him…

Just as—No you won’t say it, you can’t compare them.

Aemond lays between your legs, and rests his head on your chest, letting you braid his hair.

“So,” you whisper playfully. “You'd kill for me?”

Aemond begins caressing your knee with his fingers and nods softly. “Who wouldn’t?”

You smile softly as you rest his braid over his shoulder. “I’d kill for you too, you know. I would have 5 years ago.”

Aemond freezes, so you wrap your arms around his neck and lean on his shoulder.

“I’m good with a sword,” you show off and see him meet your gaze from the corner of his eye.

The corner of his lips surprisingly pull to a smirk before he retorts. “Why is that? Because of all the times you spent watching from the shadows.”

You grin and nod. “Exactly. I just don't show it because I have to keep up appearances, you know, I’m a Princess. Daughter of the heir, and granddaughter of a King. I can’t bounce around the castle like some penniless explorer…or so my Septa would say.” You scoff.

Aemond hums and then twists his body around to face you with a serious expression. “Is that why you don’t fight for your right on the throne?”

You blink in surprise and question him with a nervous chuckle. “What?”

Aemond sighs. “You are the eldest. Daughter of Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen. You are the heir, not your brother.”

Why this sudden topic? You stopped thinking about that ever since you met Cregan.

“You’re being robbed right under you and you don’t try to fight it,” Aemond adds with a rising anger you don’t even feel. “Why is that?”

You part your lips but nothing comes out but a huff of air as you’re left flabbergasted by this topic.

“Because you’re keeping up appearances? I know you’re no fool, even if you act it in front of others,” Aemond continues to say as he turns around completely to take your hands and hold your narrowed gaze.

You shake your head and finally find words to say. “I don’t fight it because it was chosen that way. My grandsire Corly’s wanted Jacaerys to be heir, and my mother didn’t want to burden me with what she was burdened with,” you pause and shrug. “I cared, but that was the past. I don’t want it now.” You swallow thickly and lean forward. “I’ve seen a fraction of what happens to families who fight for their right,” you add softly. “Lord Cregan fought his uncle because he didn’t want to give Cregan what was rightfully his. It breaks families apart, it’s chaos.” You scoff. “I don’t want that. I love my family, I'm content with Jacaerys being heir.”

Aemond’s eyebrows furrow and he snaps back. “But he's a…” he trails off and presses his lips together

However, he doesn’t need to finish his sentence to know what he was going to say; bastard. He was going to call Jacaerys a bastard. It upsets you, but there’s no need arguing over something he didn’t finish saying. So you just exhale and pull your hands away from Aemond’s.

“Let’s not speak on this matter anymore,” you mutter and hold his gaze with a pointed glare. “If you love me you’ll be content with my choice. Respect it, please.”

Aemond holds your gaze and doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t move, he just exhales deeply before he nods stiffly and turns around to stay between your legs.

The fact that he was going to call Jacaerys a bastard annoys you, it still threatens to piss you off even if you say you’re over it for the sake of peace, adding tension between Aemond and you.

It was going so good too for Seven’s sake!

But no! You can’t let it affect you. Don’t let the storm ravel. Don’t let it.

“You know what I was thinking?” You bring up to avoid having a storm within you pull you in its clutches.

Aemond hums so you pull yourself down to lean your lips by his ear and whisper. “We should get married the day after tomorrow. Not under the faith of the seven, but a Valyrian wedding. Something small.”

That and well, you do want to spite Alicent, she said no to your request about waiting 6 months, and she thinks she has the upper hand over Aemond. You’ll prove her wrong.

“What about my mother?” He argues, but without much energy, as if he actually agrees. “What about my mother? She’s been planning our wedding.”

You nod softly. “Yes, but it’s all stuff we can cancel, she won’t mind. Besides it’s our duty as Valyrians, we aren’t just any normal person. We’re Targaryens with the blood of old Valyria running through our veins.”

Aemond looks over at you and adds on more concern. “And what about your family? Don’t you want them to be here?”

You shrug. “It would be ideal, but they won’t mind. Besides, it will just be small and quick. No feast, no dinners before the day, just us and the one marrying us.”

Aemond studies you closely and continues to question you. “I won’t miss a feast, but will you? You won’t wear your dress, and you like to steal the attention.”

You giggle and shrug. “I’ll still have a pretty dress under the robe. And the only attention I want is yours. Perhaps if our families got along well then I wouldn’t mind a big feast, but I don’t want problems. Just us. Helaena can be our witness, along with Vhagar and Astraea.” You shoot him a smirk.

Without thinking more about it Aemond nods. “All right,” he gives in.

You flash him a beaming grin and throw your hands around him to lean in and press kisses on his cheek. “<I love you,>,” you say in High Valyrian because right now it doesn’t hold the same meaning as when you say it in the common tongue. Aemond doesn't know that, he thinks you’re being sincere and smiles softly.

And that smile, that simple gesture does push you to feeling more than just affection and desire, it pushes you closer to feeling actual love.

“<I love you too,>” Aemond says back in High Valyrian. “<More than anything. I’ll talk to my mother.>”

“Okay,” you whisper.

Aemond peers back with a smirk. “Anything else?”

You nod. “Actually yes.” You exhale deeply and begin to frown with sadness. “What if we leave for Dragonstone and live our lives there?” You're brave enough to ask someone only raised here and bite the inside of your cheek as you anticipate what he’s going to say.

“I can’t…leave my mother with my father being so sick,” he says, making you let out a shaky sigh.

It’s understandable truly, you want to be with your grandfather because any given day can be his last, but the quicker you’re out of here, the quicker you’re out of the judgmental watch of the Queen and her court. Besides, you want to reunite with your mother, your brothers, and Rhaena too. You want to be home.

But no. You can’t leave.

“After then?” You insist and bat your eyelashes.

Aemond exhales and watches you for a moment before he surprises you by nodding in agreement. “Your mother gave you Dragonstone to inherit,” he says. “Perhaps out of pity or just genuine love, it doesn’t matter, but you are the princess of Dragonstone. It will be ours to rule. It’s our right. Besides, your mother will come here and the rest of your family will follow, so it will be ours to take.”

You begin to smile slowly out of disbelief because honestly, you didn’t think he’d want to.

“Okay,” you nod. “Good.” You grin and whisper one more time. “Good.”

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

“Nervous?” Aemond asks as you reach the door to his father's chambers after you suggested talking to both of his parents. Mostly because if your grandfather can pay more attention today, he’ll agree and his word would overpower Alicent’s.

“No,” you admit the truth. “I’m ready.”

Is he nervous?

Aemond nods and raps his fist on the door and then waits, but not for long because he then opens the door and walks you in with him.

And as always the room smells of different medicinal incense and blanketed in a deafening silence that can only be found at a funeral until finally the soft clicking of heels approaching fills the silence.

“Aemond,” Alicent calls out before she steps past the sheer curtains that block the sight of your grandfather and says your name.

You offer her a strained smile and do a small curtsy. “Your Grace,” you greet her. When you straighten up you share a passing glance with Aemond before he gets to the point.

“As I mentioned before we’ve come here to talk to you and father.”

“Is he awake?” You interject and try to sneak a glance past the sheer curtains.

Alicent’s gaze lingers on Aemond for a second longer with a tight lip before she blinks and nods. “He is, come.”

You hesitate where you stand and look up at Aemond to share a sweet smile. He mirrors it and leans down to press a kiss on your forehead before he grabs one of your braids and fiddles with the golden cuff that decorates it. You don’t say anything to each other, you just hold each other's gazes and share a loving look before he lets your braid go and walks with you after Alicent hand in hand.

“Your son Aemond and your granddaughter have come to visit you, my love,” Alicent lets your grandfather know close to his ear so he’d hear. “They’ve come to speak to us.”

Your grandfather drags his gaze to the both of you and lingers on your figures for a moment in silence before he solely focuses on Aemond and mutters, “Aemond?”

You swallow thickly and flicker your gaze away as Alicent nods and reassures him. “Yes, your son.”

You peer over at Aemond and watch him swallow thickly whilst he shuffles back from the bedside and watches his father with his eye wide from slight disbelief and a mix of pity. So you quickly tighten your hold around his hand and then pull with you to sit down at your grandfather's bedside.

“Grandsire,” you input yourself hoping he’ll recognize you better. “It’s me, and Aemond.” You offer him a gentle smile and let go of Aemond’s hand to grab your grandfather's clammy one.

Said man albeit takes a moment before he parts his lips. “Ah, yes. Have you come to sing and read to me today?”

You smile wider and shake your head. “Not today. That’s for tomorrow.” You let out a deep breath and spare a quick glance at Alicent before focusing on the man before you and continuing with what you want.

“We’ve come to ask something from both you and Queen Alicent…Aemond and I wish to marry tomorrow in a Valyrian-style wedding.”

“What?” Alicent gasps softly and steps towards her son. “But the wedding is a month away. Surely you can wait. Everything is almost prepared.”

You blink and then proceed to look up at Alicent with a feigned smile. Just as you're going to argue, Aemond interjects for the both of you. “We don’t wish to have feasts or a grand crowd of strangers watching, it’s you and the court who want that, not us. We want something intimate, something that follows our Valyrian traditions not that of strangers.”

Alicent’s face begins to twist in disbelief to her son's defiance of her wishes, and to what had been expected of him. She then drags her eyes to you and her gaze narrows in a manner you can’t read what she expresses, annoyance? Disbelief? Anger?

Whatever it is the Queen sees you now, in your light pink gown with the dazzling golden dragon decorating your waist. You respond to her horror with a smirk, and as you hold her gaze with a burning innocent gaze that burns as hot as the dragon's flame from your Targaryen family sigil, she knows that you aren’t hers to control.

You know that she knows that you aren’t at all aloof like you present yourself to be. Yet she can’t find out your angle. That you do hide well.

“What of your mother?” Alicent asks you. “Don’t you wish her to be in attendance?”

You hum softly and shrug. “She’ll understand. Now,” you cut her off and look at your grandfather again. “May we wed tomorrow? We don’t want to wait a moment longer.” You grin and look back at Aemond to grab his hand and share your delight with him, leaving his mother a bit bewildered.

“Well,” your grandfather says hoarsely and looks between Aemond and you carefully. His gaze then seems to get lost past your head as if lost in thought, but you don’t press him, you wait as the other two do too.

“What’s the harm in it?” Your grandfather assures Aemond and you. “We have to uphold our Valyrian traditions before they fade away.”

You grin and nod eagerly before pressing a kiss on his knuckles. “Thank you, grandsire.”

You rest his hand back on his chest and then get up to press your hands against Aemond’s chest before you slide them to grab his biceps as you just share your excitement with a grin and a gleam in your eyes that’s completely real and sincere.

Aemond holds your arms and looks at you with an enamored gaze that catches Alicent by complete surprise. After all, she did not expect her son to be so taken away by you, her only plan was to try and turn you against your mother, but now with this twist perhaps this match was a bad idea.

——

*LATER*

“One flesh,” Aemond mutters to you and you mirror his words as you hold each other's gazes with faint smiles decorating both of your faces. “One heart, one soul, now and forever.”

The wedding isn’t extravagant, it’s small but filled with Valyrian traditions down from the small setup that holds what you need for today, and up to the stuff you wear; like the tan robes decorated with red dyes at the end to signify the blood, and the marvelous headgear you wear on your head.

The wedding isn’t watched by a crowd of strangers. Your mother isn’t here nor are your brothers since the wedding was so sudden, but your dragon Astraea is, along with Vhagar. Helaena watches as well since she’s the witness you wanted, but much to your displeasure Alicent came along too and dragged Aegon with her.

But you don’t care now, you'll have a lifetime to disdain her. Right now it’s just Aemond and you on the green cliff that overlooks the sea, under a flaming horizon that gets slowly invaded by thousands of glimmering stars in the dark sky that you admire so much and stand as much of a witness as Helaena does, so it feels like your mother is here too since you live under the same enormous sky, and so it feels like your father watches you marry your best friend from whatever heaven he may find himself to be.

You wish he could be here now watching you, but his absence doesn’t bring you agony today. Sorrow? Yes, but you’re too happy to feel anything else in a wedding that is beyond perfect, and blessed you with a tender feeling as you stand before Aemond holding his gaze, and watching the blue sapphire in his eye socket glimmer. Where you lacked genuine and deep love before, now all you feel is true love for Aemond.

The love you hold for Cregan will never fade, it’s still very much alive, but today Aemond is all you can think about. And maybe it's because you’re swept away by the moment, but your heart is no liar, you love him so much and so deeply that the pain as he cuts your bottom lip with a sharp dragon glass blade doesn't register. The way he makes your heart swoon, how happy you feel now as he gently daps his thumb on your bleeding lip to collect a blood drop is all that occupies your mind. It’s just him and you as he uses your blood to paint a Valyrian fire glyph on your forehead.

You offer him an awestruck smile and grab the dragon glass blade from his hand to cut his bottom lip too. “Sorry,” you whisper since you know it hurts.

Aemond offers you a gentle smile as he wipes the blood that pokes out of your bottom lip with his thumb and shakes his head to assure you it’s fine, letting you proceed to dab some blood on your own thumb to paint the Valyrian blood glyph on his forehead.

“<Now,” the Septon says in High Valyrian. “Cut your palms to let your blood mix together and unify as one.>”

Since you have the dragonglass blade already you use it to cut a straight line down your palm first. When you hand Aemond the blade he does the same, letting you then hold each other's hands to mix your blood and unify as one. One flesh.

The blood drips in a goblet and when the bleeding slows the septon grabs the goblet and hands it to Aemond first so he can take a drink as he speaks gently. “<Blood of two, joined as one.>”

Aemond hands you the goblet and you take a drink of the blood, finding it bitter the moment it touches your tongue.

“<Ghostly flame and song of shadows,” the Septon continues to say. “Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires.>”

After you put the cup down you cradle Aemond’s cheek and caress his scar under his eye, whilst he cups your own cheek and caresses the scar you have on your cheek. Before there would be shame, but now there's smiles and ease while you look at each other lovingly in your own world where you share only one heart.

“<A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness. The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.>” The Septon finishes saying, letting you both proceed to utter the same vow as before, but in High Valyrian this time.

“<One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.>”

Aemond offers you a soft smile as he glances at your lips waiting for his touch.

You glance at his lips too and impatiently lean in to join as one. You pull away from each other to be able to breathe and tell him one thing. “<I love you,” you whisper against his lips, making him smile wider. “Now and forever.>” And you mean it this time, genuinely mean it from the bottom of your racing heart.

“I love you,” Aemond says while he strokes your bottom lip. “Now and forever.”

You beam at him and then pull him in a deep passionate kiss that continues to mix the thick blood on your lips.

A/N- You & Daemon making the Hightower’s life a living hell 🫱🏽‍🫲🏻 also considering how Aemond’s side of the family is, hearing you say I love you was probably the first time he heard it :(:

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans

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tabathastan · 3 months ago

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Feel free to send some request in my inbox, I really want to write and it hard coming up with ideas.

Rule Board

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koitaxathetameidiot · 1 year ago

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objetivo: find a good hotd fanfic

obstucalo: WHY IS EVERYTHING INCEST OH MY GOD

#hotd #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #x reader #CANT THEY PULL PEOPLE FROM OTGER HOUSES????#i know y'all want dragona and shit but damn #if i find one more uncle x niece im pooping one between my eyes #OR GOD FORBID SISTER X BROTHER

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aemondfairy · 2 months ago

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So I’ve never done a Kinktober but I have a few ideas for this year… maybe?

this ↴ being one of them but lmk if you’re interested

#aemond targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #kinktober #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x niece!reader #tom glynn carney #aegon x niece!reader #aegon targaryen smut

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aemondmybbg · 3 months ago

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three new bots have been out!! [happy]

my @ on character ai is illumielle ᡣ𐭩

aemond x niece!user after he called her and her brothers strong during dinner!

aegon x niece!user which he takes to the brothel to anger rhaenyra!

aemond x aunt!user who is alicent's sister, and he secretly has feelings for her, but is afraid of it!

tysm everyone for using my bots! <𝟑

#hotd #hotd s2 #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x you #character ai #aegon targaryen x niece!reader #aemond targaryen x niece!reader

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shesjustanothergeek · 5 months ago

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The Gods We Can Touch

Chapter One: My Dream

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Let's celebrate the first episode of season 2 with a new story! I'm publishing this before the show airs, so let's say a tentative prayer in case the first episode is Blood & Cheese. Thank you for reading! (⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

Chapter Warnings: sexism (it's a patriarchal feudalistic society), brief descriptions of childbirth and death related to it, Alicent being delulu.

When Viserys Targaryen's wife, Aemma of House Arryn, had failed pregnancy after failed pregnancy, a girl was a welcomed result. It proved not only to Aemma herself and her King Husband that she could produce a child but to the realm that there was hope for a son, a much-preferred result.

“My dreams, my dreams! What has become of their sweetness? What indeed has become of my youth?” - Eugene Onegin by Alexander Pushkin

If a daughter were to be born seconds before a brother, it did not matter. He was the heir. If she was born decades before a boy, it did not matter. He was the heir. Or so the realm believed until the reign of Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Son of Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen, Grandson to the Old King Jaehaerys.

Queen Consort Aemma Arryn died in pursuit of something she could not control, screaming, wailing, begging her husband not to cut her open, but he did not listen, for the birth of a son was more important than the life of a woman.

The infant Baelon Targaryen died a day later, leaving King Viserys a widower with only a daughter with the same fair skin and hair as the woman he murdered. The woman who laid slain on her birthing bed, bright blue irises now glassy, blood pooling from her womb, was given a Targaryen funeral along with the Heir for a Day, as her good brother called him, her last surviving child whispering, “dragon fire” through tears, with the encouragement of the same man who lusted after her and the throne.

The result of a mother’s and son’s death gave way to grief and anger. Viserys, blinded by the insults levied against his dead child, broke centuries of tradition and named Westeros’ first female heir Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Daemon Targaryen was furious at the abuse of being cast aside for a girl of ten and four and took to Dragonstone, the rightful seat of the Iron Throne's successor, with his whore, Lady Misery, an enslaved Lysene sold into the sex trade that became the Prince's favorite mistress.

Daemon did not hate his niece. He loved his family far more than anyone believed, so he surrendered when the Realm's Delight flew on her dragon to confront her uncle.

Less than a year later, not nearly long enough to mourn the death of two people, Viserys Targaryen married Alicent of House Hightower, daughter of the Hand and dearest friend to his daughter. The King saw the union as an act of fortunate duty and desire instead of love. On that much, the young Alicent Hightower could agree. Perhaps, he thought, it was a way to ensure his daughter would always have her closest Lady around, but Viserys was a fool . He could not see past his blinding grief and selfish lust that he tore the two girls apart.

Rhaenyra Targaryen's mother was a girl her age, a girl she longed to have to accompany her on Syrax, explore the East, and eat cake, but that was never meant to be. The Gods provided as quickly as they took, and her lifelong confidant viewed her with such hate and distaste that Rhaenyra soon began to consider her the same.

“Stepdaughter,” Alicent called her at the Princess's wedding feast to Ser Laenor of House Velaryon. Her voice laced with enough venom, and her dress so green you would mistake her for a snake. This gave Rhaenyra a sickening feeling in her gut, which soon hardened into one of cool indifference.

And that was how they lived.

Silent and icy indifference as Queen Alicent walked through the Targaryen halls of the Red Keep in Hightower Green, birthing the King his first surviving sons and second daughter.

However, there was a moment of repreave in the Queen's and the Princess's glacial flippancy when her forgotten ally fell pregnant for the first time.

Alicent could not help herself from caring for her old friend during her first pregnancy. She quickly fell back into the role of her Lady, supplying Rhaenyra with food, oils, clothing, and occasionally companionship during the quarrelsome nine moons.

The Queen had almost found it within her heart to forgive Rhaenyra for her lies and false swearing beneath the Heart Tree all those years ago, and she did until the labors when she saw the brown tuft of hair atop a young babe's head.

At the time, Alicent did not have a moment to contemplate what that meant before her friend screamed, holding on so tightly to her hand that she thought it might break as the rest of the infant emerged. The babe's face was so purple and cord wrapped around their neck that Alicent nearly cried, fearing life had repeated itself. The nursemaids quickly cut the blue and pink veiny line that connected the child to its mother, turning the babe upside down and spanking it on the back until its cries rang out throughout Maegor’s Holdfast.

A girl.

There, screaming and curling their once lifeless fist, were you , the firstborn child of Rhaenyra Targaryen, only by a mere moment, finally breathing and wailing as they swaddled you in an embroidered black and red cloth, a boy soon following.

“What shall you name them, your highness?” the eldest midwife asked, nearly as out of air as Rhaenyra.

“We…” the princess breathed heavily, positioning herself in the birthing chair. “We had only thought of a boy with the help of Lord Corlys. Jacaerys,” she panted, her cheeks tinged pink, either from exertion or embarrassment from being so thoughtless. Alicent did not know.

The nurse holding Rhaenyra’s son passed him to her, all eyes lingering on that same flattened-down dark hair. “Shall we wait for the Prince, your highness?” another question, holding the unnamed girl.

“I think,” Rhaenyra groans, shifting her weight to account for the new one, “we shall be waiting for a while should my husband suddenly return from his travels.” She glanced at Alicent, watching her once closest friend pick at the skin of her nails. She grinned, a brilliant idea coming to mind as she ordered the maid to give her daughter to the Queen.

Alicent's doe eyes widened as she accepted. She peered down at the tiny bundle before her, still crying, purple face now a deep red and full of life. The Queen did not know what came over her as she leaned, bringing the child’s blotchy forehead to her lips, inhaling the unique scent only a newborn has. She noticed the muscles around where the babe's brows should be twitching, opening her eyes to reveal a mirror of Alicent’s own looking at her.

The Queen forgot for a moment that she was not her own and that she should be alarmed that the child's eyes bore no resemblance to their parents. Yet the Queen continued to smile down at the small fidgeting bundle in her grasp, her arms wiggling themselves out of their confines to clench and unclench. The cries now became softer but still there. Sounds that used to cause Alicent great distress now soothe her uneasy soul like a salve to a wound.

“What shall we call her, my Queen?” Rhaenyra questioned, a crooked smile on her face as Alicent broke from her revere. Her plush lips parted in surprise, looking as if a deer caught grazing alone in a field.

The Queen appeared bewildered, unprepared for such a monumental task; all faces turned to her. “I… I am unsure, Princess. I did not come prepared for such an honor.”

Rhaenyra kept the same lopsided grin on her lips, showing the tips of her white teeth. “Tis all mine. It's an honor to have the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms name my first born daughter.”

“An honor I accept gladly,” Alicent rushed, worried that her refusal would shatter their peace.

She paused, pursing her lips in thought. Despite having three and another on the way, she had never named a child. Helaena was the closest she had ever gotten, a familiar name within the Reach but made to fit the traditional Targaryen spelling. Alicent would have something to herself, one tiny sliver of something that belonged to her, and she was unsure what to do with it. She was confident that Rhaenyra would be content with any name she chose, but she wanted it to be unique, to mean something more than just a word.

Alicent thought of her mother then—her darling mother, whom she barely had a chance to spend life with before a fever took her. A mother that her father said she looked like an extension of, and suddenly, only one name felt right.

The Queen was constantly conflicted about every choice she made, every move. From the food she ate to the clothes she wore, Alicent always worried herself over it, wondering if she had made the correct decision, but in this, she was sure. No man, woman, or God could sway her from this choice. It was right. The Queen could feel it in the marrow of her bones that it was so.

“Aelora.”

Aelora, my light.

The King came bursting moments later, a servant dressed in a crimson gown, white apron, and cap standing anxiously beside him. He immediately went straight into the room, brushing past his wife in favor of his daughter. Alicent felt a sour taste in her mouth at the notion, pulling the quiet lump tighter to her chest.

“A boy and a girl!” Viserys excitedly hollered, Rhaenyra passing Jacaerys to him. Anxiousness settled over the birthing chamber, the midwives and maids observing with worrisome eyes at the head of brown hair. “ Ah! And I see they have inherited my favorite cousin's hair.”

He held the newborn with a reverence Alicent had never seen with her own, and she stepped back into the shadows of the onlookers. She peered down, catching the babe's eyes shut and face slack, still with the fresh scent of birth. She brought you to her forehead again as she took in this brief moment of joy, nose nuzzling the infant’s as she grunted at the intrusion.

“Aelora, the Gods’ Light. My shining light,” she whispered so softly against the babe's satin-smooth skin that it drifted into the air like dust, lost in the wind.

“Oh, and her eyes, too!” Viserys beamed, hoisting Jacaerys into the air as the wetnurses squealed in terror. “She will make a fine queen one day, and should the Gods allow it, you, a king.” Rhaenyra laughed at her father's antics, already planning the children’s marriage. She was too high on the feeling of birthing not one but two healthy babes, a boy and a girl, no less to care. Alicent's amber eyes flicked to her husband and then to your plump face, a frown pulling her lips.

Aegon had come quickly and without fuss. Though Alicent was merely a girl of ten and six when it happened, the moments leading up to it frightened her thoroughly. She worried her nails down to the quick, the pink fleshy beds exposed and bleeding whenever she would use too harsh of a grip.

She knew of what happened to Aemma Arryn, that the babe was stuck and couldn't turn to leave the womb, at least to the Maester’s belief. He gave the King a choice, not the woman who was writhing in pain as her body contracted, to either let the process play out with the chance that the child and his wife could perish or have him slice her open from hip to hip, dig through her guts and blood to pry the child out. Aemma Arryn had no voice in the matter from what she heard from the midwives, as her husband allowed a man to pull Prince Baelon straight from her womb.

Alicent did not want to face the same fate and prayed to the Mother day after day, night after night, until her knees were yellow and blue, and even then, she continued her efforts. She was alone in all this, with no one to confide in. Her father had told her to do her duty when she expressed concern. He assured her the King would allow no such thing if she did everything correctly. He offered no comfort, and Alicent longed for her dearest Princess. Her prayers were answered when that fateful day came, and the labors lasted no more than an hour.

She birthed a healthy boy with blonde hair and purple eyes, but even then, Viserys did not act the way he was now with Rhaenyra's children. A means to end all the uncertainty of an heir, her father said in words of solace. She hadn't understood what he meant then. Rhaenyra was the heir, crowned Princess of Dragonstone, and Lords swore allegiance to her across the realm. To Alicent, there was no uncertainty until there was.

Until Otto Hightower planted the rot that festered and spread in her mind that the girl she grew up alongside, the girl she spent so many days and nights with, the girl that had said she would forget her duty and fly off across the world eating nothing but cake with her friend by her side, would murder Alicent's children so they could not depose her reign.

She did not believe Rhaenyra was capable of cruelty, but then again, she had once considered her incapable of lying to her and was proven wrong.

She began to fuss as if the infant in her embrace could sense the Queen's unrest. Her delicate little face scrunched up as Alicent bounced her softly, cooing soothingly. She smiled despite her unpleasantness within, unfazed by the sudden outburst, unlike when Helaena had her fits as a child. Her daughter would have to meet her niece and nephew, along with Aegon. Aemond was too young. She wouldn't be able to keep a close eye on him.

Though he was half the size of Aegon when he was born, he had grown twice as fierce. At barely three years old, his nursemaids had to ceaselessly follow the moonlight-haired boy less than a step away lest he jump down a flight of stairs just to see if he could. Once, when Alicent dismissed the servants from Aemond's chambers as he readied for bed, she turned her back on him for a singular blink, and he opened his balcony doors and climbed over the railing to get a better view of the night sky. Alicent remembered how he kicked and screamed as she yanked him from the ledge, saying words and phrases she never knew, even at the age she was now.

“My Queen,” the wetnurse called like she had repeated herself as Alicent looked at the girl. “The young Princess needs her first feeding.” The woman held out her arms for her to hand over the fussing bundle, a calm but concerned expression on her face.

Alicent refused, curling her limbs as the babe squirmed, her cries becoming ear-piercing screams. She knew the child needed to eat but could not force her body to release the girl. It was as if her very bones denied the movement that was not keeping the hungry infant close to her. The fleeting thought that Alicent could feed the girl herself crossed her mind, but she shook it away, realizing the ludacrisy of it. It was improper for a woman of nobility to nurse their child. That's what the maids were for, the Queen told herself.

The wetnurse peered at her curiously, walking a pace closer, but Alicent stepped back as if she attempted to harm her. “The King has not held her yet,” she protested, looking towards her King-Husband in an attempt to prolong her time.

“All is well, Alicent. What kind of King refuses to let their babe grandchild eat?” he jested, tilting his head to the side playfully and exposing a gaping smile. It made Alicent want to vomit.

When she doesn't move to listen, the Queen stared at her husband like her silence could serve as a rejection of his words. Viserys sighed as Rhaenyra watched with piqued interest, wordlessly handing Jacaerys to another maid.

“Alicent, give her the child.”

She hesitated again, her brown eyes flickering to Rhaenyra when she did not offer for Alicent to stay while the maids worked. Once again, she mused bitterly, watching the infant intently as she relented. I give my dream away to you. A dream that was never indeed mine.

The Queen bowed to the Princess, congratulating her on the success as she took her leave, hand splaying over the swollen stomach of her emerald green gown. It felt too tight, the once smooth fabric now itching at her skin, the fine hairs on her arms catching between the threads.

How stupid she was to believe in Rhaenyra’s kindness. She felt like a girl again, the same girl who stood beneath the Weirwood, listening to her friend swear on her mother’s memory that she had not lain with a man, only to find out there was moontea delivered to her chambers.

A sudden kick was sent to the Queen's abdomen, halting her brisk pace as she doubled over within the pale redstone hall. Ser Criston Cole arrived moments later, helping her rise to her feet. She soothed the afflicted area with her palm, no doubt the cause being her own making. Despite the growing life inside of her, the Queen has now done it four times. Alicent believed the moment she laid her wide amber eyes on yours was the closest she had ever felt to being whole with someone in her life. It’s as if the child's very being was now a part of her, and every moment she was away, it felt as if she was missing a piece of her soul.

Rhaenyra flaunts and does as she pleases, lies, and tricks all she pleases. It made Alicent furious with a rage she had not felt for nearly a decade. Aelora will not become like her mother. The Green Queen will not allow it, even if she has to twist and shape the clay of Aelora's mind into something of her own. Aelora is her dream. She is the Gods' shining light, and Alicent will be damned if she allows Rhaenyra to blacken her glow.

Septon Eustace's Recount of Princess Aelora I Targaryen's Early Life

The young Velaryon princess, later taking her mother’s namesake, grew into a spritely and mischievous child, playing jests on her Septa and Prince Aemond with the aid of her brothers and the eldest of the Queen’s children, Prince Aegon. She did not develop into a traditional Targaryen beauty with blonde hair and violet eyes; instead, she had a golden chestnut crown with eyes to match. Many said she resembled Queen Alicent, though if anyone made the error of voicing it, they faced Princess Rhaenyra’s wrath.

Though her features were plain by Targaryen standards, the realm rejoiced in her beauty. Lords and ladies commissioned portraits of her countenance throughout the kingdom, proudly displaying a halcyon halo of red rubies adorning the top of her divine facade. The common folk coined the name “The Gods' Light” for the sweet girl. A glimpse of her was as close as one would get to the Maiden, and they cherished it whenever Princess Rhaenyra's faction made rare journeys to the Grand Sept.

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

I'm excited to write for my favorite war criminal, Visenya Incarnate, Aemond Targaryen. I'm just super happy to write Aemond smut! I'm also taking a different approach to this story because it will solely be based on the show (to the best of my ability), not the book, and will be released with the same progression. It will have accounts of the reader's life through the eyes of the Maester's. Of course, there will be some cannon divergence and whatnot, considering we're introducing a new character into the fray. This fic will also be a lot darker than what I've written in the past, including content such as childhood sexual assault and the after-effects of it, self-harm, depression, suicide, and unhealthy sibling dynamics/relationships.

This story is told from the second person's perspective. The reader only has a name for the sake of a title and the description of Strong features.

Y'all have no idea how fulfilling writing has been for me. It's given me purpose when I've felt like I had none. It's helped my mental health by giving me an outlet for self-expression and a good source of distraction from all the worries I have in life. I wish I could get paid for this!

I hope y'all will enjoy the story as much as I will writing it, and of course, thank you so much for taking the time to read this. You genuinely have no idea how much your support means to me, but I will continue to express it in the best way I know how. ♡⁠(⁠˃͈⁠ ⁠દ⁠ ⁠˂͈⁠ ⁠༶⁠ ⁠)

Ps. Alicent's mom's name is unknown in the show and the book, so I'm creating a name that combines my original idea with traditional Targaryen spelling.

Pronunciation: Uh-lore-uh, Ae-lore-uh

Origin: Latin

Meaning: dream, dreamer, shining light.

Biblical Meaning: God is light, God's light.

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf

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